War of the Mountain Man (14 page)

“A lot of men have tried that, Max. I've soaked up a lot of lead in my day. I'm still here.”

“Oh, I think Melvin is as good as you are. And you'll never bring that boy to trial, Smoke.”

“Maybe not. We'll have to see, won't we?”

“And maybe I have a couple of aces in the hole, Smoke.”

“By the names of Henri Dubois and Paul Mittermaier?”

Max's smile was not in the least pleasant to look at. The big man sighed in disgust. He had been counting on the back-shooting pair.

“I've got their fancy rifles locked up in my office. Those two are halfway back to New York City by now. They're so doped up it'll be days before they even know who they are, much less where they are.”

Max chuckled. Outlaw, killer, thief, he nevertheless had a sense of humor. And while he did not like being bested, he could still appreciate—however reluctantly—the method that was used in doing so.

“Slick, Jensen. I keep underestimating you. I've got to stop doing that. Jensen, what is the point of your interference? Is this what you're going to do for the rest of your life, stick your damn nose in other peoples' affairs?”

“I hope not, Max. To tell the truth, my wife and I came up here to visit friends. Nothing else.”

“Dr. Turner and his wife,” Max put it together. “I should have guessed. Sure. Who else in Hell's Creek would your wife want to associate with? So, now Barlow has a doctor and we don't. What's next, Jensen?”

“Your packing up and pulling out.”

“That is something I will never do, Jensen.”

Smoke shrugged his heavy shoulders. “You've noticed the cleanup around the town, the new water barrels.” It was not put as a question. “You've seen where we've fixed up our pumper. And you've seen how the people are all armed and willing to stand shoulder to shoulder to fight you and Red Malone. Don't you feel it in your guts, Max? Can't you see you're not going to win this one?”

Max felt it, all right. He'd been sensing it for several days. riding into Barlow had been depressing. The town was clean and neat, with swept boardwalks and washed windows and shrubs and flowers planted around the homes. Not like Hell's Creek, where litter was ankle-deep in some spots and the gunhands lived in shacks and tents and squalor. The stench of unwashed bodies was something one grew accustomed to in Hell's Creek. The people here took pride in their town. Here, in Barlow, there was a better class of people and good water.

Of course, that's all Hell needed.

Max's eyes flickered to the lush little body of Tessie, doing a reel with that pig-farmer's boy, Elias. His blood grew hot with perversion.

The quick glance did not escape the eyes of Smoke, who filed it away.

“I'll go down with my town,” Max said, his voice husky with sudden desire. “If indeed we are to go down at all. And that certainly remains to be seen.”

“Men like you never learn, Max. Civilization is fast spreading throughout the West. The people aren't going to tolerate men like us much longer.”

“Us?” The statement confused Max. “Us!”

“Sure, Max. Us. I'm tolerated because I'm bringing a change to this town. When you and Red are either dead or run out of the territory, the people won't want me around. I'm a gunfighter, Max. The smell of gunsmoke lingers around me like some sort of invisible shroud. Just like the smell of perversion lingers around you.”

Max's head jerked up. “What the hell do you mean by that, Jensen? Perversion?”

“You touch that Feckles girl and I'll kill you, Max. I'll ride right into Hell's Creek and shoot you. As God is my witness, I'll do it.”

“She's a woman, Jensen. She might be a child in mind, but she's got the body of a woman.” Max knew he ought to shut his big mouth, but arrogance worked his tongue.

“You're pure crud, Max. I know that you lusted after both Victoria and Lisa. Tell you what, Max. I'm going to start sending out wires to a lot of law enforcement offices; I'm going to blanket your back trail and see what I can come up with. And I'm going to start with telegrams concerning child molestation and rape over ... say, the past ten years or so. How does that grab you, partner?”

Max was thinking hard. He'd left a trail behind him, for sure.

If Jensen started digging, he'd soon put two and two together and Max would be forced to run. No question about that.

Max forced a laugh. “You do that, Jensen. My back trail is clean.”

“We'll soon know,” Smoke spoke the words softly. “It'll take me about a week to find out.”

