Blood Bond 5 (12 page)

“You going to be all right this night, Bull?”

“Oh, yeah. I'll ride in the back way and brief the boys in the bunkhouse. I've got the makings of a good crew, and Laredo is rock-solid.” He stuck out his hand, and John took it. “We've got years of catching up to do, brother. I look forward to goin' fishin' and huntin' with you.”

John grinned. “Me, too, brother. Me, too!”

Lawyer Sprague was a sour-faced man, but one that kept his mouth shut about his clients and knew the law. He didn't blink an eye at the will changes. He drew them up, the men signed them, Matt and Sam witnessed the documents, and that was that.

Tom Riley left Nate Perry to look after things in town and took Parley and Van with him. Bull and Matt and Sam rode with John back to the Circle JC. It was a grim-faced group of men who rode up to the house of John Carlin. John had told his wife everything when he had returned home from the meeting and the ambush attempt, and she had been horrified at the behavior of her children, and then pleased to learn the war and the feud was, at long last, over.

“But what about the girls?” she had questioned.

“I won't leave them penniless. I'll set up trust funds so they won't starve or walk around with their drawers showing through ragged dresses, but they'll by God have to find work.”

“But they're not trained to do anything!”

“That, Ginny, is their problem.”

John had stopped by the bank to line his pockets with cash money to pay off the gunhands, and both he and Bull had closed out their accounts with Miles Singer, and withdrawn all their funds, leaving the man in damn near a state of cold-sweat shock and the bank very nearly void of ready cash. Miles was going to have to sink a lot of his own funds into the bank's coffers just to prevent a run once the news got out. And even that might not keep the man solvent.

Dan Carlin had taken his mother to the upstairs of the mansion and was guarding her against a possible attack by his brothers and sisters and the hired guns. Ginny Carlin called it an impossible situation. But she was scared, although she tried to keep that fear from the one son she knew was mentally stable.

The other sons and daughters of John and Ginny Carlin sat in the living room downstairs and waited for their father to make an appearance. They were sullen and scared, and no amount of tough talk or bravado could hide that. The girls were weepy and the boys grim-faced. The same scene was being played out at the BS spread, but without nearly as much tension, for over there, tough, straight-arrow cowboys, led by Laredo, were all over the house, keeping a wary eye on Bull's turncoat kids.

“You can't do this!” Wanda squalled at Slim.

“Doin' it,” the lanky puncher replied.

“Get out of my house!” Willa yelled at Laredo.

“I take orders from Mrs. Sutton,” the newly promoted foreman told the young woman. “Not you.”

Cleat and Shorty were outside, and Laredo expected trouble from them, for he had a suspicion they were secretly on the payroll of Singer.

“I don't think you can take me,” Hugh Sutton told Rusty.

“Maybe not,” the redheaded, freckle-faced cowboy said. “But I'll damn sure get lead in you on my way down.”

Connie sat with her mother upstairs, a sawed-off, double-barreled shotgun across her jeans-clad knees. Extra shells were in her pocket.

“You simply must start wearing dresses,” her mother told her. “Men's britches are not proper for a young lady.”

“Hell with proper,” Connie replied. “You have a fine figure, Mamma. You want to get Poppa's attention, slip into a pair of my jeans. That'll perk him up real quick.”

“Heavens!” the mother said, but she had to hide a smile. Of late, all she had to do was walk into a room to get the Bull's attention. It was sort of like a second honeymoon. “I'm scared, daughter.”

“It'll be all right, Momma. Everything will be all right.”

 

 

“You're all fired,” John told the gunhands gathered in the front yard. “Line up over yonder to draw your pay. The war is over, and I don't need you no more.”

“I run this spread!” Johnny shouted from the front porch. “Don't you men pay no attention to him. You all work for me.”

“You don't run nothin', boy,” the father told him coldly. “And you can pack up your junk and get gone with them.”

“What?” the oldest son blurted.

“There ain't nothin' wrong with your ears. You heard me.” John swung down from the saddle, and those with him did the same, spreading out across the yard.

