Gunsmoke and Gold Read online

  “Basque. Some call it Euskara.” He smiled. “But I also speak Spanish, French, and of course, English. Would you like something to eat, my friends?”

  “No, no,” Sam said. “We had plenty back at Juan and Anita’s.”

  Raul smiled. “Of food, or mischief with the ladies?”

  Sam blushed and shook his head. “You have quite a grapevine, Raul.”

  “In the business we are in, we must have spies, or we would die. But I am telling you nothing that you both do not know. You are gunfighters, like the legendary Smoke Jensen.”

  Matt grunted. “Lord, I’m not in his class. But from what all I can gather, he’s a fair man. Be interesting if he was to show up around here, wouldn’t it?”

  “Now that, brother, would be just too much to hope for,” Sam said. “Why don’t you wish for Louis Longmont while you’re at it?”

  Raul whistled. “While we are dreaming, why don’t we wish for Charlie Starr?”

  The three men chuckled and put such thoughts out of their minds. Raul was thanked for the coffee, and with a promise to stop by whenever they could, the brothers rode away.

  Jean, Ramon, and Pierre came down from the slopes to sit by the fire and have a cup of coffee. “How did you find the men?” Jean asked.

  “I like them both. I think they are sincere in their help. And I think they are going to stay until it’s over.”

  Good. We need all the friends we can find. What was all that chuckling about?”

  Raul told them.

  “Oh, sure!” Pierre said. “Smoke Jensen, Louis Longmont, and Charlie Starr. I have heard about them in France! I would settle for just one of them to show up.”

  “Well, it was just a dream.”

  * * *

  The gambler left Denver riding in his own custom-built and luxurious coach pulled by four huge black horses. His valet, his cook, and Mike, his enormous bodyguard, rode in the custom coach behind his. The second coach was also pulled by four huge black horses. The gambler had tired of Denver. He’d gotten restless. Denver was just too damn tame. He wanted some action. He leaned back against the cushions and sipped his glass of wine. Maybe he’d find it on this trip, over in the gold country of northwestern Colorado. And then, too, he had to see about some investments of his in the Dale area. He’d just invested heavily in a project. He hoped it would pay off; not that he needed the money.

  The gambler’s name was Louis Longmont.

  * * *

  The man carefully put out his fire and buried it. He wiped all traces of his camp away before swinging into the saddle and heading out, the sun to his back. He was in his late fifties, and his jacket was old and his jeans patched. His hat had seen better days, too. Like his clothes, his Colts might be old, but they were clean. His face was burned dark by the sun and his wrists were thick, his hands big and scarred and callused. His eyes were cold and constantly moving, missing nothing. Charlie Starr had stayed alive for fifty-odd years living by his wits and a fast gun. He wasn’t about to change now. He was heading for a little town on the Colorado, a place he’d never been and where nobody—he hoped—would know him. He might be able to find work pushing cows around, riding for some spread.

  Charlie was going to find work, but it wasn’t going to be pushing cows around.

  Six

  The brothers stopped at the gate to the main house. It was closed, and neither of them wanted to open it without permission. They waited. Within moments, a rider loped out to meet them. He was a friendly-looking and handsome young man, about twenty, wearing an easy smile.

  “You have to be Matt Bodine and Sam Two Wolves,” he said, leaning down and opening the gate. “I’m Robert Harris. Pete is my father.”

  “Would it be all right for us to ride in and see him?”

  “Oh, sure. Dad’s nothing like Hugo Raner and Blake Vernon. He doesn’t want a war and has no intention of moving against the sheepmen or the farmers. Dinner’ll be ready in about an hour. So you’ll have to stay or insult the cook.”

  “Well, let’s not insult the cook,” Sam said, returning the young man’s smile. “You folks might have to live with that for a long time.”

  Pete Harris was standing on the long front porch when the brothers swung down from the saddle and started to hand the reins of their horses to a hand, to be led off to the barn. Both men noticed that the elder Harris had stationed men, in a casual manner, at both ends of the porch and behind them. Matt unbuckled and untied and looped his gun belt over the saddlehorn, Sam doing the same.

