the middle of nowhere,” Monte said. “It’s a mining town, and it is isolated. Nearest town of any size is a good hundred miles away. There’s talk of changing the name from Red Light to something else, but so far it’s just talk.”
Smoke sipped his coffee and stared at the sheriff. “Monte, you’re walking around something. Come on — what is it?”
“This is one of those freak strikes, Smoke. It’s in a place where gold and silver shouldn’t be. But they were found, and it’s a good vein. It’s slowing down some, but it’ll probably be producing for a good many years to come. I know about Red Light. I had a friend killed up there a couple of years ago. The town is set up in the mountains, above one of the prettiest valleys you ever put your eyes on. Valley runs for miles and miles. River runs right through the entire length of the valley. The ranchers down there supply the beef for the miners. Tell you the truth, in a situation like that, I’d rather have a ranch than a gold mine. You’d best get up there. If you tarry long, you just might not have a ranch left.”
“The other ranchers might take it?”
“You betcha. And you’ll notice the wire read ‘K. Jensen.’ That tells me your sis never let on about your nickname. You bet those other ranchers will try to horn in. They’ll be fightin’ like coyotes over a scrap of meat.”
“I wonder what the business in town is?”
Monte shrugged.
“Janey,” Smoke said. “All these years I thought she was dead. I would have sworn she was dead. I heard she was.” Smoke snapped his fingers. “I know she’s dead. Then …”
“Her daughter, honey?” Sally said, putting his plate in front of him and sitting down with a biscuit and a cup of coffee.
“That all you’re eating?” Smoke asked with a frown.
“I’m on a diet. Her daughter?” she repeated.
“Maybe. She did have a daughter by that gambling man she took off with back in Missouri. She pulled out in ’64 and I heard she had the child in ’67. She wouldn’t be out of her teens.”
“She had a daughter, Smoke,” Sally said. “I remember some of the women talking about it back in Idaho Territory — before I met you. Jenny was her name.”
“Monte, can you wire back and see if this is Janey or Jenny who died?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll be in town this afternoon and stop by your office.”
Monte finished his breakfast and headed back to town. Over a second cup of coffee, Sally said, “This is bringing back bad memories for you, isn’t it, Smoke?”
“Some.” He smiled at her. “But I’ll survive them.”
“This girl, if it is Jenny, would be no more than a child. Seventeen at most.”
“What do you remember about her?”
“Nothing. I never saw her. The ladies of the town said that she was at school back East.”
“We’ll know more after I go into town.”
“Saddle my pony for me. I’m riding in with you.”
“Sidesaddle, of course,” Smoke said with a straight face.
Her reply would not have been printable in those times.
“Here’s the whole story, Smoke,” Monte said, handing Smoke several pages of telegraph paper. “I wired a sheriff I know up in Montana Territory. He knew all about it.”
Smoke opened the envelope. MISS JANEY JENSEN DIED OF FEVER TWO YEARS AGO. WAS PROMINENT BUSINESSWOMAN IN TOWN. OWNED BUSINESSES AND RANCH IN VALLEY. IS BURIED IN RED LIGHT, MONTANA CEMETERY. HAD ONE DAUGHTER, JENNY. JENNY RETURNED TO RED LIGHT AND IS LIVING ON RANCH. ENTIRE ESTATE LEFT TO JENNY. NO ONE KNEW WHERE TO FIND JANEY’S BROTHER, A MISTER K. JENSEN. UNDERSTAND HE WAS FINALLY LOCATED IN COLORADO AND NOTIFIED. TELL HIM TO BE CAREFUL. DON’T TRUST ANY LAW OFFICER IN COUNTY. K. JENSEN IS RIDING INTO A DEN OF SNAKES. ANY RELATION TO SMOKE? IF SO, TAKE HIM ALONG. JUST KIDDING. TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF, MONTE.
“Man lays it right on the line, doesn’t he?” Smoke said.
“Tom’s a good man,” Monte replied. “Is Sally going up there with you?”
“No. Not initially. I might send for her later on. Jenny vanished. I don’t like the sound of that. Damn it, Monte, she’s my only kin. Except for some folks in Iowa that I have never seen and who fought against my father in the war. I understand they harbored such bad feeling toward those Jensens who fought for the south that they changed their name to Jenson.”
“That war tore up a lot of families, Smoke. Mine included. When are you pulling out?”
“Tomorrow, probably. I’ll ride the trains as far as possible. It’s been awhile since ol’ Buck and I hit the trail. We’ll both look forward to it.”
“Not taking one of your appaloosas?”
“Not this time. Buck’s a mountain horse and better than any watchdog in the world. And meaner, too. I want him to see some more country before I retire him. Lord knows, we have seen some trails together.”
“You really love animals, don’t you, Smoke?”
“Yes. And I respect them. I don’t trust a man who doesn’t like animals. There’s a flaw in his character …” He smiled. “Although some of Sally’s highly educated friends say that is not true.”
“They called you a liar to your face?”
“Only once.”
Buck was a mountain-bred buckskin that was just about too big and too much horse for the average man. But Smoke was not an average man. He had gentle-broken the animal and was the only one who could ride it. Truth be known, he was about the only one who wanted to ride the mean-eyed animal.
“Now, you change into your suit when you reach the rails,” Sally told him, handing him a sack of food for the trail.
“Yes, dear,” the most famous gunfighter in all the West replied.
“And you button your collar and fix your tie properly.”
“Yes, dear.”
“And if your suit is rumpled, you have it brushed and ironed at the nearest town.”
“Yes, dear.”
“And as soon as you are settled up there, send for me.”
“Yes, dear.”
“And you will not let anyone know that you are Smoke Jensen unless it becomes absolutely necessary.”
“Yes, dear,” he said with a smile, towering above her outside the house. He closed his big hands around her arms and gently picked her up with all the ease of picking up a pillow. He kissed her lips and set her back down, then chuckled.
