“You were banned from this town, Melvin. Leave now and I won’t toss you in jail.”
“You’ll never toss me in jail again, Jensen. Me, or anyone else for that matter.”
“Boy, don’t be a fool!” Smoke snapped at him. He knew that his plan to move close enough to slug the young man was out the window. Kill was written on Melvin’s face, and his eyes were unnaturally bright with the blood lust that reared up within him. “I’ve faced a hundred young hot-shots like you. They’re all dead, boy. Dead, or crippled.”
Smoke could tell that Melvin was not drunk. The young man had enough sense about him to lay off the bottle before a gunfight. Alcohol impaired the reflexes.
Melvin laughed at the warning.
Smoke was thinking fast. He had been warned that Melvin was very, very quick and very, very accurate, so any idea of just wounding the young man was out of the question. When Melvin dragged iron, Smoke was going to have to get off the first shot and make it a good one.
“Boy, think of your father,” Smoke tried a different tact. “Your sister. Think what your dying is going to do to them.”
“Me, dying?” The young man was clearly startled. “Me? Oh, you got it all wrong, Jensen. You’re the one that’s going to be pushin’ up flowers, not me.”
“Listen to me, boy,” Smoke said, doing his best to talk some sense into Melvin. “You ...”
“Shut up!” Melvin yelled, stepping away from the bar. “You’re a coward, Jensen. You’re afraid to draw on me.”
A coldness touched Smoke. A coldness that was surrounded by a dark rage. It sometimes happened when he was looking at death. It was a feeling much like the ancient Viking berserkers must have experienced in battle.
“I tried, boy,” Smoke’s words were touched with sadness. “Nobody can say I didn’t try.”
“And that’s all you’re gonna do in this fight,” Melvin sneered the words. “Try to beat me. You’ve had a long run, Jensen. Now it’s over. Now my pa can stop worryin’ about his back trail and we can get on with our lives.”
“All but one of you,” Smoke corrected the young man.
“Huh?”
“Your life is over.”
With a curse on his lips, Melvin’s hands flashed to his guns and he was rattlesnake quick. But Smoke’s draw was as smooth as honey and lightning fast. Melvin got off a shot, the slug blowing a hole in the barroom floor. Smoke’s first shot took the young gunslinger in the belly. Melvin’s second shot grazed Smoke’s shoulder, burning a hole in his shirt and searing his flesh. Smoke shot the young man again, the slug turning Melvin. Still he would not go down.
Melvin lifted his left-hand Colt and fired, the slug smashing the bar. Smoke shot him again and Melvin went down to his knees, still holding his Colts.
Smoke stepped through the swirl of gunsmoke and walked to the young man. He kicked the guns from his hands and stood over him.
“I beat Blackjack Simmons and Ted Novarro,” Melvin moaned the words. “Holland didn’t even clear leather against me.”
“They were fast,” Smoke spoke the words softly.
“But you ...” Melvin gasped. “You ...”
He toppled over on his face and began communicating with the afterlife.
Smoke punched out his empties and reloaded. “Jim, get word to Red that he can come in and take his boy home. Just Red. Anybody else of the Lightning brand tries to enter this town, I’ll toss them in jail or leave them in the dust.”
The young deputy left the barroom and walked to the stable, saddling his horse for the night ride.
“Knowing Red as I do,” Sal pointed out, “he just might come bustin’ up here with all his hands, figuring to burn down the town.”
“If he does, it’ll be the last thing he’ll ever do,”Smoke said. He looked around the barroom. “I want ten men on guard at all times tonight. Take some water and biscuits with you when you go to the rooftops. Go home and get your rifles.” He looked at the barkeep. “Shut it down, Ralph.”
“Will do, Marshal. I’ll clean up and then get my rifle to stand a turn.”
“Thanks, Ralph.”
The body of Melvin Malone was carried to the undertaker and the lamps in the saloon were turned off. The men of the first watch were getting in place on the rooftops as Smoke, Sal, and Pete walked the boardwalks of the town, rattling doorknobs and looking into the darkness of alleys.
Smoke passed Robert Turner on the boardwalk as the man was going home. The doctor did not speak to the gunfighter.
“Yonder goes a scared man,” Sal said. “Something about that fella just don’t add up to me.”
Pete said, “I been thinkin’ the same thing. He looks familiar to me, but I swear I can’t place him.”
“Think of Max Huggins for a moment,” Smoke told the men.
“What do you mean, Smoke?” Sal asked.
“Max Huggins is Dr. Robert Turner’s brother.”
21
Smoke swore his deputies to silence about the true identity of
