Return of the Mountain Man

16

“What are you thinking, young man?” Audie asked.

“About what Potter and Stratton and Richards ordered done to my wife and son.”

“Preacher told us. That was a terrible, terrible thing. But don’t allow revenge to destroy you.”

“When this is over, Audie, it’s over. Not until.”

“I understand. I have been where you are. I lost my wife, a Bannock woman, and two children to white trappers. Many many years ago.”

“Did you find the men who did it?”

“Oh, yes,” Audie smiled grimly. “I found them.”

Smoke did not have to ask the outcome.

“There will always be men who rise to power on the blood and pain of others, Smoke,” the former-schoolteacher-turned-mountain-man said. “Unfortunate, certainly, but a fact, perhaps a way, of life.”

“The people who run the shops in that town can leave,” Smoke said. “Even though I know they are, in their own way, as bad as Potter, Stratton, and Richards. I’ll let them go, if they’ll just go.”

“They won’t,” Audie prophesied. “For most of them, this is the end of the trail. Behind them lies their past, filled with crime and pettiness. For most of them, all that waits behind them is prison—or a rope. Theirs is a mean, miserable existence.” He waved his hand at the mountain men. “We, all us, remember when that town was built. We sat back and watched those dreary dregs of society arrive. We have all watched good people travel through, look around them, and continue on their journey. I, for one, will be glad to see that village razed and returned to the earth.”

Audie walked away. About three and a half feet tall physically, about six and a half feet of man and mind and courage.

Smoke sat back on his bootheels and wondered what razed meant.

He’d have to remember to ask Sally. She’d know. And with that thought, another problem presented itself to Smoke’s mind. Sally. He knew he cared a lot for the woman—more than he was willing to admit—but what did he have to offer someone like her? When news of what he planned to do to Bury reached the outside, Smoke Jensen would be the most wanted man in the west. Not necessarily in terms of reward money, for if he had his way, Potter, Stratton, and Richards would be dead and in the ground, but more in terms of reputation. A hundred, five hundred, a thousand gunhawks would be looking for him to make a reputation.

Back to the valley where Nicole and Baby Arthur were buried?

No. No, for even if Sally was willing to come with him, he couldn’t go back there. Too many old memories would be in the way. He would return to the valley for his mares; he wanted to do that. Then push on and get the Appaloosa, Seven.

Then…?

He didn’t know. He would like to ranch and raise horses. And farm. Farming was in his blood and he had always loved the land. A combination horse and cattle ranch and farm? Why not? That was very rare in the west—almost unheard of—but why not?

Would Sally be content with that? A woman of class and education and independence and wealth? Well, he’d never know until he asked her. But that would have to wait. He’d ask her later. If he lived, that is.

Deputy Rogers was the first to report back to Potter and Stratton and Sheriff Reese. Josh Richards was still out in the field; he knew nothing of the true identity of Buck West. Not yet.

“North road’s blocked ’bout three miles out of town,” Rogers reported. “An’ I mean blown all to hell. Brought a landslide down four-five-hundred feet long.”

Deputy Payton galloped up and dismounted. “South road’s blocked by a landslide. A bad one. Ain’t nothing gonna get through there for a long time. They’s riflemen stuck up all around the town, watchin’ the trails. Old mountain men, looks like.”

“I should have put it all together,” Stratton said with a sigh. “I should have known when that damn Jensen came ridin’ in, bold as brass. Should have known that’s who it was.”

“What are we going to do, Keith?” Wiley Potter asked.

“Wait and find out what Jensen wants. Hell, what else can we do?”

Audie had made himself a megaphone out of carefully peeled bark. He had stationed himself on a ridge overlooking the town of Bury.

“Attention below!” Audie called. “Residents of Bury, Idaho Territory, gather in the street and curb your tongues.”

“Do what with a tongue?” Deputy Rogers asked.

“Don’t talk,” Stratton said.

“Oh.”

“Armageddon is nigh,” Audie called. “Your penurious and evil practices must cease. Will cease—immediately. The women and the children will be allowed to leave. You have twenty-four hours to vacate and walk out with what meager possessions you can carry on your backs. Follow the flats south to Blue Meadows. Where you go from there is your own concern. Twenty-four hours. After that, the town of Bury will be destroyed.”

“What’s that about arms?” Dan Reese asked.

“Armageddon,” Reverend Necker said. “Where the final battle will be fought between good and evil.” He looked around him. “Has anybody got a jug? I need a drink.”

“I ain’t gonna hoof my tootsies nowhere,” Louise Rosten said. “They’s wild savages out there.”

“Just head straight across the flats toward the east,” her husband told her. “They’s a settlement ’bout thirty miles over yonder. Pack up the kids and git gone. Hell, you can outshoot me.”

