He opened his eyes and lay in the darkness for just a moment, wondering what it was that had awakened him. Then he felt a slight change in air pressure, and he looked toward the door. Because the room was dark in front, and the hallway dark behind, he could see nothing—but he sensed that the door had just opened.
Smoke rolled off his bed and onto the floor beside his bed just as the first shot was fired. Smoke heard the bullet hit the bed he had just vacated. The flame pattern of the muzzle flash lit up the room, and Smoke could see someone illuminated by the very gun he was shooting.
The would-be assailant shot three more times, then Smoke heard him turn and run up the hallway.
Quickly, Smoke was on his feet with his gun in hand. Stepping out into the hallway, he strained to see into the black maw, but he could see nothing. By now other doors were opening as people—many of them holding flickering candles or brighter lanterns, and all in their nightclothes—were sticking their heads out to see what was going on.
“What is it? What is all the shooting about?” someone asked.
“Did anyone get hurt?”
“What’s going on?”
“Get back! Get out of the way!” Smoke shouted.
For a moment everyone jerked back, but as they did so, they took their candles and lanterns with them so that, once more, the hallway was dark. Smoke stared into the darkness, but could see nothing.
Gradually, the other guests of the hotel opened their doors and stuck their heads out again. Again, they brought light with them.
Smoke stood there for a moment, looking at all the people who were in the hallway, but nothing about any of them stood out enough for him to know who shot at him. One of the people who had come out into the hall to have a look around was Byron Davencourt, the cattle buyer.
“Are you all right, Mr. Jensen?” Davencourt called anxiously up the hallway to him.
Smoke realized then that he was the only one holding a gun. He lowered it.
“I’m fine.”
“What was the shooting about? Do you know?”
“Yeah, I know,” Smoke answered. “Someone was trying to kill me.”
“Good heavens!” some woman said.
“Who?” a man asked.
“I don’t know who it was,” Smoke said. “I don’t even know why.”
The hotel clerk came on the scene then, having clambered quickly up the stairs when he heard the gunshots.
“What’s going on here?” he asked.
“Someone tried to kill this man,” one of the other hotel residents said.
“What happened to the hall lanterns? Why are they out?”
“You’re worried about hall lanterns when someone tried to murder one of your guests?”
“I have to relight them,” the clerk said. “Does anyone have a match?”
“Mr. Jensen, you take care of yourself,” Davencourt said. “If you get killed, who will I give that forty-five thousand dollars to?” He laughed.
“Forty-five thousand dollars?” some one repeated in surprise. “You’re giving him forty-five thousand dollars?”
“Oh, yeah,” Davencourt replied. “But not until he delivers fifteen hundred head of cattle.”
Van Arndt had been able to get away before Smoke saw him because his own room was next door to Smoke’s room, and he had managed to get inside before Smoke reached the hallway. Now, he stayed in his own room with the door shut and listened to the conversation from the hallway.
“Forty-five thousand dollars?” he whispered, repeating the number he heard mentioned.
Van Arndt looked at his pistol, then slipped it back into his holster. “Damn,” he whispered. “I’m glad I didn’t kill you, Jensen.” Van Arndt smiled broadly. “It turns out you’re worth more alive than you are dead.”
Even before all the commotion died down in the hallway, Van Arndt had taken off his boots, shirt, and trousers and crawled into bed. Now he lay there with his arms laced behind his head, staring up at the moon shadows on the ceiling.
“You’re going to have all that money,” he said. “The question is, how am I going to take it from you?”
Chapter Nine
All who saw Sugarloaf Ranch agreed that its location in the Eagle River Basin provided one of the most beautiful landscapes imaginable: creeks, springs, wetlands, lakes, prairies, and mountains. It was here that Smoke Jensen had established his one-hundred-thousand-acre ranch, a huge spread traversed by fourteen miles of the Frying Pan River, plus a handful of smaller streams. Its vast expanse of prairie, pools of water, and meandering creek bottoms easily supported his herd of some thirty thousand cows, plus a rich wildlife population, including one of the highest densities of pronghorn in North America. Its sweeping vistas captivated all who visited Sugarloaf, and from many locations on the ranch there was an unobstructed view of a 120-mile panorama of the Rockies, including the Sawach and the Mosquito ranges, through which the Denver and Rio Grand Railroad traversed by way of Tennessee Pass.
