“I had to do it, Mr. Smoke,” Chuckie said. “I didn’t have no choice.”
“You did fine, Chuckie,” Smoke assured him. “You boys stay down behind those bales of hay.”
Smoke found a sack and then eased his way out of the barn. Staying close to whatever cover he could find, he began working his way to the storage shed. On the way, he passed men who were moaning and twisting in pain. He took their guns from them and dropped them into the sack. Rusty saw what he was doing and stepped out to begin calming and corralling the milling Bar V horses. Jackson stayed where he was, keeping a sharp eye out for any return raiders.
But Jud’s hired guns had apparently had enough for one night. No more hostile fire came.
Susie and Doreen rolled the dead man out of the living room and off the porch. A couple of the boys dragged the man out of the front yard.
“Rusty, at first light, I want you to ride for Montpelier and get that reporter and then find Sheriff Brady. Bring them both here. If Sheriff Brady won’t come, send a wire to the governor’s office and one to the Army up at Fort Hall. But I think Brady will come.”
“Right. What do we do with the bodies?”
“Lay them over by the side of the barn and cover them with whatever you can find. Use their own bedrolls and ground sheets if they were carrying any. We’ll put the wounded in the barn.”
Walt walked up. “I count twenty dead and twelve wounded. Some of them aini gonna make it.”
“I guess you better bring Doctor … what’s his name, Walt?”
“Evans. He’s a good man. He’ll come.” Walt looked up at the sky. “I hope they come quick. It’s gonna be a warm day and these bodies’ll start to bloat in a hurry. Flies will be awful.”
25
Sheriff Brady took one look at the lined-up bodies and paled under his tan. Doctor Evans and his assistant began working on the wounded.
“I’m filing charges against all these men,” Walt told the sheriff. “And I’m filing charges against Jud Vale. They worked for him, they acted under his orders.”
“Can you prove that in a court of law?” Brady challenged. “And I ain’t tryin’ to be a horse’s butt about it, Walt. Just askin’ what the judge will ask.”
“I understand. We can prove it if some of these men will talk.”
“Fat chance of that,” Brady said. “But we’ll give it a try. Wall, I’m going to call in the U.S. Marshals. It’ll take them about two days to get in here by train. I just don’t have the men to handle this by myself.”
“Then why not deputize all the farmers and such around here?” the rancher suggested. “Form a posse. We’ll go in and arrest Jud and his men.”
“First I got to find a judge to sign them papers authorizing such a move. I think it’s best if we let the marshals handle it. And I ain’t tryin’ to back out of my duty, neither.”
“I understand. All right, Sheriff. Well play it your way.”
Brady looked around him at the carnage, the burned-out bunkhouse. “This has got to end. I just ain’t gonna tolerate it no more. I’ll be back with the marshals, Walt. And that’s a promise.” He looked at the doctor. “You need some help with these wounded, Doc?”
“A few of them can sit a saddle. Walt’s lending us a wagon to transport the rest. Help me load them up and we’ll be on our way.”
The wounded bounty hunters and hired guns were loaded into a wagon, and not too gently either. With Sheriff Brady leading the way, the wagon rolled out, those sitting saddles doing so with their hands tied to the saddle horn. Smoke didn’t hold out much hope of any of the hired guns talking.
And as for the U.S. Marshals coming in … Smoke didn’t think they’d be coming in anytime soon, although he believed that Sheriff Brady would certainly try to get them in. The U.S. Marshals’ force was a small one, with a lot to do. They would probably look at the sheriff’s request as just another flare-up between ranchers over water or graze, and promptly forget it.
The reporter had indeed written his story about the kidnapping of Doreen and her rescue, but nothing had come of that report. This was still the raw West, with lawmen few and far between. Communities were still expected to handle their own problems without crying for outside help.
Smoke said as much to Walt and the others.
Jackson was the first to agree. “I’ve seen this happen time and again. In the end, it’s all gonna boil down to men facin’ men with guns. That’s the way it’s always been, and that’s the way it’s gonna be … for a while yet.”
“I’ll cling to a small hope that the marshals will come in,” Walt said.
“Cling to a gun with your other hand,” Smoke told him.
Chuckie and other smaller boys went down to the creek, looking (or more small stones for their slingshots. None of them had ever seen a U.S. Marshal and didn’t expect to see one anytime soon.
Jud Vale took his afternoon coffee on the front porch of his mansion. He was feeling much better—physically and mentally. But he had enough sense to know that his mind could flip him back into madness at any moment, without warning.
He sucked at his coffee cup, with some of the hot brew trickling out of his mouth and dribbling onto his shirt front. Jud didn’t pay it any attention. He hadn’t gone on the past night’s raid against his brother; Blackjack and Molino had assured him they could handle it. They handled it, all right. Came straggling back in with half their men either dead or wounded and captured, talking about kids with slingshots—slingshots, for Christ sake— and dynamite and all kinds of other excuses for having failed.
Jud shook his big head. Slingshots!
He mentally laid aside his burning hate for his brother and forced himself to think rationally.
A frontal attack, a mass attack of the Box T had failed for the second time, so Jud had to discard any further thoughts along that line. He knew that at one time, and not that long ago, a couple of weeks back, maybe a month, he’d had several plans in mind. Now he couldn’t think of a single one, and that scared him. Was he losing his marbles again?
He thought hard; sweat broke out on his forehead. Then it came to him. Burn the damn nesters out. Yeah, that had been one of them. There had been other plans, but the burning out of the nesters was the only one he could think of at the moment. Pretty good plan. Instead of striking at the head of the beast, the head being his brother and Smoke Jensen, start chopping away at the arms and legs.
He called for Jason and told him of the plan. Jason thought that it might work.
“No one will be expecting any trouble this soon after the raid on the ranch. Send some boys out this afternoon. Start with that damn interferin’ Chester and his old woman. He was one of them at the creek, wasn’t he?”
“Sure was.”
“Kill them and burn them out.”
“We won’t even have to send any of the top guns to do this,” Jason pointed out. “I’ll send them three punks that come in on the train with some of Perry’s bunch.”
“Sounds good. Do it.”
The six hired guns were in good spirits as they rode out of the Bar V range, heading for Chester’s farm. This was going to be good fun. And maybe the nester had a good-lookin’ daughter … that would be even more fun. They’d hogtie the farmer and his old woman and make them watch while they had their way with the girl.
The punk kid who called himself Tucson Bob vocalized his plan.
The outlaw known as Cline grinned, exposing a mouthful of rotted teeth. “I like that idea, Tucson. You all right.” Then he sobered. “But what if they ain’t no young girl?”
“Then we’ll hang the nester slow; make it last and watch him kick and choke.”
“I’d druther have me a young girl who don’t want to give it up, but the second idea is a right good one. How far did Jud say this pig farm was?”