CHAPTER 18
Smoke heard the high, keening sound of a steam-powered saw and knew that he was close to a town. If he had followed directions, the town was Buffington. At least, he hoped it was Buffington. A couple weeks ago a man had told him that Angus Shardeen had been seen in the town.
As he rode closer, he smelled meat cooking and bread baking. His stomach churned as those aromas reminded him of just how hungry he was.
Finally, he saw a church steeple through the trees, a tall spire, topped by a brass-plated cross that glistened in the high noon sun. He reached a road running parallel to the railroad tracks and moved onto it, following it the rest of the way into the settlement.
The town impressed him with its bustling activity. In addition to the working sawmill, he saw several other examples of commerce—freight wagons lumbering down the street, carpenters erecting a new building, a store clerk in a white apron sweeping the boardwalk in front of his place of employment. Well-maintained boardwalks ran the length of the town on either side of the street. At the end of each block, planks were laid across the road to allow pedestrians to cross to the other side without having to walk in the dirt or mud.
Smoke stopped his horse and waited patiently at one of the intersections while he watched a woman cross on the plank, daintily holding her skirt up above her ankles to keep the hem from getting soiled. She nodded her appreciation to him as she stepped up onto the boardwalk on the opposite side of the street.
Smoke clucked at Seven, and the Appaloosa stepped across the plank, then headed toward the livery, a little farther down. Smoke dismounted in front of it.
An old man got up from the barrel he had been sitting on and walked, with a limp, over to Smoke. “Boardin’ your horse, mister?”
“Yes.”
“How long will you be stayin’?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” Smoke said.
“It’ll cost you fifteen cents a night.”
“Does that include feeding him?”
“Hay, only. Oats’ll cost you five cents extra.”
Smoke gave the man a silver dollar. “I’ll be back before this is worked off.”
“Wes,” the old man called, and a boy of about fourteen appeared from inside the barn.
“Yes, sir?”
“Take this man’s horse.”
“Wait a minute,” Smoke said.
“Beg your pardon?”
“I need to let Seven know that you’ve got my permission to be around him. I’d better introduce you.”
“Mister, I been handlin’ horses since I was ten years old,” Wes said. “You don’t need to introduce me to your horse.”
Smoke smiled and stepped away. “All right, come get him.”
The boy started toward the horse, and Seven lowered his head and bared his teeth.
Startled, the boy jumped back. “Uh, maybe you had better introduce us.”
“Yeah, it might work out better that way,” Smoke said with a smile. He put one hand on the side of the horse’s face and the other hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Seven, it’s all right. This boy’s name is Wes, and he’s going to take good care of you while I’m gone.”
Seven nodded his head, and Smoke reached out to take the boy’s hand. He was about to put it on Seven’s face, but Wes pulled back.
“It’s all right,” Smoke said. “Seven’s going to treat you fine. Here, give him a couple pats.”
Hesitantly, Wes allowed his hand to be put on Seven’s face. Only when Seven moved his head against the hand did the boy smile.
“There, now you and my horse are friends. Wes, I’d suggest that before anyone else handles him, you tell Seven it’ll be all right.”
“You mean he’ll listen to me?”
“Sure he will. Like I said, you and Seven are friends now.”
The smile broadened, spreading across Wes’s face. “Yes, sir, I’ll be sure ’n introduce the others to ’im!” he said proudly. “Come on, Seven. Like he said, me ’n you’s friends now.”
Smoke turned to the livery man. “The name of this town is Buf-fington, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir, it is.” The man extended his hand. “I’m Tony Heckemeyer.”
“Smoke Jensen.” He examined Heckemeyer’s face for any sign of recognition, but he gave none. “This seems like a nice, industrious town.”
“Yes, sir. We like it.”
Suddenly, several gunshots interrupted their conversation. Looking toward the opposite end of the street, Smoke saw two men backing out of a building.
“That’s the bank! They’re robbin’ the bank!” Heckemeyer said.
A third man suddenly appeared from the alley that ran between the bank and the building next to it. He was mounted and leading two horses. Leaning down, he threw the reins to the two others. Once they mounted, all three began shooting up the town in order to keep people off the street.
Their efforts were effective, in that most people were scurrying to get out of the way. But Smoke saw a little girl not more than five or six years old standing at the edge of the street, obviously in the line of fire from the shooters. She was too frightened and too confused to move.
Dropping his saddlebags, Smoke ran out into the street toward her, scooped her up in his arms, and was about to carry her to safety, but it was too late. The three bank robbers were galloping down the street toward them.
