They watched the man that had checked the bank until he could no longer be seen, of course the darkness has something to do with that. but there was a light that seemed to be from a door that had opened and then shut. They looked at one another as if wondering what the man had been checking the place for? It felt more and more like a decoy, that the towns money was actually help somewhere else in Corum. But, they were there, and they may as well have a much closer look at the building.

They dismounted and Wally Oldham removed his spurs before he scurried toward the building. There was a light, it was clear they burned a lot of coal oil to keep the place lit. Wally made his way under the raised building to have a look at the underside and low and behold, there was a trap door, though chances were it was locked from above.

He found himself at a disadvantage because he dared not use a match to examine the trap door. The building was maybe three feet off of the ground, so there was plenty of room underneath, just not much light. And that brought to mind another problem with this bank, if he manged to break loose one of the floorboards, then light would surely spill out, as it would if he managed to get the trap door opened. There had to be another way to get inside, other than the front door, or the trap door.

He crawled back out from underneath the bank and it came to him. The windows! There were two in the back wall, and light spilled out of both, which brought to mind the fact that with a pry bar, which they had, any number of boards could be worked loose and allow them entry to the building.

Now in broad daylight the men and horses could be seen behind the building, but in the dark of night? Even with the moonlight, which was just a sliver, they were safe from view. So the three of them gathered at the back and took turns with the pry bar slowly removing just enough boards for Wally to get inside with his tools.

It was slow painstaking work, but two and a half hours later Wally was inside and moving toward the safe. This job would require acid, and explosion just would not do. Staying low he moved to the safe, and as was his habit, he tried the handle, it opened! The back of the door revealed that the mechanism that would ordinarily have locked the door, was broken.

With saddlebags filled Wally worked his way back out, the three mounted up and walked their horse back into the trees and off to the east before turning south and spurring their mounts to a gallop, racing into the night to get some distance, then turning west.

The range of Red Buckley's ranch was a jumble of trees, rocks, and wide swaths of plentiful, rich grass with all the water he'd ever need. They came up on a stand of pines, poplars, and scrub oak over a square acre in size. There might be thirty head away from a larger group that grazed nearby, the perfect size for what they had been sent to do.

They sat, watching for a while. There was a night man that was riding easy toward the group Cases boys had their eye on, thirty head that had eased their way closer to the stand of trees that held the rustlers. None we sure if this was to work in their favor, but Slone shook out a loop, ready to rope the night man as they had been directed to attempt.

The night man, oblivious to what waited for him moved to get behind the cattle and move them back out with the rest. The loop snaked out, fell around him, came tight, and jerked him from the saddle. He hit the ground hard, hard enough to knock himself out. Sloane was out of the saddle and binding the cowboy up without having to crease his skull with his gun barrel.

Like the professionals they were, they moved the cattle through the trees, across the first finger of the Stillwater before they pushed the small herd to a faster pace. Like clockwork, it came off without a hitch, but there had been no fences to contend with, neither wood nor wire. Other spreads would have these to deal with, and things might just work out differently. However, on this night, they had prevailed. What happened on another night had not happened yet, so there was no need to give it thought. Just push the cows toward the hideout and to whatever plan Case would have for them.

None of them had any idea what Case Steelgrave had in mind for the cattle he was taking, and they would not know for a while yet. There were other ranches to hit, all part of this plan that Case had concocted, but was unwilling to share with anyone. At least not for a while yet.

If it were a military campaign it would be described as opening a second front. But it was not a military campaign, it was James Case Steelgrave, and it was a phase of his plan. Attacking farmers that were plowing up valuable range land, not that he had any use for it, but it would cast doubt about who was doing what. After all, they couldn't blame everything on Case, even if he set the raids in motion. It was him that chose the targets for rustling and now for terrorizing the farmers.

This would have Guyer busier than a one-legged man in a fiddle contest. This meant that sooner or later, Speed Guyer would be in his sights and Case would exact payment for the humiliation he had suffered at the man's hands back in town. He and Quentin Cantrell had made a mockery of him, or at least he thought so.

Jail. They had put him in jail and held him over for trial, kept him locked up, him, former Town Marshal Case Steegrave a prisoner. Their deaths would come. Granted, Cantrell might be a bit harder to get at, but it could be done, and Case was just the man to do it.

