Destiny Of The Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

  Smoke waited for a long moment before he exposed himself again. Then he heard someone coming and, with gun drawn, he swung toward him.

  “No, Smoke, it’s me!” Pearlie shouted in alarm.

  “I told you to stay back there,” Smoke said gruffly. He was angry and frightened that he had almost shot Pearlie.

  “We heard all the shooting,” Pearlie said. “Miss Sally was going to come check on you herself. The only way I could get her to stay back was to promise her that I would do it.”

  Smoke’s irritation dissipated. He knew how hard it was to resist Sally once she made her mind up to something. He smiled. “Well, as you can see, I’m all right.”

  Pearlie looked around at the bodies lying on the ground.

  “Yeah, well, that’s more than we can say about these fellas, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Smoke said. “I’ll say this for them. They were determined. Come on, let’s get back. Unless you think someone might shoot us as we come in.”

  “I told ’em to look for me at that rock over there,” Pearlie said, pointing toward a rather large rock.

  “Good idea to tell them where to expect us,” Smoke said.

  It took no more than a couple of minutes to return to the encampment, where Sally greeted Smoke with a welcoming kiss that was almost embarrassing in its intensity. He winced when she wrapped her arms around his neck, and startled by his reaction, Sally drew back to examine his wound.

  “You were hit!” Sally said.

  Smoke put his hand up to his neck. “Just a graze, no blood,” he said. “It left me with me a burn, like a rope burn.”

  “Let me put some cold cream on it,” she said.

  As the two tents were struck, Smoke sat on a wagon tongue, letting Sally apply cold cream to his wound. King came over to talk to him.

  “We heard a little activity out there this morning,” King said.

  “Yes. Three of them were left back. I think the plan was to open up on us, once we thought we were safe and under way again.”

  “Where are the three now?” King asked.

  “They’re still out there,” Smoke said. “But I don’t think they will be bothering anyone again.”

  “No, I don’t suppose they will either. By chance, none of them was wearing an Army jacket, was he?

  “No,” Smoke said.

  “Too bad.”

  Smoke saw that Vincente had been tended to, and was now sitting up with his shirt off and a bandage wrapped around his upper arm.

  “How is he?” Smoke said, nodding toward the wounded man.

  “He’ll be fine, if he doesn’t get the gangrene,” King said.

  “Was he the only man we have who was wounded?” Smoke asked.

  “Yes. But we lost a couple of horses,” King said.

  “By the way, I do believe you when you say that this man Brandt is the one behind all this.”

  “You do? You saw him?”

  Smoke shook his head. “No, I didn’t see him.”

  King looked confused. “Then what makes you think he is the one behind all this?”

  “I think this because of the way they withdrew this morning,” Smoke said. “I clearly heard the order for one half of the men to provide cover while the other half of the men pulled back. It was a very precise maneuver. Add to that the fact that they set up an ambush and it makes me think the person we are dealing with has a military background.”

  “Major Jack Brandt,” King said.

  “I think you are right,” Smoke replied.

  “Three men killed!” Brandt said. “We surprise an encampment of civilians in the middle of the night, and we had three men killed? We should have killed all of them without so much as a scratch, but we were lucky to get out alive.”

  “Yeah,” Preston said.

  “You want to tell me just how the hell that happened? It was the perfect ambush plan. What could possibly have gone wrong?”

  “Well, we was waitin’ back there, like you said, waitin’ for daylight so’s we could pick ’em off when they started out. Only he come out in the night to find us. It’s like he knew we was goin’ to be out there.”

  “He came out,” Brandt said. “Who came out?”

  “Jensen. Smoke Jensen,” Preston said. “You know. He’s the one I told you about.”

  “How many men did he bring out with him?” Brandt asked.

  “He didn’t bring nobody with him. It was just him,” Preston said.

  “Well, if he came out all by himself, why didn’t you kill him when you had a chance?”

  “You don’t understand,” Preston said.

  “What is it I don’t understand?”

