Not one little bit.
9
“Some of the boys is grumblin’ about you puttin’ up money on Jensen’s head and then lettin’ them foreigners come over here,” one of Max’s gunhands complained.
Max spread his hands. “I put up the money, Lew. Anybody who nails Jensen gets it. As far as Dubois and Mittermaier are concerned, they’re old friends of mine. I sent for them long before Jensen entered the picture. Besides, they are much more subtle in their approach than most of those out there.” He waved his hand. “You and I, of course, could handle it easily. I’m not too sure about the others.”
The outlaw knew he was getting a line of buffalo chips fed him, but the flattery felt good anyway. “Right, Big Max. Sure. I understand. What do I tell the boys?”
“Tell them ...” Max was thinking hard. “Tell them that we must be careful in disposing of Jensen. If we draw too much attention to us, the government might send troops in here and put us all out of business.”
“Yeah,” Lew said. “Yeah, you’re right. They’ll understand that, Max. I’ll pass the word.”
After Lew had left, Max leaned back in his chair. What next? he thought. What is Jensen going to do next?
“What are y’all lookin’ for?” the teamster asked.
“Contraband,” Smoke told him. “Unload your wagons.”
The teamster paled under his stubble of beard and tanned skin. “All the wagons? Everything in them?”
“All the wagons, everything in them.”
Griping and muttering under their breaths, the men unloaded the wagons, and Smoke and Jim and Sal went to work with pry-bars. With his back to the teamsters, Smoke pulled a small packet from under his shirt and dropped it in a box. “Check this box, Sal,” he said. “I’ll be opening some others.”
“Right, Smoke.”
After a moment, Sal called out, “Marshal, I got something that looks funny.”
Smoke walked over. “The box says it’s supposed to have whiskey in it. What’s that in your hand?”
“Durned if I know.” He handed the packet to Smoke.
Smoke had found the contents way in the back of the safe in the marshal’s office. It was several thousand dollars of badly printed counterfeit greenbacks.
Smoke opened the packet. “Hey!” he said, holding one of the greenbacks up to the sunlight. “This looks phony to me.”
A teamster walked over. “What is that?”
“Counterfeit money,” Smoke told him. “This is real serious. You could be in a lot of trouble.”
“Me!” the teamster shouted. “I ain’t done nothin’.”
“You’re hauling this funny money,” Smoke reminded him.
“Well, that’s true. But that phony money sure as hell ain’t mine.”
“Oh, I believe you,” Smoke eased his fears. “But this entire shipment is going to have to be seized and held for evidence.”
“Marshal, you can have it all. Me and my boys work for a living. We’re not printing no government money.”
“Is this shipment prepaid?”
“Yes, sir. Everything sent to Hell’s Creek is paid for in advance. That’s the only way the boss would agree to do business with them thugs up yonder.”
“So you and your men would prefer not to do business with those in Hell’s Creek?”
“That’s the gospel truth, Mr. Jensen. There ain’t a one of us like the run past Barlow.”
“All right, boys. You’re free to turn around and head on back. We’re sorry to have inconvenienced you.”
After the wagons had gone, the men nearly broke up laughing as they stood amid the mounds of boxed supplies. Wiping his eyes, Smoke said, “Sal, go get some wagons and men from town. We’ve got to store all this stuff.”
“Bit Max is gonna toss himself a royal fit when he hears about this,” Sal said. “This here is food and supplies for a month.”
“Yeah. I figure they have probably a month’s supplies left on the shelves. After that, things are going to get desperate in Hell’s Creek.”
Sal headed back to town and Jim said, “You know, Smoke, Max can’t let you get away with this. His men would lose all respect for him.”
“Yeah, I know. This may be the fuel to pop the lid off. What’s the latest on Red Malone; have you heard?”
“Not a peep. I ’spect he’s still recovering from that beatin’ you gave him.”
“He’s got to have a meeting with Max. They’ll get together and try to plan some way to get rid of me.”
“No way to cover all the trails up to Hell’s Creek. There must be a dozen, and probably a few more that I don’t know about.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t try to do that. But I was thinking: Red has to buy supplies and he buys them in Barlow. It would be too time-consuming and costly to go anywhere else. Marbly hates Red. He never did knuckle under to him. He told me himself he still has the right to refuse service to anyone.”
Jim smiled. “Oh, now that would tick Red off. He’d go right through the ceiling.”
