As he stretched, he saw two men leave the cabin, mount the horses he had seen tied alongside, then come riding toward him, slowly, confidently, and arrogantly.
“Well now, Crenshaw, what do you think about this? Here is the great Smoke Jensen caught like a rat in a trap.”
“You know what I think, Harding?” Crenshaw said. “I don’t think he looks like a rat at all. I think he looks more like a little, helpless mouse. Squeak for us, won’t you, mouse?”
Both gunmen laughed.
Crenshaw was the larger of the two. He had a flat nose, no doubt the result of it having been badly broken at one time. Harding had one eyelid that drooped so it looked as if that eye was half closed all the time.
“Nah, now that I look at him, he ain’t a mouse or a rat,” Crenshaw said. “You know what we got here? We got us a goat, that’s what we got. A goat, all staked out like bear bait. And you know what happens to bear bait, don’t you? Most often, bear bait gets itself kilt.”
Neither of the two men had dismounted, and both looked down at Smoke, their drawn pistols pointed at him.
“You got ’ny last words, before we kill you, Mister Smoke Jensen?” Crenshaw asked.
“I might be interested in knowing why you are going to kill me.”
“He wants a reason why we are goin’ to kill him. What do you think, Harding? Do you think we ought to give him a reason?”
“Ha!” Harding exclaimed. “We can give him five hundred reasons.”
“Yeah,” Crenshaw agreed as a broad smile spread across his face. “Yeah. We got five hundred reasons to kill you, and each one of ’em is worth a dollar.”
“So, you are getting five hundred dollars to kill me?” Smoke asked.
“Yeah, we are. Does that bother you?”
“Well, yes, it bothers me. I thought I would be worth a lot more than five hundred dollars.”
Crenshaw laughed. “He thought he was worth more than five hundred dollars. You’re a funny man, Jensen. Did you know that? Yes, sir, you’re a real funny man.”
“Why are you men doing it so cheaply?”
“Why? ’Cause it’s easy money, that’s why. Killin’ you is goin’ to be about the easiest thing either one of us ever done.”
“What if I pay you a thousand dollars to let me go?” Smoke asked.
“I don’t trust you. How do I know you’ll give us a thousand dollars if we don’t kill you?”
“How do you know the person who has hired you to kill me will pay off?” Smoke countered.
“Ha! If he don’t pay what he owes, we’ll kill him,” Crenshaw said.
“Well, if I don’t pay off, you can kill me,” Smoke said. “That way you’ll still get the five hundred from whoever it is that’s paying you.”
“He may have a point, Crenshaw,” Harding said.
“No, he don’t have a point,” Crenshaw insisted. “Ain’t you ever heard about him? Once he gets a gun in his hand there can’t no ordinary man, or any two men, handle him. Let’s just kill ’im now and get it over with.”
Smoke was not bargaining for his life, he was playing for time. As he was keeping the conversation going, he was also working his rifle out of its saddle sheath and, much more difficult, out from under the horse.
“Enough talk,” Crenshaw said. “Say good-bye, Jensen.”
The gunmen raised their pistols to complete the job.
At that exact moment, Smoke gave a yell and managed to yank his rifle free. He had no time to aim. All he could do was jack a round into the chamber and fire. His bullet hit Crenshaw in the chest. In a reflexive action, Crenshaw pulled the trigger, shooting his own horse. His horse spun around, causing Harding to jerk his horse out of the way.
Smoke jacked another round into his rifle and fired a second time, sending a bullet right into the middle of Harding’s forehead. Both of his would-be assailants were down. He kept a wary eye on them as, finally, he was able to free himself from beneath his horse.
Still cautious, Smoke got to his feet and, picking up his pistol, walked over to have a closer look at the two men who had shot at him. It didn’t take much of an examination to confirm they were dead.
“Oh, yes. I think you wanted me to say good-bye.” Smoke stared down at them for a moment longer. “Good-bye.”
