This Violent Land

by William W. Johnstone

  Pete made conversation to pass the time. “I tell you what, Beth, your husband . . . what’s his name? . . . Filbert?”

  Beth nodded, but gave no audible reply.

  “Yes, well ole’ Filbert better be back here before the clock strikes again.”

  “He’ll be back,” Beth said.

  “Mommy, I’m scared,” Suzie said.

  Beth put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “Don’t be afraid. Daddy will be back soon, then these men will leave.”

  “I want them to leave now. I don’t like them.”

  Merlin laughed. “Now that just breaks my heart that you don’t like me.”

  As they were waiting, Eddie wandered around the room, picking up pieces for a closer examination, then putting them back down. He picked up a porcelain doll. “What’s this?”

  “Oh, please do be careful with that, it is very”—Beth started to say expensive, for indeed it was, having come from the Song Dynasty in twelfth-century China, but she amended her comment—“dear to me. My mother gave it to me when I was a little girl.”

  “Don’t worry. I ain’t goin’ to play with no dolls,” Eddie said.

  “Look at all this stuff,” Merlin said. “You people must be filthy rich to have all this.”

  Beth didn’t reply.

  He smiled. “We’re gonna be rich, too, if your husband does what we told him to do.”

  “Here he is, comin’ back,” Eddie said.

  “Is he carrying anything?” Pete asked.

  “He’s carryin’ a big sack.”

  Merlin smiled broadly. “That’s our money! Hey Pete. His idea worked!”

  The banker came into the house, and not glancing toward the parlor, started up the stairs.

  “We’re in here,” Pete called to him.

  “I have the money,” Filbert said.

  “How much did you get?”

  “I got every cent that was in the bank, just like you told me. Thirty thousand, one hundred and seventeen dollars.”

  PSR ranch house

  With a sigh of frustration, Josh Richards sat up. He was on the edge of the bed in Janey’s room, having failed again in his attempt to have sex with her. His periods of impotence had started over a year ago. At first they were intermittent, but over the last six months he had become totally impotent. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t do it.”

  “Don’t be sorry, darling,” Janey said, reaching out to put her hand on his. “Believe me, you don’t need to prove yourself to me.”

  Though she didn’t show it, Janey was glad Richards was impotent. She very much appreciated the economic benefits of living with him and was willing to make her bed available to him as part of the price she had to pay for the luxury she enjoyed, but she had always done so out of a sense of obligation, never for pleasure.

  “Don’t you ever tell anyone about this,” Richards warned. “Do you hear me? Don’t you tell Wiley or Muley, and especially, don’t you tell any of your friends down at the Pink House. If I ever hear tell that you’ve told anyone, I’ll beat the hell out of you.”

  “No, you mean you’ll kill me.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far but—”

  “You’d have to go that far,” Janey interrupted coolly.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because, Josh, dear, if you ever hit me, and leave me alive, I’ll kill you.”

  Richards laughed out loud. “You know what? I believe you would.”

  “Oh, you can count on that.” There was no laughter in her voice.

  CHAPTER 14

  Running Creek

  The next morning Smoke walked over to the sheriff’s office to introduce himself. He found the man behind a desk, which was where most star packers who were half lawman, half politician tended to spend a lot of their time.

  “Sheriff Tanner? I’m Smoke Jensen.”

  The sheriff sprouted a big smile as he stood up, then came around from behind his desk with his hand extended. He was a silver-haired man with a weathered face and the beginnings of a paunch.

  Probably a capable lawman at one time, thought Smoke, but nearing the end of his run.

  “Deputy Jensen, welcome to Running Creek. And am I glad to see you. I hope your trip here was without incident.”

  “It was. Marshal Holloway said you needed some help.”

  “He didn’t tell you what I needed, did he?”

  “He said he didn’t know.”

  “That’s right, I didn’t tell him, did I? Well, to tell you the truth, Deputy, I was afraid that if I told him what I needed, he might not be able to get a deputy to come. Have you ever heard of a man named Holder? Val Holder?”

