“What are you gonna call the town, boss?”
“I knew me a Mex gal years back, down along the Animas. Her last name was Fontana. I always did like that name. We’ll call ’er Fontana.”
Tilden Franklin sat alone in his office, making plans. Grand plans, for Tilden never thought small. A big bear of a man, Tilden stood well over six feet and weighed a good two hundred and forty pounds, little of it fat. He was forty years old and in the peak of health.
He had come into this part of Colorado when he was twenty-five years old. He had carved his empire out of the wilderness. He had fought Indians and outlaws and the elements…and won.
And he thought of himself as king.
He had fifty hands on his spread, many of them hired as much for their ability with a gun as with a rope. And he paid his men well, both in greenbacks and in a comfortable style of living. His men rode for the brand, doing anything that Tilden asked of them, or they got out. It was that simple.
His brand was the Circle TF.
Tilden rose from his chair and paced the study of his fine home—the finest in all the area. When that Matt What’s-His-Name had ridden into this part of the country—back three or four years ago—Tilden had taken an immediate dislike to the young man.
And he didn’t believe Matt was the man’s name. But Tilden didn’t hold that against anyone. Man had a right to change his own name.
Still, Tilden had always had the ability to bully and intimidate other men. He had always bulled and bullied his way through any situation. Men respected and feared him.
All but that damned Matt.
Tilden remembered the first day he’d come face to face with Matt. The young man had looked at him through the coldest eyes Tilden had ever seen—a rattler’s. And even though the young man had not been wearing a short gun, there had been no backup in him. None at all. He had looked right at Tilden, nodded his head, and walked on.
Tilden Franklin had had the uncomfortable and unaccustomed sensation that he had just been graded and found wanting. That, and the feeling that he had just been summarily dismissed.
By a goddamned saddle-bum, of all people!
No, Tilden corrected himself, not a saddle-bum. Matt might be many things, but he was no saddle-bum. He had to have access to money, for he had bought that whole damned valley free and clear. Bought most of it, filed on the rest of it.
And that woman of his, Sally. Just thinking of her caused Tilden to breathe short. He knew from the first day he’d seen her that he had to have her. One way or the other—and she was never far from his thoughts.
She was far and above any other woman in the area. She was a woman fit to be a king’s queen. And since Tilden thought of himself as a king, it was only natural he possess a woman with queen-like qualities.
And possess her he would. It was just a matter of time.
Whether she liked it, or not. He feelings were not important.
Three hours after leaving his cabin, Smoke rode up to the Colby spread. He halloed the house from the gate and Colby stepped out, giving him a friendly wave to come on in.
Colby’s spread was a combination cattle ranch and farm, something purists in the cattle business frowned on. Colby and his family were just more of them “goddamned nesters” as far as the bigger spreads in the area were concerned. Colby had moved into the area a couple of years before Smoke and Sally, with his wife Belle, and their three kids, a girl and two boys. From Missouri, Colby was a hardworking man in his early forties. A veteran of the War Between the States, he was no stranger to guns, but was not a gunhand.
“Matt,” he greeted the rider. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the twin Colts belted around Smoke’s waist and tied down. “First time I ever seen you wearin’ a pistol, much less two of them.”
“Times change, Colby. You heard the gold news?”
“Last week. People already movin’ in. You wanna come in and talk?”
“Let’s do it out here. You ever seen a boom town, Colby?”
“Can’t say as I have, Matt.” The man was having a difficult time keeping his eyes off the twin Colts. “Why do you ask?”
“There’s gold running through this area. Not much of it—a lot of it is iron and copper pyrites—but there’s enough gold to bring out the worst in men.”
“I ain’t no miner, Matt. What’s them pyrites you said?”
“Fool’s gold. But that isn’t the point, Colby. When Tilden Franklin learns of the gold—if he doesn’t already know—he’ll move against us.”
“You can’t know that for sure, Matt. ’Sides, this is our land. We filed on it right with the Government. He can’t just come in and run us off.”
The younger man looked at Colby through hard, wise eyes. “You want to risk your family’s lives on that statement, Colby?”
“Who are you, Matt?” Colby asked, evading the question.
“A man who wants to be left alone. A man who has been over the mountain and across the river. And I won’t be pushed off my land.”
“That don’t tell me what I asked, Matt. You really know how to use them guns?”
“What do you think?”
Colby’s wife and kids had joined them. The two boys were well into manhood. Fifteen and sixteen years old. The girl was thirteen, but mature for her age, built up right well. Sticking out in all the right places. Adam, Bob, Velvet.
The three young people stared at the Colts. Even a fool could see that the pistols were used but well taken care of.
“I don’t see no marks on them handles, Mister Matt,” Adam said. “That must mean you ain’t never killed no one.”
“Adam!” his mother said.
“Tinhorn trick, Adam,” Smoke said. “No one with any sand to them cuts their kills for everyone to see.”
“I bet you wouldn’t say that to none of Mister Franklin’s men,” Velvet said.
Smoke smiled at the girl. He lifted his eyes to Colby. “I’ve told you what I know, Colby. You know where to find me.” He swung into the saddle.
“I didn’t mean no offense, Matt,” the farmer-rancher said.
“None taken.” Smoke reined his horse around and headed west.
Colby watched Smoke until horse and rider had disappeared from view. “Thing is,” he said, as much to himself as to his family, “Matt’s right. I just don’t know what to do about it.”
Bob said, “Them guns look…well, right on Mister Matt, Dad. I wonder who he really is.”
“I don’t know. But I got me a hunch we’re all gonna find out sooner than we want to,” he said sourly.
“This is our land,” Belle said. “And no one has the right to take it from us.”
Colby put his arm around her waist. “Is it worth dyin’ for, Ma?”
“Yes,” she said quickly.
On his ride to Steve Matlock’s spread, Smoke cut the trail of dozens of riders and others on foot, all heading for Franklin’s town. He could tell from the hoofprints and footprints that horses and men were heavily loaded.
Gold-hunters.
Steve met him several miles from his modest cabin in the high-up country. “Matt,” the man said. “What’s going on around here?”
“Trouble, I’m thinking. I just left Colby’s place. I couldn’t get through to him.”
“He’s got to think on it a spell. But I don’t have to be convinced. I come from the store yesterday. Heard the rumors. Tilden wants our land, and most of all, he wants the Sugarloaf.”
“Among other things,” Smoke said, a dry note to the statement.
“I figured you knew he had his eyes on Sally. Risky to leave her alone, Matt. Or whatever your name is,” he added acknowledging the Colts in a roundabout manner.
“Tilden won’t try to take Sally by force this early in the game, Steve. He’ll have me out of the way first. There’s some gold on your land, by the way.”