Pursuit Of The Mountain Man

27

It was a sensation, an emotion, that all skilled gunhandlers experience at one time or the other; that feeling of knowing that today is the day.

Utah and Cat and Roy knew it. They did not speak of it, but each knew the other was sharing the emotion.

Cat almost dropped his coffee cup when the wild howling of a wolf cut the early morning air. It was from the throat of someone very close to the camp.

“Let’s do it!” Roy Drum said. “Let’s by God get this over with once and for all.”

He picked up his rifle and walked to the edge of the timber that surrounded the camp. A single shot rang out. Roy slumped to his knees and leaned up against a tree. His rifle fell from his lifeless fingers.

Cat looked at Utah. Both men shook their heads. They rose as one and saddled their horses.

“What are you men doing?” Marlene screamed at them.

“Pullin’ out, lady,” Utah told her.

“What about your money?” von Hausen asked. There was a tremor in his voice that no one among them had ever heard before.

“I ‘spect that John T. knows a way to shake it out of that Dodge City lawyer feller. If he don’t, I do,” Cat said. He rolled his blankets and groundsheet and tied it back of his saddle.

“Smoke!” Utah called. “Me and Cat are the only ones left. We’re pullin’ out. I’d be obliged if you’d keep these foreigners from back-shootin’ us.”

“I’ll do that,” the call came from the damp woods. “I let a couple of others go. I’ll do the same for you boys.”

“ ’Ppreciate it. See you around, Smoke.”

“I hope not,” Smoke called. “ ’Cause when you do, you better drag iron.”

“It was just a job of work,” Utah called.

“Get out of here before I change my mind,” Smoke called.

They got.

“Either strap on guns or toss them all in a pile,” Smoke called.

“Kill him, Gunter!” Maria yelled, grabbing at his arm. “Kill the arrogant bastard.”

But Gunter had lost the taste for the hunt. He unbuckled his belt and let his sidearm fall to the ground.

“You coward!” Maria screamed at him. She jerked up a pistol and emptied it into the dark timber.

“You missed, lady,” Smoke told her, his voice coming from behind her.

Marlene grabbed up a rifle and fired at his voice, working the lever until the weapon was empty.

“Over here,” Smoke called, from a new location.

Andrea put her face into her hands and began sobbing.

Marlene threw the rifle to the ground and stood trembling with rage.

“The Army’s coming,” Smoke called. “I saw the patrol about an hour ago from a ridge. They had some rough country to get through, so I figure they’ll be here in about an hour or so. Then I’ll do what somebody should have done a long time ago.”

“And what is that?” von Hausen called.

“Stomp your damned guts out.”

Von Hausen laughed at him. “I accept your challenge, gunfighter. But why wait until the Army gets here? I don’t understand that.”

“Because I don’t trust any of you back-shooting bastards and bitches.”

Von Hausen removed his gunbelt and tossed it to one side. “All of you, put your weapons in a pile. Every weapon. All the military can do is escort us to the ship. We might as well have some fun waiting for them to get here.”

Every weapon, including hunting knives was piled onto a blanket. Von Hausen pointed to a long flat rock about three feet high. “All of you sit over there,” he told his friends. “And do not, under any circumstances, try to assist me in any way during this brief boxing match.” He raised his voice. “Is that satisfactory, Mister Jensen?”

“Suits me,” the voice came from behind von Hausen and it startled him. Smoke hung his gunbelt on a limb and pulled on a pair of leather work gloves.

“We’ll now set the rules,” von Hausen said.

“No guns or knives,” Smoke said. “Those are the rules. No time limit, no neutral corner, no knock-down rules. So anytime you’re ready, you pompous, over-bearing, arrogant jackass, come on and fight.”

Von Hausen assumed the boxer’s stance: his left fist held out from his body, elbow bent, his right fist up, protecting his jaw. “You may approach and make the initial move, Jensen.”

“OK,” Smoke said, then jumped at the man and hit him in the face with both fists.

Von Hausen backed up, not really hurt, just startled at such a move. He flicked an exploring punch at Smoke. Smoke ducked it and busted von Hausen in the belly. That got Smoke a hard fist to the side of his head. Smoke spun around and kicked von Hausen on the knee.

The German yelped and backed up.

“Oh, foul, foul!” Gunter yelled.

Smoke ignored them and pressed von Hausen, hitting him with a combination that bloodied the man’s mouth. Smoke followed that with a hard left to the man’s belly. The German tried to clench. Smoke threw him down to the dirt and backed up.

