“Gentlemen, let’s quit pussyfooting around here,” Pogue Quentin said. “I bid six hundred fifty dollars.”
“Six-fifty, fifty, fifty, fifty,” the auctioneer barked. “Do I hear seven hundred, seven hundred, seven, seven, seven—”
“Six hundred seventy-five,” Smith said.
“I have six hundred seventy-five, seventy-five, six hundred seventy-five, do I hear seven hundred? Seven hundred, seven hundred, now six seventy-five, seven hundred?”
“Seven hundred,” Tucker Phillips called.
“And fifty,” Quentin shouted.
“Seven hundred fifty,” the auctioneer said. “I have seven hundred fifty. Mr. Phillips, do you wish to increase the bid?”
Phillips made a dismissive motion with his hand. “Too rich for me,” he said.
“Mr. Smith?”
“Eight hundred,” Smith said.
“Nine hundred,” Quentin shouted.
“I’m out,” Smith said.
Quentin smiled broadly. “Looks like I’ve bought a bull.”
“Nine hundred fifty,” Smoke said.
“One thousand,” Quentin shouted back angrily.
“Fifteen hundred dollars,” Smoke said resolutely.
The audience gasped at the size of the jump in the bid, and for a moment, even the auctioneer was surprised.
“One thousand five hundred?” he asked, not in the singsong voice, but a conversational tone, as if to be certain he wasn’t making a mistake. “Mr. Jensen, do I understand the bid?”
“One thousand five hundred dollars,” Smoke repeated. When he left Sugarloaf, he’d had no intention of ever paying this much, but the unexpected bonus of the reward money enabled him to do so.
“Mr. Quentin, do you wish to respond?” the auctioneer asked.
“I—I will need some time to raise a little more cash,” Quentin said.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Quentin,” the auctioneer said. “The rules are quite specific. The terms are cash, due at the time of the purchase.”
Quentin sat in his seat for a moment; then, without a word, but casting an angry glare toward Smoke, he got up and left the room.
“One thousand five hundred once, one thousand five hundred twice, one thousand five hundred three times,” the auctioneer said. He slammed his gavel on the podium. “Prince Henry is sold to Smoke Jensen for one thousand five hundred dollars.”
The others in the sale barn applauded as Smoke walked down front to take possession of the animal.
“You’ve bought yourself a good bull, Mr. Jensen,” R.J. Billings, the seller of the bull, said as he received the money, then turned over the bull and his bill of sale.
“Thanks,” Smoke said. “I’ve recently introduced Herefords, and I’m hoping Prince Henry will strengthen my herd.”
“Oh, he will, I promise you that,” Billings said.
“I noticed that Mr. Quentin seemed quite upset,” Billings said. “He left the building without so much as a fare- thee-well.”
“Yes, he did. Well, if he was all that upset, I’d just as soon not have to deal with him. I’ve had enough conflict in my life. I don’t need any more,” Smoke said.
“Yes,” Billings said with a chuckle. “I heard about your conflict last night.”
“It would seem that everyone in town has heard.”
“I’m glad it turned out as it did. From all I have heard about you, you are a good man. I would not want to have seen you hurt.”
“Ha!” Smoke teased. “What you mean is, you would not want to have lost the sale.”
Billings laughed out loud. “Well, there you go, Mr. Jensen, you have found me out,” he said. “But I’m also glad that Prince Henry has found a home with a gentleman like you. How will you be getting Prince Henry back to your ranch?”
“By train.”
“If you wish, I will make the transportation arrangements for you. A bull like this needs special accommodations. Also, having raised him from a calf, I’d like a moment to tell him good-bye if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Smoke said. “If you need me for anything, I’ll be down at the saloon.”
Chapter Ten
