“Lovejoy is mine,” Matt said, and even as he spoke, Lovejoy went down.
Birds and animals ran in terror as the gunshots roared. Gunsmoke rolled over the ground between them. Although Smoke and Matt had been in many gunfights, only Falcon and Duff had actually experienced war, Falcon during the Civil War and again during the Indian campaigns when he was with Custer. Duff had fought in the Battle of Tel-el-Kebir in Egypt as a member of the famed Black Watch Regiment. And the conditions here, with the number of men engaged, the sound of multiple shots being fired, and the billowing cloud of gunsmoke that rolled across the field, gave them both a sense of déjà vu.
Cartridges banged and bullets whizzed as the battle continued. Then Doyle realized that Lovejoy was down. And not only that, the four men shooting at them had cut the number of Back Trail riders in half, without sustaining one casualty. Doyle threw his pistol down and put his hands up.
“Stop shooting!” he called to the others. “Stop shooting and get your hands up in the air!”
“I ain’t givin’ up to those sons of bitches,” one of the others said.
“Yeah, you will,” still another said, and this time he was pointing his pistol at the protestor. “Because if you don’t, I’ll shoot you myself.”
“Jensen!” Doyle shouted, for Matt Jensen was the only name he knew. “Jensen! Stop your shootin’! We give up! We give up!”
Matt, Smoke, Falcon, and Duff came walking toward them, all four men holding their rifles at their waists, but pointing toward Doyle and what was left of the Back Trail riders.
“What was this all about?” Smoke asked. “Were you planning on taking our herd?”
“No, no,” Doyle said. “We ain’t cattle rustlers.”
“I see. Just murderers,” Smoke said. “Is that it?”
Doyle didn’t answer.
“Mr. Lovejoy was wantin’ to get revenge for you killin’ his boy,” one of the others said.
“That’s what this was all about? Revenge? For all of you?” Matt asked. “You,” he said, pointing to Doyle. “You were there. You saw what happened. I mean, what really happened, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, I seen it,” Doyle said.
“Whose fault was it?”
“It was Frank’s fault,” Doyle admitted.
“Did you ever tell Lovejoy the truth?” Matt asked.
“Yeah, I told him. But it didn’t make any difference to him. He wanted revenge anyway.”
“What about the rest of you? Was Frank Lovejoy such a friend of yours that you all wanted revenge?”
“I didn’t even like the son of a bitch,” one of the other men said. “I was doin’ it for the money. Lovejoy said he would give us a hunnert dollars apiece if we come with him.”
“Did you get your hundred dollars?” Falcon asked.
“No. We was supposed to get it when we went back and the killin’ was done.”
“So, you didn’t get your money and you got ten or more killed. Wasn’t such a good bargain, was it?” Duff asked.
At that moment two riders crossed the ford. Neither Smoke nor the others recognized the rider in front, but they all recognized Tom Whitman, who was riding behind. Tom had his pistol drawn, so that it was obvious that the rider in front was his prisoner.
“Who is this?” Falcon asked.
“This is Seth Lovejoy’s son,” Tom said.
“Billy? What are you doing here?” Doyle asked. “I thought your Pa said you wasn’t going to come.”
Seeing his father, Billy dismounted and walked over to look down at him. Squatting down, he put his fingers on his father’s neck, then shook his head.
“He’s dead,” Billy said.
“How long is this vengeance trail?” Matt asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Your Pa died avenging his son. Do you have revenge in mind too?”
“No,” Billy said. “In fact, when I learned that Pa really had come out here to do this—this foolish thing, I came out here to try and stop him. But I got here too late.”
“He’s tellin’ the truth,” Doyle said. “He didn’t want none of this from the first.”
“Billy, is it?” Smoke asked.
“Yes,” Billy replied.
“Take them home,” Smoke said. He pointed to Doyle. “What’s your name?”
“Doyle. Marcus Doyle.”
“Doyle, if we see you again, you will be the first one we kill.”
“You ain’t goin’ to see us again,” Doyle promised.
“Take the bodies with you,” Smoke said. “As a reminder.”
Billy, Doyle, and the others draped the bodies over the backs of their horses and started back. They rode across the ford, then passed the women at their encampment.
“How long before the herd comes up?” Sally asked as they rode past her.
“We’ll send them on,” Smoke said. “I think Falcon and I will ride with these scum until they are well clear of the herd.”
After the cowboys had their lunch, Clay took the herd on across the river because there was ample water and grass, then made the decision to camp there overnight.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Rebecca, may I ask you a question?” Sally said as the three women were resting after lunch. “If it is none of my business, and it probably isn’t, you can tell me so, and I won’t be offended.”
“What is the question?”
“Are you in love with Tom Whitman?”
Rebecca didn’t answer, but she didn’t have to. Immediately after Sally asked the question, Rebecca’s eyes filled with tears.
“Oh, my,” Sally said. “Me and my big mouth. I didn’t intend to open a sore spot. That was very foolish of me, wasn’t it? Please forgive me.”
Rebecca shook her head and sniffed.
“There is nothing to forgive,” she said. “It is a perfectly legitimate question.”
“Perhaps, but it is also a loaded and painful question, if one is to gauge by your reaction.”
“Yes, I love him,” Rebecca said.
“And why is that so painful? Does he not return your love? I can’t imagine that he wouldn’t. He seems like a very intelligent young man; surely he isn’t dumb enough to spurn your love.”
“I don’t know,” Rebecca said. “I think he loves me. He has kissed me as if he loves me.” Rebecca felt her face flushing. “But he is bedeviled by something in his past and I think he is afraid to let himself love me. Also, my father does not want me to have anything to do with him. And I don’t know if I am strong enough to stand up to him.”
“You aren’t the first one ever to face that, Rebecca. My father is a banker, back East. The West may as well be a foreign country to him, and when he heard about Smoke, a man who had made a reputation as a gunfighter—even though he had never used his gun for any reason except to right a wrong—well, you can imagine what his reaction was. But Smoke won him over, and, from what I have observed of Tom, I’m sure he could win your father over as well.”
“Right now the problem isn’t with Tom winning my father over. It is with me winning Tom’s love,” Rebecca said.
“You will,” Sally said. “I know you will. And it will be worth it. I can’t imagine my life without Smoke.”
“Smoke,” Rebecca said. “That is such an unusual name.”
Sally chuckled. “It’s not his real name, of course. It’s just a name that was given to him by Preacher, an old mountain man friend who became Smoke’s mentor. His real name is Kirby.”
“What?” Rebecca gasped. “Kirby Jensen? That’s his name?”
Sally was confused and curious by Rebecca’s strange reaction. “Yes, Kirby Jensen. Why? Does that name mean something to you?”
“It does if he is from Missouri, and if he had a sister named Janie.”
“Oh, my God,” Sally said. “Yes, he is from Missouri, and he did have a sister named Janie. But she died a long time ago. What is your connection to this?”