“Say, this is very kind of you. I thought we had provisioned ourselves adequately. But I’m afraid we stayed out a bit longer than we should have. By the way, I’m Charles Knudson. This is Harold Bailey, Morris Robertson, and Perry Willard.”
“Pleased,” Smoke said.
The men fell to eating and with a smile, Smoke cut another hefty chunk off the hanging deer and fitted it on a fresh spit.
“Haven’t eaten since last evening,” one of the government men said, coming up for air. “And would you believe that we haven’t even seen so much as a rabbit this day?”
“I can believe it,” Smoke said. “I’ve been there a time or two myself.”
Charles took a break to rest his jaws and said, “Sight-seeing, sir?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Unusual arrangement of pistols, sir,” Perry said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a rig quite like yours.”
“Not too many of them around. I like it for a cross-draw. You boys aren’t from the west, are you?”
“Why ... no. As a matter of fact, we’re not,” Charles replied. “What gave us away?”
“Nothing in particular. I just guessed.”
Smoke let them eat in peace for a moment, then asked, “Not that it’s any of my business, but what direction did you men come in from?”
“From the north,” Harold said. “We’ve been working up near Tower Falls.” He looked puzzled. “Why would it not be any of your business? It was a perfectly harmless thing to ask?”
“Out here, boys, it’s sometimes not healthy to ask too many questions about a man’s back trail.”
“Ahhh!” Charles said. “I see. The person to whom the question is directed might be a road agent?”
“Something like that.” Smoke fixed his plate and poured a cup of coffee.
“Would it offend you if I inquired as to your name, sir?” Morris asked.
Smoke smiled. The young men all looked to be about the same age. Early twenties at best. “My name is Jensen. People call me Smoke.”
The young men stopped eating as if on command. They froze. Smoke went right on eating his supper and sipping his coffee. Finally he lifted his eyes and looked at them. “Eat, eat, boys. Your supper’s getting cold.” He smiled again. “I don’t bite, boys, and I’ve never shot a man who wasn’t trying to do me harm. So relax.”
“I ... ah ... thought you would be a much older man,” Harold said when he finally found his voice.
“We’ve read all the books about you and we saw the play about you in New York City our senior year in college,” Morris said. “Did you really ride with Jesse James?”
“Nope. Only met the man one time. I was just a boy during the war when Jesse and his bunch stopped by the farm and I gave them a poke of food. He give me a pistol; Navy .36 it was, and an extra cylinder. That’s the only time I ever saw him.”
“You’ve killed a ... ah ... uh ...” Perry stopped, an embarrassed look on his face.
“A lot of men,” Smoke finished it for him. “Yes. I have. First white men I killed was down in Rico, just west of the Needle Mountains. Back in ’69 or ’70. Me and a mountain man name of Preacher was riding over to Pagosa Springs to find the men who killed my father. A man by the name of Pike and a buddy of his-I never did know his name-braced me in the trading post. They were a little slow on the draw.”
“You killed both of them?”
“Yes.”
“And since then?” Charles asked softly.
“Long bloody years. I changed my name for several years. Married and had children. But trouble came my way and I faced it. I’m Smoke Jensen and if people don’t like it they can go to hell.”
“Mind another question, sir?” Harold asked.
“Go right ahead.”
“I—we—heard that you were a successful rancher over in Colorado.”
“That’s correct. My wife and I own a spread we call the Sugarloaf.”
“Yet ... here you are in the middle of the wilderness. The first national park in America. There are no cattle here, Mister Jensen.”
“No. But there is plenty of cover here, and no people to get hurt when the lead starts flying. I’ve got about twenty-five or thirty hardcases on my backtrail, led by a crazy European Baron name of Frederick von Hausen. They plan on killing me ... for sport.”
All four young men stared at Smoke, disbelief in their eyes. Morris broke the silence. “They plan on killing you, sir?”
“Yeah. It’s a sporting event, according to them. Track me down, corner me, kill me, and then go home and boast about it, I suppose.”
“Have, uh, they found? ...” He shook his head and frowned. “Well, it’s quite obvious they haven’t found you. You’re still alive.”
“Oh, they’ve found me a couple of times. I killed three or four of them, beat the crap out of one, and nicked two or three more. I blew up their camp last week. I suspect von Hausen has sent for more men. He seems to be a very determined man.”
“You killed three or four, sir?” Charles said.
“Yeah. I could have killed them all when I Injuned into their camp one night and laid down a warning to one of the women in the bunch. But I didn’t.”
“They have ladies with them?” Perry was horrified at just the thought.
“I don’t think they’re ladies. That’d be stretching the point some. But they’re definitely female.”
“And this bunch of hooligans ... they are here, in the park?”
“Oh, yeah. I blew their camp up down on the Monument, then hauled my ashes after I watched several men head out to re-supply. Probably at that trading post up on the Shoshone. But they’re coming after me. So you boys rest easy here tonight, and I’ll fill you full of deer meat for breakfast and then you best be on your way ’fore the lead starts flying.”
“But we can’t have anything like that going on here!” Charles said. “Good heavens, sir. This is a national park. We have many visitors every year. Many come just to see Old Faithful erupt.”
“Old what?” Smoke asked.
“Old Faithful. It’s a geyser just north of Shoshone Basin. It was named by the Washburn-Langford-Doane expedition back in ’70 because it spouts so faithfully.”
“Valley of the Roaring Clouds,” Smoke said. “That’s what Preacher says the Indians called it. Sure. I know what you’re talking about now.” He smiled a very wicked smile. “That thing still go off regular?”
“Certainly does. Every 65 to 70 minutes.”
“Do tell? That’s interesting. A man could get badly burned if he got caught out in that stuff, now couldn’t he?”
“Oh, yes, sir. Badly burned. That is extremely hot water coming out of the earth.”
“Might work,” Smoke muttered.
“I beg your pardon?” Perry asked.
“Nothing of importance,” Smoke told him. “You boys getting enough to eat?”
“Oh, plenty, sir. Mister Jensen,” Charles said, “I must report this deadly game to the superintendent. You understand my position?”
“Sure. Go right ahead. I imagine it’ll take you boys three or four days to get to him-after you’ve re-supplied at your base camp—then three of four days to get back here. But I’ll be long gone by that time. Then what will you do?”
The young government surveyors looked at each other. “The important thing, I believe, Mister Jensen, is what will you do?”
“Survive,” Smoke told him.
“There they are,” Roy said, pointing to the now familiar tracks of Smoke’s horses. “He’s headin’ for the canyons.”
“Will there be many people there?” Hans asked. “Sightseers?”
Roy shook his head. “Doubtful. It’s too early in the season. ’Sides, this place is about three thousand square miles. Take a lot of gawkers to fill that up. We’ll find a place to corner and kill him.” He lifted the reins and moved out.
“How long will Smoke keep this up, you wonder?” Angel questioned.