door. No way a good woman would enter a saloon. “They showed up here about three years ago. Next thing we knew, our part-time marshal was dead and Tom and his bunch were running things.”
“Several tried to intervene,” a man said. “They come up dead or missing.”
“How many in Tom’s gang?” Smoke asked, knowing he had gotten himself into another situation.
“It varies. Anywhere from six to ten. Scum just seem to gather around the likes of Tom Lilly.”
“Oh, my Lord!” a woman cried. “Tom’s gettin’ to his feet.”
Smoke stepped out onto the boardwalk. By now, all had noticed the unusual way he wore his guns and pegged him as a gunfighter. The man from the livery stood on the fringe of the crowd and said nothing. But there was a big grin on his face.
With blood running down his face from the savage beating he’d just taken from Smoke, Tom Lilly staggered to his feet and swayed for a moment. “No man does this to me and lives,” Tom snarled the words. Then he grabbed for his gun.
6
Smoke’s draw was faster than the blink of an eye. He put a .44 slug into Tom’s arm, the slug breaking the bully’s elbow and rendering the arm useless. Tom screamed as the gun dropped back into leather. Smoke’s draw had been so fast Tom had been unable to clear his holster.
“Jesus,” a man said. He cut his eyes to Smoke. “Who in hell are you, mister?”
“A man who doesn’t like bullies,” Smoke told him.
“My arm’s ruint!” Tom bellowed. “You done crippled me.”
“You people do with him as you see fit,” Smoke told the crowd. The whole town had turned out; about a hundred people, including the dogs and cats.
“My boys’ll burn this damn town to the ground,” Tom yelled. “They’ll have their way with the women and kill the men. You people better wise up and run this drifter outta town and get me some medical help.”
“We’ll help you,” a man said, uncoiling a length of rope he’d taken from his saddle.
“I’ll be down the street at the cafe,” Smoke said. He walked back into the saloon and got his coat and hat. He looked at the barkeep. “If you have any sense at all, you’d better take to the air and don’t look back. The townspeople are gettin’ ready to hang Tom Lilly and they just might decide to string you up, too.”
“Who are you?” he stammered, his face sweat-shiny from fear.
“Smoke Jensen.”
The barkeep gulped a couple of times then hit the back door at a run. Seconds later, the sounds of a galloping horse filled the cool air.
“Now wait a minute!” Tom Lilly yelled. “You people can’t do this to me.”
“Shut up, Tom,” a woman told him. “Your days of bullying and killing are over.”
Smoke walked over to Beth’s Cafe and stepped inside.
“Get him up on that horse!” a man yelled, just as Smoke was closing the door. “Take him down to the hangin’ tree.”
“Goddamn you all to hellfire!” Tom screamed.
Smoke sat down by a front window and smiled at the lady behind the counter. “Coffee and a plate lunch,” he said. “Or would you rather go down and see the hanging first?”
“Just as long as Tom Lilly does get hanged,” she said. “He’s got about seven pretty bad ol’ boys due back in town right around noon. What are you going to do about them?”
“I’m not going to do anything,” Smoke told her. “Unless they crowd me. I think the townspeople will handle them.”
She brought him coffee. Smoke watched through the window as men armed with rifles began stationing themselves on roof tops.
“He ran the town through fear and intimidation,” Beth said from the kitchen. “He threatened to do terrible things to the kids. He would take a child’s pet and kill it with his bare hands, right in front of the children. He’s raped more than one woman. Tom Lilly is a horrible man.”
“Was,” Smoke said, as he watched the crowd of people come walking back up the wide street, leading a riderless horse. “Tom Lilly is swinging in the wind now.”
Beth placed his plate of food in front of him. “Got puddin’ for dessert.”
“Sounds good.” Smoke ate slowly of the thick stew and hot, fresh-baked bread laden with sweet butter. When he had finished, Beth brought him a big bowl of pudding and he topped that off with more coffee.
Riders galloped into town just as Smoke was sugaring his coffee. He rolled a cigarette and watched the men rein up in front of the saloon.
“Lilly’s men?” he asked.
“Yes. And a scummier bunch never sat a saddle.”
“I don’t think they’ll ever sit another saddle,” Smoke told her.
The words had hardly left his mouth before a dozen rifles smashed the mid-day air and seven bodies lay crumpled in the street, their blood staining the dirt.
