War of the Mountain Man Read online

  “On what charge?”

  “We’ll think of something,” the second deputy said. “And we’ll see that your woman is taken care of, too.”

  Smoke hit him with a sneaky left. The blow snapped the man’s head back and knocked him against the hall wall. Smoke backhanded the other deputy, spun, and knocked the second man down with a hard right to the mouth. He grabbed the stunned deputy he’d just slapped by the nape of the neck and the seat of his pants, propelled him down the hall, and threw him out the second-story window. The man landed on the awning, bounced once, and then rolled off, to land on the dusty street. He did not move. One leg was bent under him, broken.

  Smoke ran back up the hall, jerked up the stunned and clearly frightened other so-called deputy sheriff, and gave him his exit-papers the same way. Smoke hurled him out the window, using all his strength, which was considerable. The man fell screaming, missing the awning and landing in the street on his belly, one arm bent under him. The sound of the arm breaking was nearly as loud as a pistol shot. Like his buddy, he did not move.

  A crowd began gathering, looking at the two so-called lawmen and stealing glances up at Smoke, who was standing in the hall and glaring out the broken window.

  “We do not wish to be disturbed,” Smoke called down to the crowd. “I’ll kill the next man who bothers us.” He turned and walked back to the room. He smiled at Sally. “That’s how you play the game, honey,” he told her.

  “My, my,” she said with a grin. “The things I’m learning on this trip.”

  “Your education is just starting. It’ll really get interesting in Hell’s Creek. I’ll order up some hot water and you can take your bath. You tell me which one, and I’ll shake out and hang up your dress.”

  Smoke loaded up the usually empty cylinder he kept under the hammer and walked downstairs to the clerk. The lobby was filled with people.

  “Send a boy upstairs with hot water,” he told the room clerk. “Lots of it. My wife wishes to bathe. And she damn well better be left alone while she’s doing it.”

  “Y ... y ... yes, sir,” the clerk stammered.

  “Who was that trash I threw out the window?”

  “Big Max Huggins men,” a portly man said, stepping up. “Duly appointed deputies. By me. I’m Judge Garrison. And you’re in a lot of trouble here, young man. We don’t like ruffians coming into our town stirring up trouble.”

  Smoke slapped him. The blow knocked the man back, one side of his face reddening and blood leaking out of one corner of his mouth. The judge stumbled on a couch and fell down, landing heavily on his butt.

  “So Max bought you, too, huh?” Smoke said, looking down at the scared judge, the sarcasm thick in the words. “Looks like he’s got the whole damn town in his pocket.”

  “Not all of us,” another man spoke up.

  “You sure could have fooled me.”

  “You’ve brought us a lot of trouble, Mr. Jensen,” another man said. “Come the morning, Big Max will be riding in here to settle up. Not just with you, but with all of us.”

  “Poor scared little sheep,” Smoke said, looking at the knot of men. “Do you have to ask Big Max’s permission to go to the bathroom?”

  “Smoke,” the citizen who first spoke said, “Max has got a hundred men up yonder in Hell’s Creek. They’s maybe thirty-five of us in town who’d stand up to them. Them ain’t very good odds.”

  “Thirty-six,” Smoke told him. “Thirty-seven counting my wife. And she’s got more guts than any of you have shown me. How’d all this buffaloing come about?”

  “Huggins killed our marshal and put in his own law,” the citizen said. “Then he burned out or beat up anyone who tried to stand up to him. We used to have a paper here in town. The editor was killed. The minister over to the church was taken out one night and horsewhipped and tarred and feathered. Two of our women was molested by Max’s men. A few of us stayed; most left.”

  “We’re not cowards, Mr. Jensen,” yet another citizen said. “We’ve all fought Indians and outlaws and scum. But Max has threatened our children. He ain’t never come right out and done it plain. But we all got the message.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “My little girl come home with a sack of candy. Told her ma and me that a man give it to her. Said that next, if I didn’t stop bad-mouthin’ Max, they might take a little walk in the woods. We got the message.”