  “He’s not like just one man. Fact is, he’s not like anything I’ve ever seen before. We never really got a chance to kill him,” Preston replied. “I mean, Dewey and Houston, they got themselves kilt right off. Then Evans, he got hisself kilt right after first light. That left me as the only one.”

  “How is it you weren’t killed?” Brandt asked.

  “ ’Cause I wasn’t about to show myself,” Preston said. “Like I told you, by then I was the only one left. Any man who would go up ag’in Smoke Jensen all by hisself is a damn fool.”

  “Who is Smoke Jensen anyway? I’ve never even heard of him,” Brandt said.

  “He’s just one of the most famous gunfighters there is, is all,” Preston said. “How can it possibly be that you have never heard of him? Why, they’ve even wrote dime novels about him.”

  “I was in prison for over fifteen years,” Brandt said. “We didn’t get a lot of dime novels in prison.”

  “Well, take my word for it, Major. Smoke Jensen ain’t somebody you want to run up against alone.”

  “I’m not afraid of him,” Waco said. “I’ll face him alone.”

  “Really?” Brandt said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “You damn right I would.”

  “Now, why would you want to do that?” Brandt asked.

  “Why, to prove that I am better than he is,” Waco said.

  “I am running a military organization here,” Brandt said. “I am not running a competition of personal accomplishments. I don’t care whether you are better than he is or not. You do understand that, don’t you?”

  “Well, yes, sure I understand that,” Waco replied. “I mean, I guess I understand it. But if you’re worried about me gettin’ killed or . . .”

  “I’m not worried about you getting killed,” Brandt said. “Individually, you mean nothing. Collectively, you are part of my army, and I don’t want my army weakened, even by one more.”

  “Yeah, but if someone would just take care of Smoke Jensen for you, you could . . .”

  “You do want to stay with us, don’t you, Jones?”

  “Yes. Of course I do.”

  “Then, not another word about you and this man Smoke Jensen having your own personal battle. A pretty good general for the other side once said that you win battles by getting their ‘fustest with the mostest.’ That is the principle by which I am running this organization. We will win all of our battles with overwhelming military superiority . . . not with some brash young fool out to make a name for himself. You will make no effort to face this man by yourself.”

  “All right,” Waco said. “But I just want you to know, I want everyone to know,” he emphasized, looking directly at Manning, “that I am not afraid of Smoke Jensen.”

  Brandt sighed. “You are an idiot,” he said. “An absolute idiot.”

  Waco seethed at Brandt’s words, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it. Even though he could draw his pistol and kill Brandt in a heartbeat, he was surrounded by nearly a dozen of Brandt’s men. This was a vivid example of Brandt’s principle of overwhelming military superiority.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  When the King entourage turned up the long road that led to the main house, they were greeted with a large sign.

  LAS PERSONAS DE SANTA GERTRUDIS RANCH DAN LA

&nbs
p; BIENVENIDA AL CAPITÁN KING DE CASA

  “What’s that sign say?” Cal asked.

  “It’s the people of the ranch welcoming Captain King home,” Pearlie said.

  “Really? You can read Mexican?”

  “It’s Spanish, not Mexican.”

  As the coach rolled up the road, Sally looked through the window at those who were gathered to welcome them back. Men and women stood respectfully along the road. The men had all removed their hats and were holding them in front of their chests. Many of the women curtsied as the coach passed by. Children and dogs ran alongside the coach, keeping pace with it until it stopped in front of the house.

  Sally started to reach for the door but something told her to wait, and a moment later the door was opened from outside, disclosing a weathered, gray-haired man.

  “Welcome home, Señora, Señorita,” the gray-haired man said.

  “Thank you, Pablo,” Henrietta said as she offered her hand to him to be helped down from the coach.

  Sally started to wait for Alice but, with a warm smile, Alice made a motion with her hand, indicating that Sally should go before her.

  When Sally stepped out, she looked over to see Smoke, Captain King, and Kleberg engaged in serious conversation with someone. The expressions on their faces were not happy.

