The Family Jensen # 1

by William W. Johnstone

  He buckled on his gunbelt before he stepped out of the shed. Even groggy from sleep, he was careful.

  He walked over to the pump and took the bucket from the handle. Holding it under the spigot, he began working the handle up and down. Water ran into the bucket.

  Smoke had it almost full when a scream sounded from inside the school building.

  He dropped the bucket, letting the water he had pumped into it splash on the ground. By the time the bucket landed, Smoke’s first leap had carried him halfway to the school’s rear door. He drew his right-hand Colt as he reached for the latch on the door and slapped it back. He jerked the door open.

  No lamps had been lit yet. Smoke hadn’t even known that Robin was already there, but the front door stood wide open, letting dawn light the big main room. Robin struggled in the grip of a tall man with his right arm in a black sling. Smoke recognized him as Mitch Thorn.

  Wherever Thorn was, Harley and Ballew were usually close by. The two men had hold of Sandy. Harley held the young man’s arms while Ballew stood in front of him, hammering punches into Sandy’s midsection.

  “Beat the damn ’breed to death!” Thorn ordered, raising his voice to be heard over Robin’s cries. “He tried to molest Miss Garrard!”

  “No!” Robin said. “That’s not what happened! He and I—”

  Thorn had only one good arm, the left one, but it was wrapped around Robin’s throat. He tightened it and jerked her harder against him. “Shut up, you little slut!” he told her as he choked off her protests. “I know damn good and well what was going on here, but the rest of the town doesn’t have to. We’ll kill that bastard, and nobody else’ll have to know that you were degrading yourself with a filthy redskin!”

  Smoke drew his other Colt and eared back the hammers on both guns. “The only ones who are gonna die here are you and your friends if you don’t let those folks go, Thorn,” he warned, his powerful voice filling the schoolroom.

  “It’s West!” Ballew yelled. As he turned to face Smoke, the cuts and scratches on his face came into view, as did the bloodstained bandage wrapped around his upper left arm. When Smoke saw those things, he knew that Ballew was the one his bullet had knocked through the glass in the door across the street the night before. That left Harley to be the other bushwhacker. He didn’t appear to be wounded, so Smoke figured again that his shot had missed.

  Thorn turned hurriedly, hanging on to Robin so that she had to come with him. That put her between him and Smoke.

  “It takes a mighty yellow son of a bitch to hide behind a woman,” Smoke growled.

  “You just don’t know how to keep from sticking your nose into things that are none of your business, do you, West?” Thorn said. “What is it? You want this tramp for yourself, now that the Indian’s through with her?”

  Smoke didn’t dignify that question with an answer. Instead, he said, “I’m gonna take particular pleasure in killin’ you, Thorn.”

  “How are you gonna do that? I can’t draw on you. You ruined my gun arm, remember? Only way you can kill me is by murdering me, and you’ll hang for that.”

  Smoke shook his head. “Garrard’s little tin badge of a marshal won’t ever arrest me.”

  “No? You gonna kill him, too? You want to spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder while every lawman in the West hunts you? Because that’s what’ll happen once word gets around that you gunned down a peace officer. The rest of the star packers won’t know what really happened here. They’ll just know that Buck West murdered a fellow lawman.”

  In that case, Smoke thought, he would just forget about Buck West and come up with some other name. But his description might follow him, and sooner or later Thorn’s prediction might well come true. Smoke could find himself facing an honest lawman, or a whole posse of them, and might have to choose between death and becoming a real outlaw.

  “Let Miss Garrard go,” he said. “Your grudge is with me, not her or Sandy.”

  “The hell it is! I’ve been after this tramp for months to marry me, or at least to let me court her, and she always says no! But then I come in here this morning and find her letting that dirty Indian put his hands all over her. No, sir. She owes me, and she’s gonna pay up.”

  “She doesn’t owe you a damn thing,” Smoke insisted.

  Thorn backed toward the front door, dragging Robin with him. Harley still had hold of Sandy and was using him as a human shield, and Ballew was staying behind both of them with his gun drawn. Smoke couldn’t get a shot at any of them without risking Robin or Sandy being hit.

  “Earl, get the horses,” Thorn ordered. “We’re getting out of here.”

