“Well, I can’t pass that up, can I?”
Smoke emptied his canteen, then went over to refill it with fresh water from the creek. He took the first drink just to make certain it was as sweet as he remembered, then he passed the canteen to Sally.
“Uhmm, you are right,” she said after taking a swallow. “This water is as good as the water from Abrams Creek, back home.”
Smoke pointed out the fields, already green with new growth, and told about how, as a boy, he walked behind Ange and Rhoda as they pulled a single-point plow.
“I started behind a plow when I was twelve years old,” Smoke said. “That was hard work for a boy.”
“I’m sure it was,” Sally said. “But it made you the man you are today.”
Rain started just after they returned to town, then continued into the night. In the distance, lightning flashed and thunder roared and the rain beat down heavily upon the roof of the hotel, then cascaded down off the eaves before drumming onto the porch overhang, below.
Smoke stood at the window of his hotel room, looking down on the street of the town. He saw very few people outside, and when someone did go outside they would dart quickly through the rain until they found a welcome door to slip through. The town was dark, the rain having extinguished all outside lamps, and the inside lamps provided only the dullest glimmers in the shroud of night.
The room behind Smoke glowed with a soft, golden light, for he had lit the lantern and it was burning very low. Though Smoke had spent many a night sleeping on the prairie in such conditions, this was one of those nights where he appreciated being under a roof.
“Are you coming to bed, Smoke? Or, are you just going to stand there staring out the window all night?”
Smoke turned to look at her. There was a pensive expression on his face.
“I’ve come a long way, Sally.”
“I know you have, sweetheart.”
“As soon as we get this done, I’ll be ready to go back to Sugarloaf.”
“But this is something that needed to be done,” Sally said.
Smoke nodded. “Yes. I know it is probably a foolish gesture, but I think it will bring me some peace, after all these years.”
“I think it will, as well.”
While Smoke and Sally were at breakfast the next morning they were approached by an old man. Smoke recognized him at once and, smiling, stood to greet him. “Dr. Blanchard!” he said.
“Hello, Kirby,” the old man replied. “You’re a mite changed from the last time I saw you.”
Smoke chuckled. “And a lot from the first time you saw me.”
Dr. Blanchard laughed out loud. “Yes, I would say so.”
Smoke introduced Sally. “This is the man that brought me into this world. Pa brought him out to the house when it was Ma’s time.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Dr. Blanchard,” Sally said.
Dr. Blanchard nodded. “I’m pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
“Won’t you join us?” Smoke asked.
“I’m afraid I haven’t time to join you right now. The reason I stopped by is because I was talking to Gene Welch, and he said that you were planning to bury your parents in the cemetery here in town.”
“Yes, sir, I am. My ma and pa have been apart for a long time, and I thought it might be good to get them together again.”
“I’ve spoken with the mayor and few others in town, especially those of us who have fond remembrances of your mother and father, and that would be everyone who knew them,” he added. “We were wondering, Kirby, if you would mind if several of us came out to the interment to pay our respects.”
“Of course I wouldn’t mind,” Smoke said. “Why, I would be very honored to have people there. And I know my ma and pa would be.”
“Mr. Welch has it scheduled for two o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Is that right?”
Smoke chuckled. “I suppose so. I hadn’t really given him a specific time, but if that is the time he has chosen, I’m sure it will be fine.”
“Good, because that is the word that has already gone out.”
“Word has gone out? I don’t understand.”
Dr. Blanchard chuckled. “You haven’t seen the newspaper, have you?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“You might find it interesting,” Dr. Blanchard said. Then, after a long pause he added, “Smoke.”
“Smoke?”
“That is how you’re called now, isn’t it?”
“How did you know?”
“As I said, you might find the article in the paper interesting. Good to have met you, Mrs. Jensen,” Dr. Blanchard said with a nod as he turned to leave.
“I guess I had better get a copy of today’s newspaper.”
Train Robbery Attempt Foiled
The Kansas City Special was visited by three men on Monday last, motivated by the idea that they could get rich by robbing the passengers and the express car. However, the would-be robbers, who have since been identified as Abner Doby, Burton Kennedy, and Clem Givens, did not count on the presence of a passenger of particular note. Had they known that one of the passengers was none other than Smoke Jensen, they no doubt would have attempted to employ their nefarious scheme elsewhere.
Smoke Jensen, better known as Kirby Jensen to those friends and neighbors who remember him as a onetime citizen of Galena, proved that the stories that have been written about him are accurate. When he was challenged by the brigands who were attempting to rob the train, he responded by the skillful employment of his pistol, the balls thus energized being unerringly accurate, and taking terrible and fatal effect upon the three who would have robbed the train.
Mr. Jensen, and his wife, Sally, are currently visiting our fair city. He has returned to Galena, the domicile of his youth, in order to bury his parents in the city cemetery. His parents, Emmett and Pearl Jensen, were once farmers, just north of town. They were well known, well liked, and respected by neighbors and citizens of the town and county alike.
