CHAPTER 20
That stunned reaction lasted for a moment that probably seemed longer than it actually was.
Then a woman cried out and a man yelled, “Snake Bishop! Snake Bishop’s comin’!”
Noise welled up from the crowd as men cursed and shouted questions and women whimpered and cried and clutched at their husbands.
Some of the men knew about the potential threat from the Bishop gang, of course, because they were part of the defensive force Smoke had put together. But they were only a small fraction of the group. Most of these folks had had no idea of the danger looming over their heads . . . until now.
Once Snake Bishop’s name was out there, however, the news began to spread like wildfire. Already, some members of the crowd were running to tell friends and family about what they had just heard.
As Windy eased Luther Blassingame’s head and shoulders back to the ground, he looked up at Smoke and shook his head in dismay.
“We knew we couldn’t keep it from ’em forever,” he said, “but I reckon it would’ve been all right if it’d been a mite longer before folks found out.”
“I’m actually surprised we kept it as quiet as we did, for as long as we did.” Smoke extended a hand, clasped Windy’s wrist, and helped the old-timer to his feet. “We’d better go talk to Sarge and Apple Jack and let them know the cat’s out of the proverbial bag.”
“Reckon they’ll likely know before we get there,” Windy commented as he looked around. The crowd was scattering in a hurry now. It wouldn’t be long before the news reached every corner of Salt Lick.
The Top-Notch Saloon was closer, so they headed there first, leaving Eugene Hardisty to watch over the bodies until the undertaker arrived. As they walked, Windy said, “I’m mixed up about somethin’. If Bishop’s bunch jumped the stage earlier today and were headed this direction, why ain’t they here yet? They should’ve beaten Luther to Salt Lick.”
“The only explanation is that they didn’t come straight here to raid the town,” Smoke said.
“But why not? You reckon somethin’ happened to delay them?”
Smoke shook his head. “We don’t have any way of knowing. It could be that Bishop decided to wait until nightfall to launch his attack. Remember, he believed Blassingame was dead along with the others. He didn’t have any way of knowing that Blassingame was going to warn us, just like he didn’t know about Atkins and Rome tipping us off with their failed bank robbery. So he didn’t have any reason to hurry.”
“Maybe,” Windy said as he ran his fingers through his whiskers, “but I never knowed Snake to worry that much about day or night. He was always just as liable to attack in broad daylight.”
Smoke frowned slightly as he glanced over at his deputy. Once again, Windy had sounded a little more familiar with Snake Bishop’s way of doing things than he should have been.
Windy must have realized the same thing, because he went on hastily, “Judgin’ by what I’ve read about him on the wanted posters, I mean, and in the newspapers.”
“Yeah,” Smoke said. A gust of wind tugged at his hat and caused him to lift a hand to the brim and tug it down tighter on his head. “What about the weather? Maybe he changed his mind because of that blue norther headed this way.”
“Maybe,” Windy said slowly, but he didn’t sound convinced.
The sun was still shining in Salt Lick, but the clouds were close enough now that they could be seen over the rooftops, moving fast enough that their progress could be tracked with the naked eye. With the sun shining on them like that, their color had darkened from blue to almost black. It was as ominous-looking a storm front as Smoke had ever seen.
“Hard to believe that yesterday was almost as pleasant as spring, ain’t it?” Windy said. “But that’s Texas for you.”
When they went into the Top-Notch, they found that the saloon was busier than usual for this time of day. Men were lined up at the bar, and Apple Jack and one of his bartenders were busy pouring drinks and drawing mugs of beer. The rush had to be prompted by the news that had broken a short time earlier. Men wanted to get together and talk . . . and fortify themselves with some liquid courage.
Apple Jack spotted Smoke and Windy and waved them toward the far end of the bar. He went along the other side of the hardwood to join them there.
“Well, we knew it wouldn’t last,” the saloonkeeper said, “but folks are even more worked up than I thought they would be.”
Windy said, “Most of these fellas never fought Injuns or owlhoots and are too young to have been in the war. They’ve never had to think serious-like about pickin’ up a gun and defendin’ themselves and their homes and families.” He shook his head. “They just never knowed how lucky they really had it. The wolves have always been out there, just waitin’ for their time to come around again.”
“What’s our next move, Smoke?” Apple Jack asked.
“We’ll get our force together and put the men on alert. The ones in the outer ring can go to their positions and get settled in. The men responsible for the wagon barricades can go ahead and move those into place. We’ll wait to move the families to the bank and establish the inner ring until it’s necessary. The important thing is that Bishop and his gang aren’t going to take us by surprise. I think we’ll put up a lot stiffer fight than they’re expecting.”
