Trek of the Mountain Man Read online

  As the men turned to look over their shoulders, Smoke pulled his .44 out from under the towel.

  When all four of the men pointed their guns at the unseen voice, Smoke let the hammer down just as he heard a series of shots from the hall.

  Smoke shot Jones in the side of the head, the bullet entering just above his ear and blowing half his head and all of his brains all over the men standing behind him.

  Causey and Bottoms, still standing out in the hallway, both were hit at the same time, one in the chest and the other right between the eyes. As they danced backward under the impact of the slugs, falling with arms flung out onto their backs, Smoke fired a second time and shot Boatman in the neck.

  The man whirled around, both hands at his throat trying to stem the flow of blood from his ruined windpipe. He gurgled and choked, dropped to his knees, and died swallowing his own blood within seconds.

  Smoke stood up, still holding his Colt out in front of him until he found out who was in the hall.

  A young man’s grinning face appeared in the doorway. It was the Silver Kid. “Howdy, Smoke,” he said, his eyes still glittering with the excitement of the gunfight, his silver-plated Peacemaker pistol still smoking.

  Smoke shook his head and smiled. “Mighty glad to see you, Kid,” he said, putting his pistol down and wrapping himself in one of the large hotel towels as he stepped out of the bathtub.

  “After you left Ma’s Place,” the Kid said, “I noticed these galoots following you. I figured they might be up to no good, so I trailed along to see what they were up to.”

  Smoke nodded as he dried off. “I’m sure glad you did.”

  “When I saw them at the door, I thought they had the drop on you, so I drew down on ’em,” the Kid said. Smoke raised his eyebrows. “That was mighty brave of you, Kid, to take on four men by yourself.”

  The Kid shrugged. “I didn’t have no choice, Smoke.” He grinned sheepishly. “I didn’t know you had that six-killer with you in the bathtub.”

  “Still, it was a very courageous thing for you to do, Kid. Not many men would take on four armed desperados to help out a stranger.”

  “Hell, Smoke, you ain’t a stranger, you’re my friend,” the Kid said, blushing a bright red.

  “You’ve got that right, Kid.”

  Just then the proprietor ran up the hallway, a shotgun in his hands. He stood there, the shotgun hanging in his hands as he stared openmouthed at the dead bodies littering the hallway and the blood pooling on the wooden floor.

  Smoke looked at him. “Say, after you get someone to haul this trash away, would you heat me up some more water? This batch has gotten kind of cold.”

  * * *

  Cal and Pearlie rode into Canyon City in the middle of a snowstorm. Snow and ice piled on their shoulders and ice rimmed Pearlie’s mustache as they rode with heads down against the north wind down the main street of the small town high in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.

  Pearlie reined his horse to a stop inside the livery stable on the edge of town and they both got down out of their saddles. A young boy grabbed the reins. “Good thing you men got to town when you did,” he said as he helped them get the saddles off their mounts. “Looks like it’s gonna get a mite cold later tonight.”

  Cal glanced at Pearlie. “Yeah, good thing we got here while it’s still warm,” he said with a sour smile.

  Pearlie handed the boy a couple of dollars. “See that the horses get a good rub and plenty of grain.”

  “Yes, sir!” the boy said, unaccustomed to being paid so well.

  “Is there a good hotel in town where we can get some food and a place to stay?” Pearlie asked.

  “Yes, sir. The Palace is about the bestest in town. It’s a mite expensive, but it’s got the best food an’ it’s even got a saloon right next door.”

  Cal, who was standing in the doorway looking at the town, thought from the looks of the place that just about every building in town was next to one saloon or another, since saloons seemed to be in great abundance.

  “Thanks,” Pearlie said to the boy, handing him another couple of coins for his trouble.

  “Why don’t you head on over there,” the boy said. “I’ll bring your bags an’ such after I see to your hosses.”

  Twenty minutes later, Cal and Pearlie were sitting in a large dining room ordering steaks and fried potatoes. “And bring us a large pot of coffee,” Pearlie added after giving their orders to the waiter. “We need something to get the chill out of our bones.”