  Ballew was the closest to the door. He ducked out through it, and Smoke still wasn’t able to get a shot.

  Thorn sneered over Robin’s shoulder. “You want her, you’ll have to come after her, West. And we’ll be ready for you this time. You won’t ride away, you bastard.”

  “Not until I’ve killed all three of you,” Smoke said.

  “Big talk for a man who doesn’t hold any cards.”

  Smoke heard hoofbeats outside and knew that Ballew had brought up their mounts. If Thorn and Harley made it outside, they could get away with their prisoners before Smoke could stop them.

  But he couldn’t fire without risking the lives of those prisoners. He seethed with rage and frustration and looked for some way to turn the tables on Thorn.

  Suddenly, Thorn lunged back through the doorway, taking Robin with him. She managed to get a muffled scream past his choking arm, but that was all. Sandy was still stunned from the beating they had given him, so he wasn’t able to put up a fight as Harley leaped after Thorn and Robin.

  Smoke raced along the aisle after them.

  Ballew popped in the doorway, the gun in his fist blasting out shots. Smoke weaved and fired, saw Ballew jerk under the impact of the lead and stagger to the side. Ballew managed to stay on his feet, and emptied the revolver at Smoke, who was forced to dive behind one of the desks as bullets whistled around his ears.

  Ballew ran back outside. Smoke scrambled up and went after him. He reached the door in time to see that Thorn and Harley were already in the saddle. Since Thorn had only one good arm, Robin sat on the back of Harley’s horse in front of him. He had an arm wrapped around her waist. Sandy was stumbling around nearby, still half-senseless, while Ballow, wounded again, was trying to climb onto his horse.

  Smoke took all that in instantly, just as Thorn yelled, “Kill the redskin!”

  The gun in Harley’s free hand came up and roared. Blood flew in the air from Sandy’s head as the bullet smashed into it. Robin let out a wrenching scream as she saw him fall.

  Smoke opened fire at Thorn, but just as he pulled the trigger, Ballew finally made it into the saddle and his horse lurched to the side. That put Ballew in the path of Smoke’s bullet. It punched into the man’s right ear and bored on through his skull into his brain. Ballew toppled off the horse, his foot hanging in the stirrup. He was dragged along the ground as the animal bolted in fear from all the gunshots and the smell of powder smoke and blood in the air.

  Thorn and Harley galloped off to the north as Smoke leveled his guns at them. He grimaced as he realized the horses’ initial burst had already put them out of handgun range. But he didn’t think they could outrun Seven. The Appaloosa had speed and stamina to spare.

  As Smoke holstered his Colts and turned, intending to run behind the building to the shed and throw his saddle on Seven, he heard Sandy groan. Smoke had seen the young man shot in the head and assumed he was dead. Sandy was still alive, but he might not be for very long, without help.

  Smoke glanced in the direction where Thorn and Harley had disappeared with Robin. Dust still hazed the air as it settled from being kicked up by their horses’ hooves, but that was the only sign of them.

  He could track them, Smoke thought. Preacher had taught him plenty about how to follow a trail. Although the two men were opening up a lead, Smoke knew he could fi
nd them.

  And when he did, they would die.

  He ran to Sandy’s side and dropped to his knees to see what he could do for the wounded young man.

  Chapter 17

  Smoke took hold of Sandy’s chin and turned the young man’s head so that he could see the wound. Blood covered the whole right side of Sandy’s face, but when Smoke parted the thick, dark hair above the ear, he saw that the slug had torn a gash in the scalp instead of penetrating. Wounds like that always bled like crazy, so they looked bad, but Smoke felt confident Sandy would live. The bullet had knocked him out and he would have a hell of a headache when he woke up, but other than that he ought to be fine.

  The shots had drawn some attention in town, even at that early hour. Smoke heard heavy footsteps hurrying toward him, and when he looked up he saw Marshal Calhoun about twenty feet away, shotgun in hand.

  Calhoun’s eyes locked with his. The marshal yelled, “You’ve killed him!” and moved to swing the Greener up. Smoke doubted if Calhoun was aware of what Thorn and Harley had done. But it didn’t matter. Smoke saw in Calhoun’s eyes he was going to take the opportunity to kill him.

