“Not much.” Smoke brought him up to date.
“Littering?” Jim laughed. “Now that’s a new one on me.”
“We’ll see what the judge has to say about it.”
“A1 Martin’s a bad one. He’s one of Big Max Huggins’s boys. He’ll try you, Smoke. Bet on that.”
“He won’t do it but once. Come on. I’ll introduce you to my wife and we’ll get something to eat.”
They were halfway across the street when a dozen men came riding into town from the south, kicking up a lot of dust.
“That’s Red Malone and his crew,” Jim said. “He likes to ride roughshod over everybody. Owns the Lightning brand. I never worked for him ’cause I don’t like him and he don’t like me.”
Smoke stood in the middle of the street and refused to move, forcing the horsemen to come to a stop.
“Get out of the damn street, idiot!” the lead rider yelled.
“You Malone?” Smoke asked.
“Yeah. If it’s any of your business.”
“There’s a new law on the books, Malone. No galloping horses within the city limits.”
Red laughed, and it was an ugly laugh. “I’d like to see the two-bit deputy who’s gonna stop me.” Then his smile faded. “Hey, you’re new here. Didn’t your boss tell you that me and the boys are to be left alone?” His face mirrored further confusion when he saw Jim and the badge pinned to his shirt. “What the hell’s goin’on around here? You got stomped in a fight a couple of nights ago and got tossed in jail. Where is Bridy and Long?”
“Max come and got them this morning,” Jim said with a grin. “They was all stove up after Smoke Jensen here tossed both of ’em out of that window up yonder yesterday.” He pointed to the boarded-up window of the hotel.
Red Malone and all his men looked ... first at the window and then back at Smoke.
“You asked what two-bit deputy was going to stop you, Red?” Smoke said. “You’re looking at him.”
“Lemme take him, boss,” a scar-faced man said. “I think I’m better than him.”
Red Malone did not reply; he was studying Smoke carefully. “Heard about you for years, Jensen. You’re supposed to be the fastest gun around. So what are you doing in this hick town?”
“Helping out the people, Malone. They had some bad law enforcement here. They asked me to take over.”
“What’d Max have to say about that?”
“Not a whole lot, actually. And his men were too busy washing windows and mopping up the boardwalk to say very much.”
Malone silently chewed on that for a moment, not really sure what Smoke was talking about. For a fact, something big had gone down here in Barlow; something that had drastically changed the town.
And that something big and drastic had a name: Smoke Jensen.
“Come on, Red!” the scar-faced man insisted. “Lemme take him.” He stepped out of the saddle, handing the reins to another man.
Malone looked at the man. He wasn’t worth a tinker’s damn as a cowboy, but he was fast with a gun. Malone nodded his head. “All right, Charlie. It’s your show.”
Red Malone and his crew lifted their reins and moved to the other side of the street.
“Watch my back, Jim,” Smoke said.
“You got it.”
“I been hearin’ about you for fifteen years or more, Jensen,” Charlie said. “I’m sick of hearin’ about you. Makes me want to puke.”
Red Malone cut his eyes to a rooftop. Tom Johnson stood there, a rifle in his hand. Marbly from the general store stepped out of his establishment, also with a rifle in his hands. Benson from the blacksmith shop appeared to Malone’s right, a double-barrel shotgun in his hands. Toby from the hotel appeared on a rooftop, carrying a rifle.
The town was solidly behind Jensen, for sure.
Malone turned to his foreman. “John, we’re out of this fight. Look around you. Pass the word.”
John Steele looked. More townspeople had stepped out of their businesses and homes, all of them carrying weapons. John softly passed the word: Whatever happens between Jensen and Charlie, we’re out of it.
Smoke stood relaxed in the center of the street. He had not taken his eyes off of Charlie.
The scar-faced gunny stood with his legs apart, body tensed for the draw. “You ready to die, Jensen?” he called.
“Not today, friend,” Smoke said. “You got anything you want me to pass along after you’re gone?”
Charlie cursed him.
“As a legally appointed deputy sheriff of this county, I am ordering you to surrender your guns, Charlie. There will be no charges filed against you if you do that.”
Charlie laughed at him.
“You were warned,” Smoke said softly.
