The Jensen Brand

by William W. Johnstone

  “I assume that’s what you’ll be doing.”

  Denny let out a snort. “You think a salty bunch of cowboys will take orders from a woman?”

  “They’ll take orders from a woman they respect, one who’s willing to get right in there and do the same jobs they do, no matter how dirty it makes her.” Louis laughed. “But of course, this is sheer speculation. Father is going to be around for a long time yet, and by the time he’s not able to run the ranch, I’ll be busy with my law practice and you’ll be married, taking care of your husband and eight children.”

  Denny laughed, too, and exclaimed, “That’ll be the day!”

  And yet, the idea wasn’t that unappealing, she thought. Not the part about eight children, that was just loco. But to have a husband and children, a family of her own, that didn’t sound too bad. Someday. Not soon.

  Sometime long after she had done the job she had set for herself, the job of settling the score for what had happened to her father and to the members of the Sugarloaf crew who had been killed. Justice for them still awaited.

  They reached Big Rock late in the morning and went to the train station, which was also where the Western Union telegraph office was located.

  Sheriff Monte Carson was lounging outside the depot. He nodded to Denny and Louis as they dismounted and tied their horses to the hitch rack. “Mornin’, you two,” he greeted them. “What brings you to town?”

  “We need to send some wires,” Louis replied as he pulled the folded sheet of paper from his coat pocket. “Father’s getting in touch with our Uncle Matt and our cousins.”

  “Those Jensen boys, Ace and Chance?” Monte said with a frown.

  “They’re not really boys anymore,” Denny pointed out. “They must be forty years old by now.”

  “Yeah, but it’s hard to think of them any other way than as those two young hellions who kept getting in one scrape after another. You know, they were right in the thick of trouble around here several times, even before Smoke knew they were really his brother Luke’s kids. I don’t think anybody in the family knew that when they first popped up, even them.”

  “Yes, we’ve heard the stories,” Louis said. “Father should have known right away they were blood relatives, the way people kept shooting at them.” He grinned. “Jensens are natural-born targets for trouble, after all.”

  The sheriff grunted. “Truer words were never spoken, I reckon. But they’re natural-born trouble busters, too.”

  Denny and Louis chatted with Monte for a moment longer, then excused themselves and went into the station. No train was due to arrive in the near future, so the place wasn’t busy. They went to the Western Union window and got a couple telegraph forms. Louis handed one of the flimsies to Denny. “Here, you can fill out this one.”

  She picked up a pencil and leaned on the counter next to the window to print the message on the form. She had read it often enough to memorize it and didn’t need the paper Louis had. She asked, “Who am I sending this one to?”

  “I’ve started putting Uncle Matt’s address on this one, so yours can go to Ace and Chance.” He glanced at the paper. “That’s care of Sheriff Braxton Humboldt, Scorpion Valley, Texas.”

  “If they’re not there anymore, maybe this sheriff will know where they went,” Denny said as she wrote out the address.

  “That’s the idea.” Louis shuddered slightly. “Scorpion Valley. What a terrible-sounding place.”

  “I don’t know. I’ll bet they found some adventure there.”

  “No doubt.”

  Finished, they took the forms to the window and handed them to the telegrapher, a middle-aged man with a green eyeshade over his well-fed face. He counted the words and then told them the price.

  “Pay the man,” Denny said to her brother.

  “Ah, so that’s why you really wanted to bring me along,” Louis said with a smile. He dug out several coins and slid them across the counter.

  “You two are Smoke Jensen’s young’uns, aren’t you?” the telegrapher said.

  “That’s right,” Louis said.

  The man nodded. “I can’t tell you how much this town appreciates Smoke and Sally. There wouldn’t even be a Big Rock if it weren’t for them. Us old-timers will never forget how Smoke took on Franklin Tilden and his wild bunch at Fontana. That town’s gone now—can’t even find where it was anymore except maybe a bit of busted foundation here and there—but anybody who lived through those bloody days will never forget them. Sure is a lot tamer now.”

