Absaroka Ambush

22

Jud Howes rode into Blackstown and stabled his horses. He planned to spend one night and then be on the trail come first light. He knew where he was going, and when he got there he was going to stay. He conducted his business at the bank, closing out his sizable account. Then he walked over to the sheriff’s office. Harris had just ridden in and was talking over the morning’s events with Smoke when Jud opened the door.

“I’m peaceful,” the ex-foreman of the Circle 45 said quickly. “And I intend to stay that way. From now on. I want to talk to both of you.”

“Fine,” Harris said. “Have a cup of coffee and sit.”

Jud poured his coffee and took a seat. He startled both men when he said, “I just quit the Circle 45.”

When he found his voice, Harris said, “That’s probably very good for you, and very bad for us.”

“Yeah, that’s the way I see it. That’s why I come over to talk. Now if you think I’m here to confess to anything, you’re wrong. Clint and me been friends for years and years, and I’ll admit we both done some terrible things. But for me, that’s past. This is now. I ain’t here to talk against him. I got me a pretty good hunch he’ll make that no-count Bronco Ford foreman. Which will be fine as long as Clint don’t plan on runnin’ no cattle, cause Bronco is a gunhandler and that’s all he’s been since he growed up.

“Now then, Bronco will be callin’ in some salty ol’ boys that he knows. And he knows plenty of them. Clint ain’t gonna give up. Put that out of your heads. He’s goin’ to fight until he’s either top man on the hill again, or he’s dead. That’s the way it’s goin’ to be.” He looked at Smoke. “I don’t like you, Jensen. But I ain’t goin’ to fight you. I seen men like you before. Not many, but a few. You really ain’t no better than the men you fight…not when it comes down to the nut-cuttin’. ’Cause you still kill. You got bodies planted all over the West. But you kill for some sort of highfalutin’ notion that otherwise decent folk find acceptable. That’s always puzzled me. But I realize something else, too: men like you nearly always win. I don’t know why that is, but it’s true.

“You’re goin’ to have to kill Clint Black, Jensen.” He cut his eyes. “Or you will, Harris. There ain’t no other way. And I just don’t want to be around to see that.” He stood up. “I can’t bring myself to wish you boys luck. I just can’t do that. ’Cause I don’t know whether I’d mean it or not. Men like Clint built this country. Oh, they’re hard men, and they’ve done terrible things to others who come out later, when it was a lot easier and them others come in to squat on land that was settled by Clint and men like him.” He waved his hand in a curt gesture. “Well, that’s neither here nor there.”

“You want to speak to Weldon or Cantrell?” Harris asked.

Jud shook his head. “I got nothin’ to say to them two. You’ll never seen me again, Harris. Nor will you ever hear of me. Jud Howes is not my real name. When I get to where I’m goin’, I’ll have a new name and paper to prove it. I’ll ranch, and not do no harm to any man who don’t come pushin’ and shovin’ and lookin’ for it.” He walked to the door and paused, looking around. “I was goin’ to spend the night, but I think I’ll just ride on and get clear of this place.” He looked at Harris. “You’re a good man, Harris. I mean that. And when all this is over, you’ll do well at the Circle 45. ’Cause it’ll be yours. I just hope you change the brand.” He cut his eyes to Smoke and stared at him for a moment. “You, now, I ain’t got no use for. I just don’t like you one goddamned bit.” He stepped out and closed the door behind him.

“Strange man,” Harris said, after a quiet moment had passed. “There goes a man who is just as vicious as my brother, who probably had a hand in planning the ambush against you and the Duggan twins, and who now says he’s had enough. I never thought he’d leave my brother.”

Smoke stood up and reached for his new hat. “We’ll probably have about a week of peace around here, Harris. Until your brother can import a fresh crew of gunhands. Then I expect we’ll face the problem and wrap it up.”

“You act like it’s just a job of work for you,” Harris said, the words spoken much more sourly than he intended.

Smoke put his hat on his head. “How do you want me to behave, Harris?”

The sheriff shook his head. “Oh, hell, I didn’t mean that the way it came out, Smoke. I’m certainly not defending my brother. This mess can be laid right at Clint’s feet and I know it. But if you’ll forgive me for saying it, I really wish you and my brother and all his hired guns would just go away and settle this somewhere else.”

“I’ll face your brother anywhere he picks. Guns or fists; doesn’t make any difference to me.”

“Yeah,” Harris said, a weariness in his tone. “I know that, too. But he’s not going to do that. Not yet. But Jud was right when he said that one of us will have to kill him.”

“Could you?” Smoke asked softly.

Harris met his eyes. “If he braces me and pulls? You and me, Smoke, we’re gunfighters. You know that reflex would take over. I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d be sick afterward, but I wouldn’t stand there and let him kill me.”

“You through with me?”

“I wish,” Harris said, softening that with a smile. “Oh, yeah. Someday there’ll be laws out here against men settling arguments with guns. But that day is a long way off. Watch your back ridin’ home, Smoke.”

