“I quit ‘um. Jud Vale is as crazy as a bessy-bug. All the wrappin’ done come plumb off him.” He grimaced, remembering the sight of Jud all dressed up in that silly-lookin’ outfit. “In a manner of speakin’, that is. I figured I’d toss my saddle on a Box T horse.”
Bendel lowered the express gun. “They need some help, for a fact. Have a whiskey, on the house.”
“Don’t mind if I do. Smells like gunsmoke in here, Bendel.”
Bendel told him what had gone down.
Jackson sipped his whiskey and mulled over that bit of information. He would have liked to seen Blackjack get the snot whipped out of him. If ever a man deserved a good butt-whippin’, Morgan did. Him and Lassiter and those others with that grand plan to ambush Jensen. That hadn’t set well with Jackson either, but by the time he’d learned of it, it had all blown over.
Jackson thanked Bendel for the whiskey, stepped into the general store for some tobacco and cartridges, then headed out for the Box T.
He was feeling better with every mile he put behind him.
19
“And I seen Jud sendin’ men out in all directions,” Jackson was wrapping it up for Smoke and Rusty and the others. “Ain’t no way we’re gonna bust Miss Doreen out of there with just two or three men and a handful of kids. I don’t think her life is in no danger. Don’t you ladies take this the wrong way now, ‘cause I think a man doin’ what Jud is gonna do against her will is wrong, but at least she’ll be alive.”
“And you say Jud has really gone around the bend?” Walt asked.
“Gone around the bend! Man, he is total loco. Walks around that big house with a gold crown on his head, all done up in diamonds and rubies and the like. And he wears a robe.”
“You mean he’s wearing something like a dressing gown?” Smoke asked.
“Hell, no! Excuse me, ladies. I mean one of them ear-mine robes that he had handsewn and all made up for him over in Russia.”
“Ear-mine?” Alice questioned. “You mean ermine fur?”
“Yes’um. That’s it. A white one. Comes all the way down to his ankles. He looks real stupid stompin’ around the house in that robe, wearing a crown on his head, and cowboy boots on his feet. I’m tellin’ y’all, it’s gettin’ to be awful weird around that place. Plumb spooky.”
“Are the men laughing at him?” Walt asked.
“Not to his face. He’s still totin’ a gun strapped around his waist. And that makes him look even dumber.”
“But still dangerous,” Rusty added.
“Even more dangerous,” Jackson told them. “ ‘Cause you don’t never know what a crazy man is goin’ to do.”
They all agreed with that.
Walt leaned back and scratched his head. “Well, let’s come up with some way to get Doreen out of that nuthouse. Anybody want to start?”
Those seated around the table fell silent as they looked at one another. Smoke finally broke the silence.
“I’ll gear up and leave tonight. We’ve got to know just where in the house she’s located and how many men Jud has on guard and where they are. I’ll find that out and then we can make some plans. But first we have to bury Cheyenne. Let’s do it at sunset. That was his favorite time of day.”
They all agreed that was a good suggestion.
“I just wish I knew if Doreen was all right,” Alice sighed the words.
“She ain’t all right, ma’am,” Jackson said, a grim note to his statement. “But she ain’t dead either.”
They buried Cheyenne just as the sun was going down, with Walt reading from the Good Book. Alice and Susie and Micky cried, and some of the other boys looked like they were having a tough time of it keeping the tears back. All but Matthew. The boy stood with a grim look on his face. Smoke knew the look well. He could read revenge clear on the boy’s face.
Smoke knew just how Matt felt. He’d been down that rocky path many times in his life.
After the words were read, one by one, they filed past the dark hole and tossed a handful of earth into the pit. The clods rattled against the rough pine box that Young Eli had built for Cheyenne that afternoon. Then each one of the other boys had solemnly driven a single nail into the coffin.
Moments after the funeral, Smoke saddled up and rode off into the gathering darkness. There was a hard look on his face. He was getting more than a little weary of Jud Vale and his hired guns.
Deep into Bar V range, about three miles from the mansion, he guessed, Smoke picketed his horse and slipped into moccasins, leaving his hat and taking his rifle. He had swung wide getting to the location where he had left his horse, taking a route that if he were in Jud’s place, would post the least number of guards.
He worked his way toward the mansion, hoping to find the location of just one of the guards. He wanted to talk to one of Jud’s men. Smoke didn’t think it would lake him long to get what information he needed . . . and it didn’t.
The guard woke up with a raging headache from where Smoke had clubbed him on the back of the head. There was a bandana tied over his mouth and he was very cold from the waist down. He couldn’t understand that. Then he realized his britches were gone. He cut his eyes and fell even colder fear clutch at his heart as he looked at Smoke Jensen, squatting a few feet away, clear in the moonlight, a big-bladed knife in his hand.
