Battle of the Mountain Man Read online

  Twenty-five

  Jessie whispered softly to Bill Pickett, “Wonder what the hell is keepin’ Billy?” He’d sent Billy Morton to find out what fool was shooting a pistol from hills north of the ranch, when all his men had brought rifles. Nobody with good sense would shoot a pistol from that distance, yet the distinctive sounds of a .44 had come fairly often… not always from the same spot.

  “I told you somethin’ was wrong,” Pickett replied, keeping his rifle trained on a shattered window of the house where rifle fire exploded now and then. “They was ready for us. Some son of a bitch warned ’em we was comin’. I figure it was that little coward Barlow, after you ran him off. He probably rode over here an’ offered to throw in with ’em, tellin’ Chisum we was on the way.” Pickett glanced north. “The way I got it figured, one of ’em slipped around behind them Arkansas boys an’ now he’s takin’ potshots at ’em with a pistol. If they’re as good as they claim to be, one of ’em will kill whoever it is. That last pistol shot was five or ten minutes ago. Maybe the bastard is already dead if one of them farmers got him. Come to think of it, there ain’t been no shootin’ at all comin’ from them hills lately.”

  Jessie felt his anger rising. “If I find out that little bastard Barlow warned ’em, I’ll kill him myself. I still can’t figure what’s takin’ Billy so long to get back here.” As he said it, he saw Billy coming up a draw behind them, moving in a crouch to avoid flying lead. “Yonder he is…”

  Morton hurried up to Jessie as best he could, keeping down like he was. He sounded out of breath when he spoke quietly to Jessie. “Big trouble, boss. Somebody’s sneakin’ ’round up in them hills, killin’ off them pig farmers from Arkansas. The one-eyed Johnson brother is dead, an’ so is the young skinny one. I found that big redheaded guy with the top of his head blowed off, an’ it damn near made me sick to my stomach. His brains was all over the place, only the big bastard was still breathin’. I left him layin’ there. I got the hell outa there quick as I could, to bring word down to you. At least one of ’em got behind us, maybe more.”

  “This has to be Barlow’s doin’,” Jessie growled. “They was ready for us. Hell, they was already spread out all over creation soon as the first shot was fired. I swear I’m gonna kill Barlow. It ain’t my way of doin’ things to pull away from a fight, but if some of ’em got behind us, we’re caught in a cross fire. Spread the word to pull out. Tell Tom to warn the boys over to the south to clear out now.”

  Pickett turned away from the tree with a disgusted look on his face. “Far as I can tell, we ain’t shot nobody tonight. It was them who done all the killin’.”

  “We rode into a trap,” Jessie said, heading for the draw as exchanges of gunfire lessened even more. Keeping his head down, he ground his teeth together while they made for their horses. A double-crossing son of a bitch had done them in tonight… he was sure of it.

  Pickett seemed reluctant to leave, glancing over his shoulder, scowling in the moonlight. “Wish I’d had the chance to kill at least one of ’em,” he whispered. “Don’t seem like it’s askin’ too much to be able to kill just one. I ain’t smelled no blood in so long I plumb forgot what it smells like.”

  “We’ll get another chance,” Jessie promised. “Lopez told me there’s at least a dozen more pistoleros headed up from Juarez to hire on with us. Said they’d be here by the end of the week. If Chisum thinks he’s heard the last of us, he’s goddamn sure in for a helluva surprise.”

  They reached their tethered mounts just as Pickett said, “I reckon that Jensen feller was all talk. Every one of them yellow bastards kept their heads down so damn low there wasn’t nothin’ to shoot at. The only thing they did smart was puttin’ a few men behind us, an’ they couldn’t have done that ’less Barlow warned ’em we was comin’.”

  Jessie mounted, thinking about the warning Victor had brought them from Smoke Jensen, whoever the hell he was, about how if one more bullet flew, he was planning to kill them all, including Jessie. “Like you said, just big talk is all it was. Maybe he got lucky killin’ those pistoleros like he done. If it hadn’t been for Barlow, we’d have killed Chisum an’ every one of his shooters tonight. That Buck Andrews an’ Curly Tully was supposed to be bad men. Killers. Only, when the shootin’ started, they stayed down just like the rest of ’em, includin’ that big-winded Jensen feller.” He reined his horse around. Shooting in the distance had all but ended. “Tomorrow I’ll ride up to the Mescalero reservation… see if some of them red-skinned bastards who know how to shoot are interested in makin’ a little money. There’s always a few renegades lookin’ for some excitement.” He urged his horse to a short lope, back in the direction of Bosque Redondo. “One way or another, I’m gonna have John Chisum’s ass.”