Sally was beginning to wonder what was holding Smoke up. She wasn’t worried. He was on his own ranch, just a lot later coming back to the house than normal. On the other hand, she knew if he found something that needed to be taken care of, he would do it. She was about to put it out of her mind, when she saw him in the distance. Right away, she noticed he wasn’t riding the same horse he had left with. He was also leading a second horse.
Dismounting, he opened and closed the gate, then came riding up the road toward the house.
Sally hurried out on the porch to meet him. “Smoke! What happened?”
“Let’s go inside. You make me some lemonade and I’ll tell you all about it.
A few minutes later, Sally refilled Smoke’s glass. He had told her the entire story, from the opening shots that killed his horse, to the end, when he had killed Crenshaw and Harding.
“You say they were talking about being paid five hundred dollars for killing you?” Sally asked.
“That’s what they said.”
“Do you believe them?”
“I don’t think they would have attacked me for no reason at all.”
“Who do you think was going to pay the money? Do you think it was Garneau?”
“I don’t know.” Smoke said. “They never said who was paying them.”
“It had to be him. You know it was.”
Smoke shook his head. “Not necessarily, Sally. I’ve made a lot of enemies in my day. It could have been any one of them.”
“It could have been someone else,” Sally agreed. “But you are going to have to convince me it wasn’t Garneau. Please, Smoke, be careful.”
“I’d better get a wagon hitched up, and get those two men downtown to the undertaker.”
“I’m coming with you,” Sally said.
“Why on earth would you want to ride into town with two bodies?”
“I won’t be riding with two bodies. I’ll be riding with my husband.”
Smoke dropped Sally off in front of the mercantile, then he drove on to the sheriff’s office, stopped, and went inside.
“Hello, Smoke,” Sheriff Carson said. “What brings you to town?”
“Hello, Monte. I’ve got a delivery to make over to Tom Nunnley’s shop. I thought you might want to take a look at them first.”
Sheriff Carson put his hat on, then walked out front with Smoke. Smoke’s load had already drawn a handful of people to look on in morbid curiosity.
“You do it?”
“Yes. They ambushed me on my own ranch. Killed my horse.”
“You don’t have to justify it to me, Smoke. If you are the one who killed them, they damn sure needed killin’. Who are they? Do you know?”
Smoke shook his head. “I’d never seen them before in my life, but I did hear them call each other by name. This one is Crenshaw, this one is Harding,” Smoke said, pointing out each one. “I have no idea what their first names are.”
“I don’t recognize the names,” Sheriff Carson said. “More ’n likely they were just a couple low characters wanting to make a name for themselves by killing Smoke Jensen.”
“I’d better get them over to the undertaker,” Smoke said.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
From the Big Rock Journal:
Quick Finding in Inquiry
JUSTIFIABLE HOMICIDE
Crenshaw and Harding, first names unknown, lay in wait in order to, by stealth, kill Mr. Kirby Jensen, well known rancher and resident of Eagle County. This scurrilous attack took place on Sugarloaf Ranch, Jensen’s own property.
While successful in killing Mr. Jensen’s horse, they were unsuccessful in killing him. When the two villains approached Jensen to complete their nefarious scheme
, Mr. Jensen was able to energize two shots, the balls taking immediate effect, sending the iniquitous pair to the One whose final judgment we must, one day, all face.
“Is this how you were going to take care of Jensen?” Garneau asked Templeton after reading the article in the paper.
“I will take care of Jensen. Don’t worry. Right now I’m more interested in moving out those people who are keeping you from expanding.”
“You have succeeded with four,” Garneau said. “That means seven remain.”
“Yes, but we don’t have to move seven. Right now it all boils down to Humboldt Puddle,” Templeton said. “He’s the leader of all the small land owners in the valley, and if we can convince him to leave, the others will leave as well.”
“I believe you tried talking to him once before, but without success.”
“Yes. That time I used the carrot,” Templeton said. “This time I will use the stick.”