  The waiter, evidently used to this kind of weather, glanced out the window. “Oh, this ain’t cold, mister,” he said, grinning. “It ain’t too much below zero out there yet. Just wait till we get a real storm.”

  After the waiter went off to get their food, Cal wrapped his arms around his shoulders and shivered. “You know, Pearlie, livin’ down low like we do at the Sugarloaf, I’d ’bout near forgot how cold it gets in the mountains.”

  Pearlie nodded. “I ain’t been this cold since Smoke took us up into the High Lonesome a couple of years ago to show us how he and Preacher used to live.”

  “It’s funny how the cold never seemed to bother Smoke none,” Cal said.

  “I guess his blood must’ve gotten thick after all those years he spent up there with Preacher an’ the other mountain men,” Pearlie said.

  The waiter reappeared with a pot of coffee and two thick mugs. “You boys want sugar an’ milk?” he asked.

  Pearlie shook his head, but Cal nodded.

  “The steaks’ll be right out, but here’s some homemade bread and some strawberry preserves for you to get started on.”

  Pearlie cut a big slice of bread and spread a thick helping of preserves on it. After he took a huge bite, he rolled his eyes. “Boy, that hits the spot.”

  “Is it as good as Miss Sally’s?” Cal asked, fixing his own slice.

  “Of course not, Cal. You know nobody’s as good a cook as Miss Sally, but it ain’t all that bad neither.”

  After the waiter brought their meal, the boys ate and discussed their plans to buy the supplies on the list Smoke had given them.

  Cal, who could read better than Pearlie, went down the list while Pearlie stuffed his face. “I can see why Smoke would want most of this stuff, like the guns an’ ammo an’ explosives, but some of it’s a mystery to me,” he said.

  “Like what?” Pearlie mumbled around a mouth full of steak and potatoes.

  “Well,” Cal said, holding the list up to the light of the lanterns around the walls, “take, for instance, these picks and shovels and empty tin cans, and this barrel of horseshoe nails and bale of barbed wire.” He looked up at Pearlie across the table. “You’d think from this Smoke was plannin’ on doin’ some mining or stringing up some fences or somethin’.”

  Pearlie shrugged and held up the empty coffeepot for the waiter to refill.

  “And,” Cal added, “what about the fifty tent stakes on here? You know Smoke never sleeps in no tents. He always makes a lean-to shelter out of pine branches an’ such.”

  As Pearlie refilled their coffee mugs, he looked at Cal. “Now, Cal boy, you know whatever’s on that list Smoke made, he’s got a use in mind for it, so let’s just get it and worry about what he wants it for later.”

  They both built cigarettes and leaned back, stomachs full, and enjoyed their after-dinner smokes and coffee.

  When they finished, Pearlie called the waiter back over. “You wouldn’t happen to have any pie for dessert, would you?” he asked.

  The waiter raised his eyebrows and stared at Pearlie’s thin frame and the number of empty plates and platters on the table. “Sure, we got apple and peach pie both, but I’m darned if I know where you’re gonna put it, mister. You done ate enough for four men as it is.”

  Pearlie grinned. “You just bring it an’ I’ll figure out where to put it,” he said.

  “Uh, which kinda pie do you want?” the astonished waiter asked.

  “How about a slice of each?” Pearli
e asked.

  Cal motioned the waiter down and whispered, “You can’t tell it, mister, but my friend there has a hollow leg. He won’t stop eating until it’s plumb full up to his waist.”

  11

  Smoke was up and on the trail before dawn, feeling refreshed and rested after a good twelve-hour sleep in the hotel in Silver Cliff. He headed south out of the town toward the pass between the Crestone Peak and Deer Peak mountains. He knew that the outlaws who’d kidnapped Sally would have to travel through the pass to get to either Canyon City or Pueblo, since the mountains were too high for inexperienced men to cross this time of the year.

  He hoped to get there ahead of them, but he knew it was going to be close. If they were traveling fast, they might have already gone through the pass, in which case he’d be able to pick up their trail through the snow that had been falling for the past few days.

