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“All right. Let’s go see if we can wake her up.”

“Pearlie, you don’t think she’s dead, do you?” Cal asked anxiously as they walked quickly from the barn to the big house.

“No, she was feelin’ real good last night. You know that.”

“Yeah, and that’s what is got me worried. I mean, if she was feelin’ all that good last night, how come it is that she ain’t woke up yet this mornin’?”

“You worry too much,” Pearlie said.

The two men entered the big house, then walked down the hallway to the bedroom that Smoke and Sally shared. Pearlie knocked on the door.

“Miss Sally? Miss Sally, it’s Pearlie. It’s late mornin’, now. You want somethin’? Would you like for us to bring you a cup of coffee?”

The two men waited outside the door for Sally’s answer, but no answer was forthcoming.

“Miss Sally, are you all right?” Pearlie called. “Me ’n Cal is gettin’ a little worried here. I mean, not hearin’ nothin’ from you and all. Would make us feel a lot better if you would answer us.”

There was still no answer.

“Oh, she’s dead, Pearlie. She’s dead, I just know it,” Cal said. “We was left to look after her, and we didn’t do our job.”

Pearlie tried the door, and finding it unlocked, pushed it open.

“You ain’t goin’ into her bedroom, are you?” Cal asked, aghast at the idea.

“Why not?” Pearlie replied. “If she’s dead, it won’t matter none. And if she is alive, then somethin’ is obvious wrong and she needs us.”

“Yeah,” Cal answered. “Yeah, I guess you are right.”

The two walked into the bedroom. Sally was lying on her back, covered to her shoulders, with her head turned to one side on her pillow. Pearlie put his hand down in front of her nose. “She’s alive. I can feel her breathin’.”

“Miss Sally? Miss Sally, wake up,” Cal said. “You’re scarin’ us somethin’ fierce. Please wake up.”

Sally’s eyes opened, but there was a glazed look in them, as if she didn’t quite know where she was, or what was going on.

Pearlie touched her forehead, then jerked his hand back.

“What is it?” Cal asked.

“Her skin is hot.”

“She’s got a fever. I remember Doctor Gunther tellin’ us that if she got a fever, we was to come get him right away, ’cause that would mean somethin’ bad was happenin’.”

Pearlie turned away from the bed and started out of the bedroom.

“Where are you goin’?” Cal asked.

“I’m going after Dr. Colton. And I’m going to send a telegram to Smoke.”

“How do we even know where he is?”

“Before he left he made a list of what towns he was goin’ to, and when he would get there,” Pearlie said. “I’m goin’ to send the telegram to three towns, the one he was just at, the one he is supposed to be at now, and the next town on his list. He is sure to be in one of those three places.”

“What should I do?” Cal asked.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure what should be done. But I reckon that if you kept a dampened cloth on her forehead that might help some. And if it don’t help, it’s for sure goin’ to make her feel better, I would think.”

“Yeah, good idea. I’ll get a pan of water,” Cal said. “And I’ll be right here when you get back with the doctor.”

It took Pearlie less than half an hour to get to town from the ranch. He found Dr. Colton sitting around the cracker barrel in the general store, talking with half a dozen citizens of the town. Dr. Colton smiled when he looked up, but seeing the expression on Pearlie’s face, the smile left.

“What is it, Pearlie? What is wrong?”

“It’s Miss Sally, Dr. Colton. She’s took much worse. You got to come quick.”

Dr. Colton got up so fast his chair tipped over behind him, the commotion causing others in the store to look over to see what was going on.

“I’ll be there as quickly as I can get my medical bag, and my surrey hitched up.”

“You get your bag and whatever else you need,” Pearlie said. “I’ll hook up your surrey. Then I’m goin’ to have to send a telegram to Smoke.”

Parlin

It was just after lunch when Smoke went into the saloon.

“I see you are back,” the bartender said when Smoke stepped up to the bar. “I reckon the beer you got here last night didn’t kill you.”

“I reckon not,” Smoke said.

“You want another one?”

“Yes, please.” Smoke put a coin on the bar as the bartender turned to draw a draft for him.

There were very few customers in the saloon at that hour, but Barlow and Slim were sitting at a table in the far back corner of the saloon, waiting for the opportunity to put their plan in motion. When Smoke came into the saloon, Barlow reached over to touch Slim on the shoulder. “That’s him.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. You see anyone else that big around here?”

“All right. How are we going to do this?”

“Just like we talked about it last night,” Barlow said. “You go up there and brace him. While you’re callin’ him out, he won’t be payin’ no attention to me. I’ll shoot him when he starts to draw on you.”

“Why am I the one who has to brace him?” Slim asked. “This is your idea. Why don’t you do it?”

“I’m a better shot than you are, that’s why. Iffen I was to be the one to brace him, you might miss. Then where would we be?”

“They say he’s awful fast. What if you don’t get your gun out in time?”

“My gun is already goin’ to be out,” Barlow said. “You want your share of the thousand dollars or not?”

“Why don’t we just wait outside, say, behind a buildin’ or somethin’, and shoot him when he walks by?”

“If we do somethin’ like that, we could get hung for murder. But this way we can pass it off as a fight.”

Slim had a glass of whiskey in front of him, and he tossed it down, then reached over for Barlow’s whiskey, and drank it down as well.

“Are you ready now?” Barlow asked.

“Yeah.” Slim took a deep breath, stood up, then walked up to the bar, standing at the opposite end from Smoke. Smoke was leaning forward with both arms on the bar, his hands wrapped around a beer mug.

“Hey, you!” Slim called out. “Smoke Jensen! That is your name, ain’t it? Smoke Jensen?”

Like many men who live on the edge, Smoke had developed an awareness of danger that could not be explained by any of the other senses. He had felt, rather than heard, the two men talking about him, and he knew they were going to try to kill him. He just didn’t know when, where, or how. Now it was playing out.

Smoke turned toward Slim. “Mister, you think you’re going to collect that thousand dollar reward that Dinkins has out on me?” Smoke asked the question as calmly as if he were inquiring as to the time.

That frightened Slim the most—the quiet and completely unruffled demeanor of the man.

“I-I don’t know what you are talking about,” Slim said.

“Oh, sure you do,” Smoke said. “Bill Dinkins, the man who shot my wife and has murdered at least six people in the last month, has put out a one thousand dollar reward to anyone who would kill me. And here you are, about to make a grab for that money. That’s right, isn’t it?”

Slim licked his lips, but didn’t say anthing.

“How is this supposed to work?” Smoke asked. “Are you supposed to get my attention while your friend over there at the table shoots me?”

“Barlow, he knows!” Slim shouted.

“Slim, you fool! Shut up!” Barlow shouted, firing at Smoke even as he was shouting at Slim.

Smoke’s sense of awareness kicked in, and he stepped back just before Barlow fired. The bullet from Barlow’s pistol slammed into the bar right where Smoke had been but a second earlier.