The Jensen Brand

by William W. Johnstone

  Denny and Inez had hold of Smoke’s shoulders. His reaction subsided as the pain eased. He opened his eyes, raised his head, and rasped, “I could use a little of that . . . internally.”

  “You’ve never been much of a drinking man, Smoke,” Sally said.

  “I make an exception . . . when I’m shot.”

  She held the bottle to his lips and eased a little of the whiskey into his mouth. Smoke swallowed, sighed, and let his head sag back. His chest rose and fell regularly.

  “He’s more asleep now than passed out,” Sally said quietly. “That’s good.” She stepped back and motioned for Denny to come with her to the other side of the room. “Now, tell me what happened. What in the world were the two of you up to tonight?”

  Denny explained everything that had happened, starting with her overhearing the conversation between Smoke and Cal in the barn. Sally and Louis listened with grave expressions on their faces.

  “Smoke should have told me what was going on,” Sally said when her daughter was finished. “You should have told me.”

  “There wasn’t really time,” Denny said. “Anyway, it might not have amounted to anything, and he didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily. Neither did I.”

  Sally sighed and shook her head. “I suppose I ought to be used to it by now . . . and it looks as if you’re turning out to be just like him, Denise.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Denny said.

  “As would I, if I were in your circumstances,” Louis added. He turned his head. “I think I hear something. Might be the doctor coming. I’ll go see.” He went out onto the porch. Denny followed him, leaving Sally to keep an eye on Smoke.

  “Don’t be offended at anything she says,” Louis murmured to his sister. “She’s just upset and worried about him.”

  “I’m not upset. I meant it when I said I’d take it as a compliment.”

  “As did I.” Louis gestured toward the revolver. “That’s his iron you’re packing, you know.”

  “Yeah.” Denny wrapped her hand around the plain walnut grips and pulled the Colt from behind her belt. “Feels pretty good. Natural.”

  “Yes, you’re Smoke Jensen’s daughter, all right.”

  “Did you really hear somebody coming?”

  “No, but I thought it might be a good idea to get out of there for a while and let the two of them be alone. Mother feels like she has to be strong—she is strong—but it won’t hurt for her to sit down and let her guard down, maybe even cry a little, for a few minutes.”

  “You think of things I never would,” Denny said.

  Louis smiled. “That’s why we make a good team.”

  * * *

  Less than half an hour later, the doctor arrived from Big Rock. Youngish and bespectacled, Enoch Steward was the current medico. He followed several physicians since Big Rock’s first doctor, Colton Spaulding, had arrived. He examined Smoke while Sally, Denny, Louis, and Inez looked on anxiously, then straightened from his work. “You’ve done an excellent job of taking care of your husband, Mrs. Jensen. If you hadn’t stopped the bleeding when you did, I don’t believe he would have survived.”

  “That was Denny’s doing,” Sally said with a nod toward her daughter. “She already had the bleeding practically stopped when she got here with Smoke.”

  “But you cleaned and disinfected the wound.”

  “I did.” Sally smiled. “With bourbon. I applied a little internally, too, at Smoke’s request.”

  Dr. Steward chuckled. “It can’t have hurt. Now, though, that bullet is still in there, and it needs to come out. Mr. Jensen is asleep, but I’ll use ether to put him under deeper so he won’t feel it while I’m probing for the slug.”

  “Can you remove it?” Louis asked.

  “I’m almost certain I can. Of course, I’ll have to locate it first.”

  Sally said, “Do we need to move him?”

  “He’ll do fine right where he is. Your sofa already has blood on it, I’m afraid—”

  “To hell with the sofa,” Sally said. “Just save my husband’s life.”

  “That’s exactly what I intend to do,” the doctor declared. “I’ll need to sterilize my instruments . . .”

  “There’s hot water already on the stove,” Inez told him.

  Steward chased everyone out of the room except Inez while he was performing his surgery. Sally, Denny, and Louis went out onto the front porch to wait. They were there only a few minutes before Cal came out of the night, jogging up on horseback.

  He reined in and jerked his hat off. “Miss Sally, how’s Smoke?”