  Pete and son smiled at that, Pete saying, “You men go on back to work,” he said to his hands. He looked at the brothers. “And you boys get your guns. You can hang the belts from a peg in the house. Let’s sit here on the porch ’til dinner is ready. We’re havin’ fried chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy. That sound good to you boys?”

  “Great,” Matt said, sitting down in a wood-and-hide chair.

  “Millie,” the father called. “Bring us some coffee, will you, honey?” To the brothers: “That’s my youngest. She’s nineteen. And gettin’ hard to handle,” he added.

  “Oh, Dad,” Robert said. “She’s just lonesome. We need to have a dance and box supper and have folks over to socialize. Millie . . .”

  The words hung up in his throat when his sister appeared on the porch, carrying a tray with coffeepot and cups and sugar and milk.

  Millie was wearing men’s jeans and they didn’t leave any doubt as to her gender.

  “Great Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat!” her father thundered, half rising from his chair. “Where in the hell did you get them britches, girl?”

  Millie set the tray on a table. “I got them from town and did some taking in and tucking and so forth. Don’t you like them, Poppa?”

  “Hell, no!”

  Matt looked like he’d been kicked in the head by a mule. Robert took off his hat and held it over his face. Sam looked embarrassed.

  “Get outta them britches and get into a dress, girl!” Pete yelled. “That’s indecent.”

  Millie unbuckled her belt and Pete jumped to his feet, standing between his rebellious daughter and the others. “Not here, for Lord’s sake, girl. Mother!” he roared. “You come out here and do something with this daughter of yours!”

  “I like jeans, and I intend to wear jeans,” Millie said, standing her ground. “So get used to it, Poppa. And that’s my final word. Are you going to introduce me to our guests or just stand there with your mouth open?”

  Pete sighed and sank back into the chair. “I give up. I just give up. I can’t do nothin’ with you, girl. I don’t know where you get this unholy streak. Don’t come from my side of the family.” He waved a hand. “Matt Bodine and Sam Two Wolves. Set two more plates for dinner, girl.”

  Millie did a mock curtsy at the brothers. “I’m so pleased. I hope you plan to spend the day. We’re so isolated out here I’m dying to get caught up on all the gossip.”

  Matt stared at her. Heart-shaped lovely face, light brown hair, worn very short for the times, and a complexion that needed no make-up. “Uh . . . well . . . I . . .” he stammered.

  “He’s a little on the slow side,” Sam said, getting back at Matt for the other night at the café. “Not quite retarded, but . . .” He waggled his hand from side to side. “. . . Close.”

  Matt gave him a dirty look and stood up, hat in hand. “My brother was kicked in the head by a horse when he was a child. He’s been a child ever since. I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Harris.”

  “Millie, for heaven’s sake.” She stuck out her hand like a man and Matt looked at it, then awkwardly shook the small hand.

  A very pretty woman pushed open the door and stepped out onto the porch. Pete stood up. “This is my wife, Rebecca. Becky, for short. Becky, please do something about your daughter. She looks disgraceful.”

  “I’ll try,” the woman said. “But I’ll make no promises. By the way, you asked me what Millie was burning out back this morning? Her sidesaddle.”

>   Pete looked at his daughter. “Why would you do . . .” He bit that off and shook his head, realizing why she did it. “I ain’t a-gonna have you ridin’ astride, girl. I ain’t a-gonna have it. That’s my final word.”

  Millie laughed at him and ran skipping across the yard toward the barn.

  “Lord have pity on a man who has to raise a daughter,” Pete said, sitting back down as his wife poured them coffee and then took a seat beside her husband.

  “You want me to do what?” a hand yelled from the barn. “The boss’d skin me alive, girl!”

  “Hang in there, Don,” Pete muttered.

  Becky smiled and asked, “You boys planning on staying in this area long?”

  “We’ll stay until this, ah, situation is resolved,” Matt told her.

  “What situation?” she asked, her eyes twinkling. “Millie?”

