Marie Olsen was a comely widow who, according to gossip, was being rather generous with her sexual charms. Newton’s candid comment brought instantaneous laughter from the gallery, and Judge Wells had to bang his gavel several times to restore order.
“I’ll have no more such outbursts in my court,” he said. “And no talkin’ ’less I call for it.”
“All right, Your Honor, I won’t talk no more,” Newton said, and when Wells glared at him, the others in the courtroom laughed again, though with considerably more restraint this time.
“Mr. Jensen, would you take the stand, please?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Smoke replied. Sally was sitting next to him in the court, and Pearlie and Cal were sitting next to Sally. Sally squeezed Smoke’s hand as he stood up, then walked to the front of the courtroom. A Bible was thrust before him.
“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
“I do.”
“Please take the witness chair.”
“Now, your name is Smoke Jensen?” the judge asked.
“That’s right.”
“There is a man of some note, said to be very, very good with a gun, by the name of Smoke Jensen. In fact, I know that some dime novels have been written about Smoke Jensen. Are you that Smoke Jensen?”
“I am, Your Honor,” Smoke said.
The judge smiled. “Well, Mr. Jensen, I don’t know as I have ever met a genuine celebrity before. May I say that it is an honor and a privilege to meet you?”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
At that moment, Richard King and Bob Kleberg came into the courtroom. Henrietta and Alice were with them, and the four took their seats in the very last row. When Alice saw the man on the witness chair, she gasped.
“It’s him!” she said.
Someone in the row just in front of her turned and glared, holding his finger across his lips in the sign to be quiet.
“Now, Mr. Jensen,” the magistrate continued. “You have the reputation of being a brave and determined man, expert in the use of firearms, as quick as thought and as certain as death. I did not know Mr. Pugh, nor have we been able to find anyone who did know him. And since I have heard of you, but I have never heard of Dingus Pugh, is it not reasonable to assume that he was not as skilled with firearms as you are?”
Smoke nodded. “I suppose so, Your Honor, but I never take anyone for granted,” he said. “However, I do try to avoid killing someone if I possibly can. And I tried to avoid this one as well.”
“Yes, the witnesses do seem to support you in this. However, that does raise the question as to why he came after you in the first place. I believe witnesses have testified that he said you threw him off the train. Is that correct? Did you throw him off the train?”
“I did, Your Honor.”
“Well, that in itself would seem motivation enough to drive a man to an intemperate action. Were you deliberately trying to provoke him?”
“No, Your Honor, he wasn’t!” Alice said, standing up and speaking out loud to the surprise of everyone in the courtroom, including Kleberg and her parents. “He was protecting me.”
Although Judge Wells had cautioned against speaking in court unless addressed, he recognized Alice King. He knew also that her father was not only the largest rancher in this part of Texas; he was also a very wealthy man who had heavily invested in several businesses in Corpus Christi. Taking all that into consideration, he did not chastise Alice for interrupting his court. Instead, he just followed up on her comment.
“Miss King, would you like to expand upon the statement you just made?”
“Do you want me to come up there and sit in the chair?” Alice said, pointing toward the witness chair.
“No, no, that won’t be necessary,” Judge Wells said. “You can stay where you are. The court reposes enough confidence in your veracity that you need not be sworn. But please tell us what you mean when you say Mr. Jensen was protecting you.”
Alice told about seeing the man in the dining car while she was having her breakfast. She then told about trying to return to her car, only to be interrupted on the vestibule between cars.
“He took out his gun, covered it with his hat, and pointed it at me. That was when Mr. Jensen happened to pass by. At first, I thought he didn’t realize I was in danger, because he just went on. Then, a moment later, he reappeared from the car, grabbed the man who was accosting me, and threw him from the train.”
“Hear, hear! someone shouted out loud, and the rest of the courtroom gallery cheered and applauded.
“Order!” Judge Wells said, slamming his gavel against his desktop. “Order!”