  “The doctor is working on him now. It looks like he’s going to be all right.”

  “Well, thank the Lord for that! When I saw all the blood on his shirt—” He stopped and put his hat on again, wearily thumbing it to the back of his head. “You were mighty cool under fire out there, Miss Denny. Your pa’s gonna be proud of you.”

  “I hope so,” Denny said. “What about the rustlers?”

  “We found five of ’em shot to pieces. The rest of ’em sloped, looks like.” Cal grimaced. “We lost five men, too, countin’ the two nighthawks those sons of . . . those varmints shot down in cold blood. Killin’ five good boys who rode for the Sugarloaf and puttin’ a bullet in Smoke”—he shook his head—“we’ve sure got a big score to settle with those rustlers.”

  “That score will be settled,” Denny said with anger blazing inside her. “It’ll be settled as sure as my name is Jensen.”

  CHAPTER 19

  “You’re gonna be all right, boss,” Muddy said as he rode alongside Nick Creighton.

  From time to time, the boss outlaw reeled in the saddle, and it was Muddy’s job to reach over and steady him. Turk was leading Creighton’s horse.

  Muddy went on. “Once we get back to the hideout, Molly’ll fix you right up, I’ll bet.”

  “Shut up, Malone,” Creighton grated. “I’m in enough pain without listening to you yammer.” He used his left arm to cradle his right arm against his body. His shirtsleeve had been torn away and then wrapped around his right forearm as a crude bandage to slow down the bleeding from the long furrow left behind by a bullet. The wound wasn’t that serious, but Muddy knew it had to hurt like hell.

  Even worse, as far as Creighton was concerned, was that the injury had happened just as he was about to blast the life out of Smoke Jensen. The slug had ripped along his arm and made him drop his gun an instant before he could have squeezed the trigger and avenged his brother Blue.

  Muddy knew that because the boss had been complaining bitterly about it for most of the ride back to the basin at the end of the box canyon. That missed opportunity to kill Jensen seemed to bother him more than the five men they had lost during the botched ambush.

  Muddy still wasn’t sure what had gone wrong. One of Jensen’s men had gotten behind them somehow. Maybe the fella’s horse had had trouble and he had fallen behind. All that really mattered was that he had started shooting and spoiled the trap and then all hell had broken loose.

  Jensen and his men were fightin’ fools, that was for damn sure, Muddy thought. Even outnumbered, they had killed nearly half a dozen of the rustlers and routed the others.

  The rest of the men straggled along behind Creighton, Muddy, and Turk. Some of them were wounded, which led to an occasional groan or curse in the darkness. With Creighton being wounded, Turk didn’t want to set too fast a pace and bounce him around in the saddle. Also, it wasn’t easy finding his way through the rugged landscape at the edge of the mountains.

  Finally, they reached the entrance to the canyon. Knowing that guards had been left on duty there, Turk called out, “Hold your fire, boys! It’s us.”

  One of the riflemen came out from behind the rocks. “Where are the cattle? I thought you were gonna drive some more stock up here after you killed Jensen and his men. Where’s the boss?”

  “I’m right here, you damned fool,” Creighton snapped. He used his knees to nudge his mount out f
rom behind Turk. Muddy moved up, too, in case the boss needed his help.

  “Sorry, Nick,” the guard said hastily. “I didn’t see you.”

  “Get out of the way,” Creighton ordered. “Has there been any trouble here?”

  “Nope, quiet as can be.” The guard stepped back but fidgeted.

  Muddy thought he wanted to know what had happened but was too leery of getting Creighton mad at him to press the question. Anyway, he would find out soon enough. All the men who had been left behind would.

  The group rode through the twisting canyon and came out in the basin. A large fire had been built, and the flickering light spread out almost from one side of the basin to the other.

  Molly stood in the cabin’s open doorway, lantern light silhouetting her shapely body. She started walking out to meet the returning men, then began hurrying when she saw how Creighton was slumped forward in the saddle, his shoulders hunched as he protected his wounded arm. “Nick! Nick, are you all right?”

  Turk reined in and brought Creighton’s mount to a halt as Molly ran up. She caught hold of Creighton’s left leg.