  Smoke said, “You all wait right here. I got an idea.” He went back upstairs and peeked in the bathroom. Sally was up to her neck in suds. “Now there is a nice sight.”

  She made a face at him.

  “You reckon Robert and Victoria have made it known that we’re coming to see them?”

  “Absolutely not. I told them not to say a word about it, and they won’t.”

  “How about the letters you’ve sent them? The people at the post office will be on Max’s payroll.”

  “They were sent to Kalispell. Robert goes there once a week to see patients.”

  Smoke winked at her. “Good girl.”

  “What’s up, Smoke? I know that look in your eyes.”

  “We’re going to stay here for a time. I got an idea.”

  “Suits me.”

  Smoke shut the door and let her finish her bath. He walked downstairs. He pointed to the judge, who was sitting on a couch, holding a wet cloth to his face. “Get up,” he told him. The judge got up.

  “One of you men go to the marshal’s office and get me a marshal’s badge.”

  Grinning, a man ran out the door and jogged across the street. The two deputies were still lying in the street, moaning and calling out for help.

  Smoke faced the judge. “Are you a real judge? Commissioned by this territory?”

  “I certainly am! And I’m going to swear out a warrant for your arrest ... you hooligan!”

  Smoke popped him again, staggering the man, rocking him back on his feet. This time the judge was really scared and his expression showed it.

  “Oh, you’re going to be issuing arrest warrants, Garrison,” Smoke told him. “But probably for the first time in a long time, they’re going to be legal warrants.” He turned to a man. “Go outside and get me one of those deputy sheriffs badges from that crud in the street.”

  “Yes, sir!” the citizen said, not able to hide his grin.

  The judge began to put it all together then, and his face became shiny with fear-sweat. “You won’t get away with this, Jensen,” he said.

  Smoke smiled at him. “You wanna bet?”

  “He did what?” Big Max Huggins yelled, rising from his chair behind the desk.

  “He’s the marshal down at Barlow,” the gunhand repeated. “And it was all done legal. Judge Garrison signed the order creating a special election and the citizens voted him in. And that ain’t all. The judge also swore him in as a deputy sheriff. That was done after Jensen whupped the hell out of Bridy and Long. Tossed ’em both out of a second-story winder at the ho-tel. Bridy’s got a busted leg and Long’s right arm is broken. That’s in addition to a bunch of bruises and cuts. They stove up for a long time.”

  Big Max Huggins nodded his big head, sat back down, and pondered these new events. Big Max did not get his name from the size of his feet, although they were large. He was large. Six six and two hundred eighty pounds. A handsome man, Max was also vain about his looks. He dressed carefully and neatly and never missed a day shaving. He was intelligent with a criminal’s cunning. He was also a very cruel man.

  And right now, he was a puzzled man. “What does Jensen want?” he mused aloud.

  The gunhand who had brought him the news stood in silence and shook his head.

  “Jensen’s got him a big fine ranch down in Colorado. He married into old New England money; his wife’s as rich as a king. Or queen,” he added. “Supposed to be a real looker, too. The way I hear it, the only time Jensen leaves the ranch is when he takes a notion to stick his nose into someone else’s business. He ruined Dooley Hanks a couple of years ba
ck. Just like he did Jud Vale last year. Right here in this territory. Now he’s ten miles away and packin’a badge. That means he’s come after me. But why?”

  The gunhand knew that no reply was expected. He stood quiet.

  Max leaned back in his chair. “Somebody sent for him,” he finally said. “But who? Had to be somebody down in Barlow.”

  Max stood up and reached for his guns. “Get the boys. We’re riding.”

  The gunhand grinned. “Down to Barlow, boss?”

  “Where else? I’m going to settle Smoke Jensen’s hash once and for all.”

  5

  Big Max rode into Barlow at the head of a small army. He had fifty men behind him, all heavily armed. They kicked up enough dust riding into town to put a thin cover of dirt on every storefront.

  Max dismounted and walked to the boardwalk in front of the marshal’s office. He turned to face his men, and the instant his back was to the office, he felt the twin barrels of a sawed-off shotgun pressing into his back.

