“There were three of them,” Smoke said.
“Yes, Emil, Jason, and Stu.”
“Emil is the smart one.”
“You mean because he got away last night?”
“He got away the last time, too.”
Sheriff Walker stroked his chin. “Yeah, well, no doubt he’s a long way from here by now.”
“I’m not so sure about that. I think he is still here.”
“If he is, I’ll have my deputies keep an eye out for him. Can you tell me what he looks like?”
“I’ve never actually seen him up close,” Smoke said. “I only saw him once, and then from a distance, when he and the others rode into Big Rock the day they tried to hold up the Mercantile. I saw him last night, of course, but it was so dark that I couldn’t make out any features.”
“So what you are saying is, you could pass him on the street and not recognize him?”
“Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”
“Well, if that’s the case, there really ain’t no need for him to be gone, is there? Not if you can’t even recognize him.”
“That’s true,” Smoke replied. “Tell me, Sheriff, will I be needed for an inquiry or anything?”
“No, I don’t think so,” the sheriff answered. “From everything I can determine, and from the statements I took from the other hotel guests, it seems pretty obvious they were coming into your room to rob you. Besides, Mr. Jensen, I know you and I know your reputation. If anything does come up, I certainly know how to get hold of you.”
“Yes, I’ll be here until after the auction today. After that, you can reach me at Sugarloaf, my ranch.”
“You came to make a bid for Prince Henry, didn’t you?”
“If he is all he is cracked up to be. And if I can afford him,” Smoke replied.
“Well, from what folks say about him, he’s quite a bull. I reckon he would make a good addition to anybody’s herd. And after this, you can probably afford to bid a little higher than you’d planned.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like I said, there was paper out on those two men who tried to rob you last night. There is a five-hundred-dollar reward on each one of them. That means you are a thousand dollars richer today than you was yesterday. If you stop back by my office just before the auction, I’ll have your money ready for you.”
“You don’t say. Well, now, that’s good to know,” Smoke said. “Thanks, Sheriff Walker.”
Chapter Nine
Tucker Phillips, Miller Smith, and their wives joined Smoke and Sally for lunch at the Manitou Restaurant, advertised in the Colorado Springs Gazette as “Colorado’s Finest Restaurant.” Sally, Mrs. Phillips, and Mrs. Smith had gone shopping that morning, and Mrs. Smith had bought a new hat at Wilbur and Woulf, an emporium on Tejon Street. She was wearing it now and Sally, after giving Smoke a small kick under the table, nodded toward Mrs. Smith.
“Mrs. Smith, what a pretty hat,” Smoke said, getting the signal.
“Why, thank you, Mr. Jensen,” Mrs. Smith replied, beaming at the compliment.
“I wonder why Pogue Quentin didn’t join us,” Tucker Phillips said. “From what I understand, he is the only other person who will actually be bidding on Prince Henry.”
“Do you know anything about Quentin?” Smith asked.
Phillips shook his head. “Not really, just that he is a pretty big rancher.”
“I don’t know him, but a fella who used to cowboy for me, James Colby, went down to Huereano County and bought himself a small ranch. He sent me a letter not too long ago, said that this man, Quentin, had cheated every other ranch owner in the county out of his ranch,” Smith said.
“How did he do that?” Phillips asked.
“Somehow or the other, he got them all to agree to join their ranches together as a single ranch, with each of them owning shares. Only, after a short while, he turned out to be the sole owner.”
“What about your friend, Colby?”
“Colby didn’t join him,” Smith said. “He hasn’t lost his ranch, but he is really struggling to hang on. I hate to see that, too. He was one of the best men I ever had workin’ for me.”
“Do you know Quentin, Mr. Jensen?” Phillips asked.
“I never met him before last night,” Smoke said. “And there was something about him that I didn’t like. Hearing how he cheated his neighbors out of their land, I’m glad to see that my instincts are still working.”
“Speak of the devil,” Smith said. “There he is now.”
