Stone was hit in the throat, the slug blowing out the back of his neck and almost decapitating him. His body fell to the side, the head flopping back and forth on a slender thread of tissue.
Gomez didn’t even clear leather before he was hit twice, once in the left chest and the other bullet hitting him right between the eyes, blowing the back of his head off and leaving a cloud of red mist hanging in the air as Angus and Biggs were showered with bits of skull and brains.
Biggs actually managed to get his gun out and cocked before Jensen’s fourth slug took him in the gut, bending him over with a loud grunt. The fifth shot entered the top of his head and stopped his groaning as if a switch had been turned off.
As Biggs’s body fell off the horse to land facedown in the snow, Angus stuck his hands straight up in the air, his face a frightened mask of terror.
“I’ve got one bullet left, Mr. MacDougal,” Smoke said calmly, seemingly unaffected by his killing of three men in less time than it takes to tell it. “You want to try your luck?”
Angus shook his head violently from side to side. “Uh, no, please don’t shoot me,” he cried, tears running down his cheeks.
“You’re a pathetic excuse for a man, MacDougal,” Smoke said, holstering his pistol as he walked toward the broken man. “Your son was an asshole, but at least he fought his own battles. He didn’t hire other men to do his dirty work for him.”
Angus held his hands out in front of him like he was warding off an evil spirit as Smoke walked up to him.
Smoke reached up, took Angus’s gun from its holster, and threw it over the cliff. He leaned to the side and spit into the snow, as if he were getting rid of a bad taste in his mouth.
“You’d better go on home, MacDougal. To what home you have left, that is,” Smoke said, his voice filled with disgust as he turned and walked away.
THIRTY
Sally and the men riding with her, Louis, Cal, and Pearlie, finally reached Pueblo after a hard few days’ ride. They’d encountered no resistance along the way, which surprised Louis but not Sally.
“There’s no reason for them to be watching their back trail, Louis,” she’d said when he remarked on the absence of any sentries or guards. “They’ve already got Smoke where they want him, or he is already dead.”
Louis had looked at her, his mouth open, his eyes sad.
She’d smiled grimly at him. “Oh, don’t think I don’t know that is a possibility, Louis, old friend,” she’d said, her eyes blazing. “I hope to find him well and alive, but if I don’t, I will survive it.” She’d hesitated, her face set. “I will survive it, but the men who carried this out will not.”
As they rode into town, Louis said, “I think we ought to start with the sheriff. He’s bound to know this Sarah Johnson and where her parents live.”
They rode up to the sheriff’s office, and all got down off their horses and walked through the door.
A rotund man of average stature was sitting behind his desk, his feet up on one corner, drinking coffee when they entered. Upon seeing Sally, the man jumped to his feet, grinning his most engaging smile.
“Howdy, ma’am, my name’s Wally Tupper. I’m sheriff of Pueblo. How can I be of assistance to you?”
“Hello, Sheriff Tupper,” Sally said, equally engaging. “My name is Sally Jensen. I’m from the town of Big Rock and I’m looking for a young woman named Sarah Johnson.”
They all saw the blood drain from Tupper’s face as his smile faded like a snowflake on a hot stove. “Uh, I don’t know any Sarah Johnson, Mrs. Jensen,” he said, his voice croaking on the words.
Louis stepped forward. “Maybe her name’s not Sarah Johnson, Sheriff,” he said. “She’s about this high, attractive, with long brown hair, and is in her mid-twenties. You know anyone fits that description around here?”
“Uh . . . no. Why are you looking for this woman?” the sheriff asked, sweat appearing on his forehead.
Louis cocked his head. “Why would you need to know that if you don’t know anyone by that description, Sheriff?” Louis asked, his eyes boring into Tupper’s.
“I guess . . . I guess I don’t,” the sheriff answered weakly.
Sally said, “Come on, men, let’s go ask around town.”
Louis set his hat on his head and glared at the sheriff. “Tell you what, Tupper,” he said in a low dangerous voice. “We’re going to make our way around town asking everyone we meet about this girl. If I find out she lives here and you lied to us, I’m going to come back here and have another talk with you—and I promise you won’t like the results.”
As Sally put her hand on the door, the sheriff wiped his face with a handkerchief and flopped into his desk chair. “There’s no need for that,” he said in a defeated voice.
Sally turned back around. “Sheriff, I believe this woman has something to do with the kidnapping of my husband. I think she and her friends mean him harm, so you had better tell us what you know or I will have the U.S. marshals down here to see just what part you played in all this.”
Tupper nodded slowly. “You are right, Mrs. Jensen,” he said. “The woman you describe is named Sarah MacDougal, daughter of Angus MacDougal. About six months ago, your husband was here with these gentlemen and shot and killed a young man named Johnny MacDougal.” He sighed and wiped his face again. “I do believe the MacDougals are interested in revenging that death by killing your husband.”
Louis stepped forward. “Sheriff, you know from your investigation that Johnny MacDougal started that fight and was killed in self-defense. Didn’t you tell the MacDougals that?”
Tupper nodded. “Yes, I did, but they wouldn’t believe me. Old Angus, and now his daughter Sarah, has been on the warpath for Smoke Jensen ever since the shooting. None of them will listen to reason.”
“But Mr. Tupper,” Sally interrupted. “You are the sheriff of this county. Why didn’t you do something to stop them from attacking my husband?”
Tupper held out his hands. “You don’t understand, Mrs. Jensen. Angus MacDougal owns the biggest spread in these parts and is a very powerful man. You just don’t go up against him if you want to keep your job.”
Louis snarled and reached over and jerked the tin star off Tupper’s chest, ripping a large hole in his shirt. He contemptuously tossed the star in the wastebasket next to Tupper’s desk. “You don’t deserve to wear that badge, Tupper. You were elected to represent all of the people and uphold all of the laws, not just those agreed to by the rich and powerful.”
Tupper hung his head, his face flaming scarlet. “I know, don’t you think I know that? I thought I had the guts to stand up to Augus. But I guess I’m not the man I thought I was.”
“Where is this MacDougal ranch, Mr. Tupper?” Sally asked. “And what is the fastest way to get there?”
At that moment, Smoke was riding up to the MacDougal spread, his shoulders slumped with fatigue.
He had pushed his horse as hard as he could, taking a shortcut over the mountains to get to the MacDougal ranch before any of the hands could arrive. He knew the approximate location from the talk he’d heard around the campfire when he’d been prisoner.
He rode directly up to the barn and got down off his horse. Working as fast as he could, he got two horses out of the corral next to the barn and hitched them up to a wagon.
He drove the wagon over to the ranch house and pulled it to a halt. Stepping down, he walked up on the porch and knocked on the door.
An elderly lady answered the door, and looked at him with startled eyes. “Yes, may I help you?” she asked.
Smoke took off his hat and held it in front of him. “Are you Mrs. MacDougal?” he asked politely.
The woman straightened up and looked over at him regally, as if she were royalty. “Yes, I am. My husband and I own this ranch. As I said before, what can I do for you?”