“I guess you are used to this by now. Getting shot at, I mean.”
“I don’t know if you ever get used to it,” Smoke replied.
“Hey, Marshal, look at this!” one of the saloon patrons said.
He brought over a piece of paper and showed it to the marshal. The marshal read it, looked up at Smoke, then back down at the paper. To Smoke’s surprise, the marshal drew his pistol and pointed it at Smoke.
“What’s that for?” Smoke asked. “You can ask anyone in here and they will tell you these two men started the shooting.”
“That may be so,” the marshal said. “But it doesn’t make any difference whether they started it or not, as long as they had justification for it.”
“What can justify one man dry gulching another?” Smoke asked.
“This, perhaps?” The marshal showed Smoke the wanted poster, stating that a five thousand dollar reward would be paid for him, dead or alive.
“Where did that come from?” Smoke asked, surprised to see the poster.
“Coltrane had it on him,” the saloon patron said.
“It’s not real,” Smoke said.
“What do you mean, it’s not real?” the marshal asked. “I’m holding it in my hand, looking at it. It’s real.”
“Look, it’s no secret that I’m after Bill Dinkins and his gang. I’ve been told he put out a one thousand dollar reward, payable to anyone who killed me. I haven’t heard about this, but he has to be behind this as well.”
The marshal shook his head. “According to this, it’s the sheriff of La Plata County who has put out the reward.”
“Do you get reward posters in the mail to post in your office?” Smoke asked.
“Yes.”
“Have you gotten this flyer on me?”
“No, not yet. But that don’t mean nothin’. It could be days, even weeks before I might get a poster that’s bein’ sent out. It looks like I’m goin’ to have to lock you up in jail until we get to the bottom of this.”
“I don’t think I would like that,” Smoke said.
“Well, Mr. Jensen, I don’t care what you would like,” the marshal replied. “I’ve got a duty to this badge. And right now, I’ve got the drop on you. So I reckon we’ll just do it my way.”
In a move that was totally unexpected, and incredibly fast, Smoke reached out and jerked the marshal’s pistol out of his hand. Even as he was doing that, he drew his own gun.
“Uh-uh.” Smoke cautioned the deputy with a warning glance, and the deputy who looked as if he might go for his own gun, stopped in mid-move. “We’ll do it my way.”
“And what way is that?” the marshal asked, his voice edged with fear.
“We are going to go down to the telegraph office and send a wire to the sheriff of La Plata County. I want you to ask him if he has authorized this poster.”
“His name is on it,” the marshal said. “He must have approved it.”
“You think so?”
“If he didn’t approve it, where did it come from?”
“I told you that Dinkins had a thousand dollar reward on me. It looks like he just upped the ante.”
“You think he has that much money?” the marshal asked.
“It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t intend to pay it,” Smoke said. “That’s why he put it out over the sheriff of La Plata’s name.”
Smoke handed the marshal’s pistol back to him. “Shall we go find out what this is all about?”
Surprised to have his gun returned to him, the marshal put it back in his holster, then nodded. “Yes. Let’s go find out.”
Half an hour later, the telegrapher handed the marshal a telegram.
THIS OFFICE HAS ISSUED NO FLYERS OFFERING A REWARD FOR SMOKE JENSEN ANY SUCH REWARD POSTERS AS MAY EXIST ARE FORGERIES
“It looks like you are right,” the marshal said. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”
“That’s all right,” Smoke said. “You were just doing your job. Or at least, you thought you were doing your job.”
“Yes, but I could have killed you.”
Smoke chuckled. “No, you couldn’t have.”
For a moment the marshal was confused by the answer, then realized that Smoke was right. Smoke had actually taken his pistol away from him.
“Come to think of it, I don’t guess I could have killed you after all.”
Smoke had no idea what woke him up. Since it was his first night in a real bed in over a week, and since he was sleeping soundly, there was no discernible reason why he suddenly awoke. But he was lying in bed, staring into the darkness overhead, wide awake.
He did not hear anything, nor did he see anything, but the same sixth sense that had awakened him told him to