He put the girl down, then stepped out between her and the gunmen. “Stay behind me and don’t move!” he shouted at her.
Smoke’s initial intention had been no more than to get the little girl to safety, but in so doing he had put himself in the path of the robbers’ escape route.
Pulling his pistol, Smoke aimed at the closest rider and fired. Even as that robber was tumbling from his saddle, Smoke knocked a second rider from his horse. The two riderless horses galloped by.
The third robber, suddenly realizing that he was alone, reined in his own horse, tossed his gun down and threw both arms into the air. “No, no!” he shouted. “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot! I quit, I quit!”
With the surrender, nearly a dozen armed men of the town came running out into the street with their guns aimed at the one remaining robber.
“Get down from there, mister,” one of the men shouted in an authoritative voice. His authority, Smoke saw, came from the badge he was wearing on his vest.
A woman came running into the street and picked up the little girl. “Oh, Frances, sweetheart! Are you all right!”
“Did any of the bullets hit her?” Smoke asked anxiously.
“No, no, I don’t think so,” the woman said. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Just seeing that she wasn’t hurt is thanks enough for me,” Smoke said.
“Take him to jail,” the man with the badge said, referring to the robber who had given up. Two others responded to the order, prodding their prisoner along at gunpoint.
The man with the badge came back to speak to Smoke. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Sheriff Gwaltney. Mister, I want to thank you for what you done. You not only saved the little girl there, you probably saved several others by stoppin’ those men before they could shoot up the whole town. Also, because of what you done we got the bank’s money back. The whole town owes you for that.”
“That was a real brave thing, you standin’ out in the middle of the street like that,” Heckemeyer said, coming over to join them.
“I didn’t have much choice,” Smoke said. “I sort of got caught out there.”
“You coulda just stayed out of the way.”
Smoke looked at the little girl, who was examining him closely with blue eyes that were open wide in wonder. He shook his head. “No, I couldn’t.”
Even as Smoke and the sheriff were speaking, a man wearing a long black coat came driving up in a wagon. He stopped the wagon between the two men Smoke had shot.
“Doolin, don’t you go puttin’ them fellas in any of your fancy coffins, thinkin’ maybe that the county’s goin’ to pay for it,” Sheriff Gwaltney said. “ ’Cause I’m tellin’ you right now, we ain’t agoin’ to do it.”
“I won’t use nothin’ but a couple plain pine boxes,” Doolin replied.
“Why waste a box? Put both of ’em in the same box,” another said, and those gathered laughed rather nervously at the macabre joke.
At that moment, Smoke couldn’t help but think of the feeding trough he had used as the coffin to bury his mother.
Sheriff Gwaltney looked back at Smoke. “What’s your name, mister?”
“Jensen. Smoke Jensen.”
“Smoke Jensen?” Gwaltney replied as a look of recognition passed across his face. He stroked his chin. “Seems to me like I’ve heard that name before. Do you have any paper out on you?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“What?”
As he had done with Marshal Moore, Smoke took out the WANTED poster that Angus Shardeen had circulated.
“Damn. That’s purdee advertisin’ for someone to murder you,” Gwaltney said. “It takes someone evil and arrogant to do somethin’ like that. Don’t he know that somethin’ like this will get the law after him?”
Smoke laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“The law is already after him. What would one more thing matter?”
Sheriff Gwaltney laughed. “I guess you’re right. And, to tell you the truth, it wouldn’t make no never mind to me whether the law had paper out on you or not. After stoppin’ the bank robbery the way you done, you have certainly made some friends in this town. I don’t know what brought you here, but I’m sure glad you showed up when you did.”
“Mister Jensen, have you had your lunch yet?” asked the mother of the little girl.
“No, I haven’t.”
“My name’s Kathy York. I would love to fix lunch for you.”
“Well, I—uh . . .” Smoke stuttered his response.
Kathy chuckled. “It’s not what you are thinking, Mr. Jensen.” She pointed to a building directly across from them. “That’s my café there, Dumplins. You come on over and have lunch, on me.”
“Thanks,” Smoke said.
* * *
While Smoke was having his lunch, several of the townspeople stopped by his table to thank him for what he had done in saving little Frances York, and in stopping the bank robbery.
“Most ever’one in town’s got money in that bank. Why, if them men had gotten away with it, there’s several of us would’ve fallen on hard times, and that’s for sure,” one of the men said.
The accolades were growing so profuse that Smoke was beginning to feel self-conscious about it.
