Brutal Night of the Mountain Man
Look for These Exciting Series from
WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE
with J. A. Johnstone
The Mountain Man
Preacher: The First Mountain Man
Matt Jensen, the Last Mountain Man
Luke Jensen, Bounty Hunter
Those Jensen Boys!
The Family Jensen
MacCallister
Flintlock
The Brothers O’Brien
The Kerrigans: A Texas Dynasty
Sixkiller, U.S. Marshal
Hell’s Half Acre
Texas John Slaughter
Will Tanner, U.S. Deputy Marshal
Eagles
The Frontiersman
AVAILABLE FROM PINNACLE BOOKS
BRUTAL NIGHT OF THE MOUNTAIN MAN
WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE
with J. A. Johnstone
PINNACLE BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
THE JENSEN FAMILY FIRST FAMILY OF THE AMERICAN FRONTIER
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
EPILOGUE
Teaser chapter
Notes
PINNACLE BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2016 J. A. Johnstone
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
Following the death of William W. Johnstone, the Johnstone family is working with a carefully selected writer to organize and complete Mr. Johnstone’s outlines and many unfinished manuscripts to create additional novels in all of his series like The Last Gunfighter, Mountain Man, and Eagles, among others. This novel was inspired by Mr. Johnstone’s superb storytelling.
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
PINNACLE BOOKS, the Pinnacle logo, and the WWJ steer head logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-0-7860-3555-7
First electronic edition: December 2016
ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-3556-4
ISBN-10: 0-7860-3556-0
THE JENSEN FAMILY FIRST FAMILY OF THE AMERICAN FRONTIER
Smoke Jensen—The Mountain Man
The youngest of three children and orphaned as a young boy, Smoke Jensen is considered one of the fastest draws in the West. His quest to tame the lawless West has become the stuff of legend. Smoke owns the Sugarloaf Ranch in Colorado. Married to Sally Jensen, father to Denise (“Denny” ) and Louis.
Preacher—The First Mountain Man
Though not a blood relative, grizzled frontiersman Preacher became a father figure to the young Smoke Jensen, teaching him how to survive in the brutal, often deadly Rocky Mountains. Fought the battles that forged his destiny. Armed with a long gun, Preacher is as fierce as the land itself.
Matt Jensen—The Last Mountain Man
Orphaned but taken in by Smoke Jensen, Matt Jensen has become like a younger brother to Smoke and even took the Jensen name. And like Smoke, Matt has carved out his destiny on the American frontier. He lives by the gun and surrenders to no man.
Luke Jensen—Bounty Hunter
Mountain Man Smoke Jensen’s long-lost brother, Luke Jensen, is scarred by war and a dead shot—the right qualities to be a bounty hunter. And he’s cunning, and fierce enough, to bring down the deadliest outlaws of his day.
Ace Jensen and Chance Jensen—Those Jensen Boys!
The untold story of Smoke Jensen’s long-lost nephews, Ace and Chance, a pair of young-gun twins as reckless and wild as the frontier itself . . . Their father is Luke Jensen, thought killed in the Civil War. Their uncle Smoke Jensen is one of the fiercest gunfighters the West has ever known. It’s no surprise that the inseparable Ace and Chance Jensen have a knack for taking risks—even if they have to blast their way out of them.
CHAPTER ONE
El Paso County, Texas
The Eagle Shire Ranch was second in size only to the King Ranch in Southwest Texas. Silas Atwood, owner of Eagle Shire, had been ruthless in building his ranch. He began the process by buying, from the bank, the mortgage paper on many of the smaller adjacent ranches. If a blizzard or drought or some other calamity would happen to cause the smaller ranchers to miss payments, Atwood was merciless in foreclosing on them immediately. In this way he continued to expand his already large holdings.
Bo Willis, Tony Clinton, Abe Creech, and Danny Reed rode for Atwood, though they couldn’t exactly be called cowboys since their positions for the ranch called for a set of skills that were different from those required by working cowboys. Atwood called such men his “special cadre.” At the moment, Willis and the others were at Glen Creek, a year-round stream that supplied water for this part of the county. They were near the spillway where, even now, water was pooling into a widening lake behind gate number one. Closing the gate stopped the creek from flowing onto the Double Nickel Ranch. A medium-size ranch, the Double Nickel had, so far, managed to survive blizzards and droughts.
Bo Willis took a leak against an ocotillo cactus, aiming at a sunning frog as he did so. He laughed when the creature, caught in the stream, hopped away. Buttoning his pants, he walked back over to the others.
“See anything yet?” Willis asked.