“I do not understand.”
“I just mean this time I will be more—let us say, persuasive.”
“I understand he is an obstiné man. Obstinate,” Garneau translated.
Templeton chuckled. “Yeah, he’s hardheaded all right. But, like I said, if we can get rid of him, the rest of them will leave.”
“Then by all means, get rid of him.”
“It isn’t going to be easy.”
“I don’t pay you because it is easy.”
“What I’m saying is, we may have to get rid of him permanent, if you know what I mean.”
Garneau lifted the goblet to his mouth and took a swallow of brandy. He didn’t speak and Templeton took that as his approval.
“All right, I’ll get right on it,” Templeton said.
“Hey, Gately,” Miller said. “There goes Templeton with Nixon, Curtis, and Noble again.”
“Yeah, I see ’em. Ken Conn is with them, this time.”
“Where do you think they’re goin’?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. I’m beginnin’ to think the less we know about what Garneau is doin’ around here, the better off we’re goin’ to be.
Miller nodded. “Yeah, you may be right.”
Templeton led the four men to within half a mile of Carro de Bancada, Humboldt Puddle’s ranch.
“Are we going to do the same thing we did with Butrum?” Nixon asked. “Poison his well, tear up his garden?”
“I doubt Puddle even has a garden, and his well isn’t an open well. Besides which, we aren’t goin’ to waste time trying to talk him into selling out,” Templeton said.
“Well, what are we goin’ to do?”
“You’re goin’ to kill ’im,” Templeton said in a matter of fact manner.
“Kill ’im?” Noble asked.
“Do you have a problem with that?”
“I don’t have a problem. But for killin’, I get a little more money.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll get all of you a bonus,” Templeton said.
“What kind of bonus?”
“A hundred dollars apiece.”
Curtis smiled. “Then what are we waiting around here for? Come on, boys, what do you say we do some killin’.”
Templeton watched the four men ride off, then he returned to Long Trek.
Humboldt Puddle was at the pump, pumping water, when a bullet whizzed by his head so close he could hear it pop. He knew immediately what it was.
Dropping the water bucket, Puddle ran quickly to the wagon, where he grabbed his rifle and levered in a round. Then, looking toward his apple orchard, he saw a man on horseback pointing at him with a pistol. Puddle raised his rifle, fired, and saw the man tumble from his horse.
Puddle made a big mistake. Unaware there were more than one person, he started toward the fallen man and felt a blow to his stomach. Looking down in surprise, he saw that he had been shot. Moving as quickly as he could to a fencerow, he lay down and looked back toward the apple orchard to see if he could locate any others.
Smoke was at the southern end of his ranch when he heard the shooting. It wasn’t the shooting of a hunter, or someone taking target practice. To Smoke, who had been in more gunfights than he wanted to remember, there was a distinct sound to gunfire, a tone and tint that told him those were the gunshots of men in desperate battle.
Smoke urged his horse into a gallop, the gunshots growing louder as he approached. He could see gun smoke floating over the scene, and as he rode closer he saw his neighbor Humboldt Puddle lying behind a fence, besieged by an unknown number of gunmen.
Smoke didn’t know the reason for the gunfight, but he did know his neighbor and could see he was outgunned. That was all Smoke needed to see. Out of range at the moment, he fired at the assailants, just to let them know Puddle was no longer alone. The gunmen, seeing Smoke approach, turned their attention toward him.
That was their mistake. Three mounted gunman rode toward him, firing at him. Smoke fired twice, and two of the saddles were emptied.
The other rider turned and galloped away.
Smoke didn’t give chase, instead hurried to check on his neighbor. Puddle sat on the ground, leaning back against the fence of his corral. The rifle he had been using was on the ground beside him, and he was holding his hands over his belly. Smoke could see blood spilling through his fingers.
“Mr. Puddle!”
“Hello, neighbor,” Puddle said, managing a weak smile. “I got one of them. Thanks for givin’ a hand.”
