Venom of the Mountain Man Read online

  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

  VENOM 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

  Teaser chapter

  PINNACLE BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2017 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: 978-0-7860-3364-5

  First electronic edition: December 2017

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-3365-2

  ISBN-10: 0-7860-3365-7

  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!

  Smoke Jensen’s long-lost nephews, Ace and Chance, are 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

  Salcedo, Wyoming Territory

  The hooves of Smoke Jensen’s horse Seven made a dry clatter on the rocks as Smoke made a rather steep descent down from a seldom-used trail. Seeing the road below, he felt a sense of relief. “There it is, Seven, there’s the road. Taking the cutoff wasn’t all that good an idea. I was beginning to think we never would see that road again.”

  Seven whickered.

  “No, I wasn’t lost. You know I don’t get lost. I just get a little disoriented every now and then.”

  Seven whickered again.

  “Ah, so now you’re making fun of me, are you?”

  On long rides, Smoke often talked to his horse because he wanted to hear a voice, even if it was his own. Talking to his horse seemed a step above talking to himself.

  Smoke dismounted and reached up to squeeze Seven’s ear. Seven dipped his head in appreciation of the gesture.

  “Yeah, I know you like this. Tell you what. Why don’t I walk the rest of the way down this hill? That way you won’t have to be working as hard. And when we get on the road, we’ll have a little breather.”

  Before they reached the road, Seven suddenly let out an anxious whinny, and using his head, pushed Smoke aside so violently that he fell painfully onto the rocks.

  “What was that all about?” Smoke said angrily.

  Seven whinnied again and began backing away, lifting his forelegs high and bobbing his head up and down.

  Smoke saw the rattler, coiled and bobbing its head, ready to strike. He drew his pistol and fired. There was a mist of blood where the snake’s head had been, the head now at least five feet away from the reptile’s still coiled and decapitated body.

  “Are you all right?” Smoke asked anxiously as he began examining Seven’s forelegs and feet. He found no indication that the snake had bitten him. He wrapped his arms around Seven’s neck. “Good boy. Oh, wait. I know what you really want.”

  Again, he began squeezing Seven’s ear. “Well, as much as you like this, we can’t hang around here all day. We need to get going.”

  Smoke led Seven on dow
n the rocky incline, then just before he reached the road, his foot slipped off a rock, and he felt the heel of his boot break off. “Damn,” he said, picking up the heel. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to remount right away, but probably a little earlier than I previously intended.”

  He limped along for at least two more miles. When he was certain Seven was well rested, he swung back into the saddle. “All right, boy. Let’s go.” He started Seven forward at a trot that was comfortable for both of them.

  * * *

  “We’ll be coming into Salcedo soon. Tell me, Seven, do you think this bustling community will have a shoe store?”

  Seven dipped his head.

  “Oh, yeah, you would say that. You always are the optimist.”

  * * *

  Salcedo was the result of what had once been a trading post, then a saloon, then a couple houses and a general store until, gradually, it became a town along the banks of the Platte River. The river was not navigable for steamboats, and even flatboats had a difficult time because of the shallowness of the water and the many sandbars and rocks along the route.

  A sign at the town limits, exaggerting somewhat, stated

  SALCEDO

  POP 210

  Smoke had been to Rawlins and was on his way back to his Sugarloaf ranch when he broke the heel. He found a boot and shoe store on Main Street, and the cobbler said that he could fix the boot. As Smoke stood at the window of the shoe repair shop, his attention was drawn to a stagecoach parked at the depot just across the street.

  “Swan, Mule Gap, and Douglas!” the driver shouted. “If you’re goin’ to Swan, Mule Gap, or Douglas, get aboard now!”

  Five passengers responded to the driver’s call—two men, and a woman with two children. The coach had a shotgun guard, and as soon as he was in position, the driver popped his whip, the six horses strained in their harness, and the coach pulled away.

  “Your boot is ready,” George Friegh, the shoemaker, said as he stepped up beside Smoke watching the coach leave. “It’s carryin’ five thousand dollars in cash money.”

  “You mean that’s common knowledge?” Smoke replied. “I thought stagecoach companies didn’t want it known when they were carrying a sizeable cash shipment.”

  “Yeah, most of the time they do try ’n keep it quiet. But you can’t do that with Emile Taylor.”

  “Who is Emile Taylor?” Smoke asked.

  “Taylor’s the shotgun guard. He’s an old soldier, and like a lot of old soldiers, he’s a drinkin’ man. I heard him carryin’ on last night while he was getting’ hisself snockered at the Trail’s End.”

  The Trail’s End was the only saloon in Salcedo.

  “He started talkin’ about the money shipment they’re takin’ down to Douglas. Five thousand dollars he said it was.”

  “He told you that?”

  “Not just me. Hell, mister, he was talkin’ loud enough that ever’one in the saloon heard him.”

  Smoke examined the boot, then paid for the work. “You did a good job,” he said, slipping the boot back on. “I’d better be getting back on the road.”

  Five miles south of Salcedo on the Douglas Pike

  Four men were waiting on the side of the road, their horses ground hobbled behind them.

  “You’re sure it’s carryin’ five thousand dollars?” one of them asked.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. I heard the shotgun guard braggin’ about it.”

  “The reason I ask if you’re sure is the last time we held up a stage we didn’t get nothin’ but thirty-seven dollars, ’n that’s what we got from the passengers. Hell, you could get shot holdin’ up a stage, and thirty-seven dollars ain’t worth it.”