  “I’m gonna cut me a limb,” Pete said. “I’ll settle that situation. Tan her butt so’s she can’t sit a saddle.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” his wife said. “She’s only doing what Denise Raner is doing.”

  “Denise Raner is an eighteen-year-old spoiled brat,” Pete replied. “And she doesn’t have good sense, either.”

  “Yee-haw,” came the shout from the barn, and Millie came barreling out on a paint pony that looked like it could fly. She galloped past the house, waved and yelled again, and headed for the hills on a horse that just naturally loved to run. And Millie was sitting the saddle astride.

  “Lord have mercy,” Pete muttered.

  Don came running up. “I didn’t saddle that hoss, boss,” he panted. “She done it herself.”

  “It’s all right, Don. Nobody’s blamin’ you,” Pete told the hand.

  “Yee-haw!” came the faint yell.

  * * *

  Millie was back in time for dinner, and much to the relief of her father, she said she would freshen up and then change into a dress. She did, in a manner of speaking. She changed into a bright-colored Navaho skirt that fell just below her shapely knees, and a low-cut blouse with a silver conchoed belt that accented her figure.

  “I reckon that’s sort of an improvement,” Pete muttered. “Pass the chicken around, girl.” And don’t lean over, he silently prayed.

  “What do you think would happen if we called on the Lightning spread and the Circle V?” Sam asked.

  “I think either man would probably shoot you on sight,” Pete was blunt with them. “I got word about the ambush early this morning. I don’t hold with that sort of thing and I aim to tell Blake and Hugo that. We can settle this thing without any blood being spilled—any more blood, that is—if they’d just listen to reason. But neither one of them will do that. They’re stubborn and bull-headed, and they think only one way is the right way, and that’s their way. They can’t see that times are changing and they’ve got to change with them. But I think they’ll die before that happens.”

  “Eat up, boys,” Becky urged them. “We love company and so does the cook.”

  Neither Sam nor Matt really needed much urging, for their appetites were healthy.

  “Save some room for pie,” Millie said. “I made them this morning.”

  “She can cook,” her father said. “I’ll give her that. Her mother taught her.”

  “And ride, Poppa,” she said.

  “Yeah, that too, I reckon. Come by that natural. Practically born on a horse.” He glanced over at Matt and Sam and their heaping plates. He smiled. “How often you boys eat, once a week?”

  * * *

  The brothers left the ranch after promising they would be back whenever they could. They also got the word from Pete that he had no intention of joining Hugo and Blake in any damn war against the farmers and sheepmen.

  He warned them about Hugo’s son, Carl, and about the sons of Blake Vernon, Lane, Dewey, and the nutty one called Hubby.

  “He’s not right in the head,” Pete warned. “But he’s not as goofy as he’d like people to think. He’s a dangerous young man. Watch him. And this is Ute country, boys,” he added. “We got most other tribes on the reservations—God help them—but the Utes are still fighting. So watch it. We got a small detachment of Army up on the White River. But they don’t do us much good down here. Ride with your eyes open.”

  The boys did not tell Pete about the Basques who had arrived to strengthen the sheepmen’s force. He told them after they admitted they’d had coffee at one of their camps.

  “Raul’s got some hard-eyed ol’ boys packing long-distance rifles,” Pete said with a smile. “Yeah. He told me. Raul’s all right. If all the sheepmen was like him . . .” He shook his head. “No, even that wouldn’t do for men like Blake and Hugo. They hate all farmers and all sheepmen.”

  “And you don’t think anything will soften their views?” Sam had asked.

  “Only the grave,” Pete said quietly.

  The brothers visited several farmers that afternoon and one other sheepman, tending his flocks with his brothers. They did not encounter one hostile eye during the entire day. They didn’t miss the sensation, knowing they would encounter plenty of hostility as soon as they rode back into town.

  Their horses were tired, so they walked them, letting the animals pick their own pace on the road back to Dale, Colorado.

  “I think Millie has her eyes on you, brother,” Sam said with a laugh, as he reached over and poked his blood brother in the ribs.

