Absaroka Ambush

10

Stony and Ted showed up at the camp in the valley just at sundown. They brought with them the most disreputable-looking bunch of men Toni and Jeanne had ever seen. Sally had lived nearly all her adult life in the West, and she knew that appearances could be very deceiving out here. She suspected these new men were top hands who, for whatever reason, had been blackballed for employment in this area by Clint Black. Turned out she was right.

“We just didn’t cotton to takin’ orders from the likes of Clint Black and Jud Howes and that pack of gunslingers they got workin’ out on the Circle 45,” Waymore said, accepting a plate of food.

“They’s other smaller ranches scattered all over this country,” Cletus added. “But Clint’s got them buffaloed. Didn’t none of them dare hire us. We don’t hold no grudges against them for it. Man has his entire life put into a small spread, well, he can’t stand up to a rich and mean person that has forty or fifty gunslicks on the payroll. Or men who fancy themselves slick with a short gun.”

“Mighty good grub,” Malvern said. “Best I think I ever eat.”

“When was the last time you did eat, Mr. Malvern?” Toni asked.

“Just Malvern, ma’am. Mal for short. Oh, I been eatin’ regular. Seems as how one of Mr. High and Mighty Clint Black’s cows wandered over to my place and fell down. Broke its leg and I had to put the poor thing out of its misery. It was the Christian thing to do. I can’t stand to see no animal suffer. And it seemed right foolish of me to just let all that meat go to waste. So I butchered it and ate some and smoked and jerked the rest. Then, lo and behold, about a week later, durned if another one of Mr. Black’s cows didn’t come over to my place and fall down. Right in the same spot. Poor thing broke its leg. Well, I had to end its sufferin’, so I shot it, too. This has been going on for about six months. Now, since Mr. Big Shot Black has forbid me from ever settin’ foot on his land, there just wasn’t no way I could get word to him about his cows. It’s really put me in a state of confusion.” He shook his head. “And I do try to do right by my fellow man, ma’am.”

Toni looked at him for a moment, then slowly smiled. “You, Mr. Malvern, tell big whackers.”

“Occasional, I do, Miss Toni,” Mal said with a grin. “Occasional, ’deed I do.”

The next week went by in a blur of work, with everybody who was able pitching in and rounding up cattle and stampeded horses. Smoke would work until noon and then go off exploring. The bodies of his men had to have been dumped somewhere, and he was determined to find that location.

On the afternoon of the seventh day, he found a boot. Smoke swung down from the saddle and knelt down by the ripped boot. he ran his hand over the dead leaves that were all around it.

Dead leaves? In the middle of summer? He swept them away and looked at the clear impressions of hooves. Leading his horse, he began following the trail of dead leaves that led upward. Someone had gathered up great handfuls of leaves and scattered them over the tracks. He climbed on. Now he could clearly see the tracks of horses and something else, too: a clear path where bodies had been dragged up this way.

It had gotten back to Smoke that Clint had been saying Smoke had made the attack up. That there were no bodies, so how could an attack have ever taken place?

Smoke began carefully looking around him as he moved along the ridge. Here the trail was harder to follow because of the rocks. Then the smell of death reached him.

He picketed his horse on a small stand of grass and walked on, the smell growing stronger. He could see the mouth of the cave now, and he walked to it. The smell was very nearly overpowering. He picked up a dry branch and tied twigs to the end of it, using some dead vines and then lighting the brand. It would only burn for two or three minutes, but that would be time aplenty.

He stepped into the mouth of the cave and almost lost his lunch. He struggled to keep it down. Smoke walked into the foul semigloom. He did not have to walk far. The first body he found was that of fourteen-year-old Rabbit. Then he saw the others, all piled like garbage. He walked back out into the sweet air. He was sweating and mad clear through. He stood for a moment, composing himself, and then rode back down to the valley, stopping the first hand he found.

“Cletus, ride for town and fetch the sheriff. Tell him I’ve found the bodies of my men…and boys.”

It was late afternoon when the sheriff arrived, and growing dark when Smoke pointed out the cave. “I hope you have a strong stomach,” Smoke told him. “You’re going to need it.”

The sheriff and two of his deputies lit torches and stepped inside. Harry came out much quicker than he entered, kneeling by the side of the mouth of the cave and puking.

