Ambush of the Mountain Man

FOUR

Macklin took Jacoby by his hotel, arranged for him to get a room there and dropped off his luggage, and then showed him to a restaurant that served both liquor and food.

While they drank a glass of whiskey and waited for their food orders to arrive, Jacoby told Macklin about the gunfight on the train between Jensen and his friends and the outlaws who’d outnumbered them.

Jacoby shook his head and drained his glass, sleeving whiskey off his lips with his arm. “It was the damnedest thing I ever seen, Mac,” he said, his eyes wide with wonder. “One minute Jensen an’ his friends are standing there in front of maybe ten outlaws, an’ ‘fore you could spit, they hands was full of iron and they was blasting the shit outta those hombres.”

“Just because a man’s an outlaw don’t necessarily mean he’s fast on the draw, Carl.”

“That’s just it, Mac. All of them bandits already had their guns in their hands when Jensen and his men drew down on ‘em.”

“And you’re sayin’ none of those outlaws managed to draw any blood?”

Jacoby held his glass up and pointed at it so the waiter would bring him another. “That’s just what I’m saying, Mac. Jensen and his men walked away from that fracas clean as a whistle. And what was even more funny is they didn’t wait for the bandits to make a play at them or try to take their money. They went looking for the outlaws as if they kind’a enjoyed the thought of a good fight.”

Macklin’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Jacoby. “Just what are you sayin’, Carl? You sayin’ Jensen is faster on the draw that Johnny MacDougal was?” he asked, his face showing his doubt that such could be the case.

“Hey, Mac, I’m telling you the truth,” Jacoby insisted. “I know Johnny was fast with a six-killer ‘cause I’ve drawed against him in contests before, but Jensen is faster, by a long shot!”

Macklin stroked his jaw as he let his eyes drop to stare into his whiskey. “So, you think it may’ve been a fair fight when Jensen shot Johnny down in Pueblo?” he asked, keeping his voice low so the nearby diners wouldn’t hear him mention Jensen’s name.

Jacoby shrugged. “Hell, I weren’t there, Mac, so’s I can’t say for certain. All I know is Jensen could snatch a quarter off’n a rattler’s head and leave two dimes an’ a nickel in change ‘fore the snake could strike.” He raised his hand to the waiter and indicated he wanted another drink and he wanted it fast. All this talk about how fast Jensen was with a gun was making him nervous. Sweat formed on his forehead when he remembered how he’d once planned on bracing Jensen himself.

After the waiter placed two more glasses on the table in front of them, Jacoby glanced down at the way Macklin was wearing his gun low on his right hip. “And by the way, Mac,” he said, pausing to take a deep draught of his drink, “I’ve seen you draw before too. So if you’re planning on going up against Jensen, you’d better plan on shooting him in the back from a long way off, or I’ll be taking your dead body back to Pueblo with me when I leave this burg.”

Macklin’s face flushed and he gritted his teeth for a sharp retort, but was interrupted by the waiter reappearing with a platter containing their food orders on it in his hands. When the waiter left, Jacoby, who’d noticed the angry expression on Macklin’s face when he warned him not to try and outdraw Jensen, wisely decided to change the subject before Macklin got really pissed off.

He cut his steak and stuck a piece in his mouth, asking around it, “You been here long enough to ask around, so what is Jensen’s reputation in his town?”

Macklin busied himself with cutting his own steak and didn’t look up at the question, though he snorted derisively through his nose. “Hell, around here they think he’s better than homemade apple pie,” he answered. “I couldn’t find a single person in this entire town had a bad word to say about Jensen or the men riding with him.” He stuck the meat in his mouth and added, “Hell, seems Jensen himself founded this town some years ago, so naturally nobody’s gonna say nothing against him.”

Jacoby sighed. “That’s what I was figured you’d say,” he said as he used his fork to rake some corn onto his knife and then stuffed it into his mouth. “From what I seen on the train, Jensen is pretty much a square shooter,” he added as he chewed thoughtfully.

Macklin shrugged and asked, “So what? Angus MacDougal didn’t send us here to check out his character. He sent us here to let him know when he got home an’ possibly to put a bullet in him and his friends.”

“But Mac,” Jacoby said, shoving his plate to the side and leaning forward, “what if his fight with Johnny was fair an’ it was like they said, that Johnny fired off shots at them first? Hell, we all know what an asshole Johnny could be when he was all liquored up.”