Smith nodded toward the door of the restaurant where Pogue Quentin and his son, Billy Ray, were just coming in. They were shown to a table on the opposite side of the room, but shortly after they were seated, Quentin came over to speak to Smoke and the others.
“Mr. Jensen, I heard about your little ruckus last night,” Quentin said. “I’m happy to see that you weren’t hurt.”
“Thanks,” Smoke replied.
“They had obviously come to rob you. Of course, I guess that could have been any of the four of us, seeing as we are all carrying large sums of money.”
“Except that doesn’t explain the three one-hundred-dollar bills that were found in the shirt pocket of one of them,” Phillips said. “To me, that’s proof that they weren’t there just to rob Mr. Jensen. I believe they had come to kill him, and someone had paid them to do it.”
“That’s not very likely, is it?” Quentin asked.
“Maybe not,” Smith replied. “But then, how likely is it that a man could build up one of the largest ranches in Colorado by stealing land from all his neighbors?”
The smile on Quentin’s face had been forced from the moment he walked over to the table. Now, even the forced smile left his face, to be replaced by an irritated scowl.
“Are you suggesting I did that?” Quentin asked.
“No, I’m just repeating what I’ve heard others suggest,” Smith said.
Quentin stood there for a moment longer, then nodded. “I’ll see you men at the auction,” he said.
When Smoke stepped into the sale barn a little later that afternoon, his entry didn’t go unnoticed. Most of the town had heard of the incident in his hotel room the night before, and several came over to speak to him about it, offering their sincerest appreciation that he had come through the robbery attempt unscathed.
The gathering of all the ranchers was congenial, because most had no intention of bidding on Prince Henry, and as there were cattle and bulls enough to go around, there was no competition between them. And Smoke, Smith, and Phillips had established a friendly relationship so that the competition between them wasn’t in the least acrimonious. The only person to show a bit of hostility toward the others was Pogue Quentin, but even that didn’t cause a problem as he and his son kept to themselves until the auction began.
“Gentlemen, if you will all take your seats, we’ll get the auction under way,” Lindsey Beck, the auctioneer, said.
The buzz of conversation quieted as the ranchers all found a place to sit.
“Before we begin the bidding, I need to go over the rules with you once more. Only those of you holding a valid ticket will be authorized to bid. The ticket will cost you one hundred dollars. If you bid successfully, that one hundred dollars will be applied to your bid. If you do not buy anything, the one hundred dollars will be refunded at the conclusion of the bid.
“Also, you understand that all transactions are to be in cash and payable immediately, so I caution you not to make any bid higher than the amount of cash you have on your person right now. If you cannot come up with the cash for your purchase, the next highest bidder will be declared the winner.
“And I should not have to tell you that all bids are final. Are there any questions?”
There were none.
“Gentlemen, if there are any among you who have not yet purchased your bidding ticket, I invite you to do so now.”
For the next few minutes, several of the ranchers, most of whom were late arrivals at the
auction, hurried over to the clerk’s table to make the purchase.
“Now, gentlemen,” the auctioneer began. “Our first sale will be one bull and ten heifer calves. Though they are not of champion stock, they are all purebred Herefords and will be a good addition to your existing herds, as well as a good means of starting your Hereford herd. We will sell all eleven animals in a single lot, so your bidding will be for all eleven. Do I have an opening bid?”
“Fifty dollars,” one of the ranchers shouted.
“I have fifty, do I hear fifty-five, five, five, five, do I have fifty-five?”
“Five.”
“Fifty-five, now sixty, sixty, sixty, fifty-five now sixty,” the auctioneer droned on in an almost lyrical, singsong voice.
There were several ranchers at the auction, and through all the early rounds the bidding was brisk. Then the excitement reached its crescendo when Prince Henry was introduced.
Although there as many as one hundred people at the auction, there were, as Murchison had pointed out, only four who could realistically bid for the bull, and the auctioneer and everyone else present knew who they were. The four were sitting in different parts of the bleachers, having, for this particular sale, purposely separated themselves from each other.
