Following the direction of the footprints, Smoke saw the print of two horses. And he saw something else—the empty cartridge of a .50 caliber bullet.
What happened to Sally’s horse was no longer a mystery. Someone had waited until Sally came along, then killed Sally’s horse. The fact that he didn’t kill Sally meant she wasn’t his principal target. Whoever it was, was after Smoke, and he was using Sally as bait.
“All right, Mr. Bushwhacker,” Smoke said aloud. “I’m going to take the bait, so you better be ready for me, ’cause I’m damn sure ready for you.”
Ahead of Smoke the brown land lay in empty folds of rocks, dirt, and sage. Smoke picked up the tracks of two riders, but the ground was hard and the tracks so indistinct he couldn’t tell very much about them. He couldn’t be sure Sally was one of the riders, but it was the best he had to go on. He saw a piece of green calico hanging on some sage, and knew he was on the right track. It also told him that she was all right.
“Good girl, Sally.” He pulled the cloth off the branch and stuck it in his pocket.
Fifteen minutes after he found the first bit of cloth he found another. It not only told him he was still on the right trail, it saved his life. The second piece of cloth was lying on the ground and he got off his horse to pick it up. Just as he was dismounting, a rifle boomed and the heavy ball whistled by, taking his hat off and fluffing his hair. The bullet hit a rock and knocked a huge chunk out of it.
That had to be a .50 caliber bullet, meaning he had found the man he was looking for. Or, the man had found him. If that bullet had hit him, it would have taken off the top of his head and he would be as dead as Sally’s horse.
Moving quickly, Smoke slapped Seven’s flank to get him out of the line of fire, then dived for a nearby rock just as a second shot whizzed by. Again, the bullet was so heavy that even though it missed him, he could feel the concussion from the shock wave.
Smoke wriggled his body under cover, then raised himself slowly to take a look around. He saw the crown of a hat poking over the top of a rock so he aimed and shot. The hat went sailing away.
“You’re pretty good with that little pea shooter, Jensen,” the shooter called out to him. “But face it, you don’t have a chance against my Sharps fifty.”
“Who the hell are you?” Smoke asked.
“The name is Taggart. Jericho Taggart. I reckon you’ve heard of me.”
“I reckon not,” Smoke replied. “Is Sally with you?”
“Yeah, she’s with me.”
“Sally! Sally, are you there?”
“She can’t answer you, Jensen. I’ve got a gag stuffed in her mouth.”
“Taggart, if you are after the five thousand dollar reward, maybe you should know there is no such thing. I’m not wanted. That’s a poster Bill Dinkins put out.”
“Whether Dinkins pays the reward or the sheriff does, makes no difference to me,” Taggart replied.
“Dinkins can’t pay the reward. He’s dead.”
“You killed him, I suppose?”
“I killed him, his half brother Wes Harley, and the two Slater brothers,” Smoke said.
“My, you have been a busy man, haven’t you, Jensen?”
“Since that dodger was put out by Dinkins, and not by the sheriff of La Plata County, and Dinkins is dead, there’s no money for you in killing me.”
Taggart fired again and the bullet was as close as the first one. It hit the rock right in front of Smoke and kicked pea-sized chunks of rock into his face, opening up wounds. The impact was so great that, for a moment Smoke thought he had been hit. But he knew that couldn’t be right. If he had actually been hit, he would be dead. Smoke turned around and slid to the ground.
Taggart laughed. “This fifty will chew up some rock, won’t it?”
“What are you still shooting for? I told you, there’s no money in it.”
“Well, let’s just say once it gets out that I’m the one who killed the famous Smoke Jensen, I’ll find a way to turn it into money,” Taggart said.
Again, the .50 boomed, the shot sounding like thunder.
“I want to hear Sally’s voice,” Smoke said.
“Do you, now?”
“Let me hear her say something.”
“Don’t worry about her. After I kill you, I’ll let her go.”
“Do you think killing me with a fifty caliber rifle from fifty yards away is going to make you famous?” Smoke taunted.
“I don’t know,” Taggart replied. “Maybe you have a point. Folks do say that you are as fast as greased lightning with that gun of yours. Is that right?”
“You want to try me?”
“Do I want to try you?” Taggart laughed. “No, that would be foolish now, wouldn’t it? I like to do my killin’ with a Sharps fifty. This isn’t exactly the kind of gun you use in fighting a duel.”
“I see. Tell me, Taggart, have most of your kills been from half a mile away? Have you ever had the courage to face a man down, and look him in the eyes? At least Harley was man enough to do that.”
