Jud turned his head. Blinked his eyes. “Yes, Jas. I hear you.”
“Can you understand me, Jud?”
“Yes. Now, 1 can. What were you saying?”
“It’s time to pull in our horns. We got enough money to last us ten lifetimes. It’s time to quit. Break up the gangs and send them packing. Stick with ranchin’. The people has turned ag’in us. It can’t do nothin’ ’cept get worser.”
Jud didn’t believe the words he was hearing. This wasn’t like Jas. Jas had been his strong friend and supporter for years—long, bloody, murderous, and savage years. Together they had raped and murdered and stolen and savaged from Illinois to Idaho. Now the man was telling him it all had to come to an end. Jud shook his head. “No way, Jas. It’s too late for that.” Lucidity was returning to Jud’s darkened brain. “Far too late. We are what we are. We can’t change. The people won’t let us. We’ve got to stay strong, and we’ve got to show the people that we’re still the kingpins of this area.”
“For God’s sake, Jud—how? You haven’t ridden around the area like I have. Every move I make, they’s anywhere from five to fifteen guns on me. The people have had it, Jud. We’ve come to the end of our string.”
Jud looked at the man. “You want to ride, Jas?”
“You mean leave?”
Jud nodded.
“No. You know me better than that. We been together since we was young bucks, full of piss and vinegar. If you say we’re gonna stand and fight this out, then I’ll be right beside you.”
“How many men are still on the payroll, drawing fighting wages?” “Seventy.”
Jud’s eyes were hard and savage. “Then tell them to start earning it.”
The riders struck at night, wearing masks and dusters. They struck a small farmhouse near the Wyoming line and burned it to the ground, killing the fanner and abusing his wife and oldest daughter before tying them naked to a tree and leaving them. Then they vanished into the night, scattering, leaving no trail that Sheriff Brady and his men could follow. The raiders did the same thing the next night, miles away from the first scene of horror and degradation. The third night the raiders struck, Sheriff Brady and his men were at the extreme south end of the county while the raiders were working the northern tip of the county. It was the same operation: a farm was burned, the man was killed, the women abused.
But what Jud didn’t know was that after the first raid, Smoke had been absent from the Box T, roaming mostly at night, looking for tracks, and holed up during the day. Just before dawn on the morning of the fourth day, he watched the raiders return to the Bar V, still wearing their dusters. He waited until he was certain that all who were coming in were in, then began slowly and carefully backtracking the trail.
By eight o’clock, he had found where all the raiders came together after scattering. It was on the Bear River Range, but he wasn’t certain it was on Bar V holdings. He felt this might be public range.
He began following the main body of the raiders, finally discovering where they had built a hidden corral to keep their spare horses. Smoke backed off a good half-mile, rubbed down Dagger, and cooked himself a meal. He stretched out on the ground to sleep for a few hours. This night, the raiders would be in for a surprise when they came for their horses. A very deadly surprise.
When he opened his eyes, he guessed the time to be about four o’clock. Smoke built a small fire and made coffee, frying some bacon to go with the last of his bread. After eating, he leaned back against his saddle and rolled a cigarette, enjoying his coffee and the peace and quiet. Come the night, it would not be a bit peaceful, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be quiet.
Before dusk settled over the land, Smoke put out his small fire and saddled up, moving closer to the hidden corral. He dismounted and carefully picketed Dagger, hopefully out of the line of fire. Taking his rifle, he moved to well within throwing distance of the corral and found himself a good position. He chambered a round and eased the hammer down, then Smoke settled in to wait for the first of the raiders to arrive.
He didn’t think they would come all in a bunch, but instead come drifting in by two’s and three’s. The first bunch of outlaws would wait until the last had arrived, then take off to do their dirty work.
But Smoke had some dirty work of his own in mind, and he was confident that the number of raiders who rode out would be considerably less than the number who rode in this night.
The first bunch rode in almost carelessly, certain that no unfriendly eyes were upon them.
Smoke waited and watched through the gathering gloom as the assorted scum on Jud’s payroll checked the corrral to see if their spare mounts were still there. One man busied himself building a fire and making coffee.
Then the damning evidence showed itself as the men began unrolling white dusters from behind their saddles and shaking out the black bandanas they would use to cover the lower half of their faces.
More men began drifting in until the number had reached twenty. They drank coffee and began slipping into their dusters. The talk was rough as the conversation drifted to where Smoke lay hidden. The Bar V hired guns laughed as they casually talked of murder, rape, and torture. Another man tossed more wood on the fire.
Smoke had carefully gauged the distance between his location and the main body of men. With a grim smile on his lips, he lit the fuses and tossed two sticks of giant powder into the group.
It took a couple of seconds for the men to react, and a couple of seconds was all it needed for the short fuses to burn down. When the dynamite blew, the din was enormous in the night.
Outlaws were hurled off their boots, some landing hard and breaking bones, others with the wind knocked from them. Horses reared up, screaming their panic, breaking loose and galloping off into the darkness. Those hired guns who were still on their feet were stumbling around, cursing and disoriented and momentarily deafened from the huge explosion.
Smoke knocked half a dozen men sprawling with fast but well-placed rifle shots, then shifted locations, reloading as he made his way toward the corral. The outlaws began pouring lead into the area Smoke had just vacated.
Smoke jerked the rawhide string holding the gate to the post and fired into the air, stampeding the remuda. The frightened horses ran right into and through the milling gun hands, knocking a few screaming to the earth before the steel-shod hooves mangled flesh and broke bones.
Smoke took that time of painful confusion to run back to where he had picketed Dagger and swing into the saddle. Smoke got himself gone from that area, feeling very confident that the raiders would not strike against women and children this night.
He did not head for the Box T, instead pointing Dagger’s nose toward the Bar V. He had not gone a mile before a horseman rode onto the trail and waved at him.
Clint Perkins. Smoke reined up and looked at the man.
“Heading for the Bar V to do some mischief, Smoke?”
“That was my plan.”
“I’ll ride along with you.”
“Your funeral.”
Clint laughed in the night. “Oh, not just yet, Smoke. Oh, my, no! I have that auspicious but final event all worked out in my mind. And the time is close, but not this night.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Your plan for the Bar V?”
“Lay up on the ridges and put about a hundred rounds into the house and bunkhouse. Just let Jud know that I haven’t forgotten him.”
Clint laughed. “Let’s ride!”
They rode hard for a couple of miles, then slowed to a walk, sparing their horses but still covering the distance swiftly. They did not talk until they were about two miles from the mansion.
“I’ll take this side, Clint,” Smoke told him. “The other side is all yours.”
“That’s fair. How long do we keep it up?”
“Oh, ten or fifteen minutes. Weil wait about half an hour before we start. That’ll give our horses time to catch their breath and for some of those behind us to make the ranch and spread the news. There’ll be lots of lanterns and lamps lit when they return. That’ll give us better targets.”