Max could scarcely control his wildly raging temper. He stared at Smoke for a moment and then spun on his boot heels, hollering for his men to get their gear and mount up. They were leaving.

“What's with Big Max?” Joe Walsh asked, walking up.

“I touched a festering boil,” Smoke told him. “And it's just about ready to explode.”

Over coffee the next morning in his office, Smoke told Jim and Sal and Judge Garrison what had brought on Max Huggins's sudden departure the night before.

“Let me start canvasing various law enforcement agencies, Smoke,” Judge Garrison said. “I have many more contacts than you. I should have something within a week, probably in less time than that.”

“Good, Judge. Get right on it, will you?”

“Immediately.” The judge left the room and walked over to the telegraph office. He would be very busy for the next several days. Judge Garrison did not set a bond for Melvin Malone. He said the attempted murder charge meant he did not have to set a bond. Melvin would stay in jail.

“You're dead, Jensen,” Melvin hollered from his cell. He rattled the barred door. “You're a dead man walking around and you're just too stupid to know that.”

“Shut up, boy,” Smoke called. “You're only making things more difficult for yourself.”

“Son of a bitch!” Melvin yelled. “That's you, Jensen. Low-life, no-good ...”

Smoke tuned him out.

“You know Red is gonna try to bust him out,” Sal said.

“Sure. Once he hears no bond was set, he'll try force. Maybe as soon as tonight.”

“You want us to set up cots and sleep here?” Jim asked.

“No.” Smoke's reply was quick. “Red, so I'm told, likes to use dynamite. That's how he drove all those small farmers out that were settling around his holdings. He might decide to use explosives here. Too risky for us to sleep in.”

“Hell, Smoke!” Sal said. “He uses dynamite, he might blow up Melvin tryin' to get him out.”

Smoke shook his head. “We won't be that lucky, Sal.” Smoke cut his eyes to the window in time to see John Steele riding up, the point man for several wagons, coming into town for supplies. They pulled up in front of Marbly's General Store.

“Oh, boy,” Jim said. “Here it comes.”

Smoke stood up and reached for his hat. “Yep,” he said, heading for the door. “Storm clouds are gathering and it's about to rain trouble all over us. Let's go, boys. I wouldn't want to miss this.”

The three men crossed the street just as John Steele was entering Marbly's store. They stepped up onto the boardwalk in time to hear John's shout of disbelief.

“What the hell do you mean, you little worm?” John roared. “My money is no good? My money is as good as anybody's, and by the Lord, you're going to sell me what I want.”

“Get out of my store,” Marbly stood his ground. “I don't want you or any of your scummy crew in my place of business. Get out, I say!”

John reached across the counter and grabbed Marbly by the shirtfront. Mrs. Marbly jerked an axe handle out of a barrel and bonked it across the top of John's Stetson-covered head. John's eyes rolled back in his head and he sank to the floor, out cold. One of the Lightning hands jerked out a gun and aimed it at the woman. Smoke dusted him through and through with a .44 slug. The force of the slug knocked the cowboy to one side and into a showcase. He died among women's underthings, his head on a corset.

The townspeople reacted immediately to the shooting. The street filled with armed men. The remaining Lightning crew held up their hands in a hurry, not wanting to get plugged from every angle.

Smoke holstered his .44 and pointed to John Steele. “Drag him to jail.” He looked at Marbly. “You going to press charges?”

“Damn right!” the shopkeeper said, considerable heat in his voice.

“Charge him with assault and battery”, Smoke said to Sal. “Jim, get the undertaker.”

Smoke stepped outside and faced the Lightning crew. “This town is off-limits to you and to anyone who works for Red Malone—including Red. I am officially banning any and all of you from Barlow. Take the word back to Red.”

“Big talk, Jensen,” the hand sneered at him. “I'll see your hide nailed to the wall afore this is over.”

Smoke reached up and took off his badge, handing it to Marbly. “You want to try it now, cowboy? Guns or fists, it makes no difference to me.”

The cowboy, who was going by the name of Dan since he was wanted in several states for cattle rustling and armed robbery, among other things, hesitated.

