Guns of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

  “Tell ’em, Johnny,” George said, reaching for another piece of Mexican sweet bread. “Tell ’em how you walked right into that den of rattlesnakes and chatted ’em up as pretty as you please.”

  “Well, I noticed on the way into town that there were quite a few more men than Smoke had thought. First off, there were at least fifty to sixty hosses on the street and in the livery, an’ I could count more’n twenty men sittin’ around the boardwalks an’ gabbin’.”

  Smoke frowned. “You mean to tell me Cain has over fifty men with him in Fontana?”

  Both George and Johnny nodded.

  “At least that many,” Johnny continued. “Anyway, we went into the saloon, that bein’ the best place I know to pick up any gossip or to see what’s happenin’ in a town.”

  “You were very brave to do that, Johnny,” Sally said.

  “Dumb is more like it,” George said, his eyes wide. “I never been more scared in my entire life.”

  “It wasn’t all that bad, Miss Sally,” Johnny said. “The saloon was filled to the brim with hard-lookin’ men. Smoke, you know the kind I’m talkin’ ’bout.”

  Smoke gave a half-grin. “Yeah, Johnny. Men who look like us. Men whose eyes tell you they’re on the prod, looking for trouble, and not afraid of it when it comes.”

  Johnny nodded. “Right. Well, as I’m havin’ my drink I notice this tall, skinny dude over in the corner who looks like the man you described as the one shot Cal. Sure enough, after a minute or two, he saunters over an’ starts askin’ me questions—”

  “You should’a seen it, Mr. Smoke,” George interrupted. “Johnny changed, right ’fore my eyes, into another man. He got this look on his face . . . like he was meaner’n a snake with a sore tail.”

  Johnny cut his eyes toward Sally. “That’s my gunfighter face, Miss Sally.”

  Sally smiled. “Yes, I know the one. Every now and then, when something happens, like to Cal, I see Smoke change the same way. All the softness and gentleness leaves, and a shell comes down that’s hard as the granite in those mountain peaks.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Johnny said. “Anyhow, one thing leads to another an’ he offers me a job, a gunhand type of job. Says he’s got somethin’ in the works that’s gonna make ’em all rich, only he needs all the guns he can find.”

  “He say what it was?” Smoke asked.

  “No, but I made up some story ’bout goin’ over to Pueblo to see Joey Wells, just to get us outta there, an’ he ’bout wet his pants. He said he’d heard of Wells, an’ shore wished he’d come to ride with his gang. I tole him it’d be a couple of weeks or more ’fore we could get back, an’ he acted like they’d probably still be here then.”

  Smoke got quiet as he thought, refilling his coffee cup and building himself another cigarette. As he smoked, he went over the possibilities in his mind.

  “What do you think he has in mind, Johnny? Did he give you any idea at all?” Smoke asked, tilting his head as smoke trailed from his nostrils.

  “Nope, none a’tall.”

  “Well, it can’t be a bank robbery. There isn’t a bank in the territory that would warrant using fifty men, or that would make more than a few rich.”

  “Heck, Smoke, if’n he robbed the entire town of Big Rock of everything in it, it wouldn’t be worth enough for that many men,” George said.

  “Likewise,” Sally said, a thoughtful look on her face, “it can’t be cattle or land. And there’s no big army around here with a large payroll to rob.”

  Smoke shook his head. “We need to get someone on the inside to see what Cain has in mind. Did he seem to trust you, Johnny?”

  “Yeah. He thinks I’m still on the owlhoot trail, sellin’ my gun to the highest bidder.”

  “Wait a minute, Johnny,” George said, a frightened look on his face. “Yore forgittin’ ’bout Bob Blanchard.”

  “Who?” Smoke asked.

  “Yeah, you’re right, George,” Johnny said. Then to Smoke, “Bob Blanchard is the bartender over at Fontana, an’ seemed right friendly with Cain an’ his men.”

  “Who is he?”

  “He’s a man who was on the fringes of the Tilden Franklin thing a few year ago. He wasn’t directly involved, but when you shot up Fontana an’ ran off or kilt all the gunnies, he sort’a stayed around. Word is he’s lived almost like a hermit up there ever since.”

