All the time Dinkins was talking to Smoke, he was going down the path—an easy walk sometimes. Other times, where the path made a steep drop, or in some other way made its transit difficult, Dinkins put one or two hands on a rock to help him negotiate the obstacle.
When Dinkins was no more than thirty feet from Smoke the path stepped down about three feet. It was too far to step directly down, but a rock outcropping provided Dinkins with some leverage when he put his hand on it. He stepped down with some difficulty.
Smoke had been watching him descend, almost lulled into the slow, laborious operation, when all of a sudden a pistol appeared in Dinkins’ hand.
Dinkins wasn’t wearing a holster. That was one of the first things Smoke had checked. So, where did the pistol come from?
That wasn’t a thought Smoke dwelled on for more than a split second, for a split second is all the time he had to respond. He fired, his bullet hitting Dinkins in the middle of his chest.
Dinkins fell headfirst down the drop, his head hitting the stone ground below. He flipped over on his back, then stared up through open, but sightless eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Sugarloaf Ranch
“There’s no need for you to go into town, Miss Sally,” Cal said. “Whatever you need, I’ll get for you.”
“What if I told you I want to go to Amy’s Ladies’ Shop to buy a new camisole?” Sally said. “Would you buy that for me?”
“Well, I, uh, I mean if you told me what kind, uh, I could, uh ...” Cal blushed profusely as he tried to respond to Sally’s question.
She laughed. “See, you can’t get whatever it is I might need. I have to do it myself.”
“But I don’t think you should be ridin’ yet. It ain’t been, I mean, it hasn’t been that long since you got shot.”
“Nonsense, the wound is completely healed and I feel fine. Smoke has been through this a dozen times. So have you and Pearlie. Besides, I’m getting cabin fever. I have to get out of the house.”
“Yes ma’am, well, I reckon I can understand that all right. I can ride along with you.”
“For heaven’s sake, Cal, are you saying there isn’t enough to keep you busy here at the ranch?”
“Well, yes, ma’am, I reckon there is, it’s just ...”
“It’s just nothing,” Sally said. “Don’t worry about me. I will be all right. Nothing is going to happen.”
“Yes, ma’am. Well, I’ll hitch up the buckboard. Or would you rather take the surrey?”
“Neither,” Sally said. “I’m going to ride. You can saddle my horse if you would like.”
“But don’t you think it would be better if—”
Whatever question Cal was going to ask was cut off by a direct stare from Sally.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll get your horse saddled.”
“Cal, saddle the filly.”
“Yes, ma’am. I know you have a particular like for that horse.”
As Sally rode into town, she felt an exhilarating sense of freedom. For the first time since she had been shot, she felt like her old self and, in her enthusiasm, she urged her horse into a gallop. Leaning down over the horse’s neck, she galloped at full speed for at least a quarter mile, enjoying the wind in her face and hair.
Finally she stopped the gallop and allowed the horse to continue at a gait needed to cool her down. She patted the horse’s neck, and spoke soothingly. “Good girl. Smoke won’t race us, because I think he is afraid you could beat Seven. I don’t just think, I know you could beat him. But, between us girls, there’s no need to be showing up the men now, is there? Sometimes we just have to grin and bear it.”
Big Rock
Jericho Taggart was sitting in the Brown Dirt Cowboy nursing a beer. He knew this was where Smoke lived. All he had to do was hang around town until he showed up.
“Well, look there,” one of the saloon patrons said, pointing through the front window. “That’s Mrs. Jensen riding down the street just as sassy as you please. She sure don’t look none the worse for bein’ shot now, does she?”
A couple others moved to the front to watch as Sally rode by.
“That’s Smoke Jensen’s wife, is it?” Taggart asked.
“Yes. Oh, you was askin’ about him, wasn’t you? Well sir, if you was to go ask Mrs. Jensen, I’ll bet she could tell you where he is, and when he is gettin’ home.”
“Where is Jensen, anyhow?” one of the others asked. “I ain’t seen him around in more’n a month. ’Course, this here ain’t the saloon he comes to. I reckon he’s too high tone for it.”
“Not a bit of it,” the bartender said. “Smoke Jensen is as fine a man as there is anywhere in this world. He don’t come in here ’cause he and Longmont are just real close friends.”
“Yeah, but he ain’t even been down there in a month of Sundays.”
“He’s been on the trail of them that shot his wife,” the bartender said. “He’ll be back when he has them all took care of.”
“If he takes care of all of ’em.”
“When,” the bartender insisted.
Taggart finished his beer, then walked to the livery stable where he rented two saddle horses, complete with saddles and gear. After that, he left town going in the direction of Sugarloaf Ranch, riding one horse and leading the other.
Somewhere between Big Rock and Sugarloaf
Sally was on her way back to the ranch, her purchases for the day in a bag hanging from the saddle horn. She was about halfway home when she heard a loud bang. To her shock and horror, her horse’s head seemed to explode in front of her, as blood, bone, and brain matter burst out.
The horse fell. It happened so fast Sally was barely able to get her leg out from under her. In doing so, she was out of position, and her head hit the ground hard.
Everything went black.
Sally was aware that she was sitting in the saddle of a horse being led by another rider who was in front of her. Almost at the same moment, she realized that her hands were tied together, and her ankles were tied to the stirrups. She was confused as to why and how she had gotten there.
Then she remembered hearing a shot, and seeing her horse’s head explode in front of her. How long ago was that?
She was able to lift her hands and found her watch, still pinned to the bodice of her dress. Pulling it out, she examined it. It was five minutes after eleven. It was ten o’clock when she left town to start back home, and it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes later when she was ambushed on the road.
How long had she been on this horse? She could not remember a thing beyond her horse being shot, but she must have been conscious. Unless the man in front of her put her on the horse while she was unconscious. She had no memory of any of that.
“Who are you?” she called to the rider. “Where are we going?”
The rider stopped, then looked back at her. “Oh, so you are not too high and mighty to talk to me now, are you? I’ve been trying to get you to say something for the last hour.”
“I-I don’t remember anything about the last hour,” Sally said. “Why am I tied up? What do you want with me?”
“Oh, I don’t want you for anything,” the rider said. “It’s your husband I want.”
“What is your name?”
“My name is Taggart. Jericho Taggart.”
“Why do you want my husband, Mr. Taggart?”
“Because he is worth five thousand dollars, dead or alive.”
“That’s ridiculous! My husband isn’t a wanted man. He is an outstanding, law-abiding citizen.”
“Someone wants him,” Taggart said. “And they are willing to pay five thousand dollars for him.”
“Well, if you want him, why have you taken me?”