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Authors: William W. Johnstone

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C
HAPTER
35
Bury
 
M
uley Stratton was in the office of the town's only newspaper as the week's edition was being printed. He watched as the editor, Harold Denham, pulled one sheet off the Washington Hand Press, put it on the stack of papers already printed, then put a blank page on the bed and pulled down the typeset platen to print the next copy of what would be a two-hundred-copy press run.
Stratton wasn't a newspaperman, but he was a businessman, and as such, he owned the
Bury Bulletin
. He picked up one of the completed papers and perused the stories, finding one that caught his interest. “Where did this story come from?”
“The copy came from the Associated Press, Mr. Stratton,” Denham said. “It's where all the stories come from, unless they are local.”
“Do you think it's true?”
“Well, I see no reason why it wouldn't be true. The stories are pretty well vetted, otherwise the paper originating the story would be dropped by the AP. Nobody wants that.”
Stratton nodded, then left the office.
 
PSR Ranch Office
 
“Look at this.” Stratton handed the paper to Richards. “Seems to me, this is the man we need to get.”
Richards read the article Stratton pointed out.
S
HOOT
-O
UT IN THE
S
TREETS OF
B
AYHORSE
 
Two Men Killed
 
Gunshots rang out in the street of Bayhorse Thursday last, when two local men, Harry Carson and Wade Phillips, confronted Buck West. Though West was a stranger to the citizens of the town, he has inscribed his name indelibly in the memory of all who witnessed the gunfight.
Challenged by Carson and Phillips, it is reported that West made every effort to avoid gunplay, even offering, as an act of friendship, to buy a beer for each of the two men who accosted him. Carson and Phillips refused the offer and carried their challenge to fruition. Doing so was a fatal mistake on the part of the two men, for even though they drew first, West was able to dispatch them through the skillful and deadly employment of his pistol. Marshal Dooley, himself a witness to the events herein described, declared that as it was justifiable homicide. The gunfight clearly being an act of self-defense, no charges will be brought against West.
It is said that Buck West is a bounty hunter in search of the outlaw and murderer, Smoke Jensen. Jensen's expert employment of the pistol is well known throughout the West, and though the name of Buck West is not yet known, those who observed his performance in the gunfight in the street of the town of Bayhorse are in agreement that his efficacy with the handgun must surely be commensurate with the proficiency so often demonstrated by Smoke Jensen.
Richards looked up after reading the article. “What do we know about this man, West?”
Stratton frowned. “What do we need to know about him? Cornett told us he was faster'n Luke. And you read it yourself, he is looking for Smoke Jensen. Those who saw him say that he is as good as Jensen.”
“That's what they said about Kid Austin and Clell Dawson . . . and you know what happened to them. How do you propose to get in touch with this”—Richards checked the newspaper article again to get the name—“Buck West?”
“Why is it necessary for us to get in touch with him? According to the news articles that have appeared in papers all over the West, he is already looking for Smoke Jensen. If he finds him and kills him, then he'll be coming here to see Sheriff Reece. When that happens, our troubles are over.”
“Yeah.” Richards stroked his chin as he examined the paper for a moment longer. “I wish I was as confident as you are.”
“What have we got to lose? If this man West doesn't do the job, we aren't out any money.”
“No, but we will still have Smoke Jensen to deal with.”
 
