It was just as she’d suspected. Both men had signed a home address of Pueblo, Colorado.
“Thank you, Mort,” she said as she turned and rushed out the door toward Longmont’s.
As she approached the table where Louis and Monte Carson and the boys were sitting, the sheriff stood up. “I’m sorry, Sally, but the boys haven’t been able to find those wagon tracks yet.”
“I think we need to look along the trail that goes toward Pueblo, Monte.”
“What? Why do you say that?” he asked.
Sally shook her head and sat down. “I don’t know exactly, but there are some very strange things happening that concern a young lady that is from there.”
She went on to tell them all she’d found out before coming to the saloon.
She noticed Cal and Pearlie looking at each other, and sighed when Pearlie nudged Louis with his elbow.
“All right, men,” she said. “Just what is going on?”
“Uh, Sally,” Louis began, “Pearlie just reminded me of something that happened when we went through Pueblo on the way up to Canada last year.”
“Uh-huh?”
“There was a gunfight and some men from Pueblo were killed by our group.”
“Any of them named Johnson, or Jacoby, or Macklin?” she asked, her stomach doing flip-flops.
“No, not as I recall,” Louis said.
Sally glanced at Monte, who was sitting next to her. “Monte, I think Smoke’s disappearance ties in somehow with that of the girl who called herself Sarah Johnson. Now that I think about it, she was awfully curious about Smoke when we met on the train. I didn’t catch it at the time, but she asked a lot of questions about him.”
“And you think that ties in with the killing in Pueblo last year?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Probably, but it doesn’t matter. We have four people who’ve disappeared from Big Rock in the last few days, so there’s got to be some connection.”
“She’s right, Monte,” Louis said. “What are the odds of that happening and it not being related?”
Monte got up from the table. “I agree. Let’s get moving up the trail to Pueblo.”
“I’ll bet you a dollar against one of Miss Sally’s bear sign we find those buckboard tracks ‘fore we go ten miles,” Pearlie said to Cal as he got to his feet and set his hat low on his head.
“I won’t bet, but I hope you’re right,” Cal replied, following him toward the door.
Meanwhile, Cletus and Sarah and their men were getting closer to Pueblo, where Angus MacDougal had some plans for Smoke Jensen.
Sarah was beginning to feel less and less sure that she was doing the right thing. The more she talked to Smoke, the harder it was for her to see him as a cold-blooded killer. In spite of how she’d tricked and betrayed him in order to take him to her father, he seemed to bear her no malice. When she asked him about this, he just shrugged. “I guess I’d probably feel much the same way if I were in your shoes,” he told her. “Matter of fact,” he added, thinking of the time he’d gone after the men who’d raped his wife and killed her and his son, “I have done pretty much the same thing—the only difference was, I knew I was right and you don’t.”
That night they stopped and fixed camp for the last time. By the end of the next day, Cletus said they’d be at the MacDougal ranch.
Exhausted from the ride and her mental battle with herself about the rightness of what she’d done, Sarah flopped down on the ground near the fire and stared into the flames, as if she could find some answers there.
Smoke, who was standing a few yards away with his hands tied, glanced her way. His eyes widened and he took two quick steps and launched himself at her headfirst.
His body slammed into hers, knocking her to the side and almost into the flames.
Cletus, seeing this and hearing Sarah’s cry of surprise and pain, whipped out his Walker Colt and aimed it at the back of Smoke’s head.
Before he could pull the trigger, he saw Smoke twist his body around and lift his boots into the air. A dark brown, mottled shape flashed into the light and a five-foot long timber rattler struck at Smoke’s boots, its fangs slashing a double groove in the soles of the shoes.
“Damn!” Jimmy Corbett yelled as he jumped to the side to get out of the way of the angry critter.
Smoke brought the heels of his boots down hard, smashing the snake in the head and dazing it.
Cletus, finally seeing what was going on, stepped over and put a bullet between the snake’s eyes, blowing its head off.
“What . . . why . . . ?” a startled Sarah cried from where she lay, a few feet away.
Cletus holstered his pistol and moved to her side, helping her to her feet. She leaned over Smoke, looked at the dead snake, and shuddered.
“You saved my life,” she murmured.
“Naw, probably not,” Smoke said, struggling to sit up, the task difficult with his hands still tied behind his back. “The poor critter was just trying to get to the fire to warm himself up a bit. When it’s this cold outside, they can’t move very fast.”
Cletus snorted. “Hell, boy,” he said. “He didn’t look all that slow when he struck at your boots.”
Smoke just shrugged. “Now that the excitement is over, how about a cup of that coffee that’s boiling over by the fire?” he asked.
Cletus nodded, and moved over to squat next to the pot and pour a mug. He looked at Sarah, who was standing
