CHAPTER 24
Smoke had ridden on many stagecoaches in the past, but this was a new experience for Denny and Louis. As the coach’s rocking, jolting gait made them sway back and forth, he could tell they didn’t care much for it.
“This is a bit like being at sea, isn’t it?” Louis said. His face had a greenish tinge to it.
“You’re not going to get sick, are you?” Denny asked.
“I’m fine,” her brother answered with a trace of annoyance in his voice. “Just worry about yourself.”
Smoke, Denny, and Louis were sitting on the rear seat, which meant they were able to face forward, at least. Alma Lewiston, Melanie Buckner, and Jerome Kellerman had the front seat.
That left the bench in the middle of the coach for Frank Colbert, Bradley Buckner, and the reporter, Peter Stansfield. Leather straps hung from the ceiling. The passengers on the bench could hold on to those in order to brace themselves, if they wanted to.
Stansfield took advantage of that, but Colbert, who seemed to be a westerner born and bred, rocked along easy enough, and Brad was too young to be anything but excited at being part of this stagecoach journey.
Fred Davis had furnished lap robes for the passengers to help ward off the cold that came in around the canvas covers over the windows. Melanie and Alma were huddled under one of the robes, but no one else was using them yet.
They would before this trip was over, Smoke thought. It was going to get mighty cold up there in the mountains. He remembered telling Denny and Louis about the Donner Party and hoped wryly that they wouldn’t get stuck.
“If you think this is uncomfortable,” he mused aloud, “you should have ridden one of these things down in Arizona or Texas during the summer. The heat would just about melt you, and so much dust got into the coach that it seemed like you were trying to breathe with your head in a bag full of dirt.”
“And yet people rode them everywhere,” Louis said.
“Well, sure. That was the only way to get anywhere, other than horseback or covered wagon, and not everybody was able to travel like that. It was the fastest way to cover long distances, too, until the train came along.”
Brad said, “I like this better. The train really stunk of burning coal.”
“I wish the train had been able to get through,” his mother said. “We’d be most of the way to Reno by now.”
Smoke nodded toward Brad and said, “The boy will have an experience he’ll never forget. Not many youngsters this day and age can claim to have crossed the Sierra Nevadas by stagecoach.”
“I may be the only one!” Brad said.
Smoke grinned. “Yeah, you just might be.”
The youngster reminded him a little of Billy and Bobby, the two orphans he and Sally had taken in at different times in the past, raising them until they had gone out on their own. Brad was younger than either of those two had been, but he had the same sort of enthusiasm for life.
However, there was no sign of enthusiasm on the faces of either Colbert or Kellerman. Both men appeared serious, even solemn. They weren’t going to be very good company on the journey, Smoke thought.
He was sitting beside the window on the right-hand side of the stage, so he moved the canvas cover on the window just a little, enough for him to look out and see the mountains looming in the distance.
They were traveling through heavily wooded foothills at the moment, but soon the trail would begin to rise at a steeper slope. By the middle of the afternoon, they would reach the point where the McCulley Cutoff veered away to the south and avoided the tallest of the peaks and passes.
Around midday, Salty reined the team to a halt so he and Smoke could put the fresh horses in harness. They would make frequent stops like that, in order to keep the teams as fresh as possible.
It was good for the passengers to have a chance to get out and stretch their legs, too, in spite of the chilly, overcast day.
Ever since leaving Sacramento, Peter Stansfield had attempted from time to time to engage Smoke in conversation. Smoke knew good and well that the reporter was trying to interview him, in the guise of being friendly, so his answers were short and unresponsive, although he wasn’t rude about it.
Stansfield tried again now, standing around while Smoke and Salty worked with the horses. He said, “I understand that you and our driver, Mr. Stevens, have been acquainted in the past, Mr. Jensen.”
“We’ve crossed trails a few times and ridden a few miles together,” Smoke said as he unhitched one of the horses and got ready to lead it to the back of the stagecoach.
“I’d love to hear about some of your adventures.”
