Nicole waved at him, then turned and walked back into the cabin.1
That was the last time he ever saw her alive.
“Don’t worry about Sally, my darling,” Nicole said. “She will be all right.”
“Nicole!” Smoke said, startled to see his dead first wife. “You know about Sally?”
“Of course I know about Sally. And so does our son, Arthur. We love her, as we love you.”
“But you are ... I mean ...”
“You can say it. I am dead. Though, here, we laugh at that word. You are never more alive than you are when you are here.”
“What are you doing here ? Why have you come now? I mean, after all this time?”
“I’ve had no need to come before now,” Nicole said. “I know how worried you are about Sally. I could not stand by and see you suffer so. I had to come tell you that it will be all right. Sally will not die.”
“Nicole, I ...”
When Smoke awakened from his troubled sleep, he realized he was holding both his arms out in front of him. It was dark in the little house, the only light being the soft, silver splash of moonlight, spilling in through the window. He could hear the soft breathing of Sally from the bed, and Tamara from her cot.
He got up from the settee and walked quietly over to the bed. Reaching down, he put the back of his hand on Sally’s forehead. Where it had been hot for the last three days, it was now cool. Her fever had broken and the infection was stopped.
“You’re going to live,” Smoke said aloud. “Nicole was right. You are going to live.”
“Hmm?” Sally stirred, then woke up. Her face and eyes gleamed in the moonlight. She smiled. “Smoke”—she held up her hand—“what a pleasant surprise. Have you been here long?”
“Not too long,” Smoke replied. “How do you feel?”
“I feel fine.” She touched the wound. “Ha. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”
“Good.”
“Smoke, tomorrow, I would like to go back to Sugarloaf.”
“We’ll see what the doctor says.”
“Let me reword that. Tomorrow, I am going back to Sugarloaf.”
Smoke laughed. “With that attitude, I’m pretty sure you will.”
Sally looked up at Smoke. “Were you thinking about Nicole?”
“What?” Smoke asked, startled by the question.
“Nicole was killed. I know how you grieved over her. Were you afraid that was going to happen to you again?”
“I gave it some thought,” Smoke admitted.
“You needn’t have worried,” Sally said. “Nicole came to visit me. She told me that everything was going to be all right.”
“What do you mean Nicole came to visit you?”
“She was here tonight. I was talking to her, just before you woke me up. Oh.” Sally chuckled. “I guess what I meant to say was I dreamed about her tonight. You loved her very much, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but ...”
Sally held up her hand. “You don’t need any buts. She was your wife. Don’t you know that your capacity to love is one of the things I love most about you?”
Smoke picked up Sally’s hand and kissed it.
She giggled. “There you go again, kissing my hand like I’m some grand dame in the queen’s court. You can do better than that.”
Smoke leaned down and kissed her full on the mouth.
A telegram brought Pearlie over from Big Rock. Doctor Gunther had given Sally permission to go home, provided she not be jostled about too much. When Pearlie arrived he was driving a grand carriage.
“Hello, Miss Sally.” Pearlie smiled down at her from the driver’s seat of the carriage.
“Hello, Pearlie.” Sally took in the carriage with a sweep of her hand. “My, what an elegant carriage! Wherever did you get such a thing?”
“Ain’t she a beaut, though? The seats inside is all red velvet, and if you get cold, well all you got to do is close the windows. This belongs to the governor.”
“The governor?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Pearlie said proudly. “The governor had the carriage brought to Big Rock, ’cause he wanted Elmer Baker to touch up the gold trim for him.” Pearlie pointed to the side of the coach. “He done a real good job, too, didn’t he? Look at how that gold is shinin’.”
At that moment, one of the doors opened, and Dr. Colton—the doctor from Big Rock—stepped down.
“Dr. Colton!” Sally said in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“I got a telegram from Smoke,” Dr. Colton replied. “He told me you were coming home today, and asked if I didn’t think it would be a pretty good idea if I came along to ride back with you.”