  * * *

  In fact, Bill Pike had been pushing his men hard. He wanted to get to Pueblo a few days ahead of Smoke Jensen so he’d be able to pick a campsite that would be easily defended and remote enough so Jensen couldn’t expect any help from the local authorities.

  They’d reached the pass between Crestone and Deer Peaks the night before, and had elected to camp there until morning. Both his men and their horses were exhausted from the effort to climb up to the pass, being unused to both the thin air of the mountains and the extreme cold temperatures.

  When the outlaws woke up, they were grumpy and tired and breathing heavily with even the slightest exertion. A large fire was built and Bill encouraged them to eat as much as they could to fortify them against the cold.

  Joe Rutledge, called Sarge because of his stint in the Army until he’d been cashiered for stealing Army horses and selling them to settlers and Indians, moved closer to the fire and held his hands out close to the flames, trying to get them warm.

  “Jesus, Bill,” he complained, “I’m ’bout near freezing my balls off up in these mountains.”

  A couple of the other men nodded sympathetically. All of them had coats and clothes more suited to the tropical climate of south Texas and Mexico, where they’d worked for the past couple of years.

  Bill, who was wearing two pair of trousers, three shirts, and a medium-heavy coat, agreed. “Yeah, I know what you mean, Sarge,” he said. “I checked the map last night and we’re gonna be going near Canyon City tomorrow. We’ll send some men in to get some warmer clothes and more supplies when we get close enough.”

  Sally kept her head down to hide her smile at the outlaws’ discomfort. Even though she was wearing only one set of clothes and had only a poncho to keep her warm, she was more used to the cold and wasn’t particularly bothered by the temperatures.

  “Well,” Blackie Johnson growled, “just what do you think we should do until then?”

  Pike shrugged, tired of the men’s bellyaching. “I’d suggest you put on every bit of clothes you have in your saddlebags. That’s about all we can do until we get some warmer clothes.”

  Hank Snow sat on the ground near the fire and put his boots almost into the coals. “I can’t hardly feel my feet, Bill. You suppose I’m gettin’ frostbite?” he asked.

  Pike moved over to stand over him. “Slip them boots off and let me take a look,” he said.

  Sally glanced up from across the fire. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she said, cupping her hands around her tin coffee cup to keep them warm.

  Pike looked over at her, a scowl on his face. “And why not, Mrs. Jensen?”

  She got to her feet and moved over to Pike. “Because, Mr. Pike, if his feet are that cold, then when he takes his boots off, they are going to swell up. He probably won’t be able to get them back on then.”

  “What do you suggest, ma’am?” Snow asked, watching as steam rose off his boots as they heated up from the fire.

  “Get your feet as warm as you can by the fire. Just before we leave, cut a couple of strips off your groundsheet and wrap them around your boots. That should keep them dry and warm enough until we stop for lunch and build another fire.”

  “Who said we’re gonna stop for lunch?” Pike asked Sally. “I want to make Canyon City by tomorrow.”

  Sally glanced over at the horses, which were standing in a group with their heads down, pawing at the snow, looking for grass to eat.

  “Mr. Pike, it’s not up to me to tell you your business, but unless you want to walk the rest of the way to Canyon City, you’re going to need to let those horses rest some. I noticed you didn’t bring any grain for them to eat, and the grass up here is under two feet of snow. Also, they’re not used to the air up here. If you continue to push them as hard as you have been, they’ll flounder by nightfall.”

  He looked at her suspiciously. “Why are you trying to help us, Mrs. Jensen? Are you just trying to slow us down so your husband can catch us ’fore we get to Pueblo?”

  Sally sighed. “Mr. Pike, it will do me no good if Smoke catches up to us after we’ve frozen to death because you’ve managed to kill our horses, will it?” She moved over and held out her cup to Blackie Johnson for a refill, and then she glanced back over her shoulder. “I’ll tell you for a fact, Mr. Pike, a man on foot up in these mountains is as good as dead. If those horses die, you’ll be frozen solid within twenty-four hours.”

  “She’s makin’ good sense, Boss,” Blackie said as he filled her cup. “My hoss ain’t had nothin’ to eat since yesterday.”

