Smoke, York, and Louis rode out of Kansas City the next morning, riding into Missouri. It would be days later, when the trio rode into St. Louis and Smoke wired Keene, that he would learn Sally had been taken to the hospital the day after his wire from Kansas City. Sally and babies were doing fine.
“Babies!” Smoke shouted, almost scaring the telegraph operator out of his seat.
“Babies?” Louis exclaimed.
“More ’un one?” York asked.
“Boys,” the stationmaster urged, “don’t shoot no holes in the ceiling. We just got ’er fixed last month.”
They arranged bookings for their horses and themselves, and chugged out of St. Louis the next morning. It was the first time Smoke or York had ever seen a sleeping car, and both were amazed at the luxury of the dining cars and at the quality of the food that was served.
When the finger bowl was brought around, Louis had to leave his seat to keep from laughing when York rolled up his sleeves and washed his elbows in it.
“Ain’t you got no soap to go with this thing?” York asked the colored man.
The Negro rolled his eyes and looked heavenward, maintaining his composure despite the situation.
The train stopped in Ohio and the three got off to change trains. It was an overnighter, so they could exercise their horses, get their ground-legs back, and take a genuine bath in a proper tub. All were getting just a little bit gamey. The three big men, broad-shouldered and lean-hipped, with their boots and spurs and western hats, twin six-shooters tied down low, drew many an anxious look from a lot of men and more than curious looks from a lot of ladies.
“Shore are a lot of fine-lookin’ gals around these parts,” York observed. “But kinda pale, don’t y’all think?”
Smoke and York stood on the shores of Lake Erie and marveled at the sight of it.
“Never seen so damn much water in all my life!” York said, undisguised awe in his voice. “And would you just look at them big boats!”
“Ships,” Louis corrected. He pointed to one flying an odd-looking flag. “That one just came down the St. Lawrence. That’s a German flag.”
“How’d it git here?” York asked.
“Across the Atlantic Ocean.”
“Lord have mercy!”
When they stomped and jingled back into the fancy hotel, a platoon of cops were waiting for them.
A captain of the police approached them, caution in his eyes and his step. “Lads, I can see that you’re U.S. Marshals, but are ye after someone in our city?”
The cop was Irish through and through. “No,” Smoke said. “But neither have we bothered anyone here.” He looked at the mass of cops and smiled. “Kinda reminds me of that time I took on ’bout twenty-five guns at that silver camp.”
“You fought twenty-five desperados all by yourself?” the captain asked.
“Yep.”
“How did it turn out?”
“I killed them all.”
“You…killed them all!”
“Yep.”
Several news reporters and one photographer had gathered around, for real cowboys and western gunslingers were rare in Cleveland.
“Might I ask your name, sir?” the captain inquired.
“Smoke Jensen.”
Pandemonium set in.
Smoke, Louis, and York were given the keys to the city. All three answered an almost endless barrage of questions and endured dozens of cameras popping and clicking at them. A hasty parade was called, and the men rode up and down the city’s streets in an open carriage.
“Goddamnedest thing I ever heard of,” York muttered. “What the hell have we done to deserve something this grand?”
“You’re an Arizona Ranger, York,” Louis leaned over and told him. “And a gunfighter, just like Smoke and myself.”
“If you say so,” York told him. “Seems like a whole bunch to do about nothin’ if you ask me.”
“Shakespeare felt the same way,” the gambler told him, smiling.
“No kiddin’? Seems to me I heard of him. Ain’t he from down around El Paso?”
They chugged east the next morning, Smoke and York glad to be out of the hustle and bustle of it all. Louis waved good-bye to a dark-haired young woman who smiled and blushed as the train moved out of the station.
Louis settled back in his seat. “Ah, boys, the freshness and vitality of youth never ceases to amaze me.”
Smoke grinned. “I noticed you left the party very early last night, Louis. She certainly is lovely.”
But Louis would only smile in reply to questions.
They rolled on through the day and night, across Pennsylvania and into New York. In New York’s massive and confusing station, they were met by a large contingent of New York’s finest and personally escorted to the train heading to Springfield, with numerous stops along the way.
“It ain’t that we don’t respect fellow officers, boys,” the commander of the police unit said. “It’s just that your reputations precede you.” He looked at Smoke. “Especially yours, son.”
“Yes,” a fresh-fashed cop said. “Were it up to me, I would insist you remove those guns.”
Smoke stopped, halting the parade. He turned to face the helmeted cop. “And if refused?…”
The young cop was not in the least intimidated. “Then I would surely have to use force, laddy.”
Louis and York joined Smoke in a knowing smile. Smoke said, “You have a pencil in your pocket, officer. I can see it. Would you jerk it out as quickly as you can?”
The older and more wiser of the cops—and that was just about all of them—backed up, with many of them holding their hands out from their sides, smiles on their faces. A half-dozen reporters had gathered around and were scribbling furiously. Photographers were taking pictures.
“So we’re going to play games, eh, gunfighter?” the young cop asked.
“No. I’m going to show you how easy it is for a loud-mouth to get killed where I come from.”
The young officer flushed, and placed his thumb and forefinger on the end of the pencil, and jerked it out.
Smoke swept back his beaded buckskin jacket, exposing his guns. He slipped the hammer-thong of his right hand .44. “Want to try it again?”
The young officer got exactly half of the pencil out of his pocket before he was looking down the muzzle of Smoke’s .44.
“Do you get my point, officer?”
“Ah…’deed, I do, sir! As one fellow officer to another, might I say, sir, that you are awfully quick with that weapon.”
Smoke holstered. It was unlike him to play games with weapons, but he felt he might have saved the young man’s life with an object lesson. He held out his hand, and the cop smiled and shook it.
The rest of the walk to their car was an easy one, with chatter among men who found they all had something in common after all.
It was growing late when they finally detrained in Springfield. They stabled their horses and found a small hotel for the night.
The weeks on the road had honed away any city fat that might have built up on Louis and had burned his already dark complexion to that of a gypsy. They were big men, all over six feet, with a natural heavy musculature; they were the kind of men that bring out the hostility in a certain type of man, usually the bully.
And with the knowledge that Sally and the babies—twins, Smoke had discovered when he wired during a train refueling stop—were now in danger, none of the men were in any mood for taking any lip from some loudmouth.
They elected to have their supper in the hotel’s dining room to further avoid any trouble. As had been their custom, they wore their guns, and to hell with local laws. None of them knew when they might run into Davidson or Dagget or their ilk.
Louis had bought York a couple of suits in St. Louis, and Smoke had brought a suit with him. Longmont was never without a proper change of clothes; if he didn’t have one handy, he would buy one.