trip had turned sour from the git-go and Smoke was feeling more and more of the old wildness fill him.
Sheriff Bowers read the warning in Smoke’s eyes and took in the man’s boots and clothing. The boots were handmade and expensive. The coat was handmade to fit the man’s huge shoulders and arms. The .44 he wore at his side was old, but well-cared-for, and it had seen a lot of use. It was not fancy, and that spoke volumes to the sheriff.
There was something about this big stranger that was unnerving to the sheriff. He did not like the sensation. “A few of you men carry Nick to the doctor’s office. The rest of you people break this up and go on about your business.”
“That son-of-a-bitch called me trash,” the deputy in question said. “I’ll not stand for that.”
“Shut up, Patton,” the sheriff said harshly. “Just close your mouth and keep it closed.” He turned his attentions back to Smoke. “You mind walking with me?”
“Not at all, Sheriff,” Smoke said. “You object to my checking in at the hotel?”
“Not a bit. We’ll talk on the way over there.”
Patton stepped toward Jimmy. “I’ll take a buggy whip to you, boy. Teach you to sass me. I’ll strip the hide right offen your back.”
Smoke hit the man, sudden and unexpectedly. The blow made an ugly smushing sound in the air. Patton’s boots flew out from under him and he landed on his back in the mud, his mouth leaking blood. He did not move.
The sheriff, the deputies, and the crowd stood in shocked silence. Smoke looked at Jimmy. The boy’s clothing was patched and his shoes were held together by faith and rawhide. Smoke handed the boy two gold double eagles. Jimmy stood in open-mouthed shock.
“You go get you some new clothes and boots, boy. Then come back here and take care of my horse. If any of these badge-wearing trash bothers you, you come get me. They won’t bother you again. All right?”
Jimmy looked at the money in his hand. More money than he had ever seen. “Yes, sir!”
“You come over to my store, Jimmy,” a merchant called. “I’ll fit you right up and treat you fair.”
Smoke looked at the man. “You be damn sure you do just that.” He started walking toward the hotel.
“Somebody carry Patton to the jail and lay him on a cot,” Sheriff Bowers said, his voice suddenly filled with weariness. He had just noticed the pinholes in Smoke’s shirt, made by the badge. Invisible warning lights flashed in the sheriff’s head. Something was all out of whack here. Go easy on this, he cautioned himself. Real easy.
Patton moaned in the mud and sat up. Smoke stopped and turned around, his right hand close to the butt of his gun. Patton cursed him and struggled to his knees in the mud. He pulled out his pistol and jacked the hammer back. Only then did Smoke draw.
No man or women in the crowd had ever seen such a draw. Most didn’t even see it, it was so fast. A blur of speed and a report of fire and gunsmoke. Patton fell back, a hole right between his eyes.
“Smoke Jensen!” a man shouted. “I knowed I’d seen him afore.”
“Oh, my God!” Sheriff Bowers said. “That’s Janey’s brother.”
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