Assault of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

  “But don’t you think it would be better if—”

  Whatever question Cal was going to ask was cut off by a direct stare from Sally.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll get your horse saddled.”

  “Cal, saddle the filly.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I know you have a particular like for that horse.”

  As Sally rode into town, she felt an exhilarating sense of freedom. For the first time since she had been shot, she felt like her old self and, in her enthusiasm, she urged her horse into a gallop. Leaning down over the horse’s neck, she galloped at full speed for at least a quarter mile, enjoying the wind in her face and hair.

  Finally she stopped the gallop and allowed the horse to continue at a gait needed to cool her down. She patted the horse’s neck, and spoke soothingly. “Good girl. Smoke won’t race us, because I think he is afraid you could beat Seven. I don’t just think, I know you could beat him. But, between us girls, there’s no need to be showing up the men now, is there? Sometimes we just have to grin and bear it.”

  Big Rock

  Jericho Taggart was sitting in the Brown Dirt Cowboy nursing a beer. He knew this was where Smoke lived. All he had to do was hang around town until he showed up.

  “Well, look there,” one of the saloon patrons said, pointing through the front window. “That’s Mrs. Jensen riding down the street just as sassy as you please. She sure don’t look none the worse for bein’ shot now, does she?”

  A couple others moved to the front to watch as Sally rode by.

  “That’s Smoke Jensen’s wife, is it?” Taggart asked.

  “Yes. Oh, you was askin’ about him, wasn’t you? Well sir, if you was to go ask Mrs. Jensen, I’ll bet she could tell you where he is, and when he is gettin’ home.”

  “Where is Jensen, anyhow?” one of the others asked. “I ain’t seen him around in more’n a month. ’Course, this here ain’t the saloon he comes to. I reckon he’s too high tone for it.”

  “Not a bit of it,” the bartender said. “Smoke Jensen is as fine a man as there is anywhere in this world. He don’t come in here ’cause he and Longmont are just real close friends.”

  “Yeah, but he ain’t even been down there in a month of Sundays.”

  “He’s been on the trail of them that shot his wife,” the bartender said. “He’ll be back when he has them all took care of.”

  “If he takes care of all of ’em.”

  “When,” the bartender insisted.

  Taggart finished his beer, then walked to the livery stable where he rented two saddle horses, complete with saddles and gear. After that, he left town going in the direction of Sugarloaf Ranch, riding one horse and leading the other.

  Somewhere between Big Rock and Sugarloaf

  Sally was on her way back to the ranch, her purchases for the day in a bag hanging from the saddle horn. She was about halfway home when she heard a loud bang. To her shock and horror, her horse’s head seemed to explode in front of her, as blood, bone, and brain matter burst out.

  The horse fell. It happened so fast Sally was barely able to get her leg out from under her. In doing so, she was out of position, and her head hit the ground hard.

  Everything went black.

  Sally was aware that she was sitting in the saddle of a horse being led by another rider who was in front of her. Almost at the same moment, she realized that her hands were tied together, and her ankles were tied to the stirrups. She was confused as to why and how she had gotten there.

  Then she remembered hearing a shot, and seeing her horse’s head explode in front of her. How long ago was that?

  She was able to lift her hands and found her watch, still pinned to the bodice of her dress. Pulling it out, she examined it. It was five minutes after eleven. It was ten o’clock when she left town to start back home, and it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes later when she was ambushed on the road.

  How long had she been on this horse? She could not remember a thing beyond her horse being shot, but she must have been conscious. Unless the man in front of her put her on the horse while she was unconscious. She had no memory of any of that.

  “Who are you?” she called to the rider. “Where are we going?”

  The rider stopped, then looked back at her. “Oh, so you are not too high and mighty to talk to me now, are you? I’ve been trying to get you to say something for the last hour.”

  “I-I don’t remember anything about the last hour,” Sally said. “Why am I tied up? What do you want with me?”

  “Oh, I don’t want you for anything,” the rider said. “It’s your husband I want.”

  “What is your name?”

  “My name is Taggart. Jericho Taggart.”

