“Sally, are you all right?”
“Yes,” Sally’s muffled voice came from under the bed.
“You can come out now.”
“What is it? What’s going on?” someone shouted from down the hall.
“Was that gunshots?” another asked.
“What happened to the lanterns in the hall?”
“Someone go for the sheriff!”
Smoke lit the lantern in his room, then walked over to look down at the two men he had shot.
“Are they dead?” Sally asked. She was tying the waist of the silken robe she had just put on over her nightgown.
“Yes.”
“Hello? Is anyone alive in there?” someone called from the hotel hallway.
“It’s all over, folks,” Smoke called back.
One brave soul appeared in the doorway, carrying a pistol. Seeing him, Smoke aimed his pistol at him; then, from having met him at the dinner last evening, he recognized Tucker Phillips. Phillips was one of the men who would be bidding against him tomorrow. Smoke eased the hammer back down on his pistol and lowered it.
“Mr. Phillips, I’d be much obliged if you’d lower your pistol,” Smoke said.
“Right, right,” Phillips said. “I just thought—well, uh, right, I’ll put the gun down. Are you and Mrs. Jensen all right?”
“Yes, we’re fine, thank you,” Smoke answered.
As Smoke had done a moment earlier, Tucker Phillips looked down at the two men on the floor. Both were dead, but the fact that they were clutching guns in their hands and were fully clothed, whereas Smoke was wearing the long underwear he had been sleeping in, clearly told the story that Smoke was the innocent participant in the shooting.
By now, several others had gotten brave enough to venture down to the room and look inside.
“There’s two dead men in there,” someone said from just outside the door to Smoke’s room.
“Two dead men,” another said, and Smoke could hear the refrain repeated up and down the hallway as the crowd of hotel guests gathered.
It took about fifteen minutes for the deputy sheriff to arrive. He looked down at the men, prodding each of them with the toe of his boot to convince himself that both were dead.
“You’re Smoke Jensen, aren’t you?” the deputy asked. “Come to bid on the bull at the big auction?”
“Yes,” Smoke said.
“Well, then, there’s not much of a mystery here, is there? These two galoots probably found out who you are, and they come in here to rob you.”
“And maybe more,” Smoke said.
“What do you mean?”
“This one is Stu Sinclair, this one is Jason Sinclair,” Smoke said, pointing out the two men.
“You know them?”
“In a manner of speaking, I do.” Smoke told about his encounter with the two men who had tried to rob the Mercantile in Big Rock. “They broke out of jail on the first night,” he concluded.
“Ahh, then it was probably a little of both. Revenge, and to rob you.”
“And maybe more,” Smoke repeated.
“More? What more could there be?”
“Look in Jason’s shirt pocket,” Smoke said.
The deputy knelt beside the one Smoke had identified as Jason Sinclair, then reached into his shirt pocket. From the pocket, he extracted three one-hundred-dollar bills.
“I’ll be,” he said. “This is three hunnert dollars. Who would have thought that a galoot like this would have three hunnert dollars on him?”
“It’s not just three hundred dollars, it is three one-hundred-dollar bills,” Smoke said. “I believe that money was given to them tonight.”
“Well now, that’s kind of strange,” the deputy said. “Why do you suppose someone would give them three hundred dollars?”
“I think someone paid them to kill me.”
“I’m sorry about what happened to you last night,” Sheriff Walker said to Smoke the next day. “If I had known the Sinclair boys were in town, I would have had them in jail. There is paper out on them now.”
“There were three of them,” Smoke said.
“Yes, Emil, Jason, and Stu.”
“Emil is the smart one.”
“You mean because he got away last night?”
“He got away the last time, too.”
Sheriff Walker stroked his chin. “Yeah, well, no doubt he’s a long way from here by now.”
“I’m not so sure about that. I think he is still here.”
“If he is, I’ll have my deputies keep an eye out for him. Can you tell me what he looks like?”
“I’ve never actually seen him up close,” Smoke said. “I only saw him once, and then from a distance, when he and the others rode into Big Rock the day they tried to hold up the Mercantile. I saw him last night, of course, but it was so dark that I couldn’t make out any features.”
“So what you are saying is, you could pass him on the street and not recognize him?”
“Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”
“Well, if that’s the case, there really ain’t no need for him to be gone, is there? Not if you can’t even recognize him.”
“That’s true,” Smoke replied. “Tell me, Sheriff, will I be needed for an inquiry or anything?”
“No, I don’t think so,” the sheriff answered. “From everything I can determine, and from the statements I took from the other hotel guests, it seems pretty obvious they were coming into your room to rob you. Besides, Mr. Jensen, I know you and I know your reputation. If anything does come up, I certainly know how to get hold of you.”
“Yes, I’ll be here until after the auction today. After that, you can reach me at Sugarloaf, my ranch.”
“You came to make a bid for Prince Henry, didn’t you?”
“If he is all he is cracked up to be. And if I can afford him,” Smoke replied.
“Well, from what folks say about him, he’s quite a bull. I reckon he would make a good addition to anybody’s herd. And after this, you can probably afford to bid a little higher than you’d planned.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like I said, there was paper out on those two men who tried to rob you last night. There is a five-hundred-dollar reward on each one of them. That means you are a thousand dollars richer today than you was yesterday. If you stop back by my office just before the auction, I’ll have your money ready for you.”
“You don’t say. Well, now, that’s good to know,” Smoke said. “Thanks, Sheriff Walker.”
Chapter Nine
Tucker Phillips, Miller Smith, and their wives joined Smoke and Sally for lunch at the Manitou Restaurant, advertised in the Colorado Springs Gazette as “Colorado’s Finest Restaurant.” Sally, Mrs. Phillips, and Mrs. Smith had gone shopping that morning, and Mrs. Smith had bought a new hat at Wilbur and Woulf, an emporium on Tejon Street. She was wearing it now and Sally, after giving Smoke a small kick under the table, nodded toward Mrs. Smith.
“Mrs. Smith, what a pretty hat,” Smoke said, getting the signal.
“Why, thank you, Mr. Jensen,” Mrs. Smith replied, beaming at the compliment.
“I wonder why Pogue Quentin didn’t join us,” Tucker Phillips said. “From what I understand, he is the only other person who will actually be bidding on Prince Henry.”
“Do you know anything about Quentin?” Smith asked.
Phillips shook his head. “Not really, just that he is a pretty big rancher.”
“I don’t know him, but a fella who used to cowboy for me, James Colby, went down to Huereano County and bought himself a small ranch. He sent me a letter not too long ago, said that this man, Quentin, had cheated every other ranch owner in the county out of his ranch,” Smith said.
“How did he do that?” Phillips asked.