“You caught them? You mean, by yourself?” Minnie asked.
“Yes.”
“With the shooting exhibition you put on here today, I would almost imagine that the odds were on your side, despite the fact that were three of them. I have never seen shooting like that,” Doc Baker said. “How come I’ve never heard of you, Mr. West?”
Smoke took a swallow of his beer, then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth before he spoke again.
“Well, maybe it’s because my name isn’t Buck West.”
“What? I don’t understand, if you aren’t Buck West, how did you get the telegram?” Minnie asked.
“It is a name that I used once in my past. I believe Bobby Lee used it as sort of a code when he sent the telegram. He knew that I would respond to that name and I suppose he also knew that if he used it, I would realize that the telegram was authentic.”
“What is your real name?” Doc Baker asked.
“Jensen. Kirby Jensen, but most folks call me Smoke.”
Nate Nabors had just started to take a drink when he heard Smoke give his real name, and he jerked the mug back down so quickly that he spilled some of his beer.
“You are Smoke Jensen?”
“Yes.”
Smiling broadly, Nabors extended his hand across the table. “Well, Mr. Jensen, let me tell you it is an honor to meet you. And knowing that you are here, I feel better about this situation already.”
“Thank you and it is Smoke, not Mr. Jensen,” Smoke replied, taking Nabors’s hand.
“Excuse my ignorance here, but is Smoke Jensen a name I should know?” Doc Baker asked.
“You would know it if you ever read anything but those damn medical journals,” Nabors replied. “Smoke Jensen is just about the most famous gunman—uh, make that, best-known gunfighter—I mean, well, I don’t know what I mean. I know that he isn’t a gunfighter who goes around looking for trouble, but he is the kind of man folks turn to when they are in trouble.”
Doc Baker nodded. “Mr. Jensen, I’m not one who appreciates guns. I’ve had to pull out too many bullets from people who were too dumb to reason anything out and wound up letting their guns talk for them. But if you are here to help Bobby Lee, then I say, welcome to Cloverdale.”
“How?” Minnie asked.
“How what?” Smoke asked, confused by Minnie’s truncated question.
“How are you going to help him?”
Smoke drummed his fingers on the table for a moment before he answered.
“Well, now, to tell you the truth, Minnie, I haven’t quite got that figured out yet.”
“When you figure it out, if there is anything I can do to help, please let me know.”
“I will. And thanks.”
“No. Thank you for responding to the telegram.”
There is no way I wasn’t going to respond,” Smoke said. “Like I told you, Bobby Lee is family. ”
Approximately sixty miles north of Cloverdale, in the small town of Desolation, Emmett Clark was sitting in on a poker game at the New Promise Saloon.
“Deal them,” Clark said.
One of the other players was Jules Stillwater, and at this precise moment, he was extremely agitated. The cause of Stillwater’s agitation was the attention Cindy was paying to Emmett Clark. She was watching the game from her position behind Clark, and her hand was resting lightly on Clark’s shoulder.
“Cindy,” Stillwater said. “My neck is stiff. Why don’t you come over here in rub it?”
“You willing to pay for it?” Cindy asked.
“Why should I pay for it? Is Clark paying you to put your hand on his shoulder?”
“No.”
“Then come over here and rub my neck like I asked. That’s what you are supposed to do in here, ain’t it? Keep the customers happy?”
“You aren’t a customer unless you pay for it,” Cindy said. “If I’m not getting paid, then I’ll be with who I want to be.”
“Ha, Stillwater, I reckon she told you all right,” McWorthy said. McWorthy had served ten years in prison for shooting a man back in Wichita. Nobody knew if he was actually wanted now or not, but he had arrived in Desolation a few months earlier, purposely choosing the town because of its reputation as being friendly to outlaws. McWorthy supported himself by petty larceny, which he carried on in surrounding towns, always retreating back to Desolation.
It was McWorthy’s deal and his hands moved swiftly as he folded the cards in and out until he was satisfied with the shuffle. He pushed the cards toward Stillwater, who cut them, then pushed them back.
“Is five-card draw all right with everyone?” McWorthy asked.
“Yeah, five-card draw is fine,” Stillwater said. “Cindy, let me tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to win
