Deadly Trail

by William W. Johnstone

  That was when he saw him. Matt Jensen was dancing with a very pretty woman. He watched for a while, then seeing someone who was bussing empty cups and plates, he went over to talk to him.

  “Do you see that man in the blue shirt dancing with the black-haired girl in the green dress?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll give you a dollar if you will give him this envelope,” he said, holding up a dollar bill and an envelope.

  “All I got to do is give him the envelope?”

  “That’s all.”

  The busboy smiled broadly. “Yes, sir, I’ll do that for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  The short, swarthy man watched as the busboy moved through the crowd of dancers to find Matt Jensen.

  When the dance ended and the square broke up, Matt thanked Layne for the dance. With a curtsy she told him that he was welcome, and that she had enjoyed the dance. That was when the busboy approached him.

  “Excuse me, sir,” the busboy said. “But a gentleman asked me to give you this envelope.”

  “What gentleman?” Matt replied.

  “The one standing over . . .” the busboy said, pointing toward the punch bowl. He stopped in mid-sentence. “He’s a short fella, dark hair, kind’a swarthy skin. That’s funny. He ain’t there no more.”

  “Let me see the envelope,” Matt said, taking the small package from the busboy.

  Looking inside the envelope, Matt saw a .50-caliber bullet. A little piece of paper was wrapped around the bullet, secured by a strip of rawhide. On the paper was his name and the same symbol he had seen before.

  “Look around, man,” Matt said. “Do you see him anywhere?”

  The busboy surveyed the entire room, then shook his head.

  “No, sir,” he said. “He ain’t nowhere in the buildin’. That seems strange, him givin’ me somthin’ to give you, then not even stayin’ around so’s you could see who done it.”

  “Under the circumstances, maybe not so strange,” Matt said.

  “Beg your pardon, sir?”

  “Nothing,” Matt said. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” the busboy said as he hurried off to attend to his duties.

  “Matt, what is it?” Layne asked. “What’s in the envelope?”

  “Nothing, particular,” Matt replied.

  “I don’t believe that. I told you once before when we were on the train, remember? I told you then that you have a remarkably expressive face. I don’t know what was in the envelope, but it did disturb you.”

  “I think curious would be a better word than disturb,” Matt said. “I’m curious as to why anyone would send me something like this.”

  Matt opened the envelope to allow Layne to look inside.

  “What is it?” she asked. Then, seeing the bullet, she gasped. “My word!” she said. “What a strange thing to send to someone.”

  “Ahh, it’s probably just someone’s idea of a joke,” Matt said, purposely making light of it.

  When Matt went into his hotel room that night, he turned up the gas lights, then walked over to sit on the bed to remove his boots. Just as he was sitting on the bed, a bullet smashed through the window and smacked into the wall on the opposite side.

  Rolling off the bed and onto the floor, Matt snaked his revolver from the holster that hung on the headboard, then crawled over toward the window. Another bullet came through the glass, and he could hear it whizzing by just over his head. It too slammed into the wall on the opposite side.

  Raising himself just high enough to peak through the window, he saw a muzzle flash in the hayloft of a barn across the street. The bar housed the mules for a wagon freight company. The bullet from that shot whizzed by him so close that he could feel the wind of its passing. He fired toward the black maw that opened into the hayloft, but because he had no specific target, he didn’t expect to hit anything.

  He crawled across the floor to the door, opened it, then went out into the hall and ran toward the window at the end of the hall. Just as he reached the window, the door to the end room opened.

  Whirling quickly, Matt brought his pistol to bear on the man who had stuck his head out the door.

  “What’s going on?” he said. Then, seeing the pistol in his face, he gasped. “Oh, my Lord!” he said, throwing his hands up.

  “Sorry,” Matt said, lowering the pistol. “Get back in your room and stay away from the window.”