Smoke smiled, knowing he was giving the man no way out. It was the way of the West that when challenged, you had but two options: fight or be branded a coward. Smoke did not like the code but, in this case, felt he was justified in invoking it.

Dan took off his gunbelt and handed it to a Lightning puncher. He flexed his arms and looked back at Smoke. “You mind if I warm up a little first?”

“I don't care if you do the Virginia reel,” Smoke told him, and that got a laugh from the gathering crowd, both men and women. “You probably can't dance any better than you can fight.”

The crowd roared with laughter and Dan flushed in anger.

“I think I'll just clean your clock,” Dan said.

“Then come on, cowboy.”

Dan tried a sucker punch that brought no response from Smoke. He hooked a left that Smoke blocked and tried to follow through with a right that Smoke flicked away.

Smoke jumped lightly off the boardwalk and waved Dan down to join him.

“Stand still and fight, damn you!” Dan yelled.

“Oh!” Smoke said. “I see. That's what you want. I thought you were still warming up.”

The crowd loved it and roared their approval.

Dan didn't think it was a bit funny and stepped in close. Smoke rattled his teeth with a left and put a knot on his head with a right. Dan backed up, shaking his head and spitting out blood.

“I'm waiting to fight,” Smoke taunted him.

Dan charged him with a shout of defiance, and Smoke stuck out a boot and tripped the man, sending him sprawling into the dirt of the street.

The Lightning cook sat his seat on the wagon and shook his head. Dan was gonna get the crap beat out of him for sure, and just as soon as that was over and done with and they got back to the ranch, Cookie was packin' up his kit and gettin' the hell gone from the Lightning brand. His oldest boy had been forever trying to get him over into Idaho to help on his horse ranch. This time, by God, he was going. Hadn't rue du Brill a stayed this long with this pack of screwballs.

That thought had just crossed his mind when Dan got up from the dirt and went charging and yelling toward Smoke Jensen. The cook grimaced as Smoke poleaxed the puncher with a solid right fist that turned Dan around and sent him stumbling out into the street.

As a matter of fact, the cook thought, there ain't no reason to go back to the ranch. I just got paid, I got my best clothes on, I'm wearin' my gun, and I ain't got nothin' back there no good for anything no how.

The dull smack of Smoke Jensen's fist again connecting with Dan's jaw prompted Cookie to climb down from the wagon seat and walk up toward the stage office. He had more than enough money in his pockets to get a room at the Grand and buy his ticket over to Idaho. Hell with Red Malone and his foolish boy and the whole damn crazy bunch out at Lightning.

Cookie turned in time to see Dan whip out a knife. “Stupid, Dan,” he muttered. “Now Smoke's gonna kill you.”

“I'll gut you, Jensen,” Dan screamed his rage and frustration. He stepped closer.

Smoke reached behind his right hand .44 and pulled out a long-bladed Bowie knife. “You sure this is the way you want it?” Smoke asked him.

Dan moved closer, working the blade from side to side. He tried to fake Smoke but Jensen wasn't falling for it.

“Don't do this, Dan!” one of the Lightning crew yelled. “It ain't worth it.”

Dan pressed on, curses rolling off his tongue. He swung the blade and Smoke parried it, the metal clanking as the razor-sharp knives met.

Smoke stepped in and cut Dan from earlobe to point of jaw. “Drop the knife,” he warned the puncher. “Mountain men raised me. I've been knife-fighting since I was sixteen.”

“Hell with you!” Dan said as the blood dripped from the cut on his face.

“I don't want to kill you, boy,” Smoke told him. “Give this up.”

Dan moved in and Smoke cut his knife arm, opening him up from elbow down to hand. Dan screamed as the knife dropped from his numbed and useless hand.

“Get Dr. Turner,” Smoke said to the crowd. “See what he can do with this fool.”

Smoke wiped the blood from his blade and sheathed it. Turning to the Lightning punchers, he said, “You have one minute to get clear of this town. And don't ever come back.”

Cookie watched from the boardwalk as the bleeding Dan was led to the doctor's office. “Told you so, boy,” he muttered. “I learned fifty years ago to give mountain men a wide berth.”

