When Rusty had emptied his Colts; only one Bar V man was left in the saddle and he was hard hit and fogging it back to more friendly range, just barely managing to stay in the saddle.
Rusty took one look at Cheyenne and cursed at the loss of a friend and another man who had helped in the uneasy settling of the West. Rusty hoisted Matthew back into the saddle, found his glasses for him, and tied Cheyenne across his saddle.
“All hell is gonna break loose now, boy,” the redhead told the boy. He had inspected the boy’s wound and found it to be very painful but not too serious. The bleeding was slow, indicating that no major artery or vein had been hit. Rusty plugged the holes with a torn handkerchief and stabilized the arm in a sling.
“Feels like to me it has broke loose,” Matthew said, his voice grim and old for his age. He looked at Cheyenne. “He was my friend.”
“He was my friend, too, boy. Let’s ride.”
Both Alan and Susie had raced back to the ranch compound, yelling as they ran. Alice started crying and Micky joined her.
The boys wanted to ride after the kidnappers and shoot it out and rescue Miss Doreen. Jamie yelled them into silence and literally had to slap some sense into a couple of them. They would wait for Mr. Smoke and that was that. There wasn’t no point in going off half-cocked and getting killed.
the saloon. “Not you agin!”
“If this keeps up I’m going to get the feeling that you don’t like me,” Smoke said with a grin. “But of course,” he added, “you would be at the end of a very long list, I reckon.”
Bendel shook his head. “That don’t seem to worry you much.” He returned the smile. “One thing about it, Mr. Jensen—with you around I don’t never have to worry about bein’ bored.” He drew Smoke a mug of beer and set it down on the bar.
“I had hoped this place would not be filled up with Bar V riders.”
“Stick around,” the barkeep said mournfully. “It will be.”
“We won’t be here long. Just long enough to get supplies.”
“I’m glad you didn’t bring that four-eyed kid with you. That youngster is so calm he spooks me.”
“He’ll do to ride the river with, for sure.” Smoke sipped his beer while he waited for Walt to finish with his supply ordering. They were making a trip a week to resupply, for with fifteen growing boys to feed, the food went fast. And Rusty was no slouch when it came to grub. He could eat up a whole apple pie all by himself if the girls didn’t keep a good eye on him.
Smoke heard the sounds of horses coming up to the post and inwardly he tensed.
The barkeep cursed.
“What’s the matter, Bendel?”
“Some of Jud Vale’s hired guns ridin’ up. A whole passel of ’em.”
Smoke sighed. “One of these days I’m going to get to finish a beer in peace.”
18
Doreen had been dumped into an upstairs bedroom. It wasn’t long before Jud opened the door, his arms filled with boxes and a big grin on his broad face. He dumped the boxes on the bed.
“Them’s the finest gowns and underthings all the way from Paris, France,” he boasted. “Silks and satins and the like. And in that little box, they’s a diamond and ruby thing you wear in your hair. I forget what it’s called.”
“Tiara?” she asked.
“Yeah! That’s it, all right. I bought it all just for you, Doreen.”
“But I don’t want any of these things!”
Jud ignored that. Waved it away. Then he began to pout. “But I bought them just for you,” he said, a sulky tone in his voice.
Doreen looked at the bulk of the man, lifting her eyes to his. She could plainly see the madness in his eyes; the same kind of madness she had refused—at first—to see in Clint’s eyes. Clint Perkins, Jud Vale’s own flesh and blood. And in that instant, she realized something else: that if she was going to survive, she had best humor Jud.
But that thought, or warning, flew right out the window as Jud opened more boxes. Grinning at her, he laid the gold and jewel-encrusted headpiece on the bed and shook out the garment. “See what I bought for myself, Queen Doreen. My, oh, my, won’t we both look fine!”
Doreen couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing and laughed until the tears were running down her cheeks.
“You stop that this minute!” Jud screamed like a petulant child.
But Doreen could not stop laughing. And her laughter became uncontrollable when Jud stamped his boot on the floor and began to jump up and down, behaving very much like a naughty boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
Her laughter almost put her on the floor. Where it failed, Jud’s fist succeeded. “You’re really not going to wear that on your head, are you?” she questioned, just as Jud swung a big fist.
Doreen got her reply as her head exploded in pain and she lost consciousness.
When Rusty brought Matthew in, the hysteria of the women vanished and they took over the doctoring of the boy while Rusty solemnly cut the body of Cheyenne loose and told Jamie and Leroy to get shovels and start digging. They’d wait and have the funeral in the morning. The body would keep that long.
What to do about Doreen?
Rusty didn’t know. He looked at Alan. “Boy, could you positive say in a court of law that Jud took her?”
The boy looked at Susie. Both of them shook their heads. “No, sir,” the boy replied. “We was too far off to say positive it was him.”
“What are you getting at, Rusty?” Alice asked.
“He’ll hide her if anybody gets within ten miles of that ranch. You can bet he’ll have lookouts posted ever’where. He may be crazy, but he ain’t stupid.“
“So we wait for Smoke to come back?” Susie asked.
“That’s all I know to do.” Rusty would have liked to go charging into the mansion, both hands filled with Colts. But he was forced to put his anger and his feelings for Doreen aside and do his best to think logically, knowing that even if he should manage to reach the mansion without catching a slug, he would never breach the big house—not alive, and he would certainly be no good to Doreen dead. Or anybody else for that matter.
He would wait for Smoke to return.
Bendel looked out the dusty window. “Six of them, Mr. Jensen. I know two of them by name.”
“Who are they?”
“Blackjack Morgan and Lassiter. But them others look just as lough.”
Smoke signaled for another beer with his right hand as his left hand touched the butt of his left-hand Colt. Of late, he had been loading the Colts up full. You never knew when that extra round might save your life.
Boots and jingling spurs sounded on the porch of the trading post. The batwings squeaked open. Smoke did not turn around.
Blackjack paused at the bar and spoke to Smoke’s back. “Well, well, boys. Look what we done come up on here. The famous gunfighter, Smoke Jensen. You reckon we ought to bow down or something like that?”
His friends laughed. Smoke did not acknowledge the presence of any of them. He sipped at his beer and spoke to Bendel. “I thought I just heard a jackass bray, Bendel. You certainly do have a very strange clientele.”
Bendel got a sudden case of the jumps and moved to the end of the bar, carrying a couple of bottles of whiskey with him. He knew the drinking habits of Blackjack and Lassiter and could guess at the tastes of those with them. A tray of shot glasses were bottom’s up on a towel near the end of the bar.
“You callin’ me a jackass?” Blackjack demanded in a loud voice.
Smoke slowly turned to face the man. “Why ... it isn’t a jackass, after all. It’s Blackjack. Excuse me, Morgan. I must have been mistaken.”
“That’s the damnedest apology I ever heard,” Lassiter said.