Abigal turned a bit green around the mouth and began fanning herself. “For heaven’s sake!” she finally blurted. “He was joking, of course?”
“Oh, no, Mother. He wasn’t joking a bit.”
“Just exactly what is your husband doing while you are visiting here, Sally?” John asked.
Sally then explained to her parents what her husband was doing.
“Are you telling us, expecting us to believe,” John said, astonishment in his voice, “that your husband…ah…Smoke, one man, is going to…ah…attack and destroy an entire town of thugs and hooligans and ne’er-do-wells—all by himself? Now, really, Sally!”
“Oh, he’s found some help. And I think you will approve of his methods, Father, or what you think his methods will be—in your New England straight-by-the book mind.”
“You disapprove of law and order, Sally?”
“Of course not, Father. Your way works here; our way works for us in the West. This will not be the first time Smoke has taken on an entire town.” Then she told them about the shoot-out at the silver camp and what had happened in Bury, Idaho.
Her parents sat in silence and stared at her.
“And you can believe what I say, the both of you. I was in Bury. I saw it all. When Smoke gets his back up, you better get out of the way. ’Cause he’s going to haul it out, cock it back, and let her bang.”
“The finest schools in the country and Europe,” John muttered. “And she hauls it out and lets her bang. Incredible.”
Sally laughed openly at the expression on her father’s face. “It’s just a western expression, father.”
“It’s just that it is terribly difficult for us, here in the long-settled East, to fully understand the ways of the West, Sally,” Abigal said. “But we don’t doubt for a moment what you’ve told us. Sally, when Smoke comes out here for a visit, will he be armed?”
“If he’s got his pants on.”
John looked heavenward, shook his head, and sighed. “Yet another delightful colloquialism.”
Sally reached into a pocket of her dress—she was getting too large to wear jeans, but she would have loved to do so, just to see the expression on her parents’ faces—and took out a piece of paper. “This wire came this morning, while you both were out. It’s from Smoke.”
“Shall I contact the governor and have him call out the militia?” John asked his daughter, only half-joking. He wanted to meet his son-in-law, certainly; but he had absolutely no idea what to expect. And just the thought of an armed western gunfighter riding into the town made him slightly nauseous.
Sally laughed at him. “You’re both thinking my husband to be some sort of savage. Well,” she shrugged her shoulders, “when he has to be, he is, to your way of thinking. Yet, he is a fine artist, well-read, and highly intelligent. He knows the social graces; certainly knows what fork and spoon to use. But we don’t go in for much of that where we live. In the West, eating is serious business, and not much chitchat goes on at the table. But I really think you’ll like Smoke if you’ll give him just half a chance.”
Abigal reached over and patted Sally’s hand. “I know we will, dear. And of course he’ll be welcomed here. Now please tell us what is in the wire. I’m fairly bursting with excitement.” She looked at her husband. “This is the most exhilarating thing that’s happened in Keene in twenty years, John!”
“Not yet, dear,” John said. “Smoke hasn’t yet arrived in town, remember.”
Sally laughed so hard she had to wipe her eyes with a handkerchief. She read from the wire. “Smoke has been appointed a deputy U.S. Marshal. This is from the marshal’s office in Denver. He has entered the outlaw town in disguise. They’ll wire me when the operation has been concluded.”
“Well!” John said, obviously pleased. “I’m happy to hear that your husband has chosen the legal way, Sally. He’ll properly arrest the criminals and bring them to trial the way it’s supposed to be, according to the laws of this land.”
Sally smiled. “Father, do you believe pigs can fly like birds?”
“What! Of course not.”
“Father, the only law Smoke is going to hand out to those outlaws will be coming out of the muzzles of his .44s. And you can believe that.”
“But he’s an officer of the law!” the man protested. “More than that, he is operating under a federal badge. He must see to due process. That is his sworn duty!”
Sally’s smile was grim. “Oh, he’ll see that the outlaws get their due, Father. Trust me.”
Smoke made his camp at the very edge of town, pitching his tent and unrolling his blankets. He gathered and stacked wood for a fire. Saving his meager supplies, he cut a pole and rigged it for fishing, walking to a little stream not far away. There he caught his supper, all the while letting his eyes stay busy, checking out the terrain. The stream had to come from somewhere; it didn’t just come out of the ground here. For it was full of trout.
He had deliberately made his camp far enough away so he could not hear the terrible cries and the begging of those men and women at the far end of town, being tortured to death. He wished desperately to help, but he knew for the moment, he was powerless to do so.
Huge peaks rose stately and protectively all around the little valley that housed Dead River. Smoke wondered where and how it had gotten its name. At first glance, he could understand why a lot of people would believe the myth of one way in and one way out. But Smoke knew that was crap, and he felt that most of the outlaws knew it as well. But those who would try to seek escape, when the attack came, would be in for a very ugly surprise when they tried those secret trails. White Wolf and his braves would be in hiding, waiting for them.
As Smoke had ridden to his camp, he had seen the compound where some prisoners were being held; but mostly the town itself was a prison, and he had noticed many slaves had free access to the town.
They obviously had been convinced, probably very brutally, that there was no way out except for the road, so why lock them up? But they were probably locked up at night. The compound, then, must be for any newcomers to the town. Or perhaps those were people being punished for some infraction of the rules.
Or waiting to die.
He wondered if the marshal’s plant, Hope Farris, was in the compound.
Or had she been discovered and killed?
He cleaned his fish and cooked his supper, all the while watching the comings and goings of the outlaws. So far, few had paid any attention to him.
Smoke judged the number of outlaws in the town at right around two hundred, and that was not counting the shopkeepers and clerks and whores. Rex Davidson had himself a profitable operation going here, Smoke concluded, and he was sure King Rex got his slice of the pie from every store in town and from every whore who worked.
Not that there were that many stores; Smoke had counted six. But they were all huge stores. By far, the biggest place in town was the livery stable and barns, a half dozen of them, all connected by walkways. And during bad weather, many men, Smoke guessed, would live and sleep in those barns. He knew that this high up the winters would be brutal ones.
And so far, Smoke had not seen the man called Dagget. He felt sure he would recognize him from Sally’s description. Already he had seen a dozen or more hardcases he had brushed trails with years back; but his disguise had worked. They had paid him no mind, other than a quick glance and equally quick dismissal as being nothing more than a fop and totally harmless.
He wondered if Lone Eagle had hidden his guns behind the privy yet, then decided he had not. Not enough time had gone by since Smoke had met with the brave at the head of the creek.
Smoke heard a harsh shriek of pain from a shack across the wide road. Then a man’s voice begging somebody not to do something again. Wild cursing followed by more shrieks of pain.
The door to the cabin was flung open and Smoke watched as a naked man ran out into the road. He was screaming. Then the obscene bulk of Brute Pitman appeared in the door of the shack. He was shirtless, his galluses hanging down to his knees. Brute held a long-barreled pistol in his hand.