Absaroka Ambush

14

Almost everyone who lived in the vicinity turned out for the funeral of the farmer and his daughter. Feelings were running very high and there was some talk of a hanging. Harris knew it was just talk and let it ride. But he knew that if more of this continued, the talk just might change to action. Just about an hour after the funeral, he watched it do just that.

An even dozen of Circle 45 riders came galloping into town, raising a cloud of dust and scattering people. A little dog was caught in the thundering hooves and was trampled. A small boy ran out and picked up the lifeless body of the pup.

“You dirty scum!” he screamed at the Circle 45 men. “Murderers. All of you. Patches didn’t do none of you no harm. Why’d you run him down, you…crap?”

One of the rowdies walked to the boy and slapped him down into the dirt. The blow brought blood to the boy’s lips. He lay in the dirt, sobbing, his arms wrapped around his dead pet.

“I’ll kick your guts out, you little turd,” the Circle 45 hand said menacingly.

The boy’s father ran out of his store, a shotgun in his hands. He was just lifting the weapon to his shoulder when six-guns roared. The father fell back into the store, dead.

Suddenly, the street was filled with armed men and women. The Circle 45 riders looked into the muzzles of six-guns, rifles, and shotguns.

Harris walked through the crowd of armed and angry citizens. “Put those pistols back in leather and get off those horses,” he told the bunch. “If you want to stay alive.”

The riders slowly complied.

“Doc,” Harris called. “How many bullet holes in Mr. Wisdom?”

“Eight,” the doctor called.

Harris pointed to the man who’d slapped the boy. “You’re under arrest for assault and battery against a child.” He turned and smiled at the 45 hands. “The rest of you are under arrest for murder.”

“He was fixin’ to kill Ned!” a hand yelled.

“After Ned threatened to do more harm to his son,” Harris reminded the tough. “Not a court in the land would have convicted him. But they’ll damn sure convict you boys.”

The deputies had collected the guns from the Circle 45 riders.

“You boys know the way to the jail,” Harris told them. “Now, move!”

Harris knelt down by the boy, who was still somewhat addled by the brutal blow from the tough. He helped the boy to his feet and handed the trampled little dog to a man standing near. “We’ll see that your puppy gets a proper burial, lad. Now you go on over to your ma. She needs you right now.”

Harris walked over to the tough who’d slapped the man and flattened him with one hard fist to the mouth. The Circle 45 hand lay in the dirt and kept his mouth shut. He could see cold, killing fury in the sheriff’s eyes.

“Goddamn filth!” Harris’s words were spoken low and hard. “If I wasn’t wearin’ this badge I’d kick your face clear off your brainless head and let the hogs eat it.”

The tough lay still in the dirt, blood leaking from his mouth. He knew that he’d get no more than a few days in jail and a fine for slapping the boy. He had not fired at the boy’s father, and he could not be charged with murder. When he got out of jail, then he’d settle with Sheriff Harris Black.

Harris jerked the tough to his boots and threw him toward the jail. When he was slow getting to his feet, he felt the sheriff’s big boot impact against his butt. He hollered and went sprawling face first into the dust. He crawled to his hands and knees and then came up cussing. He took a swing at Harris. Bad mistake.

Harris hit him five times. Blows so fast they seemed to come out of nowhere. The rowdy was slammed back against a hitchrail and Harris plowed in. Since the man’s face was already ruined, Harris concentrated his big hard fists against the man’s belly and sides. Ribs popped and the Circle 45 hand screamed in pain as the blows kept coming. When Harris was through, the rowdy fell to the dirt, his jaw broken, his nose flattened, his lips pulped and half a dozen ribs broken.

“Why?” he managed to gasp through his pain, looking up at the still enraged Harris Black.

“I like kids and dogs,” Harris told him.

Clint Black and his hands rode into town the next morning. He had sense enough to come in unarmed. He left his horse at the livery and he and half a dozen of his men walked to the sheriff’s office. They walked in a sweat, all of them knowing at least fifty or more guns were trained on them from doorways and windows all along the main street.

At the sheriff’s office, they were met with sawed-off-shotgun-carrying deputies. More sweat.

“Keep your gunslicks out on the boardwalk,” Harris told his brother. “And you don’t sit down. You’re not going to be here that long. State your business and then get the hell gone.”

“Bail for my hands,” Clint said.

“No bail for murderers.” He held up a telegram. “Judge’s orders. That all you got to say?”

“You won’t get a conviction from the people around here,” Clint boasted. “And you know it. I’ll hire the best lawyer in the state and beat it.”

“Trial is not going to be here,” Harris told him. “It’ll be held in Helena. Hire your lawyer and go to hell with him. Anything else?”

“You want a war, Harris?”

“Is that a threat? You want to join your no-count hands behind bars for threatening a peace officer?”

Smoke sat on a bench outside the jail. He smiled at the Circle 45 riders.

They did not see any humor in their situation.

“You mind if me and my boys have a drink in town?” Clint asked.

“Don’t cause any trouble. The townspeople will shoot you to ribbons. They’ve had it with you, Clint. They won’t stand for any more crap from you or your hired guns. You can try to buy a drink. But I doubt if the barkeep will serve you.”

“Can I see my men?”

“After I search you.”

That infuriated the rancher. He drew back from the desk and straightened up, his face flushed with rage. “You tin-star piece of crap. Who in the hell do you think you’re talking to?”

“A thug,” Harris replied. “One that needs to be back there behind bars. And I’m going to put you there, Clint. Believe that.”

Clint balled his hands into big fists. He struggled to keep control. He took several deep breaths and calmed himself. “Are my men being fed?”

“You know they are. Three meals a day. Now if there is nothing else, I’m busy with paperwork.”

“You’re…dismissing me?”

