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  WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE

  and J. A. JOHNSTONE

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  AVAILABLE FROM PINNACLE BOOKS

  TORTURE 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

  PROLOGUE

  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

  EPILOGUE

  Teaser chapter

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  PINNACLE BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2018 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: 978-0-7860-3553-3

  First electronic edition: December 2018

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-3554-0

  ISBN-10: 0-7860-3554-4

  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.

  PROLOGUE

  From the Fort Worth Democrat:

  TERRIBLE CRIME !

  When the sexton of St. Luke’s Episcopal Church arrived to carry out his assigned duties on Monday most recent, he made a most appalling discovery. Seeing that the rector was not in his office, and knowing that to be unusual, Bill Donohue went to the parsonage to inquire as to why the priest had not arrived at his usual time and place.

  He had no idea of the gruesome scene he would behold when he looked through the window. There, he saw a sight that would make the blood run cold on even the most insentient person.

  Hurrying inside he discovered the bodies of Fr. Damon Grayson, his wife Millicent, and their two small children, Jerome and Marie. It is believed that the motive for the murder was the theft of the previous Sunday’s collection of $117.37.

  So heinous is the crime that a five thousand dollar reward has been offered for any information leading to the capture of the unknown perpetrator.

  Tyrone Greene was the blacksmith, machinist, and all-round handyman for Live Oaks Ranch, a 120,000-acre spread that lay just north of Ft. Worth. His position was second only to that of Clay Ramsey, the ranch foreman. He had been very disturbed by the murder of Father Grayson, particularly since Tyrone was not only a parishioner, but a vestryman.

  It was three weeks after the murder when Tyrone was moving the saddles of the cowboys so he could do some repairs to the wall. When he moved the saddle belonging to Cutter MacMurtry, one of the cowboys, a silver cup fell from the saddlebag. Tyrone picked it up and gasped. He examined the inscription.

  In honor of the

  First Communion

  Of my daughter

  TAMARA GREENE

  Tyrone had given this very cup to St. Luke’s Church ten years earlier for the christening of his daughter, Tamara. He knew there was only one way Cutter MacMurtry could have it, and that was to have stolen it. Going into his quarters, Tyrone got his pistol belt down from t
he hook where it hung and belted it around his waist.

  * * *

  One month later, after Cutter MacMurtry was tried and convicted for the murder of Father Grayson and his family, Tyrone Greene was presented with a check for five thousand dollars. He had not taken Cutter MacMurtry in to the sheriff for the money. He had done it because he wanted justice for Father Grayson.

  But the money promised a bright future for him and his family.

  * * *

  When Mel Saddler, jailer for the Tarrant County jail, looked up, he saw a man with rough, blunt features and eyes as gray as a dreary winter day. This was Hatchett MacMurtry.

  “I’m here to see my brother.”

  “You’ve been here before, MacMurtry, so you know the routine,” Saddler said. “Take off your gun belt.”

  Hatchett MacMurtry did so.

  “Now, hold your arms out while I search you for any weapons.”

  Hatchett MacMurtry complied, and Saddler made a thorough check for any hidden guns or knives. Finding none, he stepped back.

  “All right, you can go back there to tell your brother good-bye,” Saddler said with a little chuckle.

  “What do you mean, good-bye? I just got here.”

  “We’ll be hangin’ ’im tomorrow, ’n there will be a crowd gathered around for the show,” Saddler said. “When I said you could tell ’im good-bye, that’s ’cause I figured you’d want to do it alone, when there was just the two of you.”

  “Yeah,” Hatchett said.

  Saddler led Hatchett back to Cutter MacMurtry’s cell.

  “Hello, brother,” Hatchett said.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d come to see me,” Cutter replied.

  Hatchett turned toward Saddler. “I thought you said this would be a private meeting.”

  “I’m supposed to stay here to keep an eye on all the visitors,” Saddler replied.

  “Why? You done searched me pretty good, you know I ain’t got no gun to give ’im.”

  Saddler sighed, then looked around. “All right, seein’ as your brother’s goin’ to get hung tomorrow anyhow, I can’t see as it be any way wrong to let you talk amongst yourselves. I’m goin’ to close ’n lock this outer door, call me when you’re ready to leave.”

  “All right,” Hatchett agreed.

  “You goin’ to watch me hang tomorrow?” Cutter asked, after the deputy closed and locked the outer door.

  “No.”

  “Why not? It might be good to have a friendly face in the crowd.”

  “I ain’t goin’ to watch you, ’cause you ain’t goin’ to hang.’

  “You got some way to get me out of it?”

  Hatchett smiled. “Go back there ’n look at the bars on your window.”

  “What for?”

  “Just do it, Cutter,” Hatchett said, the tone of his voice reflecting his irritation.

  Cutter walked to the back of his cell to examine the bars that were on the back window.

  “Do you see a piece of rawhide tied around one of the bars?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Pull it up, but be careful, you don’t want to lose what’s on the other side.”

  Cutter did as he was instructed, and when the other end of the string drew even with the window, he saw a Colt .44 suspended by the rawhide string tied around the trigger guard.

  “Damn!” Cutter said with a broad smile. He pulled the gun in, then untied the cord.

  “Now, pass it through to me,” Hatchett ordered.

  Cutter did so, and as soon as he had the gun back in hand, he called out for the jailer.

  “Damn,” Saddler said as he returned and unlocked the outer door. “That wasn’t a long visit.’

  “It don’t take long to say good-bye,” Hatchett said.

