Vengeance of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

  Smoke’s brow furrowed. “Was he a shootist?”

  “I dunno.” Mason shook his head. “Wore a fancy double-rig though, and looked like he knew how to use it.”

  Smoke patted him on the shoulder. “Okay, boy, thanks for bein’ honest with me.”

  “You gonna hang me now?” His eyes were streaming tears.

  “I don’t know. That’s up to the boys here. After all, it was them that you ambushed and one of them that you killed.” Smoke stood and dusted his hands on his pants, as if to rid them of the stain of having touched the killer.

  “Smoke,” Sally said, “I think we ought to wait for Sheriff Carson and let him take this boy into town for a trial.”

  Smoke looked at her a moment. “How’s Woodrow?” he asked quietly.

  She lowered her eyelids. “He’s pretty bad. He was hit hard, but he’s young and strong and fightin’ back. If he lives until Doc Spalding gets here, I think he’ll make it.”

  Smoke cut his eyes over to Hank Collier. “Sally, I’m gonna leave it up to the men what to do. If they want to be merciful and let Monte have him, okay. If they want to form a string party and decorate a cottonwood tree with his carcass, that’s okay, too.”

  “But . . .”

  He put his arm around her shoulder and began to lead her into the cabin. “I know it’s hard, dear, but this is a hard country, and those men made their choice to come up here and kill people for money.” He opened the door for her and followed her in.

  Hank went over to stand before Mason. “Men, we have a choice here. Do we take this bandit into town to hang, or do we do it here and save the town the trouble?”

  “Let ’im stretch hemp!”

  “Make ’im do a midair dance!”

  “Let him do a Texas cakewalk!”

  Hank shook his head, sympathy in his eyes. “Sorry, Hoss. Looks like you go to meet Jesus tonight.”

  Mason wiped his eyes and nose again and got to his feet. “Okay. I’m not gonna cry about it. Let’s do it.”

  The men put him on a horse and rode into the woods. Pearlie and Cal went into the cabin to sit with Woodrow until the doc came.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Doctor Cotton Spalding had Pearlie hold a cloth with chloroform on it while he put some deep stitches in the wounds to Woodrow’s chest and arm. It wasn’t long before Pearlie’s face was the color of chalk and he was swallowing rapidly to keep from fainting at the sight of the doctor’s needles at work.

  Sally was helping by handing Spalding his instruments as he needed them. She looked up when Pearlie started to sway, with sweat beading his forehead. “Pearlie, hand me that cloth and go sit in the other room until you feel better.”

  “Yes ma’am.” He wasted no time doing just as she suggested, pausing in the kitchen to grab a couple of biscuits and a cut of beef left over from supper. He walked out the door onto the porch to find Smoke sitting there, cigar in hand, looking over the Sugarloaf range.

  Smoke glanced up to see Pearlie standing in the doorway. “Light and set, Pearlie. Is the doc through in there?”

  “No sir, but might near. He says Woody’s gonna be okay if’n he don’t get suppuration.”

  Smoke nodded, blowing cigar smoke toward the stars. “Pearlie, what did you make of Mason’s description of the man who paid them to come up here?”

  Pearlie thought on it for a moment, then shrugged. “Could be most anybody, I reckon.” He stuffed the biscuit-surrounded beef into his mouth. “’Cept somethin’ about that one-ear business is kinda familiar.”

  Smoke offered him a cigar. “No thanks, I’ll just roll me a blanket of my own.” He pulled a cloth bag of tobacco out of his pocket and began to build a cigarette. “What do you make of it, Smoke?”

  “I only remember one hombre who fits that description who has cause to hate me enough to pay someone to kill me, and who’s coward enough to be afraid to do it himself.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Lester Morgan.”

  Pearlie thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “You mean that dandy who went around acting like some big gunhawk? The one that shot Luke Nations in the back?”

  Smoke shrugged. “You recollect any other man with one ear who’s crossed our paths in the last few years?”

  “Naw, I don’t. But I heard old Lester Morgan had gone to Mexico, tryin’ to outrun his reputation.”

