War Of The Mountain Man

“After Barlow is burned out,” Red said, “the outlaws will scatter to the wind. We’ll ride and burn down Hell’s Creek. We’ll blame everything on Max’s bunch. Hell, we can even say that we sided with the townspeople in trying to fight them outlaws off. We’ll take some of our own men dead, for sure. We can point their graves out to the invesigators as proof.”

“That still leaves Joe Walsh and his crew,” the foreman pointed out.

“We’ll deal with them. We’ve got them outnumbered three to one. Soon as Barlow is done and over, we’ll ride for the Circle Wand clean out Walsh and his crew.”

John smiled a death’s-head grin. “Then we can wipe out all them damn hog-farmers and other nesters, and the valley will once again be ourn.”

“Yeah.” Red rubbed the stubble of beard on his jowls. “And some of them nester girls ain’t that bad looking. We can have some fun with them.” He laughed. “Be just like old times.... Hey, John, remember them days?”

John Steele joined in the laughter. The men were in high spirits as they walked out of the house to sit on the porch.

“Just let me get Jensen in gunsights,” Red said. “All I need is one shot. Front or back, it don’t make no difference to me.”

The town of Barlow rolled up the boardwalks early that evening. Far earlier than usual. Everyone wanted to get a good night’s sleep before the storm struck the next morning.

Red’s Lightning hands who had rebelled against fighting women and kids had ridden in, holding up a white handkerchief—welt, it was almost white—and Smoke, along with Judge Garrison and Mayor Johnson, met them in the street.

“We done quit Red,” the spokesman for the group said. “We ain’t havin’ no part in killin’ women and little kids. If you want our help, we’re here.”

“How do we know you weren’t sent in here by Red to start shooting us in the backs come the attack in the morning?” Tom asked.

“That’s a good question,” the hired gun said. “And I don’t know how to answer it.”

“I do,” Sal said, stepping off the boardwalk and into the street. “Howdy, Cobb.”

“Howdy, Sal. We all right proud of you, you bein’ elected sheriff and all. Me and Benny and Hale and Stacy here, we got to talkin’ about that this mornin’. After that no-good from Hell’s Crick come talkin’ to Red this mornin’ about killin’ the women and kids and burnin’ this town down. We couldn’t do that, Sal. You’ve ridden some trails with us; you know we’re not that kind of men. Oh, we’ve hired our guns out—just like you’ve done, for fightin’ wages. But there ain’t none of us ever made war agin’ nobody ’ceptin’ grown-up men. And we ain’t about to start now. Smoke, I guess that’s the only answer we can give you.”

Smoke smiled and nodded his head. “It sounds good to me, boys.”

“Me, too,” Judge Garrison said. He wore two guns belted around his expansive waist. Two old Remington .44’s—the Army model. Both guns looked to Smoke as if they’d seen some action. “There’ll be stars in your crown for this, boys.”

Stacy shifted in his saddle. “I don’t know about that, Judge. I just don’t want no more black marks agin’ me in the Judgment Book. The Good Lord knows I got aplenty of them already.”

“You boys stable your horses and meet me in the hotel dinin’ room,” Sal said. “Glad to have you with us.”

“Right will prevail, Smoke,” Judge Garrison proclaimed. “Sometimes it just takes an outsider to prod those oppressed into action.”

Smoke looked at the .44’s belted around the judge’s waist. “When is the last time you fired those, Judge?”

The judge smiled. “I came out of the War Between the States a colonel, Smoke. Of cavalry. I had my law degree when I enlisted. I fought through nearly every major campaign.” He smiled. “With Lee. I graduated VMI, sir.”

“Then I won’t worry about you, sir.”

“Coming from you, that is high praise. Tell me, since I haven’t had a chance to ask, how did you leave Max Huggins?”

“Unconscious and tied across his saddle.”

The judge walked away, shaking with laughter. His booming laughter could be heard up and down the main street of Barlow.

25

Smoke was up and dressed for war long before dawn. He wore his customary two pistols in leather, his two spares were tucked behind his gunbelt, and he carried an American Arms 12 gauge sawed-off shotgun, a bandoleer of shells slung across his chest, bandit-style.

He and Sally had breakfast before the sun was up, and then he walked Lisa and Victoria back to the hotel, Lisa carrying her puppy, Patches, in her arms. Pete escorted Martha Feckles and the boy to the suite, and the women made ready for war.

The men tied red bandanas around the upper part of their right arms. Since there were no females among the raiders who were riding to attack them, the women dressed in their customary attire. More than a few of them, including Mrs. Marbly, Victoria, Sally, and Martha, wore men’s britches.

Sal’s eyes bugged out when he saw Victoria. “Lord have mercy!” he said. “What’s next?”

“The vote,” Smoke told him.

“You have to be kidding! Votin’is men’s business. Women don’t know nothin’ about pickin’ politicians.”