  “Yes, sir,” the man answered, even as Matt was opening the window at the end of the hall. Stepping up onto the windowsill, Matt jumped down into the area between the hotel and the neighboring building. Then, with pistol in hand, he darted across the street, and began working his way toward the barn.

  Reaching the side of the barn, he backed against it, then started working his way toward the main door. Just as he reached the door, though, he heard the sound of galloping hoofbeats.

  Matt ran to the front of the barn, then dashed into it through the smell of mule and manure, hay and oats. When he reached the back of the barn, he saw a mounted rider dart behind a row of buildings. With a sigh of frustration, Matt lowered his pistol, then returned to the hotel.

  The night clerk met Matt as he came into the lobby.

  “Oh, my, what are you doing out here?” he asked. “I thought you were in your room.”

  “I went for a walk,” Matt said simply.

  The expression on the face of the night clerk was one of confused bewilderment as he watched Matt, gun in hand, climb back up the steps to go to his room.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Denver

  As Smoke Jensen rode down Wynkoop Street the next day, he had to maneuver his horse from side to side in order to negotiate his way through the heavy traffic of coaches, carriages, and wagons.

  There was a large banner stretched across the street, and looking up, Smoke smiled when he saw the name.

  COLORADO HONORS MATT JENSEN

  This was a proud moment for Smoke, having Matt honored by the state of Colorado. Smoke and Matt had shared their time together long before Smoke married Sally, and long before his two most loyal hands, Pearlie and Cal, had come to work at Sugarloaf. But Sally understood the bond between the Smoke and Matt, and it was she who, having read the article in the Rocky Mountain News, suggested to Smoke that he go to Denver for the ceremony.

  After getting a room in the hotel, Smoke took a bath and put on a suit. Then he went downstairs and walked through the lobby to a large ballroom that was being used as a reception hall. Through the open door of the room, he could see several well-dressed men and women standing around, laughing and talking.

  A large man was standing near the open door, looking out into the lobby. By the man’s demeanor and by the expression on his face, Smoke could see that he was not a guest of the reception, but was a guard. The guard came toward Smoke, shaking his head and with his hand extended.

  “Sir, this is a closed reception,” the guard said.

  “That’s good,” Smoke said. “It shouldn’t be open for just anyone. Why, there’s no telling what kind of disreputable figure might try to come in.”

  “You don’t understand, sir,” the guard said. “I’m talking about you. You can’t come in here.”

  “Wait a minute. Are you calling me a disreputable figure?”

  “No, sir, I’m just telling you that this is a closed reception and unless you have a personal invitation from the governor, you cannot come in.”

  “Well, the gentleman being honored and I are old friends,” Smoke said.

  “Do you have an invitation?”

  “No.”

  The guard smiled triumphantly. “Well, if you were old friends, you would have an invitation now, wouldn’t you? I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t come in. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “Why don’t we just ask the man being honored?” Smoke suggested. He started into the room.

  “Sir, if you don’t leave now, I am going to personally throw you out of here!�
�

  Smoke looked at the guard. The guard was a big man and it was obvious that he could handle himself. But at the same time Smoke was looking over the guard, the guard was taking stock of Smoke, and Smoke could see by the expression in his face that he wasn’t looking forward to any encounter with someone Smoke’s size.

  Smoke sighed. The guard was just doing his job.

  “All right,” Smoke said. “I don’t want to cause any trouble.” He pointed to the lobby. “I’ll wait out here. I would appreciate it, though, if you would tell Matt Jensen that Smoke is here.”

  With Matt Jensen

  If it weren’t for the fact that the Denver and Rio Grande was giving Matt a five-hundred-dollar reward and a year’s free pass on their railroad, he would just as soon have missed the governor’s reception. But it was all tied together. The railroad wanted some consideration from the governor, Governor John Long Routt wanted the political recognition he would receive from such an event, and Matt wanted the money.

  Matt stood in his room of the Palace Hotel, examining his reflection in the mirror. He was wearing a suit, vest, and tie. This was a rare affectation, but he thought it necessary for the occasion.

