over and saw his friend smiling at him. He returned the grin, then moved across the floor to take a seat at Louis’s table.
Louis was shuffling a deck of cards and dealing poker hands. He turned up three hands, studied them for a moment, then pointed to the hand that was still facedown.
“If I were a betting man—and incidentally I am—I would bet on this as the winning hand,” he said.
“What makes you think so? This one has a pair of aces,” Smoke said, pointing to one of the hands.
“I think this will have three of a kind,” Louis said. “Small cards to be sure, but three will beat a pair of aces.” He turned up the cards to expose three sixes, a jack, and a queen.
“I’m glad I didn’t bet,” Smoke said.
“Did Miss Sally remain behind at Sugarloaf?” Louis asked as he picked up all the cards and folded them back into the deck.
“No, Sally came with me. She will here shortly.”
Louis’s smile broadened. “Ah, good, good. I am always glad to see you, my friend, but the lovely Mademoiselle Sally?” Louis raised his hand to his lips and, putting his thumb and forefinger together, made a kissing motion. “It is well known that Mademoiselle Sally’s beauty brings joy to a dreary world.”
“Do I have to keep reminding you, Louis, that Sally is not a mademoiselle? We are married.”
“Yes, mon ami, I know you are married,” Louis said, “but l’espoir est éternel. Hope is eternal,” he translated.
Smoke laughed, and was still laughing when Sheriff Carson came into the saloon, breathing a little heavily from having walked down from his office.
“Have I missed a joke?” he asked.
“Alas, my gendarme friend,” Louis said. “The joke is on me.”
“How about a round of beers on me?” Smoke said. “I’m heading down to Frisco and could use one for the trail.”
“Why Frisco?” Louis asked as he signaled the bartender.
“Yes, Mr. Longmont?” the bartender called to him.
“Bring us three beers, will you, Andrew?”
“Yes, sir, right away.”
With the beers ordered, Louis turned his attention back to Smoke. “You were about to tell us why you were going to Frisco.”
“I’m going there to meet a cattle buyer named Davencourt. Turns out he has a contract to supply beef to the army, and I figure he is going to be in the market.”
“But can’t you sell your beef here? To C.D. Montgomery, or one of the other buyers?”
“I could,” Smoke said. “But Davencourt is paying more, providing I deliver the cattle to the railhead in Frisco.”
“I see,” Longmont said. “Do you think he will pay enough to make it worth your while to take your cattle to Frisco?”
“I think he will. At least, that’s what I intend to find out with this trip.”
“That sounds smart to me,” Carson said. “No wonder Sugarloaf is the most successful ranch around. You are always on top of things.”
“Ha, don’t give me credit for this,” Smoke said. “This was all Sally’s idea.”
“Yes, I know. She is not only beautiful, she is also very smart,” Louis said. He sighed. “Ah, what a woman.”
“Oh, say, Smoke, do you remember a fella by the name of Van Arndt?” Carson asked. “Reece Van Arndt?”
“Yes, I remember him,” Smoke said. “As I recall, he tried to hold up a train a few years ago.”
“As you recall,” Carson said with a chuckle. “Tried is right. He tried, but he didn’t succeed because of you, my friend. His gang was killed and he wound up going to prison.”
“Good place for him,” Smoke said.
“I would agree with you,” Carson said. “Unfortunately, he is no longer there. I got a wire a few days ago from Warden Parker at the prison.”
“Don’t tell me Van Arndt has escaped.”
Carson shook his head. “He didn’t escape, he was let out. He served his time and is now a free man. The warden thought you might like to know that.”
“Why would he think that?” Smoke asked. “Has Van Arndt made any specific threats?”
“I don’t know and Warden Parker didn’t say,” Carson replied. “All I know is that his telegram just said that I should advise you that Van Arndt has served his time and has been released. If you want to know the truth, I expect Parker is just being extra cautious is all.”
“I don’t fault him for his caution and I appreciate you bringing me the information,” Smoke said. “I’ve had a passel of people after me in my life—so if somebody new is added to the bunch that call themselves my enemy, it’s always good to know his name.”
“Smoke Jensen, let’s just see how good you really are with a gun! I’m callin’ you out, you son of a bitch!”
The loud shout and angry challenge got the attention of everyone in the saloon, and all talking stopped in mid conversation as the other patrons looked up to see what was going on.
Looking toward the sound of the voice, Smoke saw Lucas Keno standing just inside the door. There was an expression of rage and hatred on the cowboy’s face, and he was holding a pistol leveled at Smoke.
“What are you doing, Keno?” Smoke asked.
“Cal and Pearlie have both told me that you are the best with a pistol they ever saw. So, I was just wonderin’ how good you really are. Because, you see, I’m pretty good myself. And what I thought is, we’d just see which one of us is the best in a fair fight.”
“It’s hardly a fair fight when you are already holding a gun in your hand,” Longmont said.
Keno smiled, an evil, mirthless smile.
“Well, now, you see, the way I look it, that’s what is going to make it a fair fight,” he said. “I figure if you really are as good as ole’ Cal and Pearlie say you are, then I might just need me an advantage.”
“That’s quite an advantage, Keno,” Sheriff Carson said. “In fact, it is so much an advantage that if, by some wild chance, you would happen to kill Smoke or anyone else in here, it would be considered murder in the first degree. We hang people for that in this state.”
“Yeah, I reckon it is a big advantage, ain’t it?” Keno replied, his smile growing larger. “I tell you what I’ll do for you, Jensen. I’ll give you a chance to stand up and face me. And I won’t shoot until I see you start to pull your gun.”
Smoke smiled, and his smile was broad and genuine.
“What are you smiling at, you son of a bitch? Don’t you understand what’s goin’ on here?”
Now Sheriff Carson and Longmont were smiling as well.
“Have you all gone crazy?” Keno asked, his voice rising in pitch as his frustration and anger intensified. Smoke was showing no fear, and that wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. “I’m the one that’s holdin’ the gun here. Or ain’t you people noticed that?”
“Oh we’ve noticed all right,” Smoke said. “Drop the gun, Keno. Drop the gun and you might live.”
“What are you talking about?” Keno asked, still confused by the strange reaction. “Why would I do a foolish thing like that?” Keno asked.
“Because if you don’t drop your gun right now, I will be forced to put a .32-caliber ball in your head,” a woman’s calm