Smoke Jensen, the Beginning
Page 29
All that was left were Dog’s snarls as he finished mauling the man he had taken care of.
“Looks like they’re all done for,” Luke said into the eerie hush that followed the violence.
“Any of you fellas hurt?” Smoke asked.
“I’m fine,” Matt said as he got to his feet and brushed straw and dirt off the front of his shirt.
“I ain’t hurt,” Preacher said angrily, “but one o’ them scoundrels put a hole in my hat!”
“That hat’s been to hell and back,” Smoke said with a grin as he reloaded one of his Colts. “I don’t reckon one more bullet hole is going to do that much more damage to it.”
Preacher just snorted disgustedly as he picked up the headgear in question and clapped it down over his thinning gray hair.
“Hold on a minute,” Matt said. “I count . . . nine of them. Six came in the front, and I would have sworn when they bushwhacked us from the back there were four more of them. That makes ten.”
Luke nodded grimly. “So one of them got away.”
“You want take a look for him?” Smoke asked.
Luke thought about it for a second. It was doubtful the lone surviving gang member posed much of a threat to them, but he didn’t like leaving loose ends. “Maybe we’d better. No telling if the hombre might go in for some back shooting.”
Smoke opened the tack room door and asked the old hostler, “Are you all right in there, tio?”
“Sí, señor,” the man replied.
“You know who those fellas were, don’t you?”
The old man emerged tentatively and nodded. “Señor Shawcross and his men. They come here to Espantosa from time to time. They do as they please because everyone is too afraid to stand up to them.”
“Well, you won’t have to worry about that anymore,” Smoke said. “Do they stable their horses here?”
“Sí. This is the only place in town for the caballos.”
Smoke nodded. “Preacher, you and Dog stay here in case the fella tries to double back and grab a mount.”
Preacher didn’t argue with the decision. Even though he had mentored Smoke for many years and taught the younger man practically all he knew about surviving on the frontier, there was no denying that Smoke was a natural leader and usually knew the best thing to do.
“The rest of us will see if we can find him,” Smoke went on.
“Should be able to,” Matt said. “This settlement isn’t much more than a wide spot in the trail. There aren’t that many places he could have gone.”
The three of them holstered their guns, buttoned up their slickers, and slid Winchesters from saddle sheaths. They worked the levers on the repeaters, then stepped out into the rain, moving quickly so they wouldn’t be silhouetted in the doorway for more than an instant.
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Copyright © 2015 J. A. Johnstone
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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.
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ISBN: 978-0-7860-3642-4
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First Kensington hardcover edition: February 2015
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