Arlen Granger was a man who got things done since his predecessor had been killed right in front of him. Elias Steelgrave wanted men to start this range war, well that would mean he would select from the men that would be made available. And it took no time for him to select a handful of the men to carry out the owner's wishes, and wasn't that the job?

He marched up to the house after no more than a quarter-hour had passed. He knocked on the door and let himself in Elias stepped into the kitchen to meet him.

"Is there a problem Arlen?" He asked as his eyes narrowed.

"Not at all boss, I got half a dozen men that are more than game to get on with this. Dutch, Treach, Ned Coffee, Dillon Ross, Deckerd and Baler Madison."

"Who?"

Mad Madison? a couple of theses men are fairly new and I doubt you know them, but believe me, you want them to open the ball, it'll be done." Granger replied. "Good men the lot of 'em."

"Good, that's what we need, send them up top and do whatever they can, men, horses, cattle, don't matter at all. We'll save that tunnel for later, that is, after we have some fun." Elias said with a grin. "Might even ride up there myself and take a few shots down on 'em!"

"Yes sir, they'll ride on up at first light," Granger replied, pleased with himself. "Good evenin', sir."

"Good evening Granger, and thanks for gettin' this all organized so quick," Elias said, to which Granger merely nodded and let himself out.

Friday morning, March 2nd dawned cold under slight grey overcast skies and snow flurries, not the kind of day for half a dozen hard men to be riding out to snipe at Lost lake hands below where they would be shooting from, but orders were orders. Mister Steelgrave wanted the ball opened and Lost Lake dancing to his tune. So off they rode, each grumbling as they went along, headed for the same trail Carson had taken which would put them high above the ranch of Shade Thornton.

To the men riding out, it was just work that was to be done, and if not by them, then by others willing to do the job. What had Graneger said? Men, horses, cows. No matter. Well, cold as it was, they would expend some ammunition shooting down at whatever targets presented themselves. Be a waste of cattle and horseflesh, that was for sure. And how many Lost Lake punchers would be out riding herd on the stock? That was hard to tell.

Of course, this was all to be expected. The idea of the range war had been simmering for months, if not years, at least on the Evergreen side. But shooting at whatever moved was never a certain hit, wind, distance, or human error with their aim, there would be a lot of rock and ground taking hits, that was for sure.

They crested the mountain trail almost midday.  The spot where Carson had been shot, but few ever mentioned his name or any of the others that deserted the Evergreen, they were the enemy now, not as much as the Lost Lake hands, but enemies just the same.

The sun was providing some heat when it showed itself, otherwise, it was cold and snow flurries reminded them what time of year it was, early spring when anything could happen weather-wise, and probably would. So the first thing would be setting up a tent, getting a fire going, and the coffee on. That would be the job of one man while they were up there. But first, a look at what was below.

There were cattle, which were plain enough to see, small spots that moved, and an occasional rider. Binoculars would be necessary to be accurate, but that was not the idea, the idea was to scare the bejesus out of whoever was riding herd. The point was, to send a notice to those below that there was a war on. Those men who were up there on that peak were more than up to the task, even if they were in heavy coats, with gloved hands, and mufflers around their necks.

As they stood there looking down Dutch smiled. "We get this thing goin' I'll ride back down and check that cave, make sure they really don't know about it bein' a tunnel between both spreads, got some dynamite in my saddlebags to shut 'er down if they try to get through it" Then he chuckled. "It's a long'un, so I'd hear 'em comin' and that'll gimme time to set the surprise for 'em."

"Let's get set up an' then we can get on with this." Treach said, and they all turn away from the edge and went to gather what was needed and started setting up the camp.

They got to it quickly, setting up a pair of shelters that would accommodate all six men. Then they got the fire started amid the fluries, which was something all of them would appreciate as the coffee pot was set on a rock close to the flames to boil. They hadn't talked of how they would do this shooting business, it seemed they'd all have a go at it, maybe all at once and then perhaps singularly or in teams. 

Dutch stepped away from the warmth of the fire just as a dark black cloud began to roll in on them. And it was not alone. Before he could say anything snow started to drop on the makeshift camp and in moments was increasing in volume and force, the wind whipping the giant flake in every direction and the men rushed to the cover of the shelters. This was not what they hoped for. Some snow yes, that was to be expected, but this? This was heavy wet snow that was going to cover them in no time. Luckily their horses were on a picket line in the trees, and somewhat protected.

"Damn it!" Dutch screamed at the sky.

Life inside the shelters was anything but hospitable, facing toward the trees they were sparred the wind, which was at their backs. There was a fire, the coffee was on, and the makings for something to eat were close to hand. They had come prepared, just not for a storm as soon as they arrived. Flurries yes, a near blizzard no.

"We could be loungin' in the bunkhouse, with the cook shack not ten feet away." Ned Coffee complained. "Ain't gonna be shootin' at nothin' til the weather breaks."

"Don't I know it?" Treach said, "But the snow may not even be reachin' the valley floor, not with this wind."

