Those Jensen Boys! Read Online Free PDF Page A

of identical. They had looked a great deal alike when they were infants, but as they grew older they began to take on more distinct characteristics.
    They shared one quality common to most twins, however. Often, they seemed to know what the other brother was thinking, and if they weren’t together and one was in trouble, the other one knew it, somehow. That had come in handy on more than one occasion.
    â€œI never said I thought Smoke Jensen was our pa,” Ace went on. “I don’t think he’s really old enough for that. But he could be a distant relative.”
    â€œI suppose. Next time we’re down in Colorado maybe we ought to pay a visit to that big ranch of his. What’s it called? The Sugarloaf? Just ride up and say, ‘Howdy, Cousin Smoke. Remember us? We’re your long-lost cousins Ace and Chance.’”
    Ace grinned, picked up a stick from the pile of branches they’d gathered for firewood, and threw it across the fire at his brother. Chance ducked easily.
    â€œNow you’re just bein’ loco. Smoke Jensen would never claim a couple of fiddle-footed saddle tramps like us, even if he was related to us.”
    â€œSpeak for your own self.” Chance straightened the lapels of his coat. “I may be fiddle-footed, but I’m not a saddle tramp. I’m a gambler.”
    â€œYeah . . . a tinhorn gambler, to hear most folks tell it.”
    â€œHonest as the day is long,” Chance said with a grin.
    â€œI hear tell that up in Alaska, the days only last about four hours.”
    â€œI can manage to be honest for that long,” Chance said. “If I really work at it.”
    Ace laughed, shook his head, and finished off his coffee. They had been on the trail for a while, and he thought they ought to be coming to a settlement soon. That would be good, because their supplies were running a little low. It might be nice to spend a night in a hotel, too. Sleep in a real bed again.
    Most of the time when they were young, he and Chance had lived in cities. Doc Monday wasn’t what anybody would call a frontiersman. He liked his creature comforts, as he called them. A soft bed, a fire in the grate, a good meal, a glass of bourbon to sip, a fine cigar . . . For Doc, those were the things that made life worth living. That was why he had adopted the profession of gambler.
    It was only when Ace and Chance were nearly grown, when Doc had gotten sick and gone off for a rest cure, that they had started drifting. All their lives, they’d had restless natures, and now they could indulge those urges. For several years, they had ridden a lot of lonely trails, supporting themselves with odd jobs and Chance’s poker playing ability, sending money back to the sanitarium where Doc was staying whenever they could.
    They assumed he was still there. It had been quite a while since they had been to see him. It had been too painful to witness what the ravages of age and illness had done to the once vital man who had raised them.
    Neither of them thought any more about Smoke Jensen that night, and the subject was pretty well forgotten as they moved on the next day, following a trail that led higher into the mountains.
    Riding next to a creek that bubbled and sang along a little valley, Ace suddenly reined in and pointed up at the slope that rose to their left. “Look up there,” he told Chance with worry in his voice.
    Chance looked and let out a low whistle of surprise. “That jehu better be careful or he’ll drive that stagecoach right off that blasted mountain!”
    From down in the valley, they watched as a stagecoach careened along the road above that zigzagged back and forth down the pine-dotted slope. It seemed that the man was taking the hairpin turns too fast. The coach had stayed on the road so far, but the way it leaned over on each turn showed that it was in danger of tipping over.
    â€œHe’s going to wreck if he doesn’t slow