The posse left in a cloud of dust. Weldon and Roy did not look happy at all.
“You boys get busy doin’ something,” Jud ordered the hands. “You might get together the gear of the men who ain’t gonna be comin’ back and see if they got clean clothes to get buried in.” He turned to Clint. “We got to talk, boss. Right now.”
“In the house,” Clint said. Once inside and seated, with whiskey poured, he said, “Speak your piece, Jud. You know you can shoot straight with me.”
“It’s got to stop, Clint,” the foreman implored. “This just can’t go on. We gonna be buryin’ six men tomorrow. Six more men. We…”
“…Have had this talk before. I thought we settled it then.” Clint drained his whiskey glass and slopped more booze in.
“We settled nothing, Clint. Clint? Did you see the looks on the faces of the men in that posse? Did you really see them? They’re not going to ever bow and scrape for you. Not ever again. You’ve got to understand that. You’ve been the big bull in the woods for years and you’re gonna have to settle for it being over. Cleon’s got a newspaper from Helena; got it from the stage driver. This war is front-page news. Smoke Jensen’s name is like bees to honey. There’ll be reporters in here ’fore long, and they’ll dig and pry to see what started all the ruckus and find out about the ambush and the kids gettin’ killed and all of it. Then what kind of a light will you be under? I’ll tell you what kind: a real bad light. We got to stop this and stop it right now!”
Clint had paused in the lifting of glass to his lips. He frowned and set the glass down on the table. “Go on, Jud. You’re not through.”
“Just like I said to you before, the last time we talked. We fire all these gunhands and get back to the raisin’ of beef. We live and let live, and mind our own business.”
“And live with the knowledge that a damn gunfighter and a bunch of weak-livered, two-bit ranchers and saloon keepers and storekeepers beat us? Not me, Jud. Not me.”
Jud left his whiskey untouched. He stood up and plopped his hat on his head. “All right, Clint. If that’s the way you want it.” He turned and headed for the door. Clint’s voice stopped him and turned him around.
“Is this it, Jud? It is over for you?”
“Yeah, Clint. For me, it’s over. I won’t stay in the game with a stacked deck. See you, Clint.” He walked out.
Clint sat for a long time in his study. He did not drink. He’d been drinking far too much of late, and for him to come up with any sort of plan, he needed to be clear-headed. He heard the sounds of a horse trotting away and knew it was Jud. Jud! He and the man had been together for years. And now his foreman and best friend had lost his guts. He rose and walked to the front porch and waved to a hand.
“Yeah, boss?”
“Was that Jud riding out?”
“Yes, sir. He packed his duds, got him a packhorse, and was gone in fifteen minutes. I never thought Jud would turn his back to you.”
“Neither did I,” Clint said with a sigh. “Tell Bronco Ford I want to see him.”
“Right away, boss.”
Clint sat down on the porch. Bronco walked over and Clint waved him to a seat. “How many men do we have still around, Bronco?”
“Eighteen, last count. And that includes you and me and the cook.”
Clint’s laugh was short and bitter. “God, a month ago I had fifty!”
“Some just rode off and didn’t look back, boss. I reckon Smoke Jensen read some scriptures to them that we busted out of the jail. They sure cut out. We got some with busted legs and busted arms and knotty heads. You want I should send out some wires and see what I can drag up?”
“Yes. Today. I don’t care where you get them or what they’ve done in their past. The meaner, the better. You’re now foreman of this ranch, Bronco. Move your gear into the foreman’s house. You get rid of Smoke Jensen for me, and you’ll have a job for the rest of your life. That’s a personal promise—from me.”
“Might be best if I flag down the stage and send them wires out of Helena.”
“Good idea. Do that. Get packed to go. I’ll have money for you when you’re ready.”
“Buckskin Deevers is around. He busted out of Yuma some months back. I know where he’s hidin’.”
“Get him. Get all you can find. I’ll turn this country red with the blood of any who dare stand up to me.”
“Sounds like my kind of war, boss. I’ll be ready to go in fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll be here,” Clint said grimly. “Right here. And I’ll be here when all those who oppose me are buried!”
22
Jud Howes rode into Blackstown and stabled his horses. He planned to spend one night and then be on the trail come first light. He knew where he was going, and when he got there he was going to stay. He conducted his business at the bank, closing out his sizable account. Then he walked over to the sheriff’s office. Harris had just ridden in and was talking over the morning’s events with Smoke when Jud opened the door.
“I’m peaceful,” the ex-foreman of the Circle 45 said quickly. “And I intend to stay that way. From now on. I want to talk to both of you.”
“Fine,” Harris said. “Have a cup of coffee and sit.”
Jud poured his coffee and took a seat. He startled both men when he said, “I just quit the Circle 45.”
When he found his voice, Harris said, “That’s probably very good for you, and very bad for us.”
“Yeah, that’s the way I see it. That’s why I come over to talk. Now if you think I’m here to confess to anything, you’re wrong. Clint and me been friends for years and years, and I’ll admit we both done some terrible things. But for me, that’s past. This is now. I ain’t here to talk against him. I got me a pretty good hunch he’ll make that no-count Bronco Ford foreman. Which will be fine as long as Clint don’t plan on runnin’ no cattle, cause Bronco is a gunhandler and that’s all he’s been since he growed up.
“Now then, Bronco will be callin’ in some salty ol’ boys that he knows. And he knows plenty of them. Clint ain’t gonna give up. Put that out of your heads. He’s goin’ to fight until he’s either top man on the hill again, or he’s dead. That’s the way it’s goin’ to be.” He looked at Smoke. “I don’t like you, Jensen. But I ain’t goin’ to fight you. I seen men like you before. Not many, but a few. You really ain’t no better than the men you fight…not when it comes down to the nut-cuttin’. ’Cause you still kill. You got bodies planted all over the West. But you kill for some sort of highfalutin’ notion that otherwise decent folk find acceptable. That’s always puzzled me. But I realize something else, too: men like you nearly always win. I don’t know why that is, but it’s true.
“You’re goin’ to have to kill Clint Black, Jensen.” He cut his eyes. “Or you will, Harris. There ain’t no other way. And I just don’t want to be around to see that.” He stood up. “I can’t bring myself to wish you boys luck. I just can’t do that. ’Cause I don’t know whether I’d mean it or not. Men like Clint built this country. Oh, they’re hard men, and they’ve done terrible things to others who come out later, when it was a lot easier and them others come in to squat on land that was settled by Clint and men like him.” He waved his hand in a curt gesture. “Well, that’s neither here nor there.”
“You want to speak to Weldon or Cantrell?” Harris asked.
Jud shook his head. “I got nothin’ to say to them two. You’ll never seen me again, Harris. Nor will you ever hear of me. Jud Howes is not my real name. When I get to where I’m goin’, I’ll have a new name and paper to prove it. I’ll ranch, and not do no harm to any man who don’t come pushin’ and shovin’ and lookin’ for it.” He walked to the door and paused, looking around. “I was goin’ to spend the night, but I think I’ll just ride on and get clear of this place.” He looked at Harris. “You’re a good man, Harris. I mean that. And when all this is over, you’ll do well at the Circle 45. ’Cause it’ll be yours. I just hope you change the brand.” He cut his eyes to Smoke and stared at him for a moment. “You, now, I ain’t got no use for. I just don’t like you one goddamned bit.” He stepped out and closed the door behind him.