Outside, the wide street rumbled under the hooves of hard-ridden horses.
“It’s Rusty and some of the boys from the Lightning spread,” a Box H hand said. “Damn! They’re headin’ into the hotel. I bet Shorty cut across their range headin’ to home and told ’em.”
“Stop them!” Mister Dale said.
“Too late. They’re in the hotel.”
“Where’s Linwood?”
“I dunno. I haven’t seen him or any of his men in a couple of hours.”
“Damn!” Mister Dale said.
“Maybe Rusty and them boys will just end it right now, a Box H hand called Coop said.
“We can always hope,” Mister Dale said.
The dining room fell quiet; not even the tinkle of silverware or the rattle of coffee cups being placed in saucers sounded. Sam looked over his shoulder and grimaced.
“Why do you always get us into trouble, brother?” His dark eyes were twinkling.
“I see them. And we just got cleaned up.”
“Yes. But at least we won’t have to fight on a full stomach. It’s not good for the digestion.”
“That really makes me feel better, Sam. You sure do know how to cheer me up.”
“Thank you,” Sam replied modestly.
“You two slicked-up dudes yonder!” Rusty called. “Outside. I want to talk to you.”
Matt was facing the archway. He sized up the cowboy. Pretty good-sized ol’ boy. Late thirties, he’d guess, and all muscle and gristle and bone. The three with him were about the same size, with hard-packed muscle and callused hands from years of wrestling steers and handling rope.
“Here we go,” Sam muttered, not knowing what Matt was going to do, but knowing full well he was about to irritate someone.
“Are you speaking to us, Jackass Mouth,” Matt called, “or you braying at an early moon?”
About half of the men and women in the big dining room did their best to hide smiles. And that told the brothers that the big ranchers in the area were not all loved, providing these hands came from one of the Big Three, and both brothers were sure of that.
“You say that to me?” Rusty yelled.
“You’re the only person in the room braying like a jackass,” Matt told him. “As a matter of fact, you sort of resemble a jackass. In a way.”
Rusty was so mad he looked like he was about to explode.
Sam turned around and stared at the red-faced foreman of the Lightning spread. He shook his head. “No, brother,” he said loud enough for all to hear. “A jackass is much better looking.”
Several men and women laughed out loud.
“By God!” Rusty yelled. “You people don’t laugh at me. I’ll tear this damn town apart.”
“Oh, shut up,” Matt told him. “Go away. We’re trying to order supper.”
Rusty marched over to the table, his men right behind him. They ringed the table. Real close. Sam smiled. “By God, saddlebum, you’ll learn when a Lightning man tells you to do something, you’ll do it.”
“I doubt it,” Matt said.
Rusty reached down, clamped a hand on Matt’s good shirt, and jerked him to his boots. He tore the shirt. Bad mistake.
Matt knocked the bejesus out of the foreman. The blow sent the man stumbling across the room, crashing into tables and sending diners scrambling to get out of the way, but staying close enough to watch and enjoy the fight.
Sam rammed his chair back, knocking a puncher sprawling, and a split-second later he jammed the square-cornered table into another Lightning hand’s groin. The hand dropped to his knees, his face white with pain, both hands holding his crotch, his mouth open in a silent scream. Sam came up fast and grabbed a chair, splintering it over the fourth puncher’s head and knocking him to the floor.
“Get that dirty son, Tulsa,” the puncher on his knees moaned as Tulsa was getting up off the floor.
Sam got set, a strange smile on his lips.
Matt had backed Rusty into a corner and was concentrating on beating the stuffing out of him. The initial blow had caught the foreman off-guard, and had been powerful enough to stun him. Now Matt was going to finish it.
Rusty swung and Matt ducked that one and the left that followed it. He grabbed the man’s left forearm and slung him across the room. Rusty wiped out a row of tables as he spun out of control, Matt right behind him. Rusty hit the wall and looked confused for a moment. He wasn’t used to people doing this to him. Then Matt was all over him as Sam yelled, “Hurry up, damn it. Quit showin’ off.”
