Smoke headed for the Box T. On the way, he ran into Hardrock and sent him over to the Circle Double C to get Cord.
The old gunfighter had looked close at the dead man.
“You know him, Hardrock?”
“Only by his rep. His name is Black. Call him Blackie. He’s a back-shooter. Was.”
“Keep this quiet at the ranch. Speak to only Cord.”
“Right.”
Smoke rode on over to the bunkhouse and relieved the horse of its burden and saddle, letting the animal water and feed and roll. Fae came out of the house, accompanied by her brother.
Smoke explained, ending with, “Something s up. I think we’d better get set for a hard wind.”
“And a violent one,” Parnell added, grimacing at the smell of the dead gunny.
“You better get a gun, Parnell,” Smoke told him.
“I will not have one of those abominable things in my possession!”
“Suit yourself. But I have a hunch you’re gonna change your mind before this is all over.”
“Never!” Parnell stood his ground.
“Uh-huh” was all Smoke said in reply to that.
Parnell’s sister had plenty to say about her brother. Smoke could but stand in awe and amazement at the words rolling from her mouth.
“I don’t understand this,” Cord said, after viewing the dead man.
“I didn’t think you would. But the big question is this: was the sniper working as a lone wolf, perhaps just to gain a reputation for killing me, or was he part of a larger scheme?”
“Involving the gunhands from both ranches?”
“Yes.”
Cord’s sigh was loud in the hot stillness of Montana summer. “I don’t know. My first thought is: yes. My next thought is: I’ve got to get Dooley to talk to me; bury the hatchet before this thing goes any further.”
“Forget it,” Smoke said bluntly. “The man is crazy. He’s kill-crazy. I’ve heard he’s making all sorts of wild claims and charges and plans. He’s going to take over the whole area and be king. Keep a standing army of a hundred gunhawks—all sorts of wild talk.”
“He’s damn near got a hundred,” Cord said glumly. “If what we’re both thinking is true.”
“Close to fifty if they all get together,” Smoke added it up.
“And if I go back and fire all of those drawing fighting wages ... ?” Cord left it hanging.
“ We’d know where they stand. And you and your family would probably be safer. But if we’re wrong, it would leave you wide open, ’cause for sure the gunnies you fire would just hire on at the D-H.”
Cord cursed softly for a few seconds. “I’m stuck between that much-talked-about rock and a hard place.”
“Whichever way you decide to go, watch your back.”
“Yeah.” He looked at the blanket-covered body of the sniper. “What about him?”
“We’ll bury him. And don’t mention it, Cord. Just let the others wonder what happened—if there really is some sort of funny business going on.”
“There is some grim humor in all of this, Smoke. If this thing goes on for any length of time, both Dooley and me will go broke paying fighting wages.”
“Maybe that s what the gunhands want. Maybe that’s why they’re hanging back, for the most part.”
Cord shook his big head. It appeared that the man’s hair had grayed considerably since Smoke had first seen him, only a few weeks back. “This thing’s turnin’ out to have more maybe’s and what-if’s than a simple man can understand.”
Smoke motioned for Charlie and Spring to come over. “Let’s get him in the ground, boys. Well away from the house and unmarked. Spring, you can have that .44-40. It’s a whale of a rifle. Dusted my butt proper,” he added.
“I’ll go through his pockets,” Charlie said. “See if there is some address for his family.”
Smoke nodded. “Take his horse and turn him loose. He’ll find his way back to the ranch. We’ll keep the rig. That’ll add even more doubt in the minds of the gunslicks.” He turned to Cord. “You ’bout caught up at your place, Cord?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Pull a couple of your best men off the range. Keep them close by at all times. When you ride, take one of them with you and let the other stay around the house.”
“Good idea. But at night I don’t worry much.” He smiled a father’s smile. “Ever’time I look up, the Moab Kid is over there sparkin’ my daughter.”
Smoke chuckled. “She could do worse. Beans is a good man.”
“At first, I told her she couldn’t see him. That made about as much impression on her as a poot in a whirlwind. I finally told her to go ahead and see him. She told me that she’d never stopped. Daughters!”
“ You keepin’ a tight rein on your boys?” ”I’m trying. Lord, I’m trying. I’ve got them working just as far away from D-H Range as possible. But they told me last night they think they’re being watched. Stalked was the word Max used. That gives me an uneasy feelin’.”
“It might be wise to pull them in and keep them around the house.” He smiled. “Tell you what; do this: Tell the gunhands to start workin’ the range.”
Cord thought about that for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Hell, yes! That’ll make them earn their pay and keep them away from the house.”
“Or it’ll put them on the road.”
The men shook hands and Cord rode back to his ranch. Fae came to Smoke’s side. “Now what?”
“We sell some cows to the Army. And wait.”
The buyer for the Army had already looked over the cattle and agreed to a price. When he returned, a couple of days after Smoke’s misunderstanding with the sniper, he brought drovers with him. Smoke and the buyer settled up the paperwork and the bank draft was handed over to Fae. The two men leaned up against a corral railing and talked.
“You know about the battle looking at us in the face, don’t you?” Smoke asked.
“Uh-huh. And from all indications it’s gonna be a real cutter.”
“What would it take to get the Army involved?”
“Not a chance, Jensen. The Army’s done looked this situation over and, unofficially, and I didn’t say this, they decided to stay out of it. It’d take a presidential order to get them to move in here.”
It was as Smoke had guessed. All over the fast-settling West little wars were flaring up; too many for the authorities or the Army to put down, so they were letting them burn themselves out. Here, they would be on their own, whichever way it went.
The buyer and his men moved the cattle out and the range was silent.
Smoke wondered for how long?
Twelve
“You tellin’ me you’re not gonna work cattle?” Cord faced the gunslick.
“I’m paid to fight, not herd cattle,” Jason Bright told him.
“You re not being paid to do either one after this moment. Pack your kit and clear out. Pick up your money at the house.”
Jason’s eyes became cloudy with hate. “And if I don’t go?”
“Then one of us is going to be on the ground.”
Jason laughed. “Are you challengin’ me, old man?”
Cord was far from being an old man. At forty-five he was bull-strong and leather-tough. And while he was no fast gun, there was one thing he was good at. He showed Jason a hard right fist to the jaw.
Flat on his back, his mouth leaking blood, Jason grabbed for his gun, forgetting that the hammer thong was still on it. Cord stomped the gunfighter in the belly, reached down while Jason was gasping for breath, and jerked the gun out of leather, tossing it to one side. He backed up, his big hands balled into fists.
“Catch your breath and then get up, you yellow-bellied pup. Let’s see how good you are without your gun.”
A dozen gunhawks ran from the bunkhouse, stopping abruptly as Cord’s sons, his daughter, his wife, and four regular hands appeared from both sides of the house and on the porch, rifles and sawed-off shotguns in their hands.