We'll see you at 8:00, Mr. Beckman. You have a good morning now. Arthur hung up, looked at Silas. He's scared, Arthur said, surprised.
Good, Silus said. He should be. Now, let's go show him exactly what he's up against. They got back on the road. The sun climbed higher and 300 motorcycles rode on, heading for a farm in rural Montana, where everything was about to change.
Arthur saw his farm from 2 milesi away, not because of the house or the barn or the fields he'd worked for 55 years. He saw it because of the motorcycles. They were already there lining his driveway like a river of chrome and leather. Hundreds of them, maybe more than the 300 that had left Billings. How did they Arthur started other chapters?
Silas said his voice carrying over the engine noise. They came straight here. Didn't wait for us. Word spreads fast. As they got closer, Arthur's breath caught.
The bikes weren't just in his driveway anymore. They surrounded the entire property. The road leading to his farm was lined with them on both sides. His fields, the ones he'd planted wheat in last spring, had motorcycles parked in neat rows like crops. And the bikers themselves stood in formation, waiting, arms crossed, silent, an army in leather.
Silas pulled up to the farmhouse. The 300 bikes behind them filed in, finding spaces, completing the circle. When the last engine cut off, the silence was deafening. Arthur climbed out of the sidec car on shaky legs. He looked around at what had to be close to 500 people.
500 bikers who'd come to stand between him and Thomas Beckman. I don't Arthur's voice failed him. He tried again. I don't know what to say. Don't say anything.
A voice called out. Arthur turned. It was a massive biker he'd never seen before. Easily 6'5 with a gray beard down to his chest. I'm Bear.
Portland chapter rode all night to get here. You saved my cousin Jax. That kid's like a son to me. So, I'm here. We're all here.
Thank you, Arthur managed. Don't thank us yet, Bear said. Let's see if this works first. A woman approached. She was maybe 60 with short white hair and a jacket that said President across the back.
I'm Steel. Sacramento chapter brought 15 riders. We're positioned on the south side of your property. California. Arthur said, "You came from California, left yesterday afternoon, wrote straight it through.
You saved Hell's Angels, Mr. Hail. That means something from coast to coast. We take care of our own. " More introductions came. Chapters from places Arthur had never been.
Seattle, Denver, Albuquerque. Even one writer from Nevada who'd heard the story and ridden solo for 18 hours. Each one had the same message. You saved us. We're saving you.
By 7:30, the entire property was secured. Bikers at every entrance, every corner, every approach. They'd set up a command center in Arthur's barn. Radios, phones, laptops. Someone had even brought coffee and donuts.
How is this my life? Arthur asked Diesel. The old biker smiled. You earned it. Now sit down and drink your coffee.
Beckman will be here soon. At 7:45, Silus's radio crackled. We got movement on County Road 12. Three vehicles approaching. Two trucks, one SUV.
That's him, Silus said. He turned to the assembled bikers. Everyone stay calm. Stay peaceful. Let him come.
Let him see what he's up against. Arthur's heart was pounding. His chest hurt. He wondered if he was having a heart attack if he'd survived long enough to see how this ended. "Breathe," Reaper said, appearing beside him.
"Just breathe, Mr. Hail. We got this. " The vehicles appeared at the end of the driveway. They slowed, stopped. Arthur could imagine Thomas Beckman sitting in one of them, looking at 500 motorcycles, 500 bikers, all standing between him and the farm he wanted to steal.
For a full minute, nothing happened. The vehicles just sat there. Then slowly, they started moving again, crawling up the driveway at maybe 5 m an hour. "Here we go," Silas muttered. The lead truck stopped about 50 yard from the farmhouse.
The passenger door opened. Thomas Beckman got out and even from a distance, Arthur could see the fury on his face. Behind him, two sheriff's deputies emerged from the second truck. The SUV stayed closed. Beckman walked forward.
The bikers didn't move, didn't speak, just watched him come. When he was about 20 ft from Arthur, Silas stepped forward, blocking his path. "Mr. Beckman," Silas said politely. "Morning. " "Get out of my way," Beckman snapped.
This is private property. Silus said Mr. Hail's private property. We're his guests. We have every right to be here.
You're trespassing. No, sir. We were invited by the property owner. That's not trespassing. That's visiting.
One of the deputies stepped forward. Arthur recognized him. Sheriff Tom Carlson. Good man. Used to buy eggs from Sarah back in the day.
Silus came. Carlson said wearily. Should have known you'd be involved in this circus. Sheriff, Silus said respectfully. How's your daughter?
She graduate nursing school yet. Carlson blinked. Yeah, last month. How'd you We keep track of people we respect. Silus said, "You've always been fair with us.
We appreciate that. " Beckman's face was turning red. "Sheriff, I want these people removed from this property immediately. They're interfering with a legal foreclosure. Are they breaking any laws? " Carlson asked. They're there.
Beckman sputtered because from where I'm standing, Carlson continued, "I see a bunch of people visiting a friend. That's not illegal. Even if there's a lot of them, this is obstruction of what the foreclosure isn't until tomorrow. Today's Wednesday. You're early. " Arthur felt a surge of hope.
Beckman had said Thursday morning. He'd moved it up a day, probably hoping to catch Arthur unprepared. The timeline was accelerated, Beckman said tightly. Show me the paperwork, Carlson said. Beckman pulled out a folder.
Carlson took it, read through it slowly. Too slowly. Beckman was practically vibrating with impatience. This says foreclosure proceedings begin Thursday at 8:00 a.m. Carlson said finally.
Today's Wednesday. You're 24 hours early. That's a clerical error. Then come back tomorrow with corrected paperwork. Carlson said.
Until then, these folks have every right to be here. You can't be serious, Mr. Beckman. I'm very serious. You want to foreclose on this property, you do it legally and on the correct day.
Now, I suggest you leave before this gets more complicated than it needs to be. Beckman looked at the sheriff at the 500 bikers at Arthur standing on his porch with Silus and Reaper flanking him like bodyguards. This isn't over, Beckman said. No, sir. Silas agreed.
It's not. See you tomorrow. Beckman stormed back to his truck. The vehicles turned around, not easy, with 500 motorcycles blocking the road and left. The bikers remained silent until the trucks disappeared from view.
Then someone cheered. Within seconds, everyone was cheering. The sound was deafening. Arthur felt tears streaming down his face and didn't bother to hide them. "We won," Jack said, grabbing Arthur in a hug.