Look for these exciting Western series from
bestselling authors
WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE
and J. A. JOHNSTONE
The Last Mountain Man
Preacher: The First Mountain Man
Luke Jensen, Bounty Hunter
Those Jensen Boys!
The Jensen Brand
MacCallister
Flintlock
Perley Gates
The Kerrigans: A Texas Dynasty
Sixkiller, U.S. Marshal
Texas John Slaughter
Will Tanner, U.S. Deputy Marshal
The Frontiersman
Savage Texas
The Trail West
The Chuckwagon Trail
Rattlesnake Wells, Wyoming
AVAILABLE FROM PINNACLE BOOKS
LUKE JENSEN, BOUNTY HUNTER LEGION OF FIRE
WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE
WITH J. A. JOHNSTONE
PINNACLE BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
THE JENSEN FAMILY FIRST FAMILY OF THE AMERICAN FRONTIER
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
A REASON TO DIE
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
PINNACLE BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2018 J. A. Johnstone
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
Following the death of William W. Johnstone, the Johnstone family is working with a carefully selected writer to organize and complete Mr. Johnstone’s outlines and many unfinished manuscripts to create additional novels in all of his series like The Last Gunfighter, Mountain Man, and Eagles, among others. This novel was inspired by Mr. Johnstone’s superb storytelling.
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
PINNACLE BOOKS, the Pinnacle logo, and the WWJ steer head logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-0-7860-4056-8
ISBN-10: 0-7860-4056-4
ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-4057-5
ISBN-10: 0-7860-4057-2
THE JENSEN FAMILY FIRST FAMILY OF THE AMERICAN FRONTIER
Smoke Jensen—The Mountain Man
The youngest of three children and orphaned as a young boy, Smoke Jensen is considered one of the fastest draws in the West. His quest to tame the lawless West has become the stuff of legend. Smoke owns the Sugarloaf Ranch in Colorado. Married to Sally Jensen, father to Denise (“Denny”) and Louis.
Preacher—The First Mountain Man
Though not a blood relative, grizzled frontiersman Preacher became a father figure to the young Smoke Jensen, teaching him how to survive in the brutal, often deadly Rocky Mountains. Fought the battles that forged his destiny. Armed with a long gun, Preacher is as fierce as the land itself.
Matt Jensen—The Last Mountain Man
Orphaned but taken in by Smoke Jensen, Matt Jensen has become like a younger brother to Smoke and even took the Jensen name. And like Smoke, Matt has carved out his destiny on the American frontier. He lives by the gun and surrenders to no man.
Luke Jensen—Bounty Hunter
Mountain Man Smoke Jensen’s long-lost brother Luke Jensen is scarred by war and a dead shot—the right qualities to be a bounty hunter. And he’s cunning, and fierce enough, to bring down the deadliest outlaws of his day.
Ace Jensen and Chance Jensen—Those Jensen Boys!
Smoke Jensen’s long-lost nephews, Ace and Chance, are a pair of young-gun twins as reckless and wild as the frontier itself . . . Their father is Luke Jensen, thought killed in the Civil War. Their uncle Smoke Jensen is one of the fiercest gunfighters the West has ever known. It’s no surprise that the inseparable Ace and Chance Jensen have a knack for taking risks—even if they have to blast their way out of them.
Chapter 1
Two minutes before the bullets started to fly, Luke Jensen emerged from the Keg ’N Jug Saloon and paused on the lip of the weathered walkway that ran in front of the place. He was feeling frustrated and more than a little puzzled.
Following standard procedure for arriving in a strange town on the trail of a fugitive, he had stopped by the town marshal’s office to report his presence and state his business. Trouble was, he’d found only a plump, round-faced old man present, a self-described “part-time deputy whenever the marshal has to be out of town.”
The deputy had gone on to inform Luke that the marshal was away chasing rustlers and there was no telling when he would be back. Hardly inspired by the oldster’s seeming lack of eagerness for getting involved in anything of significance, Luke hadn’t bothered him with the details of his visit, just let him know he was a bounty hunter and passing through.
From there, Luke had checked out first the livery stable and then the town’s two drinking establishments. He’d come up empty all the way around. No sign of either the man he was looking for or the horse the man had been riding, as previously seen through the magnification of Luke’s binoculars.
