“I hate ever’ damn one of you people!” Bull yelled.
“Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord,” Jack reminded the group.
“But He ain’t here,” Preacher said. “So we’re actin’ in His place.”
“Court is adjourned,” Nighthawk said, then frowned. “I think that’s the correct term.”
“Halp!” Leo hollered.
“They funnin’ with us,” Jack said, sweat dripping off his face. “They ain’t really gonna hang us.”
“That ain’t no collar for a tie he’s a-fixin’ over yonder,” Bull said.
Jim was tossing four ropes over a limb. The open nooses dangled and swayed ominously.
The four outlaws were hoisted up into their saddles—rather, saddles they had killed the trappers for—and the nooses placed around their necks.
“You boys wanna pray?” Preacher asked, meeting their scared eyes and lingering for a moment at each man. His own eyes were hard as flint.
“Swing wide the gates to Heaven!” Leo shrieked.
“That’ll be the day,” Dupre muttered.
“Lord, I’m a-comin’ home!” Bull shouted.
“No, you goin’ in the other direction,” Beartooth corrected.
“Forgive me of all my sins!” Jack Harris moaned. “All the men and women and children I’ve kilt and robbed and raped and done all them other bad things to.”
“Disgusting,” Nighthawk said.
“Goddamn you to the fiery pits of Hell, Preacher!” Bum Kelley said.
“Odd thing for a man in your position to say,” Preacher told him, then whapped the horse on the butt. Bum Kelley and his bunch dangled and kicked and twisted and swung.
The men waited until the outlaws had kicked their last, then lowered them down and dumped them in a shallow ravine, collapsing rocks over the bodies.
“You wanna say something over the tomb?” Dupre asked Preacher.
Preacher thought about that. “Yeah. I do.” He took off his hat and the others did the same, none of them not knowing quite what to expect from their friend. Preacher was famous for a lot of things, including his sometimes profane and always odd eulogies.
Preacher took a breath and said, “Here lies Jack and Leo and Bull and Bum. They run their race and now it’s done. They was sorry crap without no class. So bend over, Satan, and let ’em kiss your ass!”
6
Theirs was a solitary breed, and a breed that regrettably did not last long in American history. Progress pushed them aside. But on this late fall day in the year of 1837, the four mountain men lingered long over coffee that morning. No one had put it into words, but all knew that here was where the trail forked.
“Where you gonna winter, Jim?” Dupre asked.
“I got me a little cabin over on the Flathead. It was right snug last time I seen it. I reckon it’s still there. I’ll soon know. You?”
“I get on right good with the Nez Perce. They was a fine-lookin’ squaw lost her man last time I was through there. I told her I’d be back ’fore the snow flew. I reckon it’s about time to head that way. Nighthawk?”
“My grandfather is old. I will go to his lodge and we will talk of things past. He will die this winter, I am thinking. I want to see that he is buried properly. Bear?”
“I’m gonna look up Lobo and see if he’s still livin’ with them buffalo wolves. If he ain’t, I might winter with him and let him put me to sleep each night listenin’ to his damn lies. Preacher?”
“I don’t know,” Preacher tossed out the dregs from his cup. “I got the restless flung on me. I might head south. Then again, I might head east. I just don’t know.”
“You best be makin’ up your mind, ol’ hoss,” Beartooth told him. “The snow’s fixin’ to fly soon.”
“Yeah. I know it.” He began rolling his blankets and gathering up his kit.
Within minutes, the mountain men had packed up and were in the saddle.
“I wish I could say all this has been fun,” Preacher said, “but I’d be lyin’ and that’s something I never do.”
“Wagh!” Dupre said. “It’ll be a relief not to have to smell your stinkin’ feet.”
“What will be a greater relief,” Nighthawk said, “is not having to listen to Beartooth’s stomach grumble when he does not eat eight times a day.”
“Or listen to Dupre try to sing those awful French songs,” Jim said.
