CHAPTER 15
Mickey Shaw was a short, stocky man with grizzled, close-cropped hair and a jaw like a chunk of rock. His grip was powerful as he reached across the counter in the Red Top Café and clasped Smoke’s hand.
“’Tis pleased I am to be meeting you, Mr. Jensen,” he said. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Never really thought we’d run into each other, though.”
Shaw wore a canvas apron, and the sleeves of his work shirt were rolled up to reveal brawny forearms. He went on, “Excuse me a minute,” and turned his head to bellow through the window in the wall behind him, “Where the devil are those eggs?”
An equally loud reply came from the kitchen on the other side of the window. “I’m gettin’ ’em done, you big-mouthed Mick! Just keep your shirt on!”
Shaw grinned at Smoke and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Me wife. Her bark is worse than her bite, as they say.”
“I heard that! And I wouldn’t bet on it!”
Shaw ignored the comment from the kitchen. “What can I do for you, Mr. Jensen? You want some breakfast? It’ll be on the house, after what you did for the town last night, stoppin’ those robbers from escapin’ after they gunned down Marshal Cardwell.”
“I’ve eaten already,” Smoke told him, “but I could use a cup of coffee. It’s Windy here we came to feed.” Smoke nodded toward the old-timer.
“Oh.” Shaw frowned at Windy. “You have any money?”
Before Windy could answer, Smoke said, “You can put it on the tab for the marshal’s office. I’m holding down the job temporarily, and Windy’s my deputy.”
“I am?” Windy said in obvious surprise.
“You are. I’m going to need an experienced man backing me up.”
“Oh. Well, I, uh, appreciate that, Smoke. I’ll try not to let you down.” Windy licked his lips. “I could use a couple eggs and some biscuits and bacon.”
Shaw shrugged and nodded. “Comin’ up. You hear that, Charlotte?”
“I heard,” the reply came from the kitchen. “I’ll get it done as soon as I can. There’s only one of me, you know.”
“I know,” Shaw told her, then added under his breath, “The world couldn’t handle more than one of you.”
He poured coffee for Smoke and Windy, who took seats at the counter. Smoke glanced around. Several of the café’s booths were occupied, but no one else sat at the counter. He leaned forward and said quietly, “There’s something else I need to talk to you about, Mr. Shaw.”
“Call me Mickey. And you look mighty serious all of a sudden, Mr. Jensen. Or should I call you Marshal Jensen?”
“Make it easy on all of us and just call me Smoke.” He took a sip of the coffee, which was good but not as good as Miriam Dollinger’s, and went on, “Windy tells me you were a sergeant in the cavalry.”
“That’s right. Was in eighteen years but finally had enough of it and came here to open this café.”
“Salt Lick may be facing some trouble, the kind where military experience could come in mighty handy.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound good,” Shaw said. “Maybe you’d best just speak plain, Smoke.”
“All right. Those two who tried to rob the bank, more than likely they’re part of the gang that rides with Snake Bishop.”
Shaw’s jaw tightened and jutted out even more. “Bishop,” he repeated. “He’s supposed to be a mighty bad sort.”
Windy said, “He is. Don’t you ever doubt it, Sarge.”
“We don’t know that Bishop is headed for Salt Lick,” Smoke said, “but there’s a good chance he is. If he raids the town, we’ll need to be ready for him, and that means rounding up some good fighting men . . . and someone to take charge of them.”
“And you want me to do that?”
“From what I’ve heard, you’re the best man for the job.”
Windy said, “I told Smoke about you bein’ down yonder at Palo Duro Canyon with Colonel Mackenzie.”
Shaw nodded slowly. “I was there, all right. It was quite a fight against the Comanche. From what I’ve heard, though, Bishop may be even worse than they were. And we don’t have several troops of cavalry to work with.”
“How many good fighting men do you think you can find here in Salt Lick?”
Shaw pondered Smoke’s question for several seconds, then said, “Maybe two dozen who are worth much, and are still young enough to fight. Throw in some green kids who might have what it takes, and some like Windy, who have the experience but are past their prime, and there might be twenty-five or thirty more.”
“Past my prime?” Windy said indignantly. “Why, I’ll have you know I can still lick my weight in wildcats—”
“So we’re talking about a force of approximately fifty men,” Smoke said, breaking into the old-timer’s protest.
Shaw nodded. “Yeah. One good thing is that there ought to be plenty of rifles and ammunition among the stock of the mercantiles here in town. We shouldn’t run short of firepower.”
“That is good,” Smoke agreed. “Why don’t you and Windy put your heads together and come up with a list of men we can recruit? For now, though, don’t say anything to them. We’re trying to keep the possibility of a raid quiet for the time being.”