“I don’t recall us ever having any adventures,” Smoke said. “Do you, Salty?”
“Well, there was that time in Dakota Territory we run into them no-good—” the old-timer began. He stopped short as Smoke gave him a stern look. Then Salty went on, “Nope, nope, can’t think of a derned thing. Life was always plumb peaceful whenever the two of us was together.”
“You don’t expect me to believe that!” Stansfield burst out. “Why, Smoke Jensen is known all across the West—no, all across the entire country—for the exciting life he’s led. There are bound to have been all sorts of occasions on which the two of you faced danger.”
Salty shook his head stubbornly and said, “Not so’s you could speak of.”
With exasperation showing on his face, Stansfield said, “Well, then, what about that other man you mentioned back in Sacramento? The gunfighter you claimed was a friend of yours. What was his name?
“Frank Morgan,” Salty said. “But if you want to know anything about him, you’d best go hunt him up and ask him your own self. He ain’t one to flap his gums, and I don’t reckon he’d want me doin’ that, neither.”
“You westerners are so laconic it’s disgusting.” Stansfield shook his head and turned away, leaving Smoke and Salty to get on with the job of switching out the teams.
Under his breath, Salty said, “You’re gettin’ on that young fella’s nerves, Smoke.”
“And he’s getting on mine. I didn’t want him to come along in the first place.”
Smoke didn’t eavesdrop on purpose, but he could still hear as Stansfield went over to Frank Colbert, who was walking back and forth and clapping his hands together lightly to try to get warm.
“Mr. Colbert,” the reporter said. “If I might have a word with you . . . ?”
“What do you want?” Colbert snapped.
“I’ve been thinking about it, and there’s something vaguely familiar about your name, as if I’ve seen it somewhere. Might I ask, what line of work are you in?”
“You can ask, but you won’t get an answer. It’s none of your damn business.”
“I’m sorry. I meant no offense—”
“I’m not offended. You don’t matter enough for me to be offended, mister. Go peddle your papers somewhere else.”
With that, Colbert turned away and walked over to join Alma Lewiston. They had been talking together quietly all morning as they rode in the stagecoach, confirming Smoke’s hunch that a friendship—if not more—had sprung up between them.
Stansfield stood there for a moment with a look of defeat on his face, but then he squared his narrow shoulders and approached Jerome Kellerman. Smoke saw that and felt a moment of fleeting admiration for the reporter. Stansfield was determined to get a story, even though everyone kept turning him away.
His determination counted for little with Kellerman, though, who curtly informed Stansfield that he had no comment about the trip they were on or anything else.
Brad Buckner approached Smoke and said, “I’d be happy to help you and Mr. Stevens, Mr. Jensen, if there’s anything I can do.”
“Ever hitched up a stagecoach team before?” Smoke asked in apparent seriousness.
Brad stared at him for a second and then laughed. “No.”
“Then the best way for you to help is to keep an eye on your ma and do anything that she needs done.”
“She doesn’t need anything. She’s busy talking to your son.”
That made Smoke look around. The boy was right. Louis was walking with Melanie Buckner, their shoes kicking up little white puffs from the thin layer of snow on the ground. The two of them were laughing and talking.
Denny stood near the stagecoach, watching Louis and Melanie and looking faintly disgusted.
Smoke told Brad, “Why don’t you watch what Salty and I do, then, and you’ll learn something about how to handle horses.”
“I’d like that! I want to drive a stagecoach one day.”
Salty said, “You may not get a chance to do that, sonny. By the time you’re old enough, I reckon all the stagecoaches will be gone.”
“Maybe not. I mean, there aren’t many around anymore these days, but we’re riding through the mountains in one, anyway, aren’t we?”
“The boy’s got a point,” Smoke said with a grin.
* * *
After Stansfield’s futile attempt to interview Colbert, he and Alma had walked around to the other side of the coach and drawn away from it a short distance. As they stood at the base of a wooded slope, Alma said, “You were kind of rough on that reporter, weren’t you?”
