Smoke’s eyes came open out of sleep. Something, or somebody was in the barn. He looked out the open window without moving from his bunk. About three o’clock, he guessed.
He lay still, his right hand around the butt of a Colt. When the sound came again, Smoke eared back the hammer.
A soft chuckle came out of the darkness, just outside the open door to his room. "I didn’t think I’d be able to get this far without you hearing me," the voice spoke.
“Perkins?” Smoke returned the whisper.
“Oh, my, yes. I’ve come to lend whatever assistance I can to this little war.”
“I watched you the other day. From the ridges.”
“Careless on my part, not seeing you. You’re very, very good. As good as your reputation makes you out to be, I must admit.”
Smoke felt that Perkins was not alone. All his senses were working overtime. “The girl with you?” “Good guess, compañero.”
With that correct useage, Smoke knew the man had spent some time below the border. “Going to leave her here?”
“I really have no choice in the matter. She’ll be much safer with Walt and Alice.”
“Why do you hate them so? They seem like good people to me.”
“Oh, I don’t hate them. Not at all. I know they think that, but it isn’t true. There is a medical term for my mental condition, but I shan’t bore you with ten-dollar words when a single word can sum it all up rather well. I’m crazy.”
“You have good days and you have bad days.”
“Umm. Gunfighter you may be, but you are not overcome with ignorance. Yes. That is correct”
“Have you sought help?”
“Oh, my, yes. But unfortunately, the field of psychiatry is still in its infancy, and the methods they use are really quite primitive. And they don’t work,” he added the last with a note of bitterness.
“There ought to be some coffee left in the pot. Help yourself.”
“Thank you, but I’m afraid I must decline your kind offer. How is Micky?”
“He’s a fine boy.”
“Ah, good. Doreen thinks I deserted her out of pure callousness. That was not the case. When these twilight moods strike me, I can kill anybody who stands in my way, who speaks to me in a cross manner, or simply because of a wrong word. I would be sorry for it immediately afterward, but apologizing to a corpse is a rather futile gesture, don’t you agree, Mr. Jensen?”
“I would think so, yes.”
“Should our paths cross again, Mr. Jensen, and I have a rather obvious wild-eyed look about me, leave me alone. Depart the area immediately. It’s for your own good, I assure you.”
“I’ll remember that.”
Silence.
“Clint?”
But he was speaking to shadows. Clint Perkins had vanished as softly and silently as he had arrived. “Susie?”
“I’m right here, Mr. Jensen.”
Smoke rose from his bunk and dressed. Then he lit the lamp. Susie was perhaps eighteen—no more than that. A very pretty girl, she had a wide-eyed scared look on her pale face.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me, Susie,” Smoke told her. “Come on. Let’s go wake up the house and get you settled in.”
Over coffee and bear sign, the story Susie told was one of horror, clearly indicating that Jud Vale was as nutty as a tree full of squirrels. She told of beatings, of being forced into Jud’s bed—and into the bed of Jason when Jud was feeling magnanimous. And of being forced to do things, things about which no decent person should know. Walt looked sick and Alice and Doreen almost had an attack of the swooning vapors, both of them fanning themselves vigorously.
Cheyenne wore a very uncomfortable look on his leathery face. Rusty’s face was red as a beet. Smoke had heard the boys gather around the windows, outside the house, but said nothing about it. They were getting an earful, no doubt about that. Dolittle and Harrison had not been awakened.
“Have you seen Jud kill other . . . slaves?” Smokeasked her.
“One. But half a dozen have just disappeared. I know where they’re buried, though.”
“Your parents?”
“Dead. I was on my way to California to stay with my uncle and aunt when outlaws robbed the train. They took me and sold me to Jud. If he finds out I’m here, he’ll attack this ranch.”
“He’s going to do that anyway, girl,” Walt told her. “Just relax. You’ll be safe here with us. When this is over, we’ll get you to California.”
“How did Clint find out you were at the Bar V?” Smoke asked.
“How does he find out anything?” she countered. “He’s like a ghost.” She looked at Doreen. “And no, there was never anything between us. He’s just been a good friend.”
The look Doreen gave her silently stated that she believed thai about as much as she believed elephants wore pink tights and danced the can-can.
Susie met Doreen’s eyes and accurately read the other woman’s expression. She shrugged indifferently.
“Micky can sleep in with his mother,” Alice said, stepping between the hot looks. “Susie, you take ihe boy’s bedroom until we can fix up the other bedroom. Go on, dear. Walt’s put fresh water in the basin and the towels are on the rack and the bedpan’s clean. You get some sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”
“Good idea,” Walt said, knocking the ashes from the bowl of his pipe and standing up. His wife joined him and they left the kitchen, Doreen and Susie following.
Smoke, Cheyenne, and Rusty sat around the table for a few more minutes, with Rusty and Cheyenne eating up every doughnut they could find.
“Near four-thirty,” Smoke said, refilling his coffee cup. He was almost forced to break Rusty’s hand as he reached for the last bear sign. “No point in going back to bed.”
Rusty looked frantically around for another platter of doughnuts.
He found a fresh chocolate cake and his smile almost added new light to the room as he whacked off a hunk that would choke a bull.
“Growin’ boy still,” Cheyenne said with a grin. “Cut me a piece of that, too, Rusty.”
“Smoke?”
“I’ll pass, Rusty, thanks. I’m fixing to rustle me up some bacon and eggs before long.”
“Fix some for me, too,” the young puncher spoke i around a mouthful of cake.
“Yeah. Me, too,” Cheyenne said.
Smoke grined and shook his head at the two characters. Then he sobered when he thought of what Jud Vale might do in retaliation. And another matter had been nagging at him off and on for a week or so.
“What you ruminatin’ about?” Cheyenne asked.
“Jud Vale, for one thing.”
“Just ride over and call him out and kill him. Me and Rusty and Walt will go with you.”
“The odd thing is, Cheyenne, I don’t want to kill him. He’s not right in the head, and therefore he isn’t responsible for what he’s doing. It might come to a killing, but I hope it isn’t me who has to do it.”
Cheyenne thought about that for a moment. “And the other thing?”
Smoke sighed and finished his coffee. He nodded his head toward the outside. Rusty cut the lamps low and followed them. They walked over to the corral and Smoke pulled out the makings and built himself a cigarette.
“Walt has confided in me that he is a wealthy man,” Smoke said. “Why doesn’t he hire guns and let them bang it out with Jud’s men?”
“I’ve pondered over that my very own self,” Cheyenne admitted. “I can’t come up with no firm answer.”
Rusty looked startled for a moment. Then he shook his head in disbelief. He threw down his own cigarette and stomped it out, his spurs jingling with the movement. “I can’t believe you two guys!” he finally blurted.
“What do you mean, you red-headed pup?” Cheyenne looked at him.
Rusty just laughed at him.
“I’ll bust you up side your punkin head,” Cheyenne told him, balling a hand into a fist and drawing it back.
“Whoa!” Rusty stepped back.
“You better explain yourself, Rusty. If you know something we need to know, spit it out.”