When the men got back into camp-or what was left of it-they were out of breath from running. Von Hausen jerked his pith helmet off his head and threw it on the ground. “He’s taken the women!” he shouted.
“He’s damn welcome to ’em,” John T. muttered.
“There’s two of ’em,” Utah Red yelled, pointing to the river.
Marlene and Andrea were climbing out of the river, slopping and sloshing to the bank.
“I’ll kill him slow!” Marlene screamed. “I swear it’ll take him days to die.”
Maria groaned and got to her feet. Her face was skinned from her abrupt hard slide on the ground. Gunter ran to her side. She shoved him aside and screamed, “He put his goddamned hands on me!” she squalled. “Treated me like dirt! Me!” She whirled at the men. “Five thousand dollars for the man who kills Smoke Jensen.”
“I’ll add five thousand more!” screamed Marlene.
“And I’ll add five thousand to that!” shrieked Andrea.
“I’d fight a grizzly bear and make love to an Eskimo woman for that,” Slick Finger Bob said. “Or vicey-versey,” he added.
“Now, ladies,” von Hausen tried to calm them. “Our mission is to get to Dodge City. We simply can’t ...
“You go right straight to hell!” Marlene screamed. “I want Smoke Jensen’s ...”
She named a couple of things she wanted cut from Smoke.
“Whoa!” Montana Jess whispered. “That there’s a real mad woman.”
Smoke rounded up as many horses as he could and cut the cinch straps off the saddles. Then he slapped them on the rump and sent them running off, free and happy. He emptied out the men’s saddlebags and took what food they had and threw the rest of the contents in the river. Then he swung back into the saddle, recrossed the Powder and found him a good campsite, high up on a mesa and tucked behind some huge boulders.
His supper that night was sandwiches of biscuits and salt meat he’d taken from someone’s saddlebags. He went to sleep smiling at how furious he’d made those fancy women.
There was no placating the women, so von Hausen soon gave up trying. They had been manhandled and humiliated by Jensen, and none of them were forgiving creatures. But, von Hausen thought, sitting and drinking coffee that night, perhaps they were right. The women maintained that they would never reach Dodge City; that Smoke Jensen would track them down and kill them all. That it was just a matter of time.
John Flagg recollected that Smoke had traveled clear across country to New Hampshire one time to settle a score, so why not just deal with him now?
Von Hausen had started to argue that surely Jensen would not come to Europe to settle a score. But he’d shut his mouth before the words could form. Jensen probably would do that.
And von Hausen was going to do something else. He’d set up a code word with the lawyer in Dodge City; a code word that would release the money to the men. A little item he had kept from everyone. As soon as they got to a town with a telegraph office, he’d free up the money and take his party into Canada. They would travel east and sail out of a port there... even though he would have to be friendly with those damnable French for a time. He felt better now that that was settled in his mind.
Now all they had to deal with was Smoke Jensen, von Hausen thought ruefully. And for the first time on this long hunt, he admitted-to himself-that he had made a mistake in chasing Smoke Jensen.
Frank Clover felt his guts churn and sweat pop out on his face when the cold voice spoke from behind him.
“Get off your damn horse.”
Frank froze in the saddle. He didn’t want it in the back. He’d shot men in the back, but he didn’t want to go out that way. “I’m gettin’ off. Jensen?”
“Yeah. Turn your horse so I can see your moves.”
“Whatever you say, Jensen. Slow and easy. You gonna give me a chance?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Frank dismounted and turned to face Jensen. Lord, lord, but the man was dangerous looking.
“Slap your horse on the rump,” Smoke told him. “Get him out of the way.”
Frank slapped his horse and the animal moved off a few yards. He grinned at Smoke. “I don’t want to hit him too hard. I’m gonna need him to ride out of here.”
“You’re not riding anywhere, hombre. This is your last day to do anything. You should have stayed at the Hole.”
Frank looked puzzled. How in the hell had Jensen known about that?
“My name’s Frank Clover.”
“Heard of you. Two-bit thief and back-shooter. Like to slap women around. You’re a real brave boy. Drag iron, punk.”
Frank tried. He got as far as closing his fingers around the butt of his .45. Two shots rang out, twin lightning and thunder bolts that slammed into his chest and knocked him down. The last thing Frank Clover remembered was that the sky was so blue. So blue...
Smoke unsaddled the horse and turned him loose. He left Frank Clover stretched out on the trail. Both his guns were still in leather. He should have listened to his mother and stayed on the farm in Minnesota.
John Flagg found the body and looked nervously around him. He was growing increasingly nervous until Joe Elliot and Terry Smith rode up. That made him feel better.
The howling of a wolf sent chills scampering up and down their spines. The wolf howl came again, and their horses got jittery at the sound.