Matt hit the foreman a combination of blows that rocked the man’s head from side to side, bloodying his mouth, busting his nose, and pulping one ear. He finished the foreman with a thundering right to the man’s belly. Rusty coughed up bile and slumped to the floor, out of action.
Matt screamed like a panther, and that nearly scared the women in the room out of their corsets. It frightened some of the men, too. It also startled the hell out of a Lightning hand named Buck. What really got Buck’s attention was when Matt hit him in the mouth with a fist that looked about the size of a brick and was just about as hard. Pearlies flew from the man’s suddenly bloody mouth. Matt hit him two more times, then clubbed him on the neck on his way down to the floor.
Sam was dealing his opponent some real misery. The man’s eyes were glazed and his mouth and nose were smashed and bloody. One ear was badly swollen, and all in all, he looked like he really wished he had stayed back at the ranch. Sam hit him one more time and the man kissed the floor.
Then Matt and Sam turned on the man who had met the corner of the table. Together, as one man would later say, “Them boys beat the hell outta that Lightning hand.”
Matt left Tony to Sam and looked around just as Rusty was staggering to his boots. Matt grabbed the man by the seat of his pants and his shirt collar and ran him squalling and bellering across the room, using the path Rusty had earlier cleared. Matt threw him through the window.
Rusty hit the boardwalk and kept on going. He impacted against the south end of a hitchrail, did a real nifty little flip, and landed in a horse trough.
Matt stepped through the broken window, dragged the man out of the trough, and retrieved Rusty’s poke-sack from his pocket. He stepped back into the dining room. Mister Dale and the others had lined up on the boardwalk in front of the Red Dog, disbelief in their eyes.
But it wasn’t over yet.
Matt counted out a few bills and held them up while Sam was gathering money from the other bully-boys. “This is for my shirt, folks.” He put that in his pocket. He tossed the rest onto a table. “That will pay for the expenses, along with what money we pull from these other galoots.”
“Ripped my brand new trousers,” Sam griped. He counted out enough for a new pair of pants and tossed the rest of the money onto the table. There was over a hundred dollars in gold and greenbacks.
The brothers looked at each other and grinned. They then proceeded to toss the other Lightning hands out the shattered window. It made quite a pile when they were through.
They returned to their table, righted it, found chairs, and sat down. “Now,” Matt said. “Can we please have something to eat?”
* * *
Hugo Raner stood on his front porch and watched as his foreman and three of his top hands came riding in at sunset. They were sure sorry lookin’.
“What the hell happened?” he shouted.
Rusty dismounted carefully and painfully. “I don’t know who them hombres is, boss. But they’re ring-tailed-tooters. I ain’t never had my ashes hauled this bad in all my life.”
“For God’s sake, men. How many were there?”
“Two,” Tulsa said sheepishly.
“Two!” Hugo roared. “The townspeople join in with them?”
“No, sir. They just laughed and had them a good time.”
Hugo Raner flushed. “Nobody laughs at my hands. That’s the same as laughing at me.”
His son stepped out to see what all the shouting was abo
ut. He stared at the beat-up top hands. Carl fancied himself a fast gun, and in truth he was good, very quick. He was also cocky, arrogant, and cruel to both humans and animals.
“You men see a doctor?” Hugo asked.
“Yeah, boss,” Buck lisped the words through the gap where his front teeth used to be. “Nothin’ broken.”
“Get cleaned up. Supper’s over but the cook saved you some grub. Tomorrow we’ll all ride into town and see what this business is about.”
“Right,” Carl said, a cruel glint in his eyes.
* * *
Mister Dale walked over to the hotel and watched as workmen boarded up what was left of the big window in the dining room. He shook his head and walked into the lobby. He nodded at the desk clerk and stood under the archway, looking at the two strangers sitting in the nearly deserted dining room, having an after-supper coffee and cigar. Mister Dale decided there was only one way to get to the bottom of this. He walked over to the table.
“Gentlemen,” he said with a smile. “Do you mind if I sit down?”
Matt pushed out a chair with the toe of his boot and the man sat down. He waved to a waitress and she poured him coffee.