Sugarloaf, like all ranches in the area, had two levels of employees. There were the cowboys who drifted from place to place, finding work during roundup and branding time, then leaving as soon as they were paid off, so they could drift on as they preferred. There were also those permanent employees who were required for the day-to-day operation of the ranch year-round. To such men fell the task of riding and repairing fence lines, feeding the herds when snow covered the ground, keeping the outbuildings in good repair. These were, quite often, settled men, with wives and children to support. There were ten such full-time employees at Sugarloaf, nearly all of whom were Mexican.
Smoke’s wife, Sally, was his full-time partner in managing the ranch, and on those occasions when Smoke had to be gone, Sally was perfectly capable of running the ranch by herself. Those who had known Smoke for a long time fully appreciated the impact marrying Sally had had on his life.
Growing up in New Hampshire, Sally was from a family of great wealth. She could have stayed in New Hampshire and married “well,” meaning she could have married a blue blood from one of New Hampshire’s old, established, and wealthy families. She would have hosted teas and garden parties, and grown old to become a New England matriarch.
But while such a future promised a life of ease and tranquility, that wasn’t what Sally had in mind. She envisioned a much more active—some might suggest uncertain—future. Thus, she announced to one and all that she intended to leave New Hampshire.
“You can’t be serious, Sally!” her family and friends had said in utter shock when she informed them that she intended to see the American West. “Why, that place is positively wild with beasts and savages.”
“And not all the savages are Indian, if you get my meaning,” Melinda Hobson said. Melinda Hobson was of “the” Hobsons, one of New Hampshire’s founding families.
But Sally had a yen to see the American West, as well as a thirst for adventure, and that brought her to Bury, Idaho Territory, where she wound up teaching school.
It was in Bury that she met a young gunman named Buck West. There was something about the young man that caught her attention right away. It wasn’t just the fact that he was ruggedly handsome, nor was it the fact that, despite his cool demeanor, he went out of his way to be respectful to her. That respect, Sally saw, applied to all women—including soiled doves, even though he was not a habitué of their services.
But it was the intensity of the young man that appealed to Sally—a brooding essence that ran deep into his soul.
Then, she learned that his name wasn’t even Buck West, it was Smoke Jensen. And the hurt he felt was the result of a personal tragedy of enormous magnitude. Smoke’s young wife, Nicole, had been raped, tortured, murdered, and scalped by men whose evil knew no bounds. They had also murdered Arthur, his infant son.
Those same men owned ranches and mines around the town of Bury. In fact, one might say they owned Bury itself, including nearly every resident of the town. If ever there was a Sodom and Gomorrah in America
, Sally thought, it was Bury, Idaho Territory.
And, like the Biblical cities of sin, Bury was destroyed, not by God, but by Smoke Jensen, who, after allowing the women and children to leave, killed the murderers and the gunmen and then put torch to the town. When Smoke, with Sally now by his side, set out en route to the “High Lonesome,” there was nothing remaining of Bury but the smoldering rubble of a destroyed town and the dead killers he had left behind him.
The rage that had burned at his soul was gone and he had put Nicole and Arthur to rest in a private compartment of his heart. With the fire in his gut gone, Smoke was free to love once more, and to be loved, and Sally was there for him. Smoke asked Sally to marry him, and she accepted, knowing from the depth of her soul that it was the right thing for her to do.
Even before Sally met and married Smoke, her public teaching career had come to an end, due to her refusal to kowtow to the evil directors of the town of Bury, but she still had the call. Because of that call, and the fact Sugarloaf was far enough from town so as to make it difficult for the children of the ranch to attend public school, Sally started a private and fully accredited school on the ranch. There, she taught the children of the employees.