Clinton spit a wad of tobacco before he answered. “Nope,” he said. “I’m not sure anyone will be here.”
“Oh, someone will be here all right. Either Dumey or some of his men,” Willis said. “They’re goin’ to want to know what happened to the stream.”
Reed laughed. “When they find out, I don’t reckon Dumey is goin’ to be all that happy about it.”
“Yeah, well he can bitch all he wants, Mr. Atwood has a court order allowin’ us to close the gate, so there’s nothing he can do about it. Nothing legal, that is. That means that if he, or any of his men, show up, it can only be to caus
e us trouble. And remember, when they do arrive, they will be trespassing, which means we have every right to shoot them down.”
“Hey, Bo,” Creech said. “Looks like we’ve got company comin’.”
Creech pointed out three riders.
“All right, you fellas stay out of sight,” Willis said. “Have your rifles loaded and ready. When I give the signal, shoot ’em.”
“Shoot at them?” Reed asked.
“No, shoot them,” Willis said. “You got a problem with that? ’Cause if you do, it may just be that you’ll need to find another place to work.”
“No, I ain’t got no problem with that,” Reed insisted. “I just wanted to be sure that’s what Mr. Atwood wanted, is all.”
“He give us fifty dollars apiece to come out here ’n do just that,” Willis said. “I don’t intend to go back ’n tell ’im the job didn’t get done. So if you ain’t got it in you, just go on back now, ’n I’ll take your fifty dollars.”
“Like hell you will,” Reed said. “You just give me the word, then step out of the way so they don’t none of them fall on you.”
Clinton and Creech laughed at Reed’s comment.
“Go on, then, ’n get out of sight,” Willis ordered.
Clinton, Creech, and Reed got out of sight behind an outcropping of rocks. Willis walked out to the middle of the road and stood, waiting until the three riders came close enough for him to identify them. One of them was Gus Dumey, son of the owner of the Double Nickel. The other two were Paul Burke, who was the foreman of the Double Nickel, and a man named Poke, who was one of the Double Nickel riders. Poke was the only name Willis knew him by.
“That’s far enough!” Willis called out, holding his hand up to stop the riders. “You three men are trespassing on Eagle Shire Ranch property.”
“Is that you, Willis?” Burke asked.
“Yeah. What are you three doin’ here, Burke?”
“Our crick has run dry,” Burke said. “We’re tryin’ to find out why.”
“It’s run dry ’cause we closed the gate,” Willis said.
“What?” Dumey shouted. “Why the hell did Atwood do that?”
“It ain’t Mr. Atwood’s doin’,” Willis replied. “Judge Boykin ordered it shut down so as to divert some water to the other ranches because of the drought.”
“There aren’t any other ranches serviced by Glen Creek except Eagle Shire and the Double Nickel,” Dumey said angrily. “And there isn’t a drought.”
“Well, then, if their ain’t no drought, you got no need for the crik, do you?” Willis said with a smug smile.
Dumey started toward the gate.
“Where do you think you’re a-goin’?” Willis asked.
“I aim to open that gate,” Dumey replied.
Willis looked toward the concealed men and nodded. Shots rang out and Dumey, Burke, and Poke all three went down as a cloud of gunsmoke drifted up over the rocks.
Clinton and the others came out then. “Dead?” Clinton asked.
“Yeah,” Willis replied.
“Let’s get ’em throwed over their saddles, then take ’em into Marshal Witherspoon. Mr. Atwood wants this done all legal-like.”
Big Rock, Colorado
Smoke Jensen and Cal Wood were standing in the crowd of some fifty or so spectators, watching the horseshoe-pitching contest. They were here to support their friend Pearlie, who was representing Big Rock in the Eagle County championship match. Pearlie was defending his position as county champion, but he was facing stiff competition this time from Jim Wyatt, who represented Red Cliff.
The two men were tied, and Wyatt, who was up, held the shoe under his chin, studied the pit at the far end, then made his toss. His shoe hit the stake and lay there, in contact with the stake.
“Good toss, Wyatt,” someone called.
“Yeah? Watch this one.”
Wyatt threw his second shoe. There was a loud clang as the horseshoe hit the iron stake, then fell. The judge made a quick examination of the shoe, then called back, “The ends are all the way through. It’s a ringer.”
“That gives Wyatt twenty-one points, Pearlie,” someone shouted. “Looks to me like you ain’t a-goin’ to be the horseshoe-throwin’ champion of Eagle County no more.”
The man who called out was Beans Evans, one of the wagon drivers for Big Rock Freighters.
“Don’t count ’im out yet, Beans,” Cal said. “He’s got two more throws.”
