“Damn shore was.”
Conversation became a bit forced, as both Monte and Smoke, both gunfighters, knew the clock was ticking toward a showdown in the streets of Fontana. Stonewall and Joel came into the office.
“Git the people off the boardwalks,” Monte told his deputies. “And have either of you seen Utah Slim?”
“He’s standin’ down by the corral, leanin’ up agin a post,” Joel said. “He’s got a half dozen of them punk gunslingers with him. They lookin’ at Utah like he’s some sort of god.”
“Run ’em off,” Monte ordered. “I’ll not have no mismatched gunfight in this town.”
The deputies left, both carrying sawed-off express guns.
Monte looked at Smoke after the office door had closed. “Utah is fast, Smoke. He’s damn good. I’d rate him with the best.”
“Better than Valentine?”
“He don’t blow his first shot like Valentine, but he’s just as fast.”
Ralph looked out a barred window. “Streets are clear,” he announced. “Nobody moving on the boardwalks.”
Smoke stood up. “It’s time.” He slipped the leather thongs from the hammers of his Colts and put his hat on his head. “I’d like to talk to Utah first, find out something about my sister. Hell, I don’t even know if she’s the one behind this. I’ll give it a try.”
Smoke walked out onto the shaded boardwalks outside the sheriff’s office. He pulled his hat lower over his eyes and eased his Colts half out of leather a few times, letting them fall back naturally into the oiled leather. He stepped out into the street and turned toward the corral.
As he walked down the center of the street, his spurs jingling and his boots kicking up little pockets of dust, he was conscious of many unseen eyes on him, and even a few he could associate with a body.
Stonewall and Joel were on the opposite sides of the broad street, both still carrying shotguns. The duded-up dandies who fancied themselves gunslingers had gathered as close to the corral as the deputies would allow them. Smoke saw the young punk Luke had made eat crow that day. Lester Morgan, Sundance. He had himself some new Colts. And that kid who called himself The Silver Dollar Kid was there, along with a few other no-names who wanted to be gunfighters.
Smoke wondered how they got along; where did they get eating money? Petty thievery, probably.
Louis Longmont had stepped out of his gaming tent. “How many you facing, Smoke?” he asked, as Smoke walked by.
“Just one that I know of. Utah Slim. I think my sis, Janey, sent him after me.”
Louis paced Smoke, but stayed on the boardwalk. “Yes, it would be like her.”
“Where is she, Louis?”
“Tombstone, last I heard. Runnin’ a red-light place. She’s worth a lot of money. Richards’s money, I presume.”
“Yeah. Richards ain’t got no use for it. I never heard of no Wells Fargo armored stage followin’ no hearse.”
Louis laughed quietly. “I’ll watch your back, Smoke.”
“Thanks.”
Smoke kept on walking. He knew Louis had fallen back slightly, to keep an eye on Smoke’s back trail.
Then the corral loomed up, Utah Slim standing by the corral. Smoke’s eyes flicked upward to the loft of the barn. Billy was staring wide-eyed out of the loft door.
“Billy!” Smoke raised his voice. “You get your butt outta that loft and across the street. Right now, boy— move!”
“Yes, sir!” Billy hollered, and slipped down the hay rope to the street. He darted across the expanse and got behind a water trough.
“That there’s a good kid,” Utah said. “Funny the other week when he shot Tilden in the ass.”
“Yeah, I’d like to have seen that myself.”
“I ain’t got nothin’ personal agin you, Jensen. I want you to know that.”
“Just another job, right, Utah?”
“That’s the way it is,” the killer said brightly.
“My sister hire you?”
“Damned if’n I know. Some woman named Janey, down in Tombstone paid me a lot of money, up front.” He squinted at Smoke. “Come to think of it, y’all do favor some.”
“That’s my darlin’ sister.”
“Makes me proud I ain’t got no sister.”
“Why don’t you just get on your horse and ride on out, Utah. I don’t want to have to kill you.”
The killer looked startled. “Why, boy! You ain’t gonna kill me.”
“You want to wager on that?” Louis called.
“Yeah.” Utah smiled. “I’ll bet a hundred.”