  Before Calhoun could do more than start to make his move, the Colt in Smoke’s right hand snapped up and roared. Calhoun came to a sudden stop as the .44 slug ripped through his right arm. He yelled in pain, dropped the shotgun, and staggered back a step as he clapped his left hand over the wound. His face contorted with hate as he let go of his right arm and tried to make an awkward grab for his holstered pistol with his left hand.

  Smoke already had his revolver’s hammer eared back again. “Don’t do it, Marshal,” he warned. “I don’t want to kill you.”

  “You…you can’t get away with this, damn you!” Calhoun said. He took his hand away from his gun, and used it to clutch his wounded arm again. “You shot me!”

  “Figured that was better than letting you splatter me all over with that Greener,” Smoke said coolly. “Anyway, if you’d cut loose at me, you would’ve killed Sandy here, too.”

  “The Indian? He ain’t dead? He’s got blood all over his face!”

  “He’s just creased and knocked out,” Smoke explained. “Now, Ballew over there is dead.”

  Calhoun sneered. “I suppose you didn’t kill him, either.”

  “Actually, I did,” Smoke admitted. “It was sort of an accident, though. I was trying to kill Mitch Thorn, and Ballew’s head got in the way of my slug. Those other wounds are from when he tried to kill me last night and then again this morning.”

  “Why were you tryin’ to kill Thorn?”

  “To stop him and Gus Harley from kidnapping Miss Garrard.”

  Calhoun’s eyes opened wide with shock, confirming Smoke’s hunch that the actions of Thorn and his companions at the school had been unplanned, spur of the moment things. Calhoun didn’t know about them.

  “Miss Garrard?” Calhoun repeated huskily. “The schoolteacher? Mr. Garrard’s daughter?”

  Smoke straightened to his feet. “That’s right. They threw her on Harley’s horse and took off with her, heading north.”

  “Son of a bitch! When Garrard hears about that—” Several of the townspeople had come up behind Calhoun. One of them turned and took off at a run, obviously going to spread the news of Robin’s kidnapping. Calhoun heard the rapid footsteps, turned his head and saw the man, and yelled, “Hey! Come back here!”

  The townie ignored the command. Jason Garrard was a powerful man, probably the most powerful man in town, and naturally some of the citizens would be eager to curry favor with him.

  “All hell’s gonna break loose now,” Calhoun said with a sigh. “You’d better tell me what happened here, West.”

  “Save it for when Garrard gets here,” Smoke said. “Right now, this young fella needs a doctor.”

  “The redskin?” Calhoun sounded like he thought it was ridiculous to waste medical attention on Sandy.

  “Where’s the doctor’s office?” Smoke asked, his voice as hard as flint.

  Calhoun sighed. “Pick him up and bring him along. I’ll show you. Got to go there myself, to have the sawbones see about this arm of mine you ventilated.”

  “You wouldn’t have gotten hurt if you hadn’t lost your head, Marshal.” Smoke holstered his Colts and bent to slip his arms around the still unconscious Sandy. He lifted the young man without much effort.

  Because he didn’t trust Calhoun he kept a close eye on the lawman as Calhoun led him along the main street to a neat cottage with a sign out front indicating that Dr. Peter Neal practiced medicine there.

  Dr. Neal was a slender man in late middle-age, with a shock of white hair and spectacles that perched on the end of his long nose. He checked both wounds quickly once Smoke had carried Sandy into his surgery and Calhoun followed along behind.

  “The head wound is slightly more serious,” he decided, “so I’ll treat it first. You’ll have to wait your turn, Marshal. Try not to bleed too much on my floor.”

  That didn’t sit well with Calhoun, but he just grumbled a little about it as he sat down to wait.

  Jason Garrard burst in a couple of minutes later while Neal was cleaning the wound on Sandy’s scalp. “Someone told me you’d come in here,” he said with a wild look in his eyes. “What’s this about Thorn carrying off my daughter?”

  “Reckon it’s true, Mr. Garrard,” Calhoun said. He nodded toward Smoke. “West there can tell you about it.”

  Garrard glared at Smoke. “You! What’s your part in this, West?”

