aren’t you?”
“If I told you I wasn’t, would it make any difference?”
“Nah. You’ve done shot your mouth off too much. I reckon we’re goin’ to kill you, no matter who you are.”
“I am Smoke Jensen.”
Now there was a collective gasp from all who were in the saloon.
“I know’d that was him soon as he come in here,” a quiet voice said from somewhere else in the saloon.
“This here is goin’ to be interestin’ to watch,” yet another voice said.
“I’m glad you come clean with that—Mister—Jensen,” Barney said, setting the word “Mister” apart from the rest of the sentence. “Now we will have witnesses who can back up our claim as to who you are.”
Smoke shook his head. “The witnesses aren’t going to do you any good,” he said.
“What do you mean they ain’t goin’ to do us any good? Why, word will spread all over ‘bout you bein’ kilt and ‘bout who the ones was that kilt you,” Clay said.
“It’s not going to do you any good because you’ll be dead,” Smoke said to Clay. Then he looked directly at Barney. “Both of you will be dead.”
Smoke’s comment was followed by a beat of silence.
“If you boys are going to make your play, do it now and be damned,” Smoke said. “I’ve got my lunch comin', and I don’t figure on lettin’ it get cold.”
Smoke’s voice was calm, cold as ice. His face was an indecipherable, blank mask. Only his steel-gray eyes showed any animation, and one could almost imagine that they were windows, opening on to hell.
“Maybe you ain’t noticed Mr. High-an'-Mighty Smoke Jensen, but there’s two of us,” Barney said. “I wouldn’t be pushin’ it if I was you. That is, unlessen you’re all that anxious to die.”
“I don’t have all day, gentlemen,” Smoke said. “Are you going to draw? Or do you plan on trying to talk me to death? ”
Smoke fixed the two young men with a cold death stare, and he could see they were beginning to have second thoughts. Perhaps they had made a mistake, perhaps the fact that there were two of them did not necessarily mean they could take him. They began to back away from their truculence. Beads of perspiration broke out on their foreheads, and Clay’s lower lip began to quiver.
“Barney, what are we doing?” he asked quietly.
Barney forced a grin.
“We do what we said we was goin’ to do,” Barney said.
“What?” Clay replied, fright obvious in his voice.
“We’ve been spoofin’ you, Mr. Jensen. But to show you there’s no hard feelin’s, we’d like to pay for your lunch,” Barney said. “Barkeep, bring us the bill.”
Sensing that the tension had been eased, the others in the saloon relaxed, breathed more easily, and renewed their conversations. A young woman came from the kitchen carrying a tray laden with the meal Smoke had ordered.
Smoke touched the brim of his hat and nodded at the two men. “I’m much obliged,” he said.
Barney and Clay returned to their private conversation at the far end of the bar, while Smoke ate his lunch.
After he finished his meal, he looked around the room and seeing a player leaving one of the card games, went over and inquired politely if he could join.
“It would be an honor to have you join us, Mr. Jensen,” one of the players said, and the others agreed.
He was well into the game, betting cautiously not wanting to lose, but not that concerned about winning. What was more important to him was just that he be able to entertain himself for a couple of hours, and he was doing that, all the while keeping an eye on the clock so as not to miss the train. The other players were cordial, and as no one was winning or losing very much, it was a very pleasant way of passing time.
With a final glance at the clock, Smoke noticed that it was within twenty minutes of the arrival time of the next westbound train.
“Gentlemen,” he said, folding his cards and pulling in his personal bank, “I thank you for inviting me in to your game. It has made my wait for the train much more pleasant.”
“Mr. Jensen, you were indeed a welcome visitor,” one of the other players said.
Smoke put the money back in his pocket and started toward the door.
“Smoke, look out!” one of the card players shouted.
Almost concurrent with the player’s shout was the crash of gunfire. Only the fact that Smoke had reacted to the warning saved his life, for the bullet whizzed by his ear so closely that he could feel the wind of its passing.
Smoke drew and whirled around in one motion. As he did so, he saw Barney and Clay standing in the middle of the floor. Barney had just fired at him, as evidenced by the smoke that was curling up from the barrel of his pistol. Clay was raising his pistol to fire.
Smoke fired twice, the shots coming so close on top of each other that to most of the witnesses, it sounded as if there was only one shot. And yet, two men went down. It had all happened too quickly for any of the others in the saloon to try and get out of the line of fire. Most were still moving, though by now it was all over.
Barney was killed instantly, but Clay was still alive. He sat up and tried to reach for the pistol that was lying on
