“I don’t do business with killers and murderers,” the man said.
Smoke shrugged. “Well, I have to admit, I’ve killed some men in my day, though I’ve never murdered anyone, and those I’ve killed have all tried to kill me first.”
“That’s a lie!”
Smoke’s face flushed. He didn’t ordinarily let someone talk to him like this, but he wanted to find out what the man’s beef was.
“Now ordinarily, friend, a man who spoke to me in that tone and with those words would either be flat on his back with a busted jaw, or he’d be bleeding all over the floor,” Smoke said evenly, trying to control his temper. “However, you’ve obviously got something weighing heavily on your mind that concerns me, so I’ll hold off on taking any offense for now. You want to tell me what you got stuck in your craw, Mister . . . uh . . . I didn’t get your name?”
The man reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a couple of coins and threw them on the bar. “Not yet, Jensen, but when I’m ready, you’ll know. And the name’s Macklin, Daniel Macklin.”
Smoke sighed and stepped away from the bar. “Well, we can settle this right now, if that’s what you really want,” he said, his eyes flat and hard. His hands hung loose by his thighs, his expression expectant.
Macklin’s eyes strayed to the table across the room, where Cal and Pearlie and Louis all sat watching the show.
“Yeah, with your friends over there all set to gun me down if I make a play. No, thanks.”
“My friends won’t interfere if it’s a fair fight,” Smoke said, his eyes never leaving Macklin’s.
Macklin sneered. “That’s not the way I hear it, Jensen. In fact, I hear they usually take a hand and join right in when you kill someone.”
Smoke frowned. He had no idea what this Macklin was talking about. “Mister, I don’t know what you’re getting at or where you get your information, but I’m telling you flat out that’s a lie, and I’m willing to back my words up any way you choose.” Smoke waited just a beat. “Are you?”
Macklin let his hand drop to his side, and before he could blink, Smoke’s Colt was in his hand, cocked, and pointing at his chest from a distance of two inches.
Macklin’s face turned pale and he took a step back. He’d never seen anything like it. He hadn’t even seen Jensen’s hand move before it was holding a gun.
Macklin slowly raised his hands. “You gonna shoot me down in cold blood too, Jensen?” he managed to croak through a throat that was suddenly very dry.
Smoke shook his head and holstered his gun. “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Macklin turned and walked away, saying over his shoulder, “Well, I’ll be sure and remind you next time we meet.”
Smoke watched him leave the saloon, and then he went back to the table and took his seat.
“You find out what he wanted?” Louis asked.
Smoke shook his head. “No, but he’s got a powerful hate for me going on. Seems to think me and my friends shot someone close to him down in cold blood.”
“Where’d he get that crazy idea?” Cal asked.
Smoke shrugged. “He wouldn’t say.”
“You don’t think it’s about that fracas we had up in Canada, do you?” Louis asked.
Smoke shook his head. “No, I don’t see how anyone could think we were the aggressors in that fight.”
“Well, like you say, he’s got a powerful hate on,” Pearlie said, glancing at the batwings. “I could see it in his eyes.”
“Yeah,” Cal added, a worried look on his face as he stared at the batwings the man had just pushed through. “I’d sure watch my back if I was you, Smoke. A man as pissed off as that man is ain’t gonna think twice ‘bout shooting you in the back.”
TEN
Carl Jacoby, who was watching the doorway to Longmont’s Saloon from an alley down the street, was astonished when Dan Macklin walked hurriedly out of the batwings, jumped on his horse, and hightailed it around the far corner onto a back street leading to their hotel. His back was stiff and he didn’t even glance behind him as he rode away like his pants were on fire.
Carl had been expecting some fireworks from Macklin, but he hadn’t heard any gunshots and there didn’t seem to be a crowd forming or anyone coming out of the door looking for Macklin. Couldn’t have been much of a gunfight with this little a reaction.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered to himself as he turned and walked quickly up the alley toward the hotel’s back entrance, hoping to find Macklin and find out what had gone on in the saloon. He could tell something had happened from the way Macklin looked as he rode down the street, but he couldn’t imagine what it could be.
When he got to the rear of the hotel, he saw Macklin’s horse tied to a hitching rail there and the back door partially open.
He went inside, and stopped as he passed the doorway to the hotel bar when he saw Macklin standing at the bar with a bottle of whiskey in front of him and a glass to his lips.
Jacoby moved next to him at the bar, noticing his face was flushed and he was covered with sweat. His hand holding the glass was shaking so much that Jacoby was afraid Macklin would spill it all over himself if he tried to drink from it.
