“Lady, if you scream, I’ll shoot you,” he said. “I’ll shoot anyone who screams. Now, get back into that storeroom like I said.”
This time, the women reacted and started toward the storeroom at the rear of the store.
“Jason, make sure they all get in there, then lock the door. Stu, you stand up front to take care of anyone else who comes in. Store clerk, let’s me and you do some business.”
Sally had asked Smoke to pick up an iron skillet for her while he was in town, so he tied his horse off out front of the Mercantile and started inside to carry out the errand.
He knew something was wrong as soon as he stepped through the door. At first, he didn’t know what it was; then he realized that the store was empty. Normally, at this time of day, there would be several shoppers in the store, milling around, looking at the merchandise, or making purchases. Now there was nobody.
He stopped for a moment, every muscle in his body on the alert. Smoke was a man who had lived his life on the edge of danger—whether it be from wild animals when he was younger, renegade Indians, or desperate killers and outlaws. That lifetime of danger had given him a sixth sense, and because of his heightened awareness, he sensed, rather than heard, someone approaching him, very quietly, from behind.
Making a fist, Smoke timed his reaction perfectly, and at exactly the right moment, he whirled around, swinging as he did so. He landed a haymaker on the jaw of the armed man who was approaching him. He grabbed the man and let him down easily so that the sound of his falling wouldn’t alert anyone else. It was obvious that something was going on in the store, and this man had been posted by the door to take care of anyone who might happen in, in the middle of it.
Relieving the unconscious guard of his pistol, Smoke pulled his own gun, then started moving quietly through the store. He didn’t have to go too far before he saw, reflected in a dresser mirror, Eli Dawes, standing with his hands in the air. Dawes was the manager of the store. In the same mirror reflection, Smoke could also see two armed men, both of whom had their guns pointed at Dawes.
“I know damn well you got more money than this,” one of the armed men said angrily. He had a flat nose and a handlebar mustache. “A store this big? I been watchin’ you for a couple of days now. You do a lot of business here.”
“If you really have been watching, then you know we make a deposit in the bank every day at one o’clock,” Dawes said.
“You’re lyin’,” Flat Nose said.
“No, he isn’t lying,” Smoke said, stepping out to confront the robbers. “There have been times when, good- neighborly-like, I would make the deposit for him.” Smoke’s voice was agonizingly calm, almost as if he were having a dinner table conversation.
“Who the hell are you?” Flat Nose asked, the high-pitched, anxious tremor of his voice in stark contrast to Smoke’s unruffled tone.
“I’m the man who is going to kill you if you don’t drop your gun,” Smoke said. Again, his voice was calm and controlled.
“Stu!” Flat Nose called. When he got no response, he called out again. “Stu, where the hell are you?”
Smoke grinned. “Stu? Would that be the man you left standing guard at the front door?” Smoke had stuck Stu’s pistol down inside the waist of his pants, and now he patted it with his left hand. “I’m afraid he isn’t going to be able to help you. This is the last time I’m going to say it. Drop your gun.”
“Mister, are you crazy? There are two of us. There is only one of you.”
“That’s all right, I’ll kill you first,” Smoke said. He looked at the second robber. “That will leave just the ugly one there, and he and I will be all even at one and one.”
“You really are crazy, aren’t you?” Flat Nose asked.
“Hello, Smoke,” Dawes said. “You got here at just the right time.”
“Glad I could help.”
“Fellas, meet Smoke Jensen,” Dawes said. “I know you’ve heard of him.”
“Smoke Jensen?” the second robber said. “Taylor, you—you never said nothin’ about us havin’ to go up against Smoke Jensen. I’ve heard of him. They say he is as fast as lightning.”
“For God’s sake, Jason, be a man,” Taylor said.
“It’s your play, boys. Taylor, Jason, what do you do now?” Smoke asked.
“Wait! I ain’t no part of this!” Jason said, dropping his gun and putting his hands up.
“Jason, you cowardly son of a bitch!” Taylor shouted. At the same time Taylor was shouting, he swung his pistol toward Smoke, pulling the hammer back and firing.
The bullet whizzed by Smoke’s head and plunged into a large sack of cornmeal that was part of a high stack of cornmeal sacks behind him. Smoke returned fire, hitting Taylor in the chest. Taylor’s pistol twirled around his trigger finger, pointing toward the floor, then dropped. The outlaw clutched his hand over the entry wound of the bullet, staggered back a few steps, and fell.
Smoke swung his pistol toward the one called Jason, but it wasn’t necessary. Since he’d dropped his pistol and put his hands in the air, Jason hadn’t made a move.
For a moment, it was very quiet in the store, the only sound being the rushing sound made by the cornmeal as it oozed out of the bullet hole and poured onto the floor.
“Are you all right, Eli?” Smoke asked.
“I’m fine, but there are some lady customers locked back in the storeroom.”
“You had better let them out. I expect they are all a little nervous about now.”