  “I just happened to be there at the school early this morning when Thorn, Harley, and Ballew burst in and attacked Sandy,” Smoke said.

  “Who?”

  “The redskin,” Calhoun put in.

  “What was he doing there with my daughter?”

  Smoke didn’t try to sugar-coat it. “I imagine he was kissing her, from the way Thorn was so upset about it.”

  Garrard turned to stare with murderous fury at Sandy. “Why, the damn, dirty savage! I’ll see that he hangs for molesting Robin!”

  “He didn’t molest her, you damn fool,” Smoke snapped, out of patience with the whole thing. “The two of them are in love, and I reckon they have been for a while. That’s one reason Sandy was goin’ back east for a white man’s education, so he’d feel worthy of marrying Miss Garrard.”

  “Marrying?” Garrard repeated in a voice that trembled from the depth of his rage. “That Indian wanted to marry my daughter?”

  “And she wanted to marry him. In fact, she said she would go and live in the Crow village with him if that’s what he wanted.”

  Garrard’s hands clenched into fists as he took a step toward Smoke. “That’s a lie!” he roared.

  “I’ll let you get away with callin’ me a liar, Garrard…once,” Smoke grated. “What I just told you is the truth, and you’d damn well better get used to it.”

  Garrard stared at him for a long moment, then with a visible effort choked out, “What about Thorn?”

  “He wanted to marry Miss Garrard, too, but she wasn’t interested.”

  Garrard snorted. “I never would have let her marry a cheap gunman, either.”

  “I don’t know what the three of them were doing at the school so early,” Smoke went on. “Maybe Thorn knew that Miss Garrard showed up there early to get ready for the day and wanted to see her. But they caught her and Sandy together and Thorn went loco. He told Harley and Ballew to beat Sandy to death. There’s no tellin’ what he had in mind for your daughter, Garrard, but when I took a hand, he made her a hostage and dragged her out with him. Harley shot Sandy, I shot Ballew, and Thorn and Harley got away with Miss Garrard. That’s the whole story.”

  Garrard digested it all for a moment, then angled his head toward Calhoun. “How’d the marshal get shot?”

  “I did that in self-defense because he was about to cut loose at me with a shotgun without finding out what was going on first.”

  “So you admit shooting a lawman? You’ll go to prison for
that, West.”

  Calhoun spoke up, saying, “Maybe you better think twice about that, Mr. Garrard. With this bullet hole in my arm, I ain’t gonna be in any shape to go after Thorn and Harley.”

  Garrard’s bushy red eyebrows rose in surprise. “Are you suggesting that I turn to this…this gunfighter for help?”

  “West might be the only one in these parts who can handle Thorn and Harley. Even wounded like he is, I reckon Mitch Thorn’s as dangerous as a cougar. And he’s got Miss Garrard as a hostage, to boot.”

  Garrard’s nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath. He glared at Smoke and said, “I can’t believe I’m doing this…but how about it, West? Will you go after those bastards and get my daughter back? I’ll pay you any price you ask.”

  “I told you once before what you could do with your job offers, Garrard.”

  The man’s face mottled with rage. “Damn it, West—”

  Smoke held up a hand to stop him. “I’ll go after them,” he said, “but not because you asked me to. You don’t know it, but I met Miss Garrard last night. She heard that ruckus at the livery barn and offered me a place to stay. I slept in the shed behind the school last night. That’s how come I was there this morning when the trouble started.”

  Garrard looked like he couldn’t believe it. “Sometimes Robin meddles in things that are none of her business,” he growled. “But I guess all that really matters is that somebody is going after her.”

  “I’ll come with you once I get this wound bandaged up, West,” Calhoun offered. “I can deputize you, and since the kidnappin’ took place here in town, that’ll make it legal for us to go after Thorn and Harley.”

  The offer surprised Smoke. He wasn’t sure he wanted Calhoun’s help. It was doubtful that the marshal would prove to be of much assistance, with that wounded arm. But Calhoun’s attitude toward him seemed to have shifted, and he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to have some legal standing.

  Calhoun would be mighty surprised, though, if he knew he was offering a deputy’s job to the notorious Smoke Jensen, gunfighter and outlaw.