Smoke talked to Jamie and Matthew before he pulled out into the night.
“Tell the boys to ride carefully and keep a sharp eye out. I’m going into the lion’s den, and there is no telling what Jud Vale will have his men do in retaliation after I’m through.”
“There used to be a lot more farmers in this area than there is now, Mr. Smoke,” Jamie said. “Women and girls has been tooken and misused by Vale and his riders. Men has been tarred and feathered and horsewhipped and killed. Killed outright if they was lucky. A deputy sheriff come in here once. He just disappeared. There ain’t been no more lawmen come around the Bear. Jud Vale is pure trash, Mr. Smoke. Trash livin’ in a big fancy house, with servants and such as that. When he can get them to stay, that is. He fancies young women all around, to wait on him. And he abuses them in ways we heard that would make you sick to your stomach, so they leave as soon as they can get a way out. You cain’t tell us nothin’ about Jud Vale and what he might decide to do.”
“The more I hear about this man the more I think the best thing to do would be to just go in and chop his head off, so to speak,” Smoke said.
“Ain’t gonna be that easy, Mr. Smoke. Not even for you. Jud ain’t never alone. He’s got half a dozen bodyguards with him all the time. Men that have been with him for years, my pa says.”
“We’ll see, boys. We’ll see. I might not be able to do much more than rattle the bars on his cage this time around. But, by God, he will know that his territory has been violated.”
Walt came out to the barn just moments before Smoke was to pull out. “Clint Perkins is in the area, Smoke, Don’t ask me how I know—I can’t explain the feelings I get when he’s close. I just know. You be careful.”
“Whose side is he on, Walt?”
“His own,” the old rancher said bluntly. “He’s like a goose; wakes up in a new world every day. I always knew he was about half nuts. Now I think he’s gone slap dab crazy.”
Smoke led the steeldust out of the barn and swung into the saddle. “I’ll see you in two or three days, Walt.”.
“Be careful, boy.”
Smoke rode slowly away from the ranch and into the night. He fought shy of the roads and well-traveled trails as he worked his way toward the range of the Bar V. Editor Argood had told him that there was not one single person on the Bar V payroll that was worth the gunpowder it would take to blow their brains out. To a man, Argood said, they were bullies and trash and petty criminals and all wanted by the law somewhere. The people in the area put up with them because Jud Vale kept them all on a tight leash. Jud had forbidden them to enter Montpelier, restricting their carousing to a few small towns and trading posts in the area around the Bar V range.
All in all, Smoke concluded as he rode through the night, a snake pit could best describe the Bar V ... and that included the owner.
With a tight smile on his face. Smoke thought that the next couple of days and nights should prove to be quite interesting.
Before leaving the Box T, Smoke had taken tape and silenced anything that might jingle. Only the clop of the steeldust’s hooves and the occasional creak of saddle leather could be heard. By midnight, he was on Bar V range. He would ride for a while, then dismount and stand listening for several moments. He began passing bunched and sleeping cattle and slipped his rope free, knowing he would soon make contact with a night herder. If his luck held, the night herder would think him one of the Bar V riders—at least long enough for Smoke to dab a loop over the man and cause a little mischief.
He rode parallel to a series of ridges for a few moments, before finding a pass that would, hopefully, take them to the flats on the other side. He let the steeldust set his own pace and pick his way through the night. On the flats, reined up in the opening of the draw, Smoke spotted the night herder as the man worked his way around the herd, riding slowly so as not to spook the cattle, which was an easily done job. The cattle had, as usual, risen about midnight, grazed for a few moments, and then settled back down.
As the night herder passed Smoke’s position, the gunfighter let the loop fly and jerked the rider out of the saddle. The man hit the ground hard, knocking the wind out of him. Smoke was off and running as the loop settled and he further silenced the herder by a hard right fist to the side of the man’s jaw. He then tied him up, using cut-off sections from the Bar V rider’s own rope. He gagged the man with a dirty bandana taken from the man’s equally dirty neck and then squatted down beside him, waiting for him to regain consciousness.
The man’s eyes opened and widened as he recognized who he was looking at.
“You want to live?” Smoke asked softly.
The man nodded his head up and down vigorously.
“You know who I am?”
The rider nodded.
Smoke took out his long-bladed knife and laid the cold sharp steel against the man’s throat. “I’ve a good notion to cut your throat and just have done with it.”
The Bar V man made desperate choking sounds behind the gag, being careful not to move his head for fear the sharp blade would slice him.
“On second thought,” Smoke told him, “I think I’ll just strip you and tie you between two steers and then stampede the herd.”
More frantic choking sounds.
“Unless you agree to ride out and never show your face in this part of the state again.”
The muffled sound from behind the gag were definitely in agreement with Smoke’s last remarks.
Smoke very slowly moved the knife point, just scraping the man’s unshaven jaw, and the Bar V night herder looked like he was developing the first stages of a heart attack. With one flick of his wrist, Smoke cut the gag from the man’s mouth.
“Oh, Jesus!” the rider softly moaned.
Smoke grabbed him by the hair and jerked his head back, exposing the softness of throat. He laid the blade against the man’s skin and the sharp odor of urine filled the night.
“If I see you again, I’ll kill you,” Smoke told him.
“Mr. Jensen, if you was to cut me aloose, I’ll be two counties away come the dawn.”
