Code of the Mountain Man tlmm-8

by William W. Johnstone

  Louis reloaded then dragged the bodies away, heaving them over a small cliff. He went through their saddlebags and found more food, a goodly amount of .44 ammo, and some stinking socks and dirty longhandles. He kept the food and the ammo and turned their horses loose after relieving them of saddle and bridle. He returned to his fire and slowly ate his supper, scoured out his pan and plate, then broke camp and moved on about a mile, before bedding down for the night.

  “Got more bounty hunters in the mountains than boys left in the gang,” Lee Slater said glumly.

  He sat staring into the flames of the campfire and sucking on a bottle of rye whiskey.

  His brother, Luttie, sat across the fire from him, equally morose. He took a drink from his bottle and wondered how all this was going to turn out. The shock of losing five of his men in a matter of seconds earlier that day still had not entirely left him. He wondered if his boys had managed to get enough lead in that damned ol’ Charlie Starr to kill him. He doubted it.

  “Twelve dead, last count,” Lee said. “Six wounded. And you lost five of your boys to Starr.”

  “You don’t have to keep reminding me,” Luttie said sourly. “This wouldn’t have happened if you had kept a tight rein on your boys. The dumbest damn thing you did was attackin’ Big Rock and shootin’ up the place. The second dumbest thing you done was shootin’ Smoke Jensen’s wife. And the third dumbest thing you done is torturin’ and rapin’ and killin’ that family up north of here.”

  “Aw, shut up!” Lee told him.

  “Don’t tell me to shut up! I told you to come straight here and stay out of trouble on the way. We could have had it all, Lee. We could have taken a million dollars worth of gold and silver from the miners and stages and banks and done been gone from this damn place. But, oh, hell, no. You had to surround yourself with idiots and screw it all up.”

  “If he’s talkin’ about idiots, he must be talkin’ about you boys,” Lopez said to the Karl Brothers.

  Rod gave him a dirty look, and Randy gave him an obscene gesture.

  “We got Smoke to the north of us,” Curt said. “A damn good rifleman to the East of us, and it looks like Louis Longmont is to the south of us.”

  “And a bunch of U.S. Marshals camped at the edge of the mountains,” Dale pointed out.

  “Maybe it’s time to haul out of here,” Max suggested.

  “I’ll be damned!” Lee snarled at him. “Good God, people! Countin’ Luttie’s bunch, they’s nearly fifty of us left, all told, and we’re lettin’ two or three people whup us. What the hell’s the matter with you? No one or two people ain’t never whupped fifty people. We’re doin’ somethin’ wrong, is all. We got to study this out and find out what it is.”

  “Smoke Jensen and Louis Longmont ain’t no average two people,” Al Martine pointed out. “And that rifleman that hit us this afternoon wasn’t no pilgrim, neither. Now you think about this—all of you: hittin’ Rio is out the winder. They’d shoot us to pieces in ten seconds. The miners has all shut down and gone into town; they ain’t diggin’ no gold, and they shore ain’t shippin’ none. The county seat is out of the pitcher; Sheriff Silva ain’t no man to fool with. So where the hell does that leave us?”

  “My ass hurts!” Bud complained.

  “He’s up there,” Ace Reilly said, his eyes looking at the timber line. Good light of morning, the air almost cold this high up.

  Big Bob Masters shifted his chew from one side of his mouth to the other and spat. “Solid rock to his back,” he observed. “And two hundreds yards of open country ever’where else. It’d be suicide gettin’ up there.”

  Ace lifted his canteen to take a drink, and the canteen exploded in his hand, showering him with water, bits of metal, and numbing his hand. The second shot nicked Big Bob’s horse on the rump, and the animal went pitching and snorting and screaming down the slope, Big Bob yelling and hanging on and flopping in the saddle. The third shot took off part of Causey’s ear, and he left the saddle, crawling behind some rocks.

  “Jesus Christ!” Ace hollered, leaving the saddle and finding cover. “Where the hell is that comin’ from?"

  Big Bob’s horse had come to a very sudden and unexpected halt, and Big Bob went flying ass over elbows out of the saddle to land against a tree.

  He staggered to his feet, looking wildly around him, and took a .44 slug in the belly. He sank to his knees, both hands holding his punctured belly, bellering in pain.

