“Does Pa know about it?” Dalton asked as he mounted his horse.
“I don’t know if he knows or not,” Clay said. “If he does, neither one of us told him.”
“Clay, will you go with me when I tell him?” Dalton asked.
“Dalton, if you are man enough to get yourself in trouble, you ought to be man enough to face up to it,” Clay said.
“Please? Just this one more time?”
Clay sighed audibly. “All right,” he said. “But one of these days, Dalton, I’m not going to be around to bail you out of trouble. You are going to be on your own. What will you do then?”
“Thanks,” Dalton said. He slapped his reins against his horse’s neck, and the animal burst forward as if being fired from a cannon.
Denver, Colorado, May 5
From the Rocky Mountain News
Train Robbery Foiled!
Six desperados made an attempt to rob the Denver and Rio Grande train on Monday, May 1st, attacking it during its transit to Big Rock. Piling stones and other debris on the track, they forced Engineer Green Vaughan to stop his train. Then, constructing another barrier behind the train to prevent any escape by putting the engine in reverse, the robbers accessed the train in order to carry out their nefarious scheme.
Upon learning that the train was not carrying a money shipment, they abandoned the express car and continued their thievery by leaving one of their number in the cab of the engine, and sending the other five through the cars, extracting at the point of their guns the hard-earned money and valuables of the honest passengers, thereon aboard.
Their evil scheme was foiled, however, when Smoke Jensen arrived. Smoke Jensen is a name which most readers will recognize, for he has gained much fame throughout the West, and indeed all of America, by his derring-do in a fight against evil. Activated by his commission as a deputy sheriff, armed by right and a Colt .44, Smoke Jensen singlehandedly took on the gang of train robbers, using his pistol with deadly effect. Porter Jones took care of a fourth robber, but two of the brigands escaped.
They got nothing for their efforts as they abandoned all their booty in their dash for freedom.
After he finished reading the newspaper, Red Coleman put it down with a snort of disgust. The source of Red’s nickname was quickly obvious in the shock of red hair that fell to his shoulders. He had a three-corner scar on his left cheek and he rubbed it subconsciously as he read the article.
“What is it? What does the paper say?” McDill asked.
Red slid the paper across the table to him. “Read it for yourself.”
“I can’t read, Red, you know that,” McDill said.
“It says the name of the man who rousted us from the train was Smoke Jensen.”
“Smoke Jensen? Yeah, I’ve heard of him. He is one tough hombre.”
“Is he now?” Red asked.
“Yeah, he is. You mean you ain’t never heard of him?”
“I’ve heard of him,” Red said. “It’s just that this is the first time I’ve ever run across him.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“It won’t be my last time,” Red said.
CHAPTER FOUR
Fort Worth, May 17
The Texas Cattlemen’s Association held a dance in Fort Worth, and because there was no single building large enough to hold the event, carpenters had constructed a wooden dance floor near the stockyard in Sundance Square. A band had been hired just for the occasion, coming all the way from San Antonio and arriving by train earlier in the day.
Though most of the other cowboys from Live Oaks were already in town, Tom, Dusty, and Mo waited to ride in alongside the surrey. Clay would be driving the trap, and his wife Maria was already in the surrey, sitting beside him as it waited in front of the big house for Rebecca to join them. Rebecca would ride into town in the back seat.
Like the others, Tom had put on a clean pair of denims and a shirt but then he had second thoughts. While the others were outside with the surrey waiting for Rebecca, Tom went back into the bunkhouse to change clothes. When he came back outside, instead of the denims, Tom was wearing one of the suits he had brought West with him. He chose a dark blue suit with a light blue silk vest and a white shirt. At his collar, he wore a crimson cravat, and as he knew it would, his attire grabbed the attention of all the others when he went outside.
“Whoowee, Tom I’ll say this for you. You do know how to turn out,” Mo teased.
“Yes, sir, but Tom ain’t the only one all fancied up,” Dusty said. “Look over there.”
The object of Tom’s notice was Rebecca. Rebecca, who was walking toward the surrey from the big house, was wearing a bright blue dress trimmed in white faille. A wide white sash was around her waist, beautifully accenting her figure. Tom took in a sharp breath of admiration when he saw her.
Rebecca returned Tom’s look with her own appraising stare. She knew that if anyone else had attempted to dress as Tom was dressed, they would have been considered vain and a dandy. But Tom could bring it off because he was handsome enough to do justice to the clothes. In addition, he had already proven to the others by his willingness to work, as well as his brute strength, that any charge of dandyism would be falsely placed.
While Rebecca made her critical appraisal of Tom, she felt a slow-building heat in her body, and she wondered what it would be like to be kissed by him. Embarrassed by what she was thinking, she felt a flushing in her cheeks and she put the thought away as quickly as she could, absolutely certain that someone could read it in her face.
By dusk, the excitement which had been growing for the entire day was full-blown. Several had gathered around to watch the dance, including those who were too young, too old, too uncoordinated, or simply unable to get a partner. Now, as the band warmed up, their music could be heard all over the north end of Fort Worth, adding to the excitement that was already in the air.
Before the dance even began, the band did a few numbers just to warm up the crowd. The dance not being limited to cattlemen only, men and women from the town streamed along the boardwalks toward the dance floor, the women in colorful ginghams, the men in clean blue denims and brightly decorated vests.
To one side of the dance floor a large punch bowl and several glass cups were set on a table, and Rebecca watched as one of the cowboys walked over to the punch bowl to unobtrusively add whiskey from a bottle he had concealed beneath his vest. A moment later another cowboy did the same thing, and Rebecca smiled as she thought of the growing potency of the punch.
The music was playing, but as yet no one was dancing. Then the music stopped, and the caller lifted a megaphone.
“Choose up your squares!” the caller shouted.
The cowboys started toward the young women who, giggling and turning their faces away shyly, accepted their invitations. In a moment there were three squares formed and waiting. As she had hoped he would, Tom asked Rebecca for the first dance, and they were in the square nearest the band.
The music began, with the fiddles loud and clear, the guitars carrying the rhythm, the accordion providing the counterpoint, and a twanging jew’s harp heard over everything. The caller began to shout, and he stomped his feet and danced around on the platform in compliance with his own calls. He was the center of fascinated attention from those who weren’t dancing, as the caller bowed and whirled just as if he had a girl and was in one of the squares himself. The dancers moved and swirled to the caller’s commands.