“You don’t want folks so scared they start running around like chickens with their heads cut off.”
“That’s right.”
A swinging door into the kitchen opened, and a woman came out with a tray loaded with plates. After hearing the way she and her husband shouted at each other, Smoke halfway expected Charlotte Shaw to be a middle-aged harridan, but he was surprised to see that she was at least ten years younger than the former sergeant and very attractive with long, dark hair done into a thick braid.
“Here you go, Windy,” she said as she took one of the platters from the tray and placed it in front of Windy.
“Miz Charlotte, that looks plumb delicious,” he told her. “Smells like it, too.”
“Thank you.” She glanced at Shaw. “It’s nice to know that somebody around here appreciates my efforts.”
Shaw just snorted. Then, as his wife picked up the tray and went to deliver meals to some of the other customers, he turned back to Smoke and said, “I’ll tell you somebody else you need to talk to. Apple Jack.”
Smoke remembered hearing one of the men from the night before referred to by that name. “Saloonkeeper, isn’t he?”
“That’s right. Owns the Top-Notch. But he has the sort of background you’re looking for, too.”
Windy glanced up from the eggs he was cutting with a fork and said with a puzzled frown, “He does?”
“That’s right. But I don’t want to talk out of turn, Smoke, so he can tell you about it if he wants to.”
“I appreciate that, Mickey.”
“Call me Sarge. Everybody else does.”
“All right, Sarge.” Smoke turned to Windy. “Finish your breakfast, work on that list of men with Sarge here, and then go on back to the office. I’ll be there in a while, after I’ve talked to Apple Jack.”
“All right,” Windy said. “And I was thinkin’, Smoke, that somebody ought to ride out and do a little scoutin’, just to make sure they ain’t already tryin’ to slip up on us.”
“I agree. I’ll do that later this morning.”
Smoke said so long and left the Red Top. He didn’t know if the Top-Notch Saloon would be open this early in the day, but he could find it, anyway.
When he located the saloon, he saw that the doors were open and the batwings had been unfastened so that they hung across the entrance. Taking advantage of the nice weather while it was here, he supposed.
He wondered if Windy might be right about a powerful blue norther having the town in its sights, despite there being no indication of it at the moment. If Preacher had told him something like that, he wouldn’t have doubted the prediction for a second. He had complete faith in the old mountain man’s instincts. He supposed that Windy might be correct, too. Old men’s bones were usually pretty good at predicting the weather.
Smoke pushed through the batwings. The Top-Notch was like scores of other saloons he had been in. Even at this hour, a poker game was going on at one of the tables. A couple of men stood at the bar. They had coffee cups in front of them instead of beer mugs or shot glasses, but a sleepy-looking bartender stood on the other side of the hardwood and an uncorked bottle was within reach, so Smoke figured the coffee had been doctored a mite.
A man sat at a rear table by himself, also with a coffee cup. He wore a brown tweed suit and a string tie. Smoke recognized him from the night before.
Obviously, the recognition was mutual, because the man got to his feet and lumbered forward with his hand outstretched.
“Good morning, Mr. Jensen,” he greeted Smoke in his squeaky voice. “Welcome to the Top-Notch.”
Smoke shook hands with him. “You’re Apple Jack?”
The man laughed. “Jack Appleton is actually my name,” he said, “but if that wasn’t enough, the way my head looks a little like an apple has had people calling me that since I was a boy.” The affable expression went away, replaced by a more solemn look. “What can I do for you?”
“You can see by the badge that I’m filling in for the late Marshal Cardwell.”
Apple Jack nodded. “Yeah, and I’m glad to see it, too. Salt Lick needs a lawman, and I don’t reckon anybody around here is more suited for the job than you. Shame we can’t keep you permanent-like, but I know you have a ranch up in Colorado.”
“Can we talk for a few minutes?”
“Sure.” Apple Jack waved a hand toward the table. “Have a seat. I’ll get you some coffee.”
“No, that’ll all right. I’ve had plenty already this morning.”
“Well, then, sit down and tell me what’s on your mind . . . Marshal.”
When they were both seated, Smoke said quietly, “Salt Lick may be in for more trouble. Those two men who tried to rob the bank last night normally ride with Snake Bishop’s gang.”
Apple Jack started breathing harder. “Snake Bishop,” he repeated. “From what I’ve heard, he’s a really bad hombre. And two of his men were in my place yesterday?”
“That’s what it looks like.”
“I never would’ve been so friendly to them if I’d known that. Good grief, I even bought ’em a drink!”
