for three years running. He had about convinced himself that he was the best in the entire state of Colorado, and didn’t believe it when he was told by those who had seen Smoke throw horseshoes for fun out at his ranch that Smoke was better.
Reluctantly, Smoke had taken up Floyd’s challenge, and had just beaten him in three straight games.
Accepting the accolades of those gathered for the match, Smoke begged out of a celebratory drink at the Longmont Saloon by explaining that he had to get back to the ranch.
“You mean you’d rather go back home than have a few drinks with your friends?” Whitman asked.
“Whitman, that’s about the dumbest question I’ve ever heard,” Sheriff Carson said.
“What’s so dumb about it?” Whitman asked.
“What friends at Longmont’s are you talking about?”
“Well, Louis will be there. Floyd will. You’ll be there too, I reckon. And I’ll be there.”
“Uh-huh,” Carson said.
“So?”
“Think about it, Jason,” Carson said. “We’ll be at Longmont’s. Sally is at Sugarloaf.”
“Oh,” Whitman said. “Oh, yeah, I see what you mean.”
The others laughed, then shouted their goodbyes to Smoke when he swung into the saddle for the ride home.
As Smoke rode by the Western Union office, the telegrapher stepped into the front door and called out to him.
“Smoke, I’ve got a telegram here that’s addressed to Sugarloaf Ranch. It came late yesterday afternoon, and I was goin’ to get a boy to bring it out to your place today, but seeing as you are here, maybe you’ll take it.”
“Thanks, I’ll take it.”
“Yes, sir,” the telegrapher said. “The only thing is, it’s addressed to a fella by the name of Buck West, and I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of him. Do you know such a person?”
The name Buck West got Smoke’s attention. For a while, Smoke had been on the dodge, and he’d used the name Buck West. There weren’t too many people around who knew about that part of his life. And certainly anyone who knew to send a telegram to Sugarloaf Ranch would know that he wasn’t using that name anymore. It made him very curious.
Smoke gave the telegrapher a quarter, then stuck the telegram in his pocket. He planned to wait until he got back to the ranch before he read it, but curiosity got the best of him so, about a mile out of town, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the telegram.
BOBBY LEE CABOT TO BE HANGED AUGUST 31 IN CLOVERDALE NEVADA STOP COME QUICK TO GOLD STRIKE SALOON MINNIE SMITH
Bobby Lee Cabot had been Nicole’s half brother. He’d been younger than Nicole, she had partially raised him, and for a while Bobby Lee had even lived with Nicole and Smoke. Bobby Lee had practically worshiped the ground Smoke walked on, and Smoke remembered him fondly. He had no idea who Minnie Smith was, but if she had sent him a message addressed to Buck West, then he knew that it was authentic. She could only have been given that information by Bobby Lee.
Smoke rode about another half mile toward home while he contemplated the message. He was glad that Bobby Lee had thought to contact him, because he was absolutely not going to let him be hanged—of that he was sure. What he was not sure about was what he was going to do to stop it.
Then, with a smile, Smoke came up with an idea. But in order to make the idea work, he was going to have to ride back in town to visit the printing shop. Turning back toward town, Smoke slapped his legs against the side of his horse, causing the animal to break into a ground-eating lope. He reined up in front of the sheriff’s office, then stepped inside.
“Smoke,” Carson called to him. “Come back to lord it over Floyd a bit, did you?”
“No,” Smoke said. “I need a favor from you, Monte.”
“Ask, you’ve got it.”
Smoke explained his idea.
“I don’t know, Smoke,” Carson said. “What you are asking for doesn’t make a lot of sense to me.”
“Will you do it?”
“Yes, of course I will,” Carson said. “Just because it doesn’t make sense to me doesn’t mean it isn’t a bad idea. You’re one of the smartest men I know, so I figure you’ve probably got it worked out in a way I haven’t considered yet.”
“Thanks,” Smoke said.
Sheriff Carson wrote out a note, then handed to Smoke. “Show this to Curly,” he said. “And if he still has questions, tell him to come see me.”
Curly Latham listened to Smoke’s request.
“Let me get this straight,” the printer said. “You want me to print just one?”
“One is all I need,” Smoke replied.
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Curly said.
“Will you do it? Or do I have to go find another printer somewhere?”
“Look here, Smoke, you know how this works. It will cost you as much to have me print just one as it would to have me print one hundred. You know I’m going to do it for you if that is what you really want. I just hate taking advantage of you like this.”
