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smiling. “How about that?”
    Mary’s arrival from the kitchen with a bowl of stew and a saucer with a large piece of bread on it saved Luke from offering any explanations . . . not that he was likely to. He didn’t go around telling folks that he was Smoke Jensen’s brother. For many years, he had kept his relation to the Jensen family to himself, for reasons he’d considered good at the time.
    That had changed, but he still wasn’t very forthcoming by nature.
    He also didn’t say anything about how those lurid, fanciful novels were sometimes a minor thorn in Smoke’s side, bearing as they did little resemblance to anything remotely truthful about his life and career.
    â€œMr. Beale at the hotel recommended your café, and I’m glad he did,” Luke said after he had sampled the thick, savory beef stew. “This is excellent.”
    Mary smiled and said, “Well, Jefferson Beale took a trip to San Francisco once, and it almost ruined him. He thinks everywhere should be like that, even Bent Creek. But he’s a good man, despite those lofty ambitions. He usually manages not to be too pretentious.”
    The old-timer finished his coffee and left. Bert polished off the last of his pie, put a silver dollar on the counter, and said, “I’m obliged to you, as always, Mary. Good night.”
    â€œGood night, Bert,” she told him.
    The little bell over the door jingled as he went out. Luke said, “I appear to be your last customer of the day.”
    â€œYou don’t have to hurry. Just take your time, Mr. Jensen.” She took a cup down from one of the shelves behind the counter and poured coffee in it. “In fact, I’ll join you, if you don’t mind.”
    â€œBy all means. It’s your café.”
    â€œI like having a few quiet moments at the end of the day like this.” She took a sip of the coffee. “Especially with pleasant company.”
    She was a very attractive woman. Luke couldn’t help but notice that. Old enough that there were a few lines on her face, a few strands of gray in the glossy brown hair, to give her character. Warm brown eyes with the gleam of intelligence. A womanly body under the gray dress and white apron she wore. No wedding ring, but Luke couldn’t imagine a woman such as this never marrying, which made him think she was probably a widow. Taken all together, it was enough to make a man contemplate the different ways he might enjoy her company.
    Before Luke could venture very far down that intriguing mental path, however, the bell over the door jingled again.
    â€œDrat,” Mary said under her breath. “I knew I should have gone ahead and locked up when I had the chance.” Then she put another of those bright smiles on her face and went on, “Good evening, Marshal.”
    â€œEvenin’, Mary,” Chet Donovan said as he clumped into the room on muddy boots.
    â€œCan I get you something? Coffee? Maybe a piece of pie?”
    â€œWish I could, but I’m really lookin’ for your customer there.”
    â€œMe?” Luke said, raising an eyebrow.
    â€œYeah, I got an answer from up in Montana a lot quicker than I thought I would. Those wires must’a really been singin’ tonight. Anyway, I heard from the sheriff in White Fork. Fella by the name of Axtell.”
    â€œDid he authorize the payment of the bounty for Tyler?”
    â€œNope,” Donovan said.
    â€œWhat?” Luke frowned. “Does he doubt that we have the right man? Did you describe the prisoner to him in your wire?”
    â€œOf course I did. Told him I was sure the fella we’ve got locked up is Judd Tyler, and that the prisoner didn’t even bother denyin’ it. Evidently that don’t matter.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œBecause Axtell claims there’s a special condition on that bounty. It’s payable only when Tyler is delivered personally to him in