  “Why do you want my husband, Mr. Taggart?”

  “Because he is worth five thousand dollars, dead or alive.”

  “That’s ridiculous! My husband isn’t a wanted man. He is an outstanding, law-abiding citizen.”

  “Someone wants him,” Taggart said. “And they are willing to pay five thousand dollars for him.”

  “Well, if you want him, why have you taken me?”

  “He will be coming for you, won’t he?”

  “You better believe he will.”

  “That’s what I’m counting on,” Taggart said.

  Big Rock

  Smoke was at the depot, waiting for Seven to be off-loaded from the stock car, when Sheriff Carson saw him.

  “Smoke, welcome home!” Carson smiled broadly, extending his hand.

  “Hello, Monte.” Smoke took the deputy U.S. marshal’s badge from his pocket, and handed it to the sheriff. “I won’t be needing this anymore.”

  “I take it your quest came out to your satisfaction?”

  “Let’s just say that Dinkins and his gang will rob no more banks, and shoot no more women.”

  “Oh, that reminds me. Sally is in town.”

  “To see the doctor? Is something wrong?”

  “No, no, didn’t mean to cause you any worry. She is looking fine. She rode in herself. Told me she was doing a little shopping, and had never felt better.”

  “Where is she now, do you know?”

  “I don’t have any idea, to be honest. It’s been a little over an hour since I saw her,” Sheriff Carson said.

  “Good. I hope she is still in town. We can ride home together.”

  Mounting Seven, Smoke rode up and down the main street, looking for Sally’s horse. When he didn’t see it anywhere, he stepped into Amy’s Ladies’ Shop. He knew Sally never came to town without stopping there. Even if she didn’t buy anything, she would stop to visit with Amy.

  “Hello, Smoke.”

  “Hi, Amy. Have you seen Sally today?”

  “She was in here about an hour ago, but she said she was going home next.”

  “All right, thanks. I guess I’ll catch up with her there.”

  Somewhere between Big Rock and Sugarloaf

  Four miles out of town, Smoke saw several buzzards circling. In order to attract that many buzzards, he knew there had to be something dead, and bigger than a rabbit, or even a coyote. He urged Seven into a gallop and a moment later, saw a horse down.

  It was Sally’s horse!

  When he reached the horse, he jumped down from the saddle. Sally was nowhere to be seen, and his first thought was that she had walked on home. But the bag of her purchases was still attached to the saddle horn, and he knew she wouldn’t have left ... oh my God! What happened to the horse?

  The horse’s head was laid open like a smashed watermelon. That was no accident!

  As Smoke examined the dirt road around the horse, he saw footprints coming from the side of the road to the horse, then going back to the side of the road from the horse. The footprints were made by a man’s boot. He saw no sign of Sally.

  Following the direction of the footprints, Smoke saw the print of two horses. And he saw something else—the empty cartridge of a .50 caliber bullet.

  What happened to Sally
’s horse was no longer a mystery. Someone had waited until Sally came along, then killed Sally’s horse. The fact that he didn’t kill Sally meant she wasn’t his principal target. Whoever it was, was after Smoke, and he was using Sally as bait.

  “All right, Mr. Bushwhacker,” Smoke said aloud. “I’m going to take the bait, so you better be ready for me, ’cause I’m damn sure ready for you.”

  Ahead of Smoke the brown land lay in empty folds of rocks, dirt, and sage. Smoke picked up the tracks of two riders, but the ground was hard and the tracks so indistinct he couldn’t tell very much about them. He couldn’t be sure Sally was one of the riders, but it was the best he had to go on. He saw a piece of green calico hanging on some sage, and knew he was on the right track. It also told him that she was all right.

  “Good girl, Sally.” He pulled the cloth off the branch and stuck it in his pocket.

  Fifteen minutes after he found the first bit of cloth he found another. It not only told him he was still on the right trail, it saved his life. The second piece of cloth was lying on the ground and he got off his horse to pick it up. Just as he was dismounting, a rifle boomed and the heavy ball whistled by, taking his hat off and fluffing his hair. The bullet hit a rock and knocked a huge chunk out of it.