  They were a few miles from the Chisum ranch when Tom Hill, Billy Morton, Ignacio Valdez, Pedro Lopez, and three more riders caught up with them at a hard gallop. Pedro was the first to speak, after jerking his horse to a halt.

  “I see this hombre, Senor Jessie. I only see him one time. Then I hear gun, una pistola. I go see where he is, only nobody is there, only Juanito Gonzales, and he is dying. He say this loco hombre come from behind where he was shooting and he shoot him. Juanito tell me this hombre ask where to find you, that he have this message for you. It no make sense, Senor Jessie, how this hombre know your name and want to give you a message.”

  “Jensen,” Jessie snarled, curling his lips when he said the name. “It had to be Jensen.” Rage welled in Jessie’s chest, and he gripped his saddle horn fiercely, trying to control an outburst of unreasoning anger. “That’s who got behind us. It was that bastard Smoke Jensen. I never laid eyes on the son of a bitch yet, but I’m swearin’ an oath I’m gonna kill him. He’s as good as dead. All I gotta do is find him…”

  Twenty-six

  Smoke alerted the anxious men spread out across South Springs ranch before he crossed the fence in the dark, fearing a bullet might come flying his way from a nervous Chisum cowboy after a pitched battle like the one they’d just been through.

  “It’s me, Smoke Jensen! Don’t anybody shoot! Looks like they cleared out!”

  He heard Pearlie’s distinctive voice from a cowshed off to his right. “That’s Smoke all right, men. Lower them guns so you don’t shoot him accidental.”

  Smoke went over the fence, his pistols bolstered, as Pearlie and Cal hurried up to him.

  “How many was out there?” Pearlie asked. “Sounded like a whole damned army.”

  “Twelve or fourteen,” Smoke replied, continuing on his way to Chisum’s house. “I scouted around after they left, just to make sure all of ’em hightailed it out of here.”

  John Chisum met him at the porch steps. He gave Smoke a half grin. “Never heard so much lead flying in my life,” he said with obvious relief. “They had us surrounded. Must’ve been at least twenty riflemen out there…”

  “More like a dozen or so,” Smoke replied. “A few more than that, maybe. I got six of ’em by circling around behind some of their positions. No sense goin’ after the bodies till daylight comes.”

  “You killed six of them?” Chisum asked, relief turning to disbelief when he heard the number. “How in the hell did you do that without getting your ass shot to pieces?”

  “They didn’t expect nobody to come at ’em from the rear, I reckon.”

  “You’re an amazing man, Mr. Jensen, talking about knocking off half a dozen men like you’d been out picking peaches. Those boys were hired gunmen, not amateurs. Evans and Dolan have sent word all the way to Mexico that they’re hiring top shootists to fight on their side of this war.”

  Smoke shrugged, climbing to the porch. “They didn’t appear to be all that experienced, not to me. Maybe I didn’t get the cream of the crop this time. But if they come back again, or if they try to stop me and my friends from drivin’ our herd up to Colorado, I’ll test the rest of ’em. I don’t pay much attention to what a man’s reputation is supposed to be. Just because some fool hires ou
t to kill other men don’t make him good at it.”

  Chisum wagged his head. “You sure as hell know your business. I wish you’d consider a proposition from me to stay on until this range war is over.”

  Smoke discarded the notion with a wave of his hand. “I’m in the cattle business, Mr. Chisum. Like I told you before, my guns ain’t for hire at any price.”

  The rancher rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But you can’t deny you know the profession, the gunman’s trade. I’ve seen you in action.”

  “I’ve had a little experience with it.”

  “What made you change? It must have been something of great importance to you.”

  “A woman,” he replied. “My wife broke me of a lot of bad habits, and I don’t figure she’s done with it yet.”

  Chisum laughed. “She is certainly an influential lady, even if I haven’t met her.”