  “So?”

  “Well, if’n he was in the know ’bout what happened then, George thinks sooner or later he’s gonna remember that you an’ I sort’a became friends, an’ that I settled down up here an’ hung up my guns. If he does, then Cain’ll know I ain’t no friend of his.”

  “George is right, Smoke,” Sally said. “It’s much too dangerous to ask Johnny to go back to Fontana. If those men even suspected he wasn’t what he claimed, they’d kill him without a second thought.”

  “You’re right, Sally. It is too dangerous to even think about sending Johnny back there. We’ve got to find someone else that they won’t suspect.”

  “Trouble is, Smoke, too many of the folks around here were mixed up in that Franklin fracas,” Johnny said. “Blanchard’d be sure to recognize most of ’em.”

  “Yes. We need someone from out of town, and they need to be handy with a gun to fit in with that group.”

  “How ’bout Joey Wells, Smoke?” George asked. “You think he’d do it if’n you asked him to?”

  Smoke nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “That’s not a bad idea, George, not a bad idea at all.”

  “Smoke, you can’t ask Joey to do that,” said Sally. “He’s settled down now, and I got a wire not too long ago from Betty saying they’d had another baby.”

  Smoke turned in his chair to look up at her. “I know it’s risky, Sally. But think of the damage fifty hard men under the leadership of a crazy man can do to this county. Think of how many innocent people may get killed if we don’t find out what they’re up to.”

  “Why not just call in the army?” she asked. “Monte says he’s a wanted man, and probably most of those with him are, too. The army could just come in and arrest them all.”

  Johnny North shook his head. “It won’t work, Miss Sally. Cain is an old rebel raider. He’s gonna have pickets posted all around that town who’ll warn him if any threat is comin’. The army’d never even get close to him.”

  “Johnny’s right, Sally. It’s going to take just one man, the right man, to do the job.”

  “Poor Betty,” Sally said, a wistful look in her eyes. “Just when she thinks her man is settling down for good, something like this has to happen.”

  “Then you think he’ll come?” Smoke asked her.

  She gave him a look, her eyes soft. “Yes, Smoke, because he’s just like you. You two are cut from the same bolt of cloth. If a friend needs you, no matter how dangerous it is, you’re going to go. Same with Joey. If you ask, he’ll come.”

  Smoke nodded. “I’ll wire him in the morning. See if he’ll come for a visit so I can explain what’s happening and see what he thinks.”

  “You’d better mention for him to steer clear of Fontana on his way down here,” Johnny said. “It wouldn’t do for Cain to talk to him ’fore you get a chance to explain things.”

  “Right. I’ll ask him to come the back way and not to let anyone see him.”

  “That ought’a be easy for him, since the entire Union Army looked for him for over two years an’ couldn’t find him,” Johnny said, with a grin.

  15

  A week later, Cal was giving Smoke and everyone else around him fits. The young man was tired of being confined to bed and wanted to get out and about.

  Cal looked up from trying to pull his boots on to see Sally Jensen standing in the doorway to the bunkhouse, hands on hips, a frown on her pretty face.

  “Uh oh,” he muttered.

  “Uh oh is right, young man!” Sally said through gritted teeth. “How many times do I and Dr. Spalding have to tell you to stay in bed? If that lung wound gets infected, you’ll
die. Do you want that?”

  Cal pulled his foot out of his boot and swung his legs back up under the covers on the bed. “No ma’am,” he said in a low, dispirited voice. “It’s just that I’m ’bout to go crazy if’n I don’t get outta this room. The walls’re closing in on me an’ I feel all cramped up, kind’a like I cain’t hardly breathe.”

  Sally’s voice softened as she approached the bed. “I know how hard it is for you, Cal, but it’s for your own good.”

  Suddenly, she snapped her fingers. “I know! I’ll fix up a chair with a footrest on the porch of our cabin. That way you can get some fresh air and look out over the Sugarloaf and watch Pearlie and the other hands working cattle.”

  Cal’s face brightened. “That’d be great, Miz Sally. Not as good as gettin’ back in the saddle, but almost.”

