In half a minute, the sounds of hard-pounding hooves had faded into the waning light.
“Is everybody all right?” Smoke lifted his voice.
“Stony’s got a scratch on his head and Joe’s got a burn on his arm,” Malvern called. “Everybody else is okay.”
“In the house?”
“We’re all right,” Sally called.
Moaning could be clearly heard from all around the grounds. The dust had settled, coating everything and everybody.
“Reload before you step out,” Smoke called. “Then we’ll see to the wounded. Cletus, you hitch up a wagon. That old one that we were going to junk.”
“Right, boss,” Cletus said with a chuckle. “And I’ll pitch a few forkfuls of hay in it.”
“You do that. We want them to be comfortable on the ride back. And hitch up those two hammer-headed horses. The ones no one can ride.”
Cletus laughed aloud. “They ain’t harness-broke, boss.”
“Yes,” Smoke said. “I know.”
He walked around the grounds. Seven dead and that many more wounded, two of them badly. They would not last another hour under the best of care. Smoke looked at each wounded man with cold contempt in his eyes. None of them would meet his gaze for more than a few seconds.
“Throw the dead in the wagon first, then the badly wounded on top of them,” Smoke ordered. “The rest of you night-riding sorry sons can either find your horses or walk back.”
“Say, now,” a wounded Circle 45 rider mouthed. “I…”
“Shut up!” Smoke roared at him. He had jerked the masks off each one and every Double D rider had taken a look. “When you do get back to your range, pack your gear and get gone. If I see you again in this part of the country, you’re dead on the spot. In a cafe, saloon, emporium, or church, I’ll kill you, and I’ll do it without warning. Now get up and get moving before I decide to end it right now.”
Even the more seriously wounded moved mighty quick.
Eli tossed the reins to a leg-shot night rider sitting on the seat. “You take care now,” he said with a chuckle. “This wagon’s old and the road is mighty bumpy.”
“You boys is cold,” the night rider said. “Mighty cold. Tossin’ the wounded in with the dead.”
“You think you deserve any better?” he was asked.
The hired gun chose not to reply. He clucked at the reluctant team and the wagon lurched forward, the horses fighting the unfamiliar harnesses.
When the wagon was out of sight and sound, Smoke said, “Two men on guard tonight and every night. You work out the shifts, Stony. No riding alone. Ride in pairs at all times. Denver, give those hound dog pups something special from the kitchen. They saved our bacon this evening.”
He walked back to the porch and righted the overturned chair, then took a rag and wiped the dust off of the porch furniture. The cook brought out a fresh pot of coffee and a tray of cups. Smoke sat down beside Sally. “There wasn’t a known gunhand in the bunch. If there had of been, we would have knocked at least one of them out of the saddle. Clint sent his hands at us this night, keeping the best—in a manner of speaking—in reserve. Why?”
Denver and the twins had joined them on the darkened porch. A slight breeze had kicked up and it was pleasant. But the odor of blood and sweat still hung about the grounds.
“The only way he’ll be able to get any more men in here will be to double the wages,” Denver said. “One of them wounded told me that some of the gunfighters is talkin’ about this bein’ a stacked deck. He also said that Clint’s talkin’ about attackin’ the town.”
“That would be a very stupid thing to do,” Smoke said.
“That’s what the hired guns said.”
“I’ve never met anyone like this Clint Black,” Toni said.
“Sure you have,” Sally spoke. “The East is full of them. They just operate in a different manner, that’s all. There are ruthless industrialists who are like vultures, waiting to rip and tear at smaller businesses who are faltering. Bankers who pounce if a payment is one day late. Men like Clint Black are all over. They just use their powers differently, but the end result is the same. Smaller, less fortunate, less powerful people—businessmen and ordinary people—are still ruined, homeless, and left penniless.”
“I’d never thought of it like that,” Jeanne said. “But you’re right.”
“The West is still raw, Missy,” Denver said. “And it will be for years to come. Men like Clint Black come in here and tore the land loose from Injuns and outlaws. They fought blizzards and droughts and floods. The only law was their own. They ain’t likely to change real swift.”
“Only at the muzzle of a gun or at the end of a rope,” Smoke said. He stood up and stared out at the night. “This is fine country up here. And it’ll be a lot finer once the likes of Clint Black are out of the picture.”
“Riders comin’, boss,” a lookout hollered.
“Here we go again,” Smoke said, as the others on the porch scrambled for their guns.
18
“It’s the sheriff and a posse,” the lookout called. “Stand easy at the house.”
“I’ll make some more coffee,” the cook said.
“I’ll help you, Liz,” Denver said. He did not see the smiles of the others.
Harris and a dozen townspeople and regular deputies swung down and crowded the porch. “A farmer came gallopin’ into town and told me he saw a large group of men headin’ this way. We met what was left of them a couple of miles back,” he added, his tone dry. “They weren’t in real good shape. Anybody hurt at this end?”
“A couple of scratches and burns,” Smoke told him. “We were lucky. I was watching the dogs play. They warned me in time for us to get set.”
“You going to press charges?”
“It isn’t my property. You’ll have to ask Toni and Jeanne.”
“Ladies?” the sheriff asked.
The twins exchanged glances and Toni said, “Sheriff Harris, I think you are a good man…in your own peculiar way. But what would be the point in pressing charges? All your brother would do is blow up the jail again. That is, if the structure is even repaired at this time. Besides, I doubt seriously that any of those men whom we just sent on their way would testify against your brother. I’ve seen how Western justice works…when it does work. Those hoodlums would just claim they came over to…what is the word I’m looking for? Sort of like after a country wedding when the couple is…ah, shivareed by friends.”
“Hoo-rahed, ma’am?” the sheriff asked.
“Yes. That’s it. They would say that they were only having fun and that we opened fire on them. Oh, I’m learning, Sheriff. I’m learning.”
“Yes,” Harris said. “I can see that. But it might not work out that way. One of my deputies is escorting the men into town. I’ll talk to them and see what develops from it. But don’t count on much.”
“We won’t,” Sally said.
Liz came out with a huge coffee pot and Sally had made doughnuts that day and the men all dug in. Smoke was conscious of the sheriff’s eyes on him.
“You got something stuck in your craw, spit it out,” he told the man.
“What is my brother up to? Those weren’t top guns he sent over here this evening. Not a one of them has any kind of name. Least none that I saw. He’s got something up his sleeve, but I don’t know what it could be. Those gunnies who braced you in town—the same thing. It’s puzzling to me. Mighty good doughnuts, ma’am. Mighty good.”
“I don’t know what your brother is up to,” Smoke said, after finishing a doughnut. He reached out for another and pulled back his hand at Sally’s warning look. He’d already eaten about twenty that day.
The sheriff caught the look in the lighted porch lamps and smiled. Doesn’t make any difference if a man is the toughest gunslinger in the West—his wife could still back him up with just a glance. Sheriff Harris Black helped himself to another doughnut, and Smoke grabbed one when he thought Sally wasn’t looking. Quickly.