Too soon to die, p.26
Too Soon to Die, page 26
“All right.” She turned to the physician. “Take good care of him, Doc.”
“I try to take good care of all my patients,” Harmon said.
“Yeah, I know, but this one . . .” Denny took a deep breath. “Ah, hell.” She leaned over and kissed Brice on the mouth then hurried out of there while both men were giving her surprised looks.
Ten minutes later, she had printed out a message and stood at the window of the telegraph office while Robeson, the operator, sent it to Big Rock. She had done all she could do, Denny told herself as she left the depot and headed back to the doctor’s office to see how Brice was doing.
It was all up to luck . . . and Smoke Jensen.
CHAPTER 51
Big Rock
The young man named Lester was dozing in the telegraph office inside Big Rock’s railroad station. It was the middle of the day, and the chief telegrapher had gone to lunch, leaving Lester in charge. He was normally a diligent young man and wouldn’t have been caught dead sleeping on the job, but he’d been up most of the night before with his pa, helping one of the family’s cows give birth to a balky calf, so he was unusually tired.
The sudden chattering of the key made him jump. Instantly, he was wide awake, his instincts making him snatch up a pencil and pull a pad of paper to him. He had spent hundreds of hours practicing until the fast-paced dots and dashes were just as plain as day to him, as if someone were standing there speaking to him. His fingers worked smoothly, printing the letters, but his brain really didn’t pay that much attention to the words they were spelling until the dots and dashes for the word OUT came over the wire and the message ended.
Then he stared at what he had written on the paper, his eyes widening until it seemed like they were about to pop out of his head.
Lester shot up out of his chair. Any drowsiness he’d felt a few moments earlier was completely gone. He looked around wildly as he tried to figure out what to do next. He’d been left in charge of the office, so he wasn’t supposed to leave, but it was important that this message be delivered as soon as possible. Mighty important.
He looked through the wicket into the station lobby and saw one of the porters passing by. “Clarence!” he called. “Clarence, come over here!”
“Yeah? What you want, Lester?”
“You’re gonna watch the telegraph office,” said Lester as he tore the sheet with the message printed on it off the pad.
The porter stared, too. “I can’t do that. I can’t work one o’ them blasted telegraph doodads. And all that clickin’ is just noise to me!”
Lester yanked the door into the lobby open. “You don’t have to send or receive any telegrams. If anybody wants to send a wire, tell them they’ll have to wait a few minutes until I get back. And if one comes in, the operator on the other end will send it again when I don’t acknowledge.”
Clarence was still protesting when Lester ran out of the station. As soon as the young man was on the street, he looked back and forth, hoping to see Sheriff Monte Carson. The sheriff was nowhere in sight, though. Lester was going to have to find him. He broke into a run toward Carson’s office, ignoring the startled looks that people on the street gave him.
As Lester ran, it occurred to him that he could have stayed in the office and asked Clarence or somebody else to go look for the sheriff. He had been so excited once he realized what the message said, he had never even thought about doing that.
Dodging around pedestrians, he was almost at the sheriff’s office when the door swung open and Monte Carson stepped out onto the boardwalk. “Whoa there, Lester,” Carson said as he held up a hand. “You’re gonna run over somebody. What’s the big rush?”
Lester skidded to a halt and thrust out the paper in his hand. Panting, he said, “This . . . this wire just came in, Sheriff! It’s from Miss Jensen!”
Carson scanned the words, then exclaimed, “Good Lord! I’ve got to tell Smoke!” He jammed the paper into his pocket, practically leaped to the hitch rack in front of the office, and yanked loose his horse’s reins.
That was a stroke of luck. He didn’t normally keep a saddle mount tied in front of the office. But he had just gotten back into town from a trip out to one of the nearby ranches and had stopped at the office before going on to the livery stable to put up his horse.
Lester didn’t know that, of course. He just watched openmouthed as Carson hauled his horse around, then called, “Thanks, Lester!” before urging the animal into a gallop that carried him toward the edge of town.