  “I wonder what happened while we were gone,” Henrietta asked. “Ramon looks very worried.”

  Sally was glad to see that her intuition wasn’t wrong. Something had happened, and even Henrietta had noticed it.

  “It’s Juan Arino and the others we sent down to Vetadero Meadows,” Ramon said. “They are dead.”

  “How many are dead?”

  “Everyone we sent down there,” Juan said.

  “Numbers, man, I want numbers,” King said impatiently.

  “Four.”

  King sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, then shook his head. “That makes a total of twelve,” he said. “Twelve good men killed, just because Brandt has some personal score to settle with me. Damn it! Why the hell won’t he come out and face me in person?”

  “Were the men decapitated?” Kleberg asked.

  Ramon shook his head. “No, Señor.”

  “Did they take any cattle?”

  “Sí, señor. They took all the cattle in the Vetadero Meadows. About three hundred head.”

  “Richard, are you sure this was Brandt?” Kleberg asked. “No beheadings, and they took cattle. This is different from the last time.”

  “It is him,” King insisted. “I don’t care whether he is doing things differently or not. I know, as sure as I am standing here, that it was either Jack Brandt, or someone who is working for Jack Brandt.”

  Nearly ten miles away from the main house, Ted Abbot, Roy Carter, Emil Barrett, and Bobby Spitz were on horseback, moving alongside a meandering creek. They had been out for four days, taking a tally of the cattle that weren’t with the main herd.

  One of the problems with Santa Gertrudis was that the ranch was so large, and there were so many head of cattle, that it was easy to lose count of how many head there actually were. It was nearly a full-time job for cowboys to ride around the perimeter of the ranch, locating the maverick herds.

  “Whoa, stop here,” Carter said.

  “What for?” Barrett asked.

  Carter swung down from his horse. “I’ve gotta water the lilies,” he said.

  The other three remained in their saddles while Carter went about his business; then they heard him laugh.

  “What are you laughin’ at?” Spitz asked.

  “I just peed me a grasshopper off’n that branch there,” Carter said. “You should’a seen him, he was hangin’ on for dear life, but I peed him right off.”

  “You must be very proud,” Barrett said, and the other three men laughed.

  “Hey, Cap’n King is supposed to get back today, ain’t he?” Carter asked as he remounted.

  “Yes, I think so,” Barrett said.

  “He ain’t goin’ to like it when he hears about Juan and them others,” Carter said as he clucked his horse on.

  The four rode in relative silence for about another mile. Then Carter saw three riders, pushing about twenty head of cattle. He pointed them out to the others.

  “Look down there,” he said. “Them ain’t Santa Gertrudis riders, are they?”

  “Ain’t none that I know,” Spitz said.

  “Maybe we ought to go down there and see what’s goin’ on.”

  “I don’t know,” Barrett said hesitantly. “I mean, if they are rustling cattle, it might not be a good idea to just ride in on them.”

  “Come on, there are three of them, there are four of us,” Spitz said.

  “Bobby is right,” Carter said. “Let’s go down there and see what’s goin’ on.”

  The four rode toward the three men who were pushing the cattle, urging their horses, not into a gallop, but a ground-eating trot. Because the three riders were paying attention to the cows, and because of the sound of their horses’ hoofbeats, they did not hear anyone coming up on them. As the four cowboys approached a rather dense thicket, Carter indicated they should go on the left as the cattle passed by on the right. That gave them the opportunity to overtake the three men and then, on the other side of the thicket, suddenly appear in front of them.

  And that is exactly what they did, startling the three riders.

  “Hold it!” Carter shouted.

  The three riders were stopped by the challenge.

  “Who the hell are you?” Carter asked.

  “Who the hell are you?” the youngest of the three riders replied.

  “We’re riders for the Santa Gertrudis Ranch.”

  “Santa Gertrudis Ranch?” the youngest rider said. He shook his head. “Nope, I’ve never heard of it.”