Finally, the court was quiet.
“Mr. Jensen, I will accept the young lady’s testimony as to your motivation. However, I cannot but wonder if there would not have been a better way for you to deal with him upon the occurrence of your first meeting than the injudicious act of throwing him from the train.
“On the other hand, when we consider the condition of affairs incidental to a frontier country, the lawlessness and disregard for human life, the existence of a law-defying element in our midst, the fear and feeling of insecurity that has existed, the supposed prevalence of bad, desperate, and reckless men who have been a terror to the country and kept away capital and enterprise, and considering the testimony of those who witnessed the event of this morning, I can attach no criminality to your act. I am therefore going to find that the decedent, Dingus Pugh, died by an act of justifiable homicide.” Again, the judge banged his gavel. “This court is adjourned.”
With the adjournment of the court, nearly everyone rushed to Smoke to shake his hand in congratulations, though for many, it was merely an excuse to meet the legendary Smoke Jensen.
Alice, her parents, and Bob Kleberg hung back for a long time, waiting until nearly everyone else was gone before they approached him.
“I didn’t get a chance to thank you before,” Alice said.
Smoke smiled. “You thanked me enough a few minutes ago when you convinced the judge that I didn’t toss that fella off the train just for the fun of it.”
“Smoke,” Kleberg said, stepping forward then. “This is Captain Richard King, my employer, and the owner—”
“Of the Santa Gertrudis Ranch,” Smoke said, finishing the sentence. “I’m a rancher as well,” he said, extending his hand to shake the hand of Richard King. “I don’t believe there is a rancher in the country who hasn’t heard of - Captain King, the ranch, and the Santa Gertrudis breed of cattle. It’s an honor to meet you.”
“The honor is all mine,” King said. “And you have my gratitude, sir, for coming to the aid of my daughter in her time of danger.”
“Anyone would have done it,” Smoke said. “Oh, let me introduce you to my wife and friends.”
Smoke introduced Sally, Pearlie, and Cal; then he met Henrietta.
“Captain King is the reason I asked you to come down,” Kleberg said after all the introductions were completed.
“Oh?”
“Yes,” King said. “And I want to apologize, Mr. Jensen, for doubting you. That is, doubting the type of person you are. You see, I did not want to resort to using a gunfighter to fight my battle for me. I thought . . . well, never mind what I thought. I was wrong. And if you are still willing to offer your assistance, I would be more than willing to accept it. In fact, I’ll go beyond that. I’m asking for your assistance.”
“I came down to do whatever I could do to help my old friend Bob Kleberg,” Smoke said. “And since that means helping you, I will be glad to do anything I can for you.”
“Wonderful!” King said, smiling broadly. “Uh, where are you staying now?”
“We’ve taken rooms in the Dunn Hotel.”
“We’re there as well,” King said. “We were going to start back today, but . . .”
“There’s a dance there tonight,” Alice said, interrupting her father.
“And she wants
to go for some reason,” King teased. He looked directly at Kleberg. “Though, for the life of me, I don’t know why.”
Kleberg cleared his throat in embarrassment.
“At any rate, if you are still willing to help me, despite my bad-mannered rejection of your earlier offer, I would like for all of you to come back to the ranch with us tomorrow.”
“There’s no need for you to put yourself out on our account,” Smoke said. “We can stay here . . . or take accommodations somewhere closer to the ranch.”
“Nonsense. There is nothing closer to the ranch than Corpus Christi, certainly nothing that would be a decent place for you to stay. You’ll be my guests at the ranch, and I won’t take no for an answer. Besides, you’ll be much more comfortable, and I know you will eat better.”
“Eat?” Pearlie said, breaking into a large smile.
Smoke chuckled. “You’ve just said the magic word for my friend.”
“Your friend likes to eat, does he?” King asked.
“He will eat anything that doesn’t eat him first,” Smoke said.
“And if it plans to eat him first, it better get a head start,” Cal said.
