“I—I will need some time to raise a little more cash,” Quentin said.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Quentin,” the auctioneer said. “The rules are quite specific. The terms are cash, due at the time of the purchase.”
Quentin sat in his seat for a moment; then, without a word, but casting an angry glare toward Smoke, he got up and left the room.
“One thousand five hundred once, one thousand five hundred twice, one thousand five hundred three times,” the auctioneer said. He slammed his gavel on the podium. “Prince Henry is sold to Smoke Jensen for one thousand five hundred dollars.”
The others in the sale barn applauded as Smoke walked down front to take possession of the animal.
“You’ve bought yourself a good bull, Mr. Jensen,” R.J. Billings, the seller of the bull, said as he received the money, then turned over the bull and his bill of sale.
“Thanks,” Smoke said. “I’ve recently introduced Herefords, and I’m hoping Prince Henry will strengthen my herd.”
“Oh, he will, I promise you that,” Billings said.
“I noticed that Mr. Quentin seemed quite upset,” Billings said. “He left the building without so much as a fare-thee-well.”
“Yes, he did. Well, if he was all that upset, I’d just as soon not have to deal with him. I’ve had enough conflict in my life. I don’t need any more,” Smoke said.
“Yes,” Billings said with a chuckle. “I heard about your conflict last night.”
“It would seem that everyone in town has heard.”
“I’m glad it turned out as it did. From all I have heard about you, you are a good man. I would not want to have seen you hurt.”
“Ha!” Smoke teased. “What you mean is, you would not want to have lost the sale.”
Billings laughed out loud. “Well, there you go, Mr. Jensen, you have found me out,” he said. “But I’m also glad that Prince Henry has found a home with a gentleman like you. How will you be getting Prince Henry back to your ranch?”
“By train.”
“If you wish, I will make the transportation arrangements for you. A bull like this needs special accommodations. Also, having raised him from a calf, I’d like a moment to tell him good-bye if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Smoke said. “If you need me for anything, I’ll be down at the saloon.”
Chapter Ten
As Pogue Quentin stood in the hotel hallway unlocking the door to his hotel room, Emil Sinclair stepped out of the broom closet.
“Sinclair, are you a damn fool? The whole town is looking for you. What are you doing here?” Quentin asked.
“I got to get out of town,” he said.
“Well, you aren’t going to get out of town standing here.”
“I ain’t got no money.”
“What do you mean, you don’t have any money? I gave you three hundred dollars.”
“Jason wanted to hold on to the money until we was done,” Emil said.
“That’s not my problem,” Quentin said. “If I hadn’t given you that money, I would have been able to raise the bid. And if you and your brothers hadn’t been so incompetent, you would have a lot of money now and I would have Prince Henry.”
“You wound up gettin’ both my brothers killed,” Sinclair said.
Quentin shook his head. “That was your bungling.”
“They was killed doin’ somethin’ you wanted done. You owe me.”
Quentin shook his head. “I don’t owe you a damn thing.”
“There’s things I could tell people about you, Quentin, about things we done together down in Texas.”
“So you told me,” Quentin said. “But like I told you, I am a successful rancher, and you are a wanted man. Who is going to believe you?”
“That ain’t right, Quentin. That ain’t no way right. My two brothers got kilt and I damn near did. All I need is a little travelin’ money.”
Quentin opened the door to his room. “Come inside for a moment,” he said. “I don’t want to talk out here.”
Sinclair followed Quentin into his room, then stood to one side as Quentin locked the door behind him.
“I’ll give you one hundred dollars,” Quentin said.
A huge smile spread across Sinclair’s face. “A hunnert dollars? Yes, that’s enough. That’s more than enough.”
“You have to earn it.”
“Earn it? Earn it how?”
“Smoke Jensen bought a bull today.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I want you to find that bull and kill it.”
“Ain’t that supposed to be some champion bull worth a lot of money?”
“Yes.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to try and steal it?”
“Now you tell me just how in the hell you are going to steal it,” Quentin replied. “What are you going to do? Drive him down the middle of the street for everyone to see?”
“Oh, yeah, I guess I see what you are talking about,” Sinclair said. “But I don’t understand. Why do you want me to kill the bull?”
“If I can’t have him, then I don’t want anyone to have him,” Quentin replied.
“Where is the bull now?” Sinclair asked.
“I imagine it’s down at the railroad station, waiting to be put on the train. Wherever he is, it’s your job to find him. Find him and kill him.”
“What about Jensen?”
“What about him?”
“You want me to kill him, too?”
“I’m not giving you any more than one hundred dollars,” Quentin said. “At this point, I don’t care what happens to Jensen.”
Sinclair held out his hand. “You just give me the money, Mr. Quentin. I’ll kill the bull for you, and throw in killin’ Jensen for free. I owe the son of a bitch for killin’ my two brothers.”
Quentin gave the one hundred dollars to Sinclair, then opened the door. “Make this the last time we see each other,” Quentin said.
