“He’s lyin’, Sheriff,” Corbett said. “He kilt Phillips and Pardeen in cold blood.”
“Oh, so now you are saying he only killed two of them?”
“In cold blood, yes,” Corbett said.
“Corbett is the one who is lyin’, Sheriff,” the bartender said. “This fella is telling the truth. Eddie Phillips shot first. He was standin’ up there at the head of the stairs holdin’ a scattergun pointed at the marshal’s back. This fella shouted a warnin’ to the marshal, and Phillips turned the gun on him. Take a look at the bar here, and you’ll see what I’m talkin’ about. Hell, it was a wonder I wasn’t kilt my ownself. Then Pardeen kilt Marshal Wheeler and swung his gun around toward this fella, tellin’ him he was fixin’ to kill him too. And what happened then, you ain’t goin’ to believe.”
“Try me,” the sheriff said.
“Well, sir, this here fella had already put his gun away. Pardeen had the drop on him, and was pullin’ back the hammer when this fella drew and shot him. Damn’dest thing I ever seen.”
The sheriff stroked his chin as he looked at Smoke. “Is what he saying true?”
Smoke nodded. “It’s like the barkeep said. Pardeen was about to shoot me.”
“Pardeen wasn’t about to shoot him,” Corbett said. “He was just goin’ to hold him for killin’ Phillips and the marshal.”
“Hold him?”
“Yeah, Pardeen was goin’ to hold him until you got here,” Corbett said.
Several in the saloon laughed then.
“Tell you what, Sheriff. You arrest him, I’ll testify against him at his trial.”
“Corbett,” the sheriff said. “I’m not aware that there is any paper out on you, but that might be because I haven’t looked hard enough.”
Corbett’s eyes narrowed. “You ain’t goin’ to find any paper on me, Sheriff. The one you should arrest is this fella.”
The sheriff looked around the saloon at the other patrons, who were still watching the drama.
“Anyone in here back up what Corbett is saying?” the sheriff asked.
Several responded at once.
“He ain’t tellin’ it the way I seen it,” one of the other customers said. “I seen it the same way the bartender told it.”
“That’s the way it looked to me, too,” another said.
“Yeah, ever’ word the bartender said is the gospel.”
The sheriff held up his hand. “So what I’m hearin’ is, nobody backs up Corbett’s version of the story?”
Everyone was quiet, and the sheriff looked at Corbett. “Looks like a clear case of self-defense to me,” he said.
Corbett looked at Smoke. “Pardeen was my friend,” he said. “I don’t like the way you shot him down like that. Maybe I’ll just settle the score myself.”
“No!” the sheriff said. “There’s been enough killin’ for one night.”
“What’s your name, mister?” Corbett asked.
“Jensen. Kirby Jensen. But most folks just call me Smoke.”
There was a collective gasp from everyone in the saloon.
“Smoke Jensen,” one unidentified speaker said. “No wonder he could do what he done. Ain’t nobody nowhere no faster’n Smoke Jensen.”
“Are you the Smoke Jensen from over by Big Rock?” the sheriff asked. “That Smoke Jensen?”
“I have a ranch just outside Big Rock, yes,” Smoke replied. He knew that the sheriff was trying to determine if he was
“I’ll be damned,” the sheriff said. “What are you doing in Willow Creek?”
“I’m just passing through, on my way to Denver,” Smoke said.
The sheriff looked over at Corbett, who had also recognized the name.
“Corbett, you still want to settle accounts with this fella?”
Corbett stroked his chin nervously. “Uh, no, Sheriff, it’s like you said, there’s been enough killin’ for one night.”
Corbett pointed at Smoke. “But I think maybe you ought to know that Pardeen has a brother named Quince. He ain’t goin’ to like it that you kilt Emerson, and one of these days you’n him are goin’ to run across each other.” Corbett smiled, a dry, humorless smile. “And when you two do run into each other, well, I would like to be there to see it.”
“That wouldn’t be a threat now, would it, Corbett?” the sheriff asked.
“No threat,” Corbett said. “Just a friendly warnin’, so to speak.”
“There ain’t nothin’ about you friendly,” the sheriff said. “If I was you, Corbett, I’d leave town right now.”