The others laughed at Cal’s observation.
There was one person in the court who had not joined the others when they gathered around Smoke Jensen; nor had he left the moment court was adjourned. But while he hung around for a while longer, just to see what connection there was between Smoke Jensen and Captain King, Brad Preston stayed in the back of the court in order to make certain Smoke didn’t see him. He knew that probably wasn’t necessary. His encounter with Jensen had been so brief, and so long ago, that he was sure Jensen wouldn’t remember it now.
Earlier in the day, when both Manning and Waco Jones drank themselves into insensibility, the owner of the Gold Strike Saloon had the two men dragged out into the alley to sleep it off. Preston, who had drunk much less, left the Gold Strike and continued exploring the town. That was when he heard of the inquest into the shooting that had taken place a couple of hours earlier.
“Who did you say got hisself killed?” Preston asked.
“They say his name was Dingus Pugh, but don’t nobody seem to know him,” he was answered. “Why? Did you know him? ’Cause if you did, they got him on show in the front window down at Wagner’s hardware store.”
“No,” Preston lied, shaking his head. “I’ve never heard of him.”
Drawn by honest curiosity, as well as morbid interest, Preston walked down to look through the hardware-store window. There, in a plain pine coffin, tipped up for better viewing, was the body of Dingus Pugh. He was wearing a jacket that was too small as well as a stiff collar and tie. His arms were folded across his chest, and he was holding a white lily.
Preston had seen such displays before. He knew that the clothes belonged to the undertaker and were just for showing. He knew also that, before the pine box was closed, the clothes would be removed.
There was a sign in the window.
DO YOU KNOW THIS MAN?
As Preston stood there staring at the body, he felt a chill pass over him. He knew that this could very easily be his body lying there in a pine box. Once, ten years ago, he had drawn his gun against Jensen, but before he could even get his gun out, Jensen had hit him on the head, knocking him out.
Now, the son of a bitch was here, had shot Pugh, and was receiving accolades from those who attended the inquest.
As Preston listened in on the conversation, he learned that Smoke Jensen intended to help Richard King. And if that was the case, this was information that Major Brandt would need to know.
Once again, Preston checked in on Manning and Waco Jones, intending to tell them that they needed to get back to Concepcion, but they were both still passed out in the alley behind the Gold Strike.
“Manning, Waco, get up,” he said, kicking on the sole of Manning’s boot.
“Manning, wake up!” He kicked again.
Manning growled, and turned over. “Go away,” he said.
“Waco. Get up,” Preston said. “We’ve got to go back now.”
“I want another drink,” Waco mumbled.
Sighing, Preston stared down at them for a moment longer, then shrugged.
“You two are worthless as tits on a boar hog,” he said.
He didn’t have time to wait on them. This was news he had to get back to Major Brandt right away. Preston went back into the saloon, and when the bartender came over to him, he bought a beer to drink before he started his long ride back.
“Bartender, do me a favor,” Preston said. He nodded toward the back. “When my two friends wake up, tell them I went back.”
The bartender didn’t answer, but he nodded affirmatively as he wiped the bar off with a towel.
As Preston rode out of town, he passed a big sign spread across the road that read:
CATTLEMEN’S DANCE TONIGHT
ALL WELCOME
CHAPTER TEN
Since Captain King and the others would not be starting back to the ranch until the following day, all decided to attend the dance that night. By dusk, the excitement that had been growing for the entire day was full-blown. The sound of the practicing musicians could be heard all up and down Shoreline Street. Children gathered around the glowing, yellow windows on the ground floor of the hotel and peered inside. The ballroom floor was cleared of all tables and chairs, and the musicians had been installed on the platform at the front of the room.
The band started with several numbers—“Buffalo Gals,” “The Gandy Dancers’ Ball,” and “Little Joe the Wrangler” being the post popular. Horses and buckboards began arriving, and soon every hitching rail on Shoreline Street, and even up Star Street all the way to Mesquite Street, was full. Men and women streamed along the boardwalks toward the hotel, the women in colorful ginghams, the men in clean, blue denims and brightly decorated vests.