  “Most of the time,” Denny said. “Not always.”

  As they were walking away from the telegraph office, she checked the train schedule chalked onto a board beside the ticket window and saw that an eastbound train was due to come through at 1:17 that afternoon.

  Louis paused outside the station. “Well, I suppose we should get some lunch before we start back.”

  “You can if you want to, but I’m not going back to the ranch.”

  He looked over at her with a surprised frown and repeated, “Not going back? What do you mean? Are you staying here in town?”

  “No. I have some things I need to do. And I need your help, Louis.”

  He leaned back slightly and frowned even more as he said, “I don’t like the sound of this, Denny. You’ve got some crazy idea in your head again, and I don’t want any part of it.”

  “Listen to me.” She gripped his arm, and her voice was taut with urgency as she went on. “You know there’s no telling how long it’ll take before those messages catch up to Matt, Ace, and Chance. It could be weeks before they show up in these parts, maybe even months. Or . . . they might not show up at all.”

  “They wouldn’t ignore a request for help from Father unless . . .”

  “Yeah,” Denny said, nodding. “Unless they were dead or shot up like Pa is. And that could be the case. You know it’s possible.”

  Louis shrugged. “I suppose it is. On the other hand, there might be return wires from all of them before the day is over, saying that they’ll be here in a week or less. We just don’t know, Denny. Anyway, what do you think you’re going to do? Track down those rustlers and kill them yourself ?”

  She didn’t say anything, and after a couple seconds Louis’s jaw dropped in amazement. “You do think that! That’s your plan, isn’t it?”

  “Not exactly. But you heard what Pa said about them looking for men to replace the ones they’ve lost.”

  “Yes. Men. Gunmen. Not . . . not . . .”

  Denny smiled slightly. “Not a loco girl? That what you’re thinking?”

  “Well, you hardly look like some ruthless outlaw!”

  “Maybe I could. With my hair up and my bosom bound down tight, I reckon I could pass for a young man. And I can use a gun like one, too.”

  “You’ve been practicing for less than a week!” Louis threw his hands in the air. “You’ve lost your mind!”

  “A lot of outlaws aren’t great gunfighters,” Denny argued. “They shoot their victims from behind or from ambush. And I can ride and work cattle as well as or better than any rustler, you know that.”

  “Maybe, but—”

  “I don’t intend to wipe them out or anything like that. I just want to get into the gang and find out where the hideout is. Then I can slip away and get help. I’ll either head for the Sugarloaf and fetch Cal and the rest of the crew or I’ll tell Sheriff Carson and he can get a posse together. Maybe both. But I’m not crazy enough to think I can wipe out a couple dozen hardcases by myself, Louis.”

  “Just crazy enough to believe you can fool them into thinking you’re a man,” he muttered.

  “It can work. If you’d just stop thinking of me as your sister, you’d see that I’m right.”

  Louis squinted at her. “What about Mother and Father?”

  “What about them?”

  “What am I supposed to tell them when I ride back to the ranch without you?”

  “Tell them I caught the eastbound train. Tell them I decided
to go back to New Hampshire and see Grandmother and Grandfather Reynolds. That I wanted to surprise them.”

  Louis shook his head. “They’ll never believe that. And what about your horse? They’ll see that I came back without it.”

  “I sold it to pay for the train ticket,” Denny said.

  “You have answers for everything, don’t you? Just not good answers. They’ll both know that you’re up to something wild and crazy, and they’ll make me tell them what it is.”

  “You’ll have to tell them you don’t know, that all you know is what I told you about going east.”

  “Do you really expect me to be able to make them believe that?”

  “You just have to make them think you believe it.”

  “They’ll send a wire to New Hampshire and find out you’re not there.”

  Denny shook her head. “Even if I was really going there, it would take me several days to arrive. Maybe my plan will have worked by then, and the threat of those rustlers and killers will be over and done with.”

