Absaroka Ambush

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.

Boots thudded on the old boards. “Jensen! You better make your peace with the Lord. ’Cause I’m shore gonna kill you for what you done to my brother.”

Rocky slammed open the batwings and charged inside. Smoke hit him flush in the mouth. Rocky’s boots went out from under him and he sailed right back out into the street, landing on his butt. The dust flew.

Smoke stepped out and kicked the gun from Rocky’s hand. He reached down and slapped the man hard, twice across the face, addling him, and then jerked out his other Colt and tossed it into a horse trough. Then he hauled Rocky up and proceeded to beat the snot out of him.

Rocky didn’t get a chance to land a single punch. All he did was receive them, and he received a goodly number of them, divided about equally between ribs and face.

When Smoke finally let the would-be gunslinger fall, he was pretty sure that Rocky’s jaw was broken in at least two places and he had numerous broken ribs. Rocky would not be riding for a long time.

Smoke swung up into the saddle and faced the crowd of men and women. “Give him a message from me. Tell him I gave him his life. This time only. Explain to him that Carl and Rob crowded Al and me. Not the other way around. Try to get it through Rocky’s head that if I ever see him again, and he’s wearing a gun, I fully intend to kill him. On the spot.” He turned his horse and rode out of town.

“I do like a feller who knows his mind and speaks it,” a man said. “And Jensen can sure enough speak it plain. Well, come on. Let’s drag Rocky over to Ed’s. Most excitement we’ve had in this town in ten years.”

At the herd, Sally walked to her husband’s side. “Any trouble in town?”

“Not to speak of. Saw Al Jacobs and we had a beer together. He’s ranching and married now. I forgot to ask if he had any kids. He looked real good.”

Sally looked at the blood splattered on Smoke’s shirt. “It must have been a lively conversation. Get out of that shirt so I can soak it before the blood sets. What in the world did you two talk about?”

Smoke stripped off his shirt and handed it to her, then rummaged around in his bedroll for a fresh shirt. “We saved some lives there in the town. Al and me, we put two young fellows back on the right road. You might say we read to them from the scriptures.”

She patted his arm. “I’m sure it was quite a sermon. Do we stay here for the night?”

“I think it would be best if we moved on for a few more miles. No point in wasting good weather.”

Sally put hazel eyes on her husband. “Someday you must tell me about your impromptu Bible reading.”

“Oh, I will. When we get a few more miles up the road.”

They experienced no more trouble as the herd moved slowly north. The drovers pushed them into Montana, and after three days drive they turned the herd west. Now the real test began, for they were on no known trail. That meant that Smoke stayed busy all day, seeking a right of way for the herd and being careful not to damage the property of other ranchers and farmers. And the drovers had to work twice as hard in order to keep the herd together and not pick up anyone else’s cows.

Hands from other ranches willingly pitched in to help. They did it for many reasons, including the chance to pick up news and to taste some of Sally’s cooking, for the word had spread before them.

Many of them also wanted the chance to size up Smoke Jensen. The majority of the hands and ranchers who met him quickly found themselves liking the man, for they found in him a man who worked just as hard as his hands and who told it the way he saw it, pulling no punches. That was the Western way.

And the story of the shoot-out back in that little Wyoming town, and the fistfight that followed, had already spread, to be told and retold around the campfires of the West.

The boys in the drive got their wish, and they met some Indians. They were not hostile and appeared to be starving. But there was no way they were going to beg. They had been defeated on the battlefields, and now were not much of a threat to anyone. But beg they would not. Smoke could see that. He could also see hungry children and he couldn’t stand that. Smoke gave them ten of his own cattle and wished them well.

“What kind of Injuns were those, Mr. Smoke?” Young Guy asked.

“Cheyenne. Proud people.”

“They didn’t look like very much to me.”

“Some of the fiercest warriors that ever lived,” Smoke told the boy. “Back when I was not much older than you, I lived with them part of one winter. Me and old Preacher. Indians are good people…in their own way. Their ways are just not like ours, that’s all.”

Smoke cut north for several days, to avoid the Indian reservations, then again pointed the herd west. They had one hell of a time crossing the Yellowstone, almost losing a hand when his horse panicked and floundered. They saved the hand, but the horse was swept downstream and the cowboy lost his horse, saddle, saddlebags, and Winchester.

Then they hit days of hot, dry weather before they reached the Sweet Grass River. The cattle almost stampeded when they smelled the water. One old mossyhorn bull who had joined the herd a few days back charged a horse and gored it so badly, the horse had to be shot. When the horse fell, Harris was pinned under the saddle. The bull took out his anger on Harris before Smoke could kill it. Harris was buried beside the trail. He wasn’t the first to have been killed on a cattle drive, and certainly would not be the last.