  “Yes, I’ve heard of him.” Smoke thought about the conversation he had overheard in the saloon last night, in which Holder’s name was mentioned. But that wasn’t the first time he had heard of him. Holder was said to be extremely fast with a gun, and even quicker to use it.

  “He’s wanted for murder up in Wyoming, and he’s killed a few people here in Colorado. In fact he killed a man yesterday, right here in Running Creek.”

  “You arrested him?”

  Tanner looked uncomfortable. “Well . . . no, I didn’t. All the eyewitnesses said it was a fair fight. And to be honest, I don’t think I can arrest him.”

  “You mean you don’t have anything on him?”

  “No, I mean I don’t think I can arrest him. If he decided to resist arrest, I . . . well, I’m no match for him. I don’t know if Marshal Holloway told you, but I asked for you by name.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. I heard what you did in Red Cliff, and frankly, it would take someone who could do something like that to go up against Holder and have any hope of surviving.”

  “What charge do you have against him?”

  “I don’t have any charge against him, but like I said, there is a warrant on him from Wyoming. You, being a federal marshal, could serve that on him. Frankly, Deputy, I just want to be rid of him. Since he came to town last month, he has pretty much taken over. He knows that I won’t, or can’t, do anything to stop him, so he’s got the whole town afraid of him.

  “I figure if you arrest him, once I’ve got him in jail, I can hold him until Wyoming sends someone down for him. In jail and without a gun, he’ll be just another prisoner.”

  “Do you think he’ll come along peaceable-like?”

  “No, I don’t think he will. I think he’ll challenge you, and you’re going to wind up having to kill him. Or . . .”

  Sheriff Tanner’s voice trailed off in mid-sentence as he realized he had almost said more than he intended to say.

  “Or be killed by him?” Smoke replied, smiling faintly at the sheriff’s discomfort.

  “Yes,” the sheriff admitted. He took his hat off and ran his hand through his hair. “Look, Deputy, if you want to turn around and go back to Denver, I understand. I . . . uh . . . have no right to ask you to risk your life like this.”

  “Sure you do,” Smoke replied without hesitation. “I’m a deputy U.S. marshal, and that’s what we do. But I tell you what, Sheriff. Why don’t we both go see this man Holder? You make the arrest; that’ll send a message to everyone that you’re the one in charge here. And I’ll be right there with you to back your play if need be.”

  A broad smile spread across the sheriff’s face. “Yes. Now, that is a great idea.”

  * * *

  Even as Smoke and Sheriff Tanner were discussing Holder, Holder was in the Black Jack Saloon having a similar discussion with a man named Vince Jarrett.

  “Smoke Jensen?” Holder asked. “Are you sure Smoke Jensen is in town?”

  “Yeah, he’s here all right. He had a drink right here in this very hotel last night. I recognized him right off.” Fox-faced Jarrett had been a petty criminal and owlhoot his entire life. He and another local ne’er-do-well named Eric Reid had joined up with Val Holder.

  “What’s he doin’ here?”

  “He’s a deputy U.S.marshal, you know.
I heard that the sheriff called him in to arrest you.”

  “Did he, now?” Holder asked, smirking.

  “Ha! I’m lookin’ forward to seein’ him try to do that,” Reid said. “You’ll shoot him down just like you done Kingsley.”

  Holder shook his head. “Yeah, well, it ain’t goin’ to be quite that way.”

  Reid frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve heard of Jensen. He’s good. He’s damn good. I don’t plan to go up against him without an edge.”

  “What kind of edge?” Jarrett asked.

  “You two will be my edge. There will be the three of us against the one of him.”

  “Wait a minute!” Jarrett said, putting his hands out. “Maybe you didn’t hear about what happened over in Red Cliff. They was three men that went up ag’in him there, too, and he kilt all three. One of ’em was Lucas Babcock. Babcock was damn good with a gun, but that didn’t matter. Jensen got all three of ’em.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that. But them three men was stupid because they tried to face him in the open,” Holder said. “It ain’t goin’ to be that way with us. Jarrett, you’re gonna be up on the second-floor landing. Reid, you’ll be sittin’ over there at that table behind the piano. The both of you will shoot him just before the play starts. After it’s all over, Jensen will be dead, and there won’t nobody but the three of us who’ll know what really happened.”

