order.”
“Like I said,” Johnny whispered. “No good news for Smoke.”
“We want this to be legal and above board,” Luttie said. “So we came to the appointed law first.”
“Get to the point,” Cotton said bluntly.
“We are going into the mountains to bring back the murderer Smoke Jensen,” Luttie spoke around his smirky smile.
“Dead or alive,” Jake said.
The Karl Brothers, Rod and Randy, giggled. Both of them were about four bricks shy of a load, and were men who enjoyed killing.
Johnny spat on the ground to show his contempt for the goofy pair.
Rod grinned at him. “If you wasn’t wearin’ that tin star, I’d call you out for that, North.”
Johnny reached up, unpinned the badge, and put it in his pocket. “Then make your play, you stupid-lookin’ punk.”
“No!” Luttie’s command was sharply given. “We have no quarrel with the law, and that’s an order.”
Rod relaxed and grinned at Johnny. “Some other time, North.”
“I’m easy to find, goofy.”
“Anything else you gentlemen need to know before we pull out?” Luttie asked.
“That about does it, l suppose,” Earl told him.
“Ain’t you lawmen gonna wish us luck?” One-Eyed Jake asked.
“Personally, I hope you fall off your horse and break your damn neck,” Cotton told him.
“You ain’t got no call to talk to me like that!” Jake protested.
“You wanna do something about it?” Cotton challenged.
“Let’s ride, boys,” Luttie said. “We got a killer to bring to justice.”
“Maybe later,” One-Eyed Jake said.
“Anytime,” Cotton told him.
The Seven Slash crew and the hired guns who rode among them slopped out up the muddy street.
“Sixteen more after Smoke’s hide,” Johnny spoke the words bitterly. “Smoke’s gonna need all the luck and skill he can muster to come out of this alive.”
“How about them wires you sent, Earl?” Cotton asked.
Earl shook his head. “The marshal’s service is out of it. But until a panel of federal judges can gather and review all the evidence against Smoke, the warrants stand.”
“Damn!” Louis said.
“Quite,” the Englishman said. “And Sheriff Silva said if we went into the mountains to help Smoke, there would be warrants issued for us. He said he was sorry about that, but that was the way it had to be.”
“l can understand that,” Johnny said. “He’s stickin’ his neck out pretty far for Smoke now.”
Louis looked toward the mountains. “We’ve all been concentrating on how Smoke is doing. I wonder how Sally is coping with all this?”
“Sally’s gone!” Bountiful yelled, bringing her buggy to a dusty, sliding halt.
“What?” Sheriff Monte Carson jumped out of his chair. “What do the hands say?”
“I finally got one of them to talk. He said he took her down to the road day before yesterday, and she hailed the stage there. He said she had packed some riding britches in her trunk, along with a rifle and a pistol. She was riding the stage down to the railroad and taking a train from there. Train runs all the way through to the county seat. Lord, Lord, Monte, she’s just about there by now. What are we going to do?”
Monte led her into his office and sat her down. Bountiful fanned herself vigorously. He got her a drink of water and sat down at his desk. “Nothin’ we can do, Miss Bountiful. Sally’s gone to stand by her man. And them damn outlaws and manhunters down yonder think they got trouble with Smoke. I feel sorry for them if they tangle with Miss Sally. You know she can shoot just like a man and has done so plenty of times. She’s a crack shot with rifle and pistol. Smoke seen to that.”
“I just feel terrible about this. I should have guessed something was up when I saw her oiling up that .44 the other day. But out here . . . well, we all keep guns at the ready.”
“T’wasn’t your fault, Miss Bountiful. She’s doin’ what she feels she has to do, is all.” He took off his hat and wiped his forehead with a bandana. “This situation is gettin’ out of hand.”
Lee Slater and his bunch came upon Blackjack just as he was getting back on his feet. The man’s face was swollen from the kick he’d received from Smoke. That kick had put him out for nearly half an hour.
“Cut my cinch and smashed my guns,” Blackjack mumbled. “I’m gonna kill that dirty bastard!”
“There’s a lot of people been sayin’ that,” Ed told him. “So far the score is Jensen about fifteen and the other side zero. And we’re the other side.”
Someone rounded up a horse for Blackjack and loaned him a spare gun. Blackjack swung the horse’s head.
“Where are you goin’!” Lee shouted.
“To kill Smoke Jensen,” Blackjack snarled. “And this time I’m gonna do it.”
Lee started to protest. Curt waved him silent. “Let him go. You know how he is. When he gets mad, he’s crazy. Hell, we’re better off without him until he cools down.”
“’Spose he gets to Jensen afore we do?” Ed asked.
“They’ll be one less to share the reward money with,” Curly said. “Blackjack ain’t gonna take Jensen; ’lessen he shoots him in the back.”
“Let’s make some coffee,” Ed suggested. “I could do me with some rest.”
None among them had considered how, as wanted outlaws, they would collect any reward money should they manage to capture Smoke.
Nearly everyone on Main Street had seen the elegantly dressed lady step off the train and stroll to the hotel, B porter carrying her trunk. As soon as She signed her name, the desk clerk dispatched a boy to run fetch the sheriff.
Sally had signed the register as “Mrs. Smoke Jensen.
Sheriff Silva was standing in the lobby, talking to several men, and he nearly swallowed his chewing tobacco when Sally walked down the stairs.
She was wearing cowboy boots and jeans—which she filled out to the point of causing the men’s eyeballs to bug out—a denim shirt which fitted her quite nicely too, and was carrying a leather jacket, She had a bandana tied around her throat, and a low crowned, flat-brimmed hat on her head. She also wore a .44 belted around her waist and carried a short-barreled .44 carbine, a bandoleer of ammo slung around one shoulder.
‘Jesus Christ, Missus Jensen!” Sheriff Silva hollered. I mean, holy cow. What do you think you’re gonna do?”
“Take a ride.” Sally told him, and walked out the door.
Silva ran to catch up with her. “Now you just wait’a minute, here, Missus Jensen. This ain’t no fittin’ country for a female to be a-traipsin’ around in. Will you please slow down?”
Sally ignored that and kept right on walking at a rather brisk pace.
She turned into the general store and was uncommonly blunt with the man who owned the store. “I want provisions for five days, including food, coffee, pots and pans and eating utensils, blankets, ground sheets, and tent. And five boxes of .44s, too. Have them ready on a pack-frame in fifteen minutes. Have them loaded out back, please.”
“Now you just hold up on that order, Henry,” Sheriff Silva said.
“You’d better not cross me, Henry,” Sally warned him, a wicked glint in her eyes. “My name is Mrs. Smoke Jensen, and I can shoot damn near as well as my husband.”
“Yes’um,” Henry said. “I believe you, ma’am.”
“And you,” Sally spun around to face the sheriff, “would be advised to keep your nose out of my business.”
“Yes’um,” Silva said glumly, and followed her to the livery.
