The Family Jensen (9 page)

He was actually looking forward to settling this with fists. There was something particularly soul-satisfying about knocking the sneer off the face of an arrogant bastard like Mitch Thorn.

Smoke backed into the center of the aisle to give himself some room to move as the three men advanced slowly toward him, spreading out so that they could come at him from different angles. “All right,” Jason Garrard said, clearly looking forward to what he thought he was about to see. “Have at it.”

“Let me have first crack at him, Mitch,” the stocky hardcase in the tall white hat said.

“All right, Gus,” Thorn said. That meant the man in the black chaps and vest who wore an ugly grin on his face was Earl Ballew. Thorn went on, “Just leave a little so Earl and I can have some fun, too.”

Harley reached up, took his hat off, and tossed it aside as if he wanted to make sure it didn’t get hurt during the fight. Then he lowered his head and charged like a bull, straight at Smoke.

Smoke didn’t fall for it. Such an open, straight-ahead attack had to be a feint. He took a step to the side as if trying to get out of Harley’s way, then stopped short as the big man suddenly veered in the same direction.

Harley had already shifted his weight and was going too fast to stop. His momentum carried him past Smoke, who pivoted smoothly and brought his clubbed hands down on the back of Harley’s neck with stunning force. The blow knocked Harley off his feet. He went face-first into the ground, landing hard.

Earl Ballew hadn’t waited. He was right behind Harley. Smoke bent to his right at the waist and brought his left leg up in a kick that buried his foot in Ballew’s midsection. Ballew grunted in pain as he doubled over and stumbled to one side. He clutched his belly with both arms and looked like he was about to pass out, throw up, or both.

Harley and Ballew were out of the fight for a few minutes, but dealing with them left Smoke open to Thorn’s attack. He threw a bony fist at Smoke’s face that Smoke couldn’t avoid completely. It landed just above his left ear with enough force to knock him off balance.

He would have recovered in time to deal with Thorn, but at that moment Harley rolled over, blood from his smashed nose coating the lower half of his face, and drove a boot heel into the back of Smoke’s right knee. The unexpected kick caused Smoke’s leg to fold up underneath him, dumping him over backward.

Harley was waiting for him. He wrapped his arms around Smoke’s neck and yelled, “I got him, Mitch! Kick him! Bust him up good!”

Thorn moved in, swinging his right leg in a vicious kick aimed at Smoke’s ribs. Before the kick could land, Smoke heaved himself into a roll that took Harley with him. The toe of Thorn’s boot dug cruelly into the small of Harley’s back instead. Harley howled in pain.

Smoke cut him off mid-yell by smacking his elbow into Harley’s mouth. Harley’s arms fell away from Smoke’s neck. Freed from the man’s grip, Smoke rolled again, keeping Harley between him and Thorn.

But Thorn hurdled over Harley and tackled Smoke as he came to his feet. The gunman’s arms went around Smoke’s waist and bore him backward until Smoke crashed into one of the thick pillars that held up the barn’s roof. Pain shot through him, and the impact drove the air out of his lungs, leaving him gasping for breath.

Thorn began hammering punches into Smoke’s body, keeping him pinned against the pillar. Although Thorn appeared to be slender, even scrawny, his stringy muscles possessed plenty of strength. His knobby fists dug deep into Smoke’s gut and prevented him from drawing a breath. Smoke was getting a little light-headed from lack of air.

He grabbed the back of Thorn’s neck, head butted the gunman, and knocked him back a step. Smoke swung a left that landed solidly and sent Thorn stumbling away. Smoke-dragged a deep breath into his lungs.

The break lasted only a second before Harley came at him, swinging a roundhouse right that would have taken Smoke’s head off if it had connected.

Smoke ducked under it, and Harley’s fist slammed into the thick wooden beam instead. He screamed as bones broke. Bending low, Smoke shot a right into Harley’s stomach, then brought a left uppercut from the ground. It landed under Harley’s chin and lifted him completely off the ground. By the time Harley came crashing down on his back, he was out cold.

Ballew landed on Smoke’s back and wrapped a chokehold around his neck. “Get him, Mitch, get him!” he yelled with his mouth next to Smoke’s ear. Smoke smelled the raw whiskey on the man’s breath.

He spun around and rammed Ballew into the wall of a stall. The horse inside the stall reared up in fright and pawed at the air with its hooves as it let out a shrill whinny. There was quite a racket and most of the horses in the barn were spooked. As Smoke twisted out of Ballew’s grip, he caught a glimpse of Garrard and Dowler watching the battle. Dowler looked excited, like he was caught up in the heat of combat, but Garrard appeared worried. He hadn’t expected Smoke to be able to hold his own against the three hardcases.