  “How will we know when to shoot?” Reid asked.

  “You’ll hear me say ‘it looks like me and you is goin’ to have a little dance.’ You two be ready, ’cause just as soon as I say the word dance . . . that’s the signal for both of you to start shootin’.”

  “That’s a pretty long shot from over there behind the piano. What if I miss?” Reid asked.

  “It won’t make any difference whether you miss or not. That’ll be enough of a distraction to give me the edge I need.”

  “Yeah,” Jarrett said. “Yeah, that’s a damn good idea!”

  “Reid, you go over there and stand in the doorway now,” Holder ordered. “I want you to keep a lookout and let us know if you see Jensen coming. That’ll give us a chance to get into position.”

  “All right,” Reid said.

  “You, Treacher,” Holder called to a man sitting at a nearby table, listening in on the conversation. “Give me your pistol.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. I said give me your pistol.”

  “Why should I do that?”

  “Because I’ll kill you if you don’t.”

  Frightened by the threat, Treacher pulled his pistol and handed it over.

  With Treacher’s pistol in hand, Holder walked down to where the bar curved and stretched to put the gun into the small lip under the overhang.

  “Here he comes,” Reid called. “I’ll be damned. He’s got the sheriff with him!”

  “All right, Reid, you and Jarrett get to your places—Jarrett, you upstairs, and Reid, you behind the piano,” Holder ordered.

  Holder didn’t move. He put his hand on the bar, just above where he had secreted the pistol.

  Sheriff Tanner and Smoke Jensen came into the saloon.

  “Holder, I’ve got a warrant for your arrest that came from Wyoming,” Tanner said. “And I’m here to serve it on you now.”

  The gunman smirked. “Since when can you arrest me on paper from Wyoming?”

  “I asked him to,” Smoke said. “I’m a federal officer, and that means that it could be Wyoming, Colorado, or Texas. Anywhere in the U.S., it makes no difference to me.”

  “So, you’re the one who’s gonna arrest me, are you, Sheriff?” Holder asked with a contemptuous grin.

  “Yes, I am, so I’d be obliged if you would unbuckle that gun belt and let it drop to the floor.”

  “I have no intention of obligin’ you, Sheriff. So it looks like me and you is goin’ to have a little dance.”

  At that cue, Jarrett stepped to the upstairs railing and aimed his gun at Tanner.

  “Sheriff, there’s a man on the landing with the drop on you.” The warning shout came from Treacher.

  Angry that his ambush plans were spoiled by the yell, Holder grabbed the gun he had hidden, but as he tried to bring it up, he hit his hand on the end of the bar, slowing his draw.

  Jarrett fired from the balcony and missed, the bullet slamming into the glass mirror behind the bar. The mirror shattered and fell, leaving only a few jagged shards hanging in place to reflect in distorted images the scene playing before it.

  Jarrett didn’t get off a second shot, Smoke drew and fired, his bullet finding its mark. Jarrett dropped his pistol and grabbed his throat, standing for just a moment, clutching his neck as bright red blood welled between his fingers. His eyes rolled up in their sockets and he fell forward, toppling over the railing.

  Even as Jarrett was flipping in midair, Smoke heard the roar of two more Colts. Though it seemed to him that time had stilled, the truth was that the battle between Holder and the sheriff had taken place almost simultaneously with his own fight. And because Holder’s draw had been slowed when he hit his hand on the bar, Sheriff Tanner managed to get his shot off first, putting his bullet in the middle of Holder’s chest. Holder’s shot was reflexive, and all it did was punch a hole in the floor.

  “There’s another one over behind the piano.” Treacher pointed toward Reid.

  Reid, seeing that things were going against them, had not even joined the fight. He stepped from behind the piano and thrust his hands in the air. His pistol was still in its holster. “No, no, don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” he shouted in panic. “I ain’t a part o’ this! I ain’t in it at all!”

