“I’m sorry, Mr. Gray,” Dr. Potter said. “Mrs. Gray and her friend, Mrs. Johnson, were both killed. So were Mr. Calhoun and Mr. Evans.”
“Pop!” a young boy of about sixteen called. “No! I came to town to get him! What will I tell Ma?”
As news spread through the town, bringing realization that five people had been killed, three of whom were from Suttle, anger and sorrow became pervasive.
There were resolute shouts to form a posse to go after the perpetrators, but nothing progressed beyond the shouts. The real finality of the event occurred when Gene Welch, the undertaker, arrived at the scene, not with a hearse, but with an open wagon large enough to accommodate all five bodies.
“Would someone give me a hand, please?” he asked, and a dozen or more willing souls stepped up to help pass the bodies down from the top of the coach.
Harold Denman, editor of the Suttle Sentinal didn’t even bother to write out the story first. He composed the story as he set the type, which was not that difficult a job for him. He had grown up in a print shop, and had been setting type for as long as he could remember. Because of that he was able to read the type in reverse as easily as he could read it forward.
Inking the platen, Denman brought down the press to make the first impression. Then he pulled the first page of the press and looked at the story he had written, putting it out as a special edition.
Coach Holdup Between Escalante and Suttle
FIVE ARE MURDERED IN COLD BLOOD
In a most dastardly fashion, Bill Dinkins and his gang of murderers and thieves lay in wait at Purple Peak Pass on Friday of the week previous. When the driver, Stan McVey, reached the top of the grade, he stopped, as all good drivers do, to give his team an opportunity to catch their breath.
It was there, according to Mr. McVey, that four masked men showed themselves. Without so much as one word, they began shooting, the balls taking fatal effect not only on Mr. Evans and Mr. Calhoun, but also on Mrs. Gray and Mrs. Johnson, they being passengers. Burt Conway, the messenger, was also killed. The robbers relieved the coach of its money pouch, containing five thousand dollars.
Miss Dawson, who survived the attack, told Sheriff Jones she overheard one of the men say the name Bill Dinkins. It is this comment, uttered by one of the perpetrators of the evil deed, which has enabled the sheriff to declare it to be the work of the Dinkins gang.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Delta, Colorado
There was nothing specific about the little town that caused Smoke to go there. It was just one of the many fly-blown towns he hadn’t checked out before. It was one week after he left Sugarloaf, this time convinced that Sally was fully on the mend. He had spent the last six nights out on the trail, so the thought of a bed and bath was all the incentive he needed, whether Dinkins was there or not.
After making certain that Seven was stabled and fed at Fadley’s Corral, he checked in to the Central House Hotel.
“Yes, sir, Mister”—the clerk turned the register to examine it—“Jensen? Mr. Jensen, welcome to Delta and the Central House Hotel. I hope you find the accommodations satisfactory.”
“I’m sure I will, thank you,” Smoke said. “I see that you have a restaurant here in the hotel. Is it one that you would recommend? I mean, beside the fact that you are working here?”
“I do indeed recommend it, and it is not just because I work here,” the clerk replied.
“No need to apologize for being loyal to your employer. I admire loyalty. Suppose, after dinner, I would like to have a drink or two. Which saloon would you recommend?”
“We have three saloons in town, but I would recommend the Palace Sampling Room. You can’t miss it. It is right across the street from the Farmers and Merchants Bank.”
“Thank you.” Smoke saw a stack of newspapers on the corner of the desk. “Local paper?”
“Yes, sir, this is the Delta Free Press, printed right here in town, once a week.”
Smoke picked up one of the papers. “How much is it?”
“Oh, the paper is free for the hotel guests, sir,” the clerk said.
Smoke nodded, then went into the dining room. Selecting a table where he could place his back in the corner, he read it as he waited for his dinner to be served.
One article had the headline Outlaw Cole Parnell Hurled into Eternity in Legal Hanging.
He felt no particular need to read that article, as he had been present when the hanging took place. But the next article did catch his attention.
Coach Holdup Between Escalante and Suttle
FIVE ARE MURDERED IN COLD BLOOD
Smoke smiled. Escalante was the next town over from Delta. He was on the trail, all right.
As Smoke started into the dining room, the clerk reached under his desk and pulled out a circular someone had brought him a few days earlier.
WANTED
FOR MURDER
SMOKE JENSEN
$5,000 REWARD
DEAD OR ALIVE
to be paid by
Sheriff of La Plata County
The desk clerk scrawled a quick note, then signaled to one of the bellhops. As the young bellhop approached the desk, the clerk held the note out toward him. “Kenny, here is a quarter for you. I want you to run down the street to the Palace Sampling Room and give this to Loomis Coltrane.”
Kenny nodded, then left the hotel on his mission.
Ten minutes later Loomis Coltrane came into the lobby. Coltrane was a medium-sized man, unprepossessing in appearance with a sweeping mustache and evil looking eyes. He strode over to the desk. “The note said you wanted to see me.”
“Do you remember the wanted poster you brought me the other day?”
“Yeah, what of it?”
“Suppose I told you that I know where you can find Kirby Jensen?”
“Kirby Jensen? I ain’t interested in him. It’s Smoke Jensen that the reward is for.”
“They are one and the same.”
“The hell you say.”
“Yes, I say.”
“So, what if I am looking for him?” Coltrane asked.
“It might be that I know where to find him,” the clerk said.
“Where?”
“Information like that should be worth something, don’t you think?”
“Where is he?”
“Like say, a thousand dollars?”
“A thousand dollars? Are you crazy? I ain’t got that kind of money.”
“I’m willing to wait until after you collect the reward.”
“That’s too much money. There are already three of us involved,” Coltrane said.
“That will give you thirteen hundred and thirty dollars apiece. Surely you can be satisfied with that.”
Coltrane stroked his jaw for a moment, then nodded. “All right, I’ll go along with it. That is, if your information tells us how to find him.”
The clerk leaned around to look into the dining room. At first he didn’t see Smoke, then he spotted him in the far corner.
“Do you see that man back in the corner, reading the newspaper?”
“Yeah, what about him?”
“That’s Smoke Jensen.”
Coltrane studied him for a moment longer. “Hmm. He don’t look all that tough to me.”
“I’m sure there has been many a man who has made that same judgment, or should I say, misjudgment?”
Coltrane took a step toward the dining room.
“No,” the clerk said sharply. “Whatever you have planned, don’t do it here.”
“Don’t worry, I ain’t goin’ to do anything here,” Coltrane said. “Not without Grange and Stallings.”