“Don’t worry, it will be. After I take care of business, I’m heading for California.”
As Sinclair started toward the stairs, Billy Ray Quentin was just arriving. He passed Sinclair by without saying a word, but when he got to the room where his father was standing in the open doorway, he gave in to curiosity.
“What was Sinclair doing here?”
“We were taking care of some last-minute business,” Quentin said. “Did you get the train tickets?”
“I got ’em, Pa,” Billy Ray said, holding them up for his father to see.
“Mr. Jensen, won’t you and Mrs. Jensen join us for dinner?” Tucker Phillips called. The ranch manager and his wife were sitting with Miller Smith and his wife.
“We would be happy to,” Smoke said.
Phillips and Smith stood as Smoke pulled out a chair for Sally; then all took their seats.
“Well, this was quite a spirited auction today, wasn’t it?” Phillips asked.
“Perhaps a bit too spirited,” Smoke replied with a smile. “I paid a lot more for Prince Henry than I intended.”
“I think it will work out for you,” Phillips said. “Prince Henry is a fine bull, and if my owner had given me permission to bid whatever I wanted, I would have continued the bid.”
“I believe you made an enemy today,” Smith said.
“You would be talking about Pogue Quentin, I take it,” Smoke said. He looked around the saloon. “Mr. Quentin isn’t here, I see.”
“I haven’t seen him since he left the auction,” Phillips said. “Which is fine by me. From what I have heard of the man, the more distance I can keep between us, the better it is.”
A waiter brought their dinner then, and the three men and their wives carried on a pleasant conversation until it was time for the train. As Smoke and Sally stood, the other two ranchers stood as well.
“Mindy, Carol, you two must visit us at Sugarloaf,” Sally said. “I feel that I have made two new and good friends during this trip, and I would love to entertain you sometime.”
“I can think of nothing that would bring me more pleasure,” Mindy Phillips said.
“Nor I,” Carol Smith added.
Although there was a cab available in front of the restaurant, the depot was only a couple of blocks away, so Smoke waved the driver off, saying he would rather walk.
“The Phillipses and the Smiths were nice people, weren’t they?” Sally said.
“Yes, I enjoyed their company.”
“I’m so glad you invited me along. And I’m so happy we got Prince Henry. I’m going to treat him like a house pet.”
“Ha! Does that mean we’re going to keep an animal that weighs three quarters of a ton in the house?” Smoke asked.
Sally laughed. “Well, maybe not a house pet,” she amended. “I am glad we bought him, though.”
“Even though we paid a lot more than we intended?”
“Yes. I think he will pay off in the long run,” Sally said.
“I think you are right. At least, I hope you are right.”
“Jensen!” a loud, angry voice shouted.
Smoke had not seen Emil Sinclair standing in the shadows of the alley between the apothecary and a feed store. He whirled toward the sound of the shout, drawing his pistol as he did so. He didn’t have to use it, though, because even as Sinclair raised his own gun to fire, Sheriff Walker stepped up behind Sinclair and brought his gun down hard on Sinclair’s head.
Smoke put his pistol back in its holster.
“Lucky for me you came along when you did,” Smoke said.
“More ’n likely, it was luckier for Sinclair,” Sheriff Walker said. “I saw him sneaking in here and figured he was up to no good, so I followed him.”
“You’re a good man, Sheriff Walker.”
Walker smiled broadly. “Comin’ from you, Mr. Jensen, that’s quite a compliment,” he said.
When Smoke and Sally reached the depot, they saw several people gathered around one of the stock pens.
“Who would do such a thing?” someone asked.
“Never mind who, why would they do it?” another asked.
Curious, Smoke walked over to the pen, but before he even got there, he saw a Hereford lying on the ground. He quickened his pace.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Somebody shot this bull,” one of the bystanders said.
Smoke pushed his way to the fence, then looked at the animal. He saw someone squatting beside it.
“I just paid two hundred and fifty dollars for this bull,” the man said, shaking his head in anger. “I’d like to get my hands on the son of a bitch who did this.”
Smoke’s first reaction was one of relief that it wasn’t Prince Henry. But that was followed quickly by a sense of guilt for feeling such relief, since he knew that the man who had bought the bull was out the money.
“Mr. Jensen?” someone called.
Turning from the pen, Smoke saw the railroad dispatcher.
“Yes?”
“Your bull has been loaded onto a private stock car,” he said. “I have the bill of lading here. It’s all taken care of.”
“Thanks,” Smoke said, walking over to retrieve the papers.
“A terrible thing, that,” the dispatcher said, nodding toward the cow pen and the dead bull.
“Did you see what happened?” Smoke asked.
“No, sir, nobody did,” the dispatcher said. “Ken and I were in the depot when we heard the shot. When we looked out, we saw the bull lying on the ground.” He shook his head. “It takes a special kind of meanness to kill an animal for no reason,” he said.