Earlier that morning, Luke had unexpectedly spotted the little town of Arapaho Springs from the crest of a tall hill off to the east. He’d viewed it as a stroke of possible good luck following the bad luck of a storm that had kept him hunkered down and drenched for most of the previous day and night. Thanks to that storm, he had lost the trail of Ben Craddock—the hombre whose name and face were plastered on a wanted poster Luke carried in his shirt pocket.
In addition to Craddock’s image and description, the poster also displayed the banner $2,500 REWARD – DEAD OR ALIVE. That was where Luke came in. As a bounty hunter of considerable renown, he made his living off running
down men like Craddock.
He was far from ready to give up in this case. The fact Craddock seemed to have given him the slip was only a temporary setback.
Upon sighting the town, Luke had figured it was probable that the wanted man, who’d been on the trail for a long stretch before also getting caught in the same storm as his pursuer, would stop at least long enough to replenish his supplies and more than likely oil his tonsils some at one of the saloons along the muddy main street.
True, Craddock was a man on the run and therefore somewhat cautious, but he had no idea Luke was on his trail, let alone anywhere close. Since the crimes that had prompted the wanted poster had been committed a whole state away and Arapaho Springs was such an out-of-the-way little place, it seemed unreasonable for Craddock to pass it up.
Yet it appeared he had. Either that or he’d come and gone so quickly that no one Luke had spoken with so far remembered seeing him.
So the man hunter was left with a decision to make. Did he hang around a little longer, check a little closer to make sure Craddock was nowhere in town? Or did he ride on, hoping to pick up the fugitive’s trail again?
Or did he tarry awhile strictly for his own purposes—namely, taking in a hot meal at the café down the street and maybe finding a place where he could bathe and change clothes—and then move on to once more cut Craddock’s sign? Any doubt about accomplishing the latter never entered his mind. Luke was good at what he did, and that included being a keen-eyed tracker. He may have lost his man’s trail briefly, due to the rain, but he felt confident it would be just a matter of time before he was able to pick it up again.
With that thought in mind, he made his decision. He would take some extra time for that hot meal and bath, perhaps ask a few more questions to those he encountered in the process. If no trace or remembrance of Craddock continued, it would be time to climb back in the saddle and ride on.
Luke started toward the café that had been tempting him ever since he’d passed it earlier and caught a whiff of delicious aromas. Fortunately, it was on the same side as the Keg ’N Jug, so he didn’t have to cross the muddy, sloppy street again.
As he strode along, continuing to take in the sights and sounds of the peaceful little town that surrounded him, Luke received a considerable amount of appraisal in return. He was a tall, solidly built man in his early forties, with rugged facial features built around a prominent nose and neatly trimmed mustache. No one would ever call him classically handsome, yet women tended to find him attractive while men took note for reasons of their own. He dressed habitually in black—boots, trousers, shirt, wide-brimmed hat. Around his waist he wore a brace of nickel-plated Remington revolvers pouched in holsters set for the cross draw and a sheathed knife on his left hip, just behind the gun on that side. He generally earned more than a passing glance.
As he approached the café, Luke again caught scent of the aromas that had first lured him. Only a couple of horses were tied at the hitch rail out front of the establishment, but it being close to the noon hour, Luke expected there would be a good-sized crowd inside. At least there should be, if the food was anywhere near as good as it smelled. It crossed Luke’s mind that, given his rather bedraggled, mud-spattered condition, maybe he should opt for the bath and change of clothes first, before mingling with other diners.
While he was pondering whether or not to clean up first, the choice was suddenly made for him. A rifle crack came from the opposite side of the street and the accompanying wind-rip of a bullet passed scarcely an inch in front of his nose. His reaction was swift, instinctive as he jerked back a half step and dropped into a low crouch. Even as the bullet that barely missed him was smashing against the side of the building he’d been passing, the Remingtons seemed to leap into his fists.
Staying crouched, his eyes scanned across the street, looking for some sign of the shot’s origin. Up and down the boardwalk in either direction and on both sides, citizens who’d been going about their business were scrambling frantically to get inside one of the stores or otherwise find cover.
In the wide-open double doors of a blacksmith shop catty-cornered across the suddenly abandoned strip of muddy wagon and horse tracks, Luke saw what he was looking for. In that doorway, braced against its frame on one side, stood a man with a rifle raised to his shoulder. A haze of bluish smoke from his first shot hung in the air just above the man’s head and, as Luke’s eyes locked on him, he triggered another round.
