The Jensen Brand

by William W. Johnstone

  Somebody brought a torch from the fire and held it up so the flickering light washed over the bushwhacker’s face. Denny wasn’t surprised to see that he was one of the men Malone had brought to the hideout, the one called Daly.

  “Why did you try to kill me?” Creighton demanded. “I never even saw you until—wait a minute. I do know you, don’t I?”

  A worm of blood had crawled down from the corner of Daly’s mouth across his chin. His shirtfront was black in the torchlight, soaked with more blood. He coughed and tried to focus his eyes on Creighton.

  “D-damn right . . . you know me,” Daly gasped. “I rode with you . . . five years ago . . . Went by . . . Al F-Fitzgerald then. That was . . . my real name.”

  “I remember you now,” Creighton said, nodding.

  “Didn’t know . . . when I rode down here . . . from Elkhorn . . . that you were the boss of . . . this bunch. That fella Malone . . . he never told us . . . your name.”

  “What the hell do you have against me?” Creighton said. “I never did anything to you.”

  “There was a girl . . . You took her . . . away from me . . . Always swore . . . I’d get even—”

  The words stopped and the man’s breath came out of him in a rattling sigh. He was gone.

  “The stupid son of a bitch,” Creighton said. “He tried to kill me because of a grudge over a woman? Some saloon slut?”

  Turk Sanford said, “You never know what’s gonna be important to some fellas, boss. More important than anything else.”

  Creighton jerked a hand angrily. “But he never would’ve gotten out of here alive. Even if he’d killed me, he would have wound up just like he is now, shot full of holes.”

  “Maybe that didn’t matter to him. Maybe it would have been worth it.”

  Creighton uncoiled from his kneeling position and turned away from the dead man. His eyes sought somebody else, and he found his quarry as Muddy Malone tried to draw back unobtrusively behind some of the other outlaws.

  “Malone!” Creighton shouted. He yanked his gun from its holster.

  The men standing between him and Muddy scrambled out of the line of fire. “Malone, you brought this . . . this murderous viper into our camp!”

  “I didn’t know, boss!” Muddy said as he continued to back away. He held up his hands as if they would stop a bullet. “How could I have known? I wasn’t ridin’ with you back then, and Daly . . . Fitzgerald . . . whatever the hell his name is! . . . never said nothin’ about havin’ a grudge against you. I didn’t tell any of those new fellas your name because that’s the way you said you wanted it!”

  “Stop your damn babbling.” Creighton’s voice was thin and hard with menace. “I ought to put a bullet in you.” He inclined his head toward Denny. “If it weren’t for West here, I’d be dead now and everything would be ruined.”

  Turk said carefully, “Boss, I don’t see anyway Muddy could’ve known that loco son of a bitch had it in for you. If he had, he never would’ve brought him here. None of us would have, in those circumstances.”

  Creighton whipped around, his gun swinging in front of him.

  Men drew back from its threat.

  “What about the rest of you?” he demanded. “Anybody else here have a grudge against me? Anybody want to kill me so bad you’re willing to pay for it with your life?” He lowered the gun and stuck it back in its holster. “Well, go ahead, damn you! Go ahead and take your revenge. See what it gets you!”

  Coming so close to death had made Creighton almost hysterical, Denny thought.

  “Nobody wants to do that, boss,” Turk said. “We’re all on your side.”

  Denny was careful not to look at Rogers. She wanted Nick Creighton dead. He was responsible for the deaths of several Sugarloaf riders, as well as what had happened to Smoke. She supposed she would be able to accept it if he was locked up for the rest of his life, but she would much prefer to see him blown to hell or strung up at the end of a hang rope.

  But she didn’t let any of that show on her face. She kept her features carefully impassive.

  For a long, awkward moment, nobody said anything. The only sounds were the uncomfortable shifting of a few feet as the men stood there under Creighton’s baleful scrutiny.

  Then Muddy swallowed hard. “You . . . you’re not gonna kill me, boss?”

  Turk groaned quietly as if he wished his friend had just kept his big mouth shut.