“I don’t have any use for those scavengers,” Colbert said. “Always prying into other people’s business and trying to make hay out of somebody else’s bad luck.”
“I suppose that’s true. Speaking of other people’s business . . . you’ve never told me what line of work you’re in, either, Frank.”
“That’s because there’s no need for you to know that.”
“Maybe not, but I just thought that since we’re traveling together—”
“We’re not traveling together,” Colbert interrupted her. “Oh, we’re on the same stagecoach, heading for the same place . . . and I don’t mind spending some time with you. I’ll admit, I was surprised when you knocked on the door of my hotel room last night, but it turned out to be a pleasant surprise. None of that really means anything, though.”
She looked at him for a long moment, then said, “God, you really are a cold-blooded, hard-hearted bastard, aren’t you?”
“You’d do well to remember that. And if you decide to have anything to do with me, remember that it’s your own choice, too.”
“I’ll remember,” she said softly.
“Then we understand each other.” Colbert batted his hands together some more. “Damn, it’s chilly out here.”
“Yeah, it is,” Alma said.
* * *
“It must have been difficult for you, raising a child by yourself,” Louis said to Melanie Buckner as they walked around on the other side of the coach.
“It has been trying, at times,” she admitted. “But Bradley is a wonderful boy. He’s very good-natured and friendly. He’s just enthusiastic and curious about things.”
“Most boys are.”
For a moment, Melanie lightly rested gloved fingertips on Louis’s forearm. “I’m sure you were, too,” she said, “when you were young.”
“Well, I was certainly curious, I suppose, but there was a limit to how much actual enthusiasm I could muster. You see, my health wasn’t very good.”
“Oh, no! I’m so sorry. You must have gotten better. You look fine now.” A warm flush spread across Melanie’s cheeks. “I mean . . . you look healthy. . . .”
“My condition is one that’s not readily apparent. I have a weak heart.”
“That’s terrible! I mean, are you . . . in any danger?”
He smiled. “Some would say that we’re all in danger from one thing or another, especially our hearts. But as long as I’m careful and don’t exert myself too much, I’ll be fine for now and perhaps for a long time to come.”
“That’s good to know. Although it must be difficult at times to stay calm and, ah, not get too worked up about anything. . . .”
“Yes, very difficult,” Louis said. “But I’ve managed so far.”
“If you need any help, I’ve worked as a nurse in the past,” Melanie said.
“You have?”
“Oh, yes. I’ve been a nurse and a seamstress, and I worked in a restaurant.... Actually, I’ve done any number of jobs to support Bradley and myself since my husband passed away.”
“I’m sorry,” Louis murmured. “I don’t mean to bring up bad memories.”
“That’s all right. It’s been several years. Tom’s death was shocking. He was working on a ranch when he was thrown from a horse and broke his neck. Bradley and I were living there, too, and I’ll never forget what it was like when the other men brought his body in. It was a complete accident, they said. Tom was a wonderful horseman. But they were working in a wooded area, and his horse almost stepped on a rattlesnake and panicked.” She shook her head. “He never had a chance.”
“Life is like that,” Louis said. “Sometimes it strikes without warning.”
“And it’s unfair, too, when it comes to things like my husband’s death and your affliction.”
Somehow while they were walking, his right arm had gotten linked with her left. He reached over with his left hand and patted her arm, saying reassuringly, “Don’t worry about me. I may not be the healthiest Jensen, but I’m still a Jensen.”
“And that makes a difference?”
“It certainly does.”
She smiled at him. “I’m glad you have such a wonderful family.”
Louis glanced toward the stagecoach and saw Denny standing beside it, glaring at him. He just grinned back at her, well aware that it would make her more infuriated. He knew he ought to be ashamed of himself for deliberately annoying his sister, but he wasn’t.
Really, it was none of her affair if he was interested in Melanie Buckner. And it wasn’t as if anything serious would ever come from such a mild, innocent flirtation. He was just passing the time, that’s all.
And the time for this brief stop was over. “Everybody back on board!” Smoke called. “We’re ready to roll.”