“Don’t make no never mind to me what happened back in Pueblo,” Macklin answered, his eyes burning. “All I know is Johnny and the others that died with him were friends of mine, an’ I aim to see Jensen in his grave for what he done to them!” He paused for a moment, staring at Jacoby as if he were an enemy instead of one of his oldest friends. “An’ I aim to do it with you or without you, Carl, so don’t be getting in my way or you’re liable to catch some lead too.”

Jacoby snarled back, “Don’t go playin’ the big man with me, Mac. Remember, I seen you draw before an’ I ain’t all that certain you could take me, even if you was crazy enough to try.”

“Well, then, how ‘bout I put it like this. Old Man MacDougal been pretty good to both of us, it seems, so if’n he wants Jensen dead, for whatever reason, it’s plenty good enough for me.”

Jacoby started to reply, but Macklin added, “And what do you think Sarah is gonna say when she hears you’ve gone all soft and sweet on Jensen, the man what killed her baby brother?”

Jacoby let his eyes drop to what remained of his meal, his appetite squashed by the question. “Maybe if I explain to her that—”

“Explain what?” Macklin burst out. “That the man who put six slugs in her little brother after bashing out his front teeth is really a nice feller and we should just forget about the whole thing?”

Jacoby leaned his head back and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, trying to ease the sudden pain there that Macklin was causing. “You’re right, Mac, she’ll never understand,” he said wearily. “She’s like her father. She don’t never forget a slight, and she sure as hell won’t care what I think about Jensen’s character, that’s for sure.”

“If you’re finished with that steak, maybe we’d better get on over to the telegraph office and wire Angus and see what he wants us to do,” Macklin said, stuffing the last piece of his meat into his mouth, thinking Jacoby was a fool for caring so much about a lady that would never ever give him the time of day.

Sally Jensen eased out of her seat on the train when it pulled into the station at Pueblo, Colorado. The next stop would be Big Rock, and she wanted to freshen up a little before arriving home. She hadn’t seen Smoke for more than half a year, and she wanted to look her best when he met her at the station. She could already imagine him throwing his arms around her and squeezing her tight against his hard body.

When she looked into the mirror in the women’s parlor compartment as she applied a light dusting of powder and just a hint of lip rouge, she noticed that the thought of seeing her man again after so long was making her cheeks flush and burn as if they were on fire.

She grinned, speaking at her image in the looking glass. “Why, Sally Jensen, you’re acting like a hussy instead of an old married woman!”

“Pardon me?” a young woman who was just entering the compartment asked, raising her eyebrows at the sight of Sally talking to herself in the mirror.

Sally laughed, her cheeks flushing even more at being seen acting so strangely. “Oh, don’t mind me, miss,” she said, waving a hand at the young girl. “I’m just returning home after a long absence, and the excitement of seeing my husband and home again after so long has me behaving a bit silly.”

The young woman stepped in front of another mirror across the room and spent a few moments adjusting her hat and dress. Sally thought the girl probably wasn’t used to wearing such nice clothes, the way she picked at the buttons and continually fussed with the ruffled collar on the neckline. And she certainly didn’t know how to wear a frilly hat. She had it at completely the wrong angle.

“Here, let me help you with that,” Sally said, moving over to smooth out the ruffles in the back of the dress and make it a bit more comfortable for the young woman and to adjust the tilt of the hat to a more rakish angle.

“Thank you,” the girl said, smiling. She stuck out her hand. “I’m Sarah . . . uh . . . Sarah Johnson,” Sarah MacDougal said, stammering a bit over the false name she’d decided to use on her trip to Big Rock to see what she could do about making Smoke Jensen pay for what he’d done to her little brother.

“Hello, Sarah,” Sally said, taking her hand and shaking it. “I’m Sally Jensen.”

Sarah flushed when she heard Sally’s last name, and ducked her head as she tried to think of something to say. She’d had no idea the man might be married, and to such a refined-looking woman as Sally obviously was. If she’d thought about it at all, she would’ve thought a gunman like Smoke Jensen would probably be keeping company with a dance-hall gal or one of the fallen doves in a house of ill repute somewhere.

Sally, seeing the girl’s discomfort but not knowing what was behind it, asked, “Are you traveling far, Sarah?”

“Uh . . . just to Big Rock, Mrs. Jensen,” Sarah answered in a hoarse voice with just a trace of a tremor in it.

“Oh, just call me Sally, Sarah,” Sally said, smiling and returning to her own mirror for a last-minute adjustment. “We’re not very formal in Big Rock, as you’ll find out when we get there.”

