“It’d be a damn sight less complicated, I can tell you that,” Preacher insisted.
Smoke chuckled. “Keep your eyes open. Bannerman would be a fool not to have any riders up in these parts.”
The three men spread out as they approached the cattle. The herd was scattered over a half-mile. Smoke, Matt, and Preacher began pushing them together, gathering the animals so that they could be driven back across the creek in a more compact group. Despite the protests voiced by Preacher and Matt, each of them had done enough similar work they were able to cover their section and get the cattle moving without too much trouble.
The cattle began to bawl. They didn’t like being bothered when they could be standing around enjoying the rich graze. The men hooted and hollered and swung their hats in the air and the cows began trudging in the direction the men wanted them to go. It was noisy work, and Smoke knew he might not be able to hear hoofbeats of approaching horses. For that reason he kept his eyes moving all the time, searching the landscape around them for any sign of Bannerman’s men.
He saw the four riders coming when they were still several hundred yards away on the other side of the creek. The cattle were all converging, and Smoke could see Preacher in the middle. He turned his horse and galloped toward the old mountain man.
As Smoke rode up and fell in alongside Preacher, he saw Matt coming from the other direction and figured that the younger man had spotted their impending company, too.
“I see ’em,” Preacher said before Smoke could say anything. “More o’ Bannerman’s gun-wolves, you reckon?”
“Maybe not all of them,” Smoke said. “A couple could be regular punchers. But I’m bettin’ the other two are gunhands. We can’t ignore the cowboys, either. They’re probably plenty tough, and if they ride for the brand, they’ll likely fight to defend it.”
Matt rode up on Preacher’s other side. “Looks like trouble coming,” he said.
“I’m ready for it.” Preacher leaned to the side and spat on the ground. “Hell, it’s been more’n twelve hours since anybody shot at me.”
Smoke grinned. Sally wouldn’t like it, but he felt pretty much the same way.
The cattle stopped when they reached the creek, clumping up along the bank and bawling. Smoke, Matt, and Preacher rode around the herd to the north and reined in at the edge of the stream. The four men on the other side of the creek rode toward them and halted on the opposite bank.
“What the hell do you think you’re doin’?” one of them yelled. “Those are Circle B cows! You ain’t got no right to move ’em!”
“You’re right about them being Circle B cows,” Smoke replied. He didn’t raise his voice, but his deep, powerful tones carried across the creek without any trouble. “And they don’t have any right to be over here on Crow land.”
“Crow land! What in blazes are you talkin’ about? This is open range. And even if it wasn’t, it sure don’t belong to no damn redskins!”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Smoke said. “You’re gonna have to push these cattle back across to the other side of Badger Creek. The upper section of the valley, from Turtle Rock north and west of Badger Creek, belongs to Sandor Little Bear, son of the Crow chief Crazy Bear, and is being held in trust for the entire band of Crow led by Crazy Bear.”
The spokesman for the four riders stared at Smoke for a couple seconds, then exploded, “You’re outta your damn mind! Injuns can’t own land!”
“You’re wrong about that,” Smoke said. “Just because most of them don’t doesn’t mean they can’t.”
During the tense conversation, Smoke had been studying the men on the other side of the creek. Just as he had guessed, two of them had the hardbitten look of hired gunslingers, while the other two men seemed to be common cowboys. As Smoke had said to Preacher, those cowboys couldn’t be ignored. They were armed, just like the two gunmen, and they looked eager to fight.
The four men glared across the creek in angry silence for a moment, then the spokesman sneered and said, “So the redskins have hired themselves some gunnies.”
Smoke shook his head. “We’re not working for the Crow. They’re our friends. We’re just trying to help them do what’s right.”
“I’ll tell you what’s right,” the gunman blustered. “You get the hell away from them cows and leave ’em be, that’s what’s right!”
Smoke’s voice was dangerously mild as he said, “You can move them, or we’ll finish the job we started. Up to you.”
“What the hell kind of man takes up for a bunch of filthy Injuns?” the gunman demanded.
“Name’s Smoke Jensen,” Smoke said quietly. “That’s Matt Jensen, and the old-timer is Preacher.”