After lunch, Frances came over to Smoke’s table, very carefully carrying a small plate. “This is Mama’s blackberry cobbler.”
Smoke smiled. “Well, thank you.” He turned serious. “But I don’t know. Is it any good?”
Frances nodded. “Oh, yes. It’s very good.”
“You know what? When I have something that is very good, like blackberry cobbler, I like to have someone else eat with me. Do you think your mama would let you have a plate of cobbler so you could eat with me?”
“Mama! He wants me to have some, too!” Frances called out happily, and a moment later she was sitting across the table from him as they ate the cobbler together.
Smoke got a sudden image of his sister when she was a little girl. Blackberry cobbler had been her favorite dessert, and he wondered if she still liked it. He wondered, too, where she was, and if he would ever see her again.
She had run away because she obviously wanted to be on her own. If that was really what she wanted, he had no intention of disturbing her.
* * *
Smoke walked back down to the sheriff’s office.
“Mr. Jensen, what can I do for you?” the sheriff said, greeting him effusively.
“You asked me earlier what brought me here,” Smoke said. “It didn’t seem the right time or place to tell you then, but I’m looking for a man.” Smoke turned his vest out, so the sheriff could see that he was a Deputy U.S. Marshal.
“A Deputy U.S. Marshal, are you? Well, now I can see how you were able to handle those two men so easily. Who are you looking for?”
“Angus Shardeen.”
“Angus Shardeen? You mean the one that’s put out the reward to have you killed?”
“Yes.”
“Well then, with the two of you lookin’ for each other, you’re bound to meet up with him, don’t you think?”
“No, there’s a difference. He’s not actually looking for me. All he’s done is put out Wanted posters promising to reward anyone who can kill me. I’m actually looking for him.”
“Do you have a posse with you? Or are you looking for him alone?”
“I have no one with me.”
“That’s quite a job for one man. I know Marshal Holloway. I can’t imagine him sending one man out for Shardeen.”
“He didn’t send me out,” Smoke said. “I volunteered.”
“If you’re tryin’ to make a name for yourself, Jensen, you don’t need to go so far as to try and tackle Shardeen all by yourself. Hell, you’re already gettin’ known around.”
“It has nothing to do with making a name for myself,” Smoke said. “Truth is, I’d just as soon not have a name. What’s between Shardeen and me is personal.”
“Yes, but there’s the problem you see. It might be personal for you, but it won’t be for him. Last I heard, he had at least six or seven men ridin’ with him, and maybe even more than that. Here’s the thing, most of ’em is the same ones that rode with him durin’ the war.”
“So I’ve heard. I also heard that he had been seen here in Buffington.”
“That’s true. He and his men passed through town one day a few weeks ago. They stocked up at the general store, then rode on. But like I said, there were quite a few of ’em. They didn’t give us any trouble, so we didn’t give them any trouble.”
“You wouldn’t have any idea as to where they might be now, would you?”
The sheriff shook his head. “No, I don’t know. I’m just telling you that if you go after him alone, you may be takin’ on a bigger bite than you can chew.”
“You may be right, but I’m determined to find him. By the way, I don’t think I saw a hotel when I came into town.”
“The reason you didn’t see one is because we don’t have one. At least, not ’ny more. The one hotel we had burned down last month, and it ain’t been built back. But if you’re lookin’ for a place to stay, you might check in at the Salt Lick Saloon. You can get a room there if they aren’t all in use.”
* * *
The Salt Lick was the most substantial-looking saloon in a row of saloons. A drunk was passed out on the steps in front of the place and Smoke had to step over him in order to go inside.
The chimneys of all the lanterns were soot-covered. Dingy light filtered through drifting smoke. The place smelled of sour whiskey, stale beer, and strong tobacco. The long bar on the left with a large mirror behind it was like everything else about the saloon—so dirty Smoke could scarcely see any images in it. What he could see was distorted by imperfections in the glass.
Eight or ten tables were nearly all occupied. A half-dozen or so bar girls were flitting about, pushing drinks. A few card games were in progress, but most of the patrons were just drinking and talking.
Smoke stepped up to the bar. The bartender was pouring the residue from abandoned whiskey glasses back into a bottle. He pulled a soggy cigar butt from one glass, laid the butt aside, then poured the whiskey back into the bottle without qualms.
One of the other men standing at the bar recognized Smoke. “Hey, you’re the man that stopped the bank robbery, ain’t you?”
“I was here when it happened,” Smoke replied.
