“Strange man,” Harris said, after a quiet moment had passed. “There goes a man who is just as vicious as my brother, who probably had a hand in planning the ambush against you and the Duggan twins, and who now says he’s had enough. I never thought he’d leave my brother.”
Smoke stood up and reached for his new hat. “We’ll probably have about a week of peace around here, Harris. Until your brother can import a fresh crew of gunhands. Then I expect we’ll face the problem and wrap it up.”
“You act like it’s just a job of work for you,” Harris said, the words spoken much more sourly than he intended.
Smoke put his hat on his head. “How do you want me to behave, Harris?”
The sheriff shook his head. “Oh, hell, I didn’t mean that the way it came out, Smoke. I’m certainly not defending my brother. This mess can be laid right at Clint’s feet and I know it. But if you’ll forgive me for saying it, I really wish you and my brother and all his hired guns would just go away and settle this somewhere else.”
“I’ll face your brother anywhere he picks. Guns or fists; doesn’t make any difference to me.”
“Yeah,” Harris said, a weariness in his tone. “I know that, too. But he’s not going to do that. Not yet. But Jud was right when he said that one of us will have to kill him.”
“Could you?” Smoke asked softly.
Harris met his eyes. “If he braces me and pulls? You and me, Smoke, we’re gunfighters. You know that reflex would take over. I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d be sick afterward, but I wouldn’t stand there and let him kill me.”
“You through with me?”
“I wish,” Harris said, softening that with a smile. “Oh, yeah. Someday there’ll be laws out here against men settling arguments with guns. But that day is a long way off. Watch your back ridin’ home, Smoke.”
“I always do, Harris.”
“Joe Owens seen Bronco Ford flaggin’ down the stage this afternoon,” Stony reported to Smoke after supper. “Headin’ for Helena.”
“He’s gone to get more men. I expected it. Jud said that’s what Clint would do.”
“Jud’s really gone?”
“He talked to the sheriff and me and then I watched him ride out, leading a packhorse. Said he didn’t like me at all. But yes, he’s gone for good.”
Stony slowly shook his head. “I reckon stranger things has happened.”
Conny asked, “So what do we do now?”
“Look after the herd, mend fences, and stay out of trouble. In about a week, we’ll have all the trouble we can handle. I want one man in town at all times, starting tomorrow. By this time, Bronco has sent his wires and men will be coming in, some of them by stage. The last stage runs at three, so that’ll give the men time to get back here for supper. I want to know who comes in and how many. The men Bronco will hire will be known gunfighters, easy to spot, and he’ll probably hire at least one long-distance shooter, too.”
“A lousy damn back-shooter,” Conny said contemptuously. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m surprised Clint hasn’t done that already.”
“He just hasn’t thought of it. But Bronco will. For sure, he’ll pick up two or three or maybe more in Helena. And there’ll be some hanging around Butte. It won’t take long for them to get here. Tell the men who ride in not to brace any of these ol’ boys. Bronco will be hiring professionals. And they’ll be quick on the shoot.”
“That back-shooter will be coming in for you, boss,” Stony said.
“It’s been tried before,” Smoke told him. “I’m still around. You boys relax while you can. In a few days, it’s going to get real tense around here.”
The first of the hired guns arrived three days after Bronco sent the wires. Waymore described them to Smoke. “The first one is a bad hombre called Tall Mosley. He comes high. The redhead is a Irishman named Danny O’Brian. Danny came from a real nice family down in Southern Colorado. He went bad early. Killed his brother and left the country. He’s left a lot of dead men behind him. I can’t place the other one you described.”
“I heard him called Ned in the saloon.”
“Ned Burr. He’d make Sam Bass look like a Baptist preacher.”
The following day, Conny reported back. He looked shaken. “Man, some bad ones come in this day. I seen Luke Jennings, Little John Perkins and Tom Wiley. Half a dozen more I didn’t know, but they looked right capable.”
“You catch any names?” Smoke asked, marveling at the man’s ability with a knife and fork. His elbows never stopped working.
“Yeah. There was a Dan, a fellow called Rod, and one other name that sounded familiar: Morton.”
“Might be Dan Hutton. Rod is short for Rodman; I don’t know his first name. Morton is probably Henry Morton. They’re all bad ones. Clint is hiring the best, or the worst, depending upon how you look at it.”
The next day, Stony reported back shaking his head. “Boss, we got to hire some hands. Gunhands. You ain’t never seen the like of what rode in this day. I heard ’em talkin’. Clint wired ’em money to ride the trains in and money to buy fine horses when they got to the gittin’ off point. And they was all dressed up fancy.” He began ticking them off on his fingers. “James Otis. Paul Stark. Ed Burke. Tom Lessing. Hal Bruner. Big Dan Barrington. Half a dozen more that I didn’t know.”
“Rider comin’, boss,” Jeff called.
Smoke stood on the porch and shielded his eyes. Then he smiled. “Well, I’ll be double-damned.”
“You know that feller, boss?” Tim asked.
“Huggie Charles.”
“Huggie Charles!” Malvern almost shouted the name. “The Arizona gunfighter?”
“That’s him.”
Smoke stepped off the porch as Huggie swung down from the saddle and beat the dust from his clothing. The two men grinned and shook hands.
“You ol’ warhoss, you!” Huggie said. “Damn, but you’re lookin’ fine, boy.”
“You’re looking fit and fine yourself, Huggie. Sally!” he called. “We’ve got company.”
Sally came out on the porch and began smiling. She skipped down the steps and Huggie grabbed her. “Sally, girl. How you doin’, Missy?”
“Now you boys see why he’s called Huggie,” Smoke said with a smile. “He never misses a chance to hug a woman. Slim or fat, tall or short, beautiful or so bad looking she’d stop an eagle in a dive, Huggie grabs them.”
“It’s been too many years since you stopped by the Sugarloaf, Huggie,” Sally admonished the man. “Just too many years.”
“Well, I got me a spread down on the Verde. I was up in Denver lookin’ for stock to improve my herd—Herefords are the way to go now—and I heard about all the trouble up here. Why I just saddled up and took to ridin’. Here I am.”
“In time for supper, too.”
“If you cooked it, honey, that in itself is worth the ride.”
“Huggie!” Denver bellered from the porch. “You ol’ biscuit-stealin’ outlaw!”
“My God, Smoke,” Huggie said with a grin. “What ever possessed you to hire something as dis-reputable as that ol’ coot? Me and him go back more years than either of us care to think about.”
“Huggie’s got to be sixty years old,” Conny said to the hands gathered on the porch. “Or better. But I bet you he’s still quick with them guns. Look at them Peacemakers. If he carved notches there wouldn’t be no handles left.”