Warpath of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

  “Mr. Jim,” Jerry said, excitement in his voice. “Where’s the sheriff?”

  Jim started awake, dropping his feet off the desk guiltily.

  “Why do you need him, Jerry?” Jim asked, rubbing his eyes and laughing. “Somebody robbin’ the bank?”

  “No, sir!” Jerry replied. He pointed out the door. “But I think I seen some of the men on that poster outside.”

  Jim got suddenly serious. He jumped up and grabbed a shotgun off the rack on the wall. “Where’d you see ’em, Jerry?” he asked, filling his pockets with shotgun shells.

  “Down at Mr. Jackson’s store. They was buyin’ all kinds of things.”

  Jim knelt down, his hands on Jerry’s shoulders. “How many of ’em were there, boy?”

  Jerry shrugged. “I don’t know. Five or six, I guess.”

  “You run on home now, and stay off the street. You hear me?” Jim said sternly.

  “There gonna be gunplay, Deputy?” the boy asked, his eyes wide.

  “If you’re right about this, there damn sure will be!”

  * * *

  Smoke and the others were just finishing their lunch when Deputy Jim rushed into Longmont’s.

  “Uh-oh,” Monte said when he saw the look on his deputy’s face and noticed he was carrying two shotguns cradled in his arms.

  Jim stopped inside the batwings, looked around until he saw where Monte was sitting, then rushed over.

  Monte held up his hands. “Catch your breath, Jim, then tell me what’s got you all riled up.”

  “There’s some men over to the general store, Sheriff,” Jim gasped between breaths.

  “There generally is, Jim,” Monte said calmly.

  “Yeah, but Sheriff, little Jerry says the men fit the description of that poster you put up ’bout them outlaws you been lookin’ for.”

  “What?” Monte said, jumping to his feet.

  Smoke stood up too. “Sally, you stay here while we check it out,” he said, unfastening the rawhide hammer thongs on his Colts.

  Louis did the same, and got to his feet along with Smoke and Monte. “Andre,” he called.

  When the chef stuck his head out of the kitchen, Louis said, “I’m going to be down the street. Shut and lock the front door, just in case there’s trouble.”

  “Oui, monsieur,” Andre said, wiping his hands on his apron and following them to the door.

  Sally reached in her handbag, pulled out her snub-nosed. 38-caliber Smith and Wesson revolver, and started walking out with the men.

  “Sally, I don’t want you involved in this,” Smoke said.

  Her face got that look on it that told him not to push it. “I don’t particularly want you involved either, Smoke Jensen, but I don’t have any more choice in the matter than you do.”

  With that, the four men and Sally walked out of the door. Monte and Jim ran across the street and began to walk up the boardwalk toward the general store, while Louis and Smoke did the same on their side of the street. Sally positioned herself in a doorway next to Longmont’s Saloon, and eared back the hammer of her. 38 while she waited to see what was going to happen.

  Blue Owl and Moses Johnson were out in the street in front of the store, tying down the supplies on their packhorses while the five men with them stood next to their horses.

  Marcus Weatherby and Slim Bartholomew were building cigarettes when Marcus glanced up and saw the men headed down the boardwalks toward them.

  He dropped his paper and tobacco and grabbed for his gun. “Uh-oh, looks like trouble comin’, Blue Owl,” he said in a low voice, moving around to get behind his horse.

  Blue Owl glanced over the back of the packhorse and cursed. “Goddamnit!” he said, knowing they’d been recognized.

  “Get on your mounts and shag tail, boys!” he yelled, whirling around and jumping for his horse.

  Moses Johnson grabbed the short-barreled shotgun out of his saddle boot and aimed over the back of the packhorse.

  “They’re goin’ for their guns!” Monte yelled, pushing Jim to the side out of the line of fire just as Moses let go with both barrels.

  Monte dove behind a water trough in the street just as several of the shotgun pellets tore into his right arm just below the shoulder.

  The outlaws swung into their saddles and jerked their mounts’ heads around, trying to get out of town.

  Smoke and Louis, in one coordinated movement, crouched, drew, and began to fire their pistols.

  As they shot, Marcus Weatherby and Blake Whitney were blown out of their saddles, bullets in their chests.

