away every stick and rock he could find. He walked the area a dozen times, looking for holes in the ground that might trip a man. He memorized the natural arena. Then, sure he had done everything humanly possible, he cooked his supper and made his coffee. He rolled into his blankets just after dark and went to sleep with a smile on his lips.
What he was doing he knew was foolish. It was male pride at its worst. But when two bulls are grazing in the same pasture, one is going to be dominant over the other, that was nature’s way. And Smoke had been raised too close to the earth to attempt to alter nature’s way.
The fight would really accomplish nothing of substance. Smoke knew it, and Max probably knew it, too. If he didn’t, then the man was a fool.
Smoke knew that what he ought to do was to kill Max Huggins just as soon as the man stepped down from the saddle. But that wasn’t his way, and Max probably realized it. If Max came, and came alone, then he was going to follow the same rules.
It promised to be a very interesting fight.
Smoke was up at dawn, boiling his coffee and frying his bacon. He ate lightly, for he knew the fight might take several hours until the end, and he did not want to fight on a full stomach.
At full light he looked out over the flats, and far in the distance he saw a lone rider approaching. From the size of the man, he knew it had to be Max Huggins. He lifted his field glasses and scanned the area all around Max, to the rear and both sides. He could pick up no sign of outriders. Big Max was coming in alone.
Max rode up to the flats and dismounted. He was wearing two guns, tied down. Smoke stood up from his squat and hooked his thumbs behind the buckle of his gunbelt.
“How do we play this, Max?”
“It’s your show. You call it.”
“First we untie, then we unbuckle and put them over here, next to my bedroll.”
“That sounds good to me.”
The men untied, unbuckled, and laid their guns on the ground, next to Smoke’s bedroll.
Smoke pointed to the battered coffeepot and two tin cups. “Help yourself. It’s fresh made.”
“Thanks. That’ll taste good.” Max squatted down and poured two cups. With a smile, he handed one cup to Smoke and said, “If it’s poisoned or drugged, then we’ll go out together.”
“It’s neither,” Smoke said, and took a sip of coffee. “It’s just hot.”
The men sipped and stared at each other in silence. Max broke the silence. “How’d you put it together about Robert?”
“Family resemblance is strong. Then I followed Robert one day and saw you together.”
“He’s quite insane, you know.” It was not a question.
“Yes, I know. What are you going to do with him?”
“I honestly don’t know, Smoke.”
“Judge Garrison has legal papers ordering him committed to the asylum.”
Max’s face hardened. “Robert will never be confined in one of those places. They’re treated worse than animals in there.”
“You better think of something to do with him after you’re gone.”
“Oh? Am I going somewhere?”
“Yes. You’re either going to leave this area voluntarily, go to prison, or I’m going to kill you.”
Max chuckled, then laughed out loud. “Damn, but you are a gutsy man, Smoke Jensen. If the circumstances were different, I could really like you.”
“There is nothing about you that I like, Max.”
Max chuckled again, and it was not in the least forced. “That’s a shame. I’m going to both enjoy and regret beating you to death.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve whipped bigger and better men than you in my time.”
Max cut his eyes, looking at Smoke. The man was all muscle and bone. Max upgraded his original estimate of Smoke’s weight. His arms and shoulders and chest and hands were enormous. Max probably had a good sixty pounds on the man, but he guessed accurately that Smoke would be quicker and able to dance around with more grace than he.
“I’m not surprised that you came alone,” Smoke said.
“I do have some honor about me,” Max replied stiffly.
“Honorable men do not make war against women and children. Neither do they rape young girls.”
“Aggie was a mistake,” Max admitted. “But both Robert and I—we get it from our father—have hot blood when it comes to girls. It’s a failing, I will admit.”
Smoke wondered how many young girls had suffered and died at the hands of the man he faced. And once again the thought came to him: I ought to just shoot him.
Smoke sipped his coffee, holding the cup in a gloved hand, and stared at Max Huggins from the other side of the fire.
“I guess it’s about that time,” Smoke said.