  “So had I, Pearlie. But when you think on it, Texas isn’t that far from Mexico, is it?”

  Just then, Doctor Spalding and Sally walked out onto the porch. Smoke jumped up. “How’s Woody, Doc?”

  “I think he’s going to be all right, Smoke. I’ve asked Sally to let him rest in the cabin tonight, then send him in to Big Rock on a buckboard tomorrow. I’ll have to probe for the bullet in his chest, and I want him to get a little stronger before I put him through that.”

  Sally asked, “Can we fix you some supper, Cotton, or would you like coffee or a drink?”

  He shook his head. “No thanks, one of the town ladies is in labor and I need to get back down there.” He smiled. “Can’t have these women learning they can have those babies without me; wouldn’t be good for business.”

  “I’ll bring old Woody to town first thang in the mornin’, Doc,” said Pearlie.

  “Okay, thanks Pearlie. Good night, all.” He tipped his hat, climbed into his buggy, and settled back to grab a quick nap as his horse found its way back to Big Rock.

  Pearlie waved good night to Smoke and Sally and sauntered toward the bunkhouse, cigarette dangling from his lips.

  Smoke put his arm around Sally and she laid her head on his shoulder. “Tired?”

  “Yes. We’d just finished feeding the hands supper when those men opened fire on us.” She sighed. “It’s been pretty much going on since then.”

  “Is Woody taken care of?”

  “Yes, he’s sleeping soundly. Doctor Spalding gave him some laudanum.”

  He gently steered her through the door and toward their bedroom. “You get in bed, I’ll get us a glass of wine, and we’ll relax a little before trying to go to sleep.”

  She caressed his cheek with her palm, then walked tiredly toward their room as he turned to look for the wineglasses.

  When he entered the bedroom, Sally was propped up in bed wearing one of her silk nightshirts. He could see the outline of her breasts through the thin material and had to concentrate to keep from spilling their wine.

  They touched glasses and he said, “To us.” She answered with a smile and repeated the toast, “To us, dear.”

  After taking a sip of the dark-red burgundy, Smoke handed her the telegram he had been given in town. She pursed her lips, looked at him once, then drank the rest of her wine in one swallow as if to fortify herself against whatever news was in the message.

  Tears formed in her eyes as she read, and Smoke put his hand on her thigh, squeezing lightly to let her know he was there for her. “My father’s had a stroke,” she whispered, voice cracking.

  Smoke refilled her glass and said, “Is it bad?”

  She shook her head. “My brother says not, but he has some weakness in his right arm and leg, and the left side of his face droops a little.” Her eyes found his. “They ask if I can come and be there with him while he heals.”

  Smoke nodded without speaking. Sally clenched her jaw and blinked away her tears. “I’ll send an answer with Pearlie in the morning, telling them to give my love to Dad, but I won’t be able to join them.”

  Surprised, Smoke asked, “Why not? I could take you over to the railhead and you’d be there in less than a week.”

  She looked at him with a defiant expression. “Why? Because someone is after my man, trying to kill him. I’m damned if I’m going to let anyone hurt you, Smoke. We’ve worked too long and too hard to build a good life here in the mountains, and nobody is going to take that away from us. Not without a hell of a fight, they’re not.”

  Smoke took her in his arms and hugged her tight, loving her more
at that moment than he ever had. “You’re right, darling. Someone is trying to kill me, or have me killed. I think it’s that young gunfighter, Lester Sundance Morgan, that I treed and marked a few years back.”

  She leaned back and looked him in the eye. “All the more reason for me to stay where I belong, right here by your side.”

  He shook his head. “No, dear. I think it’d be better if you were somewhere else for a while.”

  Sally opened her mouth to speak, an angry expression on her face. He put a finger to her lips. “Hang on and listen to me for a minute. With you here, I’m not free to move around and do what I need to do to prepare for when this skunk gets tired of sending second-raters up here to be killed. Sooner or later he’s going to come and try to do the job himself, and since I know he’s a devout coward, he won’t be coming alone.”

  “But Smoke, I want to help you when that time comes.”

