“Nearest Army unit is stationed up near that little ol’ town some folks have taken tocallin’ Pocatello,” Jackson said. “And there ain’t no more than a handful of soldier boys garrisoned there.”
“We seem to be just goin’ around in circles,” Rusty said bitterly. “Gettin’ now heres in a hurry.”
Jackson allowed as to how that was the truth.
“Did you know that Matthew has Cheyenne’s old Colt?” Rusty asked Smoke.
“No, I didn’t. But it doesn’t surprise me. The boy loved that old man. And everytime I look into his eyes I see revenge.”
“I do know that feelin’,” Jackson said. “The boy’s a natural gun hand, Smoke. And there ain’t nothin’ none of us can do to slow him down. I knowed that the first time I seen him. I don’t have to tell you that it’s in the walk, the bearing, the eyes. He’s gonna be hell on wheels, you mark my words.”
Smoke slowly nodded his head. “I know. I saw it, too. It was like looking into a mirror and seeing myself years ago.”
“I do know that feelin’ myself,” Jackson said drily. “I sometimes wish my daddy had taken the gun away from me and beat me over the head with it when I was a young’un. But it wouldn’t have done no good. I had a fortune teller read my palm once. She told me I was a gunfighter. I was fourteen years old at the time. Remem-berin’ that still spooks me.” Jackson touched the butts of his guns. “I think, Smoke, that when it’s all said and done, we’re gonna have to go in and fetch Miss Doreen.”
“So do I, Jackson. But for now, all we can do is wait.”
Rusty looked toward the direction of Bar V range. “I sure miss that girl. I surely do. I reckon I been smitten, and she feels the same way.” He looked into the eyes of Smoke Jensen. “And I ain’t waitin’ very long.”
20
Jud pounded the end of his staff on the floor and bellowed at his “subjects,” as he had recently begun calling the assorted riffraff he had on his payroll.
“Bring the queen to my side!” he squalled.
Several of his bodyguards—he now had a dozen around him at all times—went upstairs to fetch the most unwilling Queen Doreen.
Jud had ordered all the furniture removed from one downstairs room in the mansion. All the furniture except for two huge padded chairs that were placed in the center of the room: his throne and Doreen’s slightly smaller throne. Jud’s “staff” was a thick piece of oak, about four feet long and weighing about twenty pounds, long enough and stout enough to fell a buffalo. Jud had read several books about how royalty dressed and behaved. Since he didn’t have a goblet from which to drink his wine—wine being something royalty drank—he had found a quart jar, so he used that in place of a jewel-encrusted goblet. It was kind of hard to hold, but it was either that or a bucket, and a bucket wasn’t very dignified. Jud had also stopped shaving and was growing a beard; that was something else that all male royalty of the time did. Or so he had read.
He had been informed that the sole survivor of the gunfight with Cheyenne, Matthew, and Rusty had died of his wounds. Jud waved that off with a mutter about serfs and the like. Since the gun slick who delivered the message had no idea what a serf was he couldn’t take umbrage. He did think his boss looked like a plumb idiot; but as long as the good money kept coming, the gun hand didn’t really care how Jud dressed. But he did figure that damn fur coat Jud wore was kind of hot for this time of the year.
Doreen was ushered in, all silks and satins and fancy shoes, with a jeweled crown on her head.
Jud pounded his staff on the floor and bellowed, “All rise for Queen Doreen!”
Since there weren’t any chairs in the room except for the two thrones, that was an unnecessary command, but Jud thought it sounded regal so he did it anyway.
Highpockets left the “Crown Room” and walked up to Gimpy Bonner on the front porch. “The son of a bitch is crazy, Gimp!”
“I allow as to how you’re right, Highpockets. But as long as the money keeps comin’, I don’t care if he walks around bare-butt nekkid and rides a camel.”
“Now that would be a sight to seel”
King Jud and Queen Doreen held court for a few minutes, but since there was nobody with any complaints for Jud to hear and rule on it got sort of boring after a few moments.
“Would you like to stroll about the estate, my queen?” Jud asked.
“But of course,” Doreen said with a smile. I might find a chance to cut and run away from you, you ninny! she was thinking behind her smile.
It was quite a sight to see. Jud in his cowboy boots and spurs, his six guns belted around his middle, wore a ankle-length ermine robe and toted his twenty-pound staff. Doreen had on a gown that would have been the envy of the Queen of England. As they strolled around the “estate,” both were careful not to step in the many piles of horse droppings that littered the grounds.
“I wish you would do something about this … unpleasantness,” Doreen said, pointing to a fresh pile of road apples.
“You’re absolutely right, my queen;” Jud told one of his bodyguards to order the mess cleaned up and keep it clean.
It did not take Doreen long to conclude that while Jud certainly was as crazy as a road lizard, he wasn’t stupid. The bodyguards flanked them as they strolled, and there were guards in the front of them and in the back. Jud summed it all up with a strange smile on his face.
“There is no way you are going to escape, my queen. So put it out of your pretty head and just enjoy all the privileges you are being accorded. This is your home, for now and for always.”