Prince Henry was a fine-looking specimen, and as he was led into the circle, he held his head high.
“Here he is, gentlemen, Prince Henry, the bull you all came to see, but only one of you came to buy.”
The audience laughed at the auctioneer’s joke.
“Prince Henry weighed ninety-five pounds at birth, is guaranteed to be completely free of defects or any history of illness or injury, and now weighs thirteen hundred and fifty pounds.
“The seller has stated that the opening bid must be five hundred dollars or higher. Do I have an opening bid?”
“Five hundred and five dollars,” Tucker Phillips called out.
“And ten,” Miller Smith said.
“Five hundred fifty dollars,” Smoke bid.
“Gentlemen, let’s quit pussyfooting around here,” Pogue Quentin said. “I bid six hundred fifty dollars.”
“Six-fifty, fifty, fifty, fifty,” the auctioneer barked. “Do I hear seven hundred, seven hundred, seven, seven, seven—”
“Six hundred seventy-five,” Smith said.
“I have six hundred seventy-five, seventy-five, six hundred seventy-five, do I hear seven hundred? Seven hundred, seven hundred, now six seventy-five, seven hundred?”
“Seven hundred,” Tucker Phillips called.
“And fifty,” Quentin shouted.
“Seven hundred fifty,” the auctioneer said. “I have seven hundred fifty. Mr. Phillips, do you wish to increase the bid?”
Phillips made a dismissive motion with his hand. “Too rich for me,” he said.
“Mr. Smith?”
“Eight hundred,” Smith said.
“Nine hundred,” Quentin shouted.
“I’m out,” Smith said.
Quentin smiled broadly. “Looks like I’ve bought a bull.”
“Nine hundred fifty,” Smoke said.
“One thousand,” Quentin shouted back angrily.
“Fifteen hundred dollars,” Smoke said resolutely.
The audience gasped at the size of the jump in the bid, and for a moment, even the auctioneer was surprised.
“One thousand five hundred?” he asked, not in the singsong voice, but a conversational tone, as if to be certain he wasn’t making a mistake. “Mr. Jensen, do I understand the bid?”
“One thousand five hundred dollars,” Smoke repeated. When he left Sugarloaf, he’d had no intention of ever paying this much, but the unexpected bonus of the reward money enabled him to do so.
“Mr. Quentin, do you wish to respond?” the auctioneer asked.
“I—I will need some time to raise a little more cash,” Quentin said.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Quentin,” the auctioneer said. “The rules are quite specific. The terms are cash, due at the time of the purchase.”
Quentin sat in his seat for a moment; then, without a word, but casting an angry glare toward Smoke, he got up and left the room.
“One thousand five hundred once, one thousand five hundred twice, one thousand five hundred three times,” the auctioneer said. He slammed his gavel on the podium. “Prince Henry is sold to Smoke Jensen for one thousand five hundred dollars.”
The others in the sale barn applauded as Smoke walked down front to take possession of the animal.
“You’ve bought yourself a good bull, Mr. Jensen,” R.J. Billings, the seller of the bull, said as he received the money, then turned over the bull and his bill of sale.
“Thanks,” Smoke said. “I’ve recently introduced Herefords, and I’m hoping Prince Henry will strengthen my herd.”
“Oh, he will, I promise you that,” Billings said.
“I noticed that Mr. Quentin seemed quite upset,” Billings said. “He left the building without so much as a fare-thee-well.”
“Yes, he did. Well, if he was all that upset, I’d just as soon not have to deal with him. I’ve had enough conflict in my life. I don’t need any more,” Smoke said.
“Yes,” Billings said with a chuckle. “I heard about your conflict last night.”
“It would seem that everyone in town has heard.”
“I’m glad it turned out as it did. From all I have heard about you, you are a good man. I would not want to have seen you hurt.”