Smoke made a short talk after the body was lowered and covered, saying a few good things about Harris, and Denver read words from the Bible. Some of the boys had a hard time keeping back the tears.

When Sally sang “What A Friend We Have In Jesus,” several of the boys and more than one of the men could no longer contain themselves and even old Denver had to horn his nose a couple of times. The whole affair just about did Smoke in, too, and he was glad to be back in the saddle and moving. It wasn’t the first lonely grave he’d helped dig.

Smoke led them south of the Crazy Mountains and then led them north and west across the Sixteenmile River, keeping the Big Belt Mountains to the north. Smoke told his people they could visit Helena after the herd was delivered and have a rip-roarin’ good time. Right now, the herd needed to be delivered.

Mountains towered all around them as Smoke wound the herd through valleys lush with summer vegetation. These were not yet the towering peaks that lay farther north, but they were respectable mountains just the same.

Smoke halted the herd in a long, wide, beautiful valley and told his people to let them graze. “This is where Duggan said he’d meet us,” he told his crew. “So make camp and relax. We’re a couple of days early.” He smiled. “Give or take a week or so.”

“This is puzzling,” Sally told her husband, snuggled next to him that night. “Why didn’t this Duggan want the herd taken straight to his range?”

“I don’t know. Unless he doesn’t want Clint Black to know about it, just yet.”

“That must be it.”

The next morning, Nate came fogging his horse into camp. “Two women comin’, boss. Ridin’ sidesaddle an’ all. They some duded up, too. Funniest lookin’ hats I ever did see.”

“Two women?” Smoke asked. “Here?”

“There they come, boss. See for yourself.”

The women were twins, and identical twins at that. They were elegantly dressed, in the very latest Eastern riding habits. Their hats were huge things, with what looked to Smoke like mosquito netting tied under their chins. They walked their horses over to a natural rise and stepped daintily from the saddle, handing the reins to a dumbstruck young Rabbit, who was bug-eyed staring at the pair.

“Which one of you is Mr. Jensen?” one twin asked.

“Right here, ma’am.” Smoke walked toward them and took off his hat. “And you two would be…?”

“I am Toni and this is my sister, Jeanne. Duggan.”

Smoke got it then. T. J. Duggan. “You have got to be kidding!”

“Quite the contrary, Mr. Jensen. We own the Double D ranch.”

Everybody gathered around, staring.

“Ah…this is my wife, Sally,” Smoke finally managed to say.

“Pleased, I’m sure,” the other twin said, and then dismissed Sally silently.

“Of the New Hampshire Reynolds,” Smoke said, before Sally could step forward and bust one of these ladies right in the chops.

“Oh, my!” the other twin said. “I didn’t realize. Of course! We’ve read about you, Sally. How wonderful to find some degree of breeding out here in this…” She looked around. “…bastion of coarseness and vulgarity.”

“What the hell did she say?” Denver whispered to Shorty.

“Don’t git me to lyin’,” Shorty told him. “But I don’t think it was no compliment.”

“That’s what I think, too.”

“Where are your hands, Miss Duggan?” Smoke asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your hands? No. I don’t mean them. Not your hands. Your crew? Your cowboys?”

“Oh, we don’t have any yet.”

“You…don’t have any? Well, how in the he…heck are you going to handle these cattle without a crew?”

“Oh, we’ll leave that up to you,” Toni said brightly. “I mean, that’s what you do, isn’t it?”

“On my own ranch, yes. I don’t hire out to other people.”

“Well, I’m certain we can work something out,” Jeanne said. “Come now, time’s wasting. Let’s don’t dawdle. We have quite a distance to go.”

“Wait a minute!” Smoke said, exasperation in his voice. “Where is your ranch?”

“Twelve miles, that way,” Toni said, pointing. “We camped in the timber last night. We’ll pick up our equipment on the way back. We’re quite expert in the woods, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know,” Smoke said. “Camped in the woods,” he muttered. “Experts, no less. All right,” he said. “Get the cattle ready for the trail.”

Sally was laughing at his expression. “Don’t dawdle now, honey.”

Smoke was muttering low curses as he mounted up.

“Did we do something wrong?” Jeanne asked Sally. “We’ve been out here from Boston for several months and we seem to, well, anger all the people we’ve come in contact with.”

Sally climbed up on the wagon seat and took the reins. “I wonder why?” she said drily.