  Pike reluctantly nodded. “I see what you mean, Mrs. Jensen.”

  He turned to the men sitting around the fire. “Rufus, you and Sarge take your shovels and dig up some of that snow so them horses can find some grass while we eat breakfast, and then we’ll do the same thing when we take our nooning.”

  Sally smiled to herself. Though she’d been telling the men the truth, she also knew that by now Smoke was on their trail and anything she did to slow them down made it easier for him to catch up to them.

  She sat down next to the fire and nursed her coffee. When she saw Bill Pike building himself a cigarette, she got an idea. “Mr. Pike, do you suppose I could have one of those?” she asked.

  He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You smoke, Mrs. Jensen?”

  She shrugged. “Just occasionally, when I’m very cold,” she answered.

  He handed her the cigarette he’d made and began to make himself another one.

  Sally took the cigarette, reached into the edge of the fire, and got a burning twig to light it with. After a couple of puffs, she blew out the twig and used the charcoal end of it to write Canyon City on the hem of her dress when the men weren’t looking. After a few minutes, she stood up and began to move toward the bushes a short distance from the campfire.

  “Where’re you goin’, Mrs. Jensen?” Pike hollered after her.

  “I need to . . .” she said hesitantly, as if embarrassed.

  “Oh, all right, go ahead,” Pike said.

  “You need some help, ma’am?” Rufus Gordon asked, grinning salaciously.

  “No, thank you,” Sally answered coldly. “I can manage.”

  Once she was out of sight in the bushes, she bent down, tore off the part of her dress with the words Canyon City written on it, and stuffed it in the front of her dress where it couldn’t be seen.

  An hour later, after both the horses and the men had eaten their fill, Pike broke camp. As the men began to get up on their horses, Sally quickly placed the piece of dress under one of the campfire stones before she got on her horse.

  As Pike led his men down through the pass toward the distant Canyon City, Sally glanced back over her shoulder at the message she’d left for Smoke, hoping it wouldn’t be covered by the light snow that was beginning to fall.

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, when Smoke got to the pass, he found the campfire cold and most of the tracks of the men covered with snow. He knew from the horse droppings there had been at least eight or more horses, but he couldn’t tell which direction they’d taken down out
of the pass. If they went northwest, they were heading toward Canyon City. If they went northeast, then they were going directly to Pueblo.

  As he knelt by the fire, touching the coals to try and determine how far behind them he was, he noticed a scrap of gingham cloth sticking out from under one of the stones around the coals.

  He pulled it out and grinned when he recognized Sally’s dress cloth. He was relieved to see that she was still alive. As he examined the cloth, he noticed it had something scrawled on it. He held it up to the light and read the words “Canyon City.”

  He smiled and shook his head. Sally had managed to let him know where the men were headed and she’d done it right under their noses. The poor sons of bitches didn’t know who they were dealing with when they took Sally prisoner, he thought.

  Judging from the coldness of the coals, he figured he was at least twelve hours behind the men. Well, he’d give his horses some of the grain he’d brought along, fix himself a small fire to heat up some coffee, and have a cold breakfast. And then he’d be on his way. If he pushed it, he could make up at least four hours on the men by nightfall.

  While he ate the last of the turkey Mrs. Wiley had given him and drank his coffee, Smoke hoped Cal and Pearlie were getting the supplies he’d asked for.

  With any luck, they’d be ready and waiting for him when he got to Canyon City. If that were the case, then they would probably be able to catch up with the group of outlaws before they made it to Pueblo.

  Smoke’s jaws clenched when he thought of what he was going to do to them if they’d harmed one hair on Sally’s head.

  12

  Cal and Pearlie awoke after a good night’s sleep in the Palace Hotel. “Man,” Pearlie said, glancing across the room at the other bed, where Cal was just opening his eyes. “That sure felt good to have a real feather mattress under my butt instead of cold, hard ground.”

  The boys, though they had plenty of cash for two rooms, were of such a nature that they hated to waste money unnecessarily. Besides, after sleeping in bunkhouses for most of their lives, they were used to someone else snoring nearby and probably wouldn’t have been able to get to sleep in a quiet room.