  “Kill you, Muddy?” Creighton said. “No . . . No, I reckon I won’t do that. You’re too stupid to know any better.” He looked at Turk. “I want all those other new men rounded up and brought to my cabin later. I’m going to talk to all of them . . . except for West and Williams. I know they’re all right.”

  Denny knew she ought to feel relieved at that vote of confidence, but somehow she didn’t, not completely.

  On the other hand, she had saved Creighton’s life . . . the life of the man she had set out to kill, or at least make sure he was stopped from carrying out his vengeance on her father. She hadn’t even hesitated before she knocked him out of the way of that bushwhacker’s bullet.

  Sometimes acting on instinct could be damned inconvenient, she thought.

  Creighton owed her, and he seemed like he intended to pay that debt. If nothing else, he trusted her.

  Maybe that was a good thing and maybe it wasn’t.

  Creighton turned to her. “West, come on back to the cabin with me. You’ll eat supper tonight with me and Molly.”

  Denny nodded. “Sure, boss. I’m obliged to you.”

  What else could she say?

  He clapped a hand on her shoulder. “No, I’m the one who’s obliged to you. Don’t get any ideas, though. I’m still the boss here, and you’re still taking orders from me.”

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way, boss.”

  “Call me Nick.”

  That was one of the last things Denny wanted to do, but she forced herself to smile and nod. “Sure, Nick.”

  As they started walking toward the cabin, she saw the worried look on Rogers’s face as they went past and hoped he wouldn’t be too obviously concerned about her.

  Creighton ordered over his shoulder, “Do something with that carcass. Take it out through the canyon and throw it in a ravine somewhere. I don’t want it drawing scavengers here.”

  They continued on their way, Creighton limping, Denny holding her long-legged strides in check so she wouldn’t get in front of him. Up ahead was the cabin, with Molly still standing in the doorway watching them, the intensity of her gaze making icy fingers tickle their way up and down Denny’s backbone.

  CHAPTER 35

  “Want a drink?” Creighton asked Denny once they were in the cabin.

  “Sure, boss,” she said.

  “Molly, fetch us another glass. West, take your hat off and relax.”

  Relaxing was just about the last thing she was capable of doing, Denny thought, but she had to try. She had to make Creighton believe she was relaxed, anyway. She took her hat off and hung it on the back of a chair.

  Molly brought her a glass with a couple inches of whiskey in it and smiled slightly as she held out the glass. “Here you go. Denny, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right.” Wondering what was behind the smile, Denny took the glass. She found Molly’s expression unnerving. “Thanks.”

  Creighton filled his glass and lifted it. “Here’s to you, West.”

  “And to you, boss.” Denny glanced at Molly. “And your lady.”

  “I need to tend to the stew,” Molly murmured. She turned away as Denny and Creighton drank. The outlaw threw down his whiskey, but Denny knew she would choke and start coughing if she tried to do that. She pretended to take a healthy swallow but let only a little of the fiery liquor down her throat.

  “Sit down,” Creighton told her, gesturing toward one of the empty chairs at the table. He resumed the seat he’d had earlier. “Tell me about Williams.”

  She pulled out a chair and sat. “Lon? Told you earlier,
boss, everything’s fine between him and me. We figured we’d both come out ahead if we just let bygones be bygones.”

  “That’s smart. Most hombres in our line of work really aren’t that smart, though. Are you sure he’s not just waiting for a chance to double-cross you?”

  Denny laughed. “If you asked him, he’d probably say he was worried about me doin’ the same thing.” She shook her head. “No, Nick, I’ve made my peace with Lon. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t have to worry about us.”

  “Well, that’s good to hear,” Creighton said, nodding. He poured more whiskey into the glass, which almost emptied the bottle. He held it up, cocked an inquiring eyebrow. Denny shook her head. Creighton thumped the bottle back on the table.

