“Where were they?”
“Just where you said they would be. They were in the Bucket of Blood Saloon.”
“Good.”
“Pa, they said they had done business with you before.”
“They have.”
“I can’t imagine you ever doin’ business with anyone like those three men.”
“Billy Ray, you’ll learn someday that a man in my position has to do business with all sorts of people.”
“They just don’t seem to me like they are our kind of people,” Billy Ray said.
“Oh? Tell me, Billy Ray, what are our kind of people?”
“People like what’s in here,” Billy Ray replied, taking in the room with a wave of his hand. “People with money.”
When Emil, Jason, and Stu stepped into the lobby of the Homestead Hotel at three o’clock the next morning, it was dark, except for a single lantern that burned on the front desk. They walked lightly across the lobby, the carpet cushioning their steps so that they made little or no noise.
The desk clerk was sitting in a chair with his head back against the wall. His mouth was open and he was snoring loudly.
Emil turned the registration book around and ran his fingers down the list of names.
“Here it is,” he said quietly. “Smoke Jensen, Room 210.” He looked up at a peg board that hung on the wall just on the other side of the desk. There were several hooks on the board and from some of the hooks, two keys hung. There was only one key hanging from the hook numbered 210. Emil reached over to get it. Once he had the key in his hand, he turned to the others.
“Let’s go,” he said to the others.
A moment later, the three men stood at the top of the stairs.
“Emil, are you sure this fella has money?” Jason asked.
“You heard what Quentin said, didn’t you? Jensen is plannin’ on biddin’ for that high-priced bull. He couldn’t do that if he didn’t have any money on him.”
“Where do you reckon his room is at?” Stu asked.
“He’s in Room 210, so if I figure it right, that will be the last room on the left, down at the far end of the hall.”
Jason stubbed his toe on the top step. “Damn!” he said, barking the word out in pain.
“Hush,” Emil whispered.
“I stubbed my toe,” Jason said.
“If you don’t hush up, I’m goin’ to stub your head,” Emil warned. “You want to tell the whole world we’re a- comin’?”
“You worry too much, brother. Who’s goin’ to hear us at this hour of the night?” Stu asked.
“Just keep quiet.”
The hallway was well lit by a series of kerosene lanterns that were mounted on the walls on both sides.
“Jason, Stu, you boys get them lights snuffed out,” Emil said, pointing to the lanterns.
Following his instructions, Jason and Stu began moving quietly down the hallway, snuffing out the flickering yellow lanterns as they advanced. The hallway grew progressively darker as each light was extinguished, until finally it was illuminated only by the pale gleam of moonlight that splashed in through the window at the far end.
When they reached the room, Emil motioned for the other two to draw their pistols. He pulled a long-bladed knife from his belt scabbard, then used the key to unlock the door. He pushed it open very slowly, thus avoiding any sound.
Smoke wasn’t sure what awakened him, but when he opened his eyes he perceived something was amiss. Looking toward the door, he saw immediately that the small crack of light that had been shining under the door was gone. Although there was no longer any light coming under the door, the room was surprisingly well illuminated by the fall of soft silver light from a full moon that splashed through the window.
“Sally,” he whispered. “Get under bed, now.”
Although his instruction had awakened her from a very sound sleep, Sally didn’t question Smoke’s unusual request. Instead, she acted instantly to roll out of the bed, then slip under it.
Smoke’s holster was hanging from the head of the bed, and reaching up for it, he pulled his pistol. Then, he too rolled out of bed, only instead of getting under it, he moved quietly across the room, stepping into the shadows of the corner, then looking toward the door. He felt a slight movement of air in the room, and realized that the door had just been opened.
Three men came in, shadows within the shadow of the dimly lit room, and moving quietly, they crossed the floor toward the bed. Something flashed, a soft reflection from the moonlight, and Smoke could see that what glistened was the blade of a knife being carried by the one who was in the lead. He could see that the other two had their guns drawn. The one with the knife plunged it into the bed.
“Damn!” he said. “He ain’t here.”
“Oh, I’m here, all right,” Smoke said. “I’m just not in bed. You boys drop your weapons.”
