softly.
“What’s your damn name, mister?” the other punk asked.
“Smoke Jensen.”
The outlaws grabbed for their guns, and Smoke emptied two saddles. The bigger of the two scum hit the ground and tried to lift his pistol. Smoke shot him between the eyes, shifted the muzzle of his .44 and put another slug in the second man’s chest.
The dying man said, “You’ll never leave this part of the country alive, Jensen.”
“Maybe,” Smoke told him. “But that isn’t doing you much good right now, is it?”
The outlaw cussed him.
“Tsk, tsk,” Smoke said. “Such language while on the way to meet the Lord.”
The outlaw died in the dirt, a curse on his lips.
Smoke stripped the saddles from the horses and turned them loose. He took the men’s guns and money and shoved the dead over the side of the mountain road. Several miles down the road, he came to a cabin and halloed it.
A man, a woman, and two wide-eyed kids peeked around the corner of the cabin that was set well off the road in a thick stand of timber.
“I’m friendly,” he told him. “Can I water my horse?”
“You can,” the man told him. “I’ll not turn no man away from this house who’s in need.”
“Thanks kindly. Some outlaws tried to rob me up the road a piece. They weren’t very good at their work.” He placed the rifles and pistols on a bench next to the house. “They’re part of a much larger gang that’ll be coming along this road shortly, I’m thinking.” He handed the man a wad of greenbacks he’d taken from the dead outlaws. The eyes of the man and woman widened in shock. “I took this off the dead men, figuring I’d run into someone who needed it more than me. You folks look like you’ve hit some hard times here.”
“You’re a saint, mister,” the woman said. “There must be several hundred dollars there.”
“Probably. I didn’t count it. And I’m no saint, ma’am. Was I you folks, I’d pack me some food and bedding and take off for the deep timber until the trouble is over. Get those kids out of harm’s way.”
“We’ll do that, mister. You the law?”
“No. I’ve been tracking these outlaws since they rode into a town near where I live and shot it up. One of the people they shot was my wife.”
“What’s your name?” the woman asked.
“Jensen, ma’am. Smoke Jensen.”
They were still standing with their mouths hanging open when Smoke rode away.
* * *
Smoke made the settlement by late afternoon and stabled his horse at the livery.
“They got rooms for let over the saloon,” the liveryman told him. “They ain’t much, but they’re better than nothin’. Bonnie’s Cafe serves right good food if the cook ain’t drunk.” He peered at Smoke. “Don’t I know you?”
“I doubt it. First time I’ve ever been here. This town have a name?”
“It’s had three or four. Right now we’re ’twixt and ’tween.”
“You got a marshal?”
“Nope. Had one but he left ’cause we couldn’t pay him . . . among other reasons. Had a bank but it closed. Got one stage a week comes through. Heads north. You wanna go south, you’re in trouble. Starts out in Monte Vista and makes a big circle. Alamosa, Conejos, through here, and back up the grade.”
“You ever heard of the Lee Slater gang?”
“Nope,”
“You will.” Smoke gathered his gear and walked to the saloon, dumping his saddlebags on the bar.
“Got a room for a few days?” he asked the barkeep.
“Take your choice. They’re all empty. The best in the house will cost you a dollar a night. Dollar and a half for clean sheets.”
Smoke tossed some coins on the bar. “Change the sheets. I want a room facing the street.”
“You got it. Number one. Top of the stairs and turn right. You cain’t miss it,” he added drily.
“Tubs inside?” Smoke asked hopefully.
“You got to be kidding! Tubs behind the barber shop. Want me to have one filled up?”
“Please.”
“Fifty cents.”
Smoke paid him and stowed his gear in the room. He walked over to the barber shop and bathed, then had the barber shave him and cut his hair.
“Lilac water?” the barber asked. “Two bits and you’ll smell so good the ladies’ll be knockin’ on your door tonight.”
Smoke handed him a quarter. “How many people in this town?”
“Sixty—five, at last count. We’re a growin’ little community, for sure. Got us the bes’ general store within fifty miles. Freight wagons jus’ run yesterday, and she’s stocked to the overfl0win’.”
Perfect for Slater and his bunch, Smoke thought. They might not get much money out of this place, but they could take enough provisions to last them a month or better while they raided towns, then disappeared back into the mountains.
“Any strangers been riding through?”
“Yeah, they has been, come to think of it. Yesterday, as a matter of fact. Some real hard-lookin’ ol' boys. Stopped over to the saloon and had them a taste, then looked the town over real careful-like.
Made me kind of edgy.”
“Who runs this town?”
“Mayor and town council. Why?”
“ ’Cause you got a big bunch of outlaws probably planning to hit this place within the next few days. I’ve been on their trail for several weeks. Lee Slater’s hunch out of California. They hit my town up north of here and killed several people.”
“Lord have mercy! And us without no marshal.”
“You want a lawman?”
“Sure. But we can’t pay no decent wage.”
'You go get the mayor and the town council. Tell them I’ll work as marshal for a time—free.”
“You got any qualifications to do the job?”
“I think so.”
“You sit right there. Here’s a paper from Denver. It ain’t but three weeks old. I’ll be right back.”
The mayor was the owner of the general store, and the town council was the blacksmith, the saloon-keeper, and the liveryman.
They listened to Smoke and shook their heads, the mayor saying, “That many outlaws would destroy this town. You figure that you’d do any good stoppin’ them, mister?”
“I think so.”
“You ain’t but one man,” the saloonkeeper said.
“Hell, we don’t even know your name.”
“Smoke Jensen.”
The barber sat down in his chair, his mouth open in shock. The liveryman cackled with glee.
“Here’s the badge and raise your right hand, sir,” the mayor said, after he found his voice.
Chapter Four
Smoke was leaning up against an awning post in front of the saloon when Mills Walsdorf and his men rode slowly into town, Three very boring and totally uneventful days had passed with no sign of any of the Slater gang. Mills gave Smoke a very disgusted look as he noticed the star pinned to Smoke’s chest. He turned his horse and stopped at the hitchrail.
He dismounted and sighed as his boots touched the ground. The horse looked as tired as he did.
“Have a good ride, Mills?” Smoke asked.
'Very funny, Jensen,” the federal man said. “Did you kill those two men we found off the side of the road a few miles back?”