  There was a light knock on his door and, with a final adjustment of his tie, he walked over to open it. It was a hotel valet.

  “Mr. Jensen, I was sent to inform you that the governor has arrived, sir.”

  “Thank you,” Matt said. “You may tell the governor that I will be along shortly.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Layne was enjoying the reception. Many of the new friends she had made were there as well, and Millie commented on it.

  “They are all here so they can get a glimpse of Matt Jensen,” Millie said. “Why, there is not a one of them who would be here if your uncle were honoring some sixty-five-year-old man for developing a new way of curing cowhides or something,” she added with a laugh.

  “Why are you here, Millie?” one of the others asked.

  “Oh, I admit it, my dears. I am here just to get a closer look at the handsome and heroic Mr. Jensen.” She looked over at Layne. “Although it is clear that Layne has a claim on him.”

  “I do not,” Layne said, laughing and blushing as she responded.

  “Oh, but my dear, you were with him on the train when he performed his heroics. Indeed, you were one of the people he saved. Why, what better claim can one have than to be that very damsel in distress?”

  Unaware that he was the center of such conversation, Matt went downstairs, through the lobby, and into the large ballroom. Here, several dozen tables were scattered about, already filled with elegantly dressed representatives of Denver’s citizenry. Despite its brief history, Denver, with a population of well over one hundred thousand people, was already the largest city between St. Louis and San Francisco. It was also one of the wealthiest cities, so that the net worth of those gathered here tonight could compete with any similar gathering in any city in America.

  He was met just inside the door by George Highgate, who escorted him to the long table on the dias.

  “Where is the governor?” Matt asked.

  “He will be here in a moment, sir,” Highgate answered.

  “Good evening, Mr. Jensen,” Layne said.

  Smiling, Matt nodded at her. “Good evening, Miss McKenzie,” he replied.

  “Speaking on behalf of the widows and orphans of the city, may I tell you how much I—that is, we,” Layne corrected, “appreciated your presence at the Firemen’s Charity Ball last night?”

  “Believe me, the appreciation and the pleasure were all mine,” Matt said.

  “You remember all my friends, I believe,” Layne said, taking the other girls in with a wave of her hand.

  “Let me see if I can remember,” Matt said. He looked at each of the girls he had met last night, and called them each by name, in turn. “This is Miss Millie St. Cyr, Miss Norma Jean Proud, Miss Sue Kendal, and Miss Annie Jones.”

  “Oh, my,” Millie said. She clapped her hands, and the others clapped as well. “I am very impressed.”

  “Yes, especially as you are so famous now,” Norma Jean said.

  “And a true American hero,” Sue added.

  “Hardly famous, Miss Proud,” Matt said. “And definitely not a hero, Miss Kendal.”

  “I think Mrs. Jensen would argue that fact,” Millie said. “Surely, your wife believes you to be a hero.”

  “Oh, there is no Mrs. Jensen,” Matt said. “That is, I have no wife.”

  “Millie, what a shameless way to ask if the gentleman is married,” Layne scolded, though her scolding was alleviated both by the expression in her voice and the smile on her face.

  At that moment, the governor was just passing through the lobby when he saw Smoke Jensen. Breaking into a wide smile, the governor hurried over to extend a personal greeting.

  “Smoke Jensen,” Governor John Long Routt said, extending his hand. “How good to see you.”

  “Hello, John,” Smoke replied, returning the smile.

  “Governor, this man doesn’t have an invitation,” the guard said.

  “Really? Well, don’t worry about it, Mitchell,” the governor said. “Mr. Jensen and I are old friends,” the governor said. “I would have certainly extended the invitation if I had known he would come. And I do so now.”

  “Oh. Mr. Jensen, I’m sorry I didn’t know. I hope you don’t take offense.”

  “Don’t be sorry, my friend,” Smoke said. “You were just doing your job. And if I may say so, you were doing it quite well.”

