curled in a smile that made the hair on the back of Cletus’s neck stand up. He’d never seen anything as dangerous in his life.
“What’re you grinnin’ at, Jensen?” Cletus asked. “It ‘pears to me like you got precious little to smile at.”
“Mister,” Smoke croaked through dry and cracked lips, “I was just thinking about how good it is gonna feel when I make all of you pay for this.” He coughed and leaned his head to the side as he spit out a clot of old blood. “Ordinarily, I get no pleasure from killing men, but for this group, I’m gonna have to make an exception.”
“Only one’s gonna get kilt around here is you, Jensen,” Cletus said before he turned back around to face the horses before Jensen could see the fear in his eyes—eyes that had never been made to show fear before.
“Better men than you and these mangy coyotes riding with you have tried to plant me forked-end-up, mister,” Smoke said as he struggled to get turned around so he could put his back to the sideboard of the wagon. After a moment, he succeeded, and he leaned there with his elbows on his knees. “And I’m still kicking,” Smoke added after a moment spent getting his breath from the exertion his moving had caused.
Sarah gently spurred Cletus’s horse she was riding, and pulled the animal up next to the bed of the wagon where Smoke sat with his back to her.
Neither Cletus nor Smoke could see her as Cletus called back over his shoulder, “Yeah, but you ain’t never killed no MacDougal before neither, Jensen.”
Smoke snorted. “If you’re talking about that man named Johnny I shot in Pueblo last year, the only thing special about him was his capacity to drink enough liquor to make him both stupid and dangerous.”
Cletus nodded, his attention on the horses in front of him. “Yeah, Johnny could put the tonsil paint away, all right. But that didn’t give you no right to beat him near half to death an’ then shoot him full’a lead.”
Smoke sighed. “What’s wrong with you people?” he asked, his voice low as if he were talking to himself, exasperated at their unwillingness to learn the truth. “Didn’t anybody ask the sheriff what had happened? There were plenty of witnesses to the whole thing.”
“All we heard was that Johnny got pistol-whipped and all his teeth were knocked out, and then he and his friends got shot down without being able to get off any shots themselves.” Cletus looked back over his shoulder again. “That don’t exactly sound like no fair fight to me, Jensen.”
Smoke held his head. All this talking was making his head feel as if it was going to explode. What was it about self-defense that these people didn’t understand? Surely they must have known what kind of a man Johnny was.
“I’ll try one more time, then I’m done talking,” Smoke said. “Johnny had a snootful of liquor and came over to our table and braced the men I was with, saying they stunk like skunks and garbage. Well, it’s no surprise that one of the mountain men I was with took offense at his remarks and proceeded to beat the shit out of him, which he no doubt deserved. After Johnny got knocked flat on his back, his friends came over and carried him outside. Later, after we’d finished our supper, we walked out the door. Johnny and all his friends were standing there in the street with their hands filled with iron—we had no choice but to shoot.”
Cletus turned his head. “You that good, Jensen, you can draw and kill a man who’s already got his pistol out?”
Smoke chuckled. “Why don’t you try me, mister, and find out for yourself, or do you let a mob do your fighting for you? You got the balls for it, give me a gun and we’ll see if I’m fast enough to take the lot of you.”
Cletus gritted his teeth and looked ahead. A lot of what the man said made sense. He’d loved Johnny like his own son, but that didn’t mean the little bastard wasn’t mad-dog mean when he’d been drinking. He shook his head. It could well have gone down just like Jensen said, but if it did, why didn’t Sheriff Tupper tell it that way to Angus?
Sarah, who was wondering the same thing, flicked her riding crop at Smoke and got his attention. When he turned his head to look at her riding alongside the wagon, she said, “That isn’t exactly the way the sheriff tells it, Mr. Jensen, and why would he lie about it?”
Smoke smirked and turned back around, speaking over his shoulder. “Your father has a reputation of not listening to people who tell him what he doesn’t want to hear, Sarah. My guess is, the sheriff was too scared to tell him his little boy got killed because he got drunk and let his mouth override his butt. Truth be told, Johnny wasn’t near as tough or as fast with a gun as the liquor made him think he was, and he seemed too busy showing off for all of his friends to think straight about it.”
Sarah swiped at the back of Smoke’s head with her crop. “You bastard!” she yelled, and spurred her horse into a full gallop, riding off in a cloud of dust.
Cletus shook his head as he watched Sarah gallop off up ahead of the column of men. “Boy, you sure know how to end a conversation.”
“I guess her father’s not the only one doesn’t like to be told the truth, especially when her mind’s already made up on the subject.”
SIXTEEN
Sally woke up just as the sun was coming up and brightening the bedroom. She yawned and, as she did every morning, stuck out her right hand and felt around the bed for her husband. When she didn’t feel Smoke next to her, she opened her eyes and rolled on her side. His side of the bed was smooth, and his pillow was unwrinkled.
She sat up straight, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. Evidently, he hadn’t come to bed last night, because she’d never known him to get up early and make his side of the bed while she was still sleeping.
Something was wrong.
She jumped out of bed and got dressed. As she was heading for the door, she noticed that Smoke’s hat and guns were hanging on the peg next to the front door. He would never have gone anywhere without them.
She crossed the porch and ran to the bunkhouse. She pounded on the door until Cal opened it, yawning widely. It was just about time for the cowboys to rise, but it was evident he hadn’t had his morning coffee just yet.
“Oh, hi, Miss Sally,” he said, his voice still husky from sleep.
