This Violent Land (27 page)

“O
h, here she comes again,” Sally said, pointing to a carriage that was being pulled down the street by two magnificent-looking black Andalusian horses. “Isn't that a beautiful carriage?”

It was a grand carriage, all right. The coachman was a black man, all gussied up in a military sort of outfit. As the carriage passed, Smoke removed his hat and bowed gallantly.

Even from the boardwalk, Sally could see that the woman in the carriage flushed with anger and jerked her head to the front. Sally suppressed a giggle. “Oh, my, I think you made her mad, Mr. West.”

“She'll get over it, I reckon.”

Smoke remembered the time, back before the war, when he had pushed over the family outhouse with his sister in it. She'd chased him all over the farm, throwing rocks at him.

“That is a funny look in your eyes, Mr. West. What are you thinking?”

“I'm thinking about my sister,” he answered honestly.

“Does Janey remind you of her?”

“Not the sister I remember. I'll probably never see that girl again.”

“Oh, why do you say that?”

“She's not there anymore. Everything and everyone is gone.” He took Sally's elbow as they continued their walk toward the edge of town.

They had not gone half a block before the sound of hooves drumming on the hard-packed dirt came to them. Two men reined up in the street, turning the horses to face Smoke and Sally.

Smoke had never seen either of those men before, but he had seen their kind and he recognized, at once, that they were trouble. Gently but firmly, he moved Sally to one side. “You had better stand clear,” he said in a low voice. “This looks like trouble.”

“What kind of—”

“You run along now, schoolmarm,” one of the men cut her off. “This here might get messy.”

Sally stuck her chin up. “I will stand right here on this boardwalk until the soles of my shoes grow roots before I'll take orders from you, you misbegotten cretin.”

Smoke chuckled at Sally's remark.

“What the hell did she call me?” the cowboy asked his friend.

“Damned if I know.”

The cowboy swung his eyes back to Smoke and demanded, “Are you the one they call Buck West?”

“I am.”

“I hear tell you're lookin' for Smoke Jensen. Is that right?”

“That's right.”

“Well, here's the problem with that, West. Me and my pard here are lookin' for him, too, and we don't plan to share that reward money with nobody. Most especial not some greenhorn like you who I ain't never heard of afore you got your name put in the paper for shootin' down a couple men that most prob'ly didn't know one end of a gun from another. So you got fifteen minutes to get your gear and get gone.”

Smoke's hands hung down by his sides. “If it's all the same to you, I think I'll just stay.”

“Boy, do you know who I am?”

Smoke shook his head. “I can't say that I do.”

“The name is Dickerson. Mo Dickerson from over Colorado way.” He smiled confidently. “I reckon you've heard of me.”

Smoke had heard of him, but he decided not to let Dickerson know that. The man was a top gun, quick on the draw, and men like him were inordinately proud of their reputation. “Sorry, I can't say as I have.” He saw the irritation in Dickerson's face.

“This here,” Dickerson said with a jerk of his thumb, “is Frank Russell.”

Smoke hadn't heard of Russell, but he figured if the man rode with Dickerson, he'd be good. “Pleased to meet you,” Smoke said politely.

Dickerson gave Smoke an exasperated look. “What's the matter with you, boy? This here ain't no social meetin'. There ain't nobody pleased to meet nobody here.”

“Oh. Well, in that case, there's no sense in continuing this conversation, is there? So, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I'd like to continue my walk with Miss Reynolds.”

Dickerson and Russell dismounted.

“Only place you're goin' to is Boot Hill, boy,” Dickerson said.

Several citizens, drawn by the increasingly threatening conversation, had gathered around to watch.

“I've bothered no one,” Smoke said to the crowd, without taking his eyes from the two gunhands. “And I'm not looking for a fight. I just want to make that public.”

“West, the only way you are going to avoid a fight is to get on your horse and ride away,” Russell said. “And do it right now.”

“I'm staying.”

“You folks are getting a little too close,” Dickerson said to the gathering crowd. “You don't want to take a chance o' gettin' hit when the bullets start flyin', do you?”

“They aren't in any danger,” Smoke said.

“What do you mean they ain't in no danger? Boy, don't you understand that if you don't close your mouth and do what we tell you, that there's goin' to be shootin' here? And someone could be hit by a missed shot.”

“There will only be two shots fired—and I won't miss. Neither of you will even get a shot off. Like I said, they can stand as close as they want.”

“Then draw, damn you!” Dickerson shouted. He went for his gun, and out of the corner of his eye Smoke saw Russell slapping leather, as well.

Smoke's hand swept up with blinding speed, and the Colt belched smoke and flame. He returned his pistol to his holster as quickly as he had drawn it.

