At the next stop a very pretty young woman came aboard the train. She smiled prettily, shyly, at Smoke as she took her seat near the front of the car. Politely, Smoke nodded to her, then turned his attention back to the scenery outside. The swaggering cowboy moved quickly to sit next to the young girl and Smoke smiled, wondering if he had ever been that young and that eager around pretty girls. He put the cowboy and the girl out of his mind, then leaned his head back and tipped his hat down over his eyes for a little nap.
Smoke was asleep when the conductor tapped him on the shoulder. “Mr. Jensen, I thought you might want to know we’ll be coming in to Parlin in about fifteen minutes or so.”
“Thanks. Oh, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go forward to be with my horse,” Smoke said.
“I thought you might. Just be careful stepping across the platform going from car to car.”
“I will, thanks.”
When Smoke got up from his seat, he saw that the young girl and the cowboy were gone. He thought nothing more of it until he stepped outside where he saw the two of them standing on the platform between the cars.
“Please,” the young girl was saying. “I want to go back into the car.”
“No ma’am, you done played fast and easy with me, and I intend to see the elephant.”
Smoke was just about to go into the next car when he heard the exchange, and he stopped and looked back at them. He didn’t like butting in where it was none of his business, but the expression on the girl’s face indicated she was not a willing participant in what was going on. Still, what could happen to her on a train? He reached for the door to go into the next car.
“What are you hanging out here for, mister?” the cowboy asked irritably. “What’s goin’ on here ain’t none of your business, so you just get on now.”
Smoke sighed. He had already decided that what was going on was none of his business, but he didn’t appreciate this young polecat pointing that out to him.
“Now, get on out of here before I throw you off this train,” the cowboy said.
That’s it. Now the little son of a bitch has made it my business. “I think I will go on,” Smoke said. “But if I do, the young woman is going to go with me.”
“What? What the hell did you just say?” the cowboy asked.
“It seems pretty obvious to me that the young lady doesn’t want to be out here. I’m merely offering her my protection.”
“Haw! Your protection?”
“Yes, such as it is,” Smoke said. “I haven’t made a mistake, have I miss? I did hear you say you wanted to go back into the car, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but please go. I don’t want you to have any trouble because of me.” The tone of the girl’s voice betrayed the fear she was feeling.
“There will be no trouble, miss,” Smoke said.
“You better listen to her, mister, and leave while you are still in one piece,” the cowboy replied.
“Come with me, miss,” Smoke said. “Don’t be afraid of him.”
“I warned you!” The cowboy stepped across the vestibule and took a wild swing at Smoke. Smoke leaned back, easily avoiding the swing, then, capitalizing on the momentum of the young man’s swing, gave the young cowboy a swift kick in his behind.
The cowboy might have yelled, but so quickly did it happen that by the time he hit the down slope of the berm, the train had moved forward enough so that he couldn’t be heard.
Smoke leaned out and looked to the rear to see the young cowboy regain his feet and look on in utter shock as the train continued down the track without him.
“Oh!” The young girl put her hand to her mouth. “I hope you didn’t kill him!”
“Take a look,” Smoke invited. “He’s all right.”
The girl started toward the edge of the platform, then stepped back. “I’m too frightened to look.”
“Give me your hand, I’ll hold you,” Smoke said. “Then, take a look so you can ease your conscience.”
The young woman offered Smoke her hand, and he held it firmly as she leaned out to look toward the rear. She giggled. “He looks really mad.”
“I didn’t butt in where I wasn’t wanted, did I?” Smoke asked.
“No, no, not at all. He was being very boorish. I’m glad you stepped out here when you did.”
The girl’s smile and the expression in her eyes suggested that she would be more than willing to express her gratitude in other ways, but Smoke just returned her smile, then touched the brim of his hat before he went on forward to see to his horse.
Bridgeport
“You say you killed him in front of his mama?” Sheriff Adams said as he identified the body of Elliot Simpson. Identification wasn’t all that easy. The bullet had entered the back of Simpson’s head, and exited through his face. The resultant wound left his face very disfigured.
“Yeah, that’s how I knew for sure who he was,” Taggart answered.
“I don’t suppose you bothered to try and bring him in alive?” the sheriff asked.
“I don’t write the posters, Sheriff,” Taggart said. “The poster says dead or alive, it doesn’t say alive or dead. And you know what I figure?”
“What’s that?”
“I figure anytime a poster says dead or alive, what it really means is they want him dead. Think of all the money and time you save by not having a trial.”
“His mama must have taken it some hard,” the sheriff said.
“She knew her son was an outlaw. She had to expect somethin’ like this sometime.”
“Yes, but not right in front of her,” Sheriff Adams said. “Noni Simpson is a good woman.”
“A good woman who raised a bad son. Are you going to authorize the payment or not?”
“Yeah, I’m going to authorize the payment.” Sheriff Adams took a sheet of paper from his desk drawer and wrote on it.
Received of Jericho Taggart, the body of Elliot Simpson, wanted criminal. The reward of $1,500 dollars, said amount to be charged to the account of the state, is hereby authorized. Ty Adams, Sheriff, Delta County
Taggart took the receipt down to the bank where it was paid without question. From the bank, he went to the saloon where he had a few drinks, and played some cards. “Any of you have any idea where Smoke Jensen might be?”
“Like as not he’s at his ranch, Sugarloaf,” one of the other players said.
“I bet he ain’t,” another said.
“What makes you think he ain’t?”
“Ain’t you been readin’ the papers none? Someone shot his wife.”
“Damn, I ain’t heard that. Was she kilt?”
“I don’t know, but it don’t really make no never mind. If someone shot his wife, whether it kilt her or not, he’ll be goin’ after ’em.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Purple Peak Pass
Bill Dinkins, Wes Harley, Travis and Frank Slater were waiting at a turnout at the top of the hill the coach from Escalante to Suttle had just started to navigate. Harley climbed to the top of a rock that enabled him to see the various switchback turns in the road leading up to the pass.
“Can you still see the coach?” Dinkins called up to Harley.
“Yeah, they’ve made the last switchback. They’ll be here in a couple more minutes.”
Travis laughed out loud.
“What are you laughing at?” Dinkins asked.
“I just pissed a grasshopper off a weed. That makes him a pissed-on grasshopper.”
“So?”
“Don’t you get it? A pissed-on grasshopper is a pissed-off grasshopper.” Travis laughed again.
“Get ready,” Dinkins said without joining in the laughter. “The coach will be here in just a couple more minutes.”
“It means he’s mad,” Travis said, still trying to explain his joke.
“Get ready,” Dinkins said again.