“I always do, Harris.”

“Joe Owens seen Bronco Ford flaggin’ down the stage this afternoon,” Stony reported to Smoke after supper. “Headin’ for Helena.”

“He’s gone to get more men. I expected it. Jud said that’s what Clint would do.”

“Jud’s really gone?”

“He talked to the sheriff and me and then I watched him ride out, leading a packhorse. Said he didn’t like me at all. But yes, he’s gone for good.”

Stony slowly shook his head. “I reckon stranger things has happened.”

Conny asked, “So what do we do now?”

“Look after the herd, mend fences, and stay out of trouble. In about a week, we’ll have all the trouble we can handle. I want one man in town at all times, starting tomorrow. By this time, Bronco has sent his wires and men will be coming in, some of them by stage. The last stage runs at three, so that’ll give the men time to get back here for supper. I want to know who comes in and how many. The men Bronco will hire will be known gunfighters, easy to spot, and he’ll probably hire at least one long-distance shooter, too.”

“A lousy damn back-shooter,” Conny said contemptuously. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m surprised Clint hasn’t done that already.”

“He just hasn’t thought of it. But Bronco will. For sure, he’ll pick up two or three or maybe more in Helena. And there’ll be some hanging around Butte. It won’t take long for them to get here. Tell the men who ride in not to brace any of these ol’ boys. Bronco will be hiring professionals. And they’ll be quick on the shoot.”

“That back-shooter will be coming in for you, boss,” Stony said.

“It’s been tried before,” Smoke told him. “I’m still around. You boys relax while you can. In a few days, it’s going to get real tense around here.”

The first of the hired guns arrived three days after Bronco sent the wires. Waymore described them to Smoke. “The first one is a bad hombre called Tall Mosley. He comes high. The redhead is a Irishman named Danny O’Brian. Danny came from a real nice family down in Southern Colorado. He went bad early. Killed his brother and left the country. He’s left a lot of dead men behind him. I can’t place the other one you described.”

“I heard him called Ned in the saloon.”

“Ned Burr. He’d make Sam Bass look like a Baptist preacher.”

The following day, Conny reported back. He looked shaken. “Man, some bad ones come in this day. I seen Luke Jennings, Little John Perkins and Tom Wiley. Half a dozen more I didn’t know, but they looked right capable.”

“You catch any names?” Smoke asked, marveling at the man’s ability with a knife and fork. His elbows never stopped working.

“Yeah. There was a Dan, a fellow called Rod, and one other name that sounded familiar: Morton.”

“Might be Dan Hutton. Rod is short for Rodman; I don’t know his first name. Morton is probably Henry Morton. They’re all bad ones. Clint is hiring the best, or the worst, depending upon how you look at it.”

The next day, Stony reported back shaking his head. “Boss, we got to hire some hands. Gunhands. You ain’t never seen the like of what rode in this day. I heard ’em talkin’. Clint wired ’em money to ride the trains in and money to buy fine horses when they got to the gittin’ off point. And they was all dressed up fancy.” He began ticking them off on his fingers. “James Otis. Paul Stark. Ed Burke. Tom Lessing. Hal Bruner. Big Dan Barrington. Half a dozen more that I didn’t know.”

“Rider comin’, boss,” Jeff called.

Smoke stood on the porch and shielded his eyes. Then he smiled. “Well, I’ll be double-damned.”

“You know that feller, boss?” Tim asked.

“Huggie Charles.”

“Huggie Charles!” Malvern almost shouted the name. “The Arizona gunfighter?”

“That’s him.”

Smoke stepped off the porch as Huggie swung down from the saddle and beat the dust from his clothing. The two men grinned and shook hands.

“You ol’ warhoss, you!” Huggie said. “Damn, but you’re lookin’ fine, boy.”

“You’re looking fit and fine yourself, Huggie. Sally!” he called. “We’ve got company.”

Sally came out on the porch and began smiling. She skipped down the steps and Huggie grabbed her. “Sally, girl. How you doin’, Missy?”

“Now you boys see why he’s called Huggie,” Smoke said with a smile. “He never misses a chance to hug a woman. Slim or fat, tall or short, beautiful or so bad looking she’d stop an eagle in a dive, Huggie grabs them.”

“It’s been too many years since you stopped by the Sugarloaf, Huggie,” Sally admonished the man. “Just too many years.”

“Well, I got me a spread down on the Verde. I was up in Denver lookin’ for stock to improve my herd—Herefords are the way to go now—and I heard about all the trouble up here. Why I just saddled up and took to ridin’. Here I am.”

“In time for supper, too.”

“If you cooked it, honey, that in itself is worth the ride.”

“Huggie!” Denver bellered from the porch. “You ol’ biscuit-stealin’ outlaw!”

“My God, Smoke,” Huggie said with a grin. “What ever possessed you to hire something as dis-reputable as that ol’ coot? Me and him go back more years than either of us care to think about.”

