They danced through three songs before Denny, slightly breathless, suggested that they sit the next one out.

  “All right,” Markham said. “Want some punch?”

  Denny laughed. “If I want any, I’d better have it now before all the cowboys here manage to spike it. Pearlie has told me that by the end of some of these gatherings, what was in the punch bowl was mostly whiskey.”

  “Don’t the sheriff try to stop ’em from doin’ that?”

  “He does, but you know how tricky cowboys can be.”

  “Reckon I do,” Markham said with a chuckle.

  “And by now, it’s kind of a tradition, I think. So maybe Sheriff Carson doesn’t try really hard to stop them, after the evening reaches a certain point.”

  “Sounds like a smart man. I’ll fetch the punch. Where’ll you be?”

  “I’m going to look for my parents and Brad and see how they’re doing.”

  “I’ll find you,” promised Markham. He began making his way through the crowd toward the side of the room where the long tables with the punch bowls were set up.

  Denny soon lost sight of him and headed for the front of the room. She knew Smoke and Sally might have danced a little, but mostly at the socials they spent their time greeting and talking to friends. No one in the valley had more friends than Smoke and Sally Jensen.

  Denny found them where she expected to. Her mother was sitting on one of the chairs next to the wall, with Smoke standing beside her. Pearlie and Brad were with them. Denny smiled at Pearlie and said, “I thought you intended to dance with all the widow women.”

  “I’ve made a start on it,” he replied with a grin, “but I ain’t as young as I used to be, you know. A feller’s got to catch his breath now and then.”

  “And I thought you were going to play with the other kids outside,” she said to Brad.

  “I’m goin’ to,” he said. “I kind of like the music, though, even if I don’t want to dance.” He lifted the cup of punch he held. “And I wanted to get some punch, too.”

  “I figured it was still early enough to be safe,” Smoke said, dropping a knowing wink.

  “Safe from what?” Brad wanted to know.

  “Never mind about that,” Sally told him. “When you finish, you can go find your friends. Just don’t wander off away from the town hall.”

  “I won’t,” the youngster promised.

  Smoke said to Denny, “How are things going with Markham?”

  “Fine. He’s a good dancer.”

  “Earlier, before things really got started, I saw a little commotion over by the door. What was that about?”

  Denny wasn’t surprised that her keen-eyed father had spotted the confrontation with Brice. Smoke didn’t miss much of anything that was going on around him. She said, “It didn’t amount to anything. Brice just wanted to talk to me for a minute.”

  “He didn’t try to cause any trouble? A lawman’s got feelings like anybody else, you know.”

  “It’s fine,” Denny insisted. “We just needed to clear the air.”

  Smoke nodded without probing any further.

  Brad gulped down the rest of his punch and then hurried out to join the other children. He passed Markham, who was approaching holding two cups. “Hey, Steve,” Brad greeted the cowboy as he rushed past.

  “Howdy,” Markham called after him, then, grinning, he held out one of the cups to Denny. “Here you go.”

  She took it and said, “Thank you.” When she sipped the bright red liquid, she nodded. “Not extra potent . . . yet.”

  “I might have some more once it is, too.” He nodded to Smoke and Sally. “Howdy, Mr. Jensen, Miss Sally. I don’t mean to say that I plan on gettin’ drunk or nothin’—”

  “I know what you meant, Steve,” Smoke told him. “It’s fine, as long as you take good care of my daughter.”

  “Oh, I intend to, sir. You got my word on that.”

  Sally asked, “Are you enjoying yourself, Mr. Markham?”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am, I sure am. Where I come from, folks didn’t really get together like this. They was always too busy tryin’ to scrape out a livin’, I reckon. There wasn’t much time for enjoyin’ life. They just tried to survive it.”

  “That sounds terrible,” Sally told him with a shake of her head.

  “It wasn’t really that bad, I reckon. Just a matter of what you’re used to.”

  Smoke said, “Where are you from, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “No, sir. I grew up down in south Texas, not far from the border. It was pretty rough country in those days.”

