“We drifted on over to Canon City, looking for a man named Ackerman. He found us, him and five of his gang. Killed five, left one alive.”
“Lord Jesus,” Robert said softly. “That’s thirty-three men.”
“Oh, I haven’t even gotten started yet,” Smoke said. “Me and Preacher, we spent the winter back at Brown’s Hole, then come spring we drifted out again. That summer I met Nicole and we got married. Sort of. Within a year it all fell to pieces. Bounty hunters got lead in Preacher and I thought they’d killed him. They did kill Nicole and the baby. That’s when I rode up to the silver camp with hate in my heart.”
“And there have been many more dead men since then?” Robert asked.
“More than I can count, Robert. They just keep coming at me. It was early spring in ... oh, ’74 I think it was. I rode over into Idaho looking for the rest of the men who killed my pa and my brother. Town called Bury. I was going by the name of Buck West.”
The horses’ hooves muffled, the small party moved out.
“A man called Big Jack braced me at a trading post. His partner buried him out back. I rode on. I had ten thousand dollars on my head at that time, and a lot of bounty hunters were hard after me.
“It was in Challis that two gunhands called me out in the street. I think their names were Carson and Phillips. After I killed them, the marshal asked me to leave. I don’t blame him, and I left.
“I rode into Bury with no one knowing who I really was. I was looking to kill the last of the three men who killed my pa and brother: Josh Richards, Wiley Potter, and Keith Stratton. Sally was teaching school there. I saw my sister Janey for the first time in ten years. She was Richard’s mistress. She didn’t recognize me right off.
“I was walking Sally back to her home when two gunhandlers braced me on the street. Dickerson and Russell. I dropped them both.
“Things turned both tragic and funny after that. Sally lost her job school-teaching and went to live in a whorehouse.”
“A whorehouse!” Victoria almost shouted the word. “Sally in a whorehouse?”
Smoke chuckled. “Yep. Oh, she didn’t work there. She just lived there.”
“My heavens!” Robert muttered.
“Ol’ boy on the SRP payroll braced me. I don’t remember his name. I had to kill him. It was that day that Janey recognized me as her brother.”Smoke cut his eyes and turned his head. He held up a hand for the wagons to stop.
“What’s the matter?” Robert asked.
“Something out there,” Smoke said.
“How do you know that?”
“Star’s ears just came up. A horse is a good as a dog about warning you.”
They all heard the clop of horses’ hooves and watched as two men rode out of the darkness and up to their wagon.
Both of the men had guns in their hands, the hammers jacked back.
“Well, now,” one said. “Ain’t this a sight? The doctor and his pretty wife tryin’ to slip out, and Smoke Jensen leadin’ them. Look here, Jensen. Look down the barrel of the gun that’s gonna kill you!”
12
All Robert or Vicky would remember in the retelling of the event was a series of roaring gunshots. What they did not know was that at the sound of the horses’ hooves, Smoke had wrapped the reins around the saddle horn and filled both his hands with .44’s.
And neither Robert nor Vicky had seen the third man; but Smoke had.
It was all over in two heartbeats. Three men lay dead or dying on the ground. Robert started to climb down from the wagon.
“Sit down!” Smoke’s words were sharp. “Pick up those reins and whap those horses on the butt. We’ve got to move and do it fast.”
“But those men ...” Robert protested.
Smoke knee-reined Star up to the wagon. When he spoke, his words were low and savage. “Mister, do you want to see your wife and little girl spread-eagled on the ground, being raped, over and over again, until dawn?”
“No. Of course not! But ...”
“Then shut up and drive this wagon.” Smoke slapped one horse on the butt and the team jumped forward, the doctor hanging onto the reins. “Go, Vicky!”Smoke shouted. “Stay on this road south. Don’t get off of it. I’ll catch up in about an hour. Move!”
Smoke jumped off Star and grabbed the outlaws’ rifles from the saddle boots. He jerked off their gunbelts and swiftly loaded the two Winchesters and the Henry up full.
“You gotta help me!” one gut-shot outlaw moaned. “I’m hard-hit.”
“That’s your problem,” Smoke told him. “You were going to kill me, remember?”
“You’re a heartless bastard, ain’t you, Jensen?”
“No,” Smoke replied, levering a round in each chamber of the rifles. “Just a realist, that’s all. Now either shut up or die; one or the other.”
He left the man moaning in the road and, leading Star, got himself into position in the rocks above the road, in the center of the curve, several sticks of capped and fused dynamite beside him. He made him a little smoldering
