“Your brother’s got a fat mouth,” a cowboy spoke from a table. “Smoke Jensen ain’t never backed down from no one. And leave them boys out yonder alone. Nobody but a tin-horn would hoo-rah a herd.”
“If my brother was here, you’d not be sayin’ them words,” Rob yelled.
“Go get him,” the cowboy said. “I’ll say it to his face. As far as you bein’ better than Smoke Jensen…you’re a fool. You best take them pearl-handled six shooters off before somebody snatches ’em offen you and shoves ’em down your throat. Or shoves ’em up another part of your a-natomy.”
“You think you’re big enough to do it!” Rob screamed.
“Yeah,” the cowboy said. “I sure do.”
“How have you been, Al?” Smoke broke into the conversation.
The cowboy smiled. “Pretty good. I wondered if you recognized me.”
“Stay out of this!” Rob yelled at Smoke.
Smoke ignored him. “I heard you were working up this way. Heard you had your own spread.”
“Sure do. Got married and all that. How’s things down on the Sugarloaf?”
“Couldn’t be better.”
“Keep your mouth shut!” Rob yelled at the tall man in the shadows. “When I want you to butt into my affairs, I’ll let you know. You hear me?”
“Al Jacobs will eat your lunch, boy,” Smoke told him. “He’s a bad man to tangle with. Me and Al go way back. He used to work for me down in Colorado.”
“I don’t give a damn where he used to work and I don’t give a damn about you. Now why don’t you just shut up and mind your own business. That two-bit rawhider insulted my brother and insulted me. Stay out of things that don’t concern you ’fore I call you out too.”
Al laughed at that. “The kid’s sure got his dander up, don’t he?”
“Hey, don’t you call me no kid, you son of a bitch!” Rob yelled.
The saloon became very quiet. Call a cowboy a flea-bitten, no-count, worthless saddle bum, and he’ll probably laugh at you. Besmirch a cowboy’s mother’s name, and in all probability he’ll kill you.
Al slowly rose from his chair, his hand hovering over the butt of his .45.
“Back off, Rob,” Smoke said quietly. “Back off and apologize to Al. That remark was uncalled for.”
Carl decided it was time for him to stick his mouth into the tense situation. “Hey, mister! Who the hell asked you to butt in? You a friend of Al?”
“That’s right,” Smoke said, still standing in the shadows.
“Then you get your butt out here and face me.”
“Now boys,” the barkeep said. “I just mopped this floor.”
“Shut up!” Carl told him. He stared into the gloom where Smoke stood. “You! Get your butt out here.”
Sonny, one of the boys who had come into town for some licorice, stood at the batwings. “We’re all loaded and ready to go, Mr. Smoke,” he called.
The saloon became as quiet as a grave.
4
“Go on back to the herd, Sonny,” Smoke told him. “I’ll be along presently.”
The boy had sized up the situation instantly. “Yes, sir!” Sonny hit the air.
“Jesus God Almighty,” one of the seated men breathed.
Smoke stepped out of the shadows. He didn’t have to wonder if he’d slipped the hammer thongs from his .44s. That was done by reflex as soon as his boots touched ground out of the stirrups. “This does not have to be,” he told Rob and Carl. “Rob, you insulted a man and you owe him an apology. Carl, from now on, you’d best think before you challenge a man.”
“You can go right straight to Hell,” Carl said, his words thick, almost slurred.
“Don’t do this, Carl.” The barkeep said his words softly. “Don’t do it, son.”
“Shut up!” Carl told him. “I’ll be famous. I’ll be the man who killed Smoke Jensen.”
“No, you won’t,” one of the card-playing men called. “You’ll just be dead.”
“We’ll pull together, Smoke,” Al said. “If it comes to that.”
“All right,” Smoke replied, his eyes riveted on Carl. “It won’t be any disgrace for you to just walk out of here, boys.”
“I ain’t no boy!” Rob screamed. “I’m a man grown.”
“Then act like one!” Smoke snapped at him. “Men admit their mistakes and grow more mature each time they do. Boys let their mouths get them into trouble and then let pride get them killed. A man is dead a long time. Think about that.”
“I think he’s yeller,” Carl said, a mean smile moving his lips. “The big shot Smoke Jensen is takin’ water.”
“Yeah,” Rob said, his eyes lighting up. “Both of ’em are pure-dee yeller-bellies.”
“It’s no use, Smoke,” Al said. “You and me, we’ve seen this played out ten dozen times.”
“I’m afraid you’re right,” Smoke admitted.
“Damn, they’re gonna do it,” a man said, as chairs were pushed back and the tables emptied with men moving about, hoping to get out of the way of any stray bullets.
Smoke felt a sadness take him. The young man was obviously scared, but his stupid pride was crawling all over him, refusing to allow him to back down.
The young man jerked his iron. He was pitifully slow.
Smoke put two rounds into Carl’s gun hand. The first hit his gun and tore it from his hand, the second round smashed into the hand, breaking it. Al’s draw had been smooth and his aim true. Rob stood holding a bloody shoulder.
“I just don’t want to kill no more, Smoke,” the gunfighter turned rancher said. “Not unless I just have to do it. You know what I mean?”
“Oh, yes. I sure do.”
“You ruined my hand!” Carl sobbed. “It’s all busted up.”
“My shoulder’s broken,” Rob moaned.
“But you’re both alive,” the barkeep said, after picking himself up off the floor. “Now get the hell over to the barber shop so’s Ed can patch you both up. Go on, now, move. You’re leakin’ blood all over the floor.”
Sobbing and stumbling, the two young men whose gun-fighting days had just begun and ended staggered to the batwings and into the street.
Smoke and Al holstered their guns. Al smiled. “Good to see you again, Smoke.”
“Same here, Al. You take care.”
“Will do.” The man walked out of the saloon and mounted up, riding away without even so much as a glance over his shoulder.
Smoke held up his empty mug. “Want to fill this up?”
“Oh, yes, sir!” the barkeep said. “It’s on the house, Mr. Jensen. Yessiree, bob. On the house.”
Smoke took his drink to a table by the window and sat down. “What about this brother of Rob’s?” Smoke tossed the question out.
“Oh, I reckon he’ll catch up with the herd and call you out, all right,” a man said. “He ain’t got no more sense than Rob. But he is a mite faster, I’ll warn you of that. But I don’t think you’re in any mortal danger,” he added drily.
“I already know that.”
“They call him Rocky,” another said.
Smoke was thoughtful for a moment. “He live far from here?”
“’Bout three miles out of town.”
“I don’t want my herd stampeded or any of my hands hit by stray bullets. Go get him and let’s straighten this mess out right now.”
A man stood up. “I’ll do that, Mr. Jensen. Yes, sir, I sure will.”
The barkeep opened his mouth.
“I don’t wish any further conversation.” Smoke spoke the words softly.
“Right,” the barkeep said. “Mouth is hereby closed.”
It didn’t take long for Rocky to ride in and swing down from the saddle in front of the barber shop. Two guns and all. Smoke knew, by the way he walked, the man wasn’t in any mood to talk. The man who had fetched him got him a beer and returned to his table.
“He says he’s gonna kill you, Smoke.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Well, here he comes,” another stated.
Smoke waited about four feet inside the batwings. He had slipped on leather gloves.