the brightly lighted store, her sharp eyes darting left and right, looking for thieving hands.
Other than her own, Smoke mentally noted.
He walked on, coming to the swinging doors of the saloon. Wild laughter and hammering piano music greeted his ears. It was not an altogether offensive sound. The miners, as a whole, were not bad people. They were here to dig and chip and blast and hammer the rock, looking for gold. In their free time, most would drink and gamble and whore the night away.
Smoke almost stepped inside the saloon, changing his mind just at the very last moment. He stepped back away from the doors and walked on.
He crossed the street and stepped into Louis Longmont’s place. The faro and monte and draw and stud poker tables were filled; dice clicked and wheels spun, while those with money in their hands stared and waited for Lady Luck to smile on them.
Most of the time she did not.
Smoke walked to the bar, shoved his way through, and ordered a beer.
He took his beer and crossed the room, dodging drunks as they staggered past. He leaned against a bracing and watched the action.
“Smoke.” The voice came from his left.
Smoke turned and looked into the face of Louis Longmont. “Louis,” he acknowledged. “Another year, another boom town, hey?”
“They never change. I don’t know why I stay with it. I certainly don’t need the money.”
Smoke knew that was no exaggeration on the gambler’s part. The gambler owned a large ranch up in Wyoming Territory. He owed several businesses in San Francisco, and he owned a hefty chunk of a railroad. It was a mystery to many why Louis stayed with the hard life he had chosen.
“Then get out of it, Louis,” Smoke suggested.
“But of course,” Louis responded with a smile. His eyes drifted to Smoke’s twin Colts. “Just as you got out of gunfighting.”
Smoke smiled. “I put them away for several years, Louis. Had gold not been found, or had I chosen a different part of the country to settle, I probably would never have picked them up again.”
“Lying to others is bad enough, my young friend, But lying to one’s self is unconscionable. Can you look at me and tell me you never, during those stale years, missed the dry-mouthed moment before the draw? The challenge of facing and besting those miscreants who would kill you or others who seek a better and more peaceful way? The so-called loneliness of the hoot-owl trail? I think not, Mister Jensen. I think not.”
There was nothing for Smoke to say, for Louis was right. He had missed those death-close moments. And Sally knew it too. Smoke had often caught her watching him, silently looking at him as he would stand and gaze toward the mountains, or as his eyes would follow the high flight of an eagle.
“Your silence tells all, my friend,” Louis said. “I know only too well.”
“Yeah,” Smoke said, looking down into his beer mug. “I guess I’d better finish my beer and ride. I don’t want to be the cause of any trouble in your place, Louis.”
“Trouble, my friend, is soniething I have never shied away from. You’re safer here than in any other place in this woebegotten town. If I can help it, you will not be backshot in my place.”
And again, Smoke knew the gambler was telling the truth. Smoke and Louis had crossed trails a dozen times over the years. The man had taken a liking to the boy when Smoke was riding with the Mountain Man Preacher. In the quieter moments of his profession, Louis had shown Smoke the tricks of his gambler’s trade. Louis had realized that Smoke possessed a keen intelligence, and Louis liked those people who tried to better themselves, as Smoke had always done.
They had become friends.
Hard hoofbeats sounded on the dirt street outside the gambling tent. Smoke looked at Louis.
“About a dozen riders,” Smoke said.
“Probably the ‘deputies’ Tilden Franklin called in from down Durango way. They’ll be hardcases, Smoke.”
“Is this election legal?”
“Of course not. But it will be months before the state can send anyone in to verify it or void it. By then, Franklin will have gotten his way. Initial reports show the gold, what there is of it, assays high. But the lode is a narrow one. I suspect you already knew that.”
“I’ve know about the vein for a long time, Louis. I never wanted gold.”
A quick flash of irritation crossed Louis’s face. “It is well and good to shun wealth while one is young, Smoke. But one had best not grow old without some wealth.”
“One can have wealth without riches, Louis,” Smoke countered.
The gambler smiled. “I believe Preacher’s influence was strong on you, young man.”
“There could have been no finer teacher in all the world, Louis.”
“Is he alive, Smoke?”
“I don’t know. If so, he’d be in his eighties. I like to think he’s still alive. But I just don’t know.”
Louis knew, but he elected to remain silent on the subject. At least for the time being.
Boots and jangling spurs sounded on the raw boards in front of Louis’s place. And both Louis and Smoke knew the time for idle conversation had passed.