 
Bury
 
In his office, Sheriff Dolan Reese was reading the same article that Josh Richards had just read. Reese tried unsuccessfully to place Buck West, but he couldn't come up with a face to put with the name, and that was unusual. He knew most of the outlaws and gunhands throughout the West. He had been a sheriff in three other communities before coming to Bury.
But it wasn't just because he was a sheriff and it was his job to know the outlaws, for he hadn't always been a sheriff. In the past, he had ridden on the other side of the line as an outlaw. As a matter of fact, he had ridden the outlaw trail more times than he had worn the star of a lawman.
Reece knew about gunfighters because he was one of the best. He had been in gunfights as an outlaw and as a lawman, and he wasn't against selling his guns to the highest bidder. In the past, he had taken a lawman's job primarily as a way of
hiding
from the law, but most recently the highest bidder
was
the law, or at least the law as established by Potter, Stratton, and Richards. They had hired him and were paying him almost ten times more money than any other law position paid, no matter where it was located. In addition, there had been times when the “Big Three”, as they were often called, had paid him bonuses for special jobs.
They had given him a thousand dollars to put paper out on Smoke Jensen, and they had raised the reward quite often. It was currently at thirty thousand dollars.
Sometimes Reese daydreamed about facing down Smoke Jensen. His daydreams about such an event predated the reward that the PSR had put out for Jensen. In the past, he'd contemplated going against the man strictly for the notoriety killing Jensen would bring him.
Whoever did kill Smoke Jensen would be famous all right. Jensen was one of, if not
the best
known gunfighters ever. If Reese made money from his gun, just think how much he could sell it for if word got around that
he
was the one who had killed Smoke Jensen.
That would be after he collected the thirty-thousand-dollar reward. But Buck West might be in his way.
Reese's thoughts were interrupted when his deputy Adam Rogers came into the office, calling out, “Hey, Sheriff, you ever heard of this fella Buck West?”
“No, I haven't.”
“I haven't, either, but that's near 'bout all anyone in town is talkin' about, especially since Denham run that story about 'im in his paper.”
“It isn't Denham's paper.”
Rogers sat in the chair in front of Reese's desk. “Well, yeah, I know that Stratton owns the paper just like he purt' nigh owns ever'thing else in town. But you know what I'm talkin' 'bout. I mean Denham does all the work. Anyhow, what do you think about West?”
“I don't think anything at all about him.”
“Don't it kinda make you wonder though? I mean, him bein' as good as the paper says and all. How come neither me or you ever heard of 'im?”
Reese shrugged. “You got me, pardner.”
“You know what I think?”
“No, but I reckon you're goin' to tell me.”
Rogers ignored the sheriff's attempt at humor. “I think it's more'n likely this here West feller ain't really all that good.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Well, first of all, like I said, we ain't neither one of us ever heard of 'im. You, bein' as good as you are, and bein' as you've been almost ever'where, if he was really as good as the paper makes out in this story, why, you woulda heard of him. I mean, don't you think?”
“It would seem so,” Reese agreed.
“Besides which, them two he kilt down in Bayhorse? Well, I knowed Harry Carson, and he was a big man what liked to fight, only mostly what he liked to fight with was his fists, is all. He warn't no gun hand. If you ask me, this here Buck West is gettin' hisself a reputation based on doin' nothin' more'n killin' people that don't know one end of the gun from the other.”
“Yeah.” Reese agreed with his deputy, primarily because he wanted to agree with him. He didn't want to think about anyone killing Smoke Jensen before he got the chance.
C
HAPTER
36
S
moke rode down the three long blocks of the business district of Bury at midmorning. Stores and saloons lined both sides of the wide street.
He had spent the last several days and nights camped some miles away, watching the one road that led into the little town. During that time, he'd watched the stagecoaches that came and went twice a day, primarily serving the outlying towns as a connector to the railroad in Bury. Freight wagons, peddlers, and tinkers had rolled in and out, too.
The first place he went was the livery stable, where he arranged a stall for his horse. Stashing most of his gear in Seven's stall, he took his rifle and saddlebags and started toward the hotel. On the way, he passed a very pretty, dark-haired, hazel-eyed young woman. He smiled at her and she blushed.