Smoke chopped the hard edge of his left hand against the spot where Ballew’s neck joined his left shoulder. Ballew sagged, momentarily paralyzed by the blow. Smoke sent a right jab into his face that rocked his head back. Ballew was barely on his feet. He was on the verge of passing out when Smoke sent him over the edge with another punch that drove him to the ground. Ballew lay there, breathing harshly, unable to move.

“You son of a bitch!” Thorn yelled. Smoke looked around in time to see the gunman yank a revolver from a holster in the armload of weapons that Hoyt Dowler held. As Thorn whirled toward him and the gun came around, Smoke’s right hand dipped to his boot and came up with the dagger. He sent it flying toward Thorn with a swift, underhand throw.

The blade pierced Thorn’s forearm, going all the way through so that the bloody tip stood out on the other side. Thorn screamed and staggered back a step as his suddenly nerveless fingers opened and the gun thudded to the ground. Smoke saw that it was one of his own .44s.

He scooped it up and covered Thorn, who stood cradling his bleeding arm and cursing. “Fight’s over,” Smoke announced curtly.

“You had to use a weapon,” Garrard pointed out. “You didn’t abide by the terms of the agreement.”

“Thorn grabbed a gun first. If you’re worried about our deal, I’ll pay you for the damn hotel room and the livery charge.”

Garrard glared at him for a couple seconds, then suddenly laughed. “Forget it,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Your stay in Buffalo Flat is on me, West. In fact, I’ll go you one better. I’ll offer you a job.”

“A job?” Thorn repeated in disbelief. “Boss, what are you talking about?” He held up his injured arm and winced in pain. “Look what the bastard did to me!”

“Yeah, I see,” Garrard said. “I also know that you and those other two are supposed to be tough. But they’re out cold, and you’ve got a knife through your gun arm. West is still on his feet.” Garrard shook his head. “I think I’ve been paying the wrong people.”

Thorn turned to look at Smoke with hate and fury burning in his eyes. He took hold of the dagger and pulled it out of his arm. Blood welled from the wound. For a second, Smoke thought that Thorn was going to throw the dagger at him, but the gun held rock-steady in Smoke’s fist still covered him. Thorn flung the dagger onto the ground.

“You’ll be wasting your money if you hire him, Garrard,” he said. “Because I’m gonna kill him.”

“Your arm will have to heal up first,” Garrard said. “Well, how about it, West? You’d do well to hire on with me, because before I’m through, this whole corner of Wyoming Territory is going to belong to me.”

Smoke felt a moment of nausea. When he looked at Jason Garrard, he saw the same sort of greed and arrogance that drove Richards and Potter and Stratton. They ran everything in Bury, no matter who got hurt, and Garrard aimed to run everything in Buffalo Flat the same way.

But Smoke was damned if he’d help the son of a bitch do it.

“Take your job and put it where the sun don’t shine, Garrard,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. As Garrard paled in surprise and anger, Smoke went on, “Take your hotel and your livery stable and everything else you own and cram them in there, too. I don’t like any part of you or any of the rest of it.”

“You’d best tread carefully there, boy,” Garrard warned.

“No, you’d best tread careful,” Smoke snapped back. “I’ve had my fill of men like you and your cheap gunhands.” With an effort, he brought his temper under control and said to the hostler, “Sorry to trouble you, Mr. Dowler, but it looks like you’re gonna have to bring my horse back out. I’ll stop by the hotel and get my gear, then find some place else to stay.”

Dowler sighed. “All right. But I sure was lookin’ forward to havin’ that Appy around for a while.”

“You’re making a bad mistake, West,” Garrard said.

“I don’t think so,” Smoke said.

“I own the only hotel in town. Where are you going to sleep?”

“I’d sleep on a trash heap before I’d spend a night in your hotel, mister. Figure the smell would be better. Now that I’ve been around you and Thorn, it’ll take a while to get the stink out of my nose.”

“Oh, you really are a dead man,” Thorn said.

“Reckon we’ll see about that.”

“We sure as hell will.”

Dowler led Seven back up the aisle from the stall where he’d put the Appaloosa earlier. He had buckled Smoke’s gunbelt and hung it from the saddle horn. As he handed over the reins, he said, “I’ll get your two bucks.”

“I’d tell you to keep ’em for your trouble, but my poke’s a little light right now.”