  That had to be a .50 caliber bullet, meaning he had found the man he was looking for. Or, the man had found him. If that bullet had hit him, it would have taken off the top of his head and he would be as dead as Sally’s horse.

  Moving quickly, Smoke slapped Seven’s flank to get him out of the line of fire, then dived for a nearby rock just as a second shot whizzed by. Again, the bullet was so heavy that even though it missed him, he could feel the concussion from the shock wave.

  Smoke wriggled his body under cover, then raised himself slowly to take a look around. He saw the crown of a hat poking over the top of a rock so he aimed and shot. The hat went sailing away.

  “You’re pretty good with that little pea shooter, Jensen,” the shooter called out to him. “But face it, you don’t have a chance against my Sharps fifty.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Smoke asked.

  “The name is Taggart. Jericho Taggart. I reckon you’ve heard of me.”

  “I reckon not,” Smoke replied. “Is Sally with you?”

  “Yeah, she’s with me.”

  “Sally! Sally, are you there?”

  “She can’t answer you, Jensen. I’ve got a gag stuffed in her mouth.”

  “Taggart, if you are after the five thousand dollar reward, maybe you should know there is no such thing. I’m not wanted. That’s a poster Bill Dinkins put out.”

  “Whether Dinkins pays the reward or the sheriff does, makes no difference to me,” Taggart replied.

  “Dinkins can’t pay the reward. He’s dead.”

  “You killed him, I suppose?”

  “I killed him, his half brother Wes Harley, and the two Slater brothers,” Smoke said.

  “My, you have been a busy man, haven’t you, Jensen?”

  “Since that dodger was put out by Dinkins, and not by the sheriff of La Plata County, and Dinkins is dead, there’s no money for you in killing me.”

  Taggart fired again and the bullet was as close as the first one. It hit the rock right in front of Smoke and kicked pea-sized chunks of rock into his face, opening up wounds. The impact was so great that, for a moment Smoke thought he had been hit. But he knew that couldn’t be right. If he had actually been hit, he would be dead. Smoke turned around and slid to the ground.

  Taggart laughed. “This fifty will chew up some rock, won’t it?”

  “What are you still shooting for? I told you, there’s no money in it.”

  “Well, let’s just say once it gets out that I’m the one who killed the famous Smoke Jensen, I’ll find a way to turn it into money,” Taggart said.

  Again, the .50 boomed, the shot sounding like thunder.

  “I want to hear Sally’s voice,” Smoke said.

  “Do you, now?”

  “Let me hear her say something.”

  “Don’t worry about her. After I kill you, I’ll let her go.”

  “Do you think killing me with a fifty caliber rifle from fifty yards away is going to make you famous?” Smoke taunted.

  “I don’t know,” Taggart replied. “Maybe you have a point. Folks do say that you are as fast as greased lightning with that gun of yours. Is that right?”

  “You want to try me?”

  “Do I want to try you?” Taggart laughed. “No, that would be foolish now, wouldn’t it? I like to do my killin’ with a Sharps fifty. This isn’t exactly the kind of gun you use in fighting a duel.”

  “I see. Tell me, Taggart, have most of your kills been from half a mile away? Have you ever had the courage to face a man down, and look him in the eyes? At least Harley was man enough to do that.”

  “That’s the way it is.”

  “That’s the coward’s way,” Smoke said.

  “You can call me whatever you want, Mr. Jensen. But the truth is, I’ve got your woman, and the only way you are going to get her back, is to come through me.”

  Smoke raised up just a bit and Taggart fired again. But the sound was sharper, higher, less explosive than the other. The bullet hit the rock in front of him, then careened off with a high pitched skirling sound.

  “Oh, yeah, maybe I should have told you,” Taggart called across the gap separating them. “My fifty is a single shot. So, just to keep me safe between shots, I also have a Winchester.”

  “You have it all figured out, don’t you, Taggart?”

  “I have to. Killin’ folks is my profession.”

  “You sound as if you are proud of that.”

  “How about you? I’ll bet if truth were known, you’ve killed more people than I have,” Taggart replied.

