The Jensen Brand

by William W. Johnstone

“Let’s do some studying, then.” Smoke chuckled as he opened one of the ledgers. “There was a time I never dreamed I’d be saying something like that.”

  “When all it took to run a ranch was an iron fist and a fast gun?”

  “Something like that,” Smoke admitted. “Although I never went in much for the iron fist part. I figured if I always treated my crew decent, they’d do a better job of riding for the brand.”

  He enjoyed spending the time with Louis, working with him and getting to know him better. The boy had a quick mind and a wry sense of humor, usually self-deprecating, unlike Denny, who took herself pretty seriously most of the time. Smoke had a hunch that Louis would make a success of himself as a lawyer, ranch manager, or really anything he put his mind to, as long as it didn’t take a lot of hard physical work. Louis’s heart couldn’t stand up to that and probably never would.

  As the days went by, he had a little more color in his face, at least, and seemed to feel good most of the time.

  One evening after supper, while Smoke was sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch enjoying the fresh air, Cal walked over from the bunkhouse and said in a quiet voice, “Need to talk to you for a few minutes, Smoke.”

  “Privatelike?” Smoke asked, sensing that whatever Cal had to say, he wanted to keep it between the two of them.

  “I reckon that’d be better, at least for now.”

  Smoke stood up. “Let’s take a walk down to the barn, then,” he suggested.

  They ambled in that direction, neither man speaking until they were inside the big, cavernous structure. The barn was dark and quiet and filled with the scents of straw, horseflesh, and manure.

  To a man like Smoke, that wasn’t a bad smell. “What’s on your mind?” he asked his foreman.

  “I was riding up by Aspen Springs today and saw a couple tracks.”

  “Animal tracks?”

  Cal grunted. “More like a two-legged varmint. Boot marks, along with a few hoofprints.”

  “So one of the boys stopped to water his horse.”

  Cal shook his head. “None of our crew have been over there in the past week . . . and the tracks I saw were less than a day old.”

  “Still could’ve been a pilgrim just passing through,” Smoke suggested.

  “Passing through to where? You know there’s nothing around there except that big box canyon we sometimes use as a holding pen during roundup. Somebody stopped to water his horse, all right, but he wasn’t a pilgrim and he wasn’t one of ours.”

  Smoke ran a thumbnail along his jaw a moment. “That doesn’t leave much.”

  “It sure doesn’t. We’ve got a good-sized bunch of cattle less than a mile from there, Smoke.”

  “And you think this hombre was scouting them for the rest of his gang.”

  “It makes sense,” Cal said. “They’ve left us alone for a while. They wanted us to think that after we dealt them such a hard blow last time, they were finished in this part of the country, so we’d let our guard down. But they’re not finished. They’ve just been bidin’ their time.”

  Smoke nodded. “I tend to agree with you. I halfway expected that very thing.”

  “I know you did, and I trust your hunches. How soon do you think they’ll hit us?”

  “Now that they’ve found some stock to go after, they won’t waste any time about it,” Smoke said. “There’s a good chance they’ll try to pull a raid tonight. Go round up half a dozen of the boys.”

  “I’ve got a couple ridin’ nighthawk out there already,” Cal said with a grim note in his voice. “Will Dugan and Chet Parkhurst. I sure don’t want anything happenin’ to them.”

  “It won’t if we have anything to say about it. Can you be ready to ride in ten minutes?”

  “You know we can, Smoke.”

  “I’ll meet you out here then.”

  “You gonna tell Sally where you’re goin’?”

  Smoke thought about it for a second and then shook his head. “Despite our hunches, this might all turn out to be nothing. No need to get anybody worried until we see for sure what’s going on. Tell Pearlie and the boys who stay here, though, just in case they have to come after us. We’ll leave Sally and Inez and the kids in the dark about it for now.”

  “Whatever you say, Smoke.”

  They left the barn together and split up, Cal hurrying toward the bunkhouse while Smoke’s long strides carried him back to the house. Neither of them saw the figure that came up to the edge of the thick shadows inside the barn and peered after them.

