Cal started to answer, but Smoke put his hand out on Cal’s arm. “I don’t want to visit with anyone,” he said quietly.
“I hear she’s still alive,” someone else said. “She’s up in the doc’s office now.”
“I hope she pulls through all right. I mean it’s bad enough to kill the three men. But it just ain’t right to shoot a woman. No matter how you look at it.”
“You know about Nicole, don’t you?” Smoke continued in a quiet voice.
“Yes, I know about her. She was your first wife, and I know she was murdered.”
“I cannot let that happen again, Cal. God help me, it just can’t happen again.”
Cal had never seen Smoke this distraught. The thought of this strong man, the strongest man he had ever known, the man he respected and admired more than any other, being in such a state of despair, frightened him. He put his hand on Smoke’s shoulder.
“Smoke, I probably wouldn’t even be alive if it hadn’t been for Miss Sally. You know that better than anybody. Here I was, a dumb kid, and I actually tried to hold her up. Instead of shooting me, like she could have, or turning me over to the law, like she should have, she took me out to Sugarloaf, fed me the first good meal I had eaten in weeks, then offered me a home. I’m telling you, right now, that I know, as sure as God made little green apples, that Miss Sally is going to pull through this. I know she is.”
Smoke looked into the earnest and determined face of his young cowboy, then managed a smile. “I know it too, Cal.”
Cal nodded, pleased that his declaration seemed to have made some inroad into Smoke’s melancholy.
“Tell me about the people who did this,” Smoke said.
“Well sir, like you seen, one of ’em is dead,” Cal said. “I shot him as they was riding out of town. I fired a second time, but they was too far away, and to tell the truth, I was damn lucky to hit the first one.”
“Do we know who they are?”
“Mr. Martin, the bank teller, and Mrs. McKenzie, heard some of the names as they was talking to each other. The leader was someone named Dinkins. There was also someone named Parnell. That’s all we know.”
“Hey!” a man said loudly, just coming into the saloon and addressing all therein. “We just found out who the dead bank robber is!”
“Who?” half a dozen voices called.
“His name is John Putnam. He just got out of prison no more than a month ago,” the man with the news said.
“How do you know this, Chris?”
“Sheriff Carson come into town and he recognized him,” Chris said.
Smoke and Cal looked at each other.
“Monte is here?” Smoke asked.
“I guess so, from the way that fella was talkin’,” Cal said. “But I ain’t seen him yet.”
“Let’s see if we can find him,” Smoke suggested.
“Where do you think he might be?”
“My guess would be the sheriff’s office. Seeing as the local sheriff was one of the ones killed, I expect Monte has set up a temporary office there.”
The two men left the saloon, then walked down the street, dark except for the little squares of dim yellow light spilling through the windows of the occupied buildings. When they reached the sheriff’s office, they saw a black bow on the door of the office, put there in memory of the slain Sheriff Tyson. When they went inside they saw Sheriff Carson standing behind a desk, looking at an array of wanted posters which were spread out before him. Standing beside Sheriff Carson was the man who had been deputy to Tyson.
“Hello, Monte,” Smoke said as he and Cal stepped into the room.
Sheriff Carson looked up. “How is Sally?”
Smoke shook his head. “Not good, but she is still alive, and fighting it.”
“Do you know Thad Malcolm? He was Sheriff Tyson’s deputy. Thad, this is Smoke Jensen.”
Malcolm extended his hand. “We’ve never met, but I’ve heard a lot about you. All good,” he added hastily. Then the smile left his face. “I’m awful sorry about your wife, Mr. Jensen. I sure hope she pulls through all right.”
“Thank you, Deputy Malcolm.”
“Smoke, I’ve identified three of the people who did this.” Sheriff Carson pointed to the posters on his desk. “John Putnam. He’s the one that you killed, Cal.” Carson pointed to one of the other posters. “This is Cole Parnell. Putnam and Parnell were serving time together in the state prison at Canon City. They were both released last month.”
Sheriff Carson picked up another wanted poster, and showed it to Smoke. “This august gentlemen, and believe me, I use that term in the most contemptuous way, is one William Dinkins. According to Mr. Martin and Mrs. McKenzie, Dinkins is the one who killed Mr. Flowers and shot Sally. But, shooting unarmed people in a bank isn’t something new to him. Two months ago, he killed a teller in a botched bank holdup in Buffalo. Last year, Dinkins led a gang of outlaws who robbed the Tucumcari, New Mexico, bank and he shot a twelve-year-old boy who was holding his hands in the air. He is a real prince of a fellow,” Sheriff Carson added sarcastically.
“I’m going to get him, Monte,” Smoke said. “He shot my wife, and whether Sally lives or dies, I’m going to get Dinkins.”
A young man stepped into the sheriff’s office. “Excuse me, Sheriff. Do you know where I might find Mr. Smoke
