At the edge of town he stopped to catch his breath and read the sign.
CHUGWATER, WYOMING
POP. 256
“Friendly People”
Smoke limped on into town and, seeing a pump in the town square, hurried toward it. He moved the handle a couple times and was rewarded by seeing a wide, cool stream of water pour from the pump mouth. Holding his hat under the pump, he filled his hat and let Seven drink. Seven finished that hatful and two more before Smoke allowed himself to drink. Putting his left hand in front of the spout, he caused the water to pool and, continuing to pump, drank deeply. Never, in his life, had anything tasted better to him.
With the killing thirst satisfied, Smoke stood up from the pump and patted Seven on his neck. “I’m sorry to have put you through that, Seven, but you were a good horse, and I’m proud of you.”
Just down the street a door slammed, and an isinglass shade came down on the upstairs window. A sign creaked in the wind and flies buzzed loudly around a nearby pile of horse manure.
Smoke walked on down the street, leading Seven. He saw three saloons, sure that if Angus Shardeen was there, he would be in one of them.
But which one?
Smoke continued walking as he looked around. A horse in front of a saloon that identified itself as the Ace High caught his attention. Under the saddle was a distinctive saddle blanket—dark blue with a gold band around the outside edge. Nestled in the corner was the silver eagle insignia of a colonel.
He remembered seeing the very saddle blanket on one of the horses when his farm had been raided. He knew that would be Shardeen’s horse. Whether he was really a colonel or not, he had passed himself off as such.
After examining the horse, Smoke started toward the saloon door.
A man stepped in front of him. “Where do you think you’re goin’?”
The man blocking Smoke’s way was thin and muscular, with a moustache that curved up at each end like the horns on a Texas steer. He was wearing a yellow duster, pulled back on one side to expose a Colt sheathed in a man’s leg holster that was tied halfway down his leg. He had an angry, evil countenance, and looking directly at him was like staring into the eyes of an angry bull.
“Mister, you’re in my way,” Smoke said dryly.
“Would your name be Smoke Jensen?”
Smoke was surprised to hear himself addressed by name in a town that he had never visited.
“It is. Why? Do you have a particular interest in me?”
“Yeah, I’ve got an interest in you.” The big man pulled his yellow duster to one side and Smoke saw a peace-officer’s badge pinned to his shirt.
“I’ve got one of those, too.” Smoke showed his own Deputy U.S. Marshal’s badge. “And my badge outranks yours. Now, step out of the way. I’ve got business inside.”
“Would that business have anything to do with Angus Shardeen?” the lawman asked.
“It would.”
The lawman shook his head. “Uh-uh. Not here. Shardeen has been good to this town, so he has sanctuary in Chugwater.”
“Mister, if I had to go to hell to get Shardeen, I would do it,” Smoke said coldly. “As far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t have sanctuary anywhere. Now, get out of my way.”
The lawman went for his gun. He was exceptionally fast and his hand moved toward his Colt as quickly as a striking rattlesnake.
Smoke had not expected the lawman to draw on him and didn’t even start for his gun until the man’s gun was coming out. But if Smoke had been surprised by the lawman’s sudden draw, the peace officer was undoubtedly surprised by the speed with which Smoke drew and fired.
The lawman staggered backward, crashing through the batwing doors, and backpedaling into the saloon, landing flat on his back, his unfired gun still in his hand.
Smoke bounded up the steps, onto the porch, then pushed through the batwing doors, following the lawman’s body inside. A wisp of smoke curled up from the barrel of the pistol he still held in his hand.
“Mister, you just killed our marshal,” said one of the men in the saloon.
“Yeah, I guess I did.” Smoke slipped his pistol back into its holster.
“Damn. I never figured anyone would be good enough to beat Coyle.”
“He drew first,” Smoke said. “I didn’t have any choice.”
“Uh-huh. He drew first, but you still beat him. Is that what you want us to believe?”
“To tell the truth, I don’t care whether any of you believe it or not,” Smoke said. “I’m a Deputy United States Marshal, and I’ve come to arrest Angus Shardeen.” He saw the nervous exchanges of glances among the customers in the saloon.
