Together the brothers looked them over. Every bit of incriminating evidence was there, and as 309 Bud slipped it all into his pocket he gave a great sigh: “Thank Heaven, that’s over!”
He did not let Caldwell off, however, without securing from him the written and signed statement that he wanted. When all was done they let him go, and now his mind was almost as unbalanced by joy as it had formerly been by fear.
Bissell, knowing Caldwell’s condition, had agreed to his being released on clearing his account with the Larkins, for he realized that the man, in fearing death, had suffered the penalty a thousand times, and that the memory would remain with him through life, and perhaps help keep him straight.
Shortly after Bud and Lester had joined the others on the veranda again, a sudden scream was heard from the bunk-house, followed by the sounds of a terrible struggle. All hands rushed around to the rear and, with drawn revolvers, forced an entrance among the sullen rustlers.
On the floor in the middle of the room lay Smithy Caldwell, white and contorted, while Mike Stelton was just rising from his prostrate body, making sounds in his throat like a wild animal. Smithy was dead.
“How’d it happen, boys?” asked Bissell.
“This here Caldwell come out an’ ’lowed as 310 how he wasn’t goin’ to swing like the rest of us, an’ he began packin’ up his truck. Stelton asked him about it, an’ when Smithy repeated what he said before and got plumb cocky about it, Mike there smeared him plenty. Then he broke his neck. Smithy betrayed Stelton, yuh know.”
There is not much more to tell, except that, three days later, the rustlers paid the penalty of their lawless daring. It was the biggest “hangin’ bee” Wyoming had ever seen, and was largely attended by men of all sections who stood for right and justice, if not law and order.
Bud and Julie brought pride and sunlight to a slowly recuperating Jimmie Welsh on their way north, and from him and Billy Speaker heard again the details of the great fight. Now, if you go to Welsh’s Butte, you will see a tall white shaft rising amid the tumbling of the wretched hogbacks. On one side are the names of the sheepmen who fell (including Jimmie, who is still alive), and on the other those of the cowmen. It is the humble offering of Bud and Julie Larkin.
Time has proven that Bud’s prophecy in regard to sheep was right. Wyoming has far more sheep than cattle now, and one of the biggest of the ranches is the former Bar T, run under the 311 Larkin name, in connection with the home ranch in Montana.