Harris Black came out. He was badly shaken by what he’d just seen. He leaned against a tree and struggled to regain his composure. Smoke walked over to stand by the man. All work had stopped and everyone was gathered around the cave, as close as they could get without being overpowered by the terrible smell.

“I’ll bring Doc Garrett out with me in the morning,” Sheriff Black finally said. He refused to meet Smoke’s steady gaze. “I want him to see this and write up a report. This is the worst thing I have ever seen. Horrible.”

“Maybe this will shut your brother’s mouth.” Smoke spoke the words harshly.

Harris said nothing.

“You know he’s responsible for this, don’t you, Sheriff?”

Harris remained silent.

“How long are you going to keep covering for him, Sheriff. How long?”

Harris wiped his sweaty face with a handkerchief, wiped the sweat band of his hat, and plopped it back on his head. “I won’t stand for vigilante action, Smoke.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of that, Sheriff. Your brother has already cornered the market.”

When Dr. Garrett emerged from the cave, he was pale and badly shaken. He had to sit down on the ground for a moment before he could speak. He finally took a shuddering breath and looked up at Smoke and the sheriff.

“I’ve ordered canvas to be sent out from town. I’ll ask for volunteers to help place the bodies on a tarp and wrap them. Once they are out in the light, I will inspect each body more carefully. Then I would suggest they be buried close by. Perhaps on that flat right over there.” He pointed. “Their names could be chiseled on the face of that huge rock, or perhaps on the face of the mountain itself. That’s up to you.” He shook his head. “The bodies are in a terrible state of decomposition. Thirteen men and boys, trampled and shot. My God, it’s hideous. It’s…unthinkable. The man behind this must be mad. Mad, I tell you!”

Sheriff Black opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it. He turned and walked away.

Dr. Garrett looked up at Smoke. “You’re going to start a war over this, aren’t you, Mr. Jensen.”

Smoke shook his head. “The war has already begun, Doctor. And I didn’t start it.”

“The families of the men and boys?”

“I’ve wired them. Services have already been held down home.”

“I don’t know what else to say or do, Mr. Jensen.”

“Time for talk is over. As for what you can do. you can stock up on medical supplies. I think you’re going to be treating a lot of gunshot wounds.”

Smoke left the rounding up of the cattle in the hands of his men. He kissed Sally and saddled up the next morning. No one spoke to him. No one had to. Nearly everyone in the camp knew what he was going to do. His face was hard and uncompromising as he swung up into the saddle. He pointed his horse toward town and rode off without a look back.

“What is he going to do, Sally?” Jeanne asked.

“He’s going to make war,” she replied, busying herself washing dishes.

“By himself?” Toni asked.

“Smoke Jensen is a one-man army, missy,” Denver said, drying a plate. “He’s tooken on meaner odds than this. ’Sides, this is real personal for him. He feels responsible for what happened to them men; ’specially the boys.”

“But if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s ours,” Jeanne said.

“No, it ain’t neither,” Denver said. “And don’t you be thinkin’ that.”

“Denver is right,” Sally said. “You had no way of knowing something like this would happen. Neither did we. Only Clint Black and his men had knowledge of it. The responsibility for it lies squarely on their shoulders. I think Sheriff Black is covering for his brother, but I don’t believe he knew about the ambush—until after it happened.”

“You don’t appear worried about your husband,” Toni said, looking at Sally.

“Oh, I’m plenty worried about him. But he has to do what he has to do, that’s all. I would have been shocked had he not. He’s waited a week for the law to do something. The law has done nothing. Now Smoke will see to the administering of justice. The Western way.”

There was something about the way he sat his horse, something about his bearing, that cleared the streets of Blackstown the instant he rode in. Smoke stabled his horse and checked his guns. He had seen horses at the hitchrail in front of the saloon; horses that wore the Circle 45 brand. He walked slowly up the boardwalk. Sheriff Black stepped out of his office, blocking Smoke’s way.

“Goin’ somewhere, Smoke?”

“To the saloon for a drink. You have some objections to my doing that, Sheriff?”

“Damnit, Jensen. You know there are Circle 45 hands over there.”

“It’s a free country.”

“You know what I mean.”

“The services for the dead will be at sundown this evening, Sheriff. You plan to attend?”

“Which dead?” the sheriff asked sourly. “The dead found in the cave or the men you’re about to kill?”

