“Clint Black lost three more men this day,” Lee said. “They buried one, and two rode out with white handkerchiefs tied to their rifles. We let them go.”
“It’s gettin’ plumb borin’ on them ridges,” Puma said. “The boys want to attack the house and get done with it, Smoke.”
“No,” Toni said. “As much as I hate Clint Black, I want all the men to just go away and leave us alone.”
“Let’s ride over there and try to make peace with the man,” Jeanne suggested.
“Bad move, Missy,” Puma said. “No tellin’ what Clint might do. Situation like it is, he ain’t predictable no more. He just might shoot you both on sight. Me and the boys will stay just as long as it takes. We got no place to go and nothin’ to do when we get there. We’re living off Circle 45 beef. We rounded them up and moved them over into that valley where you-all was ambushed. He ain’t got nary a steer left. All he’s got is some mangy hired guns and a heart full of hate for Smoke. He can’t get no supplies. We got the road watched all the time.”
“I don’t think he can hold out too much longer,” Smoke said. “You boys keep up the sharpshooting, Puma. It’s taking a toll on those guns of his. He’s losing one or two every day. He’s got to crack soon and then it’ll be over.” He smiled. “And I think I’ll just heat up the fire a little bit.”
Sally looked over at him. “Every time you get that look in your eyes, I start to worrying.”
He reached over and patted her hand. “Don’t worry. This isn’t gun-talk, honey.” He stood up. “Excuse me, folks. I have a letter to write.”
Everyone looked at Sally. She shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t ask me. I’m just his wife.”
Smoke returned in ten minutes with a sheet of paper. He handed it to Sally. “Sally, how long would it take you and Toni and Jeanne to write out about fifty or sixty copies of this?”
She read the short letter and started laughing. “Not long. Come on, girls. Let’s get busy.”
Cleon Marsh found the note tacked to the gate, read it, and for a moment was stunned. Then he rode back to the ranch and handed the note to Clint.
Clint’s face turned beet red when he read the letter. “It says here he’s posted this…thing all over the country. I’ll be the laughing stock of the territory! The son of a bitch!” He threw the paper to the ground.
Bronco picked it up, read it, and said, “You sure will be if you ignore this. Did you read down at the bottom?”
“No!” Clint shouted.
“If you don’t meet him, he’s going to mail this to every paper in the territory.”
Buckskin Deevers read the note. “He’s callin’ you out, Boss. You ain’t got no choice in the matter. If you don’t meet him and slug it out, you might as well ride on out of the country. You know as well as me how Western folks are.”
Clint knew. Only too well. He took the letter and reread it.
THIS IS AN OPEN CHALLENGE FROM SMOKE JENSEN TO THE MURDERING, RAPING, AM BUSHING, NIGHT-RIDING, YELLOWBELLIED CLINT BLACK. I SAY YOU ARE AFRAID TO MEET ME IN A STAND-UP FISTFIGHT. YOU HIDE BE HIND HIRED GUNS AND DO NOT HAVE THE COURAGE TO MEET ME AND FIGHT IT OUT MAN TO MAN. I WILL BE WAITING IN THE MAIN STREET OF CANYON CITY AT NOON ON SATURDAY. IF YOU FAIL TO SHOW, THEN EVERY ONE IN THE TERRITORY WILL KNOW EXACTLY WHAT KIND OF CRAVEN COWARD YOU REALLY ARE.
It was signed, “Smoke Jensen.”
Clint lifted his eyes. All his men had gathered around the front porch. And he knew then that if he didn’t meet Smoke Jensen, he would not have a hand left. They would ride out, showing their contempt for him. The rules were few in the West, but they were enforced rigidly. And if a man was called out by another man of approximately the same size and age, you went, or you got on your horse and rode out. No one in the rugged, wide-shouldered west would tolerate a coward.
Clint was between a rock and a hard place and he knew it. He slowly folded the paper and stuck it in his pocket. “Well, boys, looks like we take a ride come this Saturday morning.”
27
Of course Clint had far darker plans than just the fight on his mind. But those were quickly dashed when One-eyed Shaw told him the mountain men had left the Circle 45 range and had taken up positions all around the Double D ranch and grounds. Clint’s plans of burning out the Duggan twins, while all the Double D hands were in town watching the fight, were tossed out the window with that news. Then he thought he might have a sniper shoot Jensen during the fight. But on this Saturday, all guns were to be banned in Canyon City. Every man would leave his guns at checkpoints at both ends of town. And Harris had ordered all able-bodied townsmen to be sworn in as special deputies and they would be heavily armed.
“Jensen don’t fight by no rules,” Bronco Ford told his boss. “He fights to win. And he’ll offer no mercy nor give no quarter.”
Clint nodded his head in agreement. Since he had made up his mind to fight, he had not taken a drink of anything stronger than coffee. He knew he was in excellent physical shape, for he had always been vain about that. He was strong as a bull and had knocked men unconscious with just one punch. But could he whip Smoke Jensen? He didn’t know. He would have to rely on good footwork and lots of bobbing and weaving and ducking and try to wear the man down.
But he had to win. He had to. Everything was at stake. If he lost, he would be a humiliated and broken man in the eyes of all the people. He could not allow that to happen. One way or the other, by hook or by crook, he had to win.
“He’s a bull of a man, Smoke,” Waymore told him. “Strong and can punch like no man I ever seen. He’ll gouge your eyes and use his boots on you if he gets the chance. I saw him cripple a man like that. He likes to hurt people, really likes it. He’s a cruel brute.”
Smoke nodded his understanding. “Thank you, Waymore.” He wasn’t particularly worried about Clint Black. He’d fought bigger and better men than Clint…and stomped them into the ground. During the time between the challenge and now, Smoke had cut out tanned leather and made himself a pair of gloves. They were almost double the thickness of ordinary gloves, and would enable him to hit harder and also protect his hands.
“Lots of bets on this fight, boss,” Conny said, after returning from Canyon City. “Folks comin’ in from seventy miles away to see it. The papers in Helena have sent reporters in. They wanted an interview with you. I told them I didn’t have no authority to speak for you.”
“The fight will be an interview that will speak for itself.”
“You get a good night’s sleep, boss. Tomorrow is a big day.”
“I assure you, Conny, I will sleep like a baby.”
“Don’t nothin’ bother you, boss?” Conny asked.
Smoke smiled at him. “No point in worrying about things a man can’t change, Conny.”
“I reckon not. Good night, boss.”
Smoke ate only a light breakfast the morning of the fight. Sally and Toni and Jeanne had prepared baskets of lunches they would eat after the fight. Baked beans and huge sandwiches and fried chicken and jam and jellies.
“Aren’t you worried?” Toni asked Sally. “I would be positively beside myself with dread.”
“No. I’ve seen Smoke fight before. Oh, he’ll have a busted lip and a black eye and some bruised ribs and various other abrasions and contusions, but he’ll win and he’ll be alive. Smoke fights coldly, you see. Never loses control. It will be very brutal, ladies. I doubt that you have ever witnessed anything like it before.”
Although neither of the twins would admit it, they both were looking forward to the fight.
Canyon City had swelled to ten times its normal population, with people coming in from as far away as a hundred miles. Entire families had shown up, bringing picnic lunches and planning to make a day of it. Enterprising store owners along Main Street had rented out roof space for spectators. Bleachers had been hastily knocked together and Main Street was blocked off. Street vendors were peddling everything from beer to banners.