  “From what I hear, it still hasn’t settled down all that much.”

  “No, and I don’t reckon it ever will. They grow folks prickly down there, just like the chaparral.”

  Smoke laughed. “I’ve been there a few times. You’re right!”

  Denny was glad to see her father and Markham getting along. Smoke had warned her not to get too serious about this cowboy, and she didn’t intend to, but as long as he was around, there was no reason they couldn’t have a pleasant friendship.

  And when the day came that he decided to ride away, Denny told herself she could accept that, too.

  They stood there chatting and sipping punch through two songs, then Markham said, “I’m about ready to get back out there and start traipsin’ around the floor again. How about you, Denny?”

  Denny drank the little bit of punch left in her cup and nodded. “That sounds good to me.”

  “Give me your cups,” Smoke said. “I’ll take them back over to the table.”

  They did so, and then Markham took Denny’s hand as the musicians finished one song and got ready to start another. The guitar player who was the leader of the group talked to the other members while the dancers stood and talked as they waited. From the looks of it, there was some minor disagreement among the musicians about what the next tune should be.

  During that pause, Brice Rogers suddenly appeared at Denny’s elbow. She had seen him a few times while she and Markham were dancing earlier. Brice hadn’t found himself another partner and gone out on the floor. Instead he had been standing against the wall with some of the other men who weren’t dancing. He’d had a scowl on his face, and Denny figured he was still brooding over the whole situation.

  “You told me you’d give me a dance,” he said to her.

  Markham started to say something, but Denny put a hand on his arm to stop him. Things were less likely to escalate into a real problem if she handled it and Markham just stepped back.

  “That’s not exactly what I said,” Denny responded to Brice. “I told you you could ask, but I didn’t say how I’d answer.”

  “Well, are you gonna, or not?”

  Something was off about him, Denny realized. At first she wondered if he might be drunk. Even though she hadn’t seen any evidence of it, she was sure that flasks were being passed around among some of the men as they snuck nips of whiskey.

  She decided that wasn’t the case with Brice. His eyes were clear, and she didn’t smell any liquor on him. He was just upset, she thought, and that was because she had come to the social with Steve Markham and not him.

  “I’m sure there are plenty of girls here who would be happy to dance with you, Brice,” she said. “More than happy. You’re a handsome man, and everyone respects you.”

  The compliment didn’t work. He just snapped, “Not everybody.”

  Markham couldn’t restrain himself any longer, despite Denny urging him to do so. He said, “That’s right, mister. Some of us just wish you’d go away and leave us the hell alone.” Then he did possibly the worst thing he could have done. He slung an arm around Denny’s shoulders, smirked at Brice, and said, “Ain’t that right, honey?”

  Denny saw the rage flare to life in the deputy marshal’s eyes and said hastily, “Brice, don’t—”

  The plea came too late and probably wouldn’t have done any good anyway. With a snarled curse, Brice lunged forward and swung a punch with blinding speed at Markham’s jaw.

  Markham was taller and heavier than the lawman, but Brice packed a lot of power in his compact frame. The blow landed cleanly and knocked Markham away from Denny. He backpedaled a quick couple of steps and lost his balance, falling to the floor as several people waiting for the dancing to start again scrambled out of the way.

  Markham landed hard but bounced right back up. Denny let out a despairing groan as the cowboy pushed himself to his feet, growled something incoherent, and charged at Brice with fists clenched and ready to lash out.

  CHAPTER 33

  Markham looked like a maddened bull as he stomped forward. Denny was going to try to get in his way and stop this fight before it went any further, but before she could do more than take a single step, somebody caught hold of her arms from behind and held her back.

  “Better stay out of his way,” said her father. “As loco as he is right now, he’ll run right over you.”

  Denny didn’t really believe that, but she couldn’t break loose from Smoke’s firm grip. All she could do was stand there and watch.