“Who were they? Did you recognize them?”
“No, I never got a close enough look to see. But I don’t need to. I know who they are. They work for the Frenchman, just as sure as a gun is iron.”
Smoke looked at Puddle’s wound and shook his head. “I’d better get your wagon hooked up so we can take you in to see Doc Urban.”
“Don’t waste your time, Smoke. You and I both know there ain’t nothin’ a doctor can do for this.” Puddle pulled his hand away from his wound, and the cupped blood flowed more profusely.
He looked down at his wound. “That sure is a dandy of a wound, ain’t it?” He chuckled. “You know what we used say about wounds like this during the war?”
“What’s that?” Smoke asked, knowing Puddle wanted to talk.
“We used to say a deep belly wound was God’s way of tellin’ you to slow down.” Puddle laughed at his own joke, but the laughter deteriorated into a spell of spasmodic coughing.
He reached up and grabbed Smoke by the arm, leaving a bloody handprint on his shirtsleeve. “Smoke, I need you to promise me something.”
“Whatever it is, I’ll do it if I can,” Smoke said.
“Go into my kitchen. In the cupboard under the butter dome, you’ll find an envelope. It’s got my will in it, and the address of my nephew, Malcolm Puddle. He lives in New York. He’s my brother’s son and the only relative I got. I aim to leave this place to him. Will you promise me you’ll get that to him?”
“I promise.”
“I’ll be gone, so there won’t be much I got to say about it one way or the other. But I’m hopin’ Malcolm will consider hangin’ on to the place. And I’m hopin’ that if he does, maybe you’ll give him a hand.”
“You can count on it.”
“Do you reckon that once I get to the other side, I’ll run into them fellas I kilt durin’ the war?” Puddle asked. “Far as I know, they was good men, all of ’em. They just happened to be wearin’ a different color uniform than I was, is all. I’d like to run into ’em ’n tell ’em there wasn’t nothin’ personal in it. I hope they ain’t holdin’ no grudge against me.”
“I’m sure they aren’t,” Smoke said.
But Puddle didn’t hear his response, because he was dead.
Big Rock
Smoke drove Puddle’s wagon into town, with his own horse tied on behind. There were four bodies in the wagon. Humboldt Puddle was behind the driver’s seat, completely covered with a blanket. The other three were sprawled out in the back, uncovered. The arrival in town of a wagon
loaded with bodies created quite a stir so that by the time Smoke turned onto Center Street, at least two dozen people were following. Nobody spoke to him until he pulled up in front of the hardware store and undertaker shop. There, he set the brake on the wagon, then tied off the team.
“Smoke, that’s Humboldt’s wagon, ain’t it?” one of the citizens asked.
“Yes.”
“Is Humboldt the one under the blanket?”
“Yes.” Smoke answered no more questions as he walked around the hardware store, to the back door that opened to the mortuary.
Tom Nunnley looked up as Smoke stepped inside. “I saw you coming, so I’m getting my tools ready. Who do you have for me?”
“Humboldt Puddle and three others,” Smoke said.
“Four? You have four bodies?”
Smoke nodded.
“All right. Let’s go have a look.”
Smoke led Nunnley out to the street where several more had gathered.
“Who are these men? Do you know?” Nunnley asked.
“I don’t have the slightest idea. But I’m sure they worked for Garneau, so he’ll probably know.”
“Yes, but the question is, will the Frenchman pay for their burying?”
“If he won’t, the city will pay,” Sheriff Carson said, coming over to join them. “Did you kill ’em, Smoke?”
“I killed two of them. Humboldt killed one of them before they killed him.”
“Do me a favor, will you, Tom? Hold off on buryin’ these three until I can find out who they are.”
“All right,” Nunnley said. “I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll get ’em in a pine box, then I’ll stand ’em up out front here. Someone in town may know who they are.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Long Trek
Strike of the Mountain Man Page 10