Blood Bond 5 by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone [Johnstone, William W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2014-12-27T05:00:00+00:00

Book Two

Nothing great will ever be achieved without great men, and men are great only if they are determined to be so.

De Gaulle

1

John ordered the Carlin House closed and told the bartender and the swamper to report for work at the newly named Crossville Saloon. The Bull’s Den was just as gone as the Carlin House. Several gunhands went in and bought the old Bull’s Den—with money provided by the Carlin and Sutton kids—and renamed it the Red Dog Saloon.

“Not terribly original,” Sam had commented.

The Express carried the headlines: “PEACE.”

Doc Blaine looked at the thirty-odd gunhands drifting in and out of town, but as yet causing no trouble, and remarked to a patient, “That headline just might be a little premature.”

Matt and Sam were staying on at the newly named Circle B, working as cowhands until more punchers could be found. The combined ranges of the two men were huge, the largest in the territory, and they needed a lot of men to work the cattle, ride fences, cut hay for winter feed, and do the many other jobs that working cowboys did.

Matt and Sam had ridden into town with Daniel and two hands driving wagons to pick up supplies, and they reined in at the new bank, The Crossville Cattle Exchange, where Matt and Sam had transferred their holdings from Singer’s bank.

Daniel looked up the street and said, “Trouble coming.”

Hugh and Randy Sutton, with a half dozen of the mangiest looking men Matt had seen in many a day, were riding slowly up the street.

“Where in the hell did he find that motley crew?” Sam asked, just as Donner, Butch Proctor, and Dud Mackin wandered out of the Red Dog Saloon to stand on the boardwalk. “Right on cue,” Sam muttered. “It’s a set-up.”

“Big doin’s ’bout fifteen miles west of here,” a cowboy from the AT spread said, walking up. “Tom and all his deputies left about two hours ago. Some sort of shootin’, I think it was.” He looked north. “Well, now, look there, will you. Something funny goin’ on here.”

Matt looked. Henry Rogers, Rod Hansen, and Bob Coody were swinging down from their saddles in front of the Mexican cafe at the end of the main street.

“We’re boxed,” Daniel said softly.

“When the shootin’ starts, Daniel,” Lars said, “you hit the ground. You’re your pa’s sole son now. You got to stay alive. And don’t argue with me.”

“I can hold my own,” Daniel protested.

“He’s right,” Matt told the young man. “Just hit the ground at the first pistol crack.”

“Don’t argue, boy,” Slim said. “Just do it.”

“Get the people off the street,” Sam said, turning to the AT rider. “All hell’s going to break loose here in about two minutes.”

The AT man took off in a bow-legged trot.

Sam moved to his horse and took his spare six-gun from a saddlebag.

“Look at the bank,” Lars said. “There’s Singer standin’ in the door.”

The big man was smiling as he stood in the open door to his bank.

“There’s Miss Petunia and Miss Wanda on the porch of the hotel,” Slim said.

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