  “He’s right on top of us,” Ace called to Nap. “Over there at the base of that rock face.”

  Smoke was hundreds of yards up the mountain, just at the timber line, looking and wondering who his new ally might be. He got his field glasses and began sweeping the area. A slow smile curved his lips.

  “I married a Valkyrie, for sure,” he muttered, as the long lenses made out Sally’s face.

  He saw riders coming hard, a lot of riders. Smoke grabbed up his .44-.40 and began running down the mountain, keeping to the timber. The firing had increased as the riders dismounted and sought cover. Smoke stayed a good hundred yards above them, and so far he had not been spotted.

  “Causey!” Woody yelled. “Over yonder!” he pointed. “Get on his right flank—that’s exposed.”

  Causey jumped up, and Smoke drilled him through and through. Causey died sprawled on the still damp rocks from the misty morning in the high lonesome.

  “He’s up above us!” Ray yelled.

  “Who the hell is that over yonder?” Noah hollered, just as Sally fired. The slug sent bits of rock into Noah’s face, and he screamed as he was momentarily blinded. He stood up, and Smoke nailed him through the neck. Smoke had been aiming for his chest, but shooting downhill is tricky, even for a marksman.

  Big Bob Masters was hollering and screaming, afraid to move, afraid his guts would fall out.

  Smoke began dusting the area where the outlaws and bounty hunters had left their horses. The whining slugs spooked them and off they ran, reins trailing, taking food, water, and extra ammo with them.

  “Goddamnit!” Woody yelled, running after them. He suddenly stopped, right out in the open, realizing what a stupid move that had been.

  Smoke and Sally fired at the same time. One slug struck Woody in the side, the .44-.40 hit him in the chest. Woody had no further use for a horse.

  Smoke plugged Yancey in the shoulder, knocking the man down and putting him out of the fight. Yancey began crawling downhill toward the horses, staying to cover. He had but two thoughts in mind: getting in the saddle and getting the hell gone from this place.

  “It’s no good!” Ace yelled. “They’ll pick us all off if we stay here. We got to get out of range. Start makin’ your way down the slope.”

  The outlaws and bounty hunters began crawling back, staying to cover. Smoke and Sally held their fire, neither of them having a clear target and not wanting to waste ammo. They took that time to take a drink of water, eat a biscuit, and wait.

  Haynes, Dale, and Yancey were the first to reach the horses, well out of range of the guns of Smoke and Sally.

  Haynes looked up, horror in his eyes. A man dressed all in black was standing by a tree, his hands filled with Colts.

  “Hello, punk!” Louis Longmont said, and opened fire.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The last memory Haynes had, and it would have to last him an eternity, was the guns of Louis Longmont belching fire and smoke. He died sitting on his butt, his back to a boulder. Yancey tried to lift his rifle, and Louis shot him twice in the belly.

  Dale turned to run, and Louis offered him no quarter. The first slug cut his spine, the second slug caught him falling and took off part of his head.

  Louis reloaded his Colts, then picked up his rifle and took cover.

  “We yield!” Nap Jacobs yelled.

  “Not in this game,” Louis called.

  “Somebody come hep me!” Big Bob Masters squalled. “I cain’t stand the pain!”

  The pinned-down gunmen looked at each other. There were fo
ur of them left. Nap Jacobs, Ace Reilly, and two of Slater’s boys, Kenny and Summers.

  All knew Big Bob Masters was not long for this world. His yelling was growing weaker.

  “I ain’t done you no hurt, Longmont!” Ace yelled. “You got no call to horn in on this play.”

  “But here I am,” Louis said. “Make your peace with God.”

  The silent dead littered the mountain battlefield. Below them, an outlaw’s horse pawed the ground, the steel hoof striking rock.

  “And I don’t know who you is over yonder in the rocks,” Nap yelled. “But I wish you’d bow out.”

  “I’m Mrs. Smoke Jensen!” Sally called.

  “Dear God in Heaven,” Ace said. “We been took down by a damn skirt!”

  “Disgustin’!” Nap said.

  Kenny looked wild-eyed all around him. He was mumbling under his breath. His eyes held a touch of madness, and he was breathing hard, his chest heaving. Drool leaked from his mouth. “I’m gone,” he said, and jumped up.