Sally looked at her husband. “Smoke, you know I’m fine. Why did you bother him like that?”
“Believe me, Sally, it is no bother,” Dr. Colton replied. “I consider it an honor. In fact, Louis Longmont thought about closing his saloon and coming over with me.”
“Oh, well I’m glad he didn’t do that. Otherwise, I would have every beer drinker in Big Rock angry with me.”
Dr. Colton laughed. “I see you still have your sense of humor about you. That’s a good sign. That’s a very good sign.” He helped Sally into the carriage, then sat across from her.
Smoke tied Seven on behind the carriage, then climbed into it to sit beside Sally. As Pearlie drove down the main street, people stared in amazement at the fine coach, wondering what it was doing there. Smoke waved at them with the back of his hand.
“Smoke, what on earth are you doing?” Sally asked.
“I am waving at the little people from this fine carriage.”
She laughed hard, then winced with pain and put her hand over her wound.
“Sally, are you all right?” Smoke asked in concern.
“I’m fine,” Sally replied. “Just quit making me laugh out loud like that. It hurts.” She paused and tilted her head. “On the other hand, make me laugh out loud all you want. I need the laughter, and I don’t care whether it hurts or not.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sugarloaf Ranch
Sally was sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch of the house. Smoke, Pearlie, and Cal were hovering around her, offering to bring coffee or tea, whichever she might want, a shawl, a footstool, something to read, something to eat.
“For crying out loud,” Sally finally said with a laugh. “Don’t any of you have something else to do? What about the spring roundup? We do have a ranch to run, you know.”
“Yes ma’am. Right now seems like most of the work is findin’ cows and calves that’s got themselves bogged down in mud holes here and there,” Cal said.
“But we’ve brung in some hands for that,” Pearlie said.
“And we’ve got calves to brand,” Cal added.
“You’re turning all that over to temporary help?” Sally asked.
“No ma’am, we’re goin’ to be out there. Someone needs to be ram roddin’ it.”
“By someone, you mean you?”
“Yes, ma’am, I reckon so,” Pearlie answered. “That is, me and Cal.”
“Let me ask you this. Do you plan to actually participate in the roundup? Or is it your intention to spend all the time here, on the porch?”
“Oh, no ma’am, we ain’t goin’ to be spendin’ all our time here on the porch. Fact is, we’re goin’ right now,” Pearlie said. “We was just wantin’ to make sure that if there was some thin’ we could do for you, why we would be here to do it, is all.”
“Going to work would be doing something for me,” Sally said.
“Yes, ma’am.” Pearlie glanced over at Cal. “What are you standin’ around for? We got work to do. We can’t spend the whole day up here, just hangin’ around on the porch.”
“I’m goin’, I’m goin’,” Cal said, hurrying down the porch steps. “What I’m wonderin’ is when you are goin’ to get to work.”
The two young cowboys continued their arguing all the way out to the barn.
; “You were a little hard on them, weren’t you, Sally?” Smoke asked with a chuckle, after Pearlie and Cal left.
“Well come on, Smoke, you saw them. Tiptoeing around me, trying to wait on me, like I was an invalid or something.”
“You are an invalid.”
“I’m not an invalid. I’m recovering from a gunshot wound,” Sally said. “You’ve had to recover from a few, I recall.”
“Yes, I have.”
“That’s a temporary thing. Besides, they need to keep themselves busy doing something on the ranch, so they won’t be worrying so much about me. Especially Cal, bless his heart. He feels personally responsible for what happened.”
“Cal feels responsible?”
“Yes.”
“Now what could possibly make him feel responsible ?”
“You know how he is, Smoke. He thinks he let me down because he wasn’t in the bank with me when it happened.”
“That’s foolish. No one expected him to spend every moment with you.”
“Of course it is foolish. But try telling him that.”
