Smoke shrugged his shoulders and helped wrap the men in blankets and carry them to the wood car. Back in his seat, Sally asked, “You suppose well have any more trouble?”
Smoke pulled his hat brim down over his eyes and settled down for a nap. “Not from that bunch,” he said.
They changed trains in southern Idaho, staying with the Union Pacific line. This run would head straight north. End of track would put them about a hundred and fifty miles south of their destination.
The news had spread up and down the line that Smoke Jensen was on the train, and crowds gathered at every stop, hoping to get a glimpse of the West’s most famous gunfighter. Smoke stayed in the car while the train was in station. He had never sought publicity and didn’t want it now.
No more attempts were made to rob the train during the long pull north.
At end of track, Smoke off-loaded their horses while Sally changed from dress to jeans.
Packhorse loaded, they rode into the small town and purchased a side of bacon and some bread, a gaggle of kids and dogs right at their heels all the way.
“Right pleased to have you in town,” the shopkeeper told them. “Sorry you can’t stay longer. Things liven up quite a bit when you’re around, I’d guess, Mr. Jensen. Be good for business.”
“It usually is for the undertaker,” Smoke told him, and that shut him up.
Smoke signed his name to a half-dozen penny dreadfuls, then he and Sally hit the trail, pointing their horses’ noses north.
A young would-be tough, two guns tied down low, stepped out of the saloon and watched the Jensens ride out of town. He pulled his hat brim low, hitched at his guns, and said, “Huh! He don’t look so tough to me. It’s a good thing he didn’t get in my way. I’d a called him out and left him in the street.”
The town marshal looked at the kid, disgust in his eyes, then shoved the punk into a horse trough, guns and all, and walked away, leaving the big-mouth sputtering and cussing.
Smoke and Sally made their first camp alongside a fast-running and very clear and cold little creek. It didn’t take either one of them very long to bathe. They knew it was time to exit the creek when they began turning blue.
They were up before dawn. After bacon and bread and coffee, Sally strapped on her short-barreled .44, and then they were in the saddle and heading north.
They were both ready for a hot bath and food they didn’t have to cook over a campfire when they topped a ridge and looked down on a little town just south of Flathead Lake.
“Well,” Sally said, straightening her back. “It has a hotel.”
“Yeah,” Smoke said with a grin. “And I’ll bet they change the sheets at least once a month.”
She smiled sweetly at him. “I’ll bet they change them for me.”
“Oh, yes, ma’am!” the desk clerk said, paling slightly as he checked the names on the register. “The feather ticks was just aired out and we’ll get fresh linen on your bed pronto. You bet we will, Mrs. Jensen.”
“And make sure the facilities are clean,” Sally told him.
“Oh, yes, ma’am. I sure will.”
The room was clean and it faced the street. Smoke laid out clean clothes and shook out and hung up one of Sally’s dresses while she bathed. He looked out the window and was not surprised to see a crowd gathering on the boardwalks below their room. Neither was he surprised to see the sheriff and two deputies among the gawking people. The desk clerk had not been slow in running his mouth.
He bathed and shaved while Sally got herself all fixed up, then dressed in a dark suit, white shirt, and string tie. He strapped on his .44’s and they went down to the dining room for an early supper.
Smoke got a shot of whiskey from the bar for himself and a glass of wine for Sally, then rejoined his wife in the dining room. The sheriff approached them.
“Mind if I join you for a moment?” the lawman asked respectfully, his hat in his hand.
Smoke pushed out a chair with one boot.
“Coffee, Marie,” the sheriff ordered.
“Nice little town, Sheriff,” Sally said, taking a sip of wine.
“Thank you, ma’am. And it’s peaceful, too.”
Smoke knew his cue when he heard it. “It’ll stay peaceful, too, Sheriff. We’re here to rest for the night and then we’ll be moving on.”
“Nothin’ is peaceful around you for very long, Jensen,” the sheriff said. “You attract trouble like honey does flies.”
“We don’t have any trouble in the town near where I live,” Smoke rebutted. “Hasn’t been a shot fired in anger in a long, long time.”
“How do you manage that?”
“We get rid of the troublemakers, Sheriff. It’s really very simple.”
“You run them out of town, eh?”
“We usually bury them,” Sally said.
The sheriff cut his eyes to her. Strong-willed woman, he reckoned. Man would be hard-pressed to hold the reins on this one, he figured.