“All right, Sally,” Sarah said, bending to pick up her valise.

Sally put her arm through Sarah’s as they left the compartment. “Why don’t you sit with me, dear, and you can tell me all about your trip to Big Rock,” she said, leading Sarah to her row of seats.

After Sarah had stashed her valise on the overhead rack, she sat down next to Sally and they began to talk.

“Are you visiting friends or family in Big Rock?” Sally asked, wondering to herself what would make a young woman set out all alone on such a trip.

“Uh, not really, Sally,” Sarah answered. “I just had to get out of Pueblo, and Big Rock seemed like a nice place to move to.”

Sally’s eyebrows rose at the tone in Sarah’s voice, as if she were in some kind of trouble, and she wondered how Sarah would have heard of Big Rock in the much larger city of Pueblo.

“I hope I’m not being too nosy, Sarah, but just why do you have to get out of Pueblo?”

When Sarah hesitated and stared past Sally out the widow as the train began to move out of the station, Sally patted her on the arm. “Never mind, dear,” Sally said, turning and looking forward. “Your reasons are none of my business and I fear I’m intruding on your privacy.”

Sarah, not wanting to make Sally suspicious, decided to tell her the story she’d made up to account for her moving from Pueblo to Big Rock.

“Oh, don’t worry, Sally, it’s nothing all that mysterious,” Sarah said, making her voice light and carefree. “It’s just that I was engaged, until recently, to a prominent member of Pueblo society. When we decided to cancel our engagement, people began to talk, and my family thought it best if I moved away, for at least a little while, to let matters settle down,” she finished.

“Ah,” Sally said, nodding, “an affair of the heart often makes tongues waggle, especially tongues of the gossip mongers who like nothing better than to besmirch someone else’s reputation.” She clucked and shook her head. “Now, even though the people of Big Rock are very nice, Sarah, I wouldn’t be too quick to tell anyone your story. It is after all a small town, and it does have its gossips just like all towns do.”

“That’s it exactly, Sally. Oh, I knew you’d understand,” Sarah said, blushing in shame at deceiving this woman who was being so kind to her.

“Of course I understand, dear,” Sally said. “I’m not so old that I cannot remember what it was like when my husband first began courting me, and how the gossip flew hot and heavy around my town at the time.”

Sarah realized she needed to find out if Sally Jensen’s husband was Smoke Jensen. She figured he was, but Jensen wasn’t all that uncommon a name and she wanted to be sure. After all, she still couldn’t believe someone as nice as Sally seemed to be would be married to a gunfighter like Smoke Jensen, a man who killed defenseless boys.

“Tell me about your husband, Sally,” Sarah said, leaning back in her chair a bit so she wouldn’t seem too anxious. “What’s his name?”

Sally laughed. “Well, his name is Kirby, Sarah, but he goes by Smoke, or at least that’s what everyone including me calls him.”

“Smoke?” Sarah asked, “My, what an unusual name.” It was him. She was married to a monster.

Sally’s eyes became distant as she thought back to what Smoke had told her of his early days in the wild West . . .

Sarah stared at Sally, who seemed lost in a pleasant memory for the moment. This wasn’t what she’d expected. Most gunmen, at least all that she’d been acquainted with or told about, didn’t have wives. They were for the most part a sorry lot of drunkards and malcontents who drifted from one place to another, selling their guns and their willingness to kill without reason to the highest bidder. And the women they did take up with, when they weren’t busy killing, were nothing like Sally Jensen. Why, she and I could be friends if things were different, Sarah thought wryly. I just can’t believe she’s married to a man as evil as Smoke Jensen and doesn’t realize how bad he really is.

After a moment, Sarah reached over and gently touched Sally’s arm. “Mrs. Jensen,” she said tentatively.

Sally started and seemed to come out of her reverie. “Oh, excuse me, Sarah,” she said, smiling almost sadly. “I fear my long journey has tired me considerably and I was daydreaming for a moment.”

“No, that’s all right,” Sarah said, returning the smile. “You seemed to be someplace else for a minute . . . someplace nice.”

“I was just remembering some tales my husband told me of his first days out here in the wilderness, back when he was no more than a child.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Things were very different then, and Smoke had to learn to use both his wits and his guns at a very young age.” Sally laughed softly. “Thank goodness we’re much more civilized nowadays and things are different.”

Not so different as you think, Sally, not so different at all, Sarah thought, struggling to keep the hatred she felt for Smoke from showing in her eyes or in her voice.