“Oh, Daddy!” Petunia called from the porch. “I've been just worried sick about you. I'm so glad to see you home safely.”

John cut cold eyes to his daughter. “Pack your crap, too, girl,” he wiped the smirk from her face. “I will not abide something like you under my roof. Lars!” he called to one of the few cowboys left on the place. “Are you with me or against me?”

“Solid with you, boss,” the hand called.

“Hitch up the buggy and drive Miss Petunia into town when she's ready.”

“Right, boss.”

“But . . . Daddy!” Petunia squalled.

“Hush up your mouth and pack,” John told her.

J.B. Adams and Ben Connors sized up the situation quickly. Everything had gone sour out here, and there was no point in kicking up a fuss about it. Parley and Van held sawed-off shotguns in their hands, the hammers back. Matt Bodine was looking square at him, and Sam Two Wolves was facing Ben Tom Riley was staring hard at Rambling Ed Clark, and Bull Sutton was holding a rifle aimed smack at Yok Zapata's belly. He cut his eyes to the second floor of the ranch house. Daniel Carlin was aiming a rifle at Dick Yandle's chest, and Ginny Carlin was aiming a rifle at Phillip Bacque, and Bacque was well aware of it. The percentages were all wrong here, J.B. thought. Best thing to do was draw their pay and ride into town.

“I'll get my gear from the bunkhouse, John,” J.B. said.

“Fine, J.B.,” John said.

“By God, I won't,” Utah Bates said.

“Don't be a fool, boy,” Bacque told him. He put both hands in his back pockets and turned to face Ginny Carlin's rifle. “I am out of this, Mrs. Carlin. I am going to pack my possessions and then draw my time.”

He turned and walked toward the bunkhouse, most of the others following him. Only the younger, less wise ones stayed put, facing the line of lawmen, ranchers, and the blood brothers.

“You see!” Clement called from the porch. “Them's workin' for us, Pa. It's you who'd better pack your war bag and get gone from here.”

“Clement,” John said, steel in his words. “You got a couple of choices. And I'll name them. Either pack and get out, or fill your hand.”

The expression on the young man's face was clear shock. His own father was telling him to draw down. He couldn't believe it.

“Back off,” Johnny said low. “He's holdin' all the cards. We can wait.”

“You mean that?” Marcel asked.

“Yes. Go on in the house and start getting our crap together. All of you. Move. All right, Papa,” he raised his voice. “You win this round. But you can't take back the sections of land you done give us over the years. All them acres is ours free and clear. That's ours now and forever.”

“Damn,” John said for Bull's ears only. “I forgot about that.”

“Hell, me, too,” Bull said sourly. “I did the same thing while land-grabbin' and snatchin' up everything in sight. Don't look like we'll ever get shut of them.”

“Get gone,” John told his kids.

“You're gonna have to move me,” Utah Bates said. Then his hands twitched.

John shot him. The rancher's draw was deceptively swift for a man his size and age. Utah had cleared leather, but just barely before the slug struck him square in the center of the chest and knocked him flat on his back.

“Oh, hell!” the young would-be tough yelled. His boots drummed the hard-packed earth, and then he was still.

Johnny and Clement Carlin stared at their father. They all knew their dad was quick with a short gun, but they had never dreamed he was this quick.

Pete and Petunia stared in shock.

“Anybody else?” John questioned, his words hard as the man himself.

A couple of the younger ones wanted to try him, but they wisely kept their hands still.

“Throw that dead coyote across his saddle and tie him in place,” John told those few still facing him. “Get him off my property and bury him away from here.”

Some of the other older gunslingers were already riding out. They did not wave or look back. John's children were still standing on the front porch.

“You best rattle your hocks,” John warned them.

“We're takin' our share of the cattle!” Marcel blurted.

John faced him. “You're takin' nothin', boy. You got no share of my herds.” He tapped his pocket, breast high. “I just changed my will. All legal and proper. You get nothin'. Nothin' at all. Now, or ever. Now get your connivin' butts off my property and don't never set foot back here again. Your names will be stricken from the family Bible and from this moment on, you are no kin of mine. Go suck up to Miles Singer.”