“Ha!” Smoke teased. “What you mean is, you would not want to have lost the sale.”
Billings laughed out loud. “Well, there you go, Mr. Jensen, you have found me out,” he said. “But I’m also glad that Prince Henry has found a home with a gentleman like you. How will you be getting Prince Henry back to your ranch?”
“By train.”
“If you wish, I will make the transportation arrangements for you. A bull like this needs special accommodations. Also, having raised him from a calf, I’d like a moment to tell him good-bye if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Smoke said. “If you need me for anything, I’ll be down at the saloon.”
Chapter Ten
As Pogue Quentin stood in the hotel hallway unlocking the door to his hotel room, Emil Sinclair stepped out of the broom closet.
“Sinclair, are you a damn fool? The whole town is looking for you. What are you doing here?” Quentin asked.
“I got to get out of town,” he said.
“Well, you aren’t going to get out of town standing here.”
“I ain’t got no money.”
“What do you mean, you don’t have any money? I gave you three hundred dollars.”
“Jason wanted to hold on to the money until we was done,” Emil said.
“That’s not my problem,” Quentin said. “If I hadn’t given you that money, I would have been able to raise the bid. And if you and your brothers hadn’t been so incompetent, you would have a lot of money now and I would have Prince Henry.”
“You wound up gettin’ both my brothers killed,” Sinclair said.
Quentin shook his head. “That was your bungling.”
“They was killed doin’ somethin’ you wanted done. You owe me.”
Quentin shook his head. “I don’t owe you a damn thing.”
“There’s things I could tell people about you, Quentin, about things we done together down in Texas.”
“So you told me,” Quentin said. “But like I told you, I am a successful rancher, and you are a wanted man. Who is going to believe you?”
“That ain’t right, Quentin. That ain’t no way right. My two brothers got kilt and I damn near did. All I need is a little travelin’ money.”
Quentin opened the door to his room. “Come inside for a moment,” he said. “I don’t want to talk out here.”
Sinclair followed Quentin into his room, then stood to one side as Quentin locked the door behind him.
“I’ll give you one hundred dollars,” Q
uentin said.
A huge smile spread across Sinclair’s face. “A hunnert dollars? Yes, that’s enough. That’s more than enough.”
“You have to earn it.”
“Earn it? Earn it how?”
“Smoke Jensen bought a bull today.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I want you to find that bull and kill it.”
“Ain’t that supposed to be some champion bull worth a lot of money?”
“Yes.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to try and steal it?”
“Now you tell me just how in the hell you are going to steal it,” Quentin replied. “What are you going to do? Drive him down the middle of the street for everyone to see?”
“Oh, yeah, I guess I see what you are talking about,” Sinclair said. “But I don’t understand. Why do you want me to kill the bull?”
“If I can’t have him, then I don’t want anyone to have him,” Quentin replied.
“Where is the bull now?” Sinclair asked.
“I imagine it’s down at the railroad station, waiting to be put on the train. Wherever he is, it’s your job to find him. Find him and kill him.”
“What about Jensen?”
“What about him?”
“You want me to kill him, too?”
“I’m not giving you any more than one hundred dollars,” Quentin said. “At this point, I don’t care what happens to Jensen.”
Sinclair held out his hand. “You just give me the money, Mr. Quentin. I’ll kill the bull for you, and throw in killin’ Jensen for free. I owe the son of a bitch for killin’ my two brothers.”
Quentin gave the one hundred dollars to Sinclair, then opened the door. “Make this the last time we see each other,” Quentin said.
“Don’t worry, it will be. After I take care of business, I’m heading for California.”
As Sinclair started toward the stairs, Billy Ray Quentin was just arriving. He passed Sinclair by without saying a word, but when he got to the room where his father was standing in the open doorway, he gave in to curiosity.
“What was Sinclair doing here?”
“We were taking care of some last-minute business,” Quentin said. “Did you get the train tickets?”
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