“That was quite a fight, boys,” Mister Dale said.
“So-so,” Sam replied.
“Some friendly advice from an older man?” Dale was about forty, the brothers guessed.
“It’s free, so go ahead,” Matt told him.
“Were I you boys, I’d pull out first thing in the morning,” Mister Dale said.
“We like it here,” Sam said.
The mayor smiled. “Hugo Raner owns one of the biggest spreads in all of Colorado. He has about thirty hands. I’m sure he and his boys will be riding in first thing in the morning. You boys wouldn’t want to endanger women and children by engaging in a gunfight on Main Street, now, would you?”
“If there is a gunfight,” Sam said, “it won’t be us who starts it. So the logical thing to do would be to ban this Hugo person and his hands from town.”
Mister Dale chuckled. “Logic. Well, yes, I suppose you’re right. But Hugo and his men live and work and spend their money in this town. You boys are just drifters. You’ll spend a few dollars and then drift on. You catch what I mean? By the way, I’m Mayor Dale.”
“I’m Matt and this is my brother, Sam.”
“Smith and Jones?”
“We’re half brothers,” Sam told him.
The mayor nodded his head. “Boys, don’t play dangerous games with me. You won a fistfight. Fine. No real damage done. The people I talked with said the Lightning crew started it. All right. No charges will be filed.” His face tightened and his voice became hard. “Now let’s get down to the nut-cuttin’. I own this hotel and dining room. You boys spend the night, sleep well, then get out of here come morning. You catch my drift?”
“Oh, yeah,” Matt said. “We’ll check out in the morning.”
Mister Dale smiled. “Fine, boys. Fine.”
“Is there a boardinghouse in town?” Sam asked.
The mayor sighed, losing his smile. “You don’t seem to understand. I can have you arrested for vagrancy.”
Matt tossed a sack of gold coins on the table. Sam did the same. Matt said, “I’d sure like to see that charge stand up in a court of law.”
Mister Dale carefully opened each sack. The banker in him surfaced. His eyes glinted at the dull gold shining at him. “That’s a lot of money for a couple of saddlebums to have. I just might ask the sheriff to lock you up until we can decide if that money is stolen.”
“We both own ranches in Wyoming,” Sam told him. “And there are papers in our saddlebags to prove it. I would imagine our spreads are as large—or larger—than those around here. Try again, Mister Mayor.”
Mister Dale sugared and creamed his coffee. He sipped and added more sugar. “Two ranchers passing through,” he said softly. He shook his head. “We all make mistakes. Why did you go into the Plowshare instead of the Red Dog?”
“The Red Dog looked full,” Matt said. “We chose the quieter saloon.”
Mister Dale chuckled. “Things are tense here, gentlemen. My apologies for the behavior of Hugo’s boys, and for my ordering you out of this hotel. Stay as long as you like.” He tapped one sack of gold. “I’d bank that money, boys. That’s a tidy sum to be carrying around.”
“We might do that,” Sam told him.
The mayor stood up. “Smith and Jones,” he muttered. “Why not?”
He walked out of the dining room.
Bodine and Sam looked at each other and grinned.
* * *
Hugo brought every hand he could spare into town. They made quite a show of it and succeeded in raising a dustcloud that a tornado would have been hard-pressed to match.
Mister Dale met the rancher on the boardwalk in front of the Red Dog and briefly explained the situation.
Hugo Raner shook his big head. Everything about Hugo was big. He was a bear of a man. “That don’t make a damn to me, Dale,” he said. “I aim to see those two horsewhipped. Now get out of my way.”
“Just calm down a second,” Mister Dale said. “And think about what you’re planning. Smith and Jones came into town looking for a room and a meal. That’s all. They are respected Wyoming ranchers and have the funds and the papers to prove it. Your men were out of line. What we don’t need now is trouble that will be carried out of this area. We don’t want outside authorities to catch wind of this upcoming war. Now think about that, Hugo.”
The big man thought for a moment and then sighed. He removed his hat and ran thick, blunt fingers through his dark hair. “All right, Dale. All right. I see what you mean. It was a misunderstanding all the way around.”