  “That’s a pretty slim chance, I’d say.”

  “Jensens don’t need more than a fighting chance.”

  Louis looked at her intently for a long moment and then said, “Is there any way you’re going to be talked out of this?”

  “Nope,” Denny said.

  “What if I put you on your horse and tie you into the saddle and take you home that way?”

  She couldn’t stop the laugh that came from her. “We both know you can’t—” She stopped short at the sight of the hurt in his eyes. “Damn it, Louis, I didn’t mean—”

  “Yes, you did.” He looked down at the ground. “You mean it’s ludicrous to think that I could actually force you to do anything. I’m too weak.”

  “That’s not your fault—”

  He held up both hands to stop her. “No, you’re right. And you’re right that Father shouldn’t have to rely on his brother and nephews to help him out when he has children of his own. One capable child, anyway.”

  “You’re capable of a lot of things.”

  “Not of masquerading as a drifting hardcase and gunman.”

  “Well, maybe not—”

  “You’ll be risking your life, you know, and even worse. I hate to be so blunt, but you know what’s liable to happen to you if your true identity is exposed.”

  “No man would dare harm a respectable woman, not even outlaws.”

  Louis scoffed. “You’ve been listening to too many tall tales. Maybe it was that way twenty or thirty years ago, but times have changed. Anyway, if you go among them wearing trousers and packing a gun and pretending to be a man, they’re not likely to take you for a respectable woman.”

  “I can take care of myself,” she said stubbornly.

  “You’ll have to. Won’t be anybody else to do it.”

  With nothing left to say, Denny and Louis stood in strained silence for a long moment, then she reached for the buckskin’s reins. “I’d better get started.”

  “Do you know where you’re going?”

  “I do. I’ve got a pretty good idea where that gang will be looking for new recruits.”

  “What about supplies?”

  “I was able to pack some without Ma or Inez seeing me. And I can hunt if I need to. I know how to skin and roast a rabbit.”

  “You could do that when you were six years old, as I recall.”

  “See?” Denny smiled. “I was born to do this.”

  “Actually . . . I think you may be right. There’s something in the Jensen blood . . . Damn it, Denny, I almost envy you! I wish I was coming with you. I’m afraid I’d be more of a hindrance than a help, though.”

  “I’ll feel better knowing that you’re keeping an eye on things at the ranch.”

  “For what it’s worth, I will.” Acting as if on impulse, he put his arms around her and hugged her tightly against him. “Insanity must be contagious,” he went on in a voice choked with emotion. “Otherwise I’d never agree to this.”

  “Take care of yourself . . . and Ma and Pa.”

  “And you take care of yourself. Part of me would be missing if anything ever happened to you.”

  She put her hands on his shoulders and smiled. “It’ll be okay. You’ll see.” Without delaying any longer, she put her foot in the stirrup and swung up into the saddle. “So long, Louis.”

  “So long.” He swallowed hard. “Denny.”

  She turned the buckskin and nudged it into a loping gait that carried her quickly away from the train station. She didn’t look back—she didn’t trust herself to. If she did, her resolve might waver. It was a crazy plan, but sometimes those were the ones that worked, she thought. The ones that nobody would ever expect.

  Heading north, it didn’t take her long to leave Big Rock behind. She didn’t know exactly where Elkhorn was located, but Pearlie had said it was near the border between Colorado and Wyoming. That was a big stretch of territory. She could ask questions along the way to find out where she was going.

  She had one more thing she needed to do. Finally well out of sight of the settlement, she took her hat off, shaking her hair out so it fell loosely around her shoulders. Then she drew the bowie knife, gathered up a handful of hair close to her head, and started cutting. When the hair came loose, she tossed it in some brush at the side of the trail.

  Within ten minutes, a pile of thick blond curls was hidden by the brush and Denny was riding on with her hair crudely hacked off. She tried not to cry, telling herself that would be a foolishly female thing to do, but she felt the wet streaks on her face anyway.