“Señora Sally, look what I have made for you.”
Smiling broadly, Maria, the same little girl who had danced the flamenco so brilliantly at the time of the barbeque, held out a small piece of cloth upon which was embroidered a red flower perched upon a green stem and encircled by green leaves.
“Why, Maria, that is absolutely lovely,” Sally Jensen said.
“It is a handkerchief,” Maria said proudly.
“I can see it is a handkerchief,” Sally said. “And I’ve never seen one more beautiful.”
The little nine-year-old girl beamed under the praise.
“It is not as beautiful as the dress you bought for me,” Maria said. “But I wanted to give you something in return.”
“What are you talking about? It is every bit as beautiful as the dress,” Sally replied. “Haven’t you ever heard the expression ‘Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder’?”
Maria shook her head. “No, Señora.”
Sally chuckled. “Well, call that your lesson for today. It means that something is as beautiful as you believe it to be, and I believe this handkerchief to be one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.”
“I am glad you feel that way. It makes me happy to know that you like it,” Maria said.
“Have you been studying your lessons?” Sally asked.
“Si, Señora,” Maria’s mother, Consuela, replied. “Maria has studied very hard. Her father and I are very proud of her.”
“As indeed you should be proud of her,” Sally said. “Maria is a very smart little girl. Why, some day she could grow up to be president of the United States.”
“But she is Mexican, Señora,” Consuela said. “She cannot be president of America.”
“No, Mama, I am American. I was born in this country,” Maria said. “But I can’t be president because I am a girl and a girl cannot be president. Girls cannot even vote.”
Sally laughed. “Well, you tripped me up on that one,” she said. “I had no idea you had studied your civics lessons so well.”
“But I think maybe someday girls will be able to vote,” Maria said. “I think girls should be able to vote, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do think so,” Sally replied. “And I think you are right. I believe the day will come when women will be able to vote.”
“So, maybe someday I can be president after all. And you can be my vice president,” Maria said. She wrapped her arms around Sally’s legs.
“Señora Jensen,” Consuela said. The word Jensen came out as Hensen. “I think maybe Maria would come live with you if her father and I would let her.”
Sally knew that she was not supposed to have favorites, but she was particularly fond of Maria, who was, she believed, the smartest and most talented of all the children in her school.
Marrying Smoke might have ended Sally’s public teaching career, but it did not end her acquisition of new experiences and adventures. Indeed, she had already packed more experiences into her young life than most other women would have in three lifetimes.
Being Mrs. Smoke Jensen carried certain responsibilities, not only as the wife of a successful rancher, but also as someone who could cope with the many and varied activities of a man like Smoke. Learning from Smoke, Sally was an excellent shot, a skilled rider, and a good tracker.
Sally was also an excellent cook whose specialty was “bear sign,” a doughnut-type confection that was a particular favorite of Pearlie’s. In fact, Sally’s pastries had earned such a reputation that cowboys who worked seasonably for Sugarloaf had carried stories of them to other ranches. As a result, travelers sometimes rode out of their way, just on the chance that Sally had recently turned out a batch.
“What? What are you talkin’ about?”
The loud voice caused Sally and the others to look over toward the bunkhouse, where she saw Pearlie and Cal just exiting.
“You know what I’m talkin’ about. I’m just sayin’ don’t you be embarrassin’ me now. That’s all,” Pearlie was saying.
A few years earlier, Pearlie had been a gunman, hired by a man who wanted to run Smoke off so he could ride roughshod over those who were left. But Pearlie didn’t take to killing and looting from innocent people, so he quit his job, stopping by not only to tell Smoke that he was leaving, but also to warn him of the trouble that lay ahead. That was when Smoke offered to hire him. Since that time, he had worked for Smoke and Sally.
Pearlie stood just a shade less than six feet tall, was lean as a willow branch, and had a face tanned the color of an old saddle and a head of wild, unruly black hair. His eyes were mischievous and he was quick to smile and joke, but underneath his slapstick demeanor was a man that was as hard as iron, snake-quick with a gun, and as loyal as they come to his friends.