Dickerson and Russell lay on the dusty street. Both were dead. Their guns were beside them in the dirt, and Smoke had been right. He had fired twice, both shots had found their mark, and neither Dickerson nor Russell had had time to cock and fire.

“Good Lord almighty!” cried a young cowboy in the crowd. “Where did those shots come from?”

“From West,” one of the others said.

“But how? I never even seen the gun in his hand!”

Sheriff Reese and Deputy Rogers came running up the wide street.

“Drop that gun, West!” Reese yelled. “You're under arrest.”

“I'd like to know why,” Sally said, stepping up to stand beside Smoke, her face pale from what she had just witnessed. She pointed to Dickerson and Russell. “Those two started it. They ordered Mr. West to leave town, and when he refused, they drew first. I'll swear to that in a court of law.”

“She's right, Sheriff,” a cowboy said.

Reese gave the cowboy an ugly look. “Which side are you on, Cecil? These two men worked for the PSR same as you.”

“I ain't workin' for 'em anymore.”

“What? Since when?”

“Since right now. They don't want cowhands, Sheriff. What they want are gunhands. They are dead set on killin' someone named Smoke Jensen for some reason, and I don't want nothin' to do with it. This feller was in the right, and Dickerson and Russell was wrong.”

“Cecil and the schoolteacher are right, Sheriff,” put in another witness.

“Anyone here who has a different story?” Reese asked in exasperation.

Nobody responded to what was almost a plea.

“Any charges, Sheriff?” Smoke asked.

There was open dislike in Reese's eyes as he stepped closer and glared at Smoke. “No, not now. But you're nothin' but trouble, West, and you and me both know it. I hope you crowd me, gunfighter. 'Cause when you do, I'll kill you!”

“You might try,” Smoke replied in the same low tone.

Reese flushed and stepped back. “Watch your step is all I got to say.”

“Was this your first gunfight?” Smoke asked Sally a few minutes later as they continued their walk.

“It's the first one I was this close to,” Sally answered, thinking about the incident the first day she'd arrived in town.

“Well, it's a big, wild country out here. The laws are simple and straight to the point. Justice comes down hard. Out here a man's word is his bond, and that's the way it should be everywhere. Tinhorns and shysters don't last long in the West.”

They had reached Sally's front gate.

“Would you like to have supper with me this evening?” Smoke asked. “Maybe at the hotel dining room? Not having eaten there yet I can't testify as to how good the food is, but I know I will enjoy the company.”

“I have a better idea. Why don't you come here and let me fix supper for you? I'm a pretty good cook, if I say so myself. That way we can enjoy the food and the company.”

“You're on,” Smoke agreed with a broad smile.

 

 

 

Janey looked out the window of her bedroom. Ever since she had seen that arrogant young man in town, she had struggled to recall where she had seen him before. She knew she had.

But where? She just could not remember. And startling news had come that the young man had killed Russell and Dickerson in a standup gunfight.

That was incredible.

She sighed and turned away from the window that overlooked the northern vastness of the PSR ranchlands. The face of the tall gunslick remained in her mind, and she knew that his name would come to her in time.

* * *

“I never see nothin' like it before, and I've seen some fast guns. Neither Dickerson nor Russell got a shot off, and they drew first,” Sheriff Reese reported as he took the news of the gunfight to Richards, Potter, and Stratton.

“This man West is a bounty hunter?” Richards asked.

“That's what he claims.”

“If he is as good as you say, he might be someone I'm going to want on the payroll. I think I'll look him up in the morning. Let's eat. I'm hungry.”

The four men trooped out of the study and into the dining room. Janey was already there.

The expression on her face elicited a question from Richards. “Something the matter?”

“That Buck West. I've seen him before, somewhere.”

“Can you remember where?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. But I will.” She looked him directly in the eyes. “He's trouble, Josh.”

“That's just your imagination, my dear. I believe he would be a good man to have on our side.”

“Watch him,” she cautioned. “I don't trust him.”

“You don't even know him.”

“Yeah, I do. I just can't remember where it's from, is all.”

“It'll come to you.”

“Bet on it.”

 

 

 

“That was a fine supper, Miss Reynolds,” Smoke said as the two them sat out on the front porch after the meal.

“Sally.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don't you think we've spent enough time together to be on a first-name basis? My name is Sally, and I would like it if you would address me so, Buck.”

“Uh . . .”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Sally said quickly. “Am I pushing this relationship too quickly?”

“No, it's not that. It's . . . well, I need to know what you think about the three men who seem to own this whole town. Potter, Stratton, and Richards.”

Sally was quiet for a moment. “If those men are friends of yours, I'm sorry, but I have to be honest. I think they are despicable. No, it's more than that. I think they are evil.”

Smoke smiled. “I had to ask you that, Sally. I mean, being as they own everything I supposed that, being a schoolteacher, you are actually working for them.”