“You mighta heard tell of us,” the old mountain man put in with a savage grin.
The two cowhands suddenly glanced at each other, and their eagerness to fight ran out of them like water from a cup. One of them said, “Maybe we better go back to the ranch and tell Mr. Bannerman about this, Ketchum.”
“Go back and admit we turned tail and let these bastards move the boss’s cattle?” The gunman called Ketchum shook his head. “Hell, no. You two can back down like lily-livered cowards if you want, but I ain’t gonna.”
The other cowboy said, “You can call me all the names you want, Ketchum. I’d rather stay alive. I’m headin’ for the Circle B.” He turned his horse and spurred it into a run.
“You yellow son of a bitch!” Ketchum yelled after him.
“Sorry,” the first cowhand muttered. Then he hauled his mount around and headed after his companion.
“That leaves the odds three to two,” the other gunnie said nervously to Ketchum.
“Don’t worry about that,” Preacher said. “I’ll be glad to back off and let these young sprouts do the work.” He lifted his reins. “Come on, Horse.”
Smoke felt impatience growing inside him. “What’ll it be?” he said to Ketchum and the other gunslinger. “These cattle are crossing the creek. You can get out of the way…or they’ll go over you.”
“Go to hell!” Ketchum yelled, and his hand streaked for his gun.
Chapter 31
The other gunman slapped leather, too. Both men cleared their holsters. They were fast.
But not fast enough.
The shots fired by Smoke and Matt blended into one roar. They hadn’t had to discuss what they were doing. Smoke took the man on the left, Matt the one on the right. And both gunnies rocked back in their saddles as lead smashed into them.
The one Matt had shot dropped his gun and grabbed at the saddlehorn as his horse leaped around skittishly. His fingers slipped off the horn and he toppled out of the saddle. The horse bolted, dragging the man by a foot that had caught in one of the stirrups.
Ketchum managed to get a shot off even though blood was bubbling from the hole in his chest, but his arm had sagged and the bullet went into the ground. Smoke saw the gunman struggling to lift the revolver and fire again. A second shot blasted from the Colt in Smoke’s hand. The .44 slug smacked into Ketchum’s forehead, bored into his brain, and flipped him backwards off his horse, which stampeded away after the other gunman’s mount.
Out of habit, Smoke and Matt slipped fresh cartridges from the loops on their shell belts and replaced the rounds they had fired. Powdersmoke still curled from the muzzles of the weapons.
Preacher sat on Horse a few yards away and chuckled. “Them boys was damned fools, but you tried to tell ’em,” he said.
“I’m glad those two punchers lit a shuck,” Smoke said as he holstered his Colt. “I didn’t particularly want to kill them, too. They may work for Bannerman, but they weren’t hired guns.”
“Are we gonna push these cows on across the creek?” Matt asked.
Smoke nodded. “And across Badger Creek as well. We won’t stop until they’re back on Bannerman’s usual range.”
Despite what he had told Ketchum about the cows going over him, Smoke dismounted and moved the dead gunman’s body out of the way.
If he had left Ketchum’s body where it had fallen, the herd’s hooves would have pounded it into the ground until there was nothing left. Nothing that was recognizable as human, anyway.
Once that was done, the three of them got the cattle moving again, prodding the beasts into splashing across the shallow creek. It was half a mile from that creek—if it had a name, Smoke had never heard it—to the slightly larger Badger Creek that marked the eastern boundary of the Crow hunting grounds. The herd covered that distance fairly quickly.
Smoke had a hunch that Reece Bannerman would gather up as many of his crew as he could and come galloping up there as soon as those two cowboys reached Circle B headquarters. Bannerman would want to see for himself what was going on.
He would find his stock back on the eastern side of Badger Creek, because once Smoke, Matt, and Preacher drove the cows across the stream, it was doubtful that the animals would ford it again on their own. Bannerman might find the bodies of the two hired guns, as well, if he searched for them.