Dowler gave him the two coins. Smoke pocketed them, then picked up his dagger and backed toward the double doors. From the corner of his eye, he saw that Harley and Ballew still lay motionless on the ground. They would probably be waking up soon, but for now they were still out cold.

“Last chance to come to your senses,” Garrard called as Smoke reached the doors. “You got caught up in the excitement and said some things in the heat of the moment. I can understand that. I can even forgive it.”

Smoke shook his head. “Not a chance in hell, Garrard. And if you’re thinkin’ that you’ll send those three after me, you’ll wind up having to replace them anyway, because next time I’ll kill them.”

“Maybe you’d better not find another place to stay. Maybe you’d better just ride out of Buffalo Flat tonight and keep going.”

Smoke had considered that very idea, but two things were stopping him. If he left town, Garrard and Thorn would think he was running because he was scared. He couldn’t allow that. For another, there was still Sandor, or Little Bear or whatever the hell his name was, to consider. Smoke had decided he would stay there long enough to see the young man safely on the stage, heading for Casper and points east, and he hated to change course once he’d made up his mind.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” he told Garrard with an icy smile. “I’ll be around for a while yet.”

With that, he turned and walked away into the darkness that had fallen over the street. He kept the Colt in his hand and listened intently, in case any of them tried to follow him.

None of them did, not from the livery barn, anyway. But as he passed the stagecoach office, he thought he saw movement on the porch. He kept going, and after a few yards he was sure of it. He heard light footsteps behind him.

When they closed in, he stopped short and turned, moving fast as he brought the gun up. His thumb was looped over the hammer and his finger was taut on the trigger, but he held off on firing as he heard a startled gasp from the shadowy figure behind him.

Unless he was mistaken, the voice belonged to a woman.

“Blast it, ma’am,” Smoke said as he carefully lowered the Colt’s hammer. “You almost got your brains blown out. Didn’t anybody ever tell you not to sneak up behind a fella like that?”

“I-I’m sorry, Mister…West, isn’t it?” She had a good voice, young and strong, and in the faint light that came from nearby buildings, he saw that she stood straight and slender, as graceful as a deer.

“How do you know me?” Smoke asked.

“I heard my father and those other men talking to you, there in the barn.”

“Your father’s Jason Garrard?”

“That’s right.”

Smoke immediately felt a little uncomfortable. If the young woman had heard what went on in the barn, then she had heard the things he’d said to her father. He had meant every word he’d told Garrard, but he would have preferred the man’s daughter hadn’t heard them.

As if sensing his discomfort, the woman went on, “Don’t worry, Mr. West, I’m not upset with you. I can’t stand those awful gunmen who work for my father. I’m glad they didn’t hurt you.” She held out her hand. “My name is Robin Garrard.”

Smoke hesitated. He had never been that easy around women to start with, at least not until he’d met Nicole. Her death had left him devastated, and although months had passed since then, the pain hadn’t dulled. Only the hatred he felt for the men responsible kept it at bay. There was no room in his life for something as gentle as the touch of a woman.

Yet, he’d been raised to be a gentleman. He didn’t want to hurt Robin Garrard’s feelings. So before that moment of hesitation stretched out long enough to be awkward, he shifted the Colt to his other hand, took her hand, and held it for a second. He couldn’t help but notice her skin was cool and smooth, and her fingers were strong.

“Buck West, ma’am.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. West.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, ma’am.”

She laughed, and with a directness that told him she had spent some time in the West, whether or not she’d been born and raised there, she said, “Not hardly. I took great pleasure in seeing you wallop Mitch Thorn. He’s my father’s right-hand man, and he’s got it in his head that he’ll be even more than that someday by marrying me.”

“I take it that’s not gonna happen?”

“Not in a million years,” Robin said. “I know that you’re looking for a place to stay…”

She wasn’t going to invite him to her home, was she? Smoke knew Garrard wouldn’t stand for that. He didn’t want it, either.

“If you’d like, there’s a little storage room in the school you can use,” she went on. “It’s not much, but there’s a cot in there and it’s fairly comfortable. The children sometimes use it to lie down if they don’t feel well. I’ve napped on it before, too.”

“You’re the teacher?” Smoke asked.

“That’s right. There’s also a shed out back where you can put your mount. Some of the children have to ride in from out of town, and they put their horses there.”

“I’m obliged for the offer, ma’am, but why are you doing this? To get back at your pa?”

