“I am quick enough. But I have never started a fight in my life. Well ... only one. A vaquero down in New Mexico Territory tried to take my girl from me one night. He called me many bad names. I invited him to step outside. He stepped. He called me more bad names and went for his pistol. I was faster. Now I can never go back to New Mexico Territory.”
“And the girl?”
Angel smiled. “She married and now has two babies. I think she had forgotten about me before I had left the county.”
Walt nodded. “Monument Crick is just ahead, Angel. ’Bout five more miles. We’ll be off this plateau soon as we cross the crick.”
“And? ...”
“That’s when Jensen will open this dance.”
Mountains loomed up in front of the party. Von Hausen halted the parade and consulted a map. “Monument Creek,” he said. He turned his head and looked at the mesa to his right. He started cussing.
The others followed his gaze. Scratched into the side of the millions-year-old rock formation, in huge letters, was this message: STRAIGHT ACROSS THE CREEK, PEOPLE. The initials S.J. followed that.
“That arrogant
Walt and Angel exchanged glances.
John T. smiled as he took off his hat and scratched his head. They’d have to split up and ride cautious from here on in, riding with rifles across the saddle horn. Jensen was through playin’ games. He moved his horse forward, reining in by the still cussing Baron von Hausen.
“You’re doin’ ’xactly what he wants you to do,” John T. told the German. “Losin’ your temper.”
Von Hausen glared at the gunfighter for a long moment, then slowly began calming himself. He nodded his head in agreement. “You’re right, of course. Absolutely correct. Now is not the time to lose one’s composure. Not with the quarry so close. We’ll camp here for the night, John T. Put out guards.”
“Yes, sir.”
Von Hausen walked to where Walt was setting up the cook tent. “How are the supplies holding out?”
“Somebody better start killin’ some deer,” Walt told him. “The larder is gettin’ mighty low.”
“Is the shooting of animals permitted in a national park?” von Hausen asked.
Walt looked at him and smiled. “Now that is a right interestin’ question to ask, your nobleship. Here you done chased a man about five hundred miles tryin’ to kill him for sport, and now here you stand, worryin’ about whether it’s against the law to shoot a deer in a park. You are the beatin’est fellow I believe I have ever seen.”
“I see nothing unusual about it,” von Hausen said stiffly. “Nothing unusual at all. I have always considered myself a law-abiding man.”
Walt blinked a couple of times at that. He stared at the man to see if von Hausen was having fun with him. The German’s face was serious. “Do tell?” he finally said. “Well, now, that’s plumb admirable of you. Yes, sir. Shore is.”
“Thank you,” von Hausen said. He wheeled about and marched away.
“Angel,” Walt said. “That feller can act as crazy as a damn lizard on a hot rock.”
“Si,” the Mexican said. “But really he is just as sane as you or I. He is a man who has always gotten his way, I think. And a man who has no regard for the lives of others ... those who work for him, and those who he hunts.”
Walt nodded his head. “Let’s get the beans to cookin’. I’ll make a good bait of biscuits, too. We’ll feed ’em right tonight. For some of them, this just might be the last supper they ever get.”
Von Hausen and his party rode all the next day. The only sign they saw of Smoke were the stone arrows he placed along the trail, so von Hausen would be sure to see them. The more miles they put behind them, the madder von Hausen got. Every time von Hausen saw another stone arrow it set him off into fits of cussing.
They stopped for the night at a spring near the base of a towering mountain. Pat Gilman brought von Hausen a note he’d found under a small rock near the spring. Then the gunfighter got out of the way.
THOUGHT YOU MIGHT CAMP HERE. WATER’S GOOD. HOW’S YOUR SUPPLIES HOLDING OUT, VON HAUSEN? It was signed S.J.
Von Hausen threw the note on the ground and jumped up and down on it, cussing and screaming like a mad- man. He stomped the note into muddy shreds.
Panting for breath, his chest heaving, von Hausen screamed, “Tomorrow, Jensen dies.” He pointed a finger at Utah. “You find him, Utah. When you do, report back to me immediately. We will launch a frontal assault.” He stomped off.
Briscoe said, “I ain’t real sure what that means,”
Walt cut his eyes to the gunfighter. “It means that some of you won’t be comin’ back, Briscoe.”
“Aw, shut up!” Briscoe told him. He looked at Angel. “What are you, now, the cook’s helper?”
“Si,” the Mexican said. “You have some objections to that?”
“Then I tell you now, your pay will be the same as the cook’s,” Gunter said.
“That is quite all right with me,” Angel replied. “I will sleep much better at night.” He took off his gunbelt and stowed it in his saddle bags.
Valdes walked over to his friend. “I cannot believe you are actually doing this, amigo. You are too good with a gun to make biscuits and stew.”
“What we are doing is wrong, Valdes. Smoke Jensen does not deserve to be hunted down like a rabid animal. I