“Here? Hell, you was a lot more than just here. Sam, give this feller whatever it is he wants to drink. I’ll pay for it.”
“Thanks,” Smoke said.
“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked.
“A beer.”
Sam drew a mug of beer, then set it before him.
“I’d also like a room.”
“With or without.”
That was confusing. “With or without what?”
The bartender looked up in surprise. “Are you kidding me, mister? With or without a woman.”
“Without.”
“All right. That’ll be six bits.”
“Six bits? Isn’t that a little expensive?”
“If we left the room empty so the girls could use it for their customers, we could make three, maybe four times that,” the bartender said. “But since the hotel got burnt down we sometimes take in people who just want a room, so we gotta charge six bits for it. Take it or leave it.”
It had been a while since Smoke last slept in a bed, so even though he complained about having to pay seventy-five cents for a room, he considered it well worth it. “Here,” he said, slapping the coins on the bar. “Tell your girls and their customers not to come into my room by mistake. If they do, they just might get shot.”
“Mister, I don’t know who the hell you are, but it ain’t healthy to go around making threats you can’t back up,” the bartender growled. He picked up the silver and took it over to the money box, then reached for a key.
“Sam,” someone called from the other end of the bar. “Come here.”
The bartender went over to the customer, then leaned over as the customer whispered something in his ear. The bartender looked back toward Smoke, listened a moment longer, then nodded, and hurried back down the bar with the key.
“Mr. Jensen, you don’t have to worry none about anyone disturbin’ you tonight. I’ll make sure you’re left in peace.”
“I appreciate that, Sam,” Smoke replied.
One of the bar girls sidled over to Smoke. Dissipation had not yet taken its toll with her, and she was actually rather attractive. “I heard you say you didn’t want to be disturbed tonight,” she said as flirtatiously as she could. “I don’t blame you. Once you find someone that you want to be with for the rest of the night, the last thing you’d want would be for someone to come bustin’ in on you. My name is Gloria, and don’t you worry, if you come to my room with me, I’ll make certain we aren’t disturbed.”
Smoke smiled at her. “You know what, Gloria? You could almost tempt me to do just that. But I’m so tired that when I finally do get up there tonight, all I’m going to want to do is sleep.”
“All right, honey,” Gloria said. “But you don’t know what you are missing.”
“Oh, I’ve got a pretty good idea.”
“We’re losing a player here!” somebody called from one of the tables. “We need another man! Anybody want to get into the game?”
Suddenly Preacher’s words came back to Smoke. “You want to get the measure of any place, you get into a friendly card game in one of the local saloons. Men gets to palaverin’ in a card game ’n if you keep your mouth shut, and just listen, why you’ll learn more in an hour than you could by readin’ a month o’ newspapers.”
“I’d like to join you, if you don’t mind a stranger playing with you,” Smoke said.
“You be a stranger do you? Well, tell me, stranger, are you goin’ to be playin’ with American money?” asked one of the others at the table.
“Yes, but what difference would it make to you whether I’m playing with American money or not? None of you will ever see it. I intend to win all the hands,” Smoke teased.
“Ha! Come on in here, stranger, and sit at the table,” another player said. “There ain’t nothin’ I like better ’n partin’ an overconfident fool from his money. And anyone that thinks they’re likely to not lose anythin’ at all is just the kind of fool that is goin’ to lose.”
The others laughed, and Smoke joined them at the table. They noticed that he did not sit in a way that would compromise his ability to get to his gun quickly, if he had to.
The other players quickly learned that Smoke was the man who had stopped the bank robbery, and since all three of them had money in the bank, they were grateful to him.
One of the players was Robert Vaughan, owner and editor of the local newspaper. Seeing it as an opportunity to get a story, he began questioning Smoke rather extensively.
Smoke didn’t mind the interrogation as it actually opened up avenues for conversation which allowed him to get information, as well as give it. “I understand that Angus Shardeen was in Buffington a while ago.”
“He was here, all right,” Vaughan said.
“I heard some folks say that it was him, but I don’t know as that’s true,” Rick Adams replied as he picked up his cards.
“It’s true, all right.” Vaughan looked at the cards he’d been dealt.
“How do you know?” Smoke asked.
The conversation continued between Smoke and the newspaper editor as he answered, “I know because I recognized two of them. Their leader had red hair, a red beard, and a scar that runs up the side of his face and looks like it damn near cuts his eye in two. That, my friends, could be no one but Angus Shardeen. I also recognized one of the others. He only has half an ear on the left side of his head. That could only be Billy Bartell.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know where they are holed up, would you?”