  As soon as Slater stepped inside, Hatchett put the barrel of the pistol against Saddler’s head.

  “Where did you . . .”

  That was as far as he got with the question before Hatchett pulled the trigger and blew the jailer’s brains out.

  Moving quickly, Hatchett got the jailer’s keys and unlocked the cell door.

  “What do we do now?” Cutter asked.

  “We get out of here. I borrowed some money and a couple of horses from Live Oaks,” Hatchett said,

  “Colonel Conyers loaned us some money and horses?” Cutter asked, surprised by the news.

  Hatchett chuckled. “Yeah, only he don’t know it. ’N this here ain’t the kind of loan that’s ever goin’ to be paid back.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Four years later, Sugarloaf Ranch

  Smoke Jensen, the owner of Sugarloaf Ranch, stood out on the front porch, one hand leaning against one of the porch rails, and the other hand holding a cup of coffee. Smoke was a big man, over six feet tall, and with a spread of shoulders that could just about cover an axe handle. He had hair the color of ripened wheat, though not much of it could seen at the moment since it was covered with a low-crowned, brown hat.

  To the east, the sun had not yet crested Casteel Ridge, but it had pushed the early morning darkness away. Pearlie, Smoke’s ranch foreman, came toward him.

  “Good mornin’, Pearlie.”

  “Mornin’, Smoke. We picked up six cows overnight.”

  “What?”

  “Herefords, they were easy enough to pick out. According to the brand, they belong to Mr. Greene. I’ll get one of the hands to take the cows back.”

  “I thought you had a full day planned for all the hands,” Smoke said.

  “Yeah I do, we’re re-fencing some of the south quarter. There’s gaps all along the fence. More ’n likely that’s how these cows got through.

  “You keep the men working,” Smoke said. “I’ll take the cows back.”

  “You sure you want to do that? It’ll take up half your mornin’, over there and back,” Pearlie said,

  “I don’t mind. Sally has some books she wants to take over to Tyrone’s daughter, so this will give me a chance to do it.

  “I’ll get the cows gathered up for you,” Pearlie offered.

  Diamond T Ranch

  “Tamara, go out to the barn and tell your father to come to breakfast,” Edna said.

  “Yes, Mama,” Tamara replied. Tamara was a very pretty fourteen-year-old girl, a good student who had it in mind to be a schoolteacher.

  “What on earth would make you want to be a schoolteacher?” one of her classmates had asked. “Why, schoolteachers can never get married.”

  “Yes, they can,” Tamara had answered. “Miz Sally used to be a schoolteacher, and now she is married to Mr. Smoke Jensen. I want to be just like her . . . she’s the smartest person I’ve ever met.”

  That conversation had taken place on the last day of school. Now, even though school was out for the summer, Tamara continued to study, reading books that their neighbor Sally Jensen had provided.

  “Papa? Papa, are you out here?” Tamara called, carrying out her mother’s bidding.

  “I’m in the barn, darlin’,” a man’s voice answered. Tamara’s father, Tyrone Greene, appeared in the barn door.

  “Mama says to wash up, and come to breakfast.”

  “Your mother told me to wash up?” Tyrone asked, a grin spreading across his face.

  “No, Papa, I’m saying that. You’ve been working in the barn where there are all kinds of dirty things. Wouldn’t you want to clean up?”

  Tyrone laughed. “For you, I’ll clean up.”

  As father and daughter walked back to the house, they saw a strange horse out front.

  “Who’s here?” Tyrone asked. “Whose horse is that?

  “I don’t know,” Tamara replied. “It wasn’t there when I came to get you.”

  “It looks like we may have company for breakfast. I hope your mama made enough.”

  “She always makes enough biscuits and bacon, you know that. All she’ll have to do is fry a couple more eggs,” Tamara said.

  “Well, let’s go see who it is, shall we?”

  Tyrone
and Tamara stepped up onto the porch, then Tyrone opened the door.

  “Tell me, Mrs. Greene, what vagabond have you agreed to feed this morning? I hope you have enough . . .”

  The smile left Tyrone’s face to be replaced by an expression of fear and horror. There was a man standing next to his wife, with an evil grin on his face and a pistol in his hand. He was holding the pistol to Edna’s temple. The uninvited visitor was a big man with a bald head, a protruding brow, and practically no neck. It was someone that Tyrone knew well.

  “Hello, Greene,” the man said.

  “Cutter MacMurtry, what are doing here? I thought you . . .”

  “You thought I’d been hung? Well, they was plannin’ on doin’ that, but me ’n my brother thought it might be a good idea to leave Texas, before it was that they could ever actual get around to a-doin’ it,” MacMurtry said.

  Tyrone looked around. “Is Hatchett here with you?”

  “I don’t rightly know where he is now. We sort of separated oncet we come to Colorado.” MacMurtry grinned again. “I see that you have yourself a nice little ranch. How’d you get it?”

  “I bought it.”

  “You was one of Colonel Conyers’ top hands, ’n I’ve heard he paid some of you a lot better ’n he paid me ’n a lot of the other workin’ hands. But I don’t figure that even the Colonel paid enough for you to buy a ranch like this. Where’d you get the money?”

  Tyrone didn’t answer.

  “How much of a reward did you collect for turning me in? Five thousand dollars, is what I heard. Yes, sir, five thousand dollars would be enough money to buy yourself a real nice little ranch. So, you come up here from Texas ’n used that five thousand dollars of blood money to do just that, didn’t you?”