Lester closed his mouth, but only to gulp as he heard a train whistle in the distance.
* * *
Louis Jensen noticed that his wife was peering pensively out the window at the beautiful Colorado scenery through which the train was rolling. “Aren’t you glad to almost be home, Melanie?”
“What?” She turned her head to look at him. A smile flashed across her pretty face. “Oh! Of course I’m glad. I can’t wait to see Bradley, and everyone else on the Sugarloaf, of course. It’s just . . . this was such a wonderful trip. More wonderful than I ever could have hoped or dreamed. Even with the delays the past few days, it’s been an experience I’ll never forget.”
Those delays had just been their luck averaging out, thought Louis. Up until then, the trip had been everything that Melanie was gushing about. He was happier than he had ever been. With his poor health growing up, he had often thought that he wouldn’t even live to be this age, let alone be married to such a beautiful woman. But his condition was improved, Melanie was his wife, and he even had a son. He was eager to see Brad again, too. Some missing bags that had ultimately been found and a broken carriage axle that had caused them to miss a train and take a later one couldn’t even begin to compare to all the good fortune that had come to him. Nothing was going to ruin his fine mood.
“I suppose I was just thinking about the future,” Melanie went on. “And if anything, I’m a little worried for you.”
“For me?” said Louis. “Why would you be worried about me? I’m the luckiest man in the world. Don’t you know that?”
“You’re going to have to tell your mother that we’re leaving again in just a couple of months, so you can start your classes at Harvard.”
Maybe something could dampen his mood a little after all. He and Melanie had been ready to rush back when they’d gotten the telegram from his father saying that his mother had fallen ill, but it was soon followed by another wire letting them know that the crisis was over. Sally was improving, and she insisted they continue with their trip.
“I’m not sure I should break the news to her so soon after she’s been sick,” Louis said. “It might cause her to have a relapse.”
“Well, you should wait and see for sure how she’s doing, “but you can’t delay too long, Louis. You don’t want to tell her one day and have to leave the next.”
He sighed. “No, I suppose not. Perhaps she’ll take it better than I expect. After all, it’s not as if we’re leaving forever. In fact, once I’m practicing law in Big Rock, we won’t ever have to leave again.”
“I’m looking forward to that. The day when you have your profession, and we have our own home, and . . . perhaps . . . some little brothers and sisters for Bradley . . .”
Louis smiled and slipped his arm around her shoulders. “What you’re describing sounds perfect. And we’re not going to let anything ruin that beautiful life.”
The Sugarloaf
Smoke and Pearlie had just ridden in from checking some of the summer range in the hills at the edge of the valley. The errand hadn’t really been a crucial one, but the two old friends had seized on it as an excuse for a leisurely ride on a pretty day.
As Pearlie had put it, “A fella’s got only so many pretty days in his life, so it’d be a plumb shame to waste one of’em.”
Smoke couldn’t argue with that, and since Sally was almost back to normal, he had agreed with his former foreman’s suggestion.
Pearlie was complaining at the moment, though. “Bet we’re gettin’ back too late for lunch,” he said as he and Smoke rode into the ranch yard. “Took a mite longer to get up there and back than I expected. And that ain’t right, Smoke. I know ever’ foot of this ranch, like you do, and I shouldn’t ought to make mistakes like that. My brain’s gettin’ plumb ossified, I reckon.”
“Your brain’s fine,” Smoke told him. “And we’re not that late. I’ve got a hunch Inez will have saved something for us and kept it warm.”
“I hope so. That woman sure can cook, as well as bein’ mighty handsome.”
Smoke grinned over at his friend. “When are you going to make an honest woman of her, Pearlie?”
“What? An honest—Dadgum it, Smoke, nobody said nothin’ about such a thing! Why, I’m too old and set in my ways to ever settle down. It just wouldn’t be fair to a woman to saddle her with an ol’ mossback like me!”
“If Cal was here, I suspect he’d agree with you,” Smoke said, “but I think the only one whose opinion really matters is Inez.”