  Blue Owl and Moses Johnson spurred their horses down the street, leaning over their saddle horns and firing as they rode.

  Jim stepped back out of the doorway Monte had pushed him into and let go with his shotgun, knocking Slim Bartholomew backward off his horse, a load of buckshot in his gut.

  Blue Owl fired across his saddle, his bullet hitting Jim in the thigh and knocking him to the ground, his shotgun empty on the ground next to him.

  George Carver and John Ashby fired at Smoke and Louis, their bullets pocking the buildings next to where they crouched, making them dive to the ground.

  Smoke rolled to the side, aimed, and fired, hitting Carver between the shoulder blades. He flopped forward, but somehow managed to stay in the saddle as his horse galloped down the street.

  Louis lay on his back, firing between his boots, but his shots went wide as the men jigged their mounts back and forth as they rode.

  Sally stepped out of her doorway, spread her legs, and starting firing her .38, unmindful of the bullets whizzing past her head.

  Her first two shots missed; her third hit Carver for the second time. As the bullet entered his right temple, his head jerked to the side and he catapulted out of the saddle, to be trampled by John Ashby’s horse as it thundered past.

  Her gun empty, she stood helpless as Blue Owl aimed his pistol at her as he rode past.

  With a grunt, Monte Carson scrambled to his knees and raised his shotgun with his left hand, his right arm hanging useless at his side.

  He pulled both triggers, and his load tore into Blue Owl’s hand, knocking his pistol to the ground before he could fire at Sally.

  Blue Owl, John Ashby, and Moses Johnson continued their mad dash out of town as Smoke and Louis ran to Monte’s and Jim’s aid.

  “You all right?” Smoke asked Monte, while Louis checked on Jim’s leg, taking a bandanna from around the deputy’s neck and tying it around the leg to slow the bleeding.

  “Yeah, damn it!” Monte exclaimed, cradling his wounded arm in his left hand. “But three of the bastards got away.”

  Satisfied his friend was going to live, Smoke glanced over his shoulder at Sally, relieved to see she was unharmed.

  “Sally,” he yelled, “go get Doc Spalding!”

  Sally nodded once, quickly, and ran up the street toward the doctor’s office.

  Monte turned to look at Jim. “Is he going to be all right?” he asked Louis.

  “Yes. It appears you saved his life by knocking him out of the way when that big black let go with his shotgun.”

  “Thanks, Sheriff,” Jim groaned from where he lay on the boardwalk.

  “Damn fool,” Monte replied, a smile on his face. “You should’a stayed there an’ you wouldn’t be bleedin’ all over the street.”

  Jim nodded, returning the smile. “Yeah, but then there’d be four of ’em ridin’ off ’stead of three.”

  Louis, satisfied Jim’s bleeding was under control, pulled his pistol and stood up. “I’d better see if any of them are still alive,” he said, walking toward the bodies lying in the street in front of the store.

  “I’ll help you,” Smoke said, standing. “Maybe we can get one of them to tell us where their camp is.”

  * * *

  As it turned out, all of the men were dead, so no information could be gotten as to the whereabouts of their camp.

  After Monte and Jim were taken to Doc Spalding’s office, Louis a
nd Smoke and Sally went back to Louis’s place for some coffee and dessert.

  Over a magnificent flan, Louis asked Smoke, “What are you going to do now?”

  Smoke finished his flan, built a cigarette, and leaned back with a cup of coffee in his hand. “Well, they didn’t get the supplies they came to town for, so that means they’re going to have to hit a ranch or mining camp soon.”

  “Uh-huh,” Louis agreed, tilting smoke from his nostrils toward the ceiling.

  “I’m going to get the supplies I came for, then take Cal and Pearlie up into the high lonesome to see if we can get to them before they hurt anyone else.”

  Louis’s eyes lit up and he leaned forward. “You want some company?”

  Smoke slowly shook his head. “No, old friend. As much as I’d like that, with Monte and his deputy both injured, the town’s going to need someone who knows how to use a gun to be on guard in case those outlaws make another try here.”

  “They wouldn’t dare,” Louis said.

