you know that.”
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”
She tilted her head, smiling, looking at him, a twinkle in her eyes. As they walked, Buck’s spurs jingled. “Which line of employment are you currently pursuing, Mr. West?”
“Beg pardon, ma’am?”
“Bounty hunter, cowhand, gunhand, or trapper?”
“I’m lookin’ for a killer named Smoke Jensen. Thirty thousand dollar reward for him.”
“Quite a sum of money. I’ve seen the wanted posters around town. What, exactly, did this Jensen do?”
“Killed a lot of people, ma’am. He’s a fast gun for hire, so I’m told.”
“Faster than you, Mr. West?”
“I hope not.”
She laughed at that.
A group of hard-riding cowboys took that time to burst into town, whooping and hollering and kicking up clouds of dust as they spurred their horses, sliding to a stop in front of one of the saloons.
Buck pulled Sally into a doorway and shielded her from the dust and flying clods.
When the dust had settled, Buck stepped aside and Sally stepped once more onto the boardwalk. “Those are men from the PSR Ranch,” she said. “Rowdies and ruffians, for the most part.”
“PSR?” Buck asked, knowing full well what the letters stood for.
“Potter, Stratton, Richards. It’s the biggest ranch in the state, so I’m told.”
“How do they get their cattle to market?” Buck asked. “I know they don’t drive them over the Divide.”
“They haven’t made any big drives yet. I understand that so far they’ve sold them to people in this area. Leesburg, Salmon, Lemhi. Small communities within a fifty-to seventy-mile radius. The big drive is scheduled for late next spring. They’ll be using a hundred or more cowboys.”
“Quite an undertaking.”
“Oh, yes.”
A door opened behind them. A very pretty lady emerged from the dress shop. “Sally,” she said. She gave Buck a cool glance and walked on down the boardwalk.
“That is, ah, Mr. Richards’s mistress, Buck. Her name is Jane.”
Buck had just seen his sister for the first time in almost ten years.
7
“You have an odd look in your eyes, Buck,” Sally said.
“I never have gotten used to being snubbed, I suppose. But I suppose I should have, by now. But to be snubbed by a common whore irritates me.”
“She may be a whore, but she isn’t common,” Sally corrected that. “I’m told she speaks three languages very fluently; her home is the showcase of the state; and her carriage was built and brought over from France.”
“Oh?” Now where in the devil did Janey learn three languages? he thought. She quit school in the eighth grade.
“Here she comes now,” Sally said.
It was a grand carriage, all right. The coachman was a black man, all gussied up in a military-looking outfit. Four tough-looking riders accompanied the carriage. Two to the front, two to the back.
As the carriage passed, Buck removed his hat and bowed gallantly.
Even from the boardwalk, Sally could see the woman in the carriage flush with anger and jerk her head to the front. Sally suppressed a giggle.
“Oh, you made her mad, Buck.”
“She’ll get over it, I reckon.” Buck remembered the time, back before the war, when he had rocked the family outhouse—with his sister in it. She’d chased him all over the farm, throwing rocks at him.
“That funny look is back in your eyes, Buck. What are you thinking?”
“My own sister,” he said.
“Does Jane remind you of her?”
“Not really. I haven’t seen the sister I remember in a long time. I’ll probably never see that girl again.”
Sally touched his arm. “Oh, Buck. Why do you say that?”
“There is nothing to return to, Sally. Everything and everyone is gone.”
He took her elbow and they began to walk toward the edge of town. They had not gone half a block before the sounds of hooves drumming on the hard-packed dirt came to them. Two of the bodyguards that had been with Jane reined up in the street, turning their horses to face Buck and Sally.
Buck gently but firmly pushed Sally to one side. “Stand clear,” he said in a low voice. “Trouble ahead.”