“I don’t have any idea, but if I had to make an educated guess, I would say that they are holed up in the mountains where they can use the rocks and the draws as a fortress. That way they could stand off an army.”
Smoke looked at his cards. “Has anyone actually ever gone into the mountains to try and find Shardeen and his men?”
“No, and they aren’t likely to, either. At least, not anyone who has good sense. Why are you asking so many questions about Shardeen, anyway?”
Smoke chuckled. “I guess you could say I’m one of those people who doesn’t have very good sense.”
“I’ll be damned! Are you planning to go after him?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve heard about you, Smoke Jensen. They say you are quite skilled in the way you employ your pistol, in terms of speed with which you can extract your weapon and the deadly accuracy of your shooting. I also know that the reward being offered for Shardeen has reached a rather substantial amount. But no reward is worth getting yourself killed.”
“The reward has nothing to do with it. I have a personal reason for going after Mr. Angus Shardeen.”
For the remainder of the game, Smoke explained his personal reasons for going after Shardeen, telling how he had witnessed his mother being murdered, and his sister violated.
“And after I take care of Shardeen I intend to deal with Mr. Billy Bartell. By the way, I raise the bet by five dollars,” he added, pushing five more dollars into the pot.
“All I can do is wish you luck,” Vaughan said. “And call your bet,” he added with a triumphant smile.
When Smoke got up from the table somewhat later, he was down by twenty dollars. “Damn. Maybe I shouldn’t have played with American money,” he teased, and the others laughed.
After a supper of biscuits, bacon, and beans, which he ate at the saloon, he went up the backstairs to the room the bartender had rented him. Smoke poured water into the bowl, took off his shirt, washed, then turned the covers down and crawled into bed.
* * *
He was awakened in the middle of the night by a small clicking sound. Instantly, his hand went to the pistol hanging from the headboard. He slipped out of bed and walked barefoot across the carpet, then stood with his back to the wall just beside the door.
The click he had heard was the latch being unlocked. He watched the doorknob turn. Holding his pistol in his right hand, arm crooked at the elbow, and pistol pointing up, he eased back on the hammer, cocking it so slowly it made practically no sound as the sear engaged the cylinder.
The door opened, moving silently on the hinges. A little wedge of light spilled into the room from the hallway, the wedge growing wider as the door opened farther until finally it stretched from the open door all the way to the bed. Every muscle in Smoke’s body tensed as he waited for the confrontation.
“Hello?” a woman’s voice called quietly. “Is anyone in here?”
Who was this woman, and what was she doing here? With a sigh, Smoke’s tension was relieved, and he eased the hammer back down as he lowered his pistol. “I’m here,” he said from the darkness behind her.
“Oh!” the woman gasped, startled by the sound from an unexpected direction. She put her hand to her chest. “Don’t do that! You could scare a body to death that way.”
“You should be frightened.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Smoke Jensen. Who are you?”
“Smoke Jensen? You’re the one who stopped the bank robbers, aren’t you?”
“You didn’t answer my question. Who are you, and what do you mean coming into my room in the middle of the night? I could’ve shot you.”
“My name is Ida Jean, and this is my room.”
“Ida Jean, is it? Well, Ida Jean, if this really is your room, why did you ask if anyone was in here?”
“Sometimes one of the other girls uses it to entertain one of their gentlemen friends. I didn’t want to come bargin’ in on something.”
Smoke shook his head. “I’m all alone in here.”
“You rented the room for the night, did you?”
“Yes.”
“You know, you don’t have to be all alone.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Too bad,” Ida Jean said. “All right. I’ll go somewhere else.”
“No,” Smoke offered. “If this really is your room, I’ll leave.”
“Honey, there’s no need for you to do that. I have somewhere else I can go. You don’t. Good night . . . and sleep tight.”
“Thanks,” Smoke said.
Ida Jean left the room and Smoke closed and locked the door. He propped a chair under the doorknob. If the woman who just came in had a key, how many more keys were out there? he wondered.
As Smoke lay in the darkness, he thought about the woman and her offer. He had not yet been with a woman . . . in that way . . . and he sometimes wondered about it. He remembered his conversation with his pa.
“I ain’t never been with a woman before. Leastwise, I ain’t never been with a woman in . . . that . . . way. The way she wanted to be. And I sorta figure that if you’re goin’ to do somethin’ like that with a woman, then maybe it ought to mean somethin’.”
Smoke hadn’t changed his mind.