“I work for the children I teach. And they don't own everything. A very good friend of mine owns the Pink House.”

“The Pink House?”

“It's a brothel. Does it shock you that I can be friends with such a person?”

“No, it doesn't. It tells me that you can trust your gut to look inside someone.”

Sally laughed out loud. “What a quaint way of expressing intuition. My intuition tells me something about you.”

Curious, Smoke asked, “What does it tell you?”

“It tells me that you are holding something back. What is it?”

He sighed, then stuck his hand down into his pocket and pulled out his badge. He showed the star to Sally. “I'm a deputy United States marshal, Sally, and my name isn't Buck West. It's Smoke Jensen. I've come here to arrest Potter, Stratton, and Jensen for murder.”

He could tell she was shocked by the revelation, but she was also quick-witted and recovered from her surprise in a matter of moments. “Buck . . . I mean, Smoke . . . they're surrounded by bodyguards.They aren't going to let you just arrest them.”

“I know. I'm going to have to kill them,” he said flatly. He looked at her. “Do you still want to be friends with me?”

“More than friends,” Sally said, leaning closer to him.

Smoke hesitated, but he didn't pull back. For the first time since Nicole died, he kissed a woman.

 

J
aney tossed and turned in the comfortable bed, deep in the grip of a nightmare. The events in her dream weren't bizarre, frightening fantasies. They were memories of a day back home in Missouri.

 

 

With a gasp, Janey awakened from her dream and sat up in bed with her heart pounding. That was why Buck West had looked so familiar to her. She knew who he really was.

Buck West was her brother Kirby.

Buck West was Smoke Jensen.

She knew that, for some reason, Richards and the other two were terrified of the mysterious Smoke Jensen, but despite the last name, she had never connected their nemesis with Kirby. She didn't know when he had taken the name
Smoke
but she was sure he was calling himself Buck West in order to keep his identity a secret from Richards and the others.

Should she tell them?

No. She had already told Richards that Buck West was trouble, and he had dismissed her warning. As far as she was concerned, Richards and the others were on their own.

She rolled over and went back to sleep.

 

 

 

Having tea with Flora in the parlor of the Pink House the next day, Janey asked, “Have you heard of a man named Buck West?”

“Are you kidding? Who in town hasn't heard of him? Why do you ask?”

“I must see him. Do you think you could get a message to him to meet me here?”

“I suppose I could. He's been hanging around Sally for the last few days.”

Janey smiled. “Good. I think she would be very good for him.”

“What?” Flora asked with a frown. “What do you mean?”

“Please, just get him to come here. But don't tell him who he's coming to see. Oh, and maybe you had better bring Sally, too.” Janey took a deep breath. “She needs to hear what I'm going to say.”

* * *

“I hope you've got some coffee to drink,” Smoke said as he stood in the foyer of the Pink House with his hat in his hand and Sally beside him. “All this lady has been giving me is tea, and tea has no taste at all.”

“What? Why haven't you told me?” Sally asked.

“I didn't want to hurt your feelings.”

“Then why did you say something like that to Flora?”

Smoke didn't hesitate with his answer. “Well, it won't be hurting her feelings if I ask for coffee.”

Flora laughed and looked at Sally. “I'm sure that makes perfect sense to a man. Go on into the parlor, both of you. There's someone there who wants to talk to you.”

In the parlor, Smoke and Sally saw a woman standing in front of the window, looking out. Even though her back was to them, both recognized her at once.

“Janey, how nice to see you,” Sally said.

Janey turned around. “Hello, Kirby.”

“Hello, sis.”

Sally gasped in surprise and took a step back to allow Smoke and Janey a small bit of privacy.

“When did you figure out who I was?” Smoke asked.

“I knew the first time I saw you, that I had seen you before. It just took me a while to place it. Remember, you were only fourteen last time I saw you. I didn't know if you or Pa or Luke were alive or dead.”

“Pa's dead,” Smoke said. “Luke is, too, as far as I know.”

Janey nodded. She didn't seem surprised by the news.

“Janey, I'm told you are hooked up with Richards.”

She nodded. “I was. I'm not anymore. I'm leaving today.” She had come to that decision in the middle of the night, and it was like a giant weight off her shoulders. The time had come to put the whole PSR part of her life behind her, just as she had other parts and times in the past . . . when things were too painful to bear or even think of.

Smoke nodded. “I'm glad.”

“Why are you after them? I know all three of them are crooked as a dog's leg, but why are you, specifically, after them?”

“They're the ones who shot Luke, back in the war, and they're the ones who killed Pa.”

“Oh!” Janey gasped. “They killed . . . both of them?”

“Yes.”

“I didn't know that.” Her face and voice showed the anguish she felt.

“Janey, what happened to you? How did you . . .”