  “Uh, yes, sir. Thank you, sir. But you should’a said you were a friend of the governor. You said you were a friend of the man being honored.”

  “Indeed he is, Mitchell,” Governor Routt said. “In fact, he is much more than a friend. Perhaps you didn’t catch his last name. It is Jensen.”

  “Jensen? Oh, you mean like Matt Jensen, the man getting the award tonight?”

  “Yes,” Governor Routt said. “Come with me, Smoke, I’m sure Matt is looking for you.”

  Smoke shook his head. “I doubt it,” he said. “I didn’t tell him I was coming. I wanted to surprise him.”

  “Oh. Well, that is even better. Come along.”

  Inside, Matt was still surrounded by Layne and her friends. They were all pretty, and the company was pleasant, but they were almost fawning over the story that had appeared in the paper, and that was making him a little uncomfortable. The only way he could handle it was with self-deprecating humor.

  “Is it true that you had to walk on top of a train doing sixty miles an hour in order to reach the engine?” Sue Kendall asked.

  “I didn’t walk.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I didn’t walk,” Matt repeated. Unconsciously, he stroked the small, crescent-shaped scar on his cheek, the result of the slip on the ice that almost caused him to fall off. “I fell, then I had to crawl like a baby, hanging on for dear life, cursing myself for the fool I was to try such a thing.”

  The ladies laughed out loud.

  Smoke followed the governor through a cloud of aromatic tobacco and pipe smoke. He saw Matt before Matt saw him. It was easy to pick Matt out from the crowd. His young protégé stood over six feet tall with broad shoulders and narrow hips. His blond hair seemed even more yellow than Smoke remembered.

  Matt didn’t see Smoke right away, because he had his back turned and he was surrounded by about half-a-dozen very beautiful women, each woman vying for his attention. As Smoke approached, the women broke out into laughter over some story Matt was telling.

  “You always were able to spin a good yarn,” Smoke said.

  A huge smile spread across Matt’s face, and he turned to greet the man who had just spoken.

  “Smoke! What are you doing here?”

  “You are getting an award from the governor, aren’t you?” Smoke replied. “I had to be here.”

  Matt took Smoke’s hand in his, and the two shook hands and clasped each oth
er on the shoulder.

  “Ladies, I would like to introduce Smoke Jensen,” Matt said.

  “Did you say Jensen?” Millie asked.

  “I sure did.”

  “Is he your brother?”

  Matt nodded. “Yes, indeed,” Matt said. “Smoke is my brother.”

  There was a dinner after the reception, and though Smoke offered to leave, he was persuaded to stay when he learned that the governor had made special arrangements for him at the head table. When all were seated, Governor Routt tapped his spoon on the crystal goblet. The clear ringing sound could be heard above all the laughter and conversation, and it had the desired effect of silencing the guests.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, it is my distinct honor and privilege tonight to host this banquet in honor of Matthew Jensen, one of Colorado’s leading citizens.”

  Although everyone in attendance had read the newspaper article and heard the story of Matt’s exploits, the governor repeated it all in his speech, pausing occasionally to allow the crowd to react with exclamations of awe and wonder at Matt’s skill and bravery.

  “And now, as governor of the state of Colorado, I hereby issue this proclamation declaring this day to be officially entered into the state historical records as Matthew Jensen Day.”

  After the presentation, the crowd responded with applause and calls for Matt to make a speech.

  Clearing his throat, Matt got up from his seat and walked to the podium. Looking out over the room, he saw over one hundred people, all of whom were looking at him in admiration. He cleared his throat before he began to speak.

  “I’m not a hero,” he said. “A hero is someone who takes a great risk to do something very dangerous for the good of others. I had no choice. If I had not tried to stop the engine, the train would have gone off the track and I would have been killed along with the others. When you do such a thing as a matter of necessity rather than as a matter of choice, it is not heroic, it is basic animal survival.