have on their land, it should be taken from them.”
“Which we are in the process of doing. Here, take some brandy and relax. Well, Gunderson, you’ve done a fine job. Your compensation will be in keeping with your achievements.”
“ Ja , sure, I expected no less. Now all you need to do is follow through with the politicians.”
During the lonely hours of his watch, Smoke Jensen had thought through the situation in which he found himself The previous day had been given over to surviving long enough to examine conditions and options. He announced the result of his deliberations over breakfast the next morning.
“We’re going to split up.”
“We done anything that don’t suit you?” Walt Reardon asked cautiously.
“No, nothing like that. We can stick together and run that posse ragged, but in a way, that’s spinnin’ a wagon wheel over a gorge. Someone needs to get word to the Sugarloaf. Ty, I’m going to leave that up to you.”
“I’d rather ride beside you, Smoke.”
“I know you would. But Sally has to hear about this from someone on our side. Besides, it might be we’ll need help from the other hands, before this is over. Or from Monte Carson. He knows you, so does Sally. Walt, I want you and Rip to head back to Arizona. Contact Jeff York, the Ranger captain we sold those horses to.
Tell him what’s going on, and ask if he knows what’s behind it.”
“Want us to bring him here?”
“Out of his jurisdiction, Walt. But if he offers, carry him along.”
"I've got the feeling there’s gonna be hell to pay ’fore long."
Smoke came to his boots, put a hand on Walt’s shoulder. “You’re right. And I aim to see the ones payin’ it are Sheriff Reno and his posse. I’m headin’ on. Lead your horses up the trail a ways in the direction you’re going, then wipe out every sign of this camp.”
Walt nodded curtly. “Keep a wall to your back, Smoke.”
“I will, whenever I can, Walt.”
“Hell, this ain’t gettin’ us anywhere, Sheriff,” a disgruntled posseman complained.
Jake Reno considered that a moment. “You’re right, Jim. We ain’t seen a sign of them in hours. Might be we’re following the wrong trail. What we need to do is fan out, follow ev’ry game and people path heading south. I know it in my bones that Smoke Jensen is headed toward Horse Springs. There’s a telegraph there, and he can get help if he wants it.”
“What would any wanted man go into a town for?” Jim asked.
“It’s not like he really kilt—” Reno realized what he was about to say and bit off the words.
Two of the citizens of Socorro exchanged nervous glances. Doubt wrinkled the brows of several others.
“Now, I want you to keep this in mind. This whole affair has gone too damn far. Check out everything that moves, and if you see Jensen, shoot to kill.”
Six
Smoke Jensen ghosted through the trees in a low ' ground mist that had drifted in around three in the morning. Only his wranglers had left the northern slopes of the Cibola Range. Smoke had kept his place, expecting to catch Sheriff Jake Reno off guard. And he had.
A' crackle of brush made Smoke Jensen cut his eyes to the left. Only a second passed before he heard soft, murmured words from that direction. His keen vision marked the shapes of two heads, close together. The sheriff had been smart enough to put out pickets, but he hadn’t been too smart about who he had assigned the duty, Smoke reckoned. The mountain man had exchanged boots for moccasins earlier, and now moved with utter silence.
Half a dozen carefully placed strides brought him up behind the unwary pair. One of the possemen had just fished the makin’s out of a vest pocket. When he started to roll a quirley, Smoke Jensen reached out with two big, hard hands to the off sides of the duo’s heads, and slammed them together. He made quick work of binding their hands and feet with short lengths cut from a rope he had taken off another unattentive sentry
“Which we are in the process of doing. Here, take some brandy and relax. Well, Gunderson, you’ve done a fine job. Your compensation will be in keeping with your achievements.”
“ Ja , sure, I expected no less. Now all you need to do is follow through with the politicians.”
During the lonely hours of his watch, Smoke Jensen had thought through the situation in which he found himself The previous day had been given over to surviving long enough to examine conditions and options. He announced the result of his deliberations over breakfast the next morning.
“We’re going to split up.”
“We done anything that don’t suit you?” Walt Reardon asked cautiously.
“No, nothing like that. We can stick together and run that posse ragged, but in a way, that’s spinnin’ a wagon wheel over a gorge. Someone needs to get word to the Sugarloaf. Ty, I’m going to leave that up to you.”
“I’d rather ride beside you, Smoke.”
“I know you would. But Sally has to hear about this from someone on our side. Besides, it might be we’ll need help from the other hands, before this is over. Or from Monte Carson. He knows you, so does Sally. Walt, I want you and Rip to head back to Arizona. Contact Jeff York, the Ranger captain we sold those horses to.
Tell him what’s going on, and ask if he knows what’s behind it.”
“Want us to bring him here?”
“Out of his jurisdiction, Walt. But if he offers, carry him along.”
"I've got the feeling there’s gonna be hell to pay ’fore long."
Smoke came to his boots, put a hand on Walt’s shoulder. “You’re right. And I aim to see the ones payin’ it are Sheriff Reno and his posse. I’m headin’ on. Lead your horses up the trail a ways in the direction you’re going, then wipe out every sign of this camp.”
Walt nodded curtly. “Keep a wall to your back, Smoke.”
“I will, whenever I can, Walt.”
“Hell, this ain’t gettin’ us anywhere, Sheriff,” a disgruntled posseman complained.
Jake Reno considered that a moment. “You’re right, Jim. We ain’t seen a sign of them in hours. Might be we’re following the wrong trail. What we need to do is fan out, follow ev’ry game and people path heading south. I know it in my bones that Smoke Jensen is headed toward Horse Springs. There’s a telegraph there, and he can get help if he wants it.”
“What would any wanted man go into a town for?” Jim asked.
“It’s not like he really kilt—” Reno realized what he was about to say and bit off the words.
Two of the citizens of Socorro exchanged nervous glances. Doubt wrinkled the brows of several others.
“Now, I want you to keep this in mind. This whole affair has gone too damn far. Check out everything that moves, and if you see Jensen, shoot to kill.”
Six
Smoke Jensen ghosted through the trees in a low ' ground mist that had drifted in around three in the morning. Only his wranglers had left the northern slopes of the Cibola Range. Smoke had kept his place, expecting to catch Sheriff Jake Reno off guard. And he had.
A' crackle of brush made Smoke Jensen cut his eyes to the left. Only a second passed before he heard soft, murmured words from that direction. His keen vision marked the shapes of two heads, close together. The sheriff had been smart enough to put out pickets, but he hadn’t been too smart about who he had assigned the duty, Smoke reckoned. The mountain man had exchanged boots for moccasins earlier, and now moved with utter silence.
Half a dozen carefully placed strides brought him up behind the unwary pair. One of the possemen had just fished the makin’s out of a vest pocket. When he started to roll a quirley, Smoke Jensen reached out with two big, hard hands to the off sides of the duo’s heads, and slammed them together. He made quick work of binding their hands and feet with short lengths cut from a rope he had taken off another unattentive sentry
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