  CHAPTER 25

  Dark, jagged clouds formed over the mountains that afternoon, and a blustery wind began blowing. Winter was still weeks away, but the chill in that wind was a potent reminder of its inevitable arrival.

  Denny was glad she had brought along a sheepskin jacket. She took it out of her saddlebags, put it on, and was more comfortable. She hadn’t brought a bedroll because that would have made it too obvious what she was doing. All she had was a blanket. The nights might be pretty cold and miserable, she thought, but she could put up with some discomfort if it meant she was able to help protect her father and the Sugarloaf from any more attacks.

  There would be other little towns along the way where she could outfit herself more properly. She had a money belt strapped under her clothes and a poke of double eagles in one of the saddlebags. She would just have to be careful not to reveal that she had quite a bit of money with her. That would ruin her pose as a saddle tramp and all-around disreputable character.

  A coffeepot . . . that was something else she would need to buy, she thought as she hunkered next to a tiny fire, trying to use her body to block the wind from the tiny flames so they wouldn’t go out. She had fried some bacon for supper, but some hot coffee sure would have washed it down nice.

  Eventually the wind died down enough that she was able to stop protecting the fire, heap up some fallen pine boughs as a makeshift bed, and wrap up in the blanket to go to sleep with her saddle as a pillow. The night passed slowly and uncomfortably, just as she expected, but she was tired enough that sheer exhaustion allowed her to doze off and get a little rest.

  The air the next morning had a touch of frost in it, but the clouds had blown over, the sun was out, and the temperature rose quickly. Denny was able to put her jacket away by midmorning. Late that afternoon, she spied smoke rising into the sky ahead of her and a short time later came to an actual hard-packed dirt road. Thinking there might be a town ahead, she rode into the concealment of some trees and dismounted to take another precaution against having her identity discovered.

  As she stripped to the waist, she was glad that cold wind wasn’t blowing anymore. She took out the strips of cotton material she had brought with her and began winding them around her torso, pulling them as tight as she could so her breasts flattened under the pressure. She had never been abundantly blessed in that area to start with. She thought wryly that for the first time she had
to consider that a good thing.

  She tied the bands in place and then donned her shirt and vest again. She looked down at herself, then ran her hand over the roughly close-cropped hair on her head. She could pass for a boy in his late teens, she told herself. She would have to remember to lower her voice, maybe put a harsh rasp in it to further disguise it. People had a tendency to see what they expected to see . . . or at least she hoped that would be the case.

  Before she mounted up, she put the jacket on again. She didn’t need it to stay warm, but it would help conceal her shape even more.

  Slouching in the saddle like she’d had a long, hard day—which was true—she followed the road up a hill and then down the far side toward a settlement that was nothing more than half a dozen buildings on either side of the trail, plus a few houses and cruder cabins scattered around. Denny had no idea what the place was called or if it even had a name.

  To the right was a barn, then a blacksmith shop, then a rambling log structure with a board nailed over its door with the letters S-A-L-O-O-N crudely burned into it. Across the street was a frame building with an actual painted sign that read CARTER’S STORE. Another frame building had ASSAY OFFICE in gilt letters on its front window, but it appeared to be empty. That told Denny the settlement had probably gotten its start when mines in the nearby mountains were still producing. Those veins must have played out, and the town was just hanging on. One of these days it would dry up and blow away.

  She angled the buckskin to the left, toward the mercantile. A couple horses were tied up at the hitch rail in front of the saloon across the street, but their owners seemed to be the only other visitors to the settlement. No wagons or buggies or other saddle mounts were in evidence.

  Before approaching the town, she had gotten a couple five-dollar gold pieces from her poke and put them in a pocket. She didn’t want to seem rich. The buckskin was a fine horse and the saddle was good quality, as were her gun belt and holster and boots, but nothing she could do about that. A fellow could be decently outfitted and still mostly broke and in need of a job.