“You didn’t have any way of knowing,” Smoke said. “The important thing now is that it’s possible Bishop and the rest of his bunch are on their way here. He’s been known to send men ahead to scout a settlement before he raids it.”
Apple Jack frowned. “If those two fellas were scouts, why’d they try to rob the bank?”
“We don’t know. Could be they decided to try to clean it out themselves before the others got here. Or they could have split off from the gang and been on their own. We just don’t have any way of knowing, since they’re both dead.”
“But Bishop could be headed here.”
“He could be,” Smoke agreed.
“Lord have mercy on all of our souls, then. That man is a monster.” Apple Jack looked even more puzzled. “But what’s that got to do with me?”
“We’re not spreading the word about Bishop just yet, not until I can talk to some of the men in town and put together a force of volunteers who’ll be ready to meet the trouble head-on, if it comes. Sarge Shaw over at the Red Top Café suggested that I talk to you.”
“He did?” Apple Jack shook his head. “I don’t know why he’d do that. I’m just a simple saloonkeeper. I . . . I don’t know anything about fighting battles.”
Smoke didn’t think the man’s words had the ring of truth. He considered himself a pretty good judge of character, and although he might not have noticed it if Shaw hadn’t suggested he come here, Smoke thought now that he caught a glimpse of something else in Apple Jack’s eyes.
“Sarge said you’d have to be the one to tell me, Mr. Appleton,” Smoke said quietly. “If you wanted to. If you don’t, I reckon I’ll go on my way and not bother you anymore.”
Apple Jack fidgeted with his coffee cup for a moment, then sighed and said, “All right. I reckon this business with Snake Bishop is important enough I ought to trust you, Mr. Jensen.”
“Make it Smoke.”
“All right. And you can call me Apple Jack like everybody else. Folks didn’t always call me that, though. For a while, during the war, they called me something else.” The saloonkeeper looked down and then back up to meet Smoke’s eyes. “They called me Colonel Appleton.”
“You were in the army?”
“Well . . . the Confederate army. Does that make a difference to you, Smoke?”
Smoke shook his head. “Not a bit. I was just a boy when it was over, but I remember hearing that President Lincoln said we were all countrymen again. Robert E. Lee said the same thing. Men like that, I tend to take them at their word. Where did you serve?”
“All over Missouri, Arkansas, Kansas, Indian Territory . . . I commanded an artillery brigade in what they called the Trans-Mississippi District. The biggest battle I was in was the one at Pea Ridge, where we got beat. It was never the same after that.” Apple Jack sighed. “Sarge Shaw was in that battle, too . . . on the other side. I never knew about that . . . never knew him . . . until he came here to Salt Lick. Then one day he said something while he was in here that made me think he’d been there, so we got to talking about it. You know, the way old soldiers do. There aren’t any hard feelings between us. We’ve always gotten along and still do. But I’ve got a business to run, and folks from all over live in Salt Lick these days, including Yankees. Some of them still hold grudges, even all these years later, so I don’t go out of my way to let ’em know I fought for the Rebs.”
“All I care about is that you’re accustomed to command,” Smoke said.
“I told you, I was an artillery man. I never was in the thick of any battle.”
“But you’re heard the cannon roar and given orders. That puts you ahead of some of the men in town.”
“I suppose so,” Apple Jack admitted with obvious reluctance. “I figured I’d put all that behind me forever, though.”
“Maybe you have,” Smoke said. “There’s a chance Bishop and his gang aren’t headed in this direction. But if they are, I’d like to know that I can count on you, Apple Jack.”
The saloonkeeper shook his head and practically moaned, “All I wanted to do was just run this place. I saw enough of war to last me the rest of my life.”
“I’m sure you did. But sometimes fate doesn’t give us much choice in what we’re called on to do. And I suspect you have a lot of friends here in Salt Lick. They’re more than just customers to you, aren’t they?”
Apple Jack drew in a deep breath, let it out in a sigh, and nodded.
“That’s right. I guess . . . if it comes down to it . . . a man’s got to fight when his home and his friends are in danger, doesn’t he?”
“If he wants to call himself a man,” Smoke agreed.
“Then count me in, Smoke. What do you want me to do?”
“For the moment, nothing except think about how you’d defend this town from an attack. Windy Whittaker and the sarge are putting together a list of men who they think will be willing and able to fight. You must have been there for plenty of councils of war with the other officers, so you know strategy and tactics. Figure out a plan and get together with Windy and Sarge later to go over it and see what they think.”
“I can do that,” Apple Jack said with what seemed to be a bit more enthusiasm. “What are you going to do?”
“I need to take a ride,” Smoke said, “and make sure trouble’s not nearly on top of us already.”