  “Leave us all in the dark, eh?” Denny whispered to herself. “We’ll just see about that!”

  CHAPTER 16

  Denny had heard the whole conversation between Smoke and Cal. Clearly, they hadn’t known she was in the barn. She hadn’t intended for anyone to know, which was why she had slipped out of the house’s rear door and circled around. Her mother had said something earlier about playing the harpsichord so they could all sing. Denny knew she had a tin ear and couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, so she didn’t see any point in embarrassing herself.

  She’d taken a carrot from the kitchen to feed to the buckskin in the barn. After a week of her riding him out on the range every day, the two of them had become good friends.

  She’d been about to light a lantern when she heard someone approaching, so she had put the match back into her pocket and drawn back deeper into the shadows until she found out who it was. Once her father and Cal started talking, Denny knew she didn’t want to reveal her presence.

  They would talk a lot more freely if they didn’t know she was there, she thought.

  Sure enough, Cal had spilled the news about the rustlers being back.

  Denny realized there wasn’t any real proof of that yet, but she agreed with what Smoke and Cal’s instincts told them—that rustlers were the most logical explanation.

  She wished there was some way for her to get word to Brice Rogers. It would be good for his career as a lawman if he was part of breaking up the gang he had been sent after. If a local rancher took care of the rustlers, it could look bad . . . like Rogers didn’t really know what he was doing.

  On the other hand, she told herself, it wasn’t her job to take care of him. He was a big boy. He could look out for his own career.

  She started toward the tack room, intending to get her saddle and put it on the buckskin, knowing she could handle that chore without any light. Then she realized her father would be back in a minute or two to saddle up one of his own string of mounts. He probably would light the lantern hanging from a nail on one of the beams that held up the hayloft, and Smoke Jensen was keen-eyed enough to spot the buckskin being gone right away.

  She would have to wait, Denny told herself, then saddle up and follow Smoke and the others after they were gone. She could only hope they would still be within earshot.

  Whatever excitement happened, she planned to at least witness it . . . if not wind up right in the thick of it. She bypassed the tack room and slipped through the small door at the rear of the barn and disappeared into the thick shadows under the nearby trees.

  * * *

  Smoke was able to retrieve his gun belt, holstered Colt, and Winchester from his study without running into Sally, but he encountered Louis in the hall as he headed for the front door.

  The young man nodded toward the hardware in Smoke’s hands and asked, “Trouble?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Where’s your mother?”

  “She went upstairs to look for Denny, I believe.” Louis smiled. “Would you prefer that I not mention to her that you left out of here armed for bear?”

  “That would probably be a good idea. No need to worry her or your sister.”

  “What if she looks for you and realizes you’re gone?”

  “Maybe you could tell her that I went out to the bunkhouse to talk to Cal for a while?” That wasn’t a complete lie, Smoke thought. He was going to be with Cal.

  “Lying for a client . . . I suppose that would be goo
d practice for when I start practicing law.”

  “I’m a client?” Smoke said, cocking an eyebrow.

  “Give me a dollar. We’ll call it a retainer, and that way we’ll be bound by attorney-client privilege.”

  Smoke chuckled. “I think that only works in court, not with mothers, but you can give it a try if you want.” He took a silver dollar from his pocket, and flipped it to Louis, who caught it deftly.

  “You’d better go while you’ve got the chance,” Louis advised. “There’s no telling how long she’ll be up there.”

  Smoke nodded, clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder for a second, and then hurried out of the house. It would have been nice to have Louis ride out with him to face down trouble, he thought briefly, but on the other hand, he wouldn’t have to worry about any rustler lead maybe finding his offspring.

  Cal and six members of the crew were waiting at the barn. Their horses were saddled and they were ready to ride.

  Cal held out the reins of Smoke’s big gray stallion. “I went ahead and threw a hull on him for you, Smoke. Figured that would be all right.”