“My father and I disagree on many things, Mr. West, but I love him,” Robin said. “I won’t let that stand in the way of helping someone I think has been treated unfairly.” She paused. “If I just wanted to annoy Father I’d make sure he knew what I was doing, but to tell the truth, I’d prefer he didn’t find out about this. He’s so wrapped up in his businesses he never comes near the school, so I don’t think there’s much chance he’ll know.”

Something about the whole setup rubbed Smoke the wrong way, but at least it was an answer to his problem. He could have camped somewhere out of town—he had spent the vast majority of his nights sleeping on the ground the past few years—but if he did he wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on Sandor as well.

So he said, “All right. I appreciate it, Miss Garrard. I’ll get my gear from the hotel. Where’s the school?”

“On the northern end of town, set back to the left from the trail. I’ll go up there now and light a lantern, so you’ll be able to find it without any trouble.”

“I’m not sure a lady should be wandering around after dark by herself like that.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said with a crisp note in her voice. “I’m used to taking care of myself.”

“All right,” Smoke agreed. It was her business, not his.

They parted company, Smoke heading up the street toward the hotel while Robin crossed it at an angle. When he reached the hotel, Smoke holstered the Colt and buckled on the gunbelt again. He took the dagger, which he had tucked behind his belt, and replaced it in the sheath sewed into his boot top.

The clerk greeted him by saying, “Hello, Mr. West. Did you find the livery stable all right?”

“Yeah, but I won’t be stayin’,” Smoke replied. “I’ll have to ask you for my money back.”

The man looked surprised. “I’m not sure we can do that…” he began. The look in Smoke’s eyes made him swallow, nod, and go on, “But of course since you didn’t make use of our accommodations, it wouldn’t be fair to charge you.”

He returned the money Smoke had given him earlier. As Smoke put it away, he said, “I’ll go upstairs and get my saddlebags and rifle, then I won’t trouble you anymore.”

“It’s no trouble, Mr. West, I assure you.”

Smoke nodded and went up the stairs. He collected his Henry rifle and saddlebags from room 3, then went back down to the lobby.

The clerk indulged his obvious curiosity by asking, “Are you leaving town so soon?”

“Nope, just got a better offer on a place to stay.” Smoke left it at that. He was sure the clerk would report his conversation to Garrard later. Let Garrard wonder where that better place was.

As he stepped out onto the porch, his instincts warned him, and the sound of a gun being cocked somewhere nearby confirmed the danger. He dropped the saddlebags and threw himself forward, landing on his belly at the edge of the porch as a revolver roared on his left. Smoke rolled away from the shot, even as another blast sounded and a slug chewed splinters from the planks near him. He worked the Henry’s lever as he rolled, and when he came to a stop he fired at the spot where he’d seen muzzle flashes, aiming a little to the left and below them.

A rifle cracked from the entrance alcove of a darkened building across the street. Smoke heard the bullet whistle past his head and thud into the hotel’s front wall. He swung the Henry in that direction and fired twice, squeezing the trigger as fast as he could work the rifle’s lever. The large pane of glass in the building’s door shattered in a million pieces as a body hurtled back into it.

Smoke rolled again, under the elevated railing that ran along the edge of the porch, dropping to the street between the hitch rail and the porch. Seven and a couple other horses tied there gave him some cover. Not wanting to endanger the animals by staying where he was, he powered to his feet and raced to the corner where a water trough stood. A six-gun roared a couple times, somewhere in the night, but the bullets didn’t find him. He threw himself down behind the water trough, confident that its thick walls would stop any slugs that came his way.

He was sure he had wounded at least one of the bushwhackers, and since their attempt to kill him had failed, he didn’t think they would hang around for very long. Already people were starting to venture cautiously out of some nearby buildings and shout questions as they tried to determine what all the shooting was about.

Smoke stayed where he was. The gunfire had stopped, which didn’t surprise him. After a couple minutes, he heard Marshal Thad Calhoun’s loud, angry voice demanding, “What the hell’s goin’ on here? Who’s doin’ all that shootin’?”

Smoke spotted the lawman coming along the street, a shotgun clutched tightly in his hands. Without rising from behind the water trough, he called, “Over here, Marshal. Take it easy with that Greener. The ruckus seems to be over.”

Calhoun swung the double-barrel in the direction of Smoke’s voice. “Who’s there? Speak up, damn it, or I’ll dust your hide with buckshot!”

“It’s Buck West, Marshal.” That new name of his was getting quite a workout this evening, Smoke thought.

“Who?”

“The fella from Hammond’s store this afternoon.”

“The one who stuck up for that redskin?”

“That’s right.”

“What kind of trouble are you causin’ now, West?”

