Smoke held his head. All this talking was making his head feel as if it was going to explode. What was it about self-defense that these people didn’t understand? Surely they must have known what kind of a man Johnny was.
“I’ll try one more time, then I’m done talking,” Smoke said. “Johnny had a snootful of liquor and came over to our table and braced the men I was with, saying they stunk like skunks and garbage. Well, it’s no surprise that one of the mountain men I was with took offense at his remarks and proceeded to beat the shit out of him, which he no doubt deserved. After Johnny got knocked flat on his back, his friends came over and carried him outside. Later, after we’d finished our supper, we walked out the door. Johnny and all his friends were standing there in the street with their hands filled with iron—we had no choice but to shoot.”
Cletus turned his head. “You that good, Jensen, you can draw and kill a man who’s already got his pistol out?”
Smoke chuckled. “Why don’t you try me, mister, and find out for yourself, or do you let a mob do your fighting for you? You got the balls for it, give me a gun and we’ll see if I’m fast enough to take the lot of you.”
Cletus gritted his teeth and looked ahead. A lot of what the man said made sense. He’d loved Johnny like his own son, but that didn’t mean the little bastard wasn’t mad-dog mean when he’d been drinking. He shook his head. It could well have gone down just like Jensen said, but if it did, why didn’t Sheriff Tupper tell it that way to Angus?
Sarah, who was wondering the same thing, flicked her riding crop at Smoke and got his attention. When he turned his head to look at her riding alongside the wagon, she said, “That isn’t exactly the way the sheriff tells it, Mr. Jensen, and why would he lie about it?”
Smoke smirked and turned back around, speaking over his shoulder. “Your father has a reputation of not listening to people who tell him what he doesn’t want to hear, Sarah. My guess is, the sheriff was too scared to tell him his little boy got killed because he got drunk and let his mouth override his butt. Truth be told, Johnny wasn’t near as tough or as fast with a gun as the liquor made him think he was, and he seemed too busy showing off for all of his friends to think straight about it.”
Sarah swiped at the back of Smoke’s head with her crop. “You bastard!” she yelled, and spurred her horse into a full gallop, riding off in a cloud of dust.
Cletus shook his head as he watched Sarah gallop off up ahead of the column of men. “Boy, you sure know how to end a conversation.”
“I guess her father’s not the only one doesn’t like to be told the truth, especially when her mind’s already made up on the subject.”
SIXTEEN
Sally woke up just as the sun was coming up and brightening the bedroom. She yawned and, as she did every morning, stuck out her right hand and felt around the bed for her husband. When she didn’t feel Smoke next to her, she opened her eyes and rolled on her side. His side of the bed was smooth, and his pillow was unwrinkled.
She sat up straight, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. Evidently, he hadn’t come to bed last night, because she’d never known him to get up early and make his side of the bed while she was still sleeping.
Something was wrong.
She jumped out of bed and got dressed. As she was heading for the door, she noticed that Smoke’s hat and guns were hanging on the peg next to the front door. He would never have gone anywhere without them.
She crossed the porch and ran to the bunkhouse. She pounded on the door until Cal opened it, yawning widely. It was just about time for the cowboys to rise, but it was evident he hadn’t had his morning coffee just yet.
“Oh, hi, Miss Sally,” he said, his voice still husky from sleep.
“Cal, have any of you seen Smoke this morning?”
“Uh, why, no, Miss Sally. We just got up an’ ain’t seen nobody yet.”
“Damn!” she said, thinking furiously. “Did you see or hear anything out of the ordinary last night?”
Cal shook his head, his expression changing to one of alarm at her questions.
Without saying anything else, she turned back toward the barn and took off at a dead run. She wanted to go and see if Smoke’s horse was still there, though she knew he’d never have gotten on his horse and left without saying something to her, or at least grabbing his hat and guns from the cabin.
Cal glanced over his shoulder and called out, “Pearlie, somethin’s wrong. Get on out here.” Then he took off at a run after Sally, tucking in his shirt on the go.
Twenty minutes later, the three of them sat at the kitchen table in the ranch house. Sally had put some coffee on to boil while she told them about Smoke’s mysterious absence.
“And he didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout goin’ nowheres when you went to bed last night?” Pearlie asked as she handed him a steaming cup.
She shrugged and shook her head. “No. He went out on the porch to have a cigar and a cup of coffee before he came to bed, and he said he’d see me in a while.”
“It ain’t like Smoke to just take off without tellin’ nobody,” Cal said, getting up from his chair. “Especially if there was trouble brewin’.”
He moved out onto the front porch and began to look around, even getting down on his knees to get a better look at the ground around the porch.
“Look here,” he said to Sally and Pearlie, who were standing behind him. He pointed to a half-smoked cigar lying on the ground next to the porch, and a cup that still held a third of a cup of cold coffee in it on the arm of a wooden chair.
“Looks like somethin’ spooked him, or at least made him throw down his cigar and leave his coffee ‘fore he was through with either one,” Cal said.
“You see any tracks, Cal?” Pearlie asked, moving over to lean over his shoulder. Cal was smart and quick, but Pearlie was the more experienced tracker by far.
“Yeah. Most of ‘em head over toward the bunkhouse,” Cal replied, “but it looks like two sets go off down the road that’a way. And see, one set looks smaller, like it might’a been a woman, or maybe a boy.”
Pearlie bent down and gently fingered the tracks. “You’re right, Cal, and these are from last night too.”
“How can you tell that?” Cal asked.
“Here, see how the other tracks are crusted over where they’ve been wet by dew that’s dried a few times?”
When Cal nodded, Pearlie added, “Well, these here fresh tracks are still soft and damp, so they’ve only had the dew fall on them once and they haven’t dried yet, so they must’ve been made last night.”
“Pearlie,” Sally said, reaching inside the door and pulling a gun from Smoke’s holster, “follow the tracks and show us where they lead.”
Pearlie followed the tracks, walking bent over like an old man as the tracks led him down the road away from the Jensens’ cabin. Finally, he stopped and pointed. “Look there, Miss Sally. Tracks of a buckboard right here where these two sets stop.”
“Shoot!” Sally said. “That’s not much help. Everyone in the valley has a buckboard.”
“Yeah,” Cal added. “An’ followin’ those buckboard tracks once they get on the main road will be impossible.”
Pearlie, who was still staring at the tracks, shook his head. “Maybe, but these tracks show the iron on the wheels to be brand-new. Lookit how sharp the edges of the tracks are. They ain’t worn at all.” He looked up at Sally and Cal, who weren’t following him. “Don’t you see?” he asked. “All we have to do it ask Jed the blacksmith who’s had their wheels re-ironed lately and we’ll know who was here.”
Sally grabbed Pearlie and hugged him, causing him to blush furiously. “Pearlie, you’re a genius,” she said, and she turned and ran back toward the cabin.