Rising Fire
Look for these exciting Western series from
bestselling authors
WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE
and J. A. JOHNSTONE
The Mountain Man
Preacher: The First Mountain Man
Luke Jensen, Bounty Hunter
Those Jensen Boys!
The Jensen Brand
Matt Jensen
MacCallister
The Red Ryan Westerns
Perley Gates
Have Brides, Will Travel
The Hank Fallon Westerns
Will Tanner, Deputy U.S. Marshal
Shotgun Johnny
The Chuckwagon Trail
The Jackals
The Slash and Pecos Westerns
The Texas Moonshiners
AVAILABLE FROM PINNACLE BOOKS
RISING FIRE
THE JENSEN BRAND
WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE AND 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 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
Teaser chapter
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
PINNACLE BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2020 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.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. 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: 978-0-7860-4420-7
Electronic edition:
ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-4421-4 (e-book)
ISBN-10: 0-7860-4421-7 (e-book)
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 1
Big Rock, Colorado, 1902
Train whistles always had a little bit of a mournful sound to them. Or maybe she was just in a gloomy mood, Denise Nicole Jensen thought as she leaned a shoulder against one of the posts holding up the roof over the train station platform.
A train like the one that would be pulling into Big Rock in a few minutes had taken Denny’s twin brother, Louis, back East, along with Louis’s wife, Melanie, and stepson, Brad, so Louis could attend law school at Harvard. Denny had put on a smile and a brave face and hugged all of them when they left, but this was the longest she’d been separated from Louis since they were born, and she missed him.
On this day, Denny looked a little like an illustration on the flimsy yellow front cover of a dime novel. Her blond hair was tucked up under a flat-crowned brown hat with a rattlesnake band. She wore a brown leather vest over a butternut shirt with the sleeves rolled up a couple of turns, revealing deeply tanned forearms. The pair of jeans she wore weren’t exactly baggy, but they didn’t hug her hips and thighs tightly, so her shapely female form wasn’t apparent at first glance. The jeans were tucked into high-topped brown boots.
A gun belt strapped around her waist, with a holstered. 38 caliber Colt Lightning revolver attached to it, completed the picture of a young gunfighter. Almost, anyway. She didn’t have a smoldering quirly dangling from her lips. Denny had never acquired the habit.
A voice from behind her said, “Howdy, sweetheart.”
Denny winced. Without straightening from her casual pose, she looked slowly over her shoulder and asked, “How’d you know it was me, Sheriff?”
“Well, I recognized you, I guess, even thou
gh in that garb, you look like Young Wild West,” Sheriff Monte Carson said. “I’ve seen you wearing that hat before, I think. It’s not new, is it?”
“No, it’s not,” Denny said. “You have a keen eye.”
“For an old codger, eh?” The sheriff chuckled.
“Don’t let my pa hear you calling yourself an old codger. That would mean he’s getting on in years, too.”
“Well, Smoke’s not a spring chicken anymore, even though he’s not as old as me.” Monte rubbed his chin. “Funny thing is, as far as I can tell, he hasn’t lost a step. His draw is just as fast as it ever was. And your ma . . . well, I’d have to say that she’s just as pretty as she was the day I first laid eyes on her, all those years ago. Prettier, even.”
“I don’t think anybody who knows her would argue with you about that.”
Monte gestured toward the gleaming steel rails that ran beside the station platform. “You here to meet the westbound? Expecting somebody, maybe?”
“Yes to the first, no to the second. I’m not expecting anybody. But I rode into town with Pearlie on the buckboard. He’s down at the store picking up some supplies. I didn’t see any point in standing around waiting while he does that.”
“So you strolled down here.” Monte leaned toward her and lowered his voice a little. “Can’t say as I blame you. In the old days, we used to get excited whenever a stagecoach would roll in and break the monotony. Now everybody waits for the train to arrive. Kind of makes you wonder what folks will get excited about in the future, doesn’t it?”
Denny just shrugged as the train whistle sounded again, louder this time. The chuffing of its steam engine could be heard now, too. That noise got louder, and brakes squealed and steam hissed as the locomotive reached the station and slowed so that the passenger cars came to a stop next to the platform. The baggage and freight cars were farther back.
As the train clattered to a halt, Denny straightened and took a step away from the post where she’d been leaning. She hooked her thumbs in the gun belt and watched with idle interest as porters put steps in place next to the cars so the passengers could disembark. A variety of men, women, and children got off, all of them strangers to Denny.
Then she drew in a breath so sharply that her nostrils flared slightly. She stood up straighter as her backbone stiffened. Her blue eyes fastened on two men who had just stepped down from one of the cars.
The first man was tall and slender, well dressed in a brown tweed suit and dark brown bowler hat. He had light brown hair and a mild, pleasant-looking face. He held a small carpetbag in each hand.
The man who came down the steps next carried himself with an entirely different air about him. He had a self-assured spring in his gait, and as he paused, pushed his coat back, and rested his fists against his hips, he gave off so much confidence that it bordered on arrogance. He wore a dark gray suit and had a black slouch hat pushed back on thick, curly black hair. A smile broke out on his handsome, olive-skinned face as he looked around the platform.
“So this is Big Rock, eh?” he asked his companion. His voice had a slight accent to it.
“That’s right, sir,” the taller, diffident-looking man replied. “Big Rock, Colorado. I looked up the population and elevation and other interesting facts about the town, and if you’ll give me a moment, I’m sure I can recall them.”
The second man waved away the offer. “No, it doesn’t matter. We’re here at last, Arturo. You can go seek out accommodations for us.”
