“He ain’t no such thing,” Red corrected. “He’s just fast with a gun, that’s all. The fastest man alive. Been all sorts of books writ about Smoke. Want to meet him?”
Foolish question.
Luckily for Smoke, Jim Wilde intercepted the group and took them aside. “You boys from back east walk light around the men in this town. This ain’t Boston or New York. And while Smoke is a right nice fellow, with a fine ranch up north of here, he can be a mite touchy at times.” Then the marshal brought the men up to date on what Smoke had done in Dead River.
The photographer set up his awkward equipment and began taking pictures of Smoke and the Arizona Ranger, York. Both men endured it, Smoke saying to York, “You got any warrants on any of them that cut and run?”
“Shore do. What you got in mind?”
The camera popped and puffed smoke into the air.
“I think Sally told me she was going to give birth about October. I plan on bein’ there when she does. That gives us a few months to prowl. Tell your bosses back in Arizona not to worry about the expenses; it’s on me.”
The camera snapped and clicked, and smoke went into the air as the chemical dust was ignited.
And Marshal Jim Wilde, unintentionally, gave the newspaper reporters the fuel that would, in time, ignite the biggest gunfight, western-style, in Keene, New Hampshire history.
“Smoke’s wife is back in New Hampshire. He’ll be going back there when she gives birth to their child. Now come on, I’ll introduce you gentlemen to Smoke Jensen.”
Judge Hezekiah Jones had set up his bench, so to speak, outside the saloon, with the jury seated to his left, on the boardwalk. Already, a gallows had been knocked together and ropes noosed and knotted. They could hang three at a time.
The trial of the first three took two and a half minutes. A minute and a half later, they were swinging.
“Absolutely the most barbaric proceedings I have ever witnessed,” the Boston man sniffed, scribbling in his journal.
“Frontier justice certainly does leave a great deal to be desired,” the New York City man agreed.
“I think I’m going to be ill,” the photographer said, a tad green around the mouth.
“Hang ’em!” Judge Jones hit the table with his gavel, and three more were led off to meet their maker.
Sheriff Danvers stood before the bench, his hands tied behind his back. “I have a statement to make, Your Honor,” he said.
Hezekiah glared at him. “Oh, all right. Make your goddamn statement and then plead guilty, you heathen!”
“I ain’t guilty!” Danvers shouted.
The judge turned to face the men of the jury. “How do you find?”
“Guilty!” Red called.
“Hang the son of a bitch!” Hezekiah ordered.
And so it went.
The hurdy-gurdy ladies and shopkeepers were hauled off in wagons. Smoke didn’t ask where they were being taken because he really didn’t care. The bodies of the outlaws were tossed into a huge pit and dirt and gravel shoveled over them. “I’d like to keep my federal commission, Jim,” Smoke said. “I got a hunch this mess isn’t over.”
“Keep it as long as you like. You’re makin’ thirty a month and expenses.” He grinned and shook Smoke’s hand, then shook the hand of the ranger. “I’ll ride any trail with you boys any time.”
He wheeled his horse and was gone.
The wind sighed lonely over the deserted town as Smoke and York sat their horses on the hill overlooking the town. White Wolf and his people were moving into the town. The judge had ordered whatever money was left in the town to remain there. Let the Indians have it for their help in bringing justice to the godforsaken place, he had said.
Smoke waved at White Wolf and the chief returned the gesture. Smoke and York turned their horses and put their backs to Dead River.
“What is this?” York asked. “July, August…what? I done flat lost all track of the months.”
“I think it’s September. I think Sally told me the first month she felt she was with child was March. So if she’s going to have the baby the last part of October…”
York counted on his fingers, then stopped and looked at Smoke. “Do you want March as one?”
“Damned if I know!”
“We’ll say you do.” He once more began counting. “Yep. But that’d be eight months. So this might be August.”
Smoke looked at him. “York…what in the hell are you talking about?”
York confessed that what he knew about the process of babies growing before the birth was rather limited.
“I think I better wire Sally and ask her,” Smoke suggested.
“I think that’d be the wise thing to do.”
Jim Wilde had told Smoke he would send a wire to Sally, telling her the operation was over and Smoke was all right. And he would do the same for York, advising the Arizona Ranger headquarters that York was in pursuit of those who had escaped.