  “Don’t be too sure, Louis. If they’re as short of food as I think, you never know what they’re liable to do.”

  29

  Smoke and Sally drove their buckboard down the street from Longmont’s to Ed Jackson’s general store.

  Once inside, after Sally had inquired about Ed’s and Peg’s health, and had caught up on all the recent gossip, and after Sally and Smoke had filled Ed in on the happenings after the outlaws left his store, Smoke went about getting the supplies he would need for his upcoming campaign against the outlaw gang.

  He bought a large supply of dynamite, gunpowder, extra ammunition for his Sharps fifty-caliber rifle, three black Stetson hats, three sets of black shirts and trousers, and three black duster-type overcoats, along with two tins of bootblack. He also grabbed a stack of old burlap bags to take along.

  When Ed asked about the burlap, Smoke explained it was to put over their horses’ legs so standing for long periods of time in snow up to their chests wouldn’t cause their legs to get frostbite.

  While Smoke was getting his supplies, Sally busied herself picking out food staples that would last the three men for several weeks up in the mountains, along with some of the extra supplies of nails and fencing the hands at the Sugarloaf had requested.

  Soon, they were on their way home.

  Smoke looked at Sally out of the corner of his eye. “You did pretty good back there in the gunfight,” he said. “It’s not easy hitting a man at full gallop with a handgun.”

  She glanced at him, a small smile on her face. “I had a good teacher.”

  “I want you to know, when I saw you step out on that boardwalk right in front of those outlaws riding past, my heart almost stopped,” he said, a serious look on his face.

  She placed her hand on his arm. “That’s how I feel every time you go out wearing your pistols. I never know if you’re going to come back to me in one piece or not.”

  He patted her hand. “I’ll always come back to you, Sally.”

  “You’d better, Smoke Jensen. If you don’t, my life wouldn’t be worth living.”

  * * *

  When they pulled the buckboard up to their ranch house, Cal and Pearlie were waiting, looking rested after their shut-eye.

  “Everything go all right?” Pearlie asked as he helped Cal unload the buckboard.

  “Yes,” Smoke said shortly as he lifted a couple of boxes of dynamite onto his shoulders.

  Sally grinned and shook her head. “One good thing from the trip to town,” she said. “You boys will have a few less outlaws to contend with.”

  “What?” Pearlie asked.

  Smoke laughed. “Sally here shot a couple of them right out of their saddles in front of Longmont’s.”

  “You got to tell us ’bout that,” Cal said, his eyes wide.

  “Come on into the house and I’ll fix us some dinner and Smoke can tell you all about it,” Sally said over her shoulder as she entered the house.

  * * *

  While they ate, Smoke told them about the outlaws’ trip into town, and how only three of them managed to get away.

  “Jimminy,” Cal said, shaking his head. “I knowed we should’a gone to Big Rock with you.”

  Pearlie nodded gravely. “See, you were right, Miss Sally. Ever time Smoke goes anywhere without Cal an’ me to cover his back, he gets into trouble.”

  She laughed. “Well, we won’t let that happen again, boys. I’m counting on you to make sure nothing happens to him up in the mountains.”

  “You can bet on that, Miss Sally,” Cal said. “Pearlie and me’ll make sure he don’t take no chances with them galoots.”

  Sally shook her head. “Cal, what are we going to do about your language? When you get back, we need to spend some serious time with one of my English grammar books.”

  Cal dipped his head and concentrated on his food. “I’d rather go up against an outlaw any day than fight them schoolbooks,” he mumbled.

  Pearlie, trying to change the subject, interjected, “Smoke, why’d you buy all them new clothes?”

  “We’re going to be going up against a group of men with superior numbers, Pearlie. That means we’re going to have to use stealth instead of brute force. Since we’ll be doing a lot of our work at night, I wanted us to wear dark clothing so as not to be able to be seen in the dark.”

  “What about those tins of bootblack?” Cal asked. “You think the outlaws are gonna care if our boots are shiny?”

  Smoke laughed. “The bootblack is for our faces, Cal. It’s about time for a full moon, and nothing shows up in moonlight like a white face.”

  “You mean we got to put that stuff on our faces?” Pearlie asked.

