“Sure, Max. Us. I’m tolerated because I’m bringing a change to this town. When you and Red are either dead or run out of the territory, the people won’t want me around. I’m a gunfighter, Max. The smell of gunsmoke lingers around me like some sort of invisible shroud. Just like the smell of perversion lingers around you.”
Max’s head jerked up. “What the hell do you mean by that, Jensen? Perversion?”
“You touch that Feckles girl and I’ll kill you, Max. I’ll ride right into Hell’s Creek and shoot you. As God is my witness, I’ll do it.”
“She’s a woman, Jensen. She might be a child in mind, but she’s got the body of a woman.” Max knew he ought to shut his big mouth, but arrogance worked his tongue.
“You’re pure crud, Max. I know that you lusted after both Victoria and Lisa. Tell you what, Max. I’m going to start sending out wires to a lot of law enforcement offices; I’m going to blanket your back trail and see what I can come up with. And I’m going to start with telegrams concerning child molestation and rape over ... say, the past ten years or so. How does that grab you, partner?”
Max was thinking hard. He’d left a trail behind him, for sure.
If Jensen started digging, he’d soon put two and two together and Max would be forced to run. No question about that.
Max forced a laugh. “You do that, Jensen. My back trail is clean.”
“We’ll soon know,” Smoke spoke the words softly. “It’ll take me about a week to find out.”
Max could scarcely control his wildly raging temper. He stared at Smoke for a moment and then spun on his boot heels, hollering for his men to get their gear and mount up. They were leaving.
“What’s with Big Max?” Joe Walsh asked, walking up.
“I touched a festering boil,” Smoke told him. “And it’s just about ready to explode.”
14
Over coffee the next morning in his office, Smoke told Jim and Sal and Judge Garrison what had brought on Max Huggins’s sudden departure the night before.
“Let me start canvasing various law enforcement agencies, Smoke,” Judge Garrison said. “I have many more contacts than you. I should have something within a week, probably in less time than that.”
“Good, Judge. Get right on it, will you?”
“Immediately.” The judge left the room and walked over to the telegraph office. He would be very busy for the next several days. Judge Garrison did not set a bond for Melvin Malone. He said the attempted murder charge meant he did not have to set a bond. Melvin would stay in jail.
“You’re dead, Jensen,” Melvin hollered from his cell. He rattled the barred door. “You’re a dead man walking around and you’re just too stupid to know that.”
“Shut up, boy,” Smoke called. “You’re only making things more difficult for yourself.”
“Son of a bitch!” Melvin yelled. “That’s you, Jensen. Low-life, no-good ...”
Smoke tuned him out.
“You know Red is gonna try to bust him out,” Sal said.
“Sure. Once he hears no bond was set, he’ll try force. Maybe as soon as tonight.”
“You want us to set up cots and sleep here?” Jim asked.
“No.” Smoke’s reply was quick. “Red, so I’m told, likes to use dynamite. That’s how he drove all those small farmers out that were settling around his holdings. He might decide to use explosives here. Too risky for us to sleep in.”
“Hell, Smoke!” Sal said. “He uses dynamite, he might blow up Melvin tryin’ to get him out.”
Smoke shook his head. “We won’t be that lucky, Sal.” Smoke cut his eyes to the window in time to see John Steele riding up, the point man for several wagons, coming into town for supplies. They pulled up in front of Marbly’s General Store.
“Oh, boy,” Jim said. “Here it comes.”
Smoke stood up and reached for his hat. “Yep,” he said, heading for the door. “Storm clouds are gathering and it’s about to rain trouble all over us. Let’s go, boys. I wouldn’t want to miss this.”
The three men crossed the street just as John Steele was entering Marbly’s store. They stepped up onto the boardwalk in time to hear John’s shout of disbelief.
“What the hell do you mean, you little worm?” John roared. “My money is no good? My money is as good as anybody’s, and by the Lord, you’re going to sell me what I want.”
“Get out of my store,” Marbly stood his ground. “I don’t want you or any of your scummy crew in my place of business. Get out, I say!”
John reached across the counter and grabbed Marbly by the shirtfront. Mrs. Marbly jerked an axe handle out of a barrel and bonked it across the top of John’s Stetson-covered head. John’s eyes rolled back in his head and he sank to the floor, out cold. One of the Lightning hands jerked out a gun and aimed it at the woman. Smoke dusted him through and through with a .44 slug. The force of the slug knocked the cowboy to one side and into a showcase. He died among women’s underthings, his head on a corset.
The townspeople reacted immediately to the shooting. The street filled with armed men. The remaining Lightning crew held up their hands in a hurry, not wanting to get plugged from every angle.
Smoke holstered his .44 and pointed to John Steele. “Drag him to jail.” He looked at Marbly. “You going to press charges?”
“Damn right!” the shopkeeper said, considerable heat in his voice.
“Charge him with assault and battery,” Smoke said to Sal. “Jim, get the undertaker.”