  Sally smiled and walked back to the cabin she shared with Smoke. As she was piling some sheets and blankets on a chair on the porch, getting it ready for Cal, Smoke rode up to the front of the cabin.

  He dismounted and tied Joker’s reins to the hitching rail. When he got to the porch, he wrapped his big arms around Sally and gave her a gentle kiss.

  “Um-m-m,” she said in a low voice. “What was that for?”

  He shrugged and smiled. “Nothing. Just a hello kiss.”

  She reached up and pulled his face back down and kissed him again. “Hello,” she said.

  He glanced at the chair she was fussing over. “What’s that for?”

  “So Cal can sit out here and get some fresh air. He says he’s going crazy staying in bed for so long.”

  Smoke nodded. “I don’t blame him. That’s one of the hardest things about being wounded, the recovery time.”

  “What did you find out in Big Rock? Any news of the gang of bandits?”

  “No. Monte says no one’s come into Big Rock from Fontana way since Johnny told us they were holed up there.”

  “Did he contact the U.S. Marshals or the army?”

  “Yes. They said they’d get here eventually, ’cause Cain and some of the men riding with him are wanted, but the marshals are way up in the northern part of the territory and won’t be available for some time.”

  “What about the army?”

  He shook his head. “The commanding officer of the nearest fort wired back they could only intervene if the governor requested it due to the gang causing massive civil disturbance, which they’re not.”

  “So, what you’re telling me is that we’re on our own to deal with them.”

  “That’s about the size of it.”

  “You look pleased,” she said, staring into his eyes. “You really didn’t want the marshals or the army to come here, did you?”

  “Nope. This is our problem, and it was our friend they shot down in cold blood on our ranch. I’d just as soon take care of the snakes myself.”

  “But Smoke, there are more than fifty men in that gang.”

  He nodded. “I know. I didn’t say I was going to do it all by myself. There are plenty of men around here who will be glad to help rid the county of that pond scum over in Fontana.”

  “Speaking of help, when do you expect Joey Wells?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t had an answer to my wire, but it’s only been a few days.”

  “Do you think he’ll come?”

  “It all depends on how civilized his wife has made him. Sometimes, settling down raising a family changes a man, takes all the spirit out of him. He may not even consider picking up his guns again.”

  She laid her hand on his cheek, a wistful expression on her face. “It didn’t change you, Smoke.”

  “Aren’t you glad?” he asked with a grin. “You’re not the kind of lady who wants a lapdog for a husband.”

  “You’re right,” she said with a sigh. “Life with you is many things, but boring is definitely not one of them.”

  She finished fixing the chair, adjusting the ottoman so Cal could stretch out in a semi-reclining position.

  “Smoke, would you go get Cal and help him over here? I’ll fix a fresh pot of coffee while you do that.”

  Smoke walked over to the bunkhouse and through the door.

  “Hey, Smoke,” Cal said, his face lighting up to have company.

  “Get your boots on, boy. We’re taking you for a trip over to the cabin.”

  After Cal struggled into his boots, refusing to let Smoke do it for him, he got shakily to his feet.

  Smoke stood next to him. “Here, Cal, put your arm around my shoulders.”

  “I can do it on my own,” Cal said.

  Smoke looked at him. “Listen, Cal, I know you can, but Sally told me to help you over to the cabin. Do you want to go out there and tell her you don’t need any help?”

  “Uh . . . not really.”

  “Neither do I, so make it easy on both of us and just kind’a throw your arm around me so’s she’ll think we’re both doing what she says.”

  With some effort they finally made it across the yard and onto the porch. Cal realized he really needed Smoke’s help, the bedrest and wound having made him weaker than he thought.

  He eased into the chair, sweat on his forehead from the effort to walk, and pulled the blankets up to his waist.

  “How’s that, Cal?” Sally asked.

  “Great. I got me a good view of the whole Sugarloaf from here.”

  “Would you like some coffee? I made a fresh pot.”

  “Sure.”

  While she was gone, Smoke built himself a cigarette.

  “Could I have one of those?” Cal asked.

  Smoke frowned, but pitched the cloth packet of Bull Durham to Cal, along with his papers.