“He ain’t hit a ringer in the last ten tosses,” Beans replied. “He ain’t likely to do it now.”
Pearlie threw the shoe. It hit the stake and then whirled around. Pearlie held his breath until it dropped.
“It spun off,” Wyatt said.
“No, it didn’t,” the judge replied, examining the shoe. “Mr. Wyatt’s ringer is canceled, and there is zero score for either man.”
“You’re at nineteen points, Pearlie. Another ringer is all you need.”
“I bet you five dollars he don’t get it,” Beans said.
“Now, Beans, I know you don’t really want to bet that much,” Smoke said. “Suppose we just bet a beer on it.”
Beans laughed. “Yeah,” he said. “I was gettin’ a little carried away there, wasn’t I? All right, I’ll bet you a beer.”
Sugarloaf Ranch
Sally Jensen was sitting on Eagle Watch, the high escarpment that guarded the north end of the ranch. She had found this place shortly after she and Smoke were married, and she came here quite often to enjoy the view. From here she could see the house, a large two-story edifice, white, with a porch that ran all the way across the front. It had turrets at each of the front corners, the windows of which now shined gold in the reflected sunlight. Also in the compound were several other structures, including the bunkhouse, cook’s shack, cowboy dining hall, barn, granary, and other outbuildings.
Now was bluebell season, and at her insistence some of the meadow was left free of any livestock so she could enjoy the tulip-shaped blooms and their rich color from deep blue, to almost purple. Although Sally had grown up in New England, she was now living the life of her dreams; married to the man she loved.
Smoke Jensen’s reputation reached far beyond the Colorado state lines, far beyond the West. He was someone whose reputation as a rancher, and as a courageous champion of others, was the stuff of heroes, and indeed, there had already been many books written about him.
Even as such thoughts played across her mind, she looked down onto Jensen Pike and smiled at the sight of three approaching riders. They were, she knew, Smoke, Pearlie, and Cal. Pearlie and Cal were their two top ranch hands, but they were much more than that. The two young men had been with them for a long time, having come to the ranch when they were relatively young. As a result, Smoke and Sally looked at them more as if they were members of the family than just employees.
Sally mounted her horse, then rode back down the trail to meet them, arriving back at the house at about the same time Smoke, Pearlie, and Cal did.
“I made some bear sign,” Sally said. “I figured they would be good as consolation in case you lost, or as a celebration in case you won. Which was it?”
Pearlie reached down into his saddlebag, then, with a big smile, pulled out a brass cup.
“We’ll be celebratin’,” he said, holding the cup up so she could see it.
“My,” Sally replied. “I do believe that one is even prettier than the other three.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
“They all look just alike,” Cal said.
Smoke laughed. “I believe you have just been subjected to a bit of Sally’s sarcasm.”
Eagle Shire Ranch, El Paso County
There were two separate bunkhouses on the Eagle Shire Ranch. The larger of the two bunkhouses was for the men who were actually cowboys, men who rode the range, kept the fences repaired, pulled cattle out of mud holes, and maintained the wagons and equipment. The smaller bunkhouse was for Silas Atwood’s cadre of gunmen. It was because Silas
Atwood was so successful that he justified the presence of his own personal army of gunmen. He suggested that a man of his wealth and prominence was always in danger of being attacked.
The working cowboys weren’t jealous of the special cadre. In fact, honestly they gave the gunmen little thought.
“They have their job, we have ours,” is the way Miner Cobb, the foreman of the ranch, explained it. Because of the decreasing number of area ranches, the working cowboys of Eagle Shire were just thankful for the job.
Steady employment was not the norm for the cowboys working at any of the few remaining ranches. It was not only that none of the other ranchers had the economic clout as Silas Atwood, it was that many of the smaller ranches that had started the year under the ownership of one man had changed hands when they found the challenge of trying to survive in the shadow of a huge ranch, like the Eagle Shire, to be more difficult than they could handle.
Some sold out to Atwood on his first offer. They were the lucky ones. Those who insisted that they could survive sometimes found that their source of water was compromised, or mysterious fires burned away their grass. Also, because Atwood owned so much land, he had the smaller ranches blocked so that passage in and out of town was possible only by paying high toll fees. Most gave up, and abandoned their ranches with only what they could carry with them.
It wasn’t just the ranchers who were having to deal with Atwood, several of the businessmen of the town of Etholen found their livelihood threatened as well.
“Do you know anything about the old feudal system of England?” Atwood once asked. “Men who owned large areas of land, and who controlled the village, became members of the peerage. We don’t have peerage here, but I intend to have as much power as any duke in the realm.”