“Well . . . we ain’t talked about it . . . exactly . . . but I, uh, she’s given me to understand that, uh . . . she wouldn’t exactly object to such an arrangement—” With a note of relief in his voice, Pearlie changed the subject. “Look there, Smoke. Miss Sally’s sittin’ out on the porch, takin’ the air. All the boys sure are happy that she’s doin’ better.”
“So am I.” Smoke and Pearlie rode up to the porch and reined in. Grinning at Sally as she sat in a rocking chair, he said, “Good afternoon to you, Mrs. Jensen.”
“And to you, Mr. Jensen,” she said, returning his smile. “Did you boys enjoy your ride?”
“We did. Pearlie’s a little worried about his stomach, though. He seems to think that Inez is going to let him do without his lunch, so he’ll starve.”
Sally laughed. “I don’t think there’s any chance of that happening. The two of you go on inside. There’s food in the oven for you.”
“That’s mighty good news,” said Pearlie as he started to swing down from the saddle.
He hadn’t made it when a rifle cracked somewhere in the distance, a bullet ripped through the air, and with a curse Pearlie fell from his horse.
CHAPTER 52
Smoke kicked his feet free of the stirrups and threw himself out of the saddle. He landed at the foot of the porch steps and took them in two leaping strides as another bullet chewed splinters from the railing. He didn’t know how bad Pearlie was hit, but the first thing he had to do was get Sally inside where she would be safe.
She was already on her feet, saying, “Smoke—!”
He wrapped both arms around her and lifted her off her feet to cradle her against his chest. With his heavily muscled arms and shoulders, he was able to carry her as if she weighed no more than a child.
He didn’t have to slow down to open the screen door. Inez heard the shots from inside the house and threw the door open. As Smoke went past her, carrying Sally, she looked out into the yard and cried, “Pearlie!”
The door slammed behind her as she rushed out. Smoke set Sally on the floor in the foyer and swung back around. He pulled the Colt from its holster on his hip and slapped the screen door aside as he charged back out onto the porch.
Inez had reached Pearlie’s side and helped him to his feet. Smoke didn’t see any blood on the former foreman’s clothes, and Pearlie confirmed that by yelling, “I ain’t hit, blast it! Just twisted my knee when I fell!”
Inez had an arm around Pearlie’s waist to support him as they hurried toward the porch steps in a crouching run. Smoke met them halfway up the steps and grabbed Pearlie’s arm with his free hand. As he helped his old friend to the porch, he felt as much as heard the wind-rip of a slug as it passed close by his head. He wasn’t sure where the rifle shots were coming from, and a handgun wouldn’t be much use against them, anyway.
Then a swift rataplan of hoofbeats made Smoke turn his head toward the sound. He saw at least a dozen men on horseback charging the house, blazing away with the guns in their hands.
“Inside!” he barked at Pearlie and Inez as he gave Pearlie a shove to hurry them along. Bullets smacked and thudded against the wall as he swung around, dropped to a knee behind the porch railing, and returned the fire. One of the attackers flung up his arms and pitched out of the saddle, but that didn’t blunt the attack. The other riders continued pounding toward the house.
“Smoke, get in here!” Pearlie shouted from the doorway as he leaned against the jamb because of his gimpy leg. He had a Winchester in his hands and was steady enough to lift the rifle to his shoulder and start cranking off rounds as fast as he could work the weapon’s lever. Another attacker fell, and a third man’s horse suddenly collapsed and sent its howling rider flying through the air.
With Pearlie providing covering fire, Smoke scuttled backward as he emptied the Colt. He ducked through the door and Pearlie retreated as well, still triggering the Winchester until Inez slammed the inner door, which was built of solid oak thick enough to stop anything short of a cannonball.
All the doors in the ranch house were like that, as were the shutters that could be closed over the windows. The house was designed and built to be defended, because the Sugarloaf had been raided before. It had been a number of years since such a shocking outbreak of violence, but Smoke would never stop being prepared for trouble.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked Pearlie.