“What makes you think Shardeen is here?”
“His horse is out front.” Smoke stood for a moment, studying the layout. To his left was the bar. In front of him were four tables; to the right, a potbellied stove, sitting in a box of sand. Because it was summer, the stove was cold, but the stale, acrid smell of last winter’s smoke still hung in the air.
One man was behind the bar, three customers were in front of it, and a heavily painted bar girl was standing at the far end of it. At least six more men sat at the tables.
“I know he’s here,” Smoke said. “Now, where is he?”
No one answered.
Smoke drew his pistol from its holster. “I asked, where is he?” When still no one answered, he pointed his pistol toward the barkeep and pulled the hammer back. A deadly double click sounded as the sear engaged the cylinder. “You want to die protecting a murderer like Shardeen?”
“I don’t know where he is, mister,” the barkeep answered nervously. “I don’t pay no attention to what folks come and go here.”
“For God’s sake, tell ’im, Gene!” the woman said. “He’s right, you know. A man like Shardeen ain’t worth dyin’ for. Just—”
“Sue Ann, shut your mouth,” the bartender ordered in sharp anger, cutting her off in mid-sentence.
“Mister, I think you had better be the one who keeps quiet.” Smoke lowered his pistol. “Go ahead, Sue Ann. Where is he?”
She looked nervously toward the bartender.
“Don’t be worrying about Gene. If that’s all that’s keeping you from talking, I’ll kill him for you right now.” Again, Smoke pointed his pistol toward the bartender.
“Tell ’im, Sue Ann!” Gene shouted nervously. “Tell ’im!”
“He’s up there,” Sue Ann said, lifting her head toward the landing that looked out over the saloon floor. “First room on the right. He went upstairs with Lulu.”
“Thanks.” With his pistol still cocked, and holding it in his crooked arm, muzzle point up, Smoke started up the stairs. He had just reached the top step when the bartender shouted a warning.
“Shardeen! Look out! Someone’s comin’ up for you!”
Surprised that anyone would actually shout a warning, Smoke turned to look back downstairs. Gene was standing at the bottom of the stairs with a double-barrel shotgun pointing up at him.
Smoke managed to jump behind the corner at the top of the stairs, just as Gene fired. The load of buckshot tore a large hole in the door to a room just behind him. Smoke fired back before Gene could get off a second shot. His bullet hit Gene in the forehead, and he dropped the shotgun, then fell heavily to the floor.
At almost the same moment, four shots sounded from inside one of the rooms. Dust and sawdust flew as the bullets punched holes through the door. Smoke flattened himself against the wall, clear of the door. A second later, he heard the sound of crashing window glass.
Smoke ran to the door, kicked it open, and dashed into the room. A naked woman on the bed screamed as he rushed by her to the broken window. He leaned through the shattered glass to look down to the ground below. If Shardeen had jumped through the window, Smoke should still be able to see him.
He wasn’t there.
Intuitively, Smoke realized that someone was behind him and he turned, leaping to one side, just as Shardeen, with a broad, t
riumphant grin on his face, pulled the trigger. The bullet slammed into the wall behind where Smoke had been but a split second earlier.
Smoke fired back. As his bullet struck home, Shardeen’s grin of triumph turned to a look of shock and pain.
Shardeen dropped his pistol, put his hands over the wound in his chest, then sank to his knees. He looked up at his shooter. “You must be Smoke Jensen.”
“I am.”
“Why? Why have you hounded me all these years? I don’t even remember you.”
“It doesn’t matter. I remember you.”
The old mountain man and the gunfighter rode slowly down the main street of Yampa, Colorado, drawing some attention. The sheriff and one of his deputies were among those watching the pair as they reined up in front of the saloon and dismounted.
The sheriff approached them. “Howdy, boys,” he greeted.
“Sheriff,” Smoke replied.
The lawman looked at the mountain man. “You’re the one called Preacher?”
“That’s what I’m called.”
