Absaroka Ambush

9

Smoke walked into Hanlon’s Emporium where the boys, Dan and Guy, were waiting for him. A nervous Hanlon was behind the counter.

“That was some shooting there, Mr. Jensen,” Hanlon said. “Yes, sir. That’s something I can tell my grandchildren about, for sure. Anything in the store you want, sir, you and your hands just lay it out here on the counter and it’s all taken care of. Yes, siree.”

Smoke had taken all the raiders’ guns, so they were high on guns and ammo and low and out of everything else. It didn’t take long to fill the bed of the wagon.

“Charge it all to my brother’s account, Hanlon.” Sheriff Black spoke from the door.

“Yes, sir, Sheriff. I’ll certainly do that.”

Harris walked in and got him several crackers from the barrel and cut off a wedge. He looked at Smoke and held out the crackers and cheese.

“Yeah,” Smoke said. “And the boys too.” He smiled. “Since your brother is buying.”

Harris laughed and cut two enormous slices for the boys and a smaller slice for Smoke. “Pickles in that barrel, boys,” he said. “Help yourselves.”

Smoke had noticed two hands lounging out front. “You know those fellows, Sheriff?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s Ted and Stony. Good punchers and they ride for the brand. They’re out of work.”

“They can be trusted?”

“They hate my brother,” Harris said simply.

“That’s good enough for me.” Smoke walked to the door, digging in his pocket for folding money. “You boys looking for work?” he asked the pair.

“You bet we are, Mr. Jensen. I’m Stony and this terrible-lookin’ feller with the mop of red hair is Ted.”

Smoke handed them each fifty dollars. Their eyes widened. “That’s a bonus just for going to work for me and after I’m gone, sticking with the Duggan twins at the Double D. Can you use those guns you’re wearing?”

“We can hit what we’re shootin’ at, Mr. Jensen,” Ted said. “But we ain’t gunhands.”

“That’s fine. You got horses?”

They both looked embarrassed and Smoke knew they were down on their luck. They were young, probably in their mid-twenties, but fate had dealt them a hard hand. “We had to hock our saddles just to eat, Mr. Jensen. And we ain’t done that in two days.”

“Get yourselves some cheese and crackers and a pickle. Cut off a wedge for the trail while you’re at it. Clint Black is paying for this treat.”

A wicked glint sprang into the eyes of both young punchers at that news.

“Then go down to the livery and rope out what you think you can ride. After that, ride escort for these boys and drive those horses with the 45 brand back to the valley.” He handed them the bill of sale. “Pull the rig of that puncher I just shot off his horse and one of you use that. There are plenty of other rigs over across the street.”

“Why don’t we just ride the 45 horses?” Ted suggested.

Smoke had anticipated that. He shrugged massive shoulders. “You can if you want. But there might be trouble in the days ahead.”

They both smiled. “I ’spect there will be,” Stony said. “But we’ll face that when the time comes.”

“Fine. Get yourselves something to munch on.”

Sally, Toni, and Jeanne had handed him a shopping list…for new jeans and men’s work shirts. If they ever rode into town decked out like that, they’d scandalize the territory—and they probably would ride in just like that. Do it for pure spite.

The wagon was going to be groaning and squeaking when it pulled out.

“You’re not riding back with the wagon?” Harris asked.

“No.”

“You’re crowding, Smoke. You know that?”

“I sure do.”

“What if my brother comes riding hell for leather into town with about forty hands while you’re here?”

“Be a hell of a fight.”

“You’d fight forty men!”

“If they pushed me to it.”

Exasperated, the sheriff stalked away, muttering to himself. Smoke watched him go, smiled, and then stepped across the street to the saloon. As soon as he entered, men, women, and small boys and girls crowded the boardwalk, peeping through the windows of the saloon. Actually, he planned on leaving shortly after the wagon. He just liked to needle Harris Black. Basically, Smoke felt the man was a decent sort. He just had a bastard for a brother, that’s all. And blood was thicker than water. Smoke thought it best to bear that in mind.

He drank a beer and left, walking up to the doctor’s office. He’d dug the slug out of Jeff’s leg, and there was no sign of any infection, and he’d set Harvey’s arm—the man refused to come in and see the doctor. Said he didn’t trust them. Smoke wanted some medical supplies just in case. While he was there, he had the doctor look at his shoulder. It was healing nicely and nearly all of the soreness was gone.

The doctor insisted upon checking Smoke’s head where the bullet had grazed him. He looked disgusted when he found the slight wound was nearly healed.

“You have amazing recuperative powers, Mr. Jensen.”

Smoke gathered up his medical supplies and was walking back to his horse when he heard the thunder of hooves. He stowed the supplies in the wagon and stepped up onto the boardwalk in front of the emporium.

“His Majesty, himself,” Stony said, rolling a cigarette. “Lord of the county and all you can see. Clint Black and some of his gunslicks.”

“I can’t stand to see a man abuse a horse that way,” Smoke said. “No need in it. Any man who’d deliberately abuse an animal is a no-good.”

“Clint likes to shoot dogs,” Ted said. “Just for the hell of it. I had me a little mutt when I worked for him. He killed it. I hate that son of a bitch.”

Harris Black and his deputy suddenly appeared, walking up the boardwalk, both of them carrying sawed-off shotguns. Takes a mighty foolish man to go up against a sawed-off, and the sheriff knew it.

Clint Black jerked and fought the reins and came to a dusty halt facing the men on the boardwalk. His own riders left and right of him.

Smoke fanned the dust. “You always this inconsiderate of other people, Black?” he asked.

