Reece knew about gunfighters because he was one of the best. He had been in gunfights as an outlaw and as a lawman, and he wasn’t against selling his guns to the highest bidder. In the past, he had taken a lawman’s job primarily as a way of hiding from the law, but most recently the highest bidder was the law, or at least the law as established by Potter, Stratton, and Richards. They had hired him and were paying him almost ten times more money than any other law position paid, no matter where it was located. In addition, there had been times when the “Big Three”, as they were often called, had paid him bonuses for special jobs.
They had given him a thousand dollars to put paper out on Smoke Jensen, and they had raised the reward quite often. It was currently at thirty thousand dollars.
Sometimes Reese daydreamed about facing down Smoke Jensen. His daydreams about such an event predated the reward that the PSR had put out for Jensen. In the past, he’d contemplated going against the man strictly for the notoriety killing Jensen would bring him.
Whoever did kill Smoke Jensen would be famous all right. Jensen was one of, if not the best known gunfighters ever. If Reese made money from his gun, just think how much he could sell it for if word got around that he was the one who had killed Smoke Jensen.
That would be after he collected the thirty-thousand-dollar reward. But Buck West might be in his way.
Reese’s thoughts were interrupted when his deputy Adam Rogers came into the office, calling out, “Hey, Sheriff, you ever heard of this fella Buck West?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“I haven’t, either, but that’s near ’bout all anyone in town is talkin’ about, especially since Denham run that story about ’im in his paper.”
“It isn’t Denham’s paper.”
Rogers sat in the chair in front of Reese’s desk. “Well, yeah, I know that Stratton owns the paper just like he purt’ nigh owns ever’thing else in town. But you know what I’m talkin’ ’bout. I mean Denham does all the work. Anyhow, what do you think about West?”
“I don’t think anything at all about him.”
“Don’t it kinda make you wonder though? I mean, him bein’ as good as the paper says and all. How come neither me or you ever heard of ’im?”
Reese shrugged. “You got me, pardner.”
“You know what I think?”
“No, but I reckon you’re goin’ to tell me.”
Rogers ignored the sheriff’s attempt at humor. “I think it’s more’n likely this here West feller ain’t really all that good.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Well, first of all, like I said, we ain’t neither one of us ever heard of ’im. You, bein’ as good as you are, and bein’ as you’ve been almost ever’where, if he was really as good as the paper makes out in this story, why, you woulda heard of him. I mean, don’t you think?”
“It would seem so,” Reese agreed.
“Besides which, them two he kilt down in Bayhorse? Well, I knowed Harry Carson, and he was a big man what liked to fight, only mostly what he liked to fight with was his fists, is all. He warn’t no gun hand. If you ask me, this here Buck West is gettin’ hisself a reputation based on doin’ nothin’ more’n killin’ people that don’t know one end of the gun from the other.”
“Yeah.” Reese agreed with his deputy, primarily because he wanted to agree with him. He didn’t want to think about anyone killing Smoke Jensen before he got the chance.
CHAPTER 36
Smoke rode down the three long blocks of the business district of Bury at midmorning. Stores and saloons lined both sides of the wide street.
He had spent the last several days and nights camped some miles away, watching the one road that led into the little town. During that time, he’d watched the stagecoaches that came and went twice a day, primarily serving the outlying towns as a connector to the railroad in Bury. Freight wagons, peddlers, and tinkers had rolled in and out, too.
The first place he went was the livery stable, where he arranged a stall for his horse. Stashing most of his gear in Seven’s stall, he took his rifle and saddlebags and started toward the hotel. On the way, he passed a very pretty, dark-haired, hazel-eyed young woman. He smiled at her and she blushed.
Smoke paused just long enough for her to walk on toward the edge of town, then he crossed the street to get a better look at her without her knowing that she was being observed. He saw her push open the gate on a white picket fence and walk up onto the porch of a small house. Going inside, she disappeared from view.
“Nice,” he muttered.
“Yeah, she is,” a voice said from behind him.
Turning, Smoke saw two men. Identified by the stars they wore on their shirts, he knew they were the sheriff and his deputy.
“I’m Sheriff Reese. This is Rogers, one of my deputies. I don’t know you.”
“There’s no reason you should know me, Sheriff. My name is Buck West.”
“So you’re Buck West. Yeah, I’ve heard of you. You’re the gunhand who shot down Carson and Phillips back in Bayhorse.”
“I don’t deny that, Sheriff, but if you check with Marshal Dooley, he’ll tell you that the shooting was justifiable.”
“Whether it was or wasn’t is none of my business, since it didn’t happen in my jurisdiction,” Reese said. “But what happens here is. So tell me, West, how long are you planning on staying in my town?”
Smoke frowned. “Your town?”
“Yeah, my town.”
“I’ve heard that there are three men here who might have a better claim to this town than you do. But, be that as it may, I’m not sure I can answer you as to how long I’m going to be here, seeing as it all depends.”
“Depends on what?”
Smoke shrugged. “On how long it takes me to get rested up and resupplied. Also, I’ll need to find out more about this Smoke Jensen character, and how I go about collecting the reward money.”
