“So it wasn’t Jensen all along,” Jud said, standing up, his face tight with anger. “It was that damn Clint Perkins!”
“They look enough alike to be brothers,” Jason reminded his boss. “Be easy to mistake them in the dark.”
“Maybe they’re brothers?” a hand suggested. “And Smoke Jensen come in here to help him out?”
But Jud Vale rejected that on the spot. He’d been in the West for some years when the stories about Smoke Jensen first began surfacing. Jud knew that Jensen’s father had died and the mountain man, Preacher, took care of the boy’s raising after that. Smoke had always been a loner, with no family to speak of, certainly no brother.
He shook his head. “No. He doesn’t have a brother. Not anymore. His brother was killed in the war. Tortured and killed by a group headed by three men who later moved into Idaho. Jensen killed them all and detroyed the town.”
“Then what’s he doin’ here, Boss?” Jason asked.
“Exactly what he said he was dong,” Jud replied, bitterness in his voice. “He was just seeing the country when we braced him. That got his back up, and he stayed.” Jud shrugged. “We brought it on ourselves.”
“And we do what about it?” a gunslinger asked.
“Kill him.”
A Bar V hand had gotten close to Smoke’s hiding place while taking a shortcut to a search area. He now found himself flat on the ground looking up into the cold eyes of Smoke Jensen, with a knife blade across his throat. There were any number of questions he wanted to ask, but wisely kept his mouth shut, figuring if Jensen wanted him to talk, he’d tell him so.
“Who is in the house besides Jud Vale and his men?” Smoke asked.
“Nobody! I swear it!”
“The girl who got away—who is she?”
“Susie somebody-or-another. Nester’s kid from over Wyoming Territory.”
“She was the only servant?” Smoke moved the razor sharp knife blade and the man cringed in fear.
“If that’s what you want to call what she done. Yeah. She cain’t cook and don’t clean house. It’s like a boar’s nest in that house. There was two more girls. One run off— never seen her agin, and Jud kilt the other. But it was an accident, Jud said. He broke her neck whilst they were messin’ around. You know.”
“Sounds like a nice gentle fellow, this Jud Vale does.”
The hand didn’t know how to respond to that, so he kept his mouth closed.
“What’s Clint Perkins’s beef with Jud?”
“Lord, man, I don’t know! ‘Ceptin’ that Perkins is crazy, I reckon. He hates rich folks, I do know that.”
Smoke stared hard at the man. The Bar V hand was scared and sweating, even though the day was cloudy and cool, threatening rain. 'Where are you wanted?'
The hand hesitated. Smoke moved the big blade. That loosened his mouth. “Kansas!” He blurted out.
“What for?”
“I robbed a store. I was down on my luck and needed some cash.”
Smoke grabbed him by the hair and jerked his head back, exposing his throat even more. “Tell it all!”
“Nebraska! I robbed a bank, kilt a teller! You gonna turn me in?”
“Not if you level with me.”
“Anything you want. Jist anything at all, Mr. Jensen. You want me to git down and howl lak a dog, you jist say so.”
“Is there any puncher on Vale’s payroll who isn’t wanted by the law?”
“Lord, no! Jud laks to hire people on the hoot owl trail. He’s got more control over ‘’m. They’s more outlaws down yonder than at Robber’s Roost.”
“And Jud Vale wants to be king of this part of the state?”
“Mister Jensen, he
“Huh?”
“Shakespeare wrote that.”
“I ain’t never heard of him. What outfit does he ride for?”
“Forget it.” Smoke stuffed a gag into the man’s mouth and tied him to a tree. He picked up his rifle and began making his way toward the creek that ran behind the mansion of Jud Vale. He wasn’t worried about being spotted by any ranch hands; there weren’t any hands left on the ranch, except those gunslingers and bodyguards in the house with Jud. Every hand, including the cook, was out looking for Clint Perkins and the girl. According to the tied- up and gagged Bar V hand, no one believed Smoke was within thirty miles of the mansion. And by this time, there wouldn’t be a puncher, bounty hunter, or hired gun within ten miles of the ranch.
The day had turned cloudy along with the coolness, and any gunfire would be muffled by the humidity, not carrying nearly as far as on a fair, sunshiny day.
Smoke followed the creek to the rear of the house and then made his way to a pile of wood stacked behind the great two-story mansion. He poked his rifle through a good-sized crack in the stack and let a few shots bang.
The first shot tore through the kitchen wall and ricocheted upward, shattering a chandelier in the fancy dining