  Brice didn’t wait for Markham to come to him. He lunged forward again to meet the cowboy’s attack. Markham swung his right fist in a looping roundhouse punch that Brice ducked underneath. Markham’s rush brought him within reach of Brice’s fists, and the lawman hammered a fast left-right-left combination into Markham’s ribs.

  The blows jarred Markham to a stop, but he didn’t give any ground. He chopped a punch at Brice’s head and connected, although it was only a grazing hit above Brice’s left ear. That was enough to make Brice stumble a little, though, and it gave Markham the chance to hook a left into Brice’s belly. Brice doubled over and moved back a step.

  That put him in perfect position for the right that Markham sent whistling toward his jaw. A few feet away, Denny saw what was happening and her heart leaped in alarm. She knew that if Markham’s punch landed, it would not only end the fight but might also break Brice’s jaw.

  Brice looked sick from the hard punch to his gut, but his instincts worked. He dived under the blow Markham aimed at him and tackled the cowboy around the thighs. Both of them went down, crashing hard to the floor.

  The townspeople attending the social had all drawn back to form a circle and give the combatants plenty of room. Some men yelled encouragement to either Brice or Markham; it was difficult to say which. Some of them were just yelling in excitement.

  Monte Carson appeared at Smoke’s side, saying, “I’d better put a stop to this.”

  “Wait,” Smoke said. “Let them battle it out if you can, Monte. Might be better to let them settle things between them.”

  “All right,” Monte said reluctantly. “As long as they’re not doing any damage to anything besides each other.”

  Denny was about to object, but she realized her father was right. As long as Brice’s resentment continued to fester, the potential for trouble would always be there. She didn’t know if this fight would get rid of that, but there was a chance it might.

  Cal and Pearlie came up on Denny’s other side.

  Cal said, “That blasted Markham—”

  “Brice threw the first punch,” Denny told him. “He’s to blame for this.”

  Cal looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Really?”

  “That’s right.” Denny turned her head toward Smoke. “You can let go of me now, Pa. I’m not going to try to interfere with what those two idiots are doing.”

  “Got your word on that?” Smoke asked with a faint twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

  “Yeah. Maybe they can knock some sense into each other . . . but I kind of doubt it.”

  Smoke nodded, released Denny’s arms, and moved alongside her to watch the fight as it continued.

  While the talk was going on, Brice and Markham had been rolling around on the floor, alternately wrestling and throwing punches. Using his superior weight, Markham managed to plant a knee in Brice’s belly and pin him down. Markham loomed over the smaller man and began pounding him in the face, punishing him mercilessly.

  Brice wasn’t out of the fight, though. He kicked his right leg high and managed to hook his calf in front of Markham’s throat. When he straightened his leg, the move levered Markham off of him and made the cowboy sprawl onto his back.

  With blood smeared on his face from his mouth and nose and the cuts Markham’s fists had opened around his eyes, Brice dived after his opponent. He landed with both knees in Markham’s belly. Clubbing his hands together, he swung them from left to right and smashed a powerful blow to Markham’s jaw. The impact twisted Markham’s head far to the side. It would have been enough to knock most men unconscious.

  Markham was far from out cold. He roared in anger, got hold of the front of Brice’s shirt, and flung him away. With blood dripping from his mouth, Markham clambered up and went after Brice, who had come to a stop on his belly after rolling several feet.

  Markham lifted a booted foot and tried to bring it down hard on Brice’s back, which might well have broken a rib or two, but Brice was quick enough to roll onto his side. He grabbed Markham’s boot, and heaved. Markham went over backward again.

  Brice was slow getting up, but Markham was slower. When both men reached their feet, they stood glaring at each other while their chests heaved from exertion. Brice’s face was bloodier, but a big multicolored bruise was already forming on Markham’s jaw and he had other swollen, battered places on his face. Clearly, both of them had been through the wringer.

  But they weren’t finished yet.

  Panting a curse, Markham stumbled forward with his fists clenched. Brice stayed where he was, but he raised his hands and closed them into fists, too, in anticipation of the cowboy’s attack. Markham threw a right, but he was slower now, and Brice had been quick enough even at the start of the fight. He weaved to the side and the fist went harmlessly past his right ear. Brice snapped a right jab to Markham’s nose. Blood spurted.