Reese smiled. “Yeah, I heard you were a bounty hunter. Well, if you are planning on collecting money on Smoke Jensen, the first thing you’re gonna have to do is find him.”
“Oh, I’ll find him, all right,” Smoke said.
“Will you now?” Sheriff Reese asked.
Smoke smiled. “I think I can just about guarantee that, Sheriff.”
Rogers had heard enough and couldn’t keep silent any longer. “You know what I think? I think you’re all talk.”
Smoke looked at him. “Is that right?”
“Yeah, that’s right. And here’s another thing. You stay away from Sally Reynolds. I got my eyes on her. Besides, she likes me.”
“So that pretty lady I was just looking at is Sally Reynolds, is she? Well, that’s good to know. Thanks for telling me.”
“Miss Reynolds is our schoolteacher,” Reese said. “And I’m pretty sure that someone like her wouldn’t want nothing to do with no damn bounty hunter like you, West.”
“Yeah. You’re probably right, Sheriff. Anything else I need to know about Bury and its citizens?”
“Just stay out of trouble.”
“I’ll try and do that, Sheriff.” Smoke smiled, though the smile seemed more challenging than friendly. “The problem, or at least I’ve been told this, is that I’m the kind of man trouble seems to seek out.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Without losing the smile, Smoke touched the brim of his hat in what was almost a mocking salute, then turned his back on the two men and walked on up the boardwalk toward the hotel.
“I don’t like him,” Rogers said after Smoke was out of earshot. “I think I’ll kill him.”
“I don’t like him, either,” Reese said. “But you don’t do nothing until you’re told to do it. You understand that, Rogers?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I just saw Stratton ride in. I’m going to go see him and find out what he thinks about this man West.”
* * *
“What’s your impression of him?” Stratton asked after Sheriff Re
ese told him that Buck West was in town.
Reese hesitated. He didn’t care much for Buck West, but he knew better than to play the game any way other than straight. He leveled with Stratton. “I think he’s who he says he is. And I think the rumors are right. He’s one hell of a gunfighter.”
“How do you know?”
“Mr. Stratton, you know me, and you know my background. I’ve been around enough gunfighters to know one when I see him.”
“Do you think he could take Smoke Jensen in a gunfight?”
“He might just be able to do that.”
“Good. But keep an eye on him.”
“Yes, sir.”
* * *
In the hotel, Smoke bathed and shaved. After getting dressed, he buckled his gunbelt around his waist and tied down the low-riding holster. That done, he stepped out onto the boardwalk and carefully looked all around him, as was his habit, before heading for the café, choosing that over the hotel dining room.
He took a seat inside, and saw that he was but one table over from Miss Sally Reynolds. Because the normal lunch hour was over, they were the only customers in the café. He smiled at her. “Pleasant day.”
“Very,” Sally replied. “Now that school is out for the summer, it’s especially so.”
“I regret that I don’t have more formal education. The War Between the States put a halt to that.”
“It’s never too late to learn, sir.”
“You’re a schoolteacher?”
“Yes, I am. And you . . . ?”
Smoke gave a slight smile. “I’m what they call a drifter, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, I think adventurer would be a more accurate term than drifter,” the young woman said, meeting his gaze.
Smoke chuckled. “Adventurer? Yes, I’ll take that.”
“Why do you wear a gun?”
“Force of habit, I suppose.”
“I sometimes think many of the men who wear guns do so for show, without adequate skill to handle them. But I don’t get that impression about you.”
Smoke leaned back in the chair. “What makes you think that?”
“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I have. Are you skilled with a pistol, sir?”
“Some say that I am.”
Conversation waned as the waitress brought their lunches.
Before conversation could resume, Deputy Rogers entered the café, sat down at the counter, and ordered coffee. Seeing Sally and Smoke close together, albeit at different tables, vexed him, and he showed his irritation by glaring at them.
“Will you be in Bury long?” Sally asked Smoke.
“All depends, ma’am.”
“Lady of your quality shouldn’t be talking to no bounty hunter, Miss Reynolds,” Rogers said. “It ain’t fittin’.”
“Mr. Rogers,” Sally said coldly. “The gentleman and I are merely exchanging pleasantries over lunch, and I’ll not be told by anyone who I can and who I can’t speak to, whether you wear a lawman’s badge or not.”
Rogers flushed, placed his coffee mug on the counter, and abruptly left the café.
“I’m afraid, Miss Reynolds, that Deputy Rogers doesn’t like me very much,” Smoke said.
“Why?” Sally asked bluntly.
“I imagine it’s because I make him feel somewhat insecure.”
“Very interesting statement from a man who professes to have little formal education, Mister . . .” She paused and chuckled. “I seem to be at a disadvantage here. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
“It’s West, ma’am. Buck West.”
“Buck West? I believe I read an article about you in the paper, and I was right. You do know how to handle a pistol. That is, if the article is factual.”
“Did it have anything to do with a little fracas over in Bayhorse?”
“It did.”
“Then, yes, ma’am, the article is factual.”
“Are you a bounty hunter, Mr. West?”