Von Hausen jumped to his boots and charged Smoke. Smoke tripped him and clubbed the man’s neck on his way down. The German got up, spitting dirt. Now he was mad, which is exactly what Smoke wanted.

“You peasant!” von Hausen hissed at him.

Smoke put one of his peasant’s fists through the nobleman’s guard and busted von Hausen’s regal nose, sending blood flying. Smoke ducked a punch and waded in, smashing both fists against the man’s belly and landing a vicious uppercut that snapped von Hausen’s teeth together. The German was having to breathe through his mouth; his honker was busted.

Smoke caught a fist to the side of his head, another got through: a glancing blow on his jaw. Smoke back-heeled von Hausen and sent the man crashing to the rocky ground. Von Hausen came up snorting and bellowing. He came at Smoke, both big fists flailing the air. Smoke caught von Hausen’s forearm, turned slightly, and flipped the heavier man, sending him hard to the ground.

With a roar, von Hausen was up and trying to get set. Smoke never let him. Smoke stepped in and smashed the man’s face with hard left’s and right’s. The blows staggered von Hausen and tore his face. Smoke timed one perfectly and sent von Hausen to the ground, on his hands and knees.

“Time, time!” Gunter yelled.

“Shut your damned mouth,” Smoke told him.

Gunter shut up.

“Get up, Baron,” Smoke said. Then all the rage he had kept under control for weeks boiled to the surface. He cussed the man, calling him every filthy name he could think of. And being raised among mountain men, he knew more than the average fellow.

The Baron was a little slow getting up. Smoke kicked him in the belly, the blow lifting the man off his hands and knees about six inches. Von Hausen rolled and slowly got to his feet. He raised his hands and Smoke started a punch about a foot behind his shoulder and gave it to von Hausen. The German’s teeth flew from his mouth under the right fist and Smoke tore one ear off with a thundering left that whistled through the air. It sounded like a pistol shot when it landed.

When the man was sinking down to his knees, Smoke came under his jaw with an uppercut. All present could hear the jaw pop when Smoke hit him. Frederick von Hausen hit the cool damp earth and did not move. Marlene screamed and ran to his side.

Smoke walked over to Gunter and before the startled man could move, Smoke knocked him slap off the rock. Gunter tumbled over the flat rock and lay unconscious on the ground.

Smoke pointed a finger at Maria and Andrea. “If you two even so much as twitch, I’ll shoot you.” He walked over to von Hausen, jerked off the man’s wide leather belt and grabbed Marlene by her long blonde hair. He dragged her over to the rock, sat down with her across his knees, and proceeded to give her fanny a long overdue beating with the belt.

When Smoke finally released the woman, her screaming had been reduced to low whimpering moans of pain. He knew he had blistered her butt; he also knew it would be a long, painful ride for Miss Marlene, sitting a saddle out of the mountains.

“You brute!” Maria hissed at him.

Smoke smiled and jerked her across his knee. He gave her fanny the same workout he had given Marlene’s derriere, reducing the woman’s squallings to tiny whimperings for mercy. When he finished, he dumped her on the ground and dangled the belt for Andrea to see.

“You have anything to say to me?”

She shook her head and kept her mouth shut.

Gunter was moaning and crawled around on his hands and knees, his mouth a bloody mess. He got to his feet, leaning against the rock for support. He didn’t need it.

“Oh, no,” Gunter said as Smoke approached him.

“Oh, yeah,” Smoke said, and popped him again. Gunter kissed the ground.

The Army patrol, which had arrived at the scene just seconds after Smoke and Frederick squared off, and whose members had thoroughly enjoyed every moment of the thrashing and spankings, rode into the clearing.

“Captain Williams, sir,” the officer said, saluting Smoke. “We’ve come to escort these people to the nearest train depot and to see that they leave this country.”

“You can sure have them,” Smoke said. “No way they can be held accountable?”

“I don’t think so, Mister Jensen. Their families have a lot of political influence in this country. Statesmen and diplomats and that sort of thing.”

Smoke told the Captain about Hans and where he was buried. “I’ll write Prince Hans Brodermann’s parents personally. He really wasn’t a bad sort of fellow.”

“Why did he get mixed up with this bunch?”

Smoke looked over at the now not quite so haughty Marlene. “Well, I reckon, Captain, that the man had a good eye for horses and mighty poor judgement when it came to picking friends.”