The shot tore in low, gouging a furrow and throwing a spray of splinters from the boardwalk planks half a foot to Luke’s left. Luke instantly responded by squeezing off a blast from each of his revolvers. The range was pushing the accuracy for a handgun, especially rounds fired without taking careful aim, but at the moment, Luke was only looking to neutralize the advantage of the man who’d opened up on him and buy himself a few seconds to get to shelter.
He got what he wanted when the rifleman ducked back from the .44 caliber slugs the Remingtons had sent screaming through the blacksmith shop doorway. While the shooter was trying to get reset and raise his rifle again, Luke sprang up out of his crouch, spun to one side, and lunged around the corner of the building he’d been caught in front of. A third shot chased him, but too late. It only managed to blow away a fist-sized chunk of wood an instant after Luke disappeared behind the building’s edge.
He found himself at the mouth of a narrow alley between two structures. The ground underfoot was wet and sloppy, sucking at his boots, and strings of pooled rainwater were still dribbling down from the buildings’ eaves. But all of that was minor discomfort compared to stopping a bullet.
His mind raced, calculating and weighing his options. At least he had the satisfaction of knowing he’d caught up with his man—for the rifleman across the way was none other than Ben Craddock. The brief glimpse Luke had gotten between bullets was enough to confirm that much.
Damn! The blacksmith shop. That was where Craddock had gone after arriving in town. Considering all the miles Luke knew his quarry had recently ridden, he should have thought of the possibility Craddock’s horse might need some reshoeing.
As a matter of fact, before leaving his own horse at the livery stable, Luke had taken time to check and make sure its shoes were in good shape since it, too, had traveled a fair stretch of miles and a smithy was close at hand if any repair had been needed. Finding everything okay in that department, he’d dismissed any further thought of the blacksmith.
A mistake, as it turned out. Nearly a fatal one.
As far as Luke knew, he’d given no prior indication to Craddock that he was closing in on him. His name, black-clad appearance, and his line of work were pretty widely known across the frontier. All it would have taken was for the wanted man to have gazed out the open doors of the blacksmith shop when Luke was coming up the street and he would have quickly jumped to the conclusion the bounty hunter was after him. What apparently came next was an equally quick decision to waste no time cutting him down with rifle fire.
Only Luke’s swift reflexes had saved him. At least so far.
Chapter 2
Once more dropping into a crouch, Luke leaned out around the corner of the building and fired another shot into the doorway of the blacksmith barn. As before, he didn’t take time for careful aim. He meant to accomplish two things. One, he wanted to make sure Craddock was still in place, and two, he wanted to work on his nerves some.
How successful he was at the latter, he had no way of knowing. But Craddock was still in the blacksmith’s doorway, though pulled back so that only a sliver of him was visible along the edge of the frame. As soon as Luke’s shot sizzled well wide of him, the fugitive leaned out and blasted two return rounds into the mouth of the alley.
With bullets again chewing wood in his wake, Luke wheeled about and lit a shuck toward the far end of the alley. There was no sense remaining where he was and continuing to trade lead with Craddock, especially at the range disadvantage for Luke’s pistols against the outlaw’s rifle.
Luke burst out the rear of the alley, slipping and skidding a bit, then cut hard to his right. Once again, he was headed in the direction of the aromatic café, and it occurred to him that if he came up on the far side of the eatery, it should put him almost straight across from the doorway to the blacksmith shop.
He pumped his arms as he ran, the long-barreled Remingtons flashing in his fists. From out on the street he heard the crack of two more rifle reports, Craddock firing blindly into the alley Luke had just vacated.
Good, let the damn fool waste ammunition.
It also signaled he was holding in place, unknowingly waiting for Luke to get repositioned.
Even as that advantage crossed his mind, Luke reached the back of the café. He slowed as he came to the far corner, allowing his breathing to level off some and then slowly edging around the building to take a cautious look and get his bearings. He quickly saw that he was a little farther down the street than he’d reckoned. Only a portion of the blacksmith shop was visible straight ahead. He’d have to move forward along the side of the café in order to reach a point where he could see into the doorway Craddock was shooting from.
That was okay with Luke. Possibly even a bit better than he’d hoped for. The angle for his line of fire would be reversed—left to right instead of right to left—though at a considerably reduced distance. What was more, if Craddock remained crowded partially behind the door frame on the right, he would be almost completely exposed when Luke reached the front corner of the café.
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