“I hadn’t thought of that, Cheyenne. You’re right.” He glanced at Rusty. “Think you can do a day’s work without your mind on Doreen?”
Rusty grinned. “That woman can walk into a room and raise the temperature fifteen degrees.”
“Do we have to tell you what to do to cool it off?” Cheyenne grinned at him.
The flush on Rusty’s face was a pretty fair match with his hair. He mumbled something about having to see to his horse and left the room while Cheyenne and Smoke had a good laugh at his expense.
The days began to drift together, each one bringing with it (he promise of full summer. And still Jud Vale made no more moves against the ranch. Smoke couldn’t figure out what he was waiting on. Then an idea came to him.
“Is Mr. Argood Mormon?” he asked Walt.
“Big time Mormon. Big worker in the church. It’s just about time for him to take his annual tripdown into Utah. Church meeting of some sort.”
“That’s what I figured,” Smoke said.
“Figured what?” Cheyenne asked.
“That’s what he’s wailing on. For the editor of the paper to be gone. No news would be reported if Argood was not around to cover it. And you can bet that Vale will create some incident around Montpelier to keep that young reporter busy while he’s striking at the ranch.”
“You may be right,” Walt said, touching a match to the tobacco in his pipe. “He’s sorry, but smart.”
“It’s time for another run into the village for supplies. I’ll take two of the boys with me. I want to leave as many defenders behind as possible. We’ll pull out in the morning.”
Leroy drove the wagon, Smoke and Matthew rode beside the wagon as it bumped and bounced along the narrow, rutted road toward the trading post. Smoke knew he was taking a chance bringing Matt along, but the boy needed some personal things for himself and wanted to buy his ma a present with money he’d earned himself. Smoke had not asked Matthew to stow his pistol in the saddlebags. The gun had become a natural part of the boy —a feeling that Smoke knew only too well.
But Smoke had talked hard to the boy just before leaving. “Matt, I want you to realize that out here, once you strap a gun on, there are those who won’t give a damn how young you are. The only thing they’re going to see is that hogleg on your hip. If any of Jud Vale’s hired guns are at the post, they’re going to taunt you; try to pull you into a fight. And because the West is what it is, I won’t interfere unless they gang up on you.”
“I understand, Mr. Smoke,” the boy had replied solemnly.
“You won’t reconsider and stay at the ranch?”
“I reckon not, sir.”
“Very well.”
Smoke breathed a sigh of relief as they approached the post. Only a couple of horses were tied at the hitch rail, and he recognized them as beglonging to some area cattlemen, men whose holdings were so far to the west of Jud Vale’s spread that they really had little to fear from the man and his obsessions—so far.
Smoke felt that they might be able to pick up the supplies and get away safely. At least he hoped so. But he wasn’t going to put any money on it. Once again, doubts assailed him. He could have ordered Matt to stay behind at the ranch. But the boy had earned his money and had a right to spend it. Matt was not a slave to the Box T; he could come and go as he pleased.
Smoke swung down from the saddle and looped the reins around the hitchrail, Matt doing the same. Out of the corner of his eyes, Smoke watched the boy slip the hammer thong from his pistol. Cheyenne had drilled that into the boy’s head. With a sigh, Smoke stepped up onto the porch. He handed Leroy the supply list and told Matt to stay with his friend. Smoke turned away and stepped into the saloon for a cool beer.
The barkeep eyeballed him dubiously as he pushed open the batwings.
“You agin! My stars and garters. I was in the hopes you’d left the country!”
Smoke grinned at the man. “It’s me in the flesh. Pull me a cool one.”
Drawing the brew, the barkeep said, “Did my eyes deceive me or did I really see that four-eyed kid wearing a gun?”
“You saw it.”
The barkeep snorted in disgust. “Some of Jud Vale’s men is liable to take that thing off’n him and spank his butt with it!”
“I’d hate to be the one who tried it.” Smoke told the man.
“They might decide to do it in a bunch.”
“Then if that happens I reckon I’ll just have to step in.”
“Naturally,” the barkeep said mournfully. “And I just had new tables and benches built.”
Smoke sipped his beer and kept his eyes on the outside, as best he could through the dirty, dusty, and fly- specked window.
One of the two cattlemen broke the short silence. “Why don’t you just ride on outta here, Jensen? Jud Vale will settle down if you was to leave.”
“You really believe that?” Smoke had turned, his back to the plank that served as a bar.
“That’s what he told us,” the other cattleman said. He had noticed that the hammer thongs had been slipped from Smoke’s Colts.
