Return of the Mountain Man

17

According to the calendar, it was still the middle of spring in the mining country of East-Central Idaho. Someone should have told Mr. Summer that. By noon of the day of the pull-out, the temperature had soared and the sun was blisteringly hot. Bury, located in a valley, lay sullen and breezeless, the pocket in which it lay blocking the winds.

And the tempers of those trapped in the town were beginning to rival the thermometer.

One of Richards’s men had discovered the blocked road and had hightailed back to the PSR ranch, informing Josh. Janey had just informed him as to Buck’s real name. Josh Richards stood in the lushly appointed drawing room of the mansion and stared out at all the PSR holdings. Slowly, very slowly, a smile began playing at the corners of his mouth.

“What do you find so amusing, Josh?” Janey asked, watching the man.

“I will soon be the richest man in all of Idaho Territory,” Josh replied. He carefully lit a cigar and inhaled slowly.

“I don’t follow you.”

“Think about it, Janey. We—you and I—are in the best possible position. Your brother is going to take some losses at Bury. He might even get himself killed. We can hope for that, at least.” She shrugged. Whatever happened to Kirby didn’t concern her at all. “All we have to do is pull the PSR men off the range, leaving only a skeleton crew with the herds, and station them around the house in armed circles. Let Smoke and his mountain men kill off as many as they can in Bury. For sure, Smoke will kill Stratton and Potter—that’s what he came here to do. By the time the siege is over at Bury, Smoke’s little army will be shot up and weakened; no way they could successfully attack this place. When they start to pull out, that’s when I take my men and wipe them out.” He grinned hugely. “Simple.”

“So you’re tossing Wiley and Keith to the wolves,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Sure,” he replied cheerfully. “Do you care?”

“Hell, no!” the woman said. “And there’s something else, too.”

“Oh?”

“You know the Army and the marshals will be in here investigating after it’s over.”

“Yeah. Sure. What about it?”

“Well, you just tell them some crap about Potter and Stratton. Tell them you found out about some illegal dealings they were involved in; you broke away from them. Tell the investigators you didn’t want any part of anything illegal. You can even tell them you and your men joined up with Smoke and the mountain men in the assault on Bury. But,” she said, holding up a warning finger, “that means that everybody has to die.”

“You’re a cold-blooded wench, Janey,” he said with a great deal of pride and admiration.

“Just like you, love.”

“Oh, I like it. I like it!” Josh began to pace the floor. He began to think aloud, talking as he paced. “I’ve got the best of the gunhands out here. Most of these men have been with me for years. They’re loyal to me, and to me alone. They’ll stand firm. I’ll put all the newer men out on the range, looking after the cattle. Put the range-cook out there with them with ten days–two weeks of supplies and tell the boys to stay put.” He grinned again, looking at Janey Jensen. “Love, we are going to rule Idaho Territory.”

“I always wanted to be a queen,” Janey said.

Josh and Janey began laughing.

To put a lid on the growing tempers in Bury, Stratton and Potter ordered free drinks at the town’s many saloons and hurdy-gurdy houses. Then one drunk cowboy suggested they kick in the doors to the Pink House and have their way with the women barricaded inside.

About fifty men, in various stages of inebriation, marched up the main street and gathered in front of the Pink House. They began hooting and hollering and making all sorts of demands to the ladies. The hooting abruptly dipped into silence when the ladies inside shoved shotguns out through the barricaded windows. The sounds of hammers being jacked back was loud in the hot, still air.

The men took one look at a dozen double-barreled express guns pointing at them and calmed down.

“We are closed!” Miss Flora’s voice came to the crowd. “You gentlemen have ten seconds to haul your ashes out of here. Aim at their privates, girls!”

A dozen shotguns were lowered, the muzzles aimed crotch-high.

The suddenly-sobered crowd hauled their ashes. Promptly.

Preacher watched it all through field glasses. He chuckled. He could not, of course, hear what was going on, but he could guess. “Them gals done read the scriptures to them ol’ boys,” he said. “I don’t think the ladies is gonna be bothered no more after this.”

One trapped PSR so-called gunhand emptied his pistol at the ridge overlooking the town. He stood in the center of the street and hurled curses at Smoke and the mountain men. Preacher reached for his Spencer and sighted the gunslick in. He emptied the tube, plowing up the ground around the man’s boots. The cowboy shrieked in terror and dropped his pistol, running and falling and crawling for cover. He took refuge in the nearest saloon.

“We havin’ fun now, Smoke,” Preacher said, reloading. “But it’s gonna turn ugly right soon.”

“I know.”

“You havin’ second thoughts ’bout this, boy?”

“Not really. But if those men down there, with the exception of Potter and Stratton, wanted to leave, I wouldn’t try to stop them.”