“Maybe they’ll pass us by because of the storm,” Apple Jack suggested, unknowingly echoing what Smoke had said earlier.
“That might happen,” Smoke said, “but we can’t count on it.”
Apple Jack nodded. “I’m gonna close the saloon. We’ve got enough on our plate without having half the fellas in town drunk as skunks.”
“That’s a good idea,” Smoke agreed. “Although you’ll probably get some arguments about that.”
Apple Jack snorted and said, “Anybody gives me too much trouble, I’ll break a bungstarter over his head!”
As Smoke and Windy left the saloon and headed for the Red Top Café, Smoke said, “I’m a little surprised Bishop just left the stagecoach there and didn’t take the horses, at least.”
“I ain’t,” Windy replied. “Once they’d looted the coach, they didn’t have no more use for it. And big ol’ draft horses like the ones in that team wouldn’t do ’em any good. They’d never make good saddle mounts. Sure, they might be able to sell horses like that, but they wouldn’t bring enough to be worth the trouble.”
Those same thoughts had crossed Smoke’s mind, but he wanted to find out what Windy would say. Again, Windy had phrased his comments in a way to make it sound as if he knew how Snake Bishop’s mind worked . . . and Smoke found that very intriguing, as well as a little worrisome.
He didn’t have time to follow up on that line of thought, however, because he spotted Sarge Shaw hurrying along the street toward them before they reached the Red Top. The former non-com looked upset about something.
“I heard about what happened with the stagecoach,” Shaw said as he came up to them, “so you don’t have to tell me. I’m hearing some really disturbing talk, Marshal.”
“What’s that?”
“Some folks are considering packing up their families and leaving town before Bishop gets here.”
Windy said, “We done talked to ’em about that at the meetin’ last night!”
“Most of the people in town weren’t at that meeting,” Smoke pointed out. “And they don’t know about our plans, either. They just know that they want to protect their families, and they think the best way to do that is by running.”
“Well, it ain’t.”
“We know that, but—”
Angry shouts from down the street interrupted what Smoke was saying. The three men turned and looked in that direction. A couple of wagons had been moved into the street to form part of the barricade at that end of town. Near them was a knot of men locked in a struggle. Fists flew as the battle swayed back and forth.
“Come on,” Smoke said. “We need to break that up.”
They ran toward the wagons. Smoke shouted for the men to stop fighting, but they were too caught up in their emotions and ignored him.
“Stay back, Windy,” Smoke told the old-timer, then he and Shaw waded into the fight. They grabbed men by their collars, jerked them away from their opponents, and slung them to the ground.
A couple of those hombres tried to scramble back to their feet, but Windy moved in quickly behind them and rapped them on the head with the butt of his old cap-and-ball pistol. The massive revolver was pretty heavy and the well-placed blows sent the men back to the ground, too stunned to try it again for a few minutes.
One of the battlers made the mistake of swinging a wild, roundhouse punch at Smoke’s head. Smoke easily ducked beneath it and stepped closer to hook a hard left into the man’s midsection. When the man bent forward from the impact with his eyes bulging, that put his chin in perfect position for the uppercut that Smoke brought whistling up. The blow landed perfectly and lifted the man’s feet a couple of inches off the ground before dumping him on his back, out cold.
A few feet away, Sarge Shaw caught two men by the neck and drove their heads together. The skulls collided with a solid thunk! and those men dropped senseless to the hard-packed dirt street, too.
The fight ground to a halt then. The men who were still on their feet stood in a ragged half-circle around Smoke and Sarge Shaw. Windy hovered nearby, ready to wallop somebody else with that gun butt if he needed to.
Smoke glared at the men and said, “What in blazes is wrong with you fellas? Don’t you think there’s enough trouble in Salt Lick right now without you fighting each other?”
One of the men pointed and said, “They’re tryin’ to block the street so we can’t get out!”
“That’s what they were told to do. They’re blocking the street so outlaws can’t get in”.
“Yeah, but those outlaws aren’t here now,” the townsman argued, “and some of us want to leave before they get here.”
“You mean to abandon your homes?” Smoke demanded. It was the same argument that had been raised during the meeting in the livery stable the night before. “That’s probably the worst thing you can do right now.”
“Snake Bishop’s got a reputation for burnin’ down towns,” another man said.
“That’s right,” the first one put in. “But at least our families would be safe. We can rebuild houses and businesses.”
Windy said, “If it’s your families you’re worried about, they’ll be safer here than out yonder on the prairie somewhere. What if you was to run into Bishop’s bunch while you’re out in the open, with no place to hide or take cover? What kinda chance do you think you’d stand then?”
