“They said they’ll meet you and your men in the street in fifteen minutes.”
Smoke thanked him, gave him a dollar, and sent him off running. He motioned for the sheriff and for Louis and York.
“Clear the street, Sheriff. We’ve been challenged, Louis, York.” Then he briefed his friends.
“Why, I’ll just take a posse and clean them out!” Sheriff Poley said.
Smoke shook his head. “You’ll walk into an ambush if you try that, Sheriff. None of us knows where the men are holed up. Just clear the street.”
“Yeah,” York said. “A showdown ain’t agin the law where we come from.”
Since they had first met, Martha and York had been keeping close company. Martha stepped out of the crowd and walked to York. She kissed him right on the mouth, right in front of God and everybody—and she was still dressed in men’s britches!
“I’ll be waiting,” she whispered to him.
York blushed furiously and his grin couldn’t have been dislodged with an axe.
Louis and Smoke stood back, smiling at the young woman and the young ranger. Then they checked their guns, Louis saying, “One more time, friend.”
“I wish I could say it would be the last time.”
“It won’t be.” Louis spun the cylinder of first his right-hand gun, then the left-hand .44, dropping them into leather. Smoke and York did the same, all conscious of hundreds of eyes on them.
The hundreds of people had moved into stores and ducked into alleyways. Reporters were scribbling as fast as they could and the photographers were ready behind their bulky equipment.
“There they stand,” Louis said quietly, cutting his eyes up the street.
“Shorty, Red, Jake, The Hog,” Smoke verbally checked them off. He glanced up and down the wide street. It was free of people.
“You boys ready?” York asked.
“Let’s do it!” Louis replied grimly.
The citizens of the town and the visiting reporters and photographers had all read about the western-style shoot-outs. But not one among them had ever before witnessed one. The people watched as the outlaws lined up at the far end of the wide street and the lawmen lined up at the other. They began walking slowly toward each other.
“I should have killed you the first day I seen you, Jensen!” Jake called.
Smoke offered no reply.
“I ain’t got but one regret about this thing,” Jake wouldn’t give it up. “I’d have loved to see you eat a pile of horse shit!”
This time Smoke responded. “I’ll just give you some lead, Jake. See how you like that.”
“I’ll take the Hog,” York said.
“Shorty’s mine,” Louis never took his eyes off his intended target.
“Red and Jake belong to me,” Smoke tallied it up. “They’re all fast, boys. Some of us just might take some lead this go-around.”
“It’s not our time yet, Smoke,” Louis spoke quietly. “We all have many more trails to ride before we cross that dark river.”
“How do you know them things, Louis?” York asked.
Louis smiled in that strange and mysterious manner that was uniquely his. “My mother was a gypsy queen, York.”
Smoke glanced quickly at him. “Louis, you tell the biggest whackers this side of Preacher.”
The gambler laughed and so did Smoke and York. Those watching and listening did so with open mouths, not understanding the laughter.
The reporters also noted the seemingly high humor as the three men walked toward hot lead and gunsmoke.
“It’s a game to them,” a reporter murmured. “Nothing more than a game.”
“They’re savages!” another said. “All of them. The so-called marshals included. They should all be put in cages and publicly displayed.”
Martha tapped him on the shoulder. “Mister?”
The reporter turned around.
The young woman slugged him on the side of the jaw, knocking the man sprawling, on his butt, to the floor of the store.
Jordan Reynolds stood with his mouth open, staring in disbelief.
“Good girl,” John said.
A man who looked to be near a hundred years old, dressed in an ill-fitting suit, smiled at Martha. He had gotten off the train that morning, accompanied by two other old men also dressed in clothing that did not seem right for them.