He had selected a hand full of his most vicious men, not that there was a whole lot of difference between any of them to visit the first sodbuster on his list, John Caron, and wipe them out, wife, son, and daughter. Burn it to the ground, trample the crops, kill the animals. Set a message to the rest of the clot-hoppers in Flathead Valley, they were not welcome.

The riders sat maybe a thousand yards from the house There were lights lit inside, so they waited. There was no rush, whether they attacked with lamps lit or not, the end would certainly be the same. The orders were to burn them out and leave no one alive to tell the tale of what happened, of course, they would all be wearing flour sacks over their heads to prevent anyone from seeing their faces, and it would add to the fear they generated, for a while anyway. Most of these men had ridden with raiders at one time or another, including the late war when they would have been boys or at least young men, so they knew what they were doing and had no compunction about doing it.

The night was cool, a light wind was moving storm clouds across the sky, there was a chance of a summer rainstorm, but the scent was not in the air as yet, and rain would dampen their attempt at burning the place to the ground.  Horses stamp, impatient to move, and the riders began donning their makeshift hoods as time was drawing near. A certain excitement built among the men and their mounts felt it.

The sodbuster blew out his lamp, settling down for a night's rest as the raiders lit their torches of bound rags that had been soaked at one time in coal oil.

"Let's go!" One yelled and they thundered across the land toward the house.

It took a matter of ten minutes to destroy a man's hopes and dreams along with his family.

John Caron was not yet asleep when he heard the rush of horses coming, his first thought was Indians, they were still out. He leaped from his bed and ran to grab his shotgun. His wife and two children were awakened by the same sound of rushing hooves and whoops and shout's from the approaching riders.

Caron threw open the door and was met with a fusillade of bullets, those that didn't hit him smacked into the door frame and the outer wall of the house. Several shots traveled into the house, striking those inside. and then the torches came through windows and the doorway. The house, like most, was tinder dry and caught quickly, the raiders continuing to fire into the burning structure.

The barn caught almost immediately as well, the livestock was killed or ran off, and the pole corral was roped and pulled down. The destruction of life and property was complete. The first of the sodbusters had been dealt with and the message left was clear, this was rangeland!

The raiders were long gone as the dawn came to Flathead Valley and revealed what had been done. The remains of the Caron homestead lay in ruins, cared rubble to mark the spot of the house and barn. The devastation had been complete. But for some of the livestock returning to the farm, there was no sign of life.

John Caron lay in the yard where he had fallen and died. The bodies of his wife and daughter were inside what had been their home. Suddenly there was a struggling movement of some of the remnants of the charred timbers that had supported the roof, a roof made of sod, dirt on top of the wood that had caved in and buried young Andrew Caron, nine years old, and the sole survivor.

The boy clawed and crawled his way out from under the dirt that had saved his life only to see what remained of his mother and sister. He began crying and turned toward the yard, only to see his father's body. He broke down in tears, sobbing uncontrollably as he dropped to what was once the floor of the house.

The Caron homestead sat two miles from Whitefish Trail, and then eleven miles to Kalispell. The boy, covered in dirt and ash in his nightshirt finally stopped crying, he got to his feet and stumbled through the debris to the yard. Then he began the trek to town for help. Help to at least bury his parents, and possibly help find out who had done this to his family.

Open to whoever

Results. That was what interested Case Stealgrave. And so far everything was certainly going their way. Squatters might well take heed of what happened to the Caron family. There would be more of that in the future. There was no room for sodbusters or sheepmen in Flathead Valley, at least as far as he was concerned. Of course, the small ranchers that had begun to fence off the open range were not about to slide by. Sooner or later, the small outfits would need more range and who would they look at to get it? The Evergreen and possibly the Lost Lake, though it really did not have the rangeland his father controlled.

Starting anything with Elias Steelgrave would not be a smart move, but then, Case had every intention of staving off any encroachment on the Evergreen. Such actions would create a two-pronged reprisal. That would not bode well for the interlopers, the pair of steegrave had close to sixty guns between them, if not more. Reports had men arriving at the Evergreen fairly regularly. It would seem his Pa had some plans that required the right kind of men.

The small numbers of cattle the boys had taken were pastured just north of the hideout, and there were plans for those animals. A coup[le more raids and Case would be ready to sp0ring his plan into action. A plan he had yet to divulge to any of his men. Some may have ideas, but they did not know what the whole plan was, or the scope of it. Once enacted it could tear the whole territory apart!