  “Not only our faces, but on our hands and arms as well,” Smoke said.

  * * *

  Ozark Jack Berlin stepped out of the cabin when he heard hoofbeats approaching the camp.

  His eyebrows raised when only three men rode in, with no packhorses.

  Blue Owl, his right hand wrapped in a blood-soaked bandanna, reined to a stop in front of Berlin.

  “What the hell happened?” Berlin asked, grabbing Blue Owl’s reins.

  He swung down out of the saddle. “We were ambushed before we could get out of town with the supplies,” Blue Owl replied, shaking his head.

  “What about the other men?”

  “Whitney, Weatherby, Bartholomew, and Carver all got hit. They didn’t make it.”

  “Damn!” Berlin exclaimed. “You think any of ’em will be able to talk about where we’re camped?”

  Blue Owl shook his head. “No. They were all hit real hard. I don’t think any of them will be talking to anybody ever again, leastways, not in this life.”

  Berlin glanced up at John Ashby and Moses Johnson. “Either of you boys hurt?” he asked.

  They shook their heads.

  “Come on into the cabin an’ we’ll see about gettin’ that hand fixed up,” he said to Blue Owl. “You boys go on over to the other cabin an’ get yourselves some grub,” he said to Ashby and Johnson.

  * * *

  After Blue Owl’s hand was cleansed and bandaged, Berlin lit a cigar and poured himself and Blue Owl a glass of whiskey.

  “We really needed those supplies,” he said, his eyes staring out the window of the cabin.

  “I know, Boss,” Blue Owl replied after taking a large swallow of his whiskey. “We did all we could, but it was as if they was waiting for us.”

  Berlin nodded. “I suspect the word has got out to all the towns around this area by now.”

  Blue Owl nodded his agreement.

  “Well, there’s nothin’ else we can do. The men gotta eat, an’ pretty soon we’re gonna need more ammunition.”

  “Guess we’re gonna have to find some ranches or mines nearby to replenish our stock,” Blue Owl said.

  “Yep. After you get some hot food into your gullet an’ a good night’s sleep, why don’t you and me take a little ride around the area first thing in the morning an’ see what we
can find?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Blue Owl agreed, finishing off his glass of whiskey and getting to his feet.

  * * *

  After a good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast fixed by Sally, Smoke and Cal and Pearlie saddled up their horses for the trip into the high lonesome.

  Smoke decided to take their best horses this time, so he told Cal and Pearlie to bring out Joker, Silver, and Cold, the crosses from Smoke’s Palouse mares and Joey Wells’s big strawberry roan stud Red. The legendary gunman, Joey Wells, and his wife had bought the old Rocking C ranch in Pueblo, Colorado, after killing Murdock, the man who’d owned it. Sally, as a gift to Joey’s wife, had given them some Palouse mares to breed with Red and start their remuda.3

  The offspring Joey had sent to the Sugarloaf were all beautiful animals that had inherited their father’s big size and strength and the Palouses’ speed and endurance.

  Smoke’s stud was a blanket-hipped Palouse, red or roan-colored in front with hips of snow white, without the usual spots of a Palouse. Smoke had named him Joker because of his funny coloring.

  Pearlie’s descendant of Red was a gray and white Palouse he’d named Cold. When Smoke asked him why he’d named him that, Pearlie said it was because the horse was cold-backed in the morning and bucked for the first ten minutes every day when Pearlie saddled him up.

  Cal’s mount was a quicksilver gray, and was actually almost pure white, differing from a true albino by having gray in front with snow-white hips, also without the usual Palouse spots. Cal had named him Silver, and the two seemed to have a bond that was as close as any Smoke had seen between animal and man.

  As they saddled the animals, Cal looked over at Smoke. “Saddlin’ these broncs reminds me, Smoke,” he said. “Why didn’t you look up Joey an’ see if he’d help us while we were over near Pueblo?”

  Smoke shook his head. “I thought of that, Cal, but Joey’s settled down with a wife and family now. He’s been a rancher a long time, and the last word Sally got from his wife said he’d hung up his guns for good. I respect the wishes of a man who wants to change his way of life, and I certainly wouldn’t want to be the one to ask him to strap his guns back on after all these years.”