Clint ignored that. “I found my men hoofing it back to the ranch. You’re Jensen, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, Black, I’m Jensen. And yeah, I took your hands’ horses. Got a clear title to them. And yeah, I put lead in some loudmouth named Ron.”

“That’s it!” Harris said, cocking both hammers to the shotgun. “There will be no trouble in this town. Damn you, Clint. I sent a note for you to stay clear of Blackstown. I know you can read, ’cause mother taught us.”

“Me? You order me to stay clear. I built this town, damn you. I brought the people in. I brought the stage in. I own the bank.”

“Oh, that’s something else that slipped my mind, Sheriff. You met my wife, Sally? Well, she is a woman of considerable wealth. Comes from a long line of bankers. And the Duggan twins, you know, I’m sure, are quite wealthy. So we decided, last evening, that this town needs another bank. That empty building right over there will do nicely, I’m thinking. I’ve got to send a wire off and start making arrangements.” Actually, nothing of the kind had been discussed. But it would be discussed at length that night. And Smoke knew Sally would jump at it and in all likelihood, so would the Duggan twins.

Clint looked like he was working himself up into a good case of apoplexy. His eyes were bugging out and his face was turning red.

“Why are your ears red?” Smoke asked him.

“My ears are not red!” Clint yelled.

“Oh, yes, they are,” Smoke said. “Don’t you think the man’s ears are red, boys?”

“Sure are,” Stony said. “Look like two little jugs of beets.” He stared. “Well, maybe not so little.”

“Red as can be,” Ted said. “Looks plumb funny to me.”

“Both of you saddle bums shut up. Another bank!” Clint yelled. He sputtered for a moment. “You can’t do that.”

“Who is going to stop me?” Smoke asked in a calm tone of voice. “You?”

“Back off, Clint,” Harris said in a warning tone. “If another bank wants to come in, there is nothing you can do about it. Is that understood?”

The citizens of the town had gathered left and right of the confrontation. Those in front and back of the volatile situation had cleared out, getting away from the line of fire. Stony and Ted stood left and right of Smoke, the three of them facing Clint and his dozen or so rowdies.

“How’s the feet of your de-horsed boys?” Smoke asked the rancher, smiling as he spoke.

“Don’t worry about it,” Clint replied, regaining what composure he had left him, which was very little when he didn’t get his way in any given situation. “I hear you’re accusin’ me of raidin’ your camp. I didn’t have a thing to do with that, Jensen. And if you say I did, you’re a damn liar.”

“I say you did, Black,” Smoke told the man and everybody else who was close enough to hear. “I say you gave the orders to kill men, women, and kids. And that makes you snake-low and dirty. You don’t have the nerve to do your own fighting. You’re a coward, Black. Step out of that saddle and fight me. Right here and now.”

The sheriff walked between the men. He put his back to Smoke and faced his brother. “Take your men and get out of town, Clint. Right now. Leave now or I’ll put you in jail.”

“On what charge?” Clint asked. He wanted to leave, wanted desperately to leave. But how to do that without losing face in front of the townspeople and his men? Clint was many things, but a fool was not one of them. After getting a good look at Jensen, Clint, for the first time since he was a boy, had experienced fear. And he hated himself for it.

“Refusing to obey the orders of a peace officer,” his brother told him. “Now take your men and leave. Jensen, you do the same. And do it right now.”

“All right,” Smoke said. He looked at Clint. “Some other time, Black. Let’s go, boys.”

With his brother and his men heading in one direction, Smoke and his hands going in another, Harris eased the hammers down on his sawed-off and his deputy relaxed.

“All you did was put it off for another time,” the deputy said. “It’s bound to come.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harris said. “But I got it out of town.” He stepped back, leaned the shotgun against the building, and rolled a cigarette. “My brother was scared this day,” he remarked, lighting up. “I saw fear on his face.”

“Hell, who wouldn’t be scared?” The deputy bit off a chew from a plug. “Jensen would have been killed, for sure, but he would have emptied eight or ten saddles before he went down. A man that size can take a lot of lead.”

“What bothers me is that a scared man will do desperate things, Harry. My brother took water this day. I gave him a way out, but he still took water. He was shamed this day, and he’ll not forget it. He was always a vain and a vengeful person.”

“Well…like you say, we got it out of town.”

Riding back to the valley of death, Smoke asked the new hands, “You boys know of other men who might like a job?”

“I know of a few,” Stony said. “And I ’magine Ted knows of several.” Ted nodded his head.

“OK. You two veer off now and find them. I’m offering top wages and the best food you ever put in your mouth.” He dug in his pocket and handed Stony a wad of bills.

Stony looked at the money and whistled. “How do you know we won’t just take that money and clear out, Smoke? That’s two years’ pay for most hands.”

Smoke grinned. “I’m a good judge of character, Stony. See you boys later on.”

The new hands headed off, leaving Smoke and the boys and the heavily laden wagon. “Ol’Waymore hates Clint Black,” Stony said. “He’d jump at this chance.”

“You bet,” Ted agreed. “And I was thinkin’ ’bout Rich and Malvern.”

“They’ll do to ride the river with. How about Paul and Cletus?”

“Suits me. Say, I just remembered something. Jud accused Joe Owens of stealin’ that time. Pistol-whipped him.”

“Yeah. And Joe never stole nothin’ in his life. His shack ain’t a mile from here.”

“I think we got the makin’s of a pretty good crew and don’t none of ’em live more’un a half hour away. We could be back in time for supper.”

“Let’s go round ’em up, then. I’m hungry!”