  “It’s not something I take pride in.” Smoke moved around, trying to get into position to see his assailant.

  “I tell you what, Jensen. What do you say me ’n you meet each other out in the open? You with your pistol, me with my Winchester. You got the guts to try that?”

  “What?” Smoke asked, surprised by the challenge. “Let me get this straight. You’re offering to go up against me?”

  “Yeah. I’m a sportin’ man. Step out now, with your pistol in your holster. I’ll step out with my Winchester, and we’ll go agin’ each other. To make it more even, I’ll toss my Sharps out on the ground.”

  Smoke looked around the rock and saw Taggart hold the big buffalo rifle up, then toss it.

  “There, see, I wasn’t lyin’ to you. There’s my fifty, lyin’ on the ground. Come on out, now.”

  Smoke hesitated.

  “Ah,” Taggart said. “I understand. You are afraid that if you come out, I’ll shoot you, right? Just to make you feel better, I’ll come out first.”

  Smoke raised up again to take a look, and saw Taggart, coming out from behind the rock. Then he saw Taggart reach back and pull Sally out from behind the rock. She was gagged, and her wrists were bound together. Her ankles were tied together with a short piece of rope that would let her shuffle, but not walk, and certainly would not let her run.

  “All right, Mr. Jensen, as you can see, I’m already out here.”

  Smoke holstered his own pistol, then stepped out from behind the rock. “Well, I’ll be damned. I didn’t really think you’d do it.”

  “Well, I’m a surprising man.” Taggart grinned evilly. “But I am not a dumb man.” He reached for Sally and pulled her over to stand in front of him.

  “Now, let’s see if you are good enough to hit me, without hitting your wife.” Taggart laughed. “Interesting challenge, isn’t it?”

  Smoke looked into Sally’s eyes and saw, not fear, but determination. She was trying to tell him something, but what? She blinked a couple of times and stared pointedly, and all of a sudden he realized what she was saying. Smoke smiled at her, and she smiled back.

  “Anytime, Mr. Jensen,” Taggart said.

 
“Now!” Smoke shouted.

  Sally threw herself to the ground. Her sudden, and unexpected move not only exposed Taggart, it surprised him into a split second of indecision.

  That split second was all Smoke needed. He drew and cocked his gun at the same time, then fired. The bullet slammed into Taggart’s chest, severing arteries and plowing through one of his lungs. Taggart dropped his rifle and fell to the ground.

  Smoke stood quietly as the echo of his shot came rolling back from a nearby rock wall. When the last echo was a subdued rumble off a distant hill, the silence returned. The leaves of a nearby aspen rustled. A distant eagle shrieked. A rabbit scurried under a clump of sagebrush.

  Smoke saw Sally trying to get back up and hurried over to her. He lifted her up, then removed the gag. Not only had Taggart bound a cloth around her mouth, he had also stuck a sock in it. She reached up with her bound wrists and pulled the sock out, then coughed and gasped for air.

  “Ohhh, that was awful! I don’t think that sock has ever been washed.” She began spitting.

  “If you’ll stop spitting, I’ll kiss you.” Smoke smiled at her.

  “You’ll taste sock,” Sally warned.

  “No, I’ll taste only you.”

  They kissed, then Sally held up her hands. “Untie my wrists. I can’t kiss properly with my hands tied.”

  Smoke laughed, but he untied her hands. “What makes you think you need your hands to kiss?”

  “So I can do this.” She leaned into him, put her arms around him and her hands on the back of his head to pull him closer.

  They kissed deeply, then all of a sudden Sally stiffened and pulled away from him. Smoke looked at her in surprise, but before he could say anything, she pulled his pistol from his holster. He whirled around then and saw that Taggart had sat up and cocked his Winchester.

  Sally fired four times, the shots coming so close together it sounded almost like one sustained roar.

  Taggart fell back with one bullet hole in his forehead, one in each cheek, and one in his chin.

  The gunshots echoed and reechoed back from the mountain walls, as Sally stood there, holding the pistol in her hand, staring down at Taggart’s body.