The men smiled at each other for a moment, and then rode their separate ways without another word.
That afternoon, Preacher topped a rise. Careful not to skyline himself to unfriendly eyes, he paused and looked westward, his thoughts of Melody.
“Mayhaps I should have partook of them charms of hern, Hammer. I might have the re-grets about not doin’ that some cold winter’s night. But I ’spect we’ll be back that way ’fore too long. I don’t know why I say that, I just feel it.” He settled his hat on his head and lifted the reins. “Well, good horse, you wanna go see some country we ain’t seen afore?”
Hammer snorted and shook his head.
“Well, let’s us go then.”
And the mountain man called Preacher began another ride into the pages of history.
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Authors
William W. Johnstone
And J. A. Johnstone
Smoke Jensen was a towering Western hero. Now his
two freewheeling, long-lost nephews, Ace and Chance Jensen,
are blazing a legendary trail of their own.
Riverboat gambling is a blast, until hotheaded
Chance finds out just what he won in his final hand
against a Missouri River gambler named Haggarty.
Chance’s “prize” is a beautiful Chinese slave girl
named Ling. The twins want to set Ling free
and keep their cash, but at Fort Benton, Ling gives
them the slip, robbing them blind. When they hunt
her down in Rimfire, Montana, she’s with
Haggarty, lining up their next mark.
WHAT WOULD SMOKE JENSEN DO?
Ace and Chance want payback. So does hard case
Leo Belmont, who’s come all the way from
San Francisco with a grudge and a couple of
kill-crazy hired guns. Belmont wants revenge,
and Ace and Chance are in the way.
PROBABLY THIS.
Soon the boys are fighting alongside Ling and
Haggarty. Because it doesn’t matter now who’s right
and who’s wrong—blazing guns and flying lead
are laying down the law ...
THOSE JENSEN BOYS!
RIMFIRE
The exciting new series!
On sale now, wherever Pinnacle Books are sold.
Chapter One
“Let’s take a ride on a riverboat, you said,” Ace Jensen muttered to his brother as they backed away from the group of angry men stalking toward them across the deck. “It’ll be fun, you said.”
“Well, I didn’t count on this,” Chance Jensen replied. “How was I to know we’d wind up in such a mess of trouble?”
Ace glanced over at Chance as if amazed that his brother could ask such a stupid question. “When do we ever not wind up in trouble?”
“Yeah, you’ve got a point there,” Chance agreed. “It seems to have a way of finding us.”
Their backs hit the railing along the edge of the deck. Behind them, the giant wooden blades of the side-wheeler’s paddles churned the muddy waters of the Missouri River.
They were on the right side of the riverboat—the starboard side, Ace thought, then chided himself for allowing such an irrelevant detail to intrude on his brain at such a moment—and so far out in the middle of the stream that jumping overboard and swimming for shore wasn’t practical.
Besides, the brothers weren’t in the habit of fleeing from trouble. If they started doing that, most likely they would never stop running.
The man who was slightly in t
he forefront of the group confronting them pointed a finger at Chance. “All right, kid, I’ll have that watch back now.”
“I’m not a kid,” Chance snapped. “I’m a grown man. And so are you, so you shouldn’t have bet the watch if you didn’t want to take a chance on losing it.”
The Jensen brothers were grown men, all right, but not by much. They were in their early twenties, and although they had knocked around the frontier all their lives, had faced all sorts of danger, and burned plenty of powder, there was still a certain ... innocence ... about them, for want of a better word. They still made their way through life with enthusiasm and an eagerness to embrace all the joy the world had to offer.
They were twins, although that wasn’t instantly apparent. They were fraternal rather than identical. Ace was taller, broader through the shoulders, and had black hair instead of his brother’s sandy brown. He preferred range clothes, wearing jeans, a buckskin shirt, and a battered old Stetson, while Chance was much more dapper in a brown tweed suit, vest, white shirt, a fancy cravat with an ivory stickpin, and a straw planter’s hat.