  “The boss got grazed by a bullet,” Turk told her. “It left a pretty good scratch almost the length of his forearm.”

  “Get him down off of there and into the cabin,” Molly said. “I need to take a look at it.”

  Muddy and Turk swung down and helped Creighton dismount. They would have picked him up and carried him in, but he barked, “I can walk, damn it! It’s my arm that’s hurt. There’s nothing wrong with my legs.”

  That wasn’t strictly true, considering his limp, and he wasn’t very steady on his feet. He had lost a lot of blood. Muddy helped him stumble into the cabin. Creighton stretched out on the bunk.

  Molly knelt beside him. “Let me see your arm.” She started unwrapping the makeshift bandage. Some of the blood had dried and stuck to the wound.

  Creighton cursed as she carefully worked it free.

  “Muddy, hand me that bottle of rye on the table.”

  “Yes’m.”

  Molly reached under her skirt and tore a strip off her petticoat, then poured rye onto the cloth. She began cleaning the blood from the wound with it. Creighton grimaced and muttered more curses.

  “Oh, hush,” Molly told him. “This isn’t going to kill you, but if that wound festers, it might.”

  “I know that, damn it. Go ahead.”

  “What about Jensen?”

  That question brought another stream of profanity from Creighton. Muddy edged toward the door, figuring he didn’t need to be around while the boss told Molly what had happened.

  Creighton saw him trying to slip out. “Malone!”

  Muddy turned back. “Yeah, boss?”

  “Find your buddy Turk. Tell him that he’s second in command now that Lupe’s dead.”

  “Really?” Muddy was glad to hear that, hoping it meant he might get some of the easier chores, having been Turk’s pard for several years. He knew Turk would be glad to hear it, too. Then he said, “We don’t actually know that Lupe’s dead—”

  “He didn’t make it out of that fight. Maybe he’s just wounded and Jensen took him prisoner. It doesn’t matter. He can’t help us anymore, either way.”

  “Come to think of it,” Muddy said, “you told us you saw Jensen get hit and go down. Even though you didn’t get to blow his brains out, boss, could be he bled to death.”

  Creighton shook his head. “No, I don’t believe that. I’d sense it somehow if he was dead. I’d feel like the debt for Blue had been paid. I don’t feel that, so I know that Jensen’s still alive . . . for now.”

  Talking about sensing things like that seemed just too spooky to Muddy. He didn’t put any stock in it. But Creighton obviously did, and his word was law. So they would proceed as if Smoke Jensen were still alive.

  “What you’re sayin’ is . . . this ain’t over.”

  “Not by a long shot.” Creighton looked down at his wounded arm. “I may be laid up for a little while, but it won’t take me long to recover from being winged like this. And once I have . . . Smoke Jensen had better look out, because I’m coming for that son of a bitch.”

  They had already tried that and not accomplished anything except to get several men killed, Muddy thought. Even though he wasn’t known far and wide for being smart, he had enough sense not to say that as he slipped out of the cabin and went to give Turk the sort-of good news.

  * * *

  “I’m afraid you’re not going to be getting up and moving around for at least two weeks, Mr. Jensen,” Dr. Steward said the next morning as he finished his examination of Smoke’s wound and changing the dressings.

  “That’s not going to do,” Smoke said as he frowned and shook his head.

  “It’ll have to. Actually, as much blood as you lost, you really shouldn’t even be alive. I’m not quite sure how you survived, unless it’s just sheer stubbornness on your part. At this point, however, if you insist on continuing to be stubborn and ignore my orders, it will kill you.”

  Sally crossed her arms and looked sternly at Smoke. “It’s not going to happen, Doctor. I can give you my word on that. My husband is going to do exactly what you say, right to the letter.”

  “I hope you can convince him of that, Mrs. Jensen.”

  “Oh,” Sally said, giving Smoke a warning frown to match his own, “I have my methods.”

  Smoke blew out an exasperated breath. “If Preacher was here, he’d go out and gather some moss and herbs, make a poultice, and slap it on the wound, and I’d be good as new in a few days.”