Smoke paused just long enough for her to walk on toward the edge of town, then he crossed the street to get a better look at her without her knowing that she was being observed. He saw her push open the gate on a white picket fence and walk up onto the porch of a small house. Going inside, she disappeared from view.
“Nice,” he muttered.
“Yeah, she is,” a voice said from behind him.
Turning, Smoke saw two men. Identified by the stars they wore on their shirts, he knew they were the sheriff and his deputy.
“I'm Sheriff Reese. This is Rogers, one of my deputies. I don't know you.”
“There's no reason you should know me, Sheriff. My name is Buck West.”
“So you're Buck West. Yeah, I've heard of you. You're the gunhand who shot down Carson and Phillips back in Bayhorse.”
“I don't deny that, Sheriff, but if you check with Marshal Dooley, he'll tell you that the shooting was justifiable.”
“Whether it was or wasn't is none of my business, since it didn't happen in my jurisdiction,” Reese said. “But what happens here is. So tell me, West, how long are you planning on staying in my town?”
Smoke frowned. “Your town?”
“Yeah, my town.”
“I've heard that there are three men here who might have a better claim to this town than you do. But, be that as it may, I'm not sure I can answer you as to how long I'm going to be here, seeing as it all depends.”
“Depends on what?”
Smoke shrugged. “On how long it takes me to get rested up and resupplied. Also, I'll need to find out more about this Smoke Jensen character, and how I go about collecting the reward money.”
Reese smiled. “Yeah, I heard you were a bounty hunter. Well, if you are planning on collecting money on Smoke Jensen, the first thing you're gonna have to do is find him.”
“Oh, I'll find him, all right,” Smoke said.
“Will you now?” Sheriff Reese asked.
Smoke smiled. “I think I can just about guarantee that, Sheriff.”
Rogers had heard enough and couldn't keep silent any longer. “You know what I think? I think you're all talk.”
Smoke looked at him. “Is that right?”
“Yeah, that's right. And here's another thing. You stay away from Sally Reynolds. I got my eyes on her. Besides, she likes me.”
“So that pretty lady I was just looking at is Sally Reynolds, is she? Well, that's good to know. Thanks for telling me.”
“Miss Reynolds is our schoolteacher,” Reese said. “And I'm pretty sure that someone like her wouldn't want nothing to do with no damn bounty hunter like you, West.”
“Yeah. You're probably right, Sheriff. Anything else I need to know about Bury and its citizens?”
“Just stay out of trouble.”
“I'll try and do that, Sheriff.” Smoke smiled, though the smile seemed more challenging than friendly. “The problem, or at least I've been told this, is that I'm the kind of man trouble seems to seek out.”
“Yeah, I wouldn't be surprised.”
Without losing the smile, Smoke touched the brim of his hat in what was almost a mocking salute, then turned his back on the two men and walked on up the boardwalk toward the hotel.
“I don't like him,” Rogers said after Smoke was out of earshot. “I think I'll kill him.”
“I don't like him, either,” Reese said. “But you don't do nothing until you're told to do it. You understand that, Rogers?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I just saw Stratton ride in. I'm going to go see him and find out what he thinks about this man West.”
* * *
“What's your impression of him?” Stratton asked after Sheriff Reese told him that Buck West was in town.
Reese hesitated. He didn't care much for Buck West, but he knew better than to play the game any way other than straight. He leveled with Stratton. “I think he's who he says he is. And I think the rumors are right. He's one hell of a gunfighter.”
“How do you know?”
“Mr. Stratton, you know me, and you know my background. I've been around enough gunfighters to know one when I see him.”
“Do you think he could take Smoke Jensen in a gunfight?”
“He might just be able to do that.”
“Good. But keep an eye on him.”
“Yes, sir.”
* * *
In the hotel, Smoke bathed and shaved. After getting dressed, he buckled his gunbelt around his waist and tied down the low-riding holster. That done, he stepped out onto the boardwalk and carefully looked all around him, as was his habit, before heading for the café, choosing that over the hotel dining room.
He took a seat inside, and saw that he was but one table over from Miss Sally Reynolds. Because the normal lunch hour was over, they were the only customers in the café. He smiled at her. “Pleasant day.”
“Very,” Sally replied. “Now that school is out for the summer, it's especially so.”
“I regret that I don't have more formal education. The War Between the States put a halt to that.”
“It's never too late to learn, sir.”
“You're a schoolteacher?”
“Yes, I am. And you . . . ?”
Smoke gave a slight smile. “I'm what they call a drifter, I'm afraid.”
“Oh, I think
adventurer
would be a more accurate term than