  “Move, and I’ll scatter your guts all over the street, Huggins,” the voice told him.

  Max froze. He knew what an express gun could do. A sawed-off shotgun could literally blow a man in two. “I’m froze,” he told the voice. “You Smoke Jensen?”

  “That’s me. Now tell your men to drop their guns in the street. Every gun they’ve got. In the dirt.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  The muzzle of the shotgun nudged his back. That was all it took.

  Max gave the order.

  Men began appearing out of stores, all of them armed with rifles or shotguns, all of them with pistols belted around their waists.

  Women came out after them, holding buckets of water and rags.

  “What the hell? ...” Max said.

  “Your men created all this dust in town,” Smoke told him. “So your men are going to clean it up. They’re going to wash all the windows, sweep the boardwalks, and wipe down everything.”

  “I’ll be goddamned if I will!” a gunny said, sitting his saddle.

  Smoke stepped to one side and let one barrel of the express gun roar. It belched smoke and flame, and the mouthy gunhand was blown out of the saddle. He landed about ten feet behind his rearing and frightened horse, hitting the dirt in a bloody pile of torn flesh.

  Holding the shotgun in his right hand, Smoke palmed one of his .44’s and stuck the muzzle to Max’s ear. “Give the order,” Smoke told him, his voice very cold and deadly.

  Max swallowed with an audible gulp. He was a hard man in a hard land and he’d known some salty ol’ boys in his time. But none as hard as this man holding a .44 to his head. Smoke Jensen was death walking around.

  “You boy’s get to cleaning,” he told his men. “I’m paying you and you take orders from me. Do it.”

  “And drag that trash out of the street and bury it,” Smoke said. He looked at a citizen who’d introduced himself as Tom Johnson. “You get some boys and gather up their guns, Tom. All of them. And take their rifles from the saddle boots. Bring them to me at the jail.” He lowered and holstered his .44 and jerked Max’s guns from leather. “In my office, Max. Move.”

  Seated, Max studied Jensen. And he was impressed. Smoke was about four inches shorter than him and probably weighed sixty pounds less, but he was a hell of a man, Max concluded. No doubt about that.

  “You won the first little skirmish, Smoke,” Max told him. “But you can’t win the war.”

  Smoke poured them both coffee and sat down behind the desk. “What war, Max?” he asked innocently. “I did what I did in this town because I don’t like to see citizens bullied, and I especially don’t like to hear about children being threatened.”

  Max grunted. “There ... may have been some incidents where my men got a little heavy-handed. But as far as I know, no kids have been harmed.”

  “But if you continue, Max, they will be. The odds are tilted that way.”

  “And you intend to do what about that?” Max challenged the gunfighter.

  “For the good of humanity, I ought to just stop it right now.”

  “How?” Max smiled the question.

  “By killing you,” Smoke said bluntly.

  Max studied Smoke Jensen carefully. He concluded that Smoke meant what he’d just said. He also concluded that if he was to leave this town alive, he’d better play his cards close to the vest. Very close.

  Max was a cold-blooded killer. But he was an intelligent one. He knew he was sitting very close to the grave. He also knew that like himself, Smoke Jensen had been born without that one tiny cog in his psyche that prevented man from killing without remorse. But unlike Max, Smoke Jensen had landed on the side of the law. He would always defend the underdog, the poor, the right and just causes.

  “Are you?” Max asked softly.

  “Am I what?”

  “Going to kill me?”

  “Probably.”

  Max felt the cold touch of fear grip his heart.

  “Someday,” Smoke added.

  Max struggled with all his might to contain the emotion of relief that flooded him. He was not accustomed to the sensation of fear. It angered him that just by looking at Smoke Jensen such an emotion could be unleashed within him.

  Big Max Huggins knew this, too: Smoke Jensen had to die. And soon.

  “But for right now?” Max asked.

  “I don’t know,” Smoke admitted. “But I wouldn’t press it if I were you.”

  “I can’t buy you off, can I?”

  “No.”

  “Women?”

  “I’m married to a beautiful woman. I have never been unfaithful to her and never will be.”

  “You’re everything I am not, is that it?”