  “I don’t know who Preacher is,” Steward said, “but it would take a miracle to do such a thing.”

  “That old man’s got a few miracles left in him.”

  “Don’t worry, Doctor,” Sally went on. “Smoke will behave. He’ll complain up one way and down the other about it, but he’ll follow orders for once in his life.”

  Steward summoned up a tired smile. “I’ll leave the patient with you, then, madam.” He rolled his sleeves down. He had spent the night dozing in a rocking chair in Smoke and Sally’s bedroom, where Smoke had been moved after the long and bloody operation to remove the rustler’s bullet that had lodged in his body. Steward had confirmed that no bones were broken, and the slug hadn’t touched any internal organs, just torn up some meat and severed numerous blood vessels.

  Denny, Louis, and Cal were also in the room, standing out of the way and observing while Steward finished up and got ready to go back to Big Rock. As the doctor turned to pick up the coat he had laid aside during the night, he smiled at Denny. “Any time you’d like to consider a career in medicine, Miss Jensen, I’d be glad to put in a good word for you. I believe your quick action saved your father’s life.”

  “You mean be a doctor?” Denny said. “Me?”

  “I’ve heard of several women who practice medicine. I believe there will come to be more of such in time.”

  “Maybe so, but not me,” Denny declared without hesitation. “Shut up inside all the time, taking care of sick folks . . . not hardly.”

  “Well, sometimes it’s a wise person who knows when they’re not called to a certain profession.” Steward shrugged into his coat, picked up his hat, and nodded to everyone gathered in the room. “I’ll be back out to check on Mr. Jensen this evening. In the meantime, that dressing will need to be changed every four hours, without fail.”

  Sally nodded. “We’ll take care of it, Doctor.”

  “Good day, then,” Steward said with a tug on the brim of his hat.

  “I’ll see you out, Doctor,” Louis said.

  As they went out, Smoke called after them, “I’ll be laid up for a week! Maybe!”

  Sally laughed. “Now you’re just being contrary, Smoke.”

  “That fella just didn’t know who he was talking to.” Smoke turned his head on the pillow to look at his foreman. “Cal—”

  “Don’t you worry about a thing, Smoke,” Cal broke in. “The ranch will keep ru
nning nice and smooth.”

  “Under normal circumstances, I figure that would be true,” Smoke said. “But there are a couple things that make this situation anything but normal, and you know as well as I do what they are.”

  Cal’s jaw tightened. “The rustlers who got away.”

  “And the varmint who called me by name just before he tried to kill me.”

  “He must have a personal grudge against you, Smoke,” Sally said. “Did you get a good enough look at him to recognize his face or voice?”

  Smoke shook his head. “No, I don’t have any idea who he was. But he got away, and if he didn’t die from Denny winging him, he’s almost certain to come back and try again.”

  “You reckon I’d better hire some extra men?” Cal asked. “Pearlie could put the word out that we’re paying fighting wages. He’s still got some friends who rode those trails with him in the old days.”

  “No, it’s the twentieth century,” Smoke said. “Those days are over and done with.”

  “Maybe,” Cal said. “Maybe not.”

  “It probably wouldn’t hurt to take on a few extra hands. But the Sugarloaf doesn’t hire gun-wolves, even if you could find any. Never has.”

  “All right, Smoke. Laid up or not, you’re still the boss.”

  “I won’t be laid up long,” Smoke vowed. “Not near as long as that pill pusher thinks.”

  Sally said, “Dr. Steward seems to be a very competent physician. He’s not some quack, Smoke.”

  “I’ll do what he says,” Smoke said grudgingly. “Within reason.” He took a deep breath and then winced as the movement caused a twinge of pain, even as tightly bandaged up as his torso and shoulder were. “I don’t know why I’m . . . getting sleepy . . .”

  “Because you were shot and nearly died and need your rest.” Sally drew the covers up tighter over him. She cast a meaningful glance over her shoulder at Denny and Cal, and the two of them started to withdraw.

  “If you need anything, Pa, you let me know,” Denny said before she went out.

  “I will, darlin’ . . . Thanks for . . . everything you’ve done . . .” Smoke’s eyelids drooped closed.