  “That’s funny,” Carter said.

  “What’s funny about it?”

  “You’re on the Santa Gertrudis right now,” Carter said. He pointed to the cattle. “And them are Santa Gertrudis cows.”

  “There’s no brand on these cows,” the young rider said.

  “That don’t matter none. You can’t . . . what did you say your name was?” Carter asked.

  “My name is Jones. Waco Jones.”

  “Jones. Well, Jones, you can’t come onto another man’s ranch an’ start roundin’ up his cattle just ’cause they ain’t been branded yet. That ain’t no better’n stealin’.”

  Waco smiled, a cold, evil smile. “Well,” he said, “I reckon you called it, ’cause stealin’ is what we’re doin’, all right.”

  Carter was surprised by Waco Jones’s response. He’d as much as admitted that they were rustling cattle.

  “My God, mister! You admit that you’re stealin’ cattle?”

  “Yep. What are you goin’ to do about it?” Waco asked.

  “Well, I don’t intend to let you get away with it,” Carter said, reaching for his gun.

  “Carter, no, don’t draw!” Abbot shouted. “Shit!” he yelled, going for his own gun to support Carter.

  Waco’s draw was unbelievably fast. He fired two times before either Carter or Abbot could pull the triggers on their guns; then, even as they were tumbling from their saddles, Waco turned his gun toward Spitz and Barrett.

  “No!” Barrett shouted, putting his hands up. “We ain’t drawing on you!”

  Waco held his gun pointed toward them for a long moment, smiling at his enjoyment of their fear. Then he put his pistol back in his holster.

  “What is my name?” Waco asked.

  “What?” Spitz asked in a weak voice.

  “What is my name?” Waco asked again.

  “I . . . I don’t know your name,” Spitz said. “And he don’t either,” he added, nodding toward Barrett. “So there ain’t no way the law is goin’ to find out who done this.”

  “What is my name?” Waco asked again, more pointedly this time.

  Spitz looked at Waco with an expression of confusion and fear.

&n
bsp; “I’ll be damned,” Barrett said, suddenly realizing what Waco was doing. “He wants us to tell.” Barrett stared at Waco. “That’s it, isn’t it? You want us to tell.”

  “The name is Waco Jones,” Waco said. “Do you have that? Waco Jones.”

  “Yeah,” Barrett said. “I’ve got it.”

  “Now, if you boys will excuse us, we’ll just take these unbranded cows on,” Waco said.

  “We’ll be takin’ our friends on back, if you don’t mind,” Barrett said, pointing to Carter and Abbot. Both men were sprawled on the ground.

  Waco nodded, and Barrett and Spitz put the two bodies belly-down across the dead men’s horses, using their own ropes to secure them. Once the bodies were loaded, they rode off while Waco and the two with him continued driving the cattle. “We just going to let them get away with it?” Spitz asked, his anger barely controlled.

  “What do you propose we do about it?” Barrett asked.

  “I don’t know. But it just galls me to see them get away with it.”

  “Did you say Waco Jones?” Smoke asked.

  “That’s what he said his name was,” Barrett said. “And he was real anxious that we remember it too.”

  Smoke nodded. “Yes, he’s just the kind that would want you to remember it.”

  “You should have killed the son of a bitch when you had the chance,” Pearlie said.

  Smoke looked at Pearlie, but he didn’t say anything, because he knew that Pearlie was right.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  On the day after Smoke arrived, Captain King called a meeting of all his hands, leaving a bare minimum to keep watch over his herds. They gathered in front of the big house, Americans and Mexicans alike, wondering what this was about.

  Because of the size of the ranch, and the vastness of the operation, many of the men had not seen each other in quite a while. They shook hands and used the opportunity to visit and catch up on the latest news. The cooks came out to pass around coffee and sinkers and it took on the atmosphere of a party with laughter prevailing. But when Captain King came out on the porch, the men grew silent, out of respect, but also out of curiosity.