drifter
,” the young woman said, meeting his gaze.
Smoke chuckled. “Adventurer? Yes, I'll take that.”
“Why do you wear a gun?”
“Force of habit, I suppose.”
“I sometimes think many of the men who wear guns do so for show, without adequate skill to handle them. But I don't get that impression about you.”
Smoke leaned back in the chair. “What makes you think that?”
“I don't know. It's just a feeling I have. Are you skilled with a pistol, sir?”
“Some say that I am.”
Conversation waned as the waitress brought their lunches.
Before conversation could resume, Deputy Rogers entered the café, sat down at the counter, and ordered coffee. Seeing Sally and Smoke close together, albeit at different tables, vexed him, and he showed his irritation by glaring at them.
“Will you be in Bury long?” Sally asked Smoke.
“All depends, ma'am.”
“Lady of your quality shouldn't be talking to no bounty hunter, Miss Reynolds,” Rogers said. “It ain't fittin'.”
“Mr. Rogers,” Sally said coldly. “The gentleman and I are merely exchanging pleasantries over lunch, and I'll not be told by anyone who I can and who I can't speak to, whether you wear a lawman's badge or not.”
Rogers flushed, placed his coffee mug on the counter, and abruptly left the café.
“I'm afraid, Miss Reynolds, that Deputy Rogers doesn't like me very much,” Smoke said.
“Why?” Sally asked bluntly.
“I imagine it's because I make him feel somewhat insecure.”
“Very interesting statement from a man who professes to have little formal education, Mister . . .” She paused and chuckled. “I seem to be at a disadvantage here. You know my name, but I don't know yours.”
“It's West, ma'am. Buck West.”
“Buck West? I believe I read an article about you in the paper, and I was right. You do know how to handle a pistol. That is, if the article is factual.”
“Did it have anything to do with a little fracas over in Bayhorse?”
“It did.”
“Then, yes, ma'am, the article is factual.”
“Are you a bounty hunter, Mr. West?”
“Bounty hunter, cowhand, gunhand, sometimes trapper. Whatever it takes to make a living.”
“Oh, then I was right about the other thing, too. You really are an adventurer. A soldier of fortune, one might say.”
Smoke grinned. “I think your appellations may be more romantic than realistic.”
“
Appellations
? Oh my. And you say you aren't educated?”
“I read a great deal.”
“Never underestimate the value of self-education, Mr. West.”
“You're from east of the Mississippi River, ma'am?”
“New Hampshire. I came out here a few years ago after replying to an advertisement in a local paper. The pay is much better out here than back home.”
“I sort of know where New Hampshire is. I would imagine living is much more civilized back there.”
“To say the least, Mr. West. And also much duller.”
“Would you mind taking a walk with me, Miss Reynolds?” Smoke blurted. “And please don't think I'm being too forward.”
“I would love to walk with you, Mr. West.”
The sun was high in the afternoon sky and Sally opened her parasol as they strolled along the street a few minutes later.
“Do you ride, Miss Reynolds?” Smoke asked.
“Oh, yes. But I have yet to see a sidesaddle here.”
Smoke nodded. “They aren't too common a sight out here.”
As they walked, his spurs jangled.
“Which employment are you currently pursuing, Mr. West? Bounty hunter, cowhand, gunhand, or trapper?”
“Not many beaver here in Bury,” Smoke replied with a little chuckle.
A group of hard-driving cowboys picked that moment to burst into town, whooping and hollering and kicking up clouds of dust as they spurred their horses, sliding to a stop in front of one of the saloons.
Smoke pulled Sally into a doorway and shielded her from the dust that had been kicked up. When the dust was settled, he stepped aside and Sally resumed her walk beside him.
“Those are men from the PSR Ranch,” she said. “Rowdies and ruffians, for the most part.”
“PSR?” Smoke asked, knowing full well what the letters stood for.
“Potter, Stratton, and Richards. It's the biggest ranch in the state, so I'm told.”
The door opened behind them, and a very pretty lady emerged from the dress shop. “Hello, Sally,” she said with a smile.
“Hello, Janey.” Sally smiled.
“That is the business manager for PSR,” Sally said as Janey walked on down the boardwalk.
Smoke had just seen his sister for the first time in more than ten years. Or was it the first time? He could swear she was the woman he had seen in the Denver depot.
Sally frowned at him. “You have a rather odd look in your eyes, Mr. West.”
“I guess I'm surprised that such a pretty woman would be a business manager.”
“Not surprising when you get to know her. She is a very intelligent lady. She speaks three languages. And she is my friend.”
Smoke kept his face neutral
. How in the devil did Janey learn three languages? I thought she quit school in eighth grade.

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