Smoke wished it hadn’t come to killing so soon, since the Crows’ claim to the land hadn’t been established in court yet, but Ketchum and the other gunslinger had called the tune. Smoke and Matt had acted in self-defense…but they didn’t have any proof of that. There had been a time when an honorable man’s word about such a thing was sufficient, but sadly, that had changed.
Oh, well, he had been an outlaw before, Smoke thought. He supposed he could be again.
Bannerman and his men hadn’t shown up by the time Smoke, Matt, and Preacher finished driving the cattle across Badger Creek. “We’ll leave these cows here and see if we can find more on the wrong side of the creek,” Smoke said.
“In other words, we’ll try to hunt up some more trouble,” Matt said.
“That all right with you?”
Matt grinned. “Sure. Bannerman’s gonna have a small army up here before you know it.”
“We’ll deal with that when and if it happens.”
Preacher said, “Lemme find a good high spot, and me and that Sharps o’ mine will settle this problem once and for all.”
“Killing Bannerman like that won’t solve anything,” Smoke said. “Anyway, Preacher, you’re not a bushwhacker.”
“Well…maybe not,” the old-timer grumbled. “Sometimes it sure is temptin’, though.”
They crossed Badger Creek and began working their way north along the strip of land between the two streams. Several times, they found small jags of cattle that weren’t as big as the first herd and drove them back across Badger Creek.
By the middle of the day, Smoke felt like they had made enough of a start on the job. He said, “Let’s head back to Crazy Bear’s village.”
“That sounds good to me,” Preacher said. “Mala makes a mighty fine pot o’ stew, and I could use some more of it right about now.”
“I’d like to see Starwind again, too,” Matt commented.
That brought a big grin to Preacher’s whiskery face. “Ol’ Crazy Bear’s gonna have another young’un marryin’ up outside the tribe, if he don’t watch out.”
“Marry? Me and Starwind?” Matt shook his head. “Not hardly. She doesn’t have any interest in getting married, and neither do I. It’ll be a long time before I’m ready to be tied down like—”
“Like me?” Smoke asked with a laugh as Matt cast a glance at him. “Do you see me sittin’ in a rockin’ chair on the front porch?”
“Well, Smoke, if I can say it, you’re not a normal man, and Sally’s not exactly a typical woman, either.”
“I can’t argue that with you, especially that last part about Sally—” Smoke abruptly stopped what he was saying, reined in, and stood up in his stirrups to peer off to the south. “Looks like trouble coming.”
The keen eyes of Matt and Preacher had spotted the riders in the distance at the same time as Smoke had. What looked like at least thirty men were coming fast up the valley. The three of them knew that many men had to be Reece Bannerman’s bunch.
“Do we stand and fight?” Preacher asked, sounding eager to do so.
“Against ten to one odds?” Smoke said.
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“No, but there’s a lot riding on us, and we can’t afford to get ourselves killed this soon.” Smoke wheeled his horse. “Come on. We’ll make a run for it.”
“Back to Crazy Bear’s village?” Matt asked as he turned his sorrel.
Smoke shook his head. “No, we don’t want a pitched battle, and that’s what we’ll get if Bannerman follows us all the way to the village, as mad as he must be right now. We’ll lead him away from there.”
He put his horse into a gallop, cutting east across the valley. Matt and Preacher wondered what he had in mind, but didn’t ask any questions as they followed Smoke.
The three men rode hard, barely slowing down when they came to Badger Creek a couple minutes later. Water flew high in the air and hung there momentarily in sparkling droplets as the horses splashed across the stream. Then they were back on solid ground and running fast toward the foothills that rose a mile away.
Smoke glanced over his right shoulder and saw that the other group of riders had angled in the same direction and crossed the creek as well. They were trying to cut Smoke, Matt, and Preacher off from the hills, and if they did that, Smoke knew that he and his companions wouldn’t stand much of a chance. They would be surrounded and gunned down. They would put up a fight, no doubt about that, and some of Bannerman’s men would die, but in the end the result would be the same.
If they could make it to more rugged terrain, they might be able to slip away from their pursuers. That’s what Smoke was counting on. That and the speed and stamina of the three fine horses he, Matt, and Preacher rode.
