“Ha! I’ve never heard of anyone being so vain,” the baby’s mother said.
“What do you mean vain?”
“He looks exactly like you. For you to say he is handsome is the same thing as your saying you are handsome.”
“Well?” Smoke teased. “Didn’t you tell Preacher you thought that I was a handsome man?”
“You are hopeless,” she said, laughing at him as she picked up a pillow and hit him.
Smoke took the pillow away and grabbed her, then pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
“Uhmm, careful,” she said. “You know what happened the last time we started this, don’t you?”
“What?”
She nodded toward the baby in the crib.
“That happened,” she said.
“So, would it be so bad for little Art to have a brother?”
“Ha! Are you that sure it would be another boy?”
“I was right the first time, wasn’t I? I think we should just see if I’m right this time. “ Swooping her up, he carried Nicole to bed.
Nicole? But how can this be?
With a start, Smoke set up in bed. His breathing was labored, and he felt a heavy pain in his heart. Looking over at the woman who was sleeping beside him, he saw, not Nicole, but Sally.
His wife, Nicole, was long dead now, brutally murdered by three men: Potter, Richards, and Stratton. The same three men had also killed their baby, Art. Even now, the very mention of their names brought Smoke’s blood to a boil.
Smoke had tracked them down to the town of Bury, Idaho. As events developed, the name of the town was prophetic, because the three men wound up being buried there.
The dream of Nicole had been unbidden, and unexpected. But now as he sat up in the dark of the bedroom he shared with Sally, he wanted to remember. He wanted to take some comfort from the fact that justice had been done. He’d burned down the entire town, then dealt with the killers of his wife and son.
… Richards, Potter, and Stratton stood at one end of the block. A tall, bloody figure stood at the other. All their guns were in leather.
“You son of a bitch!” Stratton screamed, his voice as high-pitched as a woman. “You ruined it all.” He clawed at his .44.
Smoke drew and fired before Stratton’s pistol could clear leather. Potter grabbed for his pistol. Smoke shot him dead, then holstered his gun, waiting.
Richards had not moved. He stood with a faint smile on his lips, staring at Smoke.
“You ready to die?” Smoke asked the man.
“As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose,” Richards replied. There was no fear in his voice. His hand appeared steady. “Been a long run, hasn’t it, Jensen?”
“It’s just about over.”
“What happens to all our holdings?”
“I don’t care what happens to the mines. The miners can have them. I’m giving all your stock to decent, honest punchers and homesteaders. ”
A puzzled look spread over Richards’s face. “I don’t understand. You did … all this” —he waved his hand—“for nothing?”
“I did it for my wife and my baby son. ”
“But it won’t bring them back!”
“I know. ”
“I wish I had never heard the name Jensen.”
“You’ll never hear it again after this day, Richards.”
“One way to find out,” Richards said with a smile. He drew his Colt and fired. He was snake-quick, but he hurried his shot, the lead digging up dirt at Smoke’s feet.
Smoke shot him in the right shoulder, spinning the man around. Richards grabbed for his left-hand gun and Smoke fired again, the slug striking the man in the left side of his chest. He struggled to bring up his Colt. He managed to cock it before Smoke’s third shot struck him in the belly. Richards sat down hard in the bloody, dusty street.
He opened his mouth to speak. He tasted blood on his tongue. The light began to fade around him. “You’ll … meet …”
Smoke never found out who he was supposed to meet. Richards toppled over on his side and died.2
Slowly, the memories drifted away. Why had he dreamed of Nicole? There had been many years that had passed since she and Arthur were killed, and yet,