“And you are the gun hand called Smoke.”
“That’s what I’m called,” Smoke replied, mimicking Preacher’s response.
“You boys planning on staying long?”
Smoke turned his dark eyes on the sheriff and let them smolder for a few seconds. “Long enough to do what we plan to do.”
“I’ve been hearing a lot about you, Smoke Jensen,” the sheriff said speaking in low tones. “I’ve heard how you killed Sledge Blackwell, Billy Bartell, how you wiped Shardeen’s band like some one man army, and how you went up to Chugwater, Wyoming, and killed Angus Shardeen his ownself. I hope you ain’t lookin’ for anyone in this town. Yampa is a nice little place. I wouldn’t want to see it turned into a battleground.”
Smoke smiled at the sheriff. “You don’t mind if we buy some supplies, have a few hot meals, and rest for a day or two, do you, Sheriff? Maybe take a hot bath?”
“Speak for yourself on that last part,” Preacher said. “I had me a bath no more ’n a month ago. I don’t hold with too much bathin’. It ain’t healthy, keepin’ your skin all exposed like that.”
“Smoke, from ever’thing I’ve heard, you ain’t never kilt nobody that didn’t need killin’,” the sheriff said. “I’m just sort of hopin’ that nothin’ like that happens here. If you’ll give me your word on it, why, that’ll be good enough for me.”
“Sheriff, I’m not after anybody in this town. To be truthful with you, my pa is buried at the foot of Zenobia Peak, ’n all I got in mind is just visiting his grave and payin’ my respects.”
The sheriff nodded. “You got ever’ right to do that. I’m sorry if I come off a bit cantankerous there, ’n I hope you don’t take offense, but I feel like I owe it to the folks here ’bout to keep the peace as best I can.”
“I understand. No offense taken,” Smoke said.
“Also, I’m sorry ’bout your pa.”
“I appreciate the sentiment,” Smoke replied.
The sheriff wasn’t the only one who had heard about Smoke single-handedly cleaning out the Angus Shardeen gang. By the time he and Preacher stepped into the saloon, word of their arrival had spread and, in the words of one of the saloon patrons, “Your money is no good here! Anybody that’s got rid of a no-account polecat like Angus Shardeen and those scoundrels who rode with him has done a good service to ever’one between St. Louis and the Pacific Ocean.”
“What will you have?” the bartender asked.
“Before we get started on the drinkin’, don’t you think maybe we should get us a bite or two to eat?” Preacher suggested.
“We got food,” the bartender said. “Our food is as good as anything you’ll get over to the City Pig Café.”
“What do you have?”
“Beans cooked with ham, taters, and hot peppers, with a side of turnip greens, and cornbread.”
“Sounds good enough,” Smoke said.
“You got coffee?” Preacher asked. “I don’t mean brown water. I mean real coffee.”
“You like it strong, do you?” the bartender asked.
Smoke chuckled. “If it won’t float a horseshoe, it’s too weak.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
After the meal, Smoke and Preacher enjoyed a couple beers bought for them by the patrons of the saloon. They could have had as many as they wanted, without having to pay for any, but Smoke knew better than to ever allow himself to get drunk.
“Last thing you need is to be too drunk when some young scoundrel decides to make a name for hisself by shootin’ you,” Preacher had told him once.
It hadn’t been necessary for Preacher to warn him. He had figured that out a long time ago.
In Bury, Idaho, Sally Reynolds was having lunch with Miss Flora. They were dining in Sally’s house, because Flora didn’t want to embarrass Sally by being seen in public with her.
“Nonsense,” Sally said. “Why should I be embarrassed to be seen with you?”
“I’m a lady of the night, honey. I own the Pink House, and the girls who work there, work for me. I don’t actually bed with men, but how do you think I got the money to buy the house in the first place?”
