“The boys who tried to rob the Mercantile?”
“Yes. Someone came into the jail, knocked Curley out, then let the Sinclair boys out.”
“So they did have someone else with them,” Smoke said. “I told you I saw four riders coming into town.”
“Yeah, the other man was Emil.”
“Emil?”
“It has to be. Emil, Jason, and Stu Sinclair are brothers. Emil is the one we didn’t have.”
“I’ve never heard of them,” Smoke said.
“They’ve never really made a name for themselves, though they served time for robbing a train in which the express agent was killed.”
“If the express agent was killed, why weren’t they hanged? Or at least, why aren’t they still in prison?”
“There was a fourth man with them and they all say he did it. The engineer and fireman corroborated their story.”
“Was the man I shot the fourth man in the train robbery?”
“No. The man you shot was named Logan Taylor, and he was in prison when the robbery happened. As a matter of fact, that’s where Emil and the others met him. The Sinclair brothers swear they didn’t know the name of the man who was with them. They said they met him just before the job and the only name he gave them was Joe. I think that is probably true, since if they had given his name, they could have shortened their own sentences.”
“You said Curley was knocked out. How is he?”
“He’s all right, I guess. He has a bump on his head, and it’s going to be sore for a while. His biggest problem is from the bawling out I gave him for falling asleep on the job.”
“Logan Taylor, you say. I don’t believe I have heard of him either.”
“They didn’t any of them make much of a name for themselves,” Carson said. “Taylor is from Colorado Springs, and I sent a wire to Sheriff Walker this morning, telling him what happened here. Anyway, I thought I would tell you about the Sinclair boys escaping just so you could keep an eye open for ’em. But I don’t think they’ll be dumb enough to try and give you any trouble.”
“I appreciate the information, Monte.”
“Hello, Monte,” Sally said, coming over to join them.
“Hi, Miss Sally,” Sheriff Carson replied, touching the brim of his hat. “I need to get on back to the office. I’ll see you later,” he said to Smoke.
“All right, thanks for the information,” Smoke replied.
“What was that all about?” Sally asked.
“Nothing much.”
“One of the railroad dispatchers just told me that you were in a shoot-out yesterday.”
“Yeah, I was.”
“You didn’t mention it.”
“I didn’t want to worry you.”
“Like you didn’t want to worry me about getting only seven dollars per head?”
Smoke sighed. “Yeah, like that,” he said. “Who told you?”
“The dispatcher said that you got the best contract of anyone who has brought longhorns through in the last several weeks. I was pretty pleased with that, until he said it was only seven dollars.”
“That dispatcher has a big mouth,” Smoke said with a little laugh. He showed Sally the wire.
“Oh, Smoke, what are we going to do?” Sally asked. “At these prices, we can barely afford to stay in business.”
“We’ll do whatever it takes,” Smoke replied.
The next day, Smoke Jensen stood at the edge of the porch looking out over the gently rolling pastureland of the nearly one hundred thousand acres that made up his ranch, Sugarloaf. An early morning mist hovered just over the grass, while wisps of low-lying clouds clung to the purple peaks of the Mathers Fork Range. The clouds were a luminescent orange, the light coming from a morning sun that had not yet made its appearance over the mountains to the east.
A rooster crowed.
From the barn, a milk cow lowed.
A horse whickered, then began running around inside the corral, stretching its legs as it greeted the new day. Smoke heard a low rumble of voices from inside the bunkhouse, then a burst of laughter. He caught the whiff of tobacco as some of the cowboys lit up their first roll-your-own cigarette of the day. He took a swallow of his coffee, then leaned one hand against the post that supported the porch roof.
Two of the cowboys walked out toward the corral to saddle their horses and make a morning ride around the ranch.
“Good mornin’, Mr. Jensen,” one of them called.
“Good mornin’, Boss,” the other said.
