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"Nothing got torched when you took it?" Rudi asked one of the Cutters.
The man riding next to the Mackenzie chieftain was about his own age or a few years younger; it was hard to tell exactly, with the weathering of their harsh climate making them all look older to eyes reared in the gentle Willamette country. Not many of the Cutters were over thirty, and half were in their teens. This one had shaggy black hair, a wispy young beard, green eyes and a missing front tooth; he cackled laughter at the question.
Jack, Rudi thought, remembering his name.
"Nope, we didn't fire a single lit-up arrow," the young plainsman said boastfully.
Even a modest wall with a fighting platform behind it could give defenders a big advantage. Picabo's had a roofed hoarding as well. If you didn't have a modern siege train, the quickest and easiest way to storm a defended town was to shoot fire arrows over the wall into the roofs and then rush the defenses while folk turned aside to fight the fire, as they must. And there was no sign of any siege equipment more sophisticated than a lariat or improvised ladder among this band of CUT levies.
"That must have taken some doing," Rudi prompted. And you like to talk, Jack, he added coldly to himself.
Jack laughed and slapped his thigh; a couple of his friends chuckled too, although a few of the older men rolled their eyes at his chatter.
"It was dead easy, friend!"
"How did you get over the wall, then?" Rudi went on.
A caravan guard was the next thing to a soldier, and the question was natural.
"That's Uncle Jed for you," Jack laughed gleefully. "Said we could get ashes and dead bones at home without the bother of fightin' for 'em, 'cause all we had to do there was ride on down to Billings and look at the ruins. So we druv a bunch of these Mormons we'd caught a bit south of here right up to the gate ahead of us, making like they was coming here for sanctuary."
Jed had been listening. He looked over his shoulder now with a slight feral smile:
"They really had been coming here for sanctuary. Which made it more convincing, you know what I mean?"
Rudi nodded soberly. He didn't like Jed Smith, but the man was no fool, unlike his nephew. The younger man went on:
"We had our men mixed in among 'em in the same clothes and their blades hid."
"They opened the gate without making sure?" Rudi said, a little surprised they'd fallen for the old trick.
"The rest of us hung back a little, whoopin' and shooting arrows and makin' like we was chasing them. We'd kept their kids so they'd play along, and they all yelled out to hurry up so's they could get inside before we caught 'em. By the time the ones inside this Peekaboo place knew the score, the gate was already open and we had a wagon full of rocks halfway through. With the wheels ready to be knocked off, so they couldn't drag it away, and then they couldn't shoot us without hit-tin' their own folks."
"That was clever work." Rudi looked around, counting households and multiplying, then subtracting because Mormon women rarely bore arms. "But there would have been hard fighting still. They should have had… what, sixty or seventy men under arms? You've a deal less than that, I see."
Jed Smith looked back at them, silently at first this time; his brows were up, and there was a wary respect in them. Rudi swore inwardly. The last thing you wanted an enemy to do was respect your wits. The older man spoke after a moment's considering stare:
"Maybe there was sixty or seventy fighting men here before the war, that would fit with how many women and kids. But I've lost more men from Rippling Waters Ranch in the past three-four years than I like, and we won. I figured it had to be a lot worse for them, and I was right. And they were surprised, and we had more men then-two other bunches were with us. It weren't no fair fight, which is the way I like it, youngster."
"I kilt three of their fighting men myself," the one called Jack said.
"In your dreams, maybe, Jack," another of the Cutters said. "Unless every arrow you shot off was guided by the Masters, personal-like, and since one nearly hit me in the butt cheek I sorta doubt that."
"Well, I kilt one for sure, Lin, which is more than you can say." To Rudi: "Uncle Jed says they thought all our troops were still down south along the Snake."
"And you took no losses?"
"Naw. Well, they killed Ke
"Watch your mouth, pup," Jed said. "I ain't going to see thirty again neither, and I can still whip you any day of the week and twice on Sundays."
"Sorry, Uncle Jed. And Dave, my second cousin Dave Throsson, not Big Dave Johnson who got killed at Wendell, he took an arrow in the leg, but we fixed him up good and poured whiskey in it so's it hasn't gone bad so far, and Tom Ski
Jed Smith looked over at him with a cold eye. Jack cleared his throat and corrected himself:
"-by the Ascended Masters, didn't we all laugh when he fell straight down with his stiff dick waggin' out! That's all our ranch lost, apart from some cuts and little shit like that. We got hurt a lot worse at Twin Falls, and we had a right bad day at Wendell; that was a real fight, let me tell you!"
"You took the village with only one dead?" Rudi asked.
"One from our ranch, like I said. Those stupid bastards from the Runamuk and Sweet Grass outfits lost six, maybe seven, and plenty more hurt bad, but they couldn't pour piss out of a boot with directions written on the heel anyways. It was their fault a bunch of the enemy got away, out over the north wall, too- their fault and no one else's, the greedy sons of bitches, ru
"And the plunder was good?"
"Plunder?"
"Taking their things."
"Ah, the salvaging, you mean! I'll say it was good! The misbelievers were richer than rich, I tell you. And this time we got it all to our own selves, on account of we took this way home just so's we'd hit some places the main army didn't get to yet. Uncle Jed thought of that. I know the Sword of the Prophet do the hardest fighting, saw that my own self at Wendell, but it's enough to anger a man bad the way they get the best pick of-"
Jed Smith threw a look over his shoulder again, and Jack went on hastily:
"Anyway I got ten bolts of that good tough linen cloth the misbelievers make, saddlemaker's tools, twenty bucks in coin, some rings and pretties and blankets and sheets and dresses and cookware things for Je
"You can believe that last part at least, mister, not that it would take much with him," another young Cutter said, and he and Jack exchanged mock punches before the talkative young ranch-hand went on:
"Plus I got six good horses earlier, and some more coin back in Twin Falls, but we sent that all East with the first folks from our district released from service. Like the Prophet says, the unbelievers are spoil for the Brotherhood of Light-bringers. Priest says spoil used to mean good stuff, not meat that's gone off."
Rudi made himself smile and nod. Picabo stank of spoiled meat in truth now-of death, like rancid sweet oil smeared into your nose and mouth. The Eastern levies who'd taken it hadn't bothered to clean up the bodies except to roll them out of the way, probably because they were pla