  Molly brought over bowls of beef stew with wild onions and beans in it, ladled from a pot on the stove, along with chunks of bread torn from a fresh-baked loaf. She filled cups of coffee and set them in front of Denny and Creighton as well, then got her own food. As she sat down at the table, she asked, “Where are you from, Denny?”

  “I was brought up in Missouri,” Denny said, remembering her father’s family history. She believed she would be safe if she stuck to that, less likely to get mixed up and caught in an inconsistency. “My ma and pa had a farm in the Ozarks.” It was actually her grandparents who’d had that farm, she recalled from Smoke’s stories.

  “In the mountains? That’s not very good land for farming, is it?”

  “It’s sure not. Reckon that’s why we were always dirt poor.”

  She had never been poor in her life, Denny realized. By the time she and Louis were born, the Sugarloaf was a successful ranch, and Smoke had his gold claim in reserve, too. She had never known anything but luxury and comfort. The past week and a half had been the roughest she’d ever had it and yet she hadn’t actually lived the sort of hardscrabble existence her father and so many other pioneers had. The whole experience was going to be good for her . . .

  If she made it out the other side alive.

  Creighton said, “You probably left the farm and struck out on your own as soon as you were old enough. That’s what I would have done.”

  “Yep, just about,” Denny agreed.

  That enigmatic smile appeared on Molly’s face again. “That probably wasn’t all that long ago. How old are you, Denny?”

  “I’m twenty-one. Been on my own six years.”

  “You don’t really look that old.”

  Denny shrugged. “Clean livin’, I guess.”

  That brought a laugh from Creighton, then he said, “Enough talk. Dig in.”

  They ate in silence, washing down the stew with sips of hot, strong coffee. Denny continued trying to appear relaxed, but she was sure going to be happy when the meal was over and she could get out of there.

  Finally, she mopped the last of the juice from the bowl with the final bite of bread and popped it into her mouth.

  Creighton said, “There’s plenty more if you want it.”

  “I appreciate that, boss, but I reckon I’m done.” Denny drank the last of the coffee in her cup. “I thank you for the food.”

  Creighton nodded toward Molly. “She’s the one who cooked it.”

  Denny summoned up a smile and told the woman, “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Ma’am,” Molly repeated with a quiet laugh. “Not many have called me that. I’m not exactly a fine lady.”

  “You, uh, you are as far as I’m concerned, ma’am.”

  “Well, it’s nice of you to say so. Sure you don’t want anything else?”

  “I’m sure. Thanks anyway.” Denny grinned. “Reckon the other fellas will already be jealous of me, gettin’ special treatment like this.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Creighton said. “Nobody’s going to give you any trouble.”

  “Not if they know what’s good for ’em,” Denny said.

  That brought another laugh from Creighton.

  She scraped her chair back and stood up. It felt good to settle her hat back on her head. Her face had been altogether too much out in the open without it. She hoped the grime worn into her skin kept her lack of beard stubble from being too obvious.

  She nodded good night and headed for the door. A soft footstep behind her made her look over her shoulder. Her heart sank as she saw that Molly was following her. Denny kept going, hoping Molly would stay in the cabin.

  She didn’t. She stepped out of the cabin behind Denny and said, “Wait a minute.”

  Denny stopped and half-turned. “Ma’am?”

  Molly eased the door closed. “You can drop the act. I know you’re a girl.”

  Denny caught her breath. Instinctively, her hand moved closer to her gun.

  “Forget that,” Molly went on. “All I have to do is yell and you’ll be dead in ten seconds. Anyway, I don’t mean you any harm. Do you really think you’re any sort of threat to me? A skinny little thing like you?”

  “Ma’am, I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about—” Denny began.

  “Please. Men never notice anything if it doesn’t have to do with horses or cattle or guns. If there hadn’t been another woman here, you likely would have gotten away with it. And since I don’t have any interest in exposing the truth, maybe you have gotten away with it.”

  Denny should have accepted Molly’s attitude as a good sign, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe it was true. On the other hand, if Molly wanted to ruin her masquerade, she could have already done it and easily.