Smoke walked over to the edge of the porch and stood, looking out. It was still early morning and the rising sun had painted the clouds in brilliant crimson, sending its rays to turn to gold the sheer walls of the cliffs that protected Sugarloaf from the most severe winter blasts. The creek that watered his stock was glistening silver, the trees, vividly green, and in the clefts, rays of sunlight burned away the blue shadows.
“Are you enjoying the view?” Sally asked. “It is a beautiful view, I admit. But I have a feeling you are trying to come up with a way to tell me.”
“Tell you what?” Smoke replied.
“Tell me that you are going after them.”
Smoke turned toward her. “I have to do it, Sally. You know I have to do it.”
“If you remember, Smoke, that’s how I met you. You were coming after the men who had killed Nicole. I know you have to do it. And I know it would be useless for me to try and stop you.”
Smoke smiled, then walked over and leaned down to kiss his wife. “The only thing is, I’m concerned about leaving you here.”
“Don’t be concerned. I’m going to be fine. Besides, I have Pearlie and Cal here to watch over me. What more could you ask for?”
“I’m going into town. I need to visit with Sheriff Carson for a bit. I’ll come back here before I leave.”
Sally started to stand. “I’ll fix a little something for you to take with you.”
“No you don’t. You stay right there in that chair, and don’t even try to get up unless Cal or Pearlie are here to help you.”
“I don’t know if you think I am three years old or ninety years old,” Sally replied in frustration.
“Neither. I think you are wounded.”
Big Rock
Dr. Colton laughed when Smoke told him that Sally had wanted to fix something for him to have on the trail. “She would do something like that. For anyone else with a wound that severe, they would be soliciting all the sympathy and care they could get. For Sally, it is naught but a temporary inconvenience.”
Smoke and Dr. Colton were in Longmont’s Saloon. Louis, the dark-eyed Frenchman who owned the saloon, was sitting at the table with them.
“In France, we have a saying,” Louis said. “Pour un seul sang, je vais extraire. Ma vengeance sera sévère.”
“That sounds just real pretty, Louis,” Dr. Colton said. “What does it mean?”
“For one blood, I shall extract two,” Louis translated. “My revenge shall be severe.”
At that moment Sheriff Carson came in. He smiled when he saw Smoke. “I got it. It just came in by telegraph a few moments ago.”
“Thanks, Monte,” Smoke replied.
“You got what?” Louis asked.
“I sent a telegram to Phillip Wilcox in Denver. He is the U.S. marshal for Colorado. He has sent authorization to make Smoke a deputy U.S. marshal. That way, Smoke can go after the murderers and thieves who shot Sally, with universal authority.”
Sheriff Carson held up a badge. “I keep a couple deputy U.S. marshal badges in the office for just such a thing. Hold up your right hand.”
Smoke repeated the oath as administered by Sheriff Carson. “As a deputy United States marshal, I, Kirby Jensen, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.”
“Congratulations,” Sheriff Carson said as he pinned the badge onto Smoke’s shirt. “You are now an officer of the law.”
Mrs. Smoke Jensen Recovering
Mrs. Jensen has returned to her residence at Sugarloaf and is said to be recuperating in a marvelous fashion. All who know this wonderful lady are mouthing prayers of relief for the ongoing recovery.
While visiting in Gothic one week previous, Mrs. Jensen was in the Miner’s Bank when a band of brigands attempted to rob that institution. Encountering unexpected resistance due to the installation of a time lock safe, the bank robbers, said to be led by Bill Dinkins, gave vent to their frustration.
Dinkins fired his pistol twice inside the bank, one ball striking the bank owner, Mr. Kurt Flowers, with deadly effect. The second ball struck Mrs. Jensen, wounding her grievously. Before leaving Gothic, the brigands murdered two more of the town’s finest citizens, including Mr. Deckert, a merchant, and Sheriff Tyson. Both men were killed instantly.
