“I expect he will, Sal. I doubt if the man has ever received so thorough a beating as he got today.”
“Smoke, he ain’t never even been whipped before this day. And that’s the God’s truth.”
“Walk along with us, Sal. Tell me about him.”
“I ain’t from this part of the country, Smoke. I was born in Missouri and come west with my parents in ’50, I think it was. They settled in Nebraska and I drifted when I was seventeen. Most of my time I spent in Colorado and Idaho. That’s how come it was I knowed who you was. I didn’t come to this area until last year. I was fixin’ to drift come the end of the month anyways. I just don’t cotton to men like Red Malone and John Steele. I’ll tell you what I know about him and about Max Huggins. I was told that Malone come into this area right after the Civil War. He was just a youngster, maybe nineteen or so. He carved him out a place for his ranch and defended it against Injuns and outlaws. Built it up right good. But he’s always been on the shady side. Lie, cheat, steal, womanize. I was told his wife was a decent person. She bore him one son and one daughter, and then she took off when it got so Red was flauntin’ his other women in her face. He’s got women all over the country.”
Smoke stopped them and they sat down on a long bench in front of the barber shop.
Sal pulled out the makings and asked Sally, “You object, ma’am?”
“Oh, no. Go right ahead. I’ll take a puff or two off of Smoke’s cigarette.”
Sal almost dropped the sack at that. He kept any comments he had to himself. Strong-willed woman, he thought. Probably wants the vote, too. Lord help us all.
Sal rolled, shaped, licked, and lit up. “Red’s daughter is a right comely lass. But Tessie is spoiled rotten, has the manners of a hog, and the morals of a billy goat. Melvin is crazy. Plumb loco. He likes to hurt people. And he’s fast, Smoke. Have mercy, but the boy is quick. And a dead shot. But he’s nuts. His eyes will scare you, make you back up. He’s killed maybe half-a-dozen men, and they weren’t none of them pilgrims, neither. Red’s good with a short gun, but Melvin is nearabouts as fast as you, Smoke. And I ain’t kiddin’.
“Naturally, just as soon as Big Max come into the area, him and Red struck a deal. Max would own the law enforcement of the county—and it’s a sorry bunch—and control the north end of the county, and Red would control the south end. Red didn’t have no interest in runnin’ this town. He just wanted his share of the crooked games up in Hell’s Creek, and his share of the gold and greenbacks taken in robberies. In return, he’d see that no one come in here with reform on their mind. So that means, Smoke, that you got to go. There ain’t no other way for Red and Max to keep on doin’ what they’re doin’.
“Big Max, now, that’s another story. Bad through and through. He’s run crooked games and killed and robbed folks and run red-light houses from San Francisco to Fort Worth and north into Canada. He’s a sorry excuse for a human being. I’d be happy to kill him if for no other reason than to clear the air for other folks.”
“I can see why Max settled here,” Smoke said.
“Sure. Wild country. One road runnin’ north and south, one road runnin’ east and west. No trains yet. Proper law ain’t reached this part of the territory yet.” He smiled, then added, “’Cepting in this little town, that is.”
The next morning, Smoke escorted the gambler he’d jailed to the stagecoach office. Jim fetched the hurdy-gurdy girls from the hotel.
“You might eventually get to Hell’s Creek,” Smoke informed them all. “But it won’t be by going through Barlow.”
“This ain’t legal,” the gambler protested.
“Sue me,” Smoke said, and shoved the tinhorn into the stage. He looked up at the driver. “Get them out of here.”
“Yes, sir!” the driver grinned, and yelled at his team.
Smoke began his walk to the hotel to deal with Al Martin. The gunfighter had sent a boy to tell Smoke he wasn’t about to be run out of town.
“How are you gonna deal with this guy?” Sal asked.
“He wants to stay in Barlow,” Smoke replied. “So I’m going to let him stay.”
“Huh?” Jim looked at Smoke.
“Forever,” Smoke said tightly. “If that’s the way he wants it.”
Al Martin was lounging on the boardwalk in front of the hotel, having an after-breakfast cigar.
“He’s quick,” Sal told Smoke. “With either hand. I’ve seen him work.”
Smoke had no comment about that.
Al Martin tossed his cigar into the dirt and stepped out into the street.
“You boys get out of the way,” Smoke told his deputies.
Sal and Jim stepped to one side.
A1 brushed back his coat, exposing the butts of his .45’s.
“One more chance, Al,” Smoke called, never breaking his stride. “You can rent a horse at the livery and ride south.”
“I’m headin’ north,” A1 returned the call.
“Not through this town,” Smoke told him.
“You don’t have the right to do that.”
“I’m doing it, Al.”
Joe Walsh, the owner of the Circle W, had left his ranch early with two of his men, to buy supplies in Barlow. The men stood in front of Bonnie’s Cafe and watched. Joe had heard of Smoke Jensen for years, but he had never seen him until now.