“Hunts-Long and his Flatheads will escort the women and children to safety,” Audie’s voice once more rang out over the town. “They’ll be waiting on the east side of the creek. You have twenty-four hours. This will be my last warning to you.”

“I ain’t travelin’ with no damned greasy Injuns!” Veronica Morgan said. “I ain’t leavin’ the hotel.”

Her husband looked at her. “Get those snot-nosed brats of yours and get out. I’m tired of looking at your ugly face and listening to those brats squall.”

Veronica spat in her husband’s face and wheeled about, stalking back to the hotel.

“Potter! Stratton! Richards!” Smoke’s voice boomed through the bark-made megaphone. “This is Smoke Jensen. I’m giving you a better chance than you gave my pa, my brother, and my wife and son.”

None of the town’s residents had to ask what Smoke was talking about. They all, to a person, knew. They knew the town was built on stolen gold and Jensen blood. They all knew the whole bloody, tragic story. And they had consented to live with that knowledge.

Stratton’s heavy jowls quivered with rage and fear. He turned his little piggy eyes to Potter. “Now what?” he demanded.

“Just stay calm and keep your senses about you, man,” Potter said. “Look at facts. We’ve a hundred and fifty men in this town. Thirty of them are hardcases drawing fighting pay. Josh is out there,” he waved his hand, “with fifteen or twenty other gunhands. We’re up against a handful of old men and one smart-aleck gunhawk who is too sure of himself. We’ve both known Hunts-Long for years. He’s a peaceful, trusting Indian and so is his tribe. Send the women and kids out and we’ll make ready for a siege. The stage is due in three days. We’ll have someone there to meet it, turn it around, and get the Army in here from the fort. Then we’ll hang Smoke Jensen and his damned old mountain men and be done with it once and for all.”

Stratton and the others visibly relaxed. Sure, they thought. That was a damn good plan. Some of them began to laugh at how easy it would be. Soon all those gathered in the street were laughing and slapping one another on the back. The women were cackling and the men hoo-hawing.

“Sounds lak they havin’ a celebration down thar,” Lobo said. “Wush they’d let us in on it.”

“They’re thinking about the stage,” Smoke said. “If they could turn it around with a message, they could get the Army in here and chase us all the way to Canada.”

“Les’ we had someone down thar to meet it with a story,” Phew said.

Smoke smiled at that. “That’s what we’ll do, then.”

“Now what?” Dupre said.

“We give them twenty-four hours, just like I promised.”

“I can’t help but feel sorry for the kids,” Smoke said.

“There isn’t a child down there under ten or eleven years of age,” Audie observed, watching through binoculars. “They are past their formative years; or very close to it. They are just smaller versions of their parents.”

The sun had been up for an hour and the women and children of Bury were moving out. On foot. Had Smoke and the mountain men been able to hear the comments of the men, it would have left no doubt in any of their minds.

“I shore am glad to see that bitchin’ woman clear out,” Hallen said. “Hope I never see her again.”

Morgan watched his wife—common law, since each of them was still married, to someone else—and her brats walk out of town. “I hope they’re attacked by Indians,” was his comment.

Simmons watched his wife trudge up the road. “Old lard-butted thing,” he said, under his breath. “God, I hope I never see her again.”

Like comments were being shared by all the men as they watched the women and kids move out.

Linda Potter and Lucille Stratton had elected to remain with their men. True to the end. Or ’til the money ran out—whichever came first.

Hunts-Long and his Flatheads were waiting by the creek. They had orders from Preacher to escort the women to the flats and keep them there until the matter was settled in Bury—one way or the other.

“You can’t know that for certain,” Smoke said, looking at Audie, who had lowered his binoculars from the stream of humanity.

“With very little exception, my young friend. It doesn’t hold true always, but water will seek its own level.”

“We’re gonna have to keep a sharp lookout for Richards’s men, boy,” Preacher said. “Them fifteen-eighteen riders he’s got is all gunhands. Now you listen to me, boy,” Preacher spun Smoke around to face him. “Them gold and silver mines that belong to them Big Three assayed out high. One mine, they got the gold assayed out at more than one hundred thousand dollars a ton. You know anything about gold, boy?”

Smoke shook his head.

“Two hundred dollars a ton is a workable mine, Smoke. So them boys ain’t gonna just sit back and let you and us’ns destroy a fortune for ’em. We gonna have to be ready for nearabouts anything.”

“I done warned them far’ners at the mines to stand clear of Bury,” Matt said. “They took it to heart.”

“How about the other miners?”

“Some of the miners here now was at the mining camp on the Uncompahgre,” Preacher said. “The bettin’ is high and fast.”

“Who is the favorite?”

“Hell, boy,” Preacher grinned. “Us’ns!”