Escape was not without some penalty however, as Mr. Calvin Woods, an employee of Mr. Smoke Jensen, who was present in the town at the time, having escorted Mrs. Jensen there, took the fleeing bandits under fire. He killed John Putnam with what the citizens of the town say was a shot of extreme range and magnificent skill.
As to the location of the remaining bank robbers, nothing is known. Smoke Jensen has been appointed a deputy United States marshal, and it is said that he will pursue the evildoers to the very gates of hell if need be.
Were the editor of this newspaper afforded the opportunity to speak with Bill Dinkins and the evildoers who accompany him, he would feel the obligation to issue a warning. Smoke Jensen is not only a man of steely nerve, dogged determination, and deadly skills with firearms, he is also cloaked in the armor of righteousness. He has, in the course of his life, dispatched many a bad man to stand before that final judge of all mankind.
To Mr. Dinkins, and all who ride with you in your nefarious transgressions, I issue this warning. Beware, for truth and justice, when pursed by a man such as Smoke Jensen, will triumph.
Gunnison, Colorado
Like many other towns in the county, Gunnison began its life because of the silver that was dug out of the nearby mountains. When the silver played out, the town survived because a railroad served the area ranchers. Like many Western towns, it was divided into two sections, a rough collection of saloons and shanties, and legitimate businesses and homes. The Hard Rock Saloon was in the rougher section of town. Inside, occupying a table at the back, sat Bill Dinkins, Cole Parnell, Travis Slater, and his brother Frank.
Parnell had been reading the newspaper, and he slapped it down on the table with an angry snarl. “Son of a bitch, they know who we are.”
“Who knows who we are?” Dinkins asked.
“The law knows who we are.” Parnell pointed to the paper. “It says right there, that the Bill Dinkins’ gang held up the bank and killed the bank president, some merchant, and the sheriff.”
“Don’t forget the woman,” Frank said. “Dinkins kilt her, too.”
“She ain’t dead,” Parnell said.
“How do you know she ain’t dead?” Travis asked.
“Hell. ’Cause it says right here in the newspaper,” Parnell said. “It says she is recuperatin’ just fine.”
“Then that’s prob’l
y how they found out who we was,” Travis said. “She prob’ly told the law ever’thing.”
“That ain’t the bad thing,” Parnell said.
“What is the bad thing?” Travis asked.
“This ain’t just any woman that you shot.” Parnell looked directly at Dinkins. “Maybe you don’t know it, but the woman you shot is married to Mr. Smoke Jensen.”
“Smoke Jensen?” Dinkins replied. “That ain’t good.”
“Damn right, it ain’t good,” Parnell said. “Ac-cordin’ to this here newspaper, he’s done got hisself deputized, and he aims to come after us.”
“Deputized? Hell, that don’t mean nothin’. All we got to do is leave the county, and he can’t come for us.”
“Uh-uh. That won’t work. He’s been deputized a United States marshal, and that means he can go anywhere he wants,” Parnell said.
“Yeah, well if he does come after us, he just may be bitin’ off more than he can chaw,” Dinkins said. “I’ve sent word for someone to join us.”
“What do we need someone else for?” Travis asked.
“We lost Putnam, didn’t we? I figure on replacing him.”
“I know’d Putnam when we was in prison together,” Parnell said. “It’s goin’ to take a good man to replace him.”
“The man I’ve got comin’ is worth five Put-nams,” Dinkins said.
“Who would that be?” Frank asked.
“You’ll see when he gets here,” Dinkins said mysteriously.
“When will that be?” Travis asked.
Dinkins twisted around in his chair and looked up at the clock. “The train gets here at two. We got less than an hour to wait now, I reckon.”
He stood on the platform for just a minute, looking around. Behind him the train was a symphony of sound, from the bubbling water in the boiler, to the venting of steam, to the snapping and popping of heated journals and bearings. Nobody came to meet him, but he wasn’t expecting anyone. A child who saw him was frightened by his skull-like head, and turned his face into his mother’s skirt and clutched it about him.
Assault of the Mountain Man Page 10