  Markham hauled up a left uppercut that Brice evidently wasn’t expecting. It caught Brice under the chin and rocked his head back. Markham chopped at his exposed throat. Brice got his chin down just in time to block the blow’s force and keep it from crushing his windpipe. He threw a couple of wild, close-range punches. Markham didn’t do anything to avoid them, but Brice missed anyway. He was too tired; his blows lacked the crispness they’d had.

  Markham didn’t even try punching again. He just bulled forward and spread his arms, grabbing Brice around the torso and lifting him off the floor. Markham squeezed hard in a bone-crushing bear hug.

  Eyes wide in desperation, Brice cupped both hands and slapped them against Markham’s ears as hard as he could. The move worked. Markham yelled in pain as the air compressed against his eardrums, and he lost his grip on Brice. The lawman dropped the few inches to the floor and almost fell, but caught his balance in time to smash another punch to Markham’s already bleeding nose. Markham stumbled back, managed to catch himself, and swung a wild right at the same time as Brice did likewise.

  Both men missed. Didn’t even come close, in fact. The momentum of the punches turned them around. Their knees buckled, and both fell. Unable to rise again, they lay there, breathing hard.

  “All right. That’s blasted well enough,” Monte Carson said.

  Smoke’s tone was dry as he said, “I think they agree with you.”

  After a few seconds, Steve Markham groaned and tried to push himself up. A few feet away, Brice Rogers stirred as well, muttering something to himself. Clearly, both men wanted to try to continue the fight even though they were in no shape to do so.

  Before Monte Carson could step forward, Denny did so, coming to a halt between them. “You two just stop it,” she said sharply. “You’ve pounded each other almost into raw meat, all over nothing.”

  Markham lifted his head. With air wheezing through his swollen and bleeding nose, he said, “You ain’t . . . ain’t nothin’ . . . Denny. Not . . . hardly.”

  Brice pushed himself up and gasped, “Damn . . . saddle . . . tramp.”

  “That’s enough.” She bent and reached down . . .

  And took hold of Markham’s arm.

  She couldn’t really say why she did that. She supposed it was because he was the one who had come with her to the social, and Brice had pressed the issue and thrown the first punch. If she was going to help either of them, it just seemed fair that it should be Steve Markham.

  While Brice watched, looking shocked and disappointed, almost devastated, Denny helped Markham to his feet. Telling him, “Lean on me,” she led him toward the chairs along the wall so he could sit down. The crowd, which had fallen silent, formed an aisle through which they made their way.

  Brice had pushed himself to his knees.

  Smoke stepped forward, took hold of the deputy marshal’s arm, and effortlessly lifted him to his feet. “Come on. You could use some cleaning up, and probably a drink.”

  Brice looked at Monte Carson and asked, “Are you gonna . . . arrest me?”

  “I reckon not,” Monte replied. “From the looks of your face right now, you’ve been punished enough.”

  Brice gazed across the room to where Markham had sat down and Denny hovered over him. Using a lacy handkerchief she had produced from somewhere, she dabbed at the blood on his face.

  “Yeah, I’d say you’re right, Sheriff,” Brice said bitterly. “And I can sure use that drink you mentioned, Mr. Jensen.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Smoke sat easy in the saddle and looked over the herd of horses grazing in the pasture not far from the ranch headquarters. A couple of hands were posted nearby, also on horseback, to make sure none of the animals strayed, but actually, that was pretty unlikely. The Sugarloaf’s saddle horses had been well trained to stay where they were put unless commanded otherwise.

  Cal rode up beside Smoke and reined in. “There they are. Seventy-five head of fine stock, Smoke. If you ask me, Bob Coburn’s getting the best end of this deal.”

  “I think it’s a fair bargain for all concerned,” said Smoke. “And it’ll be good to see Bob again.”