According the Gene Welch, the burial will take place at the Garden of Memories Cemetery at two o’clock on Wednesday afternoon. And all of our citizens who remember these good people are urged to be present for the interment so that proper respect may be paid.
“Well, so much about keeping quiet as to who I am,” Smoke said as he passed the paper across the table to Sally.
Sally read the article quickly, then looked up with a smile. “I didn’t really think you would be able to keep it quiet,” she said. “Let’s face it, Smoke. Like it or not, you are quite a well-known man.”
Smoke returned to the funeral parlor to speak with Gene Welch.
“I see that you have the burial scheduled for two o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”
“Yes, I hope that is all right with you.”
“It will be fine, assuming you can get my mother’s remains back in time.”
“I’m sending a couple of men out today to recover your mother’s body. Would you like to go with them? Or be here when she is brought in?”
“No,” Smoke said, holding up his hand. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Would you like to see the coffin we have selected?”
“Yes.”
Welch took Smoke and Sally to his display room and showed them the Eternal Cloud. It was highly polished mahogany, with a red felt lining.
“I think your mother will be very comfortable in this,” Welch said.
“I’m sure she will be.”
“It is quite a beautiful coffin, Mr. Welch. You did a wonderful job in selecting it,” Sally said.
“I’m glad that you are pleased,” Welch replied. He cleared his throat. “I, uh, am hesitant to bring up money but . . .”
“But you want to be paid,” Smoke said. “Understandable. How much do I owe you?”
“The coffin in one hundred and fifty dollars, it is twenty-five dollars to disinter your mother, and another fifty dollars to open the two graves. I suppose you will want grave markers.”
/> “Yes, of course.”
“Nice, marble markers will cost you fifty dollars apiece. That includes their names, date of birth and date of death.”
“That’s three hundred and twenty-five dollars then?”
“Yes, plus my fee. Normally, I charge fifty dollars, but that includes embalming. There will be no embalming of your parents, of course, so I will charge only twenty-five dollars. For each,” he added.
“Sounds reasonable,” Smoke said as he counted out the money. “I want to thank you for all you have done,” he added.
“It has been a pleasure to work with you,” Welch said.
Smoke had initially thought that the reburial of his mother and father would be a very quiet and nearly private event. Then, when it appeared in the paper he figured there might be a few who would show up. But to his surprise, there were several hundred people at the cemetery. Many, he was pleased to see, were older people who remembered his parents and had come to show their respect for them. But as turned out, there were just as many who were here to see Smoke Jensen, for even back here, his name had become well known. What people hadn’t realized was that the Smoke Jensen they had read and heard about was the same Kirby Jensen who had once been a schoolboy here.
The Reverend E. D. Owen asked if he might conduct graveside services and Smoke said it would be all right. As the reverend spoke of the good lives Emmett and Pearl lived, and how they are now reunited in the promised land, Smoke recalled the initial burial of his father, who had been buried with nobody present, and his mother . . . attended only by his sister and him. He recalled her burial in a feeding-trough-cum-coffin, its top closed by using a door from the tack room.
“All right, let’s go,” Janey said.
“Hold on a moment,” Kirby said. “Don’t you think we ought to say a few words?”
“What for? There ain’t neither one of us preachers.”
“No, but she was our ma. Seems to me like the least we could do is say a few words over her grave.”
“You’re right,” Janey said. “I’m sorry. Go ahead, say somethin’.”
Kirby had been wearing a hat to protect him from the sun, and now he took it off and held it in front of him as he stood there, looking down at the grave.
“You was a good ma,” he said. “You done what you could with us, and I appreciate it, an’ loved you for it. I know that I didn’t tell you that I loved you as much as I should’ve, but I never was much for speakin’ a lot of words. I reckon I just thought that you always knew.”
After thinking of that awful day, so long ago, Smoke brought his mind back to the present, and looked around at the people gathered at the burial of Emmett and Pearl Jensen today. He felt a sense of great personal satisfaction that he was able to bring this about, and he glanced over at the preacher, who was just concluding the graveside services.
“‘Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; looking for the general Resurrection in the last day, and the life of the world to come.’”
After the words were spoken, and the graves were being closed, citizens of the town came by to express their condolences as if his parents had died last week, instead of more than twenty years ago.
Sam Byrd made the announcement that no funeral was complete without a dinner, and he had arranged for a repast to be held at Fellowship Church of Galena. Although Sam made all the arrangements, people from all over town had brought food, so there was plenty to eat for everyone.
Several people brought books for him to sign, and that always made Smoke a little uneasy.
“You know that I didn’t write these books,” Smoke said. “Not only did I not write them, I didn’t even have any of these experiences that the stories portray. These are just made-up stories, using my name.”
“But it is your name,” one of the petitioners said. “And you are from Galena. I’d be just real proud if you would sign the book for me.”
“Sign the books, Smoke. What harm can it do?” Sally said.
With a surrendering sigh, Smoke signed books, and fielded questions for the rest of the afternoon. Some of the questions were legitimate, as to where he went when he and his father left home, but many were about some of the experiences written about him in the books. Finally Sally rescued him.
