“We’ll shore do it,” Dusty said.
“I’ll be registering at the hotel and then I’ll be having me a bath and a shave.”
“I’ll find you,” Dusty said.
Smoke walked out the front door.
“Shoot!” one citizen said. “I was wantin’ to see a good gunfight.”
“If there had of been,” Dusty said, grabbing hold of Lou’s ankles, “if you’d blinked you’d a missed it.”
Smoke took the key to the cell holding Lou and Pride and dropped it down an old unused well. He had registered at the hotel and after disposing of the cell key, he walked to the barber shop and told the man to get some hot water ready for a bath. After his bath, he had himself a shave and a haircut. Then he went to the cafe for something to eat.
Smoke was eating roast beef and boiled potatoes and gravy when the marshal walked in, all dusty and tired- looking. The marshal paused in the door, gave the crowded cafe a once-over, spotted him, walked to the table, and sat down.
“Coffee, Pat,” he called to the waiter. “And a plate of food. I’m so hungry I could eat a skunk.” He cut his eyes. “You got to be Smoke Jensen.”
“That’s right.”
“Did you put those two beat-up lookin’ characters into my jail?”
Smoke chewed for a moment. “Nope.”
The marshal waited for a moment. “Well, if it wouldn’t be too much of a problem, would you mind telling me who did?”
“Some of your citizens. At my request.”
“Both of them yahoos wants a doctor.”
“I imagine they do. They were both in fairly poor condition the last time I saw them.”
The marshal looked at him. “One of them tagged you at least one good lick.”
“Yes, he did. The waiter said they had apple pie. Is it any good?”
“It’s very good. I have it every day. It’s the only kind of pie the damn cook knows how to bake. Mister Jensen, what the hell do you want me to do with those two gunslingers in my jail?” He lifted his coffee cup, blew, and took a sip.
“I imagine you’ll be keeping them for awhile. I threw away the cell key.”
The marshal choked on his coffee. “Damnit, man. I only had the one key for that cell.”
“I know.” Smoke smiled at him. “Don’t worry. The man who’ll be coming to get them has plenty of money. He’ll pay for rebricking the rear wall, after you have someone jerk it out to set them loose.”
Smoke was miles north of the settlement when Frederick von Hausen and his party arrived, looking for the two missing members. The German was not amused at what he found.
“I demand that you release those men immediately!” he told the marshal.
“I ain’t got no charges against either of them,” the marshal replied.
“Well ... turn them loose!”
“I surely wish I could. They’re eating the town’s treasury outta money. Never seen two men who could eat that much.”
“Release them!”
“I can’t.”
“You are straining my patience,” von Hausen told the man. “First you tell me there are no charges against either man, then you tell me that you cannot free them. This is all very confusing.”
“I can’t open the damn door,” the marshal said. “Smoke Jensen threw away the only key.”
Von Hausen cussed.
The marshal waited until the German had stopped swearing. “He said you probably wouldn’t see the humor in it.”
“Get us outta here!” Lou hollered.
“Where is the nearest locksmith?” von Hausen asked, getting a grip on his temper.
“Lord, I don’t know,” the marshal said, scratching his head. “Denver, I reckon.”
“My good man,” Hans stepped in. “We must free these men. It is an injustice to keep them locked up when they have done no wrong.”
The marshal looked at him. “You got any ideas?”
“We could get some dynamite and blow the wall,” John T. suggested.
“The hell you will!” Pride bellowed.
While the manhunters were arguing among themselves, the marshal opened a drawer of his desk and pulled out a pile of old wanted posters. Several of the gunslingers hit the saddle and left town.
“Just as well. Didn’t want to fool with them anyway,” the marshal muttered.
Smoke was a good twenty miles north of the town, camped along the banks of Fontenelle Creek, drinking coffee