  “More than all right,” Smoke said as he took the reins. “I’m obliged to you.” He swung up into the saddle and the others followed his lead. They rode out of the ranch yard, heading north toward Aspen Springs, which was near the boundary of Sugarloaf range. It was a dark night, but they didn’t need much light to find their way. They knew every foot of the ranch, especially Smoke and Cal.

  The stars twinkled brilliantly in the ebony sky. The air was cool enough that the breath of men and horses fogged slightly in front of their faces. As he rode, Smoke listened intently, hoping he wouldn’t hear any gunfire in the distance. Like Cal, he was worried about the two men riding nighthawk. The night was quiet, but they had no guarantee it would stay that way.

  Anything could be lurking in the dark.

  * * *

  Muddy Malone’s heart pounded in his chest as he rode hard along the trail between the Sugarloaf ranch house and the spring where he had left the tracks that morning. It had been a tricky business, leaving that sign where it would look realistic without it being too obvious what he was doing. Then he’d had to find himself a good hidey-hole farther up the slopes where he could wait and watch to see if they were discovered.

  Sure enough, one of Jensen’s men had come along and acted real interested in the tracks. Muddy had stayed out of sight, even though he could have plugged the fella without any trouble. After a while, the rider had gone on about his business. Muddy had stayed where he was until nearly dark, when he started drifting carefully toward the Sugarloaf headquarters to see if he’d stirred up any excitement around the place.

  That was all Creighton’s idea, of course. He was a pretty cunning hombre. If Jensen thought the rustlers were back, he’d have to do something about it.

  Muddy watched from the trees as some of Jensen’s men saddled horses and readied to ride. So far, it appeared that everything was going according to plan. They wouldn’t be going out at night unless they were trying to head off a raid by rustlers.

  Certain that was what was going on, Muddy led his horse and eased back away from the ranch headquarters, not mounting up and galloping northward until he was out of earshot. Creighton and most of the other men were waiting for him in the box canyon just south of the springs.

  In sight of the canyon, Muddy slowed his horse. The canyon mouth resembled a dark, sinister maw, opening into a long ridge like a giant step up to the mountains. He didn’t think any of the boys would get trigger-happy, but it never hurt to be careful. He pulled his mount down to a walk and stopped to call softly, “Hey, fellas. It’s me!”

  “Get in here,” Creighton ordered sharply.

  Muddy nudged his horse forward. The darkness closed around him, so thick he wasn’t sure he could see his hand even if he held it right in front of his face. He could hear the faint sounds of horses and men shifting around nearby.

  Creighton asked, “Are they on their way?”

  “They’re a few minutes behind me, boss,” Muddy replied. “Fifteen, at the most, I’d say.”

  “And Jensen is with them?”

  Muddy hesitated. Lying might get him in more trouble than telling the truth, he decided. “I’m not sure. I think so. He was talkin’ to his foreman, the fella who found those tracks you had me leave, and then he went into his house like he was goin’ to get his guns. So he must be leadin’ the bunch.”

  “But you don’t know that for sure?” Creighton’s question had a cold edge to it.

  “Noooo . . . I reckon not. But you know, boss, Smoke Jensen wouldn’t just send his men up here without comin’ along himself. That ain’t the way he does things.”

  “You’d better be right, Malone,” Creighton snapped.

  Muddy swallowed hard. He hoped he was right, too.

  Creighton went on. “Jensen and his men will be bound for the springs, where we left the bodies of those two men of his. We’ll let them ride past us, then we’ll hit them from behind. We outnumber them two to one, but I want to take as many of them alive as we can, including Jensen.”

  Lupe Herrera spoke up in the shadows. “That may be hard, Nick. Once the bullets start to fly, we won’t know who’s dying and who isn’t.”

  “I understand that,” Creighton said, “but if I order you to hold your fire, everybody had better hold their fire, got it?”

  Murmurs of agreement came from the assembled outlaws.

  “Jensen’s mine, if I can manage it,” Creighton went on. “But the most important thing is that Smoke Jensen dies tonight.”