“I make no apologies, Kirby. I was a young woman . . . no, I was a girl, really, and you may recall that I was left on my own. I made my way as best as I could. I don't ask for your understanding . . . or your forgiveness.”

“Sis, both of us have been through some hard times. I make no judgments. Believe me, with all the things I've done, I have no right. I understand perfectly, and there is nothing to forgive.”

Janey's eyes glistened with tears. “I'm leaving today, but I'm glad I had the opportunity to see you again.” She opened her arms, and Smoke drew her to him, hugging her tightly.

Her eyes weren't the only ones glistening with tears. Sally . . . and Flora, who had followed her and Smoke into the parlor . . . were crying, as well.

Janey walked out to her carriage, where her black driver, Mr. Jefferies, sat in the driver's seat, waiting patiently for her. She looked at him and asked, “Mr. Jefferies, if you had this carriage and team in a place like Denver, do you think you could find some way to make a living with it?”

“Yes, ma'am, I expect a body could make a good livin' hirin' out to folks who wanted to go somewhere in an elegant carriage like this.”

She nodded and climbed into the carriage. “Take me to the depot, please.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

After leaving the Pink House, Sally and Smoke strolled through the town and out to Canyon Creek where they sat on the bank and watched and listened to the whisper of the quietly flowing stream.

“You recognized Janey the first day you saw her, didn't you?” Sally said.

“Yes.”

“That was why you had the strange look in your eyes.”

“I have to confess that I haven't had good thoughts about her all these years. I guess I wasn't being fair. Like she said, she was a girl of no more than sixteen last time I saw her. I have no right to pass judgment on her.”

“Janey and Flora are my friends. There are people in town who pass judgment on me for that.”

“I don't,” Smoke said with a broad smile. “I can't think of anything you might do that would give me pause.”

“Not even this?” Leaning toward him, Sally kissed him.

“Especially not that,” Smoke replied after their lips parted.

“I must keep reminding myself that I'm a lady.” The twinkle in her eyes told him that while a lady she might be, there were a lot of hot coals banked within. “Smoke?”

“Yes?”

“Tell me about Smoke Jensen.”

Sally listened attentively for a full ten minutes, not interrupting, letting him tell his story his way. When he had finished, she sat quietly for a moment, mentally digesting all she had heard.

“And to think that I actually worked for those creatures.” She hurled a small stone into the water. “Well, I shall tender my resignation immediately, of course.”

Smoke's smile was hard. “Stick around, Sally. The show is just about to begin.”

“You do know, don't you, Smoke, that I am quite fond of you?”

“I hope so. 'Cause Lord knows, I feel that way about you.”

Just as their lips touched, a voice came from behind them. “Now if that ain't 'bout the most disgustin' thing? I mean, a great big, full-growed man a moonin' and a sparkin' like some kid. It's plumb disgustin', I tell you.”

Smoke pulled away quickly. “Preacher!”

“We got to make some plans,” Preacher said after Smoke had introduced him to Sally.

“What are you doing here?”

“You didn't figure I was gonna let you take on Richards and his men all by yourself, did you? I got Lobo, Beartooth, Greybull, Pugh, Deadlead, and Powder Pete camped just outta town. I figure the eight of us, countin' you, ought to be able to handle things all right.”

Smoke laughed. “Yeah, I would think so. How did you find me, anyway?”

“Hell's fire, boy! I just followed the bodies! Can't you keep them guns of yours in leather?”

“Come on, Preacher! Tell the truth. I know you would rather lie, but try hard.”

“I didn't have to find you, I been followin' you for a coon's age.” Preacher looked over at Sally. “Do you see how unrespectful he is, missy? Can't a pretty thing like you do no better than the likes o' this fella?”

“I'm going to change him,” Sally said primly.

Preacher grinned. “Ha. I'd love to see that. Smoke ain't easy to change.”

Smoke frowned. “You had better get used to calling me Buck, Preacher. You might slip up in town and that would be the end of it.”

“I ain't going into town. Not until you get ready to make your move, that is. When things is about to happen, we'll be there.” Preacher looked at Sally. “You look after this boy now, you hear me?”

Sally smiled and looked at Smoke. “Oh, I intend to, Mr. Preacher. I'll be looking after him from now on.”

Preacher mounted his horse, and with a nod to the two of them, rode off.

“I like your friend,” Sally said. “He is the old man you were talking about when you told me your story, isn't he?”

“Yes, and when he dies it will be the end of the old mountain men, the end of an era.”

“No it won't, Smoke,” Sally said. “Not as long as you're around.”

 

 

 

Janey Jensen rode comfortably in the Wagner Palace Car. Elam Jefferies was on the same train, but in a different car. He had a huge smile on his face. In one pocket was one hundred and fifty dollars in cash. In another pocket was the signed deed to an elegant Brewster Brougham and a team of matched, Andalusian horses.