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This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright © 1989 by William W. Johnstone
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One
“I didn’t think you had any living relatives, except for your sister?”
“I didn’t either. But then I forgot about Pa’s brother. He was supposed to have gotten killed at Chancellorsville, back in ‘63. I guess this letter came from his kids. It would have to be; it’s signed Fae Jensen.”
“I wonder how they knew where to write?” Sally asked. “Big Rock is not exactly the hub of commerce, culture, and industry.”
The man laughed at that. The schoolteacher in his wife kept coming out in the way she could put words together.
It was 1882, in the high-up country of Colorado. The cabin had recently been remodeled: two new rooms added for Louis Arthur and Denise Nicole Jensen. The twins were approaching their first birthday.
And the man called Smoke was torn between going to the aid of a family member he had never seen and staying at home for the birthday party.
“You have to go, Smoke,” Sally spoke the words softly.
“Gibson, in the Montana Territory.” The tall, wide-shouldered and lean-hipped man shook his head. “A long way from home. On what might be a wild goose hunt. Probably is. I don’t even know where Gibson is.”
Sally once more opened the letter and read it aloud. The handwriting was definitely that of a woman, and a woman who had earned high marks in penmanship.
Dear Cousin Kirby,
I read about you in the local paper last year, after that dreadful fight at Dead River. I wanted to write you then, but thought my brother and I could handle the situation ourselves. Time has proven me incorrect. We are in the middle of a war here, and our small ranch lies directly between the warring factions. I did not believe when this range war was started that either Mr. Dooley Hanks or Mr. Cord McCorkle would deliberately harm us, but conditions have worsened to the point where I fear for our lives. Any help you could give us would be greatly appreciated.
Respectfully, your cousin
Fae Jensen
“Have you ever heard of either of those men, Smoke?”
“McCorkle. He came into that country twenty years or more ago. Started the Circle Double C. He’s a hard man, but I never heard of him riding roughshod over a woman.”
“How about this Dooley Hanks?”
Smoke shook his head. “The name sort of rings a bell. But it isn’t ringin’ very loud.”
“When will you be leaving, honey?” cold
He turned his brown eyes on her, eyes that were usually cold and emotionless. Except when he looked at her. “I haven t said I was going.”
