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press the federal charges, I can get a couple of my deputies, and we’ll help you make the arrest. What I’m saying is that Morgan is very good with a gun, and Babcock is even better. I wouldn’t want you to put yourself into an untenable situation.”
    â€œThanks for the warning,” Smoke replied, trying to keep a touch of wry humor out of his voice. He pulled the warrant from his pocket, then took a pen from the inkwell on Sheriff Donovan’s desk. “What were those names again? Their full names.”
    â€œStanley Morgan and Lucas Babcock,” Donovan said.
    Smoke wrote them onto the blank space, then blew on the ink to dry it. He put the warrant in his pocket. “It might be a good idea for you to tell me what they look like.”
    Donovan chuckled. “Yeah, it might at that. They call Morgan Red for a reason. It’s not only his hair that’s red. He has the reddest skin I’ve ever seen. You can’t miss him. And Babcock has a handlebar mustache, as well as a purple scar that looks somethin’ like a fishhook under his left eye.”
    â€œWhat about the people in the saloon? Are they likely to take Morgan’s side?”
    â€œThere will be a few who generally support him, I reckon, but they would mostly be honest people who just aren’t ready to believe that he’s a cattle thief. Like I said, he’s already announced that he’s going to run for sheriff. If it actually comes to a showdown between Morgan and the law, they’ll stay out of it. Paul Gordon, the bartender, is a good man, and you can count on him to keep the others honest.”
    â€œThanks.” Smoke started to turn around and leave the office, then paused. “Oh, you might want to open a cell door. I wouldn’t want Morgan and Babcock to feel unwelcome when I bring them back.”
    As Smoke walked down the street from the sheriff’s office to the saloon, he could hear piano music spilling through the openings above and below the batwing doors.
    He stepped into the Ace High and moved quickly to the side and put his back against the wall, a procedure he used every time he entered a saloon. The place wasn’t full, but it did have more customers than he would have expected early in the evening.
    He studied the others in the saloon. Less than half of them were wearing guns, and less than half of those looked as if they really knew how to use them. From the descriptions Sheriff Donovan had provided, he recognized Morgan and Babcock at the far end of the bar. Unlike most of the men in the saloon, they were wearing their guns in a way that indicated they knew how to use them quite well.
    Loosening his pistol in his holster, Smoke walked halfway down the bar, then stopped. “Would you two gentlemen be Stanley Morgan and Lucas Babcock?” The words were loud and authoritative.
    Everyone in the saloon stopped talking and looked toward him. Those who were in position to see him from the front saw the star on his shirt. The two men standing at the bar between him and the men he had just called out to moved quickly to get out of the way.
    â€œWho wants to know?” Morgan asked as he turned his head to gaze without much real curiosity at the newcomer.
    â€œMr. Morgan, I’m Deputy U.S. Marshal Smoke Jensen.” Although his name was gaining some recognition, he wasn’t all that well-known. Since neither of them reacted to his name, he realized that neither had ever heard of him. That, he knew, was to his advantage.
    â€œWhat can I do for you, Deputy?” Morgan asked.
    â€œI have a warrant for your arrest, Morgan. And for you as well, Babcock. I stopped by Sheriff Donovan’s office before I came overhere and asked him to get a jail cell ready for you. He ought to have it waiting for you by now.”
    With that announcement, everyone in the saloon got up from the tables and moved out of the way, backing all the way up to the wall.
    Out of the