Alex Bell moaned on the ground. Val ignored him.
Smoke stepped out of the brush. He carried the rifle in his left hand, his right hand by his side.
Val said, “I guess we do it now, don’t we, Smoke?”
“I reckon.”
“No point in my sayin’ I’d just ride on out and leave you be?”
“Nope.”
“You’re a hard man, Smoke.”
“Yep.”
Val cussed him.
Smoke waited, tall and tough and cold-eyed.
Val jerked iron and Smoke shot him twice in the belly, once with his Colt and once with the .44 rifle. Smoke walked to the fire and poured a cup of coffee. He made a sandwich out of the nearly burned bacon and some bread wrapped in a cloth. He cut his eyes to Val Singer.
“We all make mistakes,” the gun-for-hire said, his eyes pain-filled as he lay on the ground, both hands holding his punctured belly.
“Indeed you did.”
“Gimme some coffee, Smoke.”
“You’re gut-shot. Worse thing in the world for you is liquid.”
Val laughed bitterly. “I’m a good two hundred miles from a doctor. You think I don’t know I’ve had it?”
Smoke poured Val a cup of the strong brew and handed it to him.
“Thanks,” Val said. He took a sip of the brew and then screamed as the pain rose in waves.
To the west and above them, Sally had been working for several hours, rubbing the rawhide that bound her wrists against a rock. She felt the rawhide part and then, keeping her hands behind her, began to work circulation back into her hands.
Max turned to look at her. His face was a ruin. Smoke had destroyed the man’s handsome looks with his fists. Madness shone in his eyes; madness combined with a burning hatred for Smoke Jensen.
“You heard the shots?”
“Yes.”
“I’m next.”
“I’m sure.”
Max tried to smile. The broken bones in his face twisted his smile into a grimace. “I’ve got about an hour before Jensen can work his way up here. So I’ll have you and then throw you off this cliff.”
“I’m cold,” Sally said. “May I scoot closer to the fire?”
“May I?” Max said mockingly. “My, how proper. Yes, Sally, you may.”
Sally scooted to the fire’s edge. Max turned his back to her, looking down into the valley below. Sally reached around and quickly untied the rawhide that bound her ankles, but left the rawhide looped around her boots.
Alex Bell sighed once and then died.
“Well, that’s the end of it,” Val managed to say, his voice thick with pain. “That’s the last one of us‘ceptin’ Max. And I ’spect you’ll nail him, too. You gonna bury us, Smoke?”
“Nope.” Smoke ate his sandwich and sipped his coffee.
“You just gonna leave us for the buzzards and the bears and the wolves?” The outlaw could not believe that Smoke really meant that.
“Yep.”
“That ain’t decent!”
“You’re not a decent person, Singer. There is nothing. decent about you.”
“I was drove to a life of crime!”
Smoke laughed at him. “That’s all horse-crap and you know it, Val. You chose your life-style willingly. So don’t go out with a lie on your lips.”
“I guess,” the outlaw said, his voice weak. He looked around him and laughed bitterly. “All them books them folks back east write about the glamorous life on the hoot-owl trail. They don’t know nothin’. All the outlaws I ever seen, me included, were dirty and hungry and cold and miserable ninety-nine days out of a hundred. But there ain’t no point in wishin’ I could change it, is there?”
“No, there isn’t.”
“Smoke?”
Smoke looked at him.
“You’re a good man, Jensen. You got a good woman. I wish you both the best.”
“Thanks, Val. You want to be buried with your boots on?”
“No. Gonna be hot enough where I’m goin’.” He laid his head on the ground and closed his eyes.
Smoke waited for death to take the man.
“Max?” Sally whispered. She had taken a good-sized chunk of burning wood from the fire and stepped up behind the man. One end of the fire-brand was blazing hot.
Max turned and Sally hit him in the face with the burning end, then jammed the blazing wood into his open mouth. Max dropped his rifle and screamed, backing up. His boot hit a rock and sent him tumbling over the edge of the cliff. He screamed for a thousand feet.
Silence fell over the wilderness.
Sally rubbed her aching ankles and wrists, then set about making fresh coffee and slicing bacon. Her man would be along in about an hour.
Smoke rode into the flats and dismounted. He held his woman in his arms for a long time. She pushed him away and expelled breath. “What took you so long?”
“I buried Val Singer. Are you all right?”
“I am now. Come on, eat. I made fresh coffee.”
The sun burst out of the clouds and mist of mid-afternoon. Sally looked across the fire at Smoke Jensen. “No point in starting out now. We can wait until morning.”
“Oh? You have something in mind?”
She came to him and whispered in his ear.
Smoke took her in his arms. “Now that’s the best suggestion I’ve heard in a long time.”
Table of Contents
PURE HELL WITH A GUN!
BOOK YOUR PLACE ON OUR WEBSITE AND MAKE THE READING CONNECTION!
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Praise
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
FB2 document info
Document ID: 6ffeb19e-5e5e-46dd-9ea6-08582b9be432
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 29.2.2012
Created using: calibre 0.8.40 software
Document authors :
Johnstone, William W.
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War Of The Mountain Man Page 25