  After they both had their cigarettes lighted, Sally appeared on the porch with two cups of steaming, aromatic coffee.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing, Cal?” she asked, looking at the cigarette in his hand.

  “Uh—”

  “You know you shouldn’t be smoking with that lung wound.”

  “Sally,” Smoke said gently, “quit babying him. If he’s old enough to get shot trying to defend our ranch, he’s old enough to decide if he wants a smoke.”

  “But it’s not good for him.”

  “Life out here is dangerous, dear. In the greater scheme of things, smoking is low risk compared to most of what we do.”

  She shook her head and whirled around to disappear back in the cabin.

  As they smoked and drank their coffee, both men looked out over the rolling hills and green pastures of the Sugarloaf, enjoying the view and the day.

  16

  The next morning Cal was in his chair on Smoke’s front porch as soon as breakfast was over.

  Pearlie, on his way to do the day’s chores, stopped by to chat.

  “Well, how do it feel to be the king of the ranch, lazybones?” Pearlie asked in his soft drawl.

  “Actually, not so good,” Cal answered, his face serious. “I just know that without me out there to make sure things get done right, I’m gonna have to do ’em all over again once I’m back on my feet.”

  “Oh, is that so? By the looks of things, by the time you’re back on your feet it’ll be smack in the middle of winter, an’ there won’t be all that much left to do.”

  Cal started to answer. When, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something on the horizon.

  “Uh oh,” he muttered. “Smoke, you better get out here. Looks like company comin’,” he hollered.

  When Smoke and Sally walked out onto the porch, Cal pointed off in the distance. A lone figure could be seen riding toward the cabin, taking his time, keeping his horse in a ground-covering lope.

  “Who do you think that is?” Cal asked.

  Smoke’s lips curled in a smile. “Unless I miss my guess, that’s Joey Wells.”

  “Mr. Wells?” Cal asked, his voice rising in excitement. Since Cal’s first meeting with the man he’d read about in hundreds of dime novels, Joey had been a hero to him.

  “Yeah. I g
uess he decided to just show up instead of wiring me back.”

  Sally turned and started back into the cabin. “I guess I’d better cook up another batch of eggs and some bacon. He’s going to be mighty hungry after riding all the way here from Pueblo.”

  As the figure slowly got larger, Smoke thought back to the day Joey arrived at Longmont’s Saloon, looking for him. . . .

  * * *

  The batwings were thrown wide and a man entered slowly, stepping to the side when he got inside so that his back was to a wall. He stood there, letting his eyes adjust to the darkened interior of the saloon. Louis recognized the actions of an experienced pistoleer, saw how the man’s eyes scanned the room, flicking back and forth before he proceeded to the bar. The cowboy was short, about five feet nine inches, Louis figured, and was covered with a fine coat of trail dust. He had a nasty looking scar on his right cheek, running from the corner of his eye to disappear in the edge of his handlebar mustache. The scar had contracted as it healed, shortening and drawing his lip up in a perpetual sneer. His small gray eyes were as cold and deadly as a snake’s, and he wore a brace of Colt .44s on his hips, tied down low, and carried a Colt Navy .36 in a shoulder holster. Louis, an experienced gunfighter himself, speculated he had never seen a more dangerous hombre in all his years. He looks as tough as a just-woke grizzly, he thought.

  As hair on the back of his neck prickled and stirred, Louis shifted slightly in his seat, straightening his right leg and reaching down to loosen the rawhide thong on his Colt, just in case.

  The stranger flipped a gold Double-Eagle on the bar, took possession of a bottle of whiskey, and spoke a few words in a low tone to the bartender. After a moment, the barman inclined his head toward Louis, then busied himself wiping the counter with a rag, casting worried glances at Louis out of the corner of his eye.

  The newcomer turned, leaning his back against the bar, and stared at Louis. His eyes flicked up and down, noting the way Louis had shifted his position and how his right hand was resting on his thigh near the handle of his Colt. His expression softened and his lips moved slightly, turning up in what might have been a smile in any other face. He evidently recognized Louis as a man of his own kind, a brother predator in a world of prey.