“I’s a-hopin’ you’d say that. Audie! Bring Smoke that there funny-lookin’ thang you built.”

Smoke took the megaphone and moved down the ridge, being careful not to expose himself. He lifted the megaphone to his lips.

“You men of Bury!” Smoke called. “Listen to me. It’s Potter and Stratton and Richards I’m after. Not you. You don’t owe them any loyalty. Any of you who wants to toss down his weapons and walk out can do so.”

There was no reply of any kind from the town.

Smoke called, “I’m giving you people a chance to save your lives. The men you work for murdered my brother. They shot him in the back and left him to die.”

“Rebel scum!” a voice called from the town.

Smoke shook his head. “The men you work for killed my pa.”

“Big deal!” another voice shouted.

“Real nice folks down there,” Audie muttered.

“The men you work for ordered out the men who raped and tortured and killed my wife, and killed my baby son,” Smoke spoke through the megaphone.

Laughter from the town drifted up to Smoke and the mountain men. The laughter was ugly and taunting. “She probably wasn’t nothin’ but a whore anyways!” a voice shouted.

“I can’t believe it,” Smoke said, looking at Preacher. “I can’t understand those types of people.”

“I can,” Audie said. “If you were my size, you would know just how cruel many people can be.”

“Rider comin’,” Tenneysee said.

Sam rode up and dismounted, walking to the edge of the ridge. He waited until Smoke and his friends climbed back up. “Givin’ them folks a way out, Smoke?” he asked.

“I tried,” Smoke replied.

“They ain’t worth no pity,” Sam said. “Lord knows I ought to know. I worked for them long enough. I seen them people do things that would chill you to the bone. I ain’t never seen a bunch so hard-hearted as them people down there. Lie, steal, cheat, kill—them words don’t mean nothing to them people. Simmons at the general store worked his momma to death. And I mean that. Then buried her in an unmarked grave. Cannon at the newspaper is so bad he’s barred from the Pink House. Likes to beat women, if you know what I mean. And them ranchers out from town”—he spat on the ground—“hell, they just as bad. They run down and hanged a twelve-year-old boy when they found him leadin’ off unbranded stock. He was just tryin’ to feed his sick ma. It was pitiful. I seen some sights, but that one made me puke. Don’t feel no sorrow for them folks down there, boys. They ain’t worth spit.”

“Come and get us, gunhawk!” a voice yelled from the town. “We’ll give you the same treatment the rest of your family got.”

Smoke tossed the homemade megaphone to one side. “I tried,” he said. “I tried.”

The owners of the three other ranches located near Bury gathered at the home of Josh Richards. The owners had brought their so-called cowboys, many of whom were outlaws and gunfighters. Richards explained the situation at Bury—tactfully and pointedly leaving out that when his partners were dead, he would own it all.

“Well,” Marshall of the Crooked Snake spread said, “I can see why we can’t rush the town. Them mountain men would pick us off afore we got close enough to do any real damage.”

The other two owners, Lansing of the Triangle and Brown of the Double Bar B, nodded their agreement. Lansing looked at Richards and asked, “You got a plan?”

“Not much of one. And my plan is rather self-serving, I’m afraid.”

“Self what?” Marshall asked.

“It helps us but doesn’t do much for those trapped in Bury,” Richards explained.

“Hell with them!” Brown said. “We can always get more shopkeepers to come in.”

No one mentioned Stratton or Potter. The men just looked at each other and smiled. Honor among thieves, and all that.

“Let’s hear it,” Lansing said.

“I don’t understand it,” Sam said. “Richards has about twenty gunhands out there at the ranch. And by now he’s called in Marshall and Lansing and Brown. Together, the four of them could put together forty-fifty men. That many men could put us in a box. I wonder what they’re waiting for?”

Audie was thoughtful for a moment. “Perhaps this Richards person is hoping to gain from all this.”

Smoke looked at him. “Sure. If Stratton and Potter get dead, Richards has it all.”

“The loyalty of those men is overwhelming,” Audie said drily.

“I wanted to burn down the town,” Smoke admitted. “And I wanted revenge against those who killed my brother and pa, and who sent those men after me and my family. But as sorry as those people are down there in Bury, I don’t want their blood on my hands.”

Preacher seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. He knew the young man well, and knew Smoke did not want needless killing on his mind.

“Mayhaps you won’t have to kill none of them down there,” Preacher said.

“You chewin’ ’round on something, Preacher,” Beartooth said. “Spit ’er out.”

“Well, lets us’ns slip word to Potter and Stratton that Richards is gonna lay out of this here fight. Kinda see what happens after that.”

“An’ juice it up a mite, too,” Tenneysee said with a grin.

“Why, shore!” Preacher returned the grin. “Ain’t nothing no better than a good joke.” He thought about that for a moment. “At our age, that is.”