pay you the amount so specified.”
Smoke held the bank draft for a moment and looked at it. “Hard to believe this little piece of paper is worth all that money,” he said.
In Denver, Matt and Smoke went to the bank, where the teller proudly counted out the money. Smoke divided the money while they were still in the bank, giving Matt fifteen thousand and fifty dollars.
“That’s a lot of money,” Matt said.
“Yes, it is,” Smoke agreed. “Most folks don’t make that much money in twenty years of work, and here you are, only eighteen, with fifteen thousand dollars in your pocket. What are you going to do with it?”
Matt thought for a moment before he answered. “I’ll figure something out,” he said.
It was getting late in the evening and Smoke and Matt were on their way back, a good ten miles down the road from Denver, when they decided they would start looking for a place to camp for the night. Often, during the ride, Matt had leaned forward to touch the saddlebags that were thrown across his horse. It made him almost dizzy to think that he had so much money. It also made him feel guilty, because he knew this was more money than his father had made in his entire life.
If Matt’s father had been able to come up with this much money, they would have never left the farm in Missouri, and Matt would just now be beginning to think of his own future.
Matt had been thinking about his future ever since they left Denver. It wasn’t the first time he had considered such a thing. He knew he would not be able to stay with Smoke forever.
But now, with this money, the future was no longer frightening, nor even mysterious to him. He knew exactly what he was going to do.
Matt’s thoughts were interrupted when four men, who had been hiding in the bushes, suddenly stepped out into the road in front of them. All four were holding pistols, and the pistols were pointed at Smoke and Matt. The leader of the group was Kelly Smith, a man with whom Smoke had been playing cards the night before.
“You boys want to get down from them horses?” Smith asked.
Slowly, Matt and Smoke dismounted.
“Well, now,” Smith said. “You didn’t think I was really going to let you get out of town with all that money, did you?”
“What money?” Smoke asked.
“Why, the thirty thousand dollars you got at the bank today,” Smith said. “The whole town is talkin’ about it.”
“Is that a fact?” Smoke asked.
“Oh, yes, it’s a fact,” Smith said. “You’ve got that money, plus the money you took from me in the card game last night.”
“Well, now, Mr. Smith, if I had known you were going to be that bad of a loser, I’ll be damned if I would have played poker with you,” Smoke said. “And here you told me you were a professional gambler and all. I guess it just goes to prove that you can’t always believe what people say.”
Smith laughed, a dry, cackling laugh. “You’re a funny man, Jensen,” he said. “I’ll still be laughin’ when I’m in San Francisco spending your money.”
“What makes you think you’re going to get my money?”
“Are you blind?” Smith asked. “There’s four of us here, and we’ve got the drop on you.”
“Oh, yeah, there is that, isn’t there? I mean, you do have the drop on us,” Smoke said almost nonchalantly. “By the way, Matt, do you remember that little trick I showed you?”
“I remember,” Matt answered.
“Now would be a good time to try it out.”
“Now?”
“Now,” Smoke replied.
Even before the word was out of his mouth, Smoke and Matt both drew and each fired two quick shots. Kelly Smith and the three men who were with him were dead before they even realized they were in danger.*
The mournful wail of a distant coyote calling to his mate brought Matt back to the present, and looking up, he saw a falling star streak across the black velvet sky. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
At dawn the next day, the notches of the eastern hills were touched with the dove gray of early morning. Shortly thereafter, a golden fire spread over the mountaintops, then filled the sky with light and color, waking all the creatures below.
Matt rolled out of his blanket and started a fire, then began digging through his saddlebags for coffee and tobacco. He would have enjoyed a biscuit with his coffee, but he had no flour. He had no beans either, and was nearly out of salt. He did have a couple of pieces of bacon, and they now lay twitching and snapping in his skillet, alongside his coffeepot.
After his breakfast of coffee and bacon, he rolled himself a cigarette, lighting it with a burning stick from the fire. Finding a rock to lean against, Matt sat down for a smoke as he contemplated his next move. It was clear that he was going to have to replenish his supplies.
“Spirit, I think it’s about time we went into town again,” he said.
