That was inexcusable and unforgivable in a country where even a careless remark to a lady or a slight jostling of a woman on the street could culminate in a killing.
It had been the matter-of-fact and careless way Smoke had stated his intentions that had shocked Harris. He had spoken the words with no more emotion than if he had said he was going to kill a rattlesnake.
Well, the thought came to him, his brother could be compared to a rattlesnake, he supposed.
He was still ruminating on the subject when he swung down in front of his office. His one remaining deputy in town was sitting on the bench on the boardwalk.
“Jensen gonna come hell for leather, Sheriff?” the deputy asked.
“No,” Harris said, sitting down. “But he is going to kill my brother. He told me so.”
The deputy took his time rolling a cigarette. He lit it and said, “That’s something that’s past due.”
Harris looked at the man. He could not even work up a slight anger at the words. Not anymore. He knew how true they were. But it did hurt just a little. His baby brother.
He had been in another part of the west when Clint came into this area, and Harris still had never found out where and how his brother had started his empire. Probably with stolen cattle…and killings.
Harris had accepted the badge he now wore because he felt his brother was an honorable man. It didn’t take him long to see how wrong he was. But still he stuck it out while the town and the country grew, turning his back on his brother’s schemes and cheating and the night-riding of his men. Finally Harris had told him, “No more. No more burning out of farmers and small ranchers. It’s over.”
And surprisingly, it had stopped. But by then, Clint had grown so wealthy and powerful and land-rich that he could afford to stop it.
Now this…disgrace.
He stood up from the bench. “Pitiful sight out there, Harry. Make a man’s blood run cold. And Jensen killed about a dozen of Clint’s men. Had them all stretched out neat and in a row for me to see. No question that Clint was behind it. Then he looked at me with those cold rattlesnake eyes and told me flat out he was going to kill my brother.”
“And you said…?”
“Nothing. I just walked off. I never met a man like Jensen before. And you can believe I’ve known some damn salty ol’ boys in my time. I’ve covered up a lot for Clint over the years, but nothing like this. I’ve never covered up murder. That I know of. He’s got all his hands ready to testify that no one left the ranch the night of the raid. And Clint’s gonna say that he fired them dead hands a week before the raid. It would be Jensen and them’s word against forty or more hands. No court would convict any of them. I don’t know what to do, Harry.”
“You want a suggestion?”
“I’m open.”
“Back off. Don’t get in Jensen’s way. It’s a hard thing to have to swallow, but your brother is no good. Now he’s tangled with a man who don’t have no backup in him and who’s got the wherewithal to stand tough. Don’t get caught up in the middle of this.”
Harris shook his head. “I’m a poor excuse for a lawman, Harry.”
“That’s not true,” the deputy said sharply. “We’ve got a good department. Judges have complimented you on your performance. There is a legal word for what you ought to do in this, but I can’t think of it right off. It means stay the hell out of it, or get someone else in here to handle it, or something like that.”
“I do that, it just proves that I’m not capable of sheriffin’ this county. But I think, Harry, there comes a time when the law’s got to back off and let men settle their own affairs. There ain’t no law against men callin’ each other out. Not yet anyways. If that happens, it happens. Tomorrow is gonna be an interestin’ day, I’m thinking.”
The townspeople gathered on the boardwalks as the line of horses came walking slowly up the street. The bodies of the Circle 45 night riders were tied belly down across the saddles. It was not a pleasant sight and the smell was more than slightly worse. Smoke stopped the grisly parade in the center of town and dumped the bodies in the dust of the street.
The foreman of the Circle 45, Jud Howes, was standing under the awning in front of a saloon. Several of his men stood with him.
“Oh, hell,” Harry whispered.
“Yeah,” Harris replied. “Me, too.”
Smoke stood by the pile of bodies and said to the crowds that lined the streets, “I’m Smoke Jensen. These dead men are, or were, Circle 45 riders. They attacked our camp a couple of nights ago. They killed ten of my men and murdered three young boys. They tried to kill the Duggan twins and my wife. Dispose of the bodies in any manner you see fit.”
Smoke turned, spotted the horses wearing the Circle 45 brand, and lifted his eyes to the men in front of the saloon. They were fine animals and the saddles were top quality.
“Who rides these horses?” Smoke called.
“Me and these boys here,” Jud said. He was thinking that this just might be his last day on earth.
“Write me out a bill of sale for them. All of them. Including the saddles and the rifles and the ropes.”
“Do…what?” Jud asked.
“A lot of our stock was killed, run off, or maimed in that ambush the other night. I’m claiming these horses as part of the replacement. Now either write out a bill of sale, or drag iron. Either way. It doesn’t make a damn to me.”
“We can take him, Jud,” a hand called Ron said. “Let’s do it.”
“Shut up,” Jud whispered. “You know what Clint said. All right, Jensen,” he raised his voice. “We didn’t have nothin’ to do with that raid. But if you think these horses will help make up for your loss, you’re welcome to them.”
“I’ll be damned!” Ron said. “I paid Clint a hundred and fifty dollars for that roan. That ain’t no rough string horse. That’s mine! And you can go to hell, Jensen.”
Smoke shot him. His draw was so smooth and quick, it was not possible for the human eye to follow. The slug took Ron in the center of the chest and he was dead before he hit the boardwalk. His hand had not even closed around the butt of his .45.
“Good God!” Harry whispered.
“And I thought I was fast,” Harris said.
“Your play,” Smoke said to Jud. He had slipped his .44 back into leather.
“I said you could have them horses, Jensen,” Jud replied, his voice husky from shock. He had never seen anyone draw a gun that fast. “Soon as I can find pen and paper, I’ll write out a bill of sale.”
“That’s good. And you boys are gonna walk back to the Circle 45.”
“We gonna do what?” a hand named Cleon asked.
“I said you’re going to walk back. Because no one in this town is going to sell or loan you a horse. Now write out that bill of sale and start hoofin’ it. Now!”
A shopkeeper came up with a tablet and a pen and ink. With a smile, he handed them to Jud. The smile infuriated Jud, but he wisely said nothing about it. Smoke couldn’t hang around forever. Their day would come. He wrote out the bill of sale, waved the paper dry, and held it out to Smoke.
Smoke stepped forward, took it, inspected it, and then said, “Start walking.”
“What about Ron?” Jud asked, pointing to the dead night-rider.
“He’ll be taken care of,” Smoke told him. “And your boss will receive the bill for the burying. Now unbuckle your gun belts and let them fall. We lost guns in the raid, too. Do it and then move out.”
The astonished and mostly amused townspeople watched as the Circle 45 men dropped their gun belts and slowly stepped off the boardwalk and began the long trek back to their range. There would be several gunslicks soaking their blistered feet that night.
The undertaker strolled up and began measuring Ron for a box.