gunmen in action, keeping a quick tally of the bodies. Eight men, then a ninth, collapsed in a hail of bullets. Terrified longhorns broke out of one corral, snapping rails like kindling wood, bolting toward freedom and an escape from the banging of guns. As the last of the Chisum riders fell, Jessie turned away from the fence to get his horse.
All gunfire stopped abruptly. Somewhere near the cabin a cowboy moaned. Pickett or Cooper would take care of his suffering in short order, along with any others who might still be alive.
“Let’s round up those beeves,” he shouted. “We’ll gather as many as we can an’ clear out. Somebody across the river is liable to have heard the noise.”
He mounted a nervous sorrel gelding and held its reins in check until all his men were in their saddles… all but Pickett, his absence explained when a shotgun bellowed near one of the cowsheds.
Nine Dolan riders spread out to collect over a hundred head of longhorn steers. Jessie knew it was time to get the running irons hot again, changing brands before Sheriff William Brady went through the motions of investigating what would look like a massacre tomorrow morning. A serious escalation of the Lincoln County War had just taken place a few days before Christmas, a warning to John Chisum that the government beef contract business could be a little risky here in the southern part of New Mexico Territory.Fourteen
It was very close to the beginning of April when Sally took a look at the sky one morning, then across the snow-filled valley with a slight frown on her face. She turned to Smoke as he was using a whetstone on his Bowie knife blade.
“It’s time to go, my darling,” she said. “This has been one of the most wonderful times of my life, but we can’t hide up here forever. There’s work to be done at Sugarloaf. By now the snow is melting down there. You’ve got to hire some extra men to help bring catle up from New Mexico. Some of our neighbors who want Hereford bulls may ride along. I suppose I’m getting restless, but something tells me it’s time. You’ve seen your friends, and we’ve had all these months of peace and solitude. Our staples are running low. As much as I’d love to stay here with you for the rest of my life, we can’t. We have a ranch to run.”
For weeks he’d been experiencing the same strange sensation, that it was time to leave, almost like an itching feeling, only it occurred inside, somewhere in his chest or in the back of his brain. He hadn’t wanted to say anything to her. She seemed so happy here and happy with their closeness. “I agree.” he said, sheathing his heavy knife, “I’ve really been thinkin’ about the Herefords, and maybe finding a Morgan stud. We may still hit some bad weather if we start out early, but it’ll be slow movin’ those cattle so many miles. Some of that is still renegade Apache country, so we’ll have to watch our herd real close in a few spots.”
He stood up and cast a sweeping look at the snowy mountain peaks around them. “I’ll hate to leave here. I reckon there’ll always be a part of me wanting to stay in this high country from time to time.” He smiled at her. “Especially with you. But like you said, we’ve got a ranch to run and miles to travel to make our plans for the future work out. We can start packing gear today and leave at first light tomorrow. It’ll be slower, going down with all this snow on the ground. We should be back at Sugarloaf in four days.”
“It’ll be good to see Pearlie and Cal and Johnny,” she said after a bit. “I didn’t realize I’d miss them so much. I guess they’re like a part of the family, almost. When I saw you with Huggie and Del, or Grizzly this winter it made me happy to hear you talk about what it was like to be one of them. You seemed to really be enjoying yourself.”
“I was,” he answered truthfully. “It was good to see them again, to talk about old times. I was sorry to hear Happy Jack got killed by that grizzly last spring, but a mother with cubs can be one of the most dangerous animals on earth. Griz Cole knows bears better’n anybody, and he said Happy Jack never did give ’em enough room. Carelessness caught up with him, I reckon. And none of ’em knew for sure what ever happened to Preacher.”
She placed her hand in the crook of his arm. “Still, this was the most peaceful winter we ever spent together, and I’m so grateful for that, I’ll always remember it, and how gentle you can be. The only time you used a gun was to hunt fresh meat, and I’m grateful for that too.”
“Maybe I’ve changed,” he told her. “Let’s get started with that packing. Won’t be as much to carry going down, so our pack animals will have an easier time of it.”
She smiled and kissed him lightly. “I love you, Mr. Jensen.”
“I love you too, Mrs. Jensen. Maybe I didn’t realize just how much until we spent this peaceful winter together. It made me realize just how important you are to me.”
She tilted her head, still smiling. “Maybe you have changed your ways, darling. Those are some mighty sweet words coming out of your mouth this morning. Maybe the old Smoke Jensen is gone for good, so I won’t have to worry so much…”
Pearlie and Cal and Johnny shook hands with Smoke and Cal gave Sally a hug, still being part boy despite a fast growing up riding alongside Smoke in a few tight spots.
“Everything’s plumb satisfactory,” Pearlie said. “Only had this one aggravation all winter long.”
Smoke’s expression clouded. “And what was that?”
“That feller Ned Buntline showed up, wearin’ this derby hat like he belonged in Saint Louis or somewheres. Asked to talk to you. I told him you was gone fer the winter.”
Cal ’s face brightened. “He told me all about how he writes those dime novels. And you ain’t gonna believe this! He wants to write one about you!”
Pearlie wagged his head before Smoke could disagree. “I went an’ told him he’d be wastin’ his time, that you wasn’t gonna tell him a damn thing. He acted real disappointed. Then he told us this crazy story, ’bout some feller up near Willow Creek Pass who wore this albino buffalo robe. Buntline said he never saw his face or got his name, but he told us that feller saved his life when his mule run off. Built a fire so he wouldn’t freeze to death, and tied his mule up fer him. Buntline said he was an ornery cuss. Wouldn’t answer a single question ’bout who he was or how come him to be way up there. Downright unusual, fer a man to own an albino buffalo skin. Ain’t seen but two my whole life, an’ they was way off, wild as deer.”
Smoke turned northwest, looking at the distant peaks outlined against a clear sky. Had Ned Buntline accidentally run into Preacher up there somewhere? He was reminded of the story Del had told him about the unusual footprint at Willow Creek Pass, not real proof of anything. Bundine’s story might only be the product of a fertile imagination of the type he used to write his books.
He spoke to Pearlie. “Ride to the neighboring ranches, the Walker spread and Bob Williams’s place. Ask them if they want to ride with us down to New Mexico Territory at the end of next week to pick up those Hereford bulls.”