  Three rifles barked at once, all the slugs striking true. Kenny was slammed backward, two holes in his chest and one hole in the center of his forehead.

  Nap looked over at Ace. “This ain’t no cakewalk, Ace. We forgot about Smoke’s reputation once the battle starts.”

  “Yeah,” Ace said, his voice low. “Once folks come after him, he don’t leave nobody standin’.”

  “I got an idea. Listen.” Nap tied a dirty bandana around the barrel of his rifle and waved it. “I’m standin’ up, people!” he shouted, taking his guns from leather and dropping them on the ground. “I walk out of here, and I’m gone from this country, and I don’t come back.” He looked at Ace. “You with me?”

  “All the way—if they’ll let us leave.”

  “I ain’t playin’, Ace. If they let us go, I’m gone far and long.”

  “My word on it.”

  “How about it, Jensen?” Nap shouted.

  “It’s all right with me,” Smoke returned the shout.

  “But if I see you again, anyplace, anytime, and you’re wearing a gun, I’ll kill the both of you. That’s a promise.”

  “Let’s go,” Nap said. “I always did want to see what’s east of the Mississippi.”

  The three of them shifted locations, leaving the dead bodies behind them. They knew all those shots would soon bring other troublehunters on the run.

  Louis reached out to stroke the blue steele’s head, and the stallion almost took some fingers off. Louis got his hand out of the way just in time.

  “Vicious brute!” he said.

  The stallion walled his eyes and showed Louis his big teeth.

  “Gentle as a baby,” Sally said, giving him a carrot. The stallion took the carrot as gently as a house pet.

  “We’ve got to get Sally out of here,” Smoke said.

  “I concur,” Louis said. “However . . .”

  “You can both go straight to hell!” she cut off Louis’ words. “I didn’t travel two hundred and fifty miles from the Sugarloaf to sit in some hotel room. I came to stand by my man, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

  Smoke shrugged. “You were about to say, Louis? . . .”

  “That it might not be possible to get Sally out of the mountains. Bounty hunters and assorted other crud and punks were still pouring into town when I left. We cut the odds down some today, but I’ll wager that double that number came into the mountains.”

  Smoke had taken a big, tough-looking horse from the mounts that the dead would no longer need. They had all carried food in their saddlebags, so that problem, at least, was solved. They had plenty of coffee and ammo as well.

  “If we could just find a place to hole up until those warrants are lifted,” Smoke said wistfully. He was weary of the killing. Weary of the blood and pain and sweat and tension.

  Louis shook his head. “No, my friend. That wouldn’t stop most of them. The blood lust is high and hot now. They’re like hungry predators on a blood scent.”

  Smoke drained his coffee cup and tossed the dredges. “Let’s get moving. We’ve got to find a place that we can defend.”

  “He’ll make it,” the young doctor said, stepping out of the room and gently closing the door behind him. “That is one tough man in there.”

  Charlie Starr was sleeping with the aid of some laudanum.

  The doctor dropped three chunks of lead on the table. “I dug one out of his leg, one out of his side, and another was lodged in his arm. Another bullet grazed his head. He’ll have a frightful headache for a time, and a hat would be uncomfortable, but he’ll be flat on his back a long time before he needs a hat.”

  “Don’t you bet on that,” Lilly told him. “That’s a warhoss in there in my bed.” She grinned wickedly. “And it ain’t the first time he’s been in my bed.” The doctor blushed. “I’ve wore him down to a frazzle a time or two myself. You got any pills you want me give him?”

  “You’re staying with him?”

  “Night and day until I’m sure he’s all right.”

  Earl stepped into the room. “You’ve got to see this, Johnny,” he said. “You might never see another sight like it.”

  Johnny walked outside and stood with Earl and Cotton, staring at the lawyer Larry Tibbson. Larry had bought himself some cowboy clothes, from hat to boots, and was wearing two pearl—handled .45s and carrying a Winchester rifle. There was a bandoleer of ammo looped across his chest.

  “He wants to be a deputy,” Earl said.

  “Boy,” Johnny said, after he recovered from his shock at the sight. “Are you tryin’ to get yourself killed?”

  “I am going into the mountain to aid Miss Sally,” Larry said stiffly.