Smoke kept a tight rein on his temper. “I’d just stepped out of the hotel when a couple of hombres started shootin’ at me, Marshal. I don’t think it was exactly me who caused the trouble.”

“You hit?”

“No, but you might look in the doorway of that building across the street. I think the fella who was over there went through the glass in the door when I tagged him with my Henry.”

“Stand up where I can see you,” Calhoun ordered.

Smoke did so. Even if one or both of the bushwhackers were still lurking close by, he doubted if they would try to kill him with the marshal standing right there. Though he could be wrong about that, he thought as he remembered Calhoun worked for Jason Garrard more so than he did for the town. Smoke kept his rifle ready in case he needed it.

Calhoun trained the twin muzzles of his shotgun on the doorway across the street as he walked toward it. When he got there, he called over his shoulder, “Glass is busted out, all right. Scattered all over the boardwalk. I don’t see no wounded bushwhacker, however.”

“I guess he wasn’t hurt bad enough to keep him from crawling away,” Smoke said.

Calhoun lowered the Greener and thumbed a match to life. “Blood on the floor inside,” he announced. “Some of that might be from gettin’ cut up by the broken glass. Guess he could have gone out the back.”

Smoke walked in front of the hotel toward the spot where the other man had lain in wait for him. As he passed the front window he saw the clerk looking goggle-eyed at him. Smoke gave the man a grim smile.

He fished out a match and lit it like the marshal had, then used the light from it to study the ground at the corner of the building. He saw a number of footprints in the dust, but dozens of people had walked along there during the day. The tracks were just a muddled mess. Smoke didn’t see any blood on the ground, so he assumed the hurried shot he’d sent in that direction had missed.

It seemed to have come close enough to make the bushwhacker take off for the tall and uncut, though.

Calhoun came over to Smoke and said, “I’d ask you if you knew who took those shots at you, West, but you’re such a troublesome gent it probably could have been anybody.”

“Or maybe it was Gus Harley and Earl Ballew,” Smoke snapped.

“Couldn’t have been. Those boys were with me just a little while ago when the shootin’ started.” Calhoun smirked in the light that came through the hotel’s big front window. “They were filin’ a report about how you assaulted them and tried to kill Mitch Thorn with a knife. I’d be justified in takin’ you in and lockin’ you up right now for attempted murder.”

“So that’s how it is, is it?”

“Yeah.” Calhoun shifted the shotgun a little, and Smoke knew the marshal would use it if he gave the lawman an excuse. “That’s how it is.”

“Well, then,” Smoke said quietly, “you just go ahead and try to arrest me, Marshal.”

He was sick and tired of it. If he had to kill the corrupt badge-toter, so be it. Calhoun was just another of Garrard’s hired gunmen, and the badge on his vest didn’t change that. Maybe it did in the eyes of the law, but at the moment Smoke was too fed up to care about that.

After a few tense seconds, Calhoun said, “Those fellas ain’t said for sure yet if they want to press charges, so we’ll let it go for now. Might be a wise thing for you to get out of town while the gettin’s good.”

“Folks keep telling me that,” Smoke said, “and I keep on not paying any attention to it.”

Calhoun grunted. “Suit yourself. Whatever happens is on your head.”

“That’s fine with me,” Smoke said.

The marshal turned and stomped off down the street toward his office. Smoke watched him go, then turned to the hitch rail and jerked Seven’s reins loose. He swung up into the saddle and rode north. Anyone keeping an eye on him might think he was leaving town.

When he reached the outskirts of the settlement, he turned to look for the lamp that Robin Garrard had said she would light for him. Spotting a yellow glow in some trees, he headed for it and came up to a long, whitewashed building in a clearing. The door was open, letting the lamplight spill through it, and in its glow Smoke saw a large bell hung from an iron post. That would be the school bell, he thought with a faint smile. Robin would ring it every morning to summon her students to class.

He dismounted, wrapped the reins around the post, and went up the two steps to the open door. As he looked through it, he saw that two people were in the school at the moment, both of them standing by the desk at the front of the room. They were so engrossed in what they were doing they must not have heard him ride up, he thought.

They were in each other’s arms, mouths pressed together in a passionate kiss.

Smoke cleared his throat, and the couple broke the kiss and sprang apart guiltily. He got his first good look at Robin Garrard, who was in her early twenties and very pretty, with waves of red hair around her head and a dusting of freckles across her nose.

Smoke got a good look at the man who’d been kissing her, but it wasn’t the first time he had seen the hombre. Sandor/Little Bear stared at Smoke in surprise and said, “Buck! What are you doing here?”