Jim Robison was a lawyer back in Big Rock who was not only a friend, but who’d done some work for Smoke.
“Well, if Jim recommends him, that is good enough for me,” Sally said.
Finally, the train jerked to a halt and the other passengers in the car started securing their things, preparatory to exiting.
“Oh, what a handsome-looking train station,” Sally said as she and Smoke stepped down from the train.
The building that had caught Sally’s attention was the Denver and Rio Grande Depot. Built of brick, it was one of the more impressive-looking buildings in town. The depot had a red-tiled roof with dormers and a cupola on top from which the yardmaster could observe train traffic on the eight sets of tracks that made up the marshaling area.
Sally saw him first, a young man standing on the platform, holding up a sign.
SMOKE JENSEN
“Smoke, look over there,” Sally said, pointing the young man out to her husband. “Oh, I hope that isn’t Mr. Murchison. He is so young.”
“Lawyers aren’t born old, you know,” Smoke replied. “They are all young at some point.”
“I suppose so. But I do prefer a little seasoning.”
“Let’s go meet him,” Smoke said, leading Sally in the direction of the young man. “I’m Smoke Jensen,” Smoke said when they reached him.
“Mr. Jensen, my name is Roy Clinton.”
“Good,” Sally said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I mean, I thought you were Mr. Murchison.”
“No, ma’am. Mr. Murchison asked me to pick you up and take you to the hotel. He has already secured a room for you, and he said he would join you for breakfast.”
“Oh, I’m too tired for breakfast,” Sally said.
“You may as well eat,” Smoke said. “Besides, a good breakfast will refresh you.”
“How far is the hotel?” Sally asked.
“Your room is at the Homestead Hotel. It’s a nice place, and it’s close by,” Roy said. “Do you have luggage?”
“Yes, it’s on the luggage car.”
“That’s the surrey over there. Why don’t you go climb aboard? I’ll make arrangements to have your luggage sent directly to your hotel room.”
“All right, thanks,” Smoke said.
Smoke was carrying a small grip with him, and he and Sally walked over to the surrey and climbed in. As they waited in the surrey, Smoke watched Roy speak to one of the railroad officials and give him some money.
“He seems like a nice young man,” Sally said.
“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself now?”
“Why should I be ashamed?”
“For saying you are glad it wasn’t Murchison.”
“No. I’m still glad he isn’t Mr. Murchison.”
Roy came back to the surrey.
“All taken care of,” he said as he climbed into the surrey, then picked up the reins.
“Are you a lawyer in Tom Murchison’s office?” Smoke said.
“Yes and no,” Roy replied. “I’m reading for the law, but I am not yet a practicing attorney. I’m apprenticed to Mr. Murchison.”
“Well, you seem quite efficient, so I’m sure you will make a very good lawyer,” Sally said.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Roy replied, beaming at the compliment.
Smoke and Sally checked into the hotel, then went up to their room.
“Oh, look, a bed,” Sally said. “Couldn’t we just send our regrets and meet Mr. Murchison for lunch?”
“I tell you what. You go ahead and take a nap,” Smoke said. “I’ll meet Mr. Murchison for breakfast.”
“You are a dear,” Sally said, kissing Smoke.
When Smoke went downstairs to the dining room, he was met by the maître d’.
“I’m to meet Mr. Murchison for breakfast,” Smoke said. “I’ve never met him, so I don’t know what he looks like. When he comes in, I would appreciate it if you would send him over to my table.”
“He is already here, sir,” the maître d’ replied. “Follow me, please. I’ll take you to him.”
Tom Murchison was rather short, with thinning hair that had once been red, blue eyes enlarged by his glasses, and a spray of freckles. He stood as Smoke approached.
“Mr. Jensen,” Murchison said. “I have heard so much about you. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you,” Smoke said, taking a seat that put his back to the wall and allowed him to have a view of the room and the door.
“I was led to believe that Mrs. Jensen was with you. Will she be joining us?”
“No, not right away. Later perhaps.”
“Very good. Oh, I’ve researched the bull that is being auctioned. Prince Henry’s sire is Gold Nugget, and his dam is Gladys of Farleigh, both of whom have won awards in cattle shows. Prince Henry has already proven himself to be a good breeder, and his progeny are all well framed, heavy muscled, moderate at birth, but with a tremendous growth curve, correct off their feet and legs, and with great eye appeal.”
“So he is what they claim him to be?”
“Yes, every bit of it. He will be a prize for whoever gets him.”
“Do you have any idea how many people will be coming to the auction?” Smoke asked.
“About a hundred, I think.”
“Whoa! A hundred?” Smoke asked in surprise.
“Yes, there is to be a dinner tonight for all who will be at the auction tomorrow.”
“Will they all be bidding on Prince Henry?” Smoke asked.
“Very few will actually bid on Prince Henry. I mean when you think about it, he’s the crème de la crème of the auction and he is probably out of the price range of all but a few. But there will be several other bulls and cows in the auction, and that is what is attracting most of the others who will attend.”
A waiter brought their breakfast then, and it wasn’t until he left the table that Smoke resumed his questioning.
“About how many do you think will be bidding on Prince Henry?” he asked.
Murchison chuckled. “I thought you might ask that,” he said, “so I made some inquiries.” He pulled a piece of paper from his inside jacket pocket and began to read.
“It looks like there will only be about four serious bidders. Miller Smith owns Sky Meadow Ranch. He will be bidding. Smith is pretty stout and will be able to take the bidding up for quite a way. Tucker Phillips, of Backtrail Ranch, will also be bidding. But Phillips only manages Backtrail, he doesn’t actually own it. The owner lives in England, and I’m sure that means Phillips probably has a limit as to how much he can spend.”
Smoke laughed. “We all have a limit as to how much we can spend,” he said.
“Yes, but Mr. Phillips’ limit will be absolute. There will be one other serious bidder there, and he may be the one who will be your biggest competition. His name is Pogue Quentin.”
“Pogue Quentin? I don’t think I know him.”
“He owns the Tumbling Q down at Santa Clara,” Dan said. “From what I can determine, he moved there from Texas about ten years ago. Now he is the biggest rancher in Huereano County.”
“That’s a pretty short time to become such a big rancher. He must have come well heeled.”
“From what I understand, he did arrive with a considerable amount of money and was able to buy some land when it was at a depressed value,” Murchison said. “He’s recently enlarged his holdings by incorporating neighboring ranches, though I don’t know how he did it.”
“Let’s discuss the bull,” Smoke said. “Where is Prince Henry now? Will it be possible for me to see him?”
“Yes. He’s down at the auction barn. They are keeping him in a private stall, separated from the others. By all means, go down and take a look.”
Smoke waited until Sally had finished her nap so she could accompany him when he went down to the sale barn to see Prince Henry.
There were several cows in pens waiting to be sold, but Prince Henry was all alone in a clean and roomy stall. He was eating when Smoke and Sally stepped up to the pen to have a look at him. Prince Henry looked over toward them with only mild interest, then returned to the task at hand—eating.