The young man stared at Smoke for a moment. Was Jensen trying to be smart-mouthed? He couldn’t tell. “Uh, yeah. He feels just fine.”
“That’s good. Your sister Tessie makes a pretty good box supper, does she?”
“My sister couldn’t fry an egg if the hen told her how,” Mel replied. “But the cook can fry chicken that’ll make you wanna slap your granny.” Why the hell was he standing here talking about fried chicken with a man he was going to kill? He stared hard at Smoke. Fella seemed sort of likable.
Smoke chuckled. “Well, some women just never get the knack of cooking, Mel. Tell Red to take it easy now.” Smoke turned and walked across the street, leaving Melvin alone on the boardwalk.
Feeling sort of stupid standing on the boardwalk all by himself, the young man wandered over to the saloon for a drink.
Sally watched it all from the window and she smiled.
“Smoke handled that just right,” Jim said. “There wasn’t nothing else to be said, so he just walked off leavin’ Melvin standing there lookin’ stupid. Which ain’t hard to do, ’cause he is.”
“But good with a gun,” Sally remarked, watching the young man push open the batwings to the saloon. “I can tell by the way he carries himself. He walks a lot like Smoke.”
“He’s almost as fast as Smoke, ma’am. But not quite as good. But he’s a dead shot, I’ll give him that.”
Sally felt just a twinge of worry that she quickly pushed aside. She had known what Smoke was when she met and later married him. She had long ago accepted that wherever he went, there would be men who would call him out. The West was slowly changing, but it would be years before gunfighting was finally banned.
When Melvin left town, Smoke was leaning up against an awning support watching him go. Smoke raised a hand in farewell. Melvin looked at him, then cut his eyes away, refusing to acknowledge the friendly gesture.
Smoke walked back to the office. Sally had just finished cleaning and straightening it up. “What do you think of Red’s son, Smoke?”
Smoke poured a cup of coffee and sat down at his desk. He sipped and said, “He’s crazy and he’s cruel. I’ll have to kill him someday.”
Little by little, in small groups, Red’s hands began drifting back into town for a drink or a meal or to buy this or that. So far, Red had not tried to buy any supplies from Marbly. The rancher was going to be in for a rude shock when he did.
Red’s hands caused no trouble when in town. They had all noticed that every man in town was packing iron: the bartender, the editor of the Bugle, the store clerks ... everybody. And they promptly took that news back to Red.
Red digested that bit of information with a sigh. “Then that’s it, John,” he told his foreman. “We’ve got to make a move and do it quick, before the town really gets together and runs our butts out of the country. And they’ll do it eventually. Believe me.”
“Before the dance, Red?”
Red shook his head. “No. After it. Maybe a week after it. Max has got some long-distance shooters comin’ in from Europe. They was invited to come in here for a hunt long before Smoke Jensen showed up. They should be here this week. Early next week at the latest. We’ll get things firmed up with Max after the party.”
“Take Jensen out first?”
“I don’t know. I think it’d be better to start working on the townspeople. I just don’t know. Whatever Max decides to do, we got to back him up. That’s the deal we made and I always keep my word.” He looked around him and sniffed, a look of distaste crossing his face. “What in the name of God is that horrible smell?”
“The cook is tryin’ to teach Tessie how to cook. Tessie is fixin’ supper, so I’m told.”
“Oh, my Lord. I’ll eat with you boys tonight. What the Sam Hill is she cookin’, skunk?”
“Fried chicken.”
“She must have left the feathers on.”
Henri Dubois and Paul Mittermaier were blissfully unaware of what was taking place in Barlow and Hell’s Creek. They had seen the sights of St. Louis and were now ready to board the train west.
What they did not know was that they were under surveillance by agents of the U.S. Federal Marshal’s office. They knew of the situation building in Barlow and Hell’s Creek, and they also knew that with just a little help, Smoke Jensen would handle it and they would not have to get directly involved. The marshals sent a wire to the nearest town to Barlow, and the message was forwarded to Smoke Jensen by stage.
Smoke opened the envelope and read: Mercenaries left St. Louis this a.m. No charges against Dubois or Mittermaier. They are unaware of what is taking place in your area. Watch your back and handle situation as you see fit.
It was unsigned, but Smoke had a pretty good idea what federal office had sent it.
He showed the message to Jim and Sal. Neither man could understand why Smoke was smiling. Jim asked him.
“They have to come right through here, boys.” He walked to a wall map and put his finger on a town south of them. “This is rail’s end. From here to Barlow is either by horseback or stage, and I’m betting they take the stage.”
“And you got what in mind?” Sal asked.
“Any trouble that happens out in the county, you boys handle it. Starting day after tomorrow, I’ve got to meet the stage.”
“I wonder what he’s got in mind?” Jim asked Sal after Smoke left the office.
“Be fun to watch, whatever it is.”
“You reckon the Frenchman and the German will see the humor in it?” Jim asked with a grin.