“Bounty hunter, cowhand, gunhand, sometimes trapper. Whatever it takes to make a living.”
“Oh, then I was right about the other thing, too. You really are an adventurer. A soldier of fortune, one might say.”
Smoke grinned. “I think your appellations may be more romantic than realistic.”
“Appellations? Oh my. And you say you aren’t educated?”
“I read a great deal.”
“Never underestimate the value of self-education, Mr. West.”
“You’re from east of the Mississippi River, ma’am?”
“New Hampshire. I came out here a few years ago after replying to an advertisement in a local paper. The pay is much better out here than back home.”
“I sort of know where New Hampshire is. I would imagine living is much more civilized back there.”
“To say the least, Mr. West. And also much duller.”
“Would you mind taking a walk with me, Miss Reynolds?” Smoke blurted. “And please don’t think I’m being too forward.”
“I would love to walk with you, Mr. West.”
The sun was high in the afternoon sky and Sally opened her parasol as they strolled along the street a few minutes later.
“Do you ride, Miss Reynolds?” Smoke asked.
“Oh, yes. But I have yet to see a sidesaddle here.”
Smoke nodded. “They aren’t too common a sight out here.”
As they walked, his spurs jangled.
“Which employment are you currently pursuing, Mr. West? Bounty hunter, cowhand, gunhand, or trapper?”
“Not many beaver here in Bury,” Smoke replied with a little chuckle.
A group of hard-driving cowboys picked that moment to burst into town, whooping and hollering and kicking up clouds of dust as they spurred their horses, sliding to a stop in front of one of the saloons.
Smoke pulled Sally into a doorway and shielded her from the dust that had been kicked up. When the dust was settled, he stepped aside and Sally resumed her walk beside him.
“Those are men from the PSR Ranch,” she said. “Rowdies and ruffians, for the most part.”
“PSR?” Smoke asked, knowing full well what the letters stood for.
“Potter, Stratton, and Richards. It’s the biggest ranch in the state, so I’m told.”
The door opened behind them, and a very pretty lady emerged from the dress shop. “Hello, Sally,” she said with a smile.
“Hello, Janey.” Sally smiled.
“That is the business manager for PSR,” Sally said as Janey walked on down the boardwalk.
Smoke had just seen his sister for the first time in more than ten years. Or was it the first time? He could swear she was the woman he had seen in the Denver depot.
Sally frowned at him. “You have a rather odd look in your eyes, Mr. West.”
“I guess I’m surprised that such a pretty woman would be a business manager.”
“Not surprising when you get to know her. She is a very intelligent lady. She speaks three languages. And she is my friend.”
Smoke kept his face neutral. How in the devil did Janey learn three languages? I thought she quit school in eighth grade.
CHAPTER 37
“Oh, here she comes again,” Sally said, pointing to a carriage that was being pulled down the street by two magnificent-looking black Andalusian horses. “Isn’t that a beautiful carriage?”
It was a grand carriage, all right. The coachman was a black man, all gussied up in a military sort of outfit. As the carriage passed, Smoke removed his hat and bowed gallantly.
Even from the boardwalk, Sally could see that the woman in the carriage flushed with anger and jerked her head to the front. Sally suppressed a giggle. “Oh, my, I think you made her mad, Mr. West.”
“She’ll get over it, I reckon.”
Smoke remembered the time, back before the war, when he had pushed over the family outhouse with his sister in it. She’d chased him all over the farm, throwing rocks at him.
“That is a funny look in you
r eyes, Mr. West. What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking about my sister,” he answered honestly.
“Does Janey remind you of her?”
“Not the sister I remember. I’ll probably never see that girl again.”
“Oh, why do you say that?”
“She’s not there anymore. Everything and everyone is gone.” He took Sally’s elbow as they continued their walk toward the edge of town.
They had not gone half a block before the sound of hooves drumming on the hard-packed dirt came to them. Two men reined up in the street, turning the horses to face Smoke and Sally.
Smoke had never seen either of those men before, but he had seen their kind and he recognized, at once, that they were trouble. Gently but firmly, he moved Sally to one side. “You had better stand clear,” he said in a low voice. “This looks like trouble.”
“What kind of—”
“You run along now, schoolmarm,” one of the men cut her off. “This here might get messy.”
Sally stuck her chin up. “I will stand right here on this boardwalk until the soles of my shoes grow roots before I’ll take orders from you, you misbegotten cretin.”
Smoke chuckled at Sally’s remark.
“What the hell did she call me?” the cowboy asked his friend.
“Damned if I know.”
The cowboy swung his eyes back to Smoke and demanded, “Are you the one they call Buck West?”
“I am.”
“I hear tell you’re lookin’ for Smoke Jensen. Is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, here’s the problem with that, West. Me and my pard here are lookin’ for him, too, and we don’t plan to share that reward money with nobody. Most especial not some greenhorn like you who I ain’t never heard of afore you got your name put in the paper for shootin’ down a couple men that most prob’ly didn’t know one end of a gun from another. So you got fifteen minutes to get your gear and get gone.”
Smoke’s hands hung down by his sides. “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll just stay.”
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