Smoke stood and stared at the man. Finally he said, “I waited for the law to act. The law did nothing. You know your brother ordered that ambush. And you know that all the Circle 45 hands either took part in it or had direct knowledge of it. Now you either stand aside, or you help me kill dangerous rabid animals. You really don’t want to get in my way, Sandy,” he called him by the name the sheriff used back when he was a gunfighter. “The choice is yours to make.”

Sheriff Black knew he was not as fast as Jensen. And he also knew that Smoke was right. He was sworn to uphold the law and protect decent, law-abiding citizens, but the words “decent and law-abiding,” he knew, did not include his brother or the men working for his brother. The sheriff sighed. “Go stomp on your snakes, Jensen.” He turned and walked back into his office, closing the door behind him.

Smoke walked on up the street, then cut across to the other side, approaching the saloon from the one side that butted up against another building. He pushed open the batwings and stepped inside. Four men sat at a table, drinking beer and playing cards. Everybody else had vacated the saloon at the news of Smoke Jensen riding into town.

Only the barkeep was left, and he was so scared he looked like he was going to pass out any moment.

Smoke put his hand on a chair back and said, “You boys dumb enough to ride a Circle 45 horse?”

The card players sat quietly, their hands on the table. They knew better than to have them by their sides when Jensen walked in, for he was on the prod. “We’re ridin’ ’em, yeah,” one hand said.

“Did you steal them or are you on Clint Black’s payroll?”

“We ride for the Circle 45,” another said. “And we been ridin’ for Clint for a long time.”

“Is that a fact?”

“That’s a fact, Jensen.”

Smoke cut his eyes to the barkeep. “Is there a dentist in this town, friend?”

“Why…ah, yeah. There is. Right over the undertaker’s place. You got a toothache, Mr. Jensen?”

“No. But this dirty, back-shooting, murderous ambusher here does.”

The hand just had time to turn around and say, “Who are you callin’ a…?”

Smoke hit him in the face with the hickory chair. Blood and teeth and snot flew. The chair splintered. Holding the back rail of the busted chair, Smoke hit another hand smack in the mouth, then bounced the hickory off the noggin of a third. The fourth jumped up clawing for his six-gun. Smoke hit him right between the eyes with the hickory club and the Circle 45 rider went down like a sack of potatoes.

Smoke grabbed the first one he’d hit and tossed him through the big window. The hand smashed through the hitchrail and landed in the dirt, out cold with several broken ribs. Smoke backhanded another and sent him sprawling, then the third 45 hand staggered to his feet and Smoke sent him sailing out the batwings. Smoke hit another five times in the side, the blows sounding like swinging a sledge hammer against a side of raw beef. Ribs cracked under the blows and the man fell to the floor, moaning in pain.

The one Smoke backhanded came to his feet, his face bloody and ugly and one hand closing around the butt of his Colt. Smoke stepped forward and clubbed the man with one huge fist. Then he grabbed the man’s gun arm and broke it by slamming it against the bar. The would-be gunhandler screamed and passed out.

Smoke dragged them outside and threw them in the dirt. Sheriff Black and his deputies stood on the other side of the wide main street and did not interfere. Smoke dunked one in the horse trough several times and got him on his feet. His nose was spread all over his face and his lips were pulped.

“I’ll say this one time, mister,” Smoke told the man. “You and the rest of this trash here ride out of this part of Montana. Go back to the ranch, pack your kit, and ride out—today. If I see you again, I’ll kill you where you stand and I won’t give you one second’s warning. Do you understand all that?”

“Yes, sir,” the man mumbled through ruined lips.

“Ride!”

Smoke released the man and the cowboy almost fell down. He managed to get his friends on their feet and on their horses. They left town without looking back.

Smoke went back into the saloon and tossed money on the bar. “That will pay for the busted window and the chair. Give me a beer.”

Smoke was sitting down sipping his brew when the sheriff walked in and over to the table. He sat down and stared at Smoke for a moment.

“You do understand that you just whipped four pretty tough ol’ boys?”

“So?”

Harris shook his head. “You think they’ll really haul their ashes?”

“They’ll either pull out or be buried here. I meant what I said.”

“I could wire the territorial governor and have him send the state militia in.”

“Go ahead.”

“That wouldn’t stop you, would it?”

“No.”

“You’re really going to kill my brother, aren’t you?”

“First I’m going to bring him to his knees.”

“That will never happen.”

Smoke’s smile was close to a death’s-head. His words were very softly spoken. “You want to bet?”