Ace was armed with a Colt .45 Peacemaker with well-worn walnut grips that rode easily in a holster on his right hip. Chance didn’t carry a visible gun, but he had a Smith & Wesson .38 caliber, double action Second Model revolver in a shoulder holster under his left arm.
However, neither young man wanted to start a gunfight on the deck of the Missouri Belle. It was a tranquil summer night, and gunshots and spilled blood would just about ruin it.
The leader of the group confronting them was an expensively dressed, middle-aged man with a beefy, well-fed look about him. Still pointing that accusing finger at Chance, he went on. “Leland Stanford himself gave me that watch in appreciation for my help in getting the transcontinental railroad built. You know who Leland Stanford is, don’t you? President of the Central Pacific Railroad?”
“We’ve heard of him,” Ace said. “Rich fella out California way. Used to be governor out there, didn’t he?”
“That’s right. And he’s a good friend of mine. I’m a stockholder in the Central Pacific, in fact.”
“Then likely you can afford to buy yourself another watch,” Chance said.
The man’s already red face flushed even more as it twisted in a snarl. “You mouthy little pup. Hand it over, or we’ll throw the two of you right off this boat.”
“I won it fair and square, mister. Doc Monday always says the cards know more about our fate than we do.”
“I don’t know who in blazes Doc Monday is, but your fate is to take a beating and then a swim. Grab ’em, boys, but don’t throw ’em overboard until I get my watch back!”
The other four men rushed Ace and Chance. With their backs to the railing, they had nowhere to go.
Doc Monday, the gambler who had raised the Jensen brothers after their mother died in childbirth, had taught them many things, including the fact that it was usually a mistake to wait for trouble to come to you. Better to go out and meet it head on. In other words, the best defense was the proverbial good offense, so Ace and Chance met the charge with one of their own, going low to tackle the nearest two men around the knees.
The hired ruffians weren’t expecting it, and the impact swept their legs out from under them. They fell under the feet of their onrushing companions, who stumbled and lost their balance, toppling onto the first two men, and suddenly there was a knot of flailing, punching, and kicking combatants on the deck.
The florid-faced hombre who had foolishly wagered his watch during a poker game in the riverboat’s salon earlier hopped around agitatedly and shouted encouragement to his men.
Facing two to one odds, the brothers shouldn’t have been able to put up much of a fight, but when it came to brawling, Ace and Chance could more than hold their own. Their fists lashed out and crashed against the jaws and into the bellies of their enemies. Ace got behind one of the men, looped an arm around his neck, and hauled him around just in time to receive a kick in the face that had been aimed at Ace’s head, knocking the man senseless.
Ace let go of him and rolled out of the way of a dive from another attacker. He clubbed his hands and brought them down on the back of the man’s neck. The man’s face bounced off the deck, flattening his nose and stunning him.
Chance had his hands full, too. His left hand was clamped around the neck of an enemy while his right clenched into a fist and pounded the man’s face. But he was taking punishment himself. His opponent was choking him at the same time, and the other man in the fight hammered punches into Chance’s ribs from the side.
Knowing that he had only seconds before he would be overwhelmed, Chance twisted his body, drew his legs up, and rammed both boot heels into the chest of the man hitting him. It wasn’t quite the same as being kicked by a mule, but not far from it. The man flew backwards and rolled when he landed on the deck. He almost went under the railing and off the side into the river, but he stopped just short of the brink.
With the odds even now, Chance was able to batter his other foe into submission. The man’s hand slipped off Chance’s throat as he moaned and slumped back onto the smooth planks.
That still left the rich man who didn’t like losing.
As Ace and Chance looked up from their vanquished enemies, they saw him pointing a pistol at them.
“If you think I’m going to allow a couple gutter rats like you two to make a fool of me, you’re sadly mistaken,” the man said as a snarl twisted his beefy face.
