His smile broke the barriers between old, settled, and established codes and those who came from the freewheeling western part of the nation. She returned his smile and glanced down at the register.
“Enjoy your stay, Mr. Jensen! Smoke Jensen?”
And once more, pandemonium reigned.
The trio crossed into New Hampshire at first light, having paid their bill and slipped out quietly before dawn.
York was dressed in jeans, a red and white checkered shirt, and a leather waist-length jacket. Louis dressed in a dark suit, a white shirt with black string tie, highly polished black boots, and a white duster over his clothing to keep away the dust. Smoke was dressed in dark jeans, a black shirt, a red bandana, and his beaded buckskin jacket. All wore western hats. Only York and Smoke’s big bowie knives could be seen; Louis’s duster covered his own knife.
About ten miles inside New Hampshire, they picked up the Ashuelot River and followed that toward Keene. Some fifteen miles later, the outskirts of the town came into view.
The men reined up, dismounted, and knocked the dust from their clothing. Louis, loving every minute of it, removed his linen duster and tied it behind his saddle. A farmer came rattling along in a wagon, stopped, and sat his seat, staring at the heavily armed trio.
“The Reynolds house,” Smoke said, walking to the man. “How do we find it?”
The man sat his wagon seat and stared, openmouthed.
“Sir?” Smoke asked. “Are you all right?”
“It’s really you,” the farmer said, awe in his voice. “I been readin’ ’bout you for years. Knew you by your picture.”
“Thank you. I’m glad to meet you, too. Could you direct us to the Reynolds house?”
“Oh…sure! That’s easy. Cross the bridge and go three blocks. Turn right. Two blocks down they’s a big white two-story house on the corner. You can’t miss it. Wait’ll I tell my wife I seen Smoke Jensen!” He clucked to his team and rattled on.
“What day is this?” York asked. “I’m havin’ the damndest time keepin’ track of things.”
“Saturday,” Louis told them. “Smoke, do we inform the local authorities as to why we are here?”
“I think not. If we did that, they’d want to handle it the legal way. With trials and lawyers and the such. We’d be tied up here for months. So let’s keep it close to the vest and wait until Davidson makes his play. Then we’ll handle it our way.”
“Sounds good to me,” York said. He swung into the saddle.
Smoke and Louis mounted up.
They cantered across the wooden bridge, three big men riding big western horses. They slowed to a walk on the other side of the street. People began coming out of houses to stand and stare at the men as they rode slowly by. Little children stood openmouthed; for all, it was the first time they had ever seen a real western cowboy, much less three real gunslingers like they’d been reading about in the penny dreadfuls and the tabloids.
Louis tipped his hat to a group of ladies, and they simpered and giggled and twirled their parasols and batted their eyes.
A little boy spotted them as they turned the street corner, and he took off like the hounds of hell were nipping at his feet.
“Aunt Sally! Aunt Sally!” he hollered. “They’re here, Aunt Sally!”
He ran up the steps of the huge house and darted inside.
The front porch filled with people, all staring at the three horsemen walking their mounts slowly up the street.
“Your relatives, Smoke,” Louis said. “Looks like quite a gathering.”
“I am not looking forward to this, Louis,” Smoke admitted. “I just want to get this over with, see Davidson and his bunch dead in the streets, and take Sally and the babies and get the hell back to the Sugarloaf.”
“You’ll survive it,” the gambler said. “I assure you, my friend. But I feel it will be somewhat trying for the lot of us.”
And then Sally stepped out onto the porch to join her family. Smoke felt he had never seen anything so beautiful in all his life. She stood by an older man that Smoke guessed was her father.
The entire neighborhood had left their houses and were standing in their front yards, gawking at the gunslingers.
“Smoke Jensen!” a teenager said, the words reaching Smoke. “He’s killed a thousand men with those guns. Bet he took that coat off an Indian after he killed him.”
Smoke grimaced and cut his eyes at Louis. The gambler said, “I feel awed to be in the presence of someone so famous.” Then he smiled. “A thousand men, eh? My how your reputation has grown in such a short time.”
Smoke shook his head and could not help but smile.
John Reynolds said, “That horse he’s riding looks like it came straight out of the pits of hell!”
“That’s Drifter,” Sally told him. “He’s a killer horse. Killed the last man who tried to own him.”
John looked at his daughter. “Are you serious?”
“Oh, yes. But he’s really quite gentle once he gets to know you. I was baking pies one afternoon and he stuck his head into the kitchen and ate a whole pie before I realized it. I picked up a broom and spanked him.”
“You…spanked him,” John managed to say. He muttered under his breath and Sally laughed at his expression.