“There they are, boss.” Tulsa spoke from the saddle.
Hugo looked at the two men coming out of the hotel. His experienced eyes took in Matt’s two guns and the way the man walked. He shifted his gaze to Sam. “They’re gunfighters, Dale. Both of them. And that one has some Injun in him. Injun! Jumpin’ Jesus Christ, Dale, they’re ranchers, all right. But I’ll tell you something else: that’s Matt Bodine and Sam Two Wolves!”
Three
The news spread throughout the town very quickly. Children gathered around—but not too close—to stare at the gunfighters whenever they made an appearance. Hugo sent most of his crew back to the ranch and found him a table at the Red Dog. He had sent men out to the other two ranches, calling for a meeting, and now he waited for the arrival of Pete Harris of the Box H, and Blake Vernon of the Circle V.
“I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” Mister Dale said. “Bodine and Two Wolves don’t hire their guns out.”
“I know that. But they got nose trouble. They’re always stickin’ their noses into other folks’ business. You heard about that crap they pulled down in Texas. They didn’t have no business gettin’ involved in that. Nose trouble.”
“And you’re thinking they may decide to get involved in our . . . situation?”
“I don’t know. But if they do, they’re meddlin’ fools. Me and Pete and Blake can mount up close to a hundred men. Dale, I aim to run them homesteaders and sheepmen out of this country. And I don’t give a damn who gets hurt or killed in the process. And that includes Bodine and his damn half-breed Injun brother.”
“I just wish they’d leave town peacefully.”
“They won’t,” Hugo said, his words grimly spoken. “They’ll stick their noses in this sure as shootin’.”
“Pete and Blake ridin’ in,” a hand called through the batwings. “Got about ten men with them.”
Hugo nodded. The owners of the Box H and the Circle V stomped in, ordered beer—although it was still early in the day—and joined Mister Dale and Hugo at the table. Their hands fanned out in the big room.
Dale laid the cards on the table.
“I don’t like it,” Blake said. “I don’t think it was coincidence that Bodine and Two Wolves showed up here. I don’t think that at all.”
“Just steady down,” Pete said. “But I will say that those two got the reputation as troublemakers.”
“Well, we’re in agreement on that,” Hugo said. “So what do we do about it?”
“Force their hand,” Frisco, the foreman of the Circle V, suggested.
Rusty, foreman of the Lightning, sure agreed with that.
“Now, just hold on,” Pete Harris said. “Let’s don’t start shooting before we know all the facts. We’ll just keep men in town and see what those two outsiders do. If they start gettin’ chummy with the nesters and the sheepmen, then we’ll know and we can move. I don’t aim to go off half-cocked and lose a bunch of men fightin’ Bodine and that breed brother of his. And boys, we would damn sure lose men. Those two won’t go down easy.”
“That’s easy for you to say, Pete,” Blake spoke up. “You don’t have nesters squattin’ on your land and sheepmen ruinin’ the land.”
“I ain’t seen any land bein’ ruined, Blake,” the rancher countered. “And I do have sheep on my south range. But it’s free range, Blake. Those sheepherders have government permission to be there. And they know what they’re doin’, boys. They don’t let the sheep eat the grass down to the roots. They move them long before that can happen. I was out there the other day, me and Robert and Millie. Watchin’ those dogs work is a pure delight. We had a good time.”
“Whose side are you on here, anyways, Pete?” Hugo asked, giving the man a queer look. “Seems like to me you’re suckin’ up to them damn sheepmen.”
Pete stared hard at the man. “Don’t press me too hard, Raner. Just because I don’t want to go in and start a bunch of killing don’t mean I won’t pull iron with you.”
“Hold it!” Mister Dale slammed his hand on a tabletop. “Now settle down—the both of you. I . . .”
The batwings squeaked open and Bodine and Two Wolves walked in and up to the bar.
“Beer for both of us,” Bodine said.
“I ain’t servin’ no goddamn greasy Injun in here,” the burly barkeep said.
Gunsmoke and Gold Page 2