Cookie turned and walked into the ticket office. Idaho sure looked good to him.

 

 

Red Malone received the news of being banned from Barlow stoically. He had been expecting something like this, so it didn't surprise him.

But he was shook down to his boots at the news of John Steele being jailed. “How is Dan?” he finally asked.

“He ain't never gonna use his right arm again. Tendons was cut.”

Red grunted. “Cookie?”

“He quit.”

“Get my horse. I'm riding to Barlow.”

“You want me to get the boys together?”

“No. I'm riding alone. Do it, Jake. I don't want to hear any arguments.”

Red rode to the town limits and sat his saddle in the middle of the road. Malone was many things, but a fool was not one of them. Someone would soon spot him and take the news to Jensen. Smoke would ride out to see what he wanted.

In a couple of minutes, Jensen rode up and faced him. “Something I do for you, Red?”

“Has bond been set for John Steele?”

“Fifty dollars. He's out, saddling his horse. He'll be along shortly.”

“He hurt?”

“He's got a knot on his noggin and his pride is bruised, that's all.”

Red nodded his head. “You'd a done Dan a favor if you'd gone on and killed him. A one-armed puncher ain't good for much, Jensen.”

“That's his problem, Red.”

John Steele came riding out, wheeled his horse up beside Red, and faced Smoke. The man was killing mad and it showed on his face, which was chalk-white with anger. Smoke knew that was the sign of a very dangerous man. A red-faced man usually meant all bluff and bluster, but one whose face was chalk-white meant he was cold inside.

“I want to see my boy, Jensen. He ain't much, I'll give you that, but he's still mine. You can have my gun and search me. Have a deputy there with us. But I want to see him.”

“All right, Red. I wouldn't have kicked up any fuss at that. A father has a right to see his own. John, you ride on to the spread. Don't come back to town. I mean it. Your high-handed, roughshod ways of dealing with the people of Barlow are over.”

“You and me, Jensen,” the foreman said tightly. “Someday, just you and me.”

“Shut your mouth and clear out, John. Don't dig your own grave.”

John wheeled his horse and rode away.

“Did this ... incident with John go down the way my hand said it did?”

“What'd your hand say about it?” After listening to a brief rundown, Smoke nodded his head. “That's about it, Red.”

It was obvious that Red had more on his mind than seeing his son. Smoke got the impression Malone didn't even like the boy. He might love him, but he sure didn't like him,

“Where am I supposed to buy supplies, Jensen?”

“I don't know, Red. But if Marbly doesn't want you in his store, that's his right.”

“You've pushed me up against a wall just like you're pushin' Max. Don't you think well push back, Jensen?”

“We're ready anytime you boys want to start the tug-of-war, Red.”

“Damnit, man!” Red stirred in the saddle. “My boys will have to drive teams way the hell south of here for supplies.”

“There's a way you can prevent that, Red, and you know it.”

“There's two ways, Jensen. And you know the other way I'm talkin' about.”

“You want to try it now, Red?” Smoke calmly laid down the challenge.

Red grudgingly smiled at the man's calmness and courage. He took a deep breath and shook his head. “I reckon not, Jensen. But you can't stick around here forever. You got to leave sometime. I'll wait.”

“I'm betting you won't, Red. Oh, you might; I'll give you that. But sooner or later, your daughter is going to want some pretties from the dress shop or the general store, and she'll agitate you or someone else until you drive her in. One of your hands is going to get drunk and come rip-snorting in here. You or some of your crew or your kid will get sick and have to see the doctor or the man at the apothecary shop. Any of those things could blow the lid off. And one of them more than likely will.”

“You'd stop me from bringing my girl or one of my men in to see the doctor?”

“That's right, Red.”

“You're a heartless bastard, Jensen!”

“Oh, I wouldn't prevent the doctor from going out to your spread. Or you could bring them to this town limit and he could treat them. But after today, unless it's for a court appearance, neither you nor any of your family or crew sets a foot in Barlow.”

Red curtly nodded his head. “I got a packet in my saddlebags for Mel. It's some readin' material and money so's he can buy himself some food from the cafe. Is that all right?”