  “Shuck your belt,” the sheriff ordered.

  “I’m adoin’ it, I’m adoin’ it.” Reid used his left hand to unfasten his belt buckle. The gun belt dropped to the floor with a clatter.

  The sheriff looked at Reid for a long moment, and Smoke almost believed he was going to shoot anyway.

  Finally Tanner sighed and made a waving motion with his pistol. “Get out of here, Reid. Leave town and don’t ever come back. If I ever see you in town again, I’ll throw you in jail and you’ll rot there. If I don’t kill you first.”

  “But this here is where I live,” Reid whined. “I got me a room over at Miss Blum’s roomin’ house.”

  “I’ll give you one hour to get packed and be gone,” Sheriff Tanner said.

  “All right. I’m agoin’, I’m agoin’.” Reid walked out the door.

  “Damn, did you see that?” someone said. “The sheriff took Holder.”

  “The sheriff is a good man. I’ve always said that,” Treacher said.

  “Sheriff Tanner, I have to agree with these men. You did a good job. No, you did an outstanding job,” Smoke said, noticing an unmistakable look of pride on the sheriff’s face.

  “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short.”

  The sheriff looked at Smoke, then up toward the top of the stairs where Jarrett had been when he’d tried to ambush them, then back to Smoke. “That was one hell of a shot, Deputy. I’d make that better’n sixty feet, easy.”

  “More like eighty, maybe even ninety feet,” Treacher said.

  “Treacher,” Sheriff Tanner said. “I want to thank you for the warning.”

  “Yeah, well, Holder took my gun,” Treacher said, reaching down for it.

  “Boys,” the bartender said. “Holder ran roughshod around here long enough. Step up to the bar. There’s one free round on the house.”

  The men cheered, then hurried toward the bar.

  “Hey, Kelly, what about the women? Are they free too?” someone asked.

  “We’ll drink one drink with you,” said one of the soiled doves. “But that’s as free as it gets.”

  “Aw, Belle, don’t you love me no more?” another cowboy asked.

  “Of course I love you, honey.” Belle put her hand on her hip and thrust it out provocatively. “I love al
l you boys. As long as you’ve got money.”

  * * *

  “Sheriff, I’d like to ask you a question,” Smoke said when they’d returned to the sheriff’s office.

  “Deputy, ask anything you want,” the sheriff said with a broad smile.

  Smoke asked the question he had asked so many times it came out automatically, flat toned, as if he had no personal interest in the reply. “I’m looking for three men—Wiley Potter, Muley Stratton, and Josh Richards. Have you ever heard of them?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Are they wanted men?”

  “Yes, they committed a murder down in New Mexico. The sheriff down there thinks they might have gone to Wyoming, and if they did, they would have had to come through here.”

  “What do they look like?”

  Smoke had been asked that question many times during his quest, and he was no more able to answer it now than he had been the first time the question was asked. “I don’t know what they look like, but I expect they’re using their real names.”

  Tanner frowned. “Why would they do that?”

  “Because they are arrogant and wealthy. It’s more than likely they settled someplace where there isn’t any law . . . or they have bought the law.”

  “I hate men like that. I hate them almost as much as I hate the lawman who can be bought. I’ve never heard the names, but you can be very sure that if I ever do hear anything about them, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

  CHAPTER 15

  On his way back to Denver that night, Smoke camped out just twenty miles east of where Clell Dawson was camping. The two men were far enough apart to not run into each other and traveling along trails that wouldn’t cross. Even if they had met on the trail there would have been nothing more than a nod between them. While Smoke had heard of Clell Dawson, and Clell had heard of Smoke Jensen, neither would recognize the other on sight.

  The next morning, Clell made coffee by putting a few coffee beans he had chewed up into a tin cup of water, which he then heated. That and a piece of jerky was his breakfast. As he sat there, he wondered how far it was to the next town. Going from town to town and settling down in none of them was vastly different from the life he had planned when he’d studied medicine.