“Yes, Smoke.”
“Give the young man a new beer. On me.”
“Ma—make it whiskey,” the young man said.
Louis poured a shot and gave it to the would-be gunman. With a shaking hand, he lifted the glass to his lips, then tossed it down.
“What’s your name?” Smoke asked.
“The name’s Clark,” the young man answered. “Emmett Clark.”
“Why did you want to kill me, Emmett Clark?”
“It’s a matter of honor,” Clark answered.
“Honor? You think it is honorable to kill someone?”
“If you call them out and do it face-to-face,” Clark said. “And if you’re payin’ someone back for somethin’ they done to you.”
“Boy, I’ve never done anything to you,” Smoke said. “I’ve never even heard of you.”
“Not to me, you ain’t. But you done it to my kin. You kilt my pa. I was only fourteen when you kilt him, but I taught myself how to shoot so’s I could get things all square.”
“What was your pa’s name?”
“Clark, same as mine. Rob Clark. He was a banker in Etna, and you shot and kilt him when you was holdin’ up the bank. You do remember that, don’t you?”
“Yes, I remember that bank robbery. But I didn’t have anything to do with it, or with shooting your father.”
“Don’t tell me that, mister. You was found guilty of killin’ him. You was found guilty and sentenced to hang. I wanted to watch you hang, but my ma wouldn’t have nothin’ to do with that. She went back to live with my grandparents in Kansas City, and I didn’t have no choice but to go back with her. It was a long time afore I found out that you didn’t actually hang. You escaped.”
“Yes. I escaped, and I proved my innocence,” Smoke said.1
“Ha! Proved your innocence? You expect me to believe that?”
“You should believe it, son, because it’s true,” Sheriff Carson interjected. Stepping into the saloon a moment earlier, Monte Carson had stood just inside the door as a silent witness to the interplay between Smoke and Clark. “I got the wire that said Smoke had been completely cleared. He was set up by the folks who actually did rob the bank and kill your pa. I’ve still got the wire down in my office if you need to be convinced.”
“I’m sorry about your father, boy,” Smoke said. “But as the sheriff said, I didn’t have a thing to do with it. It was someone else who killed him.”
Clark was quiet for a long moment. “Where are they?” he asked. “The ones that killed my pa, I mean. Where are they now?”
“They’re dead,” Smoke said.
“How do you know they are dead?”
“Because I killed them.”
“Damn,” Clark said. He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. Then he grabbed a towel from one of the bar hooks, got down on his knees, and fished out his pistol. Everyone watched him warily as he began drying it and his hands off. Then, grasping his revolver by the barrel, he held it out toward Sheriff Carson.
“I reckon you’ll be wantin’ to put me in jail now,” he said.
Carson looked beyond the boy toward Smoke. Almost imperceptibly, Smoke shook his head.
“Why would I be wanting to put you in jail?” Carson asked.
“I don’t know. Attempted murder, I guess.”
“From what I can put together, there wasn’t that much attempting to it, was there?” Sheriff Carson asked. “I’ll bet you didn’t even get your pistol out of the holster.”
Inexplicably, Clark laughed, then shook his head. “No, sir, Sheriff, I reckon you’ve got me there,” he said. “Mr. Jensen sort of put a stop to it before it ever got started.”
“What do you think, Smoke? Should I put him in jail?” Carson asked.
“Clark, you said you were a man of honor,” Smoke said to the young man. “Is that true?”
Clark nodded pointedly. “I ain’t got no family now. My ma died last year. Never had no brothers. I ain’t got hardly no money either. I reckon the only thing I got that is worth anything is my honor, so, yes, sir, I would say I am a man of honor.”
“Then I’m going to hold you to that honor, Clark,” Smoke said. “I’m going to let you ride on out of here, trusting that you aren’t going to be lying in wait somewhere, aiming to shoot me.”
“You got my word on that, Mr. Jensen. I’m satisfied that you didn’t have anything to do with killing my pa. Makes sense to me anyway, now that I think about it. If you were guilty, there’d be paper out on you, and, though I’ve looked, I haven’t seen any.”
“Let him go, Sheriff,” Smoke said.
“Go on, boy,” Sheriff Carson said. “But I’d appreciate it if you would leave town.”
“Yes, sir,” Clark said. “I really have no reason for staying now anyway.” He made a motion toward returning his
