“Wow!” Cal said. “Maybe I can meet him and tell him how much I like his books.”
Louis nodded. “You’ll probably get the chance. He plans to stop by Sugarloaf and talk to Smoke on his way back from the mountains.” He hesitated. “That’s if Smoke will talk to him at all. Smoke isn’t all that long-winded, especially when it comes to talking about himself. If Mr. Ned Buntline intends to get any real information from Smoke Jensen, he’d better be real careful how he asks. Smoke has never been all that inclined to waggle his tongue when it comes to men who live in the high lonesome. There are some things that a man has to learn the hard way, not from some blown-up story in a book full of fancy language. Half of it isn’t true to start with, a piece of some writer’s imagination. I don’t think Smoke will be all that excited about telling Buntline what he wants to know.“ He glanced at Smoke. ”Am I right?“
Smoke seemed momentarily preoccupied with the three men in the corner, in particular the one Louis said called himself the Arizona Kid. “There’s things ought not to be written up in some book,” he said quietly. “A man who takes on high country all by himself learns a trick or two about how to survive. Learning it isn’t easy, and I can show you more’n a handful of graves up in those mountains to prove my point.”
“Like Puma’s,” Pearlie reminded. “That was one tough ol’ hombre, only he put his life on the line an’ his luck jus’ plumb played out.”
Smoke didn’t want to be reminded of his dead friend. “Puma Buck was one of the best, like Preacher. But it wasn’t Puma’s luck that ran out… he went up against long odds, and sooner or later, as any gambler’ll tell you, those odds catch up to a man who takes chances.” He was still watching the Arizona Kid from the corner of his eye, strangely uneasy, feeling a heaviness in the air, the smell of danger.
Louis noticed Smoke’s distraction “I don’t think those boys are dumb enough to make a play,” he said under his breath, his gun hand close to his pistol. “But if they do, I’ll take down the gent who shaves his head. You can have the owlhoot with the double rig. If I’m any judge, he fancies himself as a quick draw, so I’ll give you the pleasure of proving him wrong.”
Smoke took a sip of coffee, using his left hand to handle his cup. “The one who calls himself the Arizona Kid will be the one to start trouble.”
Louis chuckled mirthlessly. “Wonder just where in Arizona Territory he’d like to have his body shipped to? I don’t suppose we’ll have time to ask.”
“I feel it coming,” Smoke whispered, “just like a mountain man can feel a chinook wind before it starts to blow.”
“I sure as hell hope you’re wrong,” Pearlie said, “on account I’m sure as hell hungry fer them eggs…”Two
Cal added his voice to Pearlie’s concerns. “Y’all sure are makin’ me nervous, all this talk about a shootin’. Maybe I ain’t got so much appetite after all.”
Pearlie looked at the boy. “Relax, son. If any two men can handle them three, it’s Smoke an’ Mr. Longmont. Truth is, either one could most likely handle all three, no matter how tough they claim to be.”
Smoke wasn’t really listening, pretending to watch a sunrise out the front windows when in fact he was keeping an eye on the three men at the corner table.
“It’s my belly that ain’t relaxed,” Cal muttered.
Right at that moment the Arizona Kid signaled the bartender for another round of beers.
Louis seemed amused over Cal’s uneasiness. “My money says when those eggs and steaks get here, you’ll lick your plate clean as a whistle.”
“Maybe,” Cal replied, taking his own quick glance at the men in the corner “Those boys look like a bad case of indigestion to me.”
Smoke still sensed the nearness of danger, a lifelong habit, learning to trust his instincts. There was something about the three gunmen, not merely the way they wore their guns tied down, but something more, an attitude of confidence, even arrogance, on their faces. He drank more coffee, hoping he was wrong about the prospects of trouble.
The bartender brought three beers to the table. Smoke heard one of the men ask who the newcomers were.
“That big feller’s none other than Smoke Jensen,” the barman replied. “He makes his home right close to Big Rock.”
“He came struttin’ in here like he thinks he’s tough, them big shoulders thrown back.”
The barkeep lowered his voice even more. “Make no mistake about it, stranger. He
The Arizona Kid was watching Smoke closely now. “You say his name is Smoke Jensen? Never heard of him. Maybe all he’s got is that mean reputation.”
The bartender glanced over his shoulder in Smoke’s direction and quickly looked away. “I ain’t no doctor, mister, but if I was you an’ wanted to stay healthy, I wouldn’t test Mr. Jensen to see if I’m tellin’ you the truth.” He turned on his heel and hurried away. The Arizona Kid and the gunman named Otto continued to stare at Smoke.
Like predicting winter weather in the high lonesome, Smoke knew what was coming. It was just a matter of time. The Kid wanted to draw attention to himself, perhaps to add to his self-importance if he got the chance to talk to Ned Buntline, to put another notch on his guns.
To keep young Cal and Pearlie out of the line of fire, he said, “Why don’t you two go out and see to the buggy team and my Palouse. Won’t take but a minute and you’ll be done before the food gets here.“
Pearlie nodded, like he understood. Cal needed no urging to push back his chair for a walk outside. As the pair was leaving, Smoke turned at the waist to look directly at the Arizona Kid and his partners, deciding there was no sense in wasting time when a confrontation was as sure as the snow in high country now. “You boys got a bad case of the goggle eyes,” he said evenly. “Maybe I’m too particular about it, but it sticks in my craw like sand when some gent stares at me. Especially you, the carrot-topped hombre with the mustache, you just gotta learn some manners or somebody’s liable to teach you some.”