It was going to be a close race. Bannerman and his men had the angle, but the three of them had less ground to cover. As they neared the hills, Smoke heard the pop and bang of shots, and when he looked toward the large group of riders, he saw puffs of powdersmoke from their guns.
At that range, handguns didn’t pose any real threat. The shots were more out of anger and frustration than they were out of any hope of hitting their targets. A wooded ridge loomed in front of Smoke, Matt, and Preacher. They called on their mounts for more gallant effort and sent the horses up the slope.
Smoke heard a bullet whistle past his head, close enough to be worrisome. He looked back and saw that several of the pursuers had reined in, dismounted, and were aiming rifles at the three men.
“Split up!” Smoke called. “We’ll rendezvous at the base of that big bluff!”
The rocky bluff was visible in the distance above the trees, shouldering a good hundred feet in the air.
The three of them veered apart as more rifle slugs sizzled hotly through the air around them. The trees were getting thicker, and in moments, Smoke couldn’t see Matt and Preacher anymore. He would have preferred that they stuck together, but they made too tempting a target that way. Also, if Bannerman wanted to pursue all three of them, he would have to split his force.
Smoke continued making his way through the timber and up the slope. He reached the top of the ridge and cut north along it, away from Matt and Preacher. He thought it was best that they remain apart for a while. Smoke would have worried about anyone else in the world facing a horde of gunmen alone, but he figured Matt and Preacher had a better chance of pulling through than anybody else.
An intense silence descended on the rugged hills. The shooting had scared off all wildlife, so the usual sounds of animals weren’t there. Smoke slowed his horse to a walk and started up a gully. Thick brush clawed at both him and his mount, but it didn’t stop them.
He heard noises off to his right. Something big moving, he thought. Horses, more than likely. Bannerman’s men were searching for him. They didn’t shout back and forth, and they seemed to be moving warily. They weren’t amateurs. Far from it, in fact. Bannerman had spent the money necessary to recruit first-class fighting men.
Smoke dismounted and left his horse in the gully. He scrambled up the bank and pressed his back against the thick trunk of a pine. The searchers were coming closer. He took off his hat, edged an eye around the tree trunk, and had a look. He saw three men moving past, about twenty feet away.
They didn’t see him, and the wind was wrong for their horses to scent his. As they moved past, Smoke knew he could draw his Colts, step out of cover, and gun down all three of them before they knew what was going on. But that would be cold-blooded murder—something he wouldn’t do.
But he couldn’t pass up the chance to whittle down the odds against him, though he knew the sound of shots would draw more of the pursuers to him. He drew back behind the tree again, put his hat back on, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the open.
“Lookin’ for somebody, boys?” he drawled.
The three gunmen wheeled their horses frantically, clawing at their guns as they did so. Smoothly, Smoke drew both of his .44s. The right-hand gun blasted, and the one in his left hand spoke less than a heartbeat later. Two of the men fell. They had cleared leather but hadn’t gotten a shot off.
Fate stepped in as Smoke triggered a shot at the third man. The gunslinger’s horse, terrified of all the gun thunder, reared up and got in the way. Smoke’s bullet tore into the luckless animal’s throat. Blood spurted as the horse screamed and thrashed to the side. Its rider went flying.
Smoke snapped another shot at the man in midair but missed. The gunnie landed and rolled over and came up firing. Smoke felt the hammerblow of the bullet against his left arm. The impact knocked him halfway around. He stayed on his feet, and slammed out two more shots. The gunman came up on a knee and fired again, but his bullet went wild because Smoke’s slugs had already driven into his chest and knocked him backward. He landed in a scattering of fallen pine needles and cones. His bloody chest heaved a time or two and then stilled.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Smoke looked down at his wounded arm. He saw that the bullet had plowed a bloody furrow on the outside of his arm about halfway between his shoulder and elbow. It wasn’t a serious wound, just gory and painful, and it would keep him from using that arm for a while. Though he still gripped the gun in his left hand, he couldn’t raise it to put it back in the holster. He had to pouch his right-hand iron first, then reach across his body and take the other gun from numb fingers and slide it back into leather.
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