Not too long after Pearlie had joined the ranch, a starving and destitute Cal, who was barely in his teens at the time, made the mistake of trying to hold up Sally. Sally, who was nearly as good with a gun as Smoke, easily got the drop on Cal. But instead of turning him over to the sheriff, she brought him home and made him one of the family, along with Pearlie. Now Calvin Woods was not only loyal for life to Smoke and Sally, he had become Pearlie’s best friend and protégé.
“Well, I don’t know what you are talkin’ about when you say don’t embarrass you. How could I embarrass you?” Cal asked.
“By standin’ around at the dance like some dimwit when all the pretty girls are just waitin’ for you to ask them to dance,” Pearlie replied.
“What? How’s that goin’ to embarrass you?”
“’Cause I’m responsible for you,” Pearlie replied. “Folks will think I’m not doin’ my job, that I haven’t taught you anything. It’s bad for my reputation to see you just standin’ on the side with a hangdog look on your face.”
“I’m just always afraid that none of the girls are goin’ to want to dance with me,” Cal said.
“Well, who can blame ’em?” Pearlie replied. “Standin’ around with a sour expression on your face all the time—why, it makes you so ugly that one look at you would make a train take five miles of dirt road.”
Pearlie laughed as Cal took off his hat and began hitting him.
“I don’t think Cal is ugly,” Maria said. “Do you think he is ugly, Señora Sally?”
“No, not at all,” Sally said.
By now, Pearlie and Cal had reached the front stoop of the main house where Maria and her mother had been talking to Sally.
“Are you still my girlfriend, Maria?” Cal asked the little nine-year-old.
“Sí,” Maria answered.
“And you’re still going to wait until I’m old enough to get married so you can marry me?”
Maria laughed. “Señor Cal, you are old enough to be married. I am the one who is not old enough.”
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“Oh, yeah, that’s right, isn’t it?” Cal said. “I always seem to get that mixed up.”
“Wait a minute, what do you mean you are going to marry Cal?” Pearlie asked. “I thought you were going to marry me when you grew up.”
“Oh, no, Señor, I cannot marry you,” Maria said seriously. “Señorita Lucy is going to marry you.”
“Ha!” Cal said. “She sure has your number!”
At that moment, Sally looked up, then smiled broadly as she saw a familiar figure riding through the arched gate.
“It’s Smoke!” she said, starting toward him.
Smoke urged his horse into a trot, then reaching her, dismounted. Embracing his wife, Smoke kissed her.
“Smoke, you want us to all turn our back so you and Sally can have a little privacy?” Pearlie called.
“Nah, you can watch if you want to,” Smoke replied. “Maybe you’ll learn something.” The others laughed.
“Well, just so’s you don’t get embarrassed or anything,” Cal said.
“What are you two boys all gussied up for?” Smoke asked. Then, seeing Maria, he chuckled. “I knew it. Get a young pretty girl on the ranch, and none of my cowboys will work,” Smoke said. “Are these men bothering you, Maria? Because if they are, I’ll just fire both of them.”
“No, Señor!” Maria said quickly, not understanding that Smoke was teasing her. “Don’t fire them.”
“You’re right, I can’t fire both of them, who would do the work? I tell you what, I’ll just fire one of them. You pick the one you want me to keep around.”
“Señor!” Maria gasped.
“Smoke, don’t tease her like that,” Sally said sharply.
Smoke laughed. “All right, you win,” he said. “I can’t fire them anyway. All my other cowboys are gone and I’ll need the two of them to help me drive some cattle into the railhead at Frisco.”
“You got the deal?” Sally asked.
“Yes,” Smoke said. “It worked out just as you said it would, Sally. He’s taking fifteen hundred head, and for five dollars more per head than we could get in Big Rock. That means we will be able to give everyone a bonus and still have enough left over to pay off the mortgage on the land we bought last year.”
Violence of the Mountain Man Page 8