  “I suppose Lon Williams must know,” Molly went on. “You didn’t show any qualms about sharing a tent with him. The two of you are lovers, aren’t you?”

  Denny stiffened. “I don’t see as how that’s any of your business.”

  “You’re lying to Nick about who you really are,” Molly snapped. “That makes whatever you do my business.” She waved a hand. “But I don’t care what you and Williams do as long as you’re not threatening Nick. I figure you’ve got your own reasons for dressing like a man and packing a gun. Back in the old days, Calamity Jane used to do the same thing. I’ve heard she even passed as a man some of the time while she was scouting for the army. Maybe you’d rather be a man. I’ve heard of such things.”

  The only reason Denny had for posing as a man was so she could find the son of a bitch who wanted to hurt her father. She had done that. Once she had seen that justice was done, she had no desire to conceal her true identity. She figured she could wear pants and ride horses and work cattle and still be a woman.

  None of that was important at the moment, though. She couldn’t afford to waste time worrying about anything beyond the here and now.

  “I’m not here to cause trouble for Nick or anybody else,” she lied. “If I was, I would’ve let that fella shoot him awhile ago instead of knocking him out of the way.”

  She wished she had thought quickly enough to let Daly kill Nick Creighton. Without Creighton’s fanatical grudge against Smoke Jensen, the gang might well have broken up and drifted apart. The threat to the Sugarloaf would be over.

  As it was, Denny’s instincts had betrayed her and she was still in deadly danger as long as she was among the outlaws, as was Brice Rogers.

  “You saved his life, all right,” Molly said, nodding slowly. “I took that into account when I was deciding whether or not to tell him the truth about you. That’s a big reason why I decided to let you keep on playing whatever game it is you’re playing. But I warn you.” She leaned closer to Denny. “If you do anything to hurt Nick . . . if I even start to suspect I’ve made a mistake by trusting you . . . I’ll tell him everything I know, and you and Williams will be in big trouble.”

  “You don’t have to worry about us,” Denny said.

  “I’d better not.” Molly turned and went back to the cabin.

  Denny watched her go, then took a deep breath and drifted on toward the tent she was sharing with Rogers.

  So Molly believed the two of them were lovers. Denny hadn’t done anything t
o convey that impression, at least as far as she could remember. She certainly hadn’t tried to make anybody think that, least of all Rogers himself. He was already insufferable enough most of the time without him feeling like she had fallen for him. That wasn’t going to happen.

  A little annoyed at wasting time and energy even thinking about romance, she pushed that subject away in her mind. A much more pressing problem was the question of how one of them was going to get out of there and bring back reinforcements to wipe out the gang of outlaws.

  The light from the fire allowed her to make her way across the basin. As she approached the tent, she spotted Rogers sitting on a log nearby.

  He saw her, too, and got to his feet. “I was getting a little worried about you,” he said quietly. “You were in that cabin a long time. And then when you came out, Creighton’s woman followed you—”

  “She knows who I am,” Denny said.

  Rogers went stiff as a board and swung his hand closer to his gun, ready to fight.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean she knows I’m Smoke Jensen’s daughter. But she knows I’m a woman. With my hat off, in good light, I couldn’t fool another female.”

  “I told you it was a loco idea,” he muttered.

  “Creighton doesn’t know,” Denny said sharply. “Neither do any of the others.”

  “You can’t be sure about that.”

  “Sure enough. We can go on with our plan. Or at least we could if we actually had a plan.”

  “We do,” Rogers said. “You’re getting out of here tonight and heading for the Sugarloaf. We can’t trust Creighton’s woman, and we can’t afford to wait.”

  “We’ve been through that,” Denny said. “If I climb out over the cliffs, I’ll be on foot. No telling how long it’ll take me to bring back help. Anyway, when Creighton realizes I’m gone, he’s liable to send men after me, and they’ll stand a good chance of hunting me down before I’m able to get far enough away.”

  “Not if you’re on horseback. In a little while, when things start to quiet down for the night, you’re going to drift over there toward the corral. Can you ride bareback?”