Cal and Pearlie were in their room on the third floor of the hotel, getting ready to go downstairs to the dance. Actually, Cal was ready, and he was standing at the open window, looking down at those who were arriving. From there, he could hear the high skirling of the fiddle. Behind him, Pearlie was still shaving.
“Will you hurry up?” Cal asked. “By the time you get finished primping, the dance will be over.”
“Just because you are too young to shave doesn’t mean I don’t have to,” Pearlie said as he wiped off the last of the lather.
“Ha! I have to shave.”
“Yes, but with you, it’s not an art yet,” Pearlie said. He started to reach for his gun belt.
“You aren’t going to take your gun, are you?”
Pearlie snickered. “No, I reckon not,” he said. “I’m not likely to need a gun at a dance now, am I?”
Leaving their room, they knocked on the door to Smoke’s room.
“Smoke,” Pearlie called. “You and Miss Sally comin’, or what?”
“We’ll be there,” Smoke’s muffled voice replied from inside. “Go on down.”
“Let’s go,” Pearlie said.
“If you’re waitin’ on me, you’re backin’ up,” Cal said as he started clomping down the stairs.
Pearlie joined him and when the two reached the ground floor, they hurried toward the sound of the music and laughter.
Once they were inside, the excitement was all it promised to be. Several young women were gathered on one side of the room, giggling and turning their heads in embarrassment as young men, just as embarrassed, made awkward attempts to flirt with them. At the back of the dance floor there was a large punch bowl on a table and Cal saw one of the cowboys look around to make certain he wasn’t being seen, then pour whiskey into the punch bowl from a bottle he had concealed beneath his vest. A moment later, another cowboy did the same thing, and Cal laughed.
“What is it?” Pearlie asked.
“Nothin’,” Cal replied. “I think I’ll just get me some punch.” Pearlie watched Cal walk around the edge of the dance floor to the punch bowl, then
looked toward the area where the men and women who were with each other were waiting. Bob Kleberg and Alice King, who had come down before them, were with this group. Alice waved at Pearlie as he stood watching.
Cal came back with two cups of punch and handed one to Pearlie, just as Smoke and Sally arrived. Sally reached for Cal’s cup and smelled it, then poured it out into a potted plant.
“Aw, Miss Sally,” Cal protested.
“Not until you are a little older,” Sally insisted.
“Choose up your squares!” the caller shouted through his megaphone, and several couples, including Smoke and Sally and Kleberg and Alice, hurried to their positions within one of the squares. Pearlie and Cal joined the cowboys who were advancing toward the unattached girls, and when a couple of pretty red-haired girls accepted their invitation to dance, they made up the final two sets for the square that had Smoke and Sally and Bob and Alice.
The music began then, with the fiddles loud and clear, the guitars carrying the rhythm, the accordion providing the counterpoint, and the Dobro singing over everything. The caller began to shout, and he clapped his hands and stomped his feet and danced around on the platform in compliance with his own calls, bowing and whirling as if he had a girl and was in one of the squares himself. The dancers moved and swirled to the caller’s commands.
“Swing your partner round and round,
Turn your corner upside down.
Hang on tight like swingin’ on a gate,
Meet your partner for a grand chain eight,
Chew some ’backy and dip some snuff,
Grab your honey and strut your stuff.”
Around the dance floor sat those who were without partners, looking on wistfully, those who were too old holding back those who were too young. At the punch bowl table, cowboys continued to add their own ingredients, and though many drank from the punch bowl, the contents of the bowl never seemed to diminish.
Two men lay behind the Gold Strike Saloon. That they were lying in the offal and refuse of the saloon, including the place where the spittoons were emptied, didn’t seem to matter to them. A dog cocked his leg and peed on Manning’s face.
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