  Smoke found himself yearning for a shot of whiskey right at the moment, although he answered the statement. “It isn’t so much just influence. When she gets her mind set on doin’ things her way, it’s mighty hard to change it.” He glanced into the house through a broken windowpane. “If all your whiskey bottles didn’t get busted, I could use a swallow or two of that good stuff from Kentucky, before I go back to bed.”

  “I’ll have one with you,” Chisum said, “and I’ll send a bottle out to the men. They’ve earned it.” He turned around and led Smoke inside, lighting a lantern that revealed shattered glass all over the floor. “We were lucky tonight,” Chisum added as he went to the cabinet for the whiskey.

  “How’s that?” Smoke asked, not quite sure what seemed so all-fired lucky about being attacked from all sides.

  “Lucky to have you here,” he replied. “Maybe this will serve to discourage Evans and Dolan from making any further attempts like this one.”

  Smoke settled into a stuffed bull hide chair near the fireplace. “I wouldn’t count on it,” he said quietly, glancing out a window. “Men like those who visited us just now ain’t so easily discouraged. They’ll be looking for a payday. I’m not much of a gamblin’ man, but I’ll bet we see ’em again before too awful long. Could be as early as tomorrow.”

  Chisum handed Smoke a shot glass brimming with golden whiskey as he said, “I sure as hell hope you’re wrong.”

  Smoke tasted his drink, finding it delicious, even though it burned all the way down his throat. “I’m seldom ever wrong when it comes to men with bad intentions,” he told Chisum. “I’ve had more’n my share of experience with their breed.”

  Riders for Chisum acted as herd-holders while Smoke and John Chisum rode through hundreds of two- and three-year-old longhorn heifers. When Smoke pointed to a good long-backed cow, Pearlie and Cal and Duke cut it away from the main herd to a lower meadow, where Smoke’s selections were being held in a bunch by Bob Williams and Cletus Walker, along with a pair of Chisum cowboys. These young cows were in good trail flesh, making it easier for them to be driven to Sugarloaf without long grazing delays to keep the longhorns from getting hungry.

  “You’ve got a good eye for a mother cow,” Chisum told him as they rode through the herd. “You’re picking my choice from the bunch damn near every time.”

  “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us,” Smoke replied, with a nod toward a brindle heifer which Cal immediately cut away from the others, “and I figure picking a longer back will make the crosses better suited for our type of range.”

  “I’ve done the same thing myself. We’ve got no railheads within two hundred miles, so I have to make damn sure what I raise can be driven to market.“

  “We’re in the same boat. Denver is the closest railyard for us, an’ that’s a considerable drive through mountain country most of the way.”

  A cowboy from ranch headquarters came riding up as they were picking the last of the heifers. He pulled his horse to a stop and spoke to Chisum.

  “We found six bodies in them hills, Mr. Chisum. With the four we got already, makes ten. Them first four is already startin’ to stink. It’ll take two wagons to carry ’em all the way to Roswell so they can be buried proper. Trouble is, they wasn’t carryin’ no papers savin’ who they was, so I reckon the undertaker’ll have to bury ’em without no name on the marker.”

  “Take two wagons,” Chisum said. “Tell Sheriff Romero they came gunning for us, and that I’ll ride in tomorrow and give him a full report”

  “Yessir,” the young cowboy replied, wheeling his horse for a ride back to the ranch.

  Chisum was staring at Smoke now. “Ten men,” he said. “You killed ten of Dolan’s gunmen without a lick of help from us, in a manner of speaking. I still have trouble believing it… how just one man could do all of that.”

  Smoke didn’t care to talk about it, how easy it had been to send ten careless gunmen to early graves. “That oughta be about two hundred head, give or take. Let’s drive ’em back to the ranch and I’ll pay you for ’em, and for the bulls. We can get a final count while we’re drivin’ ’em to the corrals.”

  “After all you’ve done for me, I’m tossing in ten extra head to help account for losses on the trail. You’ve been a good man to have backing me during all this trouble, and it’s my way of showing gratitude.“

  “No need for that,” Smoke argued. “I did what I did because my friends and neighbors were in the line of fire. This ain’t our fight, but when it spilled over, an’ bullets started flyin’ in our direction, those boys had me to reckon with. We rode all this way to conduct an honest business transaction, an’ I damn sure won’t stand for nobody gettin’ in the way of it, not for no reason.”