“Of course, sir.” Despite the Italian name, Arturo’s voice had no accent at all, other than an educated, cultured one. “And where will you be?”
“When you’ve secured rooms and placed the bags in them, ask someone for directions to the best dining and drinking establishment in town.”
Arturo inclined his head in a gesture that was almost a bow and said, “As you wish, sir.”
Over by the pillar, Denny was still watching the two men when Sheriff Carson nudged her and said, “They’re a pretty fancy pair, aren’t they?”
“You could say that.”
Monte looked more closely at Denny and asked, “Are you acquainted with those fellas? You’re glaring at them sorta like you wouldn’t mind whipping out that Lightning and blazing away at them.”
“I don’t know the taller one,” Denny said, “but the other man . . . I’m acquainted with him, all right. You’re not far off the mark, Sheriff. If anybody ever deserved to be shot, or at least horsewhipped, it’s—”
She didn’t get to finish what she was about to say, because at that moment, exactly the sort of thing Denny had just been talking about happened. Five rough-looking men in range clothes who had drifted onto the platform yanked pistols from their holsters and opened fire on the two well-dressed newcomers to Big Rock.
CHAPTER 2
The black-haired man’s cocky grin and casual attitude vanished in a fraction of a second. In the time it took the gunmen to draw their weapons and start shooting, the man dived at Arturo and tackled him. The carpetbags went flying.
Both men sprawled on the platform as guns blasted and bullets sizzled through the space where they had been standing only a heartbeat earlier. Some of the slugs smacked into the side of the railroad car; others whined dangerously off the car’s metal undercarriage.
The would-be killers had spread out as they approached, so they had their intended victims almost surrounded. Most of the people on the platform screamed or shouted in alarm and scattered when the shooting started. With so much open area around them and no place to take cover, the intended victims were doomed.
Or they would have been if Denny and Sheriff Carson hadn’t been there. Denny’s right hand dropped to the pistol on her hip and swooped back up, gripping the gun. The draw was almost too fast for the eye to follow. Flame spouted from the muzzle as Denny triggered the double-action revolver.
The .38 caliber slug from Denny’s Lightning ripped into the back of a gunman’s left shoulder and knocked him halfway around. He howled a curse and stumbled to the side but stayed on his feet. His head jerked from side to side as he tried to figure out who had shot him.
His eyes widened as his gaze lit on Denny. He still had his gun in his right hand. He lifted it to take aim at her.
Denny didn’t let him get the shot off. She had waited a second to see if the man would collapse or drop his weapon, but it was obvious he wasn’t going to do either of those things. She had already drawn a bead on him, so she shot him between the eyes before he could pull the trigger. His head snapped back as the bullet bored into his brain, leaving a red-rimmed hole that looked like a third eye peering out from between the other two.
Monte Carson, who had been a hired gun as a young man before setting out on a long career on the right side of the law, still possessed a fighter’s instincts. As soon as gunplay erupted, he moved swiftly to his left, away from Denny. He pulled his gun smoothly from its holster, pointed it at the nearest of the would-be assassins, and shouted, “Drop it!”
The man had turned partially around, probably in response to the sound of Denny’s gun, and caught sight of the sheriff. He threw a fast shot at Monte but missed. As the bullet whipped past his head, Monte fired. His shot ripped a gash along the gunman’s forearm and caused the man to yelp and drop his revolver.
A few yards away, Denny wheeled behind the roof-support pillar as one of the other gunmen fired at her. The bullet struck the post and chewed splinters from it, only inches from Denny’s head. This wasn’t the first gunfight she’d been in, so she appeared cool and calm, no matter what might be going on inside her, as she dropped to a knee, leaned to her right, and triggered the Lightning again. She grimaced as the shot missed and struck one of the train’s wheels instead.
With the gunmen having to defend themselves from Denny and Monte Carson, that gave the two newcomers a chance to get out of the line of fire. The black-haired man scrambled to his feet and lunged for the steps leading up to the platform at the back of the railroad
car, where he had disembarked only moments earlier. He reached the platform in a couple of bounds and disappeared through the open door into the car.
Arturo wasn’t as fast on his feet. Flustered and afraid, he managed to stand up but then froze, standing there whipping his head back and forth in wild-eyed panic. Behind him, one of the killers aimed at him.
Denny saw the man about to gun down Arturo, but Arturo was between her and the would-be assassin and she didn’t have a clear shot at him. She was about to shout a warning, even though it probably wouldn’t do any good, when another shot rang out and the man who was about to blast Arturo staggered under a bullet’s impact instead.
He caught his balance and turned, his face twisting in hate, and fired toward a man who had just emerged from the depot building. This man crouched and triggered his weapon again as the killer’s bullet plowed into the platform only a few feet in front of him.
The second shot punched into the gunman’s belly and tore through his guts. He dropped his gun, doubled over, and collapsed. Agony made him writhe on the platform and leave a crimson smear of blood on the planks.
Three of the hard cases were still on their feet, although one of them was wounded and had dropped his gun. Clutching his bleeding arm, he shouted, “Let’s get out of here!” and followed his own advice, leaping off the platform and running alongside the train until he reached a spot where he could duck between cars and flee on the other side of the tracks.
The other two scattered as well, heading in different directions. Denny lined up a shot on one of them, intending to knock his legs out from under him, but before she could pull the trigger, he ducked behind a stack of bags that had been unloaded from the baggage car, and then he darted through the door into the station lobby. Denny lowered her gun and made a face because she hadn’t had a good shot at him.
She looked around to see if the other man had gotten away. It appeared that he had. Monte Carson had a disgusted expression on his face as he thumbed fresh cartridges into his gun’s cylinder.