"We got food to eat," Madson said. An' it could be worse, much worse."

"Pipe down over there!" Dutch called out from the other shelter. Maybe need to scrounge some more deadfall, keep the fire goin', maybe build it up some."

"I'll go," Ross said loud enough for the other shelter to hear.

"Me too, I'm with ya Ross!" Madson called out and began making his way out of the shelter, as did Ross. "Couple arm loads apiece might get us through the night." And the two set off. There would be plenty of deadfall to lug back and more than one of them had an axe.

Dutch smiled. They were good men. "Let's rustle up some grub. Where's the pack?"

Madson was quick to return to the shelter, "There's a storm below and it's risin' we're gonna get hammered up here when it hits!"

"Hell you say! Break it down, get them horses saddled, and let's get the samhell outta here, an' off this mountain." Dutch barked as he sprang to his feet, "We was just gonna waste a lotta ammo anyways, damn fool idea ta start with."

The flurries were growing larger and wetter as the men all worked at tearing down and saddling horses. Wearing heavy coats and struggling to get into slickers, those who had managed to get the rubber ponchos on stepped into the stirrups and mounted their horses, but waited on the others, then moved out, this would be a careful descent.

It had been pretty easy on the way up, but now the going was slower due to the increase in the flurries that were slowly turning to rain, and it was clear that the rain would be coming in sheets before they reached the bottom. Thunder and lightning made controlling their mounts even more difficult. This had gone from minor discomfort to risking life and limb.

Several spots on the trail, if one could call it that, had sheer dropoffs, and just wide enough for one horse. none of this was easy, and then they were engulfed in those low storm clouds that plastered the riders with rainwater before they could get through the iron blackish-gray clouds. They were thick! and getting below them was more difficult.

Riding out of the clouds set them on a trail of mud, rain, thunder, and lightning, still close to an hour's ride to the ranch and the bunkhouse. Heads down there was no sense trying to push it, visibility was bad enough as it was. All they wanted was to get back to the ranch a warm fire, dry clothes, and hot food.

Looking back at the mountain it was lost in the clouds that covered it. They were dark, as dark as the sky overhead, though the rain that had pelted the riders for nearly two hours was nothing compared to what it had been like getting off the mountain. They were cold, tired and hungry. Chilled to the bone, and wet from rainwater that had leaked in under the rubber ponchos they were miserable.

They rode into the yard and straight to the lean-to where the horses were kept., each man dismounted and began to strip his horse, the pack animal would have to wait. Tack hung to dry, with the saddle blankets the horse rubbed down and fed with a healthy helping of oats, the pack animal was given the same treatment with the canvas was also hung to dry, it was then that the men made their way to the cook shack where they ran into Arlen Granger, standing under the overhang with a cup f coffee in his hand.

"So what the hell happened up there? Why are you back?" He asked, then took a sip of the hot liquid.

"Damn rain flooded us out!" Dutch retorted. "There wasn't gonna be no way we could be shootin' down inta nothin'. Hell, we couldn't see ten feet up there, and less than that on the way down. Mad no damn sense tryin' to shoot anything from that distance, Been better was we to ride through the tunnel and attack the place outright."

"That's not what the boss wants, not yet anyway. He wants the hands thinned out." Granger replied as they all filed inside and cooking began pouring coffee for them and then began to cook up bacon and beef steaks.

"Look, maybe when Dutch stated while the others retreated to the back tables,

"Get them slickers off my benches, ya dern fools! Grubs comin' a man's got a right ta some warnin' Granger!" Cookie said after shouting at the other riders dripping all over the floor.

"Get some coffee and chow, I'll go break it to the boss," Granger told Dutch who was peeling off his sliker.

"Fine. I'll be here, I gave the order to pull out." The gunman replied. Granger left his cup and headed outside and the wet walk to the house.

The weather was miserable, and Elias was making no sense. First, it was one plan, then he was saying the fight needed to go in a different direction altogether, which had been suggested before the miserable trip up the mountain. However, it had been several ideas, several plans all at once and Elias thought that sniping for the ridge was the first plan to employ against Lost Lake and the Thornton clan.

The bunkhouse was not happy either, not with the weather that trapped them inside, but added to that, Granger telling the men of Elias' change of plan. That set the grumbling going. The men fresh from the mountain top grumbled the worst, as they were still not dry, nor were their clothes, or their boots. Guns had to be dried and reoiled to stave off the rust that could set in after the soaking all of them had took. For the moment the last thing any of them were thinking of was Lost Lake, or the Thorntons, or Quentin Cantrell.

Just then Sour Dough, or Cookie as he was often called stuck his head in. "Burnin' some beef an' got me another pot 'o coffee ready for ya!" No one knew the man's real name if he even had one. such was life in the West, no questions, and with the men that Elias Steelgrave hired, that would be a man's biggest mistake, asking questions that would most likely be answered with a pill his stomach couldn't digest. It was just how it was. "Ya best come for 'em afore they's hard as boot leather!"

And that set the men to movin'.