“According to what Luther Blassingame said before he died, Bishop is south of town,” a man said. “We’ll just go north, away from him. Ain’t that right, boys?”
Shouts of agreement went up.
Smoke shook his head and leveled an arm to point toward the onrushing clouds.
“If you go north, that’s what you’ll run into,” he said. “I don’t think you want that.”
At that moment, as if they had been waiting for a cue, the clouds reached the sun and swallowed it in one gulp. Gloom fell over the town like a curtain, and the temperature seemed to drop perceptibly between one breath and the next.
Windy said, “Maybe you fellas ain’t ever been caught in a blue norther. I have. Let me tell you, the only thing that ever scared me more was a blasted cyclone. When that norther hits, the wind’s gonna howl like you never heard it before. It’ll be so cold it’ll steal ever’ last smidgen of warmth right outta your body. Your blood’ll get so thick it won’t hardly flow through your veins. And if there’s snow behind it, which I reckon there is behind that one, it’ll come down so hard and thick you won’t be able to see your hand in front of your face. I’ve seen fellas freeze to death five feet away from the door to the buildin’ they were lookin’ for. They never knowed it was there.” Windy let out a disgusted snort. “And that’s what you want to go draggin’ your families off into!”
The men looked more subdued now. Some even seemed to be ashamed of their panic. They shuffled their feet as the wind began to blow harder and colder.
“It does seem like the weather’s fixin’ to turn bad,” one man said.
“Might be best to stay inside,” another added.
“But what about those outlaws?” a third man asked.
Smoke nodded. “They’re a threat, too, no doubt about that. That’s why we’re getting ready as best we can. We’re going to block the streets so Bishop’s gang can’t charge straight through town and shoot the place up. We have men on the bank roof keeping an eye out for trouble. Men will be posted on top of other buildings and in strong defensive positions to fight back if the town is attacked. We plan to make Salt Lick too big a bite for Snake Bishop to swallow.”
“That sounds good . . . but we’re just ordinary folks, Mr. Jensen, and Bishop’s got a big gang of hard-case killers. Are we really any match for them?”
“Well,” Smoke said, “we kind of have to be, if we want to fight them off. I don’t know about you boys, but when the Good Lord was handing out qualities, he didn’t put a whole lot of back-up in me.”
“Nor in me,” Sarge Shaw added. “I saw plenty of fighting in the war. Some hard defeats, sure, but more victories, and in every one of them, most of the fighting was done by fellows who were scared and didn’t figure they had any business being there. They didn’t think they had what it took. But they did.”
“And a lot of ’em died, too,” a man said sourly.
“That’s true. But they figured the fight was worth it.” Shaw looked around. “I think this town is worth it. I think your families are worth it. And I think each and every one of you is worth it. And that’s why I’ll fight for you. For all of us.”
Nobody cheered. But looks of resolve began to appear on the faces of the gathered men.
“We all have work to do,” Smoke said. “Let’s get at it. Some of you men help these others finish moving the wagons into place. The rest of you go home and make sure your guns are loaded and ready. If you don’t have any guns, stop at one of the general stores. You can pick up rifles and shotguns and ammunition.” He smiled. “There’s always a chance that trouble won’t come. But if it does, we need to be ready for it.”
The crowd began to scatter, except for the men moving the wagons and the new volunteers who stayed to help. Even though it was still early afternoon, the dark clouds had covered the whole sky from horizon to horizon, and it looked more like twilight. The temperature had dropped enough that men’s breath began to fog in front of their faces.
“I’m going to talk things over with Apple Jack,” Shaw said.
Smoke nodded. “You two are our commanders,” he said. “If you see something that needs to be done, make sure it is. Windy and I will be at the marshal’s office if you need us.”
As they walked along the street, Windy shook his head dolefully and said, “This is gonna be a bad blow. You can feel it already, and I can smell the snow that’s on the way. But the town could get through the storm all right, if that was all we had to worry about. But with Snake Bishop on top of it . . .”
The old-timer’s sigh of dismay was eloquent.
“I don’t reckon we need to give up just yet,” Smoke said. “But there is something I want to talk to you about, Windy, as soon as we get back to—Wait a minute. Is that who I think it is?”
The question was prompted by the sight of a man standing in front of the marshal’s office, evidently waiting for them with his hat pulled down and his hands plunged into the pockets of a thick flannel coat.
Windy chuckled and said, “It sure is. Jonas Madigan, his own self. Are you surprised, Smoke?”
“No,” Smoke admitted. “No, I’m not.”