  “No, sweetheart, I don’t want a war here in our valley. Too many of our friends might get hurt. I plan to set up some hands as guards to keep any sizable force away from our home here, and I’m going to go to the high lonesome, where they’ll have to come and get me on my terms and in my country.”

  She searched his face, trying to decide if he was just saying this to give her a way out so she could go to her family. After a moment, she shrugged. “Okay, Smoke Jensen. I’ll go and take care of my dad, and leave you here to take care of whoever is behind tonight’s attack.” She took his face in her hands, “But you hear me and hear me well. You ride with your guns loose and your temper short and you stay off the ridgeline, because if you let anybody kill you, I’ll never forgive you.”

  He laughed and kissed her softly on the lips. “You hear me, Sally Jensen. You get your father well in a hurry, ’cause every minute without you is like a month to me.”

  Sally smiled a familiar smile. She pulled the nightshirt over her head and sat there, looking at Smoke with heavy eyelids and chest heaving. “How come you’re not undressed yet? Don’t you know it’s time for bed?”

  Smoke blew the lamp out and began to rip off his bloody, torn shirt. “Yes, ma’am, I do. Do you want some more wine?”

  From the darkness came her answer. “No. Just you.”

  * * *

  The next morning, as Pearlie loaded Woodrow on the buckboard, Smoke gave him a telegram to send to Sally’s family in New Hampshire telling them she would be there within two weeks or so, depending on the weather and the state of the railroad tracks.

  After Pearlie left, with Hank riding in the back with the wounded man, Smoke called the hands together. “Men, Sally’s in the cabin packing now, and in a little while, I’m going to take her over to where she can catch a train back East to see her folks. After I leave, I want you all to keep a skeleton crew on the horse and cattle herds—just enough men to keep them safe and protected. I want the rest of you scattered along the various trails that anyone could use to get to Sugarloaf.”

  One of the men asked, “You expectin’ more trouble, Mr. Smoke?”

  “Yeah. Some lowlife gunslick I took down a few years back is out to pay me back. I figure he’ll have to have plenty of help before he gets the courage to come up here and face me, so I want you men to cover all the places on the trails where one or two men can keep a large party from passing. Most of you know this country about as well as I do, and there are plenty of passes and tight spots where you can bottle up those flatlanders so they can’t get up here to do any mischief.”

  Another asked, “What are you gonna be doin’, boss?”

  “I’m gonna let it be known around the territory that I’ve gone up into the high country for a while to visit some of my ole mountain man friends. That way, hopefully, all the action will be away from here and you all will be safe.”

  “To hell with bein’ safe,” the man who had spoken said, “you need any help, boss, all you gotta do is ask.”

  “I know, Billy, but if I can get those scum to come after me in the up-high, they’re the ones who’ll be needin’ help. Thanks for your loyalty and your help. Now, I’d better get in the cabin and help Sally pack or I won’t have to worry about it, she’ll kill me.”

  The men laughed as they broke into small groups to decide who was going to which pass and who would be minding the herd.

  Smoke went into the cabin and found Sally filling a steamer trunk, tears running down her face. “Sweetheart, what’s the matter?”

  She looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. “I don’t like to be away from you. You always seem to get into trouble when I’m gone.”

  He smiled and put his arms around her as she continued, “Of course, you also always seem to get into mischief when I’m here.” She leaned her head back and kissed him on the lips. “It’s a good thing I love you so much, Smoke, ’cause you sure need a lot of taking care of.”

  “But worth it, right?”

  “Oh yes,” she said, remembering the night before.

  When she was finished packing, and Smoke had loaded her trunk and small valise onto the buckboard, she motioned him into their bedroom. As he entered, she began unbuttoning her shirt. “Smoke, there’s one thing you forgot.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

  She stripped her shirt off and began to undo her britches. “Yes. You haven’t told me good-bye yet.”

  Smoke was astounded. Surely she couldn’t intend for them to do it in the daytime, with all the hands roaming around. Naked, she pulled the curtains and looked back over her shoulder at Smoke as she slid under the covers and into their bed. “Am I going to have to start without you?” she asked, smiling a lazy half-smile.