“Huggie’s got to be sixty years old,” Conny said to the hands gathered on the porch. “Or better. But I bet you he’s still quick with them guns. Look at them Peacemakers. If he carved notches there wouldn’t be no handles left.”

Over supper, Huggie said, “Del Rovare is a day behind me. I told him what was happenin’ up here and he quick started windin’ up his business and he’ll be along.”

“I haven’t laid eyes on Del since…why, it’s got to be before Nicole was murdered.”

Those around the table fell silent as everybody remembered how Smoke Jensen went after the men who had molested and murdered his wife and son.

“I come through that part of the country some years back, Smoke,” Huggie said. “That land is bein’ farmed by a real nice couple and they’re doin’ well. I told them the story of the graves. They musta come in right after you left. They been takin’ care of Nicole and the baby’s restin’ place. Flowers all the time around the graves.”

Smoke nodded his head. “Good,” he said softly, then excused himself and walked out onto the porch.

Conny started to rise to join him and Sally touched his arm. “No. Let him alone. Nicole and Smoke had a special relationship. Part of him will always belong to her memory. And that’s the way it should be. It was a terrible thing what those men did to her and a tiny baby.”

“Did Smoke really stake one of them out over a big anthill and pour honey on him?” Ted asked.

“Yes, he did. He also gelded another and cauterized the wound with a hot running iron.”

Several of the cowboys suppressed a shudder at just the thought of that.

“He must have been some riled up,” Conny said.

“When my husband gets riled up, Conny,” Sally said, “believe me, you’ll know it.”

By the end of the week, Smoke figured that all the new-hired gunslicks that was coming in, were in. And the names were impressive. One-eyed Shaw, Curly Bob Kennedy, Stew Lee, Purdy Wilson, Phil Dickinson. There were other lesser-known gunhands, but all were good at their trade.

Del Rovare had ridden in, looking about as old as God, but still rawhide tough, nimble, and very, very fast on the shoot. He owned a ranch down in Wyoming, the D/R brand. But when a friend was in trouble, Del buckled on his guns and saddled up for the ride.

And it was rumored that Buckskin Deevers was on Clint’s payroll. If that was true, Clint had sunk to new lows, for Buckskin was just about as sorry as any man who ever lived. There was nothing he wouldn’t do.

Smoke personally knew some of the gunhands that Clint had hired, and felt that if he could talk to them, a few might just pull out. With that thought in mind, Smoke rode into Blackstown one week after Jud Howes had pulled out and Bronco Ford had been named foreman at the Circle 45. The hitchrails in front of the saloon were lined with horses, some with brands Smoke had never seen, many wearing the Circle 45 brand. He paid a visit to Harris Black before heading for the saloon.

“I was hoping my eyes were deceiving me,” the sheriff said. “But I might have known you couldn’t stay away from a fight.”

Smoke smiled at the man and took a seat. “Actually, Harris, I came to town to talk to some of those men over there. I know a few of them.”

“So you convince two or three of them to ride out. My brother will just hire more. What will you have accomplished?”

“Why do I get the feeling that you are not in a real good mood?”

“I got fifteen hired guns belly up to the bar over at the saloon. The word I get is that they’re under orders to shoot any Double D rider they see. I can’t prove that, but that’s the word I get from several sources, including the bartender, who is so scared of my brother he’d walk on fire before he’d testify to that in any court of law. Now you ride in just as bold as brass and tell me that you’re going over to that saloon to talk to some of those tanked-up hired guns. You’re right, Smoke. I’m not in a real good mood.”

“Who’s over there, Harris?”

“I don’t know all of them. But I did see Tall Mosley, Little John Perkins, and Paul Stark. I spent half the morning sendin’ out wires to sheriff’s offices all over the west. There isn’t a warrant out for any of them. Except for Buckskin Deevers and he isn’t about to show his face in town.”

“Sheriff, I don’t want a lot of bullets flying around the main street of town. If you tell me to haul it out of here, I’ll leave without a word.”

Harris shook his head. “I can’t do that. Hell, I won’t do that. But I tell you what I will do. I’ll walk over there with you. It’s right at noon and a cold beer would taste good before I grab something to eat.”

“Let’s do it.”

Harris stood up, checked another pistol for loads, and shoved it behind his belt. He checked his other Colt and then smiled thinly at Smoke. “I believe in insurance. You loaded up six and six?”

“I’m full.”

“I think both of you are crazy!” Deputy Simpson said, moving to the gun rack. “Sheriff, you want any of us to come with you totin’ shotguns?”

“No. Just stay handy in case the lead starts flyin’.”

The men stepped out to the boardwalk and stood for a moment. “What does it say in the Bible about Daniel in the lion’s den?” Harris said.

“I don’t know. But he made it out.”

“Let’s hope we’ll be so lucky.”

“I think God had something to do with Daniel getting out.”

“I had a feeling a month ago I should start goin’ to church more often.”

Smoke chuckled and stepped off the boardwalk, the sheriff right beside him. Citizens and shoppers started ducking inside buildings. The wide main street suddenly became deserted.