  Matt reined his horse out of the way of the poking finger and said, “And Victoria flusters up and gets orders mixed when you’re around.”

  “And about a hundred people are trying to kill us,” Sam added. “Or at least it seems that way.”

  “It can only get worse.”

  “True.”

  “Just think, if you were to marry Victoria, I could get my meals free.”

  Sam said a very ugly word in Cheyenne. He looked at Matt. “Marry? Wagh! You’ll marry long before I will.”

  “To tell the truth, I don’t think either one of us is a very good candidate for the ring and bit.”

  “Oh? Personally, I consider myself quite handsome and dashing.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You’re a real Romeo, all right. But that wasn’t what I was talking about.”

  “Oh? Please elucidate.”

  Matt reached over and pulled Sam’s hat down around his ears. “Speak American, you heathen.”

  “Explain yourself, you cretin.”

  “The number of people who would like to see us stretched out with a lily in our hands.”

  “Ah. You’re right.” He was thoughtful for a moment. “Why lilies?”

  “Huh?”

  “Why are lilies so often associated with funerals?”

  “Hell, I don’t know! Where do you come up with these strange questions? Sam? You smell the dust?”

  “Yes. I thought it was my imagination. Around that bend by those rocks up ahead would be a dandy place for an ambush.”

  “You’re reading my mind. How do you want to play it?”

  “We’ll have about a hundred yards of cover when we enter those trees. Cut to the right and swing in around behind them. If it isn’t our imagination.”

  “Like right now?”

  “Let’s do it.”

  The brothers cut off the road and into the thick stand of timber. They ground-reined their horses, removed their spurs, shucked rifles out of saddle boots, and made their way through the lush silence to the timber’s edge.

  When conversation was needed, they talked with Cheyenne hand signals. Sam signed: “I see two.”

  Matt replied: “I see them. Two more high up.”

  The ambushers all held rifles. Neither of the brothers could see their horses. If they could spot their horses, it would be fun to cut them loose and make the hands hoof it back to town. That beat killing any day.

  The brothers worked closer to the rocks, circling now, staying in the timber that curved around the upthrusting of rock. They finally spotted the horses, but there was no way they
could get to them without exposing themselves.

  Sam signed: “Now what?”

  Matt grinned and made the Cheyenne sign for dust, lifting his rifle as he said it.

  Sam returned the smile and the brothers separated, finding good positions from which to lay down some fire. They were less than a hundred yards from the ambushers, and from their positions, the crew of Lightning and Circle V hands were fully exposed.

  Matt lifted his rifle, sighted in, and pulled the trigger just as Sam fired. Matt’s slug hit the rifle’s receiver and tore the weapon from the man’s hands, numbing the ambusher’s arms all the way up to the elbows. Sam’s. 44 slug slammed into the magazine tube and tore it loose from the barrel; the rifle clattered on the rocks. Matt’s second shot lifted the hat from a man’s head and sent him diving for scanty cover. Sam blew the heel off a cowboy boot; that brought a yelp of pain and a lot of cussing from the wearer.

  The brothers started peppering the rocks with lead, being careful not to hit anyone. The ambushers scrambled for their horses and fled from that area, heading for town.

  The brothers picked up all their brass and Sam buried the hulls, then smoothed the earth. Back at their horses, the brothers carefully cleaned their weapons, for both had a hunch what the ambushers were going to tell the sheriff.

  “This just might get us a night in jail,” Sam cautioned.

  “Not if we play it right. You’re a natural-born ham, so lay on the hoke when, or if, we’re accused.”

  “A ham! Me? I’ll have you know I was chosen for the lead every time a play was presented in college.”

  “What’d you play, the noble red man?”

  “Bah!! I’m in the company of a fool.”

  “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

  They rode into town, and as they suspected, the sheriff was waiting for them.

  “This time, by God,” Linwood said, pointing a finger at them, “I got the goods on you boys. Get off them horses. You’re under arrest.”

  Seven

  “What’s the charge?” Matt asked, stepping down.

  “Attempted murder,” Jack told them.