“That’s right, Clint. Good choice of words. I am indeed dismissing you. Oh, it might be a nice gesture on your part to go see the widow Wisdom. Since it was your men who killed her husband.”

“Go to hell!” Clint spun around and stalked out of the office. He pulled up short at the sight of Smoke, sitting on a bench smiling at him. “You!”

“Just me,” Smoke said. “You were expecting maybe the President of the United States? I mean, with you being such an important person and all, it wouldn’t surprise me.”

Clint stared at Smoke for a moment. He knew he’d been insulted and cut down, but he couldn’t think of a proper response.

Smoke lifted a big hand and waggled his fingers at the rancher. “Run along, now, Clint. Bye-bye.”

“Run along? I don’t take orders from you, you sorry…” He started cussing Smoke, screaming the obscenities. Several women across the street covered their ears and ran into the nearest store.

Harris jerked open the door and stepped out. “Shut up, Clint! I said shut up!” he hollered.

Wild-eyed with fury, Clint turned on his brother, his fists balled.

“Don’t even think about doing that,” Harris warned him. “Calm down and ride out of here. That’s right, Clint. I’m ordering you from town. Right now.”

Clint cut his eyes to Smoke. Smoke smiled, lifted his hand, and waggled his fingers at the rancher. “Like I said, bye-bye.”

Clint reached down and grabbed Smoke by the front of his shirt and hauled him to his boots. Bad mistake.

Smoke popped him on the side of the jaw with two short punches, left and right, that jarred Clint down to his toenails. He released the grip on the shirt and Smoke popped him again, this time right in the mouth. Clint’s head jerked back and blood sprayed from his lips.

He screamed in fury and waded in, swinging with both fists. Smoke sidestepped and ducked and swung one foot, catching Clint on the ankle and sending the man tumbling to the boardwalk. Smoke backed up. “You better stop it now, Harris,” he warned. “Because if he gets up, it’ll be the last time he does it in this life.”

“Grab him, boys!” Harris yelled to the men gathered around.

They all piled on, deputies and Circle 45 riders. Deputies and punchers were flung around like rag dolls as the enraged Clint Black struggled to get to his feet. Smoke had backed up farther, his fists up and ready to go.

“I’ll kill you, Jensen!” Clint screamed, as the big man was once more ridden down to the boards by a pile of men. “You’re a dead man.”

“All I did was say bye-bye,” Smoke told a gathering of women across the narrow alleyway.

“Disgusting,” one woman said.

“He’s an animal,” another said.

“Is there anything wrong with saying bye-bye?” Smoke asked the ladies.

Clint was cussing to the high heavens and throwing men off as fast as they could pile on the fist-throwing rancher.

“Oh, hell,” Harris said, as he reached behind him and pulled a leather-bound cosh from his back pocket. He shifted a couple of times, for a better angle, then rapped his brother on the noggin.

Clint’s eyes rolled back in his head and he stopped his thrashing and cussing.

“Jesus,” one of the Circle 45 men said, holding a bandanna to a busted lip. “He’s strong as a bull.”

“Tie him across a saddle and get him out of town and by God, I mean right now!” Harris ordered. “Move!” he hollered.

Clint was tossed belly-down across a saddle, tied securely, and the horse led out of town.

Harris looked at Smoke for a few seconds, then walked back into his office. Smoke went across the street to buy a new shirt. Clint had torn the whole front out of the one he was wearing. But it was worth ten shirts just to get a couple of good licks in on the man.

That night, several holes were blown out of the back of the jail and all the Circle 45 hands except the one charged with assault and battery escaped. He was Iying on his bunk, hands behind his head, and smiling when Harris and his deputies arrived.

“What can I say, Sheriff?” he asked. “I ain’t no criminal. No point in me runnin’.”

Harris opened the cell door. “Get out. Your horse is at the livery. Be kind of stupid leaving you in here with that hole in the wall behind you.”

“Now what?” a deputy asked.

“They’re out on the Circle 45 range. You can bet my brother had fresh horses stashed every few miles along the way. He got this idea from me,” Harris said ruefully. “Twenty years ago I busted some friends of mine out of jail down in Kansas. They weren’t in there for murder, just for barroom fighting. Clint took a page from out of my past in doing this. He’ll think it funny. We’ll ride out come first light. I’ll get flyers made up at the print shop and get them posted out across the territory. Come on, let’s get this mess cleaned up.”

That morning, Smoke did something he felt he should have done as soon as they cleared the ambush valley. He brought the teenage boys into town and sent them home on the stage. Three went one day and the remaining two the next day. He wanted them out of harm’s way.

He walked down to Garrett’s office and checked on Raul. The young man was looking and feeling better and the doctor said he could be taken back to the ranch in a couple of days. After talking with Raul for a moment, Smoke walked over to the jail and looked at the holes blown into the rear of the jail building. Benny was the only deputy left in town. Harris and the others had ridden out to Circle 45 range.

“How mad was Harris?” he asked the deputy.

“Not too bad. Not as upset as I thought he’d be.”

“The sheriff knows this situation is coming to a head and he’s feeling his way slow,” Smoke said. “I don’t blame him. He’s taking his life in his hands just by riding out to his brother’s place.”

“Oh, they might tie up in a fistfight,” the deputy said. “But when it comes to killing, I think Clint will walk up to the line and then back off on that. Look at all he’s got to lose if he pulls a gun on Harris. If he just keeps that temper of his in check, maybe this thing can be smoothed down.”

“If I’d leave the country, you mean?”

“Something like that.” The deputy wasn’t going to push the issue too hard.

“And if you were me?”

Benny met the cold steady gaze from Smoke. Without giving much away, he said, “A man’s got to do what he’s got to do, I reckon.”