  “This here stagecoach has five thousand dollars. You can trust me on this.”

  “Here it comes,” one of the other men said as the coach crested the hill and came into view.

  “All right. You three get mounted and get your guns out. Gabe, you hold my horse. I’ll have ’em throw the money bag down to me. Get your hoods on,” he added as he pulled a hood down over his own head.

  * * *

  Smoke heard the unmistakable sound of a gunshot in the distance before him. There was only one shot, and it could have been a hunter, but he didn’t think so. There was a sharp flatness to the sound—more like that of a pistol rather than a rifle. He wondered about it, but there was only one shot, and it could have been anything, so he didn’t give it that much of a thought.

  When he reached the top of the hill he saw the stagecoach stopped on the road in front of him. It was the same stagecoach he had watched leave Salcedo, and the passengers, including the woman and children, were standing outside the coach with their hands up. The driver had his hands up as well. For just a second he wondered about the shotgun guard, then he saw a body lying in the road beside the front wheel of the coach.

  Four armed men, all but one mounted, were all wearing hoods that covered their faces. There was no doubt that Smoke had come upon a robbery.

  Pulling his pistol, he urged Seven into a gallop and quickly closed the distance between himself and the stagecoach robbers. “Drop your guns!” he shouted.

  “What the hell?” one of the robbers yelled, and all four of them shot at Smoke.

  Smoke shot back, and the dismounted robber went down. There was another exchange of gunfire, and one of the mounted robbers went down as well.

  “Let’s get out of here!” one of the two remaining robbers shouted, and they galloped off.

  Smoke reached the coach then dismounted to check on the two fallen robbers to make certain they presented no further danger to the coach. They didn’t. Both were dead.

  A quick examination of the shotgun guard determined that he, too, was dead.

  “Mister, I don’t know who you are,” the driver said, “but you sure come along in time to save our bacon.”

  “The name is Jensen. Smoke Jensen. Are all of you all right? Was anyone hurt?”

  “We’re fine, Mr. Jensen, thanks to you,” the woman passenger said.

  From the Douglas Budget:

  Smoke Jensen is best known as the owner of Sugarloaf, a successful ranch near Big Rock, Colorado. He is also well-known as a paladin, a man whose skillful employment of a pistol has, on many occasions, defended the endangered from harm being visited upon them by evil-doers.

  Such was the case a few days ago when fate, in the form of the fortuitous arrival of Mr. Jensen, foiled an attempted stagecoach robbery, and perhaps saved the lives of the driver and passengers. The incident occurred on Douglas Pike Road, some five miles south of Salcedo, and five miles north of Mule Gap.

  Although Mr. Jensen called out to the road agents, offering them the opportunity to drop their guns, the four outlaws refused to do so, choosing instead to engage Jensen in a gunfight. This was a fatal decision for Lucas Monroe and Asa Briggs, both of whom were killed in the ensuing gunplay. Two of the men, already mounted, were able to escape.

  Although the bandits were wearing hoods during the entire exchange, it is widely believed that one of the men who got away was Gabe Briggs, as he and his brother, Asa, like the James and Dalton brothers, rode the outlaw trail together.

  Wiregrass Ranch, adjacent to Sugarloaf

  Wiregrass Ranch had once belonged to Ned and Molly Condon. When they were murdered, Sam Condon, Ned’s brother, came west from St. Louis. Sam had been a successful lawyer in that city, and everyone had thought he was coming to arrange for the sale of the ranch. Instead, he’d decided to stay, and he brought his wife, Sara Sue, and their then twelve-year-old son Thad with him. Both adjusted to their new surroundings quickly and easily. Thad not only adjusted, he thrived in the new environment.

  Sam had made the conscious decision to sell off all the cattle Ned had owned and replaced them with two highly regarded registered Hereford bulls and ten registered Hereford cows. Within two years he had a herd of fifty, composed of ten bulls and forty cows.

  Keeping his herd small, he was able to keep down expenses by
having no permanent cowboys. Although not yet fourteen, Thad had become a very good hand.

  Sam Condon’s approach to ranching paid off well, and he earned a rather substantial income by selling registered cattle, both bulls and cows, to ranchers who wanted to improve their stock.

  Sam and Sara Sue were celebrating their seventeenth wedding anniversary, and they had invited Smoke and Sally, their neighbors from the adjacent ranch, to have a celebratory dinner with them.

  “Chicken and dumplin’s, Missouri style,” Sara Sue said.

  “Oh, you don’t have to educate me, Sara Sue,” Smoke said as his hostess spooned the pastry onto his plate. “It’s been a while, but I’m a Missouri boy, too.”

  “Well, I’m from the Northeast, but I’ve learned to enjoy chicken and dumplings as well,” Sally said. “Smoke loves them so, that I had to learn how to make the flat dumplings.”

  “She learned how to make them all right,” Smoke said. “She just hasn’t learned how to say dumplin’s, without adding that last g,” he teased.

  The others laughed.

  “Mr. Jensen, I read about you in the paper,” Thad said.

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, sir. I read how you stopped a stagecoach holdup, ’n how you kilt two men.”

  “Thad,” Sam said. “That’s hardly a subject fit for discussion over the dinner table.”

  “But that is what you done, ain’t it? You kilt two men?”

  “That’s what you did, isn’t it?” Sara Sue said, correcting Thad’s grammar.

  “See, Pa, even Ma is talking about it,” Thad said.