  * * *

  Denny wasn’t sure how far behind her father and the other men she was, but she knew they were still up ahead because she could hear their horses. She had saddled the buckskin as soon as they rode off from the ranch and gone after them, relying on her knowledge of the Sugarloaf to keep from getting lost. She didn’t know the ranch as well as Smoke, Cal, and the others did, so she worried they might get away from her and closed up the gap between them as much as she could and still not alert them to her presence.

  A quarter moon was peeking over the hills to the east. Soon it would be high enough to cast some light over the valley. It might be enough for her father to spot her if he looked back, Denny thought, so she slowed her pace. She risked losing them by doing that, but it couldn’t be helped.

  Anyway, she had overheard enough of the conversation between Smoke and Cal that she knew where they were going. She thought she could find the place, even in the dark.

  Denny reached the southern end of the long, broad pasture that ran all way to the Sugarloaf’s northern boundary. It was some of the best grazing land on the whole ranch, and it was dotted with dark masses of cattle clumped together to doze through the night. She reined in and peered at the landscape ahead of her, searching for Smoke and the others. That quarter-moon in the sky cast silvery fingers across the valley, and she spotted the riders several hundred yards ahead of her.

  More movement caught her eye and made her forehead crease in a puzzled frown. Off to the left, between her and the group she had followed, lay the dark mouth of the box canyon Cal had mentioned. Men on horseback were emerging from it and swinging north, falling in behind Smoke and his companions.

  It appeared to her they outnumbered her father and his men. She knew they weren’t from the ranch headquarters as the rest of the crew was back there.

  She stiffened in the saddle as she realized there was only one logical explanation for the presence of those strangers—they were up to no good. And they were closing in on the Sugarloaf party from behind.

  Without thinking about it any more than that, Denny grabbed the stock of her Winchester carbine and hauled it from the saddle boot. She worked the weapon’s lever, pointed the barrel at the sky, and pulled the trigger as she drove her boot heels into the buckskin’s flanks and sent the horse lunging forward. The carbine cracked three times as fast as she could work its lever. The sharp reports ra
ng out across the valley as she charged the sinister band of unknown riders.

  CHAPTER 17

  Smoke heard the shots and the swift rataplan of running hoofbeats and knew instinctively that he and his men had ridden into a trap. That possibility had lurked in the back of his mind, but he had known that he had to check out the situation anyway.

  As he wheeled around instantly, with Cal and the other cowboys following suit, Smoke spotted the riders charging them from behind. Without even stopping to think about it, he knew they had been hidden in the box canyon. It was the only place they could have been lurking in order to get behind the group of Sugarloaf riders. Muzzle flame bloomed in the darkness as the raiders opened fire.

  They had launched their attack too soon, he thought. They should have waited until they were closer if they wanted to make sure of their prey.

  * * *

  That was all the confirmation Denny needed that the strange riders were indeed up to no good. She drove the buckskin forward, guiding the horse with her knees as she pressed the carbine’s butt firmly against her shoulder and started raking the intruders with lead.

  Since they were between her and her father, she worried a missed shot might go on past them and hit someone it wasn’t supposed to. She aimed low, knowing she was more likely to hit innocent horses, but that couldn’t be helped. Downing some of them would put the riders on foot, making it easier for the Sugarloaf men to round them up.

  * * *

  With his rifle already in his hands, Smoke flung it to his shoulder and sprayed lead into the mass of riders charging toward him and his small crew.

  His men opened fire as well. For a long moment, the darkness was torn asunder by orange streaks of light that geysered from the barrels of rifles and pistols. A deadly storm of lead lashed back and forth between the two groups. Then they came together, and chaos erupted as the battle shattered into numerous individual fights.

  Smoke found himself facing two shadowy riders who charged him from different angles. He shifted his grip on the Winchester and thrust it out using only his left hand, while his right palmed the Colt from its holster and brought it up. The gray was used to the sound of gunfire, so it stood fairly steady while Smoke squeezed off shots with both weapons. The revolver boomed and bucked in his right hand, and the attacker on that side flew backwards as the .45 slug swept him out of the saddle.