  Smoke smiled. “Oh, we’re somewhat alike, Max. We just took different paths, that’s all.”

  And damned intelligent, too, Max thought. I’m not confronting some ignoramus. “What is it, specifically, that I do that offends you so?”

  Smoke laughed softly. He turned his swivel chair and pecked on the window, pointing. “You missed a spot,” he told the red-faced gunhand on the boardwalk with a wet rag in his hand. He turned his attention back to Max. “Everything about you, your type, offends me, Max. You’re an intelligent man; could have been a success at anything you tried to do. But you chose to be an outlaw. You’ve probably been a bully and a thief all your life. You like to humiliate people. You like to grind them down under your boot heel. I’m going to play a game with you, Max. You like games?”

  “I’m a gambler, you know that.”

  “But in my game, Max, if you cheat, you die.”

  Sweat broke out on Max’s face. Goddamn this man! He’s sitting there as cool as an icehouse and talking about my death. He glanced out the window. The body of Butch had been removed and another gunhand was sprinkling dirt over the blood-soaked spot on the street. He cut his eyes back to Smoke.

  “You see, Max, I don’t have to work. My ranch practically runs itself. My wife is very rich. And I have a lot of money personally. Do you have any idea how many thousands and thousands of dollars in reward money I’ve collected over the years just by shooting wanted men?”

  Max personally knew of several dozen wanted men who had gone facedown in the dirt under Smoke’s guns. And there were probably a hundred more that he didn’t know about. “I know you’re a wealthy man, Jensen,” he said grudgingly. “What kind of game do you have in mind?”

  “You’re going to be a solid citizen, Max. You’re going to run all the trash out of your town, build a new school, a new church, a new town hall, and be a credit to this territory.”

  “Are you out of your damned mind!” Max almost yelled the question. “If I ran all the scum out of Hell’s Creek, there wouldn’t be fifty people left.”

  “That is a fact,” Smoke acknowledged.

  “You’re not going to shoot me now, are you, Jensen?”

  “Not unless you push me to it.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not.” The wor
ds were bitter on the big man’s tongue. He had never kowtowed to anyone in his life. Until this moment. And he didn’t like it one bit.

  “You want to play the game or not, Max?”

  “No.” Max’s courage was returning after standing on the edge of death. He stood up slowly. “If you shoot me, Jensen, you’re going to have to shoot me in the back. And I don’t think you’ll do that. I’m going to walk outside, gunfighter. I’m going to sit on the bench just outside this office and smoke me a cigar. I’m not going to bother a soul. When my men have finished mopping and scrubbing this crappy little town, we’re going to ride out. We won’t bother this town again. I’ll give my people orders to stay clear. But if you ever come to Hell’s Creek, I can’t guarantee your safety. Badge or not. That’s my deal.” He walked out the door and sat down, pulling a cigar out of a breast pocket of his suitcoat and lighting up.

  Smoke stood up and stepped outside just as Tom Johnson and several others came walking up, carrying sacks of guns taken from the outlaws.

  “Put the weapons in a cell and lock it,” Smoke told them.

  When that had been done, Smoke locked the front door to his office and walked up the boardwalk, leaving Big Max Huggins sitting quietly and smoking his stogie.

  Smoke stopped to inspect the work of Larry Gayle, the New Mexico gunslinger. Gayle turned mean eyes to him.

  “I guess I’ll have to kill you before long, Larry,” Smoke told him.

  “You’ll try,” Larry growled the words at him.

  Smoke chuckled and walked on a few yards, stopping at the side of a gunny he didn’t know.

  “You ain’t gonna kill me, Smoke,” the man said. “’Cause just as soon as I get done with this spit-polishin’, I’m gone like the wind.”

  Smoke patted him on the shoulder. “Good man. Find a job and settle down somewhere. Be a good citizen.”

  “I ain’t promisin’ that. But I will get gone from wherever you is.”

  Smoke walked on. He stopped when he spotted Pete Akins, a gunhand he had met down in Arizona about six months back. “You going to stay on Huggins’s payroll, Pete?”