  “Oh no, not on your life.” he answered huskily, shucking boots and pants as fast as he could.

  * * *

  As they approached Big Rock in the buckboard, Smoke asked Sally, “Have you got your short-barrelled .44 handy?”

  Before he could turn his eyes back to the road, she had it in her hand, grinning at him. “Why, are you expecting more trouble this morning?”

  He shook his head, proud of her readiness. “Well, like I told you, one of the first and strongest lessons Preacher taught me was that if you always expect trouble, it never surprises you when it comes, as it usually does sooner or later in this country.”

  Sally smiled as she put the .44 away in her handbag. “You think about Preacher often, don’t you?”

  “Every day.” He shook his head as he spoke. “You know, it’s funny, but even as civilized as we’ve become here, with towns and railroads and people all over the place, not a day goes by that I don’t use one of the lessons that Preacher taught me about survival in a wilderness.”

  Sally snorted. “Hmph, perhaps we’re not as civilized as you think we are, Smoke. Most of the people out here are just one generation away from the frontier folks like Preacher who settled this country in the first place.”

  He smiled. “Yeah, and some are less than one generation up from the animals that preceded the mountain men.”

  “Oh, so now you’re insulting the grizzlies and wolves, huh?”

  They laughed together as the buckboard pulled into the main street of Big Rock. Townspeople of all ages waved and shouted hello. Smoke pulled the wagon up in front of the Emporium, so Sally could stock up on some female essentials she said she needed for the train trip.

  He left her to her shopping and ambled down the street to the saloon owned by Louis Longmont, his gambler friend of many years. There Louis plied his trade, which he called teaching amateurs the laws of chance.

  Louis was a lean, hawk-faced man, with strong, slender, clean hands and long fingers, nails carefully manicured. He had jet-black hair and a black pencil-thin moustache. He was, as usual, dressed in a black suit, with white shirt and dark ascot—something he’d picked up on a trip to England some years back. He wore low-heeled boots, and a pistol hung in tied-down leather on his right side. It was not for show, for Louis was snake-quick with a short gun and was a feared, deadly gunhand when pushed.
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  Louis was not an evil man. He had never hired his gun out for money. And while he could make a deck of cards do almost anything, he did not cheat at poker. He did not have to cheat. He was possessed of a phenomenal memory, could tell you the odds of filling any type of poker hand, and was one of the first to use the new method of card counting.

  He was just past forty years of age. He had come to the West with his parents as a very small boy, arriving from Louisiana. His parents had died in a shantytown fire, leaving the boy to cope as best he could.

  He had coped quite well, plying his innate intelligence and willingness to take a chance into a fortune. He owned a large ranch up in Wyoming Territory, several businesses in San Francisco, and a hefty chunk of a railroad.

  Though it was a mystery to many why Longmont stayed with the hard life he had chosen, Smoke thought he understood. Once Louis had said to him, “Smoke, I would miss my life every bit as much as you would miss the dry-mouthed moment before the draw, the challenge of facing and besting those miscreants who would kill you or others, and the so-called loneliness of the owlhoot trail.”

  Sometimes Louis joked that he would like to draw against Smoke someday, just to see who was faster. Smoke allowed as how it would be close, but that he would win. “You see, Louis, you’re just too civilized,” he had told him on many occasions. “Your mind is distracted by visions of operas, fine foods and wines, and the odds of your winning the match. Also, your fatal flaw is that you can almost always see the good in the lowest creatures God ever made, and you refuse to believe that anyone is pure evil and without hope of redemption.”

  When Louis laughed at this description of himself, Smoke would continue. “On the other hand, when some snake-scum draws down on me and wants to dance, the only thing I have on my mind is teaching him that when you dance, someone has to pay the band. My mind is clear and focused on only one problem, how to put that stump-sucker across his horse toes down.”

  Louis looked up from his breakfast table and smiled as Smoke entered his saloon. “Smoke, my old friend, have a seat and let André fix you something to chase the pangs of hunger away.”