Smoke cut his bonds and stood up. “Ride. Ride like you’ve never ridden before. Forget your warbag back at the bunkhouse. Just get clear of this area.”
“I’m gone, mister!”
and swung into the saddle, wet drawers and all, and was gone into the night, heading west. Smoke had not disarmed the cowboy, but the man made no moves toward his six gun. The night became quiet as the rider got the hell gone from Smoke Jensen.
Smoke removed his spurs and stashed them in a saddlebag. Back in the saddle, he guided the steeldust out to the edge of the herd and began making the night herder’s rounds, working in a slow, rough circle. He soon spotted another night rider.
Smoke rode up to the man and just as the rider realized he was not looking at a Bar V hand, Smoke leaned over and knocked him clear out of the saddle. He was on the ground and standing over the man as the cowboy came up, fighting mad and cussing to beat sixty. He reached for his gun and Smoke knocked it out of his hand then proceeded to beat the man to an unconscious bloody pulp. Smoke tossed him belly-down across the man’s saddle, tied him securely, and slapped the horse on the rump, knowing the animal would head straight for the corral.
Smiling, Smoke swung back into the saddle and went in search of more night herders.
Long before first light, he had cleared the Bar V range of nighthawks. He had sent three packing, riding hell-bent for leather toward a more hospitable climate, and had either whipped with his fists or clubbed over the head four more, tying them across their saddles and sending the horses racing back to the corral, jumping and bucking under the strange load.
Smoke headed for the high country and some food and sleep. He was still smiling as he plopped his hat over his eyes and leaned back, his saddle for a pillow. The sun was just coming up. He was less than a mile from Jud Vale’s mansion.
around, cussing and hollering. “Get him!” he finally screamed, his face beet-red, spittle spraying over his lips. “Put a rope on him and drag that bastard back here! Ten thousand dollars to the man who brings him in, dead of alive! Ride, dammitl”
Forty riders hit their saddles and left the ranch complex in a cloud of dust, which was exactly what Smoke planned on them doing. He knew they would not expect him to be within ten miles of Jud Vale’s mansion, much less standing on a brush-covered ridge overlooking the estate.
Smoke had carefully picketed the steeldust over good graze and a small pool of collected water—water enough for a couple of days. If Smoke did not return, the steeldust could break free with little trouble and head back to Box T range.
Smoke took his time studying the ranch layout through field glasses, including ways to reach it and ways to get out once there. Jud had chosen his building site carefully, including a little creek that ran some three hundred yards behind the out of place mansion.
Smoke removed his boots and slipped on moccasins. He carefully checked his guns, wiping them free of any dust they might have collected. He removed his Winchester from the boot and checked it, making sure it was loaded full up. He patted the steeldust on the neck and spoke to it for a moment, then he started to move out.
Movement on the other side of the creek halted him. He squatted down and watched. He was sure he had seen movement. Or had he? He waited. There! He’d been right. Somebody, or something, was sure enough down there. He went back to his saddlebags and got his field glasses.
He moved several hundred yards closer to the mansion, adjusted the glasses for range and once more settled down to wait. Then he picked out the shape of a man. It startled him as the face of the man came into view. It was almost like looking into a mirror. There was some difference, of course, but the facial features of the man were startlingly similar to Smoke’s own.
Clint Perkins. It had to be. But what the devil was he up to?
He watched as the man left the creek and ran to one of several privies behind the house. The privies surprised Smoke. He thought Jud would have installed some of those new fangled indoor water closets he’d seen back East.
Clint began working his way closer to the mansion, finally ducking into a shed not far from the back porch. The call of a meadowlark drifted to Smoke, and Smoke could tell the call was not real. Within a moment, a young woman stepped out onto the porch, shaking out a small rug.
Someone must have said something from inside the house, for the girl turned her head. Smoke could see her lips move in reply. She had an angry expression on her face. Her reply must have satisfied the questioner for she moved off the porch and walked toward an outhouse.
She angled toward the privy just behind the shed; that move would effectively block the view of anyone watching from the house, but not from the ridge and Smoke’s magnified eyes.
The girl did not go into the outhouse. But she did disappear from view. So the shed either had a back door or a couple of loosened boards. Clint Perkins, the so-called Robin Hood of the West either had him a girlfriend, or was planning to rescue the lady from the sweaty evil clutches of Jud Vale. Probably a combination of both, Smoke thought. This Clint Perkins, as it was turning out, was quite the ladies’ man.
Smoke wondered just how many starry-eyed women Clint had loved and left and how many woods’ colts this dubious Robin Hood had in his back trail?
After only a few moments, a man wearing two guns belted around his waist stepped onto the porch and, judging from the expression on his face, started yelling. The girl appeared, seeming to come from out of the privy. And from the expression on her face, she seemed to be yelling at the man. When she reached the porch, the man slapped her, staggering her, only the railing preventing her from falling off the porch. He grabbed her by the arm and hurried her into the house, slamming the door behind them.
Interesting, Smoke thought. Then he wondered how many more young ladies Jud Vale was keeping against their will in the huge mansion?
Smoke settled back in a more comfortable position, his back to a tree, his hat on the ground beside him and waited and watched. This might prove to be a very interesting morning.
And Smoke might not have to do anything for a change. Except enjoy the show.