“You’re not gonna shoot us, mister,” Ace said. “That would be murder.”
“No, it wouldn’t.” An ugly smile appeared on the man’s lips. “Not if I tell the captain the two of you jumped me and tried to rob me. I had to kill you to protect myself. That’s exactly what’s about to happen here.”
“Over a blasted watch?” Chance exclaimed in surprise.
“I don’t like losing ... especially to my inferiors.”
“You’d never get away with it,” Ace said.
“Won’t I? Why do you think none of the crew has come to see what all the commotion’s about? I told the chief steward I’d be dealing with some cheap troublemakers—in my own way—and he promised he’d make sure I wasn’t interrupted. You see”—the red-faced man chuckled—“I’m not involved with just the railroad. I own part of this riverboat line as well.”
Ace and Chance exchanged a glance. If the man shot them, his hired ruffians could toss their bodies into the midnight-dark Missouri River and no one would know they were gone until morning. It was entirely possible that a man of such wealth and influence wouldn’t even be questioned about the disappearance of a couple drifting nobodies.
But things weren’t going to get that far.
Ace said in a hard voice that belied his youth, “That only works if you’re able to shoot both of us, mister. Problem is, while you’re killing one of us, the other one is going to kill you.”
The man’s eyes widened. He blustered, “How dare you threaten me like that?”
“Didn’t you just threaten to kill us?” asked Chance. “My brother’s right. You’re not fast enough ... and your nerves aren’t steady enough ... for you to get both of us. You’ll be dead a heartbeat after you pull the trigger.”
The man’s lips drew back from his teeth in a grimace. “Maybe I’m willing to take that risk.”
Well, that was a problem, all right, thought Ace. Stubborn pride had been the death of many a man, and it looked like that was about to contribute to at least one more.
Then a new voice said, “Krauss, I guarantee that even if you’re lucky enough to kill these two young men, you won’t be able to stop me from putting a bullet in your head.”
The rich man’s gaze flicked to a newcomer who’d stepped out of the shadows cloaking the deck in places. Wearing a light-colored suit and hat, he was easy to see. Starlight glinted on the barrel of the revolver he held in a rock-steady fist.
“Drake!” exclaimed Krauss. “Stay out of this. It’s
none of your business.”
“I think it is.” Drake’s voice was a lazy drawl, but there was no mistaking the steel underneath the casual tone. “Ace and Chance are friends of mine.”
Krauss sneered. “You wouldn’t dare shoot me.”
“Think about some of the things you know about me,” said Steve Drake, “then make that statement again.”
Krauss licked his lips. He looked around at his men, who were starting to recover from the battle with the Jensen brothers. “Don’t just lie there!” he snapped at them. “Get up and deal with this!”
One of the men sat up, shook his head, and winced from the pain the movement caused him. “Mr. Krauss, we don’t want to tangle with Drake. Rumor says he’s killed seven men.”
“Rumor sometimes underestimates,” said Steve Drake with an easy smile.
“You’re worthless!” Krauss raged. “You’re all fired!”
“I’d rather be fired than dead,” one of the other men mumbled.
Steve Drake gestured with the gun in his hand and told Ace and Chance, “Stand up, boys.”
The brothers got to their feet. Chance reached inside his coat to a pocket and brought out a gold turnip watch with an attached chain and fob. “I don’t want to have to be looking over my shoulder for you the rest of my life, mister. This watch isn’t worth that.”
“You mean you’ll give it back to me?” asked Krauss.
Ace could tell from the man’s tone that he was eager to resolve the situation without any more violence, now that it appeared he might well be one of the victims.
“I mean I’ll sell it back to you,” said Chance.
Krauss started to puff up again like an angry frog. “I’m not going to buy back my own watch!”
“I won it from you fair and square,” Chance reminded him. “Unless you think I cheated you ...” His voice trailed off in an implied threat.
The First Mountain Man Page 30
