Clint, out of the saddle and down on one knee, doubled over the Colorado gun hand, Barstow, with two .44 rounds to the belly, then shifted his Colt and ended the career of Highpockets.
Jackson had helped Rusty out of the saddle and left him behind good cover with a half-dozen Colts taken from the dead and dying. Jackson went headhunting. He walked right up to Rim Reynolds and several of his men and began shooting as fast as he could cock and fire. Rim went down screaming in pain with two slugs in his belly. Jackson was burned on one arm and took the loss of part of one ear but he was still standing when the others were down. He calmly and swiftly reloaded, shook the blood from his face and stepped back out in the fracas.
Walt and Matt were standing side by side, the old and the young, their guns taking a terrible toll. Crazy Phil was down on his knees, with four of his men on the ground with him. Old Walt winked at young Matt as they reloaded.
Clint was working his way closer to the house. He had but one thought in his demented mind.
The Pecos Kid and Glen Regan—Glen was walking slow due to the gunshot wounds in his butt from back at the creek—tried to make the corral and get away. Rusty dropped them both midway. .
Blackjack Morgan stood with legs spread wide, his hands over the butts of his guns, facing Smoke, who still held his Colts in his hands. “I’m faster, Jensen!” he called over the din of battle.
“No. You’re just dead,” Smoke told him. He lifted his right hand and shot the gunfighter. There was a time for discretion and a time for valor, but at no time was there a moment to be wasted on fools.
Smoke stepped over the dying man and walked on.
A searing pain in Smoke’s left leg turned him around and slammed him up against a wall. Gimpy Bonner and Scott Johnson faced him. Smoke lifted his Colts and let them bang. When the dust and gunsmoke cleared. Smoke was bloody but still standing.
Smoke reloaded, checked his wounds, and bound a bandana around the leg wound. He walked on as the sounds of galloping horses came to him over the shooting. About a dozen men were hauling their ashes away from the ranch. Smoke lifted his right-hand Colt and ended life for Ben Lewis who had lined up Jackson with a rifle. Ben danced for a moment, his spurs jingling his death chant, then slumped to the ground.
“Jensen!” the voice turned Smoke around to face Luddy.
Smoke didn’t hesitate. Just lifted both guns and began firing and walking toward the man. He stood over the bloody outlaw, their eyes meeting.
“I thought you’d give me fair chance, Jensen!” Luddy gasped.
“Did you ever give anyone a fair chance, Luddy?”
Luddy laughed humorlessly. “Can’t say that I ever did, come to think of it.” He shivered once. “Cold. Mighty cold all of a sudden.” He closed his eyes and died.
Smoke turned away.
The gunfire had all but faded away. The grounds around the great mansion were littered with bodies. Jason was sitting on the steps, his shirt front bloody, but he was holding on to life long enough to see the outcome of what was about to take place in front of him.
Clint and Jud faced each other, both of them with the same wild light in their eyes.
“Hello, Daddy!” Clint said sarcastically.
“You son of a bitch!” Jud snarled at him.
“You sure got that right,” the son told the father, then grabbed iron.
Father and son stood ten feet apart and put lead in each other. Both went to the ground on their knees at the same time. Both continued firing. Jud toppled over and Clint was only about one second behind him.
Walt walked up, one arm dangling useless from a .45 slug. He looked at the scene in front of him then lifted his eyes to Jason.
“I reckon it’s over and done, ain’t it, Walt?” the man gasped. “I reckon it is, Jason.”
“I reckon Jud just tried to toss too big a loop. Is that the way you see it?”
“Why did you and Jud kill my son?”
Jason laughed, a nasty bark of dark humor. “ ’Cause we wanted to, you old bastard!” Jason closed his eyes as the pale rider came closer.
Walt lifted his Colt and earred the hammer back. Then he slowly lowered the weapon as Jason tumbled down the steps to lie on the ground.
“Ride for Doc Evans and the sheriff, Matt,” Smoke told the boy.
“They’re comin’ up the road now, Smoke,” Matt told him, pointing. “And it looks like the Army is with them.”
28
Smoke had to hang around for the hearings—both state and federal government, since the Army had finally gotten involved—but that was all right, his wounds needed the time to heal. He watched as Rusty and Doreen, then Jackson and Susie got married. Since Walt was Jud’s sole living survivor, Walt took possession of the Bar V. He signed over the Box T to Rusty and Doreen and gave the Bar V to Jackson and Susie. Matt stayed on as a hand for Rusty. Walt and Alice were going to build a little place on Bear Lake and retire.
Jackson was having the great mansion torn down on the day Smoke rode out. The couple planned to build a smaller, much more practical ranch house.
Smoke stopped by the trading post for a beer and to say good-bye to Bendel.
He was halfway through his beer when Jaeger and Di Peso pushed open the batwings. Smoke sighed and set the mug down.
“Your time to die, Jensen,” Di Peso told him. “I don’t think so,” Smoke replied, turning and drawing both guns.
Smoke stepped over the bodies and walked to Dagger, swinging into the saddle and pointing Dagger’s head south, toward Arizona and Sally and the kids. Bendel’s voice stopped him. “Smoke!”
He twisted in the saddle.
“If you ever plan a return visit, do me a favor, will you?” Bendel yelled. “What’s that?”
“Please bring a damn shovel!”
William W. Johnstone is the USA Today and New York Times bestselling author of over 220 books, including THE FIRST MOUNTAIN MAN, THE LAST MOUNTAIN MAN, BLOOD BOND, EAGLES, A TOWN CALLED FURY, SAVAGE TEXAS. MATT JENSEN, THE LAST MOUNTAIN MAN; THE FAMILY JENSEN, SIDEWINDERS, THE LAST GUNFIGHTER. and the stand-alone thrillers Vengeance is Mine, Invasion USA, Border War, Remember the Alamo, Jackknife and Home Invasion. Visit his website at www.williamjohnstone.net or by email at dogcia2006@aol.com.
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