The Circle J was always quiet when its cowpunchers returned from a trail drive. Some of its cowboys had already been paid off and left the cattle spread but seasoned rancher Bret Jarvis never allowed his best hands to quit. Good wranglers were hard to find and it paid to keep them on the payroll even when most of their stock had been sold at market. Yet the core of his ranch hands now only totaled nine. A bunkhouse set between a barn and Jarvis’ long ranch house were at the very center of the Circle J. In the thirty years of its existence it had never been attacked by anyone.
There had not been any reason for the rancher or any of his hired hands to think that would ever change. None of them considered that they might one day become a target for a gang of ruthless outlaws.
They were about to proven wrong.
As the afternoon dust moved across the dry courtyard of the Circle J the rancher and his cowboys were getting ready for their dinner. The aromatic aroma of inch thick frying steaks filled the air from the cook house. The sun was already starting to fall from the sky as it made its daily trip from the heavens toward the distant horizon. Most of the cowboys had finished their chores and were gathering near the stock pens when one of their number noticed the tell-tail hoof dust filtering from the hillside.
‘Hey, Bret.’ The cowboy shouted across to the ranch house.
Jarvis came from the wide open door and made his way down the steps toward his men. He glanced at the group of cowboys and then squinted to where several arms were pointing.
‘What ya seen, Clu?’ the rancher asked as he drew closer to his men. He rested a hand on the fence poles and rubbed his eyes. ‘Damned if I can see a thing. What ya pointing at?’
‘Don’t ya see it?’ the cowboy with far younger eyes asked his boss. ‘We got riders coming down from the canyon.’
Jarvis leaned forward. ‘Can ya see that far, boy?’
‘He’s right. Bret.’ Gerry Parks nodded. ‘We got about ten or more riders headed this way.’
The rancher accepted their word. ‘Do ya know them?’
‘I ain’t seen any of them varmints before.’ Clu Sharp said. ‘Reckon they must be looking for work.’
Suddenly Bret Jarvis felt a chill trace his backbone. He rubbed his jaw and tried to swallow. He failed. There was no spittle in his mouth.
‘I got me a real bad feeling about them varmints, boys.’ Jarvis said as his eyes darted to his men. None of them were armed. ‘Go get and strap ya gunbelts on. Now.’
One by one each of the cowboys realized their boss was serious. They could sense his trepidation as the large man pulled his ancient Colt from its holster and checked its chambers. They knew Jarvis never drew his six-shooter unless there was a real good reason.
The Circle J cowboys ran toward the bunkhouse.