“Yeah, I’m just a durned fool, that’s all. That first shot came so close to my ear that it spooked me and I lost my grip while I was dismountin’. That’s all. Bunged up my knee a mite when I hit the ground, but it’s nothin’ to worry about.”
Sally hurried up to Smoke and thrust a Winchester into his hands. “Fifteen in the magazine and one in the chamber. I knew you’d want it full.” Her demeanor was cool and calm, yet angry. This was her home, and she wasn’t going to stand for anyone attacking it.
A fresh wave of gunfire made Smoke leap to the parlor window, which had, so far, escaped being shattered by flying lead. He saw powder smoke spurting from the barn doors, which had been pulled closed except for a small gap through which defenders could fire. One of the hands knelt in the small opening above the doors, which was used to load hay into the loft, and raked the attackers with rifle fire.
One of the raiders twisted in the saddle and snapped a shot at the man in the hayloft door. The bullet punched into the cowboy’s midsection and doubled him over. He dropped the rifle and tumbled forward through the opening, turned over once in the air, and crashed down on his back in the limp sprawl of death.
Smoke’s spirits had taken a leap when he saw the counterattack coming from the barn, but anger filled him at the sight of one of his men being killed. He shoved the window up and knelt to put the Winchester to work. It cracked twice more in swift succession, and two more raiders fell from their horses.
He and Pearlie and the men in the barn had done some significant damage to the attackers, dropping nearly half their number, and the men who were still on horseback peeled away and retreated rather than continue the assault. Smoke had no idea who they were or why they were attacking, but he was convinced of one thing—they wouldn’t just abandon whatever cause had brought them there. The fight wasn’t over.
As if to tell him he was right, a fresh burst of gunfire came from somewhere behind the house.
Pearlie had taken his rifle to the other window in the parlor. Sally and Inez stood in the foyer, just outside the arched entrance to the front room.
Smoke turned his head to look at his wife and asked, “Where’s Brad?”
Sally’s hand went to her mouth as she gasped. “The last time I saw him, he said he was going out to the barn to watch Hank Sinclair mend a saddle. Oh, Smoke, he must still be out there!”
Smoke felt the same fear that he heard in his wife’s voice and saw on her face. But he didn’t give in to it and his words had a flinty edge as he said, “Hank and any of the other boys who are in the barn will look out for him. Don’t worry, Sally, he’ll be fine.” He switched his attention to Pearlie and went on. “Stay here in case that first bunch doubles back to hit us again. I’ll see what’s going on in the back.”
He jerked open a desk drawer and reached inside to grab a handful of Winchester cartridges from a box of shells kept there. He thumbed several of them through the rifle’s loading gate to replace the ones he’d fired and then shoved the extras into his pocket, knowing he might well need them soon enough.
He reached the big kitchen and stepped onto the enclosed porch on the back of the house. Shots came from his right. The smokehouse and springhouse lay in that direction. Smoke spotted a couple of his men using the small structures for cover as they fired toward a grove of trees about fifty yards away.
The men in the trees spotted Smoke. He had barely emerged from the house when bullets began to rip through the screening around the porch. He dropped below the solid wood half-wall and returned the fire, triggering three fast shots before he paused and called to the Sugarloaf hands, “You boys get up here! I’ll cover you!”
Smoke started firing again as the two men dashed for the house. They made it to the porch safely and dropped behind the half-wall.
“Either of you hit?” Smoke asked as he paused again in his shooting. He knew even a wounded man could be pretty spry when his life was at stake.
“No, we were lucky,” one of them answered. His name was Jerry Walker, Smoke recalled. The other man was Ed Magruder. Both were experienced ranch hands in their mid-twenties who had been riding for the Sugarloaf for a couple of years.
“What were you doing around here?” asked Smoke.
Magruder said, “As soon as the shooting started, Hank told us to grab some rifles from the tack room and go out the back of the barn, then circle around here to make sure nobody tried to attack the house from the rear.”