  “Miss Sally don’t need no aid from you,” Johnny bluntly told him. “Boy, if you go blundering around up in them mountains, you probably gonna get lost and eat up by a bear. That’s the best way you might leave this world. The worst is gettin’ taken alive by them outlaws and havin’ them stick your bare feet in a fire for the fun of it.”

  “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” Larry informed him. “I’ll have you know that I belong to the New York City Pistol Club, am a very good shot, and have been duck-hunting many, many times.”

  “That’s good, Lawyer. Dandy,” Cotton said. “I’m proud of your accomplishments. But have you ever faced a man who was shootin’ at you? And plugged him?”

  “Heavens, no!”

  The men stood for fifteen minutes, begging and pleading with Larry to give up his plan. He stood firm. Finally Earl sighed. “Go get me a badge, Cotton. We’ll swear him in. That might give him some edge.”

  “Get him killed,” Cotton said. He stepped off the boardwalk and paused, looking back. “I seen Mills in town just before the stage run. Did he say anything to any of you? He looked sort of jumpy to me. Excited, I guess it was.”

  “No,” Earl said. “I saw him. He met the stage and was gone before I could talk to him. And I wanted to tell him about Charlie.”

  “I wonder what he’s got up his sleeve?”

  “I shall endeavor to join with that stalwart group,” Larry said.

  “Whatever that means,” Cotton said, walking off.

  “Here they are,” Mills said excitedly, jumping from his horse. “The warrants on the Lee Slater gang. Saddle up, men! We’re riding for the deep timber.”

  The men broke camp quickly and were in the saddle within fifteen minutes.

  “We’ve got a few hours of daylight left,” Mills said. “We’ll get in close and camp, hit the outlaws at first light.”

  “Ah . . . Mills, We don’t know where they are," Albert pointed out.

  “We’ll follow the sounds of shooting,” Mills spoke the words in a grim tone. “And we’ll put a stop to it before it can escalate further.”

  The marshals exchanged glances.

  “Pin your badges to your jackets,” Mills ordered. “These men have got to learn to respect the law.”

  “And you think these badges
are going to do that?” Moss asked.

  “Certainly!”

  “Right,” Winston said, with about as much enthusiasm as a man going to his own hanging.

  Larry was dismayed when he could not find a proper English riding saddle anywhere in town. But he was not discouraged. He left town armed to the teeth, sitting in a Western rig, bobbing up and down in the saddle as he had been taught. The horse wore a very curious expression on its face.

  “He’s gonna get killed,” Cotton predicted.

  “Maybe not,” Earl said. “Men like that seem to lead a charmed life. But there is one thing for certain: he won’t be the same man coming out as he is going in.”

  Not a single shot was fired in anger the rest of that day. When the news of the shoot-up on the slopes reached Lee and Luttie, they signaled their men back to camp for a pow-wow.

  Even some of the bounty hunters had lost their enthusiasm for the chase.

  “Has to be bad when Nap and Ace give it up,”

  Dan Diamond opined.

  “Big Bob gone,” Morris Pattin said. “He was one tough son of a bitch.”

  Several bounty hunters—older, tougher, and wiser hands—quietly packed their gear and pulled out. In the Lee Slater group, Bud, Sack, Cates, Dewey, and Gooden rode into Rio under a white flag and turned themselves in to the sheriff’s deputies. Bud had passed out in the saddle a half a dozen times from the pain in his buttocks.

  “We might have to amputate,” the doctor said, after winking at Johnny.

  “Cut off my ass!” Bud yelled, then he really started bellering.

  Smoke, Louis, and Sally worked until dark rigging their new defensive position above the timberline in the big lonesome. Smoke planted almost all of his dynamite under heavy boulders in carefully selected spots while Louis rigged deadfalls far below their position; they might not fall for them, but it would make them cautious. Then they all set about gathering up wood for a fire.

  “We’ll take a lot of them out,” Smoke said. “But they’ll eventually breech our position. Just before they do, we’ll slip out through that narrow pass behind us and blow it closed. It’ll take them half a day to work around this range. By that time we’ll be long gone . . . hopefully,” he added. “We’ll have us a good hot meal this evening. They know where we are; our trail is too easy to follow. Anyway, we’ve got to have a fire this high up; we’d freeze to death without it. Let’s settle in and rest and eat. It’s going to get busy come first light.”