“I need some help,” she said.
Smoke smiled, gratefully. “I’ll be right there,” he said as he excused himself from those who had gathered around him.
“Thanks,” he said as they walked away from the group. “Or, do you really need help?”
“Not exactly, but Sam is back in the pastor’s office, and he has a telegram I think you should see.”
“Telegram?”
“From his father,” Sally said.
“Hello, Kirby, come on in,” Sam said when Smoke stepped to the office door. “I asked Reverend Owen if we could use his office to conduct some business. After our discussion the other night, I telegraphed my pa. I just got this back and thought you might like to see it.” He handed the telegram to Smoke.
KIRBY I WILL PURCHASE 200 HORSES FROM YOU AT FAIR MARKET VALUE IF YOU WILL DELIVER THEM TO ME AT MY RANCH EL BUCLE AMPLIA IN NUECES COUNTY TEXAS STOP RESPOND SOONEST STOP TOM BYRD
Smoke handed the telegram to Sally. “What about it, Sally? Do you think Cal and Pearlie would like to go to Texas?”
“I think we would all love to go to Texas,” Sally replied.
It didn’t escape Smoke’s notice that she had included herself in the operation.
“Thanks, Sam,” Smoke said. “I’ll go down to the telegraph office right now and respond.”
Half an hour later, Smoke passed his message across the counter to the telegrapher.
WILL BE THERE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE WITH 200 OF THE FINEST MOUNTS IN THE COUNTRY
Chapter Five
Sally opened her eyes and looked through the window of the railroad car and smiled with pleasure. The dawn sky was streaked with various shades of red, gold, and purple, and though she had enjoyed their trip to Missouri, she was pleased to be coming back home. She lay there listening to the rhythmic clack the wheels made on the tracks and enjoying the patterns and colors of the breathtakingly beautiful, ever-changing sky.
“Smoke?”
“You mean you’re finally awake?” Smoke replied.
“Yes.” Sally stretched. “I love sleeping on a train.”
“Enjoy it while you can,” Smoke said. “In a couple more days, you’ll be sleeping in a wagon every night for about a month.”
Sally smiled. “That can be nice too.”
“We’ll be pulling into Big Rock in less than half an hour. We’d better get dressed.”
“You think Pearlie and Cal will be there to meet us? We didn’t hear back from the telegram we sent.”
“No good way for them to reply, but I expect they’ll be there. I told them I’d buy breakfast at Lambert’s.”
As they approached Big Rock, Sally gazed out the window at the buildings along Front Street—Earl’s Blacksmith, the sheriff’s office, the newspaper, Longmont’s Saloon, and Murchison’s Leather Goods—before the train rattled to a halt at the depot. Here, the station platform stacked with crates and boxes and, beyond that, the nearly one hundred buildings that made up the little town of Big Rock. This was nothing like the sophisticated cities of Sally’s youth, but there was no way she would trade what she had now with what she knew then.
The depot was a flurry of activity and noise. On the platform, men yelled at each other as a steel-wheeled car was rolled up to the baggage car to load and unload suitcases, crates, and mailbags. Here, also, the train took on water, precipitating a great deal of banging and clanging of tank covers and waterspouts as the water tank was filled. The fireman kept the fire stoked and the steam going, and the rhythmic opening and closing of the valves as the pressure repeatedly built up and then vented away sounded remarkably like the laborious breathing of some great beast of burden.
In addition to those people manning the depot and the trai
n and the passengers arriving and departing—plus those meeting them or sending them off—dozens of townspeople, to whom the arrival of the train was a major event, crowded the depot.
“There they are!” Sally said, pointing to Pearlie and Cal, both of whom were leaning against the front of the depot with their arms crossed across their chest.
When Smoke and Sally stepped down, the two young cowboys smiled, and started toward them.
“Did you miss us?” Sally asked, hugging them both.
“We sure did,” Pearlie said.
“But not until he ran out of the bear claws you left for us,” Cal said.
“We wouldn’t’ve run out as fast if you hadn’t et ’em all,” Pearlie said.
Norman Lambert, called “Hogjaw” by his friends, had a gimmick. As soon as a customer came into his café, he would throw at them, biscuits for the breakfast meal, rolls for lunch and dinner, or as the locals called it, dinner and supper.
Pearlie caught the first biscuit and had it half eaten by the time the four of them were seated.
Over breakfast, Smoke explained his plan of driving two hundred horses down to Texas to be sold to Tom Byrd.
“Can you trust this fella?” Cal asked. “What I mean is, what if we get down there and he changes his mind, or starts quibbling over the cost. That would be a long trip for nothin’, wouldn’t it?”
“I suppose it would, but I’ve sold him livestock before, and he paid as agreed.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that. I guess it’ll be all right then.”
“I guess so,” Smoke replied with a grin.
Sally laughed out loud. “Are you going to tell him, or am I?”
“Tell him what?”
“Tell him what livestock you sold.”
“Go ahead and tell him,” Smoke said. “You know you’re dying to.”
Terror of the Mountain Man Page 4