“I want to read something to you,” Sally said. She stepped over to the buffet to pick up a Bible, turned to the selection she wanted, and began to read. “ ‘And one of the Pharisees desired that he would eat with him. And he went into the Pharisee’s house, and sat down to meat. And, behold, a woman in the city, which was a sinner, when she knew that Jesus sat at meat in the Pharisee’s house, brought an alabaster box of ointment, and stood at his feet behind him weeping, and began to wash his feet with tears, and did wipe them with the hairs of her head, and kissed his feet, and anointed them with the ointment.
“ ‘Now when the Pharisee which had bidden him saw it, he spake within himself, saying, This man, if he were a prophet, would have known who and what manner of woman this is that toucheth him: for she is a sinner.
“ ‘And Jesus turned to the woman, and said unto Simon, Seest thou this woman? I entered into thine house, thou gavest me no water for my feet: but she hath washed my feet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head. Thou gavest me no kiss: but this woman since the time I came in hath not ceased to kiss my feet. My head with oil thou didst not anoint: but this woman hath anointed my feet with ointment.
“ ‘Wherefore I say unto thee, her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much: but to whom little is forgiven, the same loveth little.’ ”
Closing the Bible, Sally smiled at Miss Flora. “You are a friend, Flora.”
“Janey said you were different from the others,” Flora said. “She said you wouldn’t judge her.”
“You mean because she isn’t just a business manager, she is also Josh Richards’s mistress? No, I don’t judge her at all. She was very nice to me the first day I arrived in town.” Sally laughed. “She was more than nice. “I’m quite sure that she saved my life.”
EPILOGUE
Smoke stood at the grave of his father, holding his hat in his hands. He was pleased to see that the markings he had chiseled in the rock-turned-tombstone were still quite legible. Preacher was standing some distance away, having told Smoke that he needed some private time with his pa.
“Pa, I’ve settled some accounts. I’ve killed Billy Bartell. He was the man that raped Janey, and in my way of thinking, is probably the one that sent her down the wrong trail. I don’t know where she is now, and to be honest with you, I haven’t been lookin’ for her. I hope she’s alive, and livin’ well somewhere, but I figure that’s none of my doin’ anymore. I set things right for her, by killin’ Bartell. What happens to her from now on is up to her.
“I’m happy to say, I also found and killed Angus Shardeen. I told you he’s the one that killed Ma.
“I’d like to say that ever’thing is all settled now, but I can’t say that just yet. I’m goin’ after the ones that killed you and Luke. I killed Ted Casey
already. He was one you didn’t know about. I know the names of the others—Wiley Potter, Keith Stratton, and Josh Richards. I’m goin’ to find ’em, Pa, and I’m goin’ to make things right. I give you that promise.”
Smoke stood there in silence for another moment, then put his hat on, and started back toward Preacher.
“Got things settled with your pa?” Preacher asked.
“Yeah.”
“He was real proud of you, boy. Same as I am.”
The lump in Smoke’s throat wouldn’t let him reply.
Turn the page for an exciting preview!
THE GREATEST WESTERN WRITERS OF THE 21ST CENTURY
In one of the most shocking chapters in the Jensen family
saga, America’s fearless frontier clan is about to take on an
enemy as cold and relentless as evil itself—a mad, sadistic
surgeon, skilled with knives, and his gang. They’re
gunning for the Jensen Sugarloaf ranch to ravage Jensen
women and spill an ocean of Jensen blood . . .
When the Jensen boys decide to take a trip to
Smoke Jensen’s ranch—leaving Sally, Pearle, and
Cal alone at the Sugarloaf—the family homestead
becomes an easy target for enemies, outlaws, and
one hell of a hardcase named Jonas Trask. A former
army doctor with a degree in cruelty, Trask and his
vicious band of followers descend on the nearby
town of Big Rock with a vengeance. First, he takes
out the sheriff. Then he kidnaps Sally Jensen. Now
he waits for the Jensen boys to return like lambs to
the slaughter. It doesn’t take long for Matt,
Preacher, and Smoke to see that they’re up against
a vicious maniac. What they can’t figure out is why
this mad doctor Trask is doing this—or how they’re
going to stop him. One thing is sure: the brothers
Smoke Jensen, the Beginning Page 27