  “I understand,” Chisum told him. “All the same, I benefited from it, and I’m giving you ten extra heifers. No reason to talk about it anymore. It’s done.”

  Smoke found he was liking Chisum and his honesty more and more. Chisum would make a good neighbor, and a solid friend a man could count on when the going got tough. “It’s your decision, Mr. Chisum,” he said, “only I want it understood I never expected payment for what I did.”

  Chisum didn’t answer, swinging off to beckon to one of his men riding herd with Smoke’s heifers. “Go back and pick out ten good long-backed heifers to add to this bunch,” he said. “Tell Shorty to help you. Bring them up along with this bunch as quick as you can, only make damn sure none of them are cripples. They’ll be headed to Colorado Territory in the morning.”

  Twenty-seven

  Pearlie shoveled refried beans and salsa into his mouth with a tin spoon, until his cheeks were bulging. They sat at a long oak table in John Chisum’s dining room eating Maria’s spicy hot Mexican food, their faces outlined by coal oil lamps overhead.

  “I’m gonna miss this cookin’,” Cal said around a mouthful of flank steak seasoned with hot sauce, folding a tortilla over a piece of meat heavily coated with salsa picante. “We’ll be eatin’ beans an’ jerky plumb to Big Rock, an’ I’ll be rememberin’ what this tastes like.”

  Bob Williams was sweating from the chili peppers in his food, and he sleeved perspiration from his brow. “This is sure fine eatin’, if a man’s stomach is made of iron. I’m gonna eat it even if it kills me.”

  “It’ll put hair on your chest,” Cletus promised.

  “Already got enough hair there the way things is. What I need is another glass of water.”

  Duke Smith nodded. “Can’t put enough water in a man’s belly to put this fire out. If it was snowin’ outside, I’d run out an’ eat a fistful, just to cool my tongue.”

  Chisum grinned. “Mexican food is supposed to be hot. It isn’t any good otherwise.”

  Pearlie eyed his plate. “If hot’s got anythin’ to do with it bein’ good, this has gotta be the best I ever tasted.”

  Cal was too busy chewing to offer an opinion at the moment, and he merely nodded, beads of sweat on his forehead, cheeks, and neck.

  Cletus lifted the bandanna tied around his neck and wiped away a trickle of perspiration coming from his hatband while he ch
ewed methodically on a bite of steak, “I’ve never seen fire on a plate, afore tonight,” he said. “Come mornin’ there’ll be a line at the outhouse half a mile long. That Maria can make fire taste mighty delicious.”

  “She fixed flan custard to cool everybody off,” Chisum said. “That’s for dessert.”

  Smoke listened to all the banter, but his mind was on the ride they would undertake at dawn. He was almost sure Jessie Evans and his gang hadn’t had enough of a lesson last night to convince them of their folly. “I want two men riding point on this herd,” he said. “I’ll be scouting what lies ahead, but in case there’s trouble, I want Pearlie and Duke guiding this bunch of cattle until we’re well north of Lincoln County.”

  “You expect trouble,” Chisum observed.

  “I always expect it. That way, I’m pleasantly surprised if it don’t show up.”

  “It usually does,” Pearlie muttered, again filling his mouth with Maria’s cooking. “But if any outfit between here’n Big Rock can handle it, it’ll be the Sugarloaf crew. Hell-fire, I wouldn’t know what to do if somebody wasn’t shootin’ at us half the time. I’d figure I was with the wrong bunch if we wasn’t duckin’ lead.”

  Chisum seemed puzzled. He looked over at Smoke.

  “You said you were in the ranching business now, however, your men act like they expect problems.”

  Smoke thought about it a while as he was chewing. “I guess I’ve got too many old enemies who won’t leave things alone. Now and then a batch of ’em shows up to try an’ settle old scores.”

  The rancher appeared to be mildly amused. “Looks like after awhile word would spread that you’re the wrong man to be trifled with.”

  Pearlie chuckled. “There’s been times when dead bodies did sorta stack up ’round the place. It’s been quieter lately, so maybe like you say, word got out that Sugarloaf is the wrong spot to come lookin’ for a little bit of excitement.”