“It don’t have nothin’ to do with it really,” Jules said self-consciously,
“That’s not what Sheriff Carson says,” Smoke said.
“Tell them, Smoke,” Sally said. Smoke had obviously shared the story with Sally.
“Sheriff Carson? What does he have to do with it?” Billy asked.
“He was umpire, remember?” Smoke said.
“Yeah, I remember.”
“Sheriff Carson said that our man Jules here was offered the chance to play for the Unions, and to get paid for playing. But they wanted him to strike out his last time at bat.”
“Strike out? What? They tried to talk him into striking out?” Billy asked.
“They told him if he would strike out that he could play for them. And he would make a lot of money, more money than he can make being a cowboy.”
“Why, those dirty bastards,” Hank said. Then, quickly, he looked over toward Sally. “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, for the cussin’,” he said.
“That’s quite all right,” Sally said. “Anyone who would try and get someone to cheat is a bastard,” she said. The others laughed.
“Why didn’t you do it?” Mike asked Jules
“Mike, you aren’t serious,” Billy said.
“Well, I mean, think about it,” Mike said. “This was just one game that didn’t really mean nothin’. He could’a made a lot of money.”
“It wouldn’t of been right,” Jules said. “And I don’t think you would’ve done it either.”
Mike thought for a minute, then smiled. “Well, I reckon not,” he said. “Of course, the question never come up because I ain’t a good enough baseball player. But if it had come up, I reckon I would’a done the same thing as you done. Though I might of stopped to think about it a little.”
The others laughed at Mike’s admission.
“Say, Smoke, why don’t you tell us about Matt?” Pearlie asked.
“Who?” Andy asked.
“Smoke rode all the way to Denver just to see a fella get some kind of award from the governor,” Pearlie explained. “A fella by the name of Matt Jensen.”
“Matt Jensen?” Andy said. “I’ve heard of him. They say he’s fast as lightnin’ with a gun. Say, you’ve got the same name. Is he your kin?”
“He’s not blood kin,” Smoke said. “But I raised him from the time he was twelve. That’s how he came to take my name.”
“Tell us about when you found him,” Pearlie said. Pearlie looked over at Andy, Mike, Billy, and the Butrum brothers. “This is a good story,” he said. “You’ll like it.”
“Well, it started in weather just about like this,” Smoke said. “I got caught up in a snowstorm and I needed to be on the other side of the mountain range before the snow closed the pass. So, although every ounce of me wanted to hole up somewhere long enough to ride the storm out, I pushed on through, fighting the cold, stinging snow in my face until I reached the top of the pass. I made it through, then started looking for a place to spend the night when I saw the boy.”
“That’s when you seen him? In the middle of a snowstorm?” Mike asked.
“Yes. I almost missed him. There was a big drift of snow so that only the boy’s head and shoulders were sticking out. He was under an overhanging ledge, and his head was back and his eyes were closed, so I didn’t know if he was sleeping or if he was dead.
“The boy’s face and lips were blue, and there were ice crystals in his eyebrows and hair. The only protection he had against the cold was a blanket that he had wrapped around him, and that blanket was frozen stiff.”
“Damn, what did you do?” Andy asked.
“I put my fingers on his neck. It was cold, but I could feel a pulse. But I knew that if he didn’t get him back to my cabin soon, he would die. So I cut some limbs and built a travois. Then, stuffing moss in between a couple of blankets, I made an insulated bedroll, and tying the boy onto the bedroll, started down the other side of the mountain.
“The snow continued to fall and walking was hard. I knew it was going to be hard enough for the horse to move, even without pulling a travois, so I walked in front of the horse, holding onto his bridle.
“It was so cold that the air hurt my lungs as I sucked it down. And I didn’t have any snowshoes so, often, I would sink nearly waist-deep into the drifts.
“Because of the clear air, the unbroken whiteness, and the way distance was contorted, it seemed like I was getting nowhere. I remember once, I had been working really hard for two hours, and yet when I looked back over my shoulder, it was almost as if I had just left—I could still see the rock overhang where I found the boy, and if it had not been for the fact that I knew exactly where I was, and how far I had to go, I would’ve been pretty disheartened. But I knew that I would be to the cabin before nightfall.
“I trudged on through the snow for at least another three hours until, finally, the little cabin came into view.
“I have to admit that the cabin I lived in then wasn’t much to look at. But considering the alternative at the time, it looked better than finest mansion you could imagine.
“I picked the boy up from the travois and carried him inside, then deposited him on the bed. Then, after I took care of the horse, I came back in and fixed supper.”