That shocked the Carlin kids. “How did you . . . ?” Petunia bit back the words as Pete clenched his fists so tightly the knuckles whitened.

“How ain't important,” her father told her. “But we know.”

J.B. Adams and Ben Connors slowed their horses, and J.B. said to Matt, “You're responsible for all this, Bodine. I'll bet my boots and saddle on that. We'll be around. We'll meet up sooner or later.”

“You won't be betting your boots and saddle, J.B.,” Matt told him.

“Huh?”

“You'll be betting your life.”

J.B. snorted and rode on. Yok Zapata reined up. “You'll face me first, Bodine.”

“I'll take you, Yok,” Sam said. “I can't let my brother have all the fun.”

“I'll be lookin' forward to that.” Yok rode on.

Phillip Bacque, Dick Yandle, and Raul Melendez were the next to ride out. They all grinned at Matt and Sam, clear warnings behind the hard smiles.

Paul Stewart, Simon Green, and Dick Laurin were the next to go. “I got a bullet with your name on it, Breed,” Paul said to Sam.

“Keep dreaming,” Sam told him.

Simon and Dick smiled at Matt, Simon saying, “I'm gonna kill you, Bodine.”

“You'll have to get in line,” Matt responded.

Will Jennings, Jack Norman, and Bill Lowry rode by. Jack gave Matt an obscene gesture, and Matt returned it.

“That's a new one on me,” Parley said. “I've never seen that before. What's it mean?”

Matt told him, and the young deputy blushed.

Big Dan Parker, Paul Brown, and Ned Kerry rode out. All three of them had to run their mouths and make their threats. Matt waved at them and smiled.

Henry Rogers, Rod Hansen, and Bob Coody were the next to leave. Bob Coody reined up and stared at Sam. “I hate Injuns,” he said.

“You should never hate,” Sam told him. “It isn't good for you.”

“And I don't like smart alecks, neither,” Coody said.

“I am so sorry to hear that,” Sam told him. “It must be terrible to hate oneself.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Ride on.”

“I think he in-sulted you,” Rod said.

“Hell with him,” Coody said.

Chuckie and Rambling Ed Clark rode by. “See you around, Bodine,” Ramblin' Ed called.

“I hope not,” Matt replied.

“Bet on it,” Chuckie told him. “You and that goddamn half-breed brother of yourn.”

“I'll look forward to meeting you,” Sam met the gunfighter's eyes.

“It'll be the last thing you see,” Chuckie bragged.

Sam laughed at him.

Petunia drove past in her buggy. She looked at her father and gave him a very profane and lengthy vocal expression of just how she felt about him.

“What a delightfully expressive and demure young lady,” Sam remarked.

Petunia heard it and told Sam what he could do to himself.

“That's impossible,” Sam said.

“Try it anyway,” the young woman told him.

“I'd like to see that,” Matt said with a grin.

Burl Golden was the last of the hired guns to leave. He walked his horse up to the group and looked down at them. “It ain't over, John, Bull. You must know that.”

The ranchers nodded their heads in agreement. Bull said, “You goin' to work for Miles Singer now?”

Burl shrugged his shoulders. “If the money's right, I reckon so.”

“A smart man would ride on out,” John told him.

“Some people ranch, others practice the law, still others run stores. I hire my gun. It's what I do.” Burl lifted the reins and rode on toward town.

John looked as his sons, carrying carpetbags and bedrolls, left the house and walked toward the corral.

“Yonder goes my life,” the rancher said. “It was all going to be theirs. Everything I worked for. How could a man get to my age and still be so damn stupid?”

His wife came out to stand by his side. “I have a suggestion, John.”

“I'm sure open to them.”

“When this is all over and done with, we'll go to that orphanage north of here and bring back a half dozen children. We're not too old to start over. We both like the sounds of kids in the house.”

“You want some company?” Bull asked.

John and Ginny smiled their replies. John said, “You ready to go clean out your nest of varmints, brother?”

“Let's do it,” Bull said.