War of the Mountain Man

9

“Some of the boys is grumblin’ about you puttin’ up money on Jensen’s head and then lettin’ them foreigners come over here,” one of Max’s gunhands complained.

Max spread his hands. “I put up the money, Lew. Anybody who nails Jensen gets it. As far as Dubois and Mittermaier are concerned, they’re old friends of mine. I sent for them long before Jensen entered the picture. Besides, they are much more subtle in their approach than most of those out there.” He waved his hand. “You and I, of course, could handle it easily. I’m not too sure about the others.”

The outlaw knew he was getting a line of buffalo chips fed him, but the flattery felt good anyway. “Right, Big Max. Sure. I understand. What do I tell the boys?”

“Tell them ...” Max was thinking hard. “Tell them that we must be careful in disposing of Jensen. If we draw too much attention to us, the government might send troops in here and put us all out of business.”

“Yeah,” Lew said. “Yeah, you’re right. They’ll understand that, Max. I’ll pass the word.”

After Lew had left, Max leaned back in his chair. What next? he thought. What is Jensen going to do next?

“What are y’all lookin’ for?” the teamster asked.

“Contraband,” Smoke told him. “Unload your wagons.”

The teamster paled under his stubble of beard and tanned skin. “All the wagons? Everything in them?”

“All the wagons, everything in them.”

Griping and muttering under their breaths, the men unloaded the wagons, and Smoke and Jim and Sal went to work with pry-bars. With his back to the teamsters, Smoke pulled a small packet from under his shirt and dropped it in a box. “Check this box, Sal,” he said. “I’ll be opening some others.”

“Right, Smoke.”

After a moment, Sal called out, “Marshal, I got something that looks funny.”

Smoke walked over. “The box says it’s supposed to have whiskey in it. What’s that in your hand?”

“Durned if I know.” He handed the packet to Smoke.

Smoke had found the contents way in the back of the safe in the marshal’s office. It was several thousand dollars of badly printed counterfeit greenbacks.

Smoke opened the packet. “Hey!” he said, holding one of the greenbacks up to the sunlight. “This looks phony to me.”

A teamster walked over. “What is that?”

“Counterfeit money,” Smoke told him. “This is real serious. You could be in a lot of trouble.”

“Me!” the teamster shouted. “I ain’t done nothin’.”

“You’re hauling this funny money,” Smoke reminded him.

“Well, that’s true. But that phony money sure as hell ain’t mine.”

“Oh, I believe you,” Smoke eased his fears. “But this entire shipment is going to have to be seized and held for evidence.”

“Marshal, you can have it all. Me and my boys work for a living. We’re not printing no government money.”

“Is this shipment prepaid?”

“Yes, sir. Everything sent to Hell’s Creek is paid for in advance. That’s the only way the boss would agree to do business with them thugs up yonder.”

“So you and your men would prefer not to do business with those in Hell’s Creek?”

“That’s the gospel truth, Mr. Jensen. There ain’t a one of us like the run past Barlow.”

“All right, boys. You’re free to turn around and head on back. We’re sorry to have inconvenienced you.”

After the wagons had gone, the men nearly broke up laughing as they stood amid the mounds of boxed supplies. Wiping his eyes, Smoke said, “Sal, go get some wagons and men from town. We’ve got to store all this stuff.”

“Bit Max is gonna toss himself a royal fit when he hears about this,” Sal said. “This here is food and supplies for a month.”

“Yeah. I figure they have probably a month’s supplies left on the shelves. After that, things are going to get desperate in Hell’s Creek.”

Sal headed back to town and Jim said, “You know, Smoke, Max can’t let you get away with this. His men would lose all respect for him.”

“Yeah, I know. This may be the fuel to pop the lid off. What’s the latest on Red Malone; have you heard?”

“Not a peep. I ’spect he’s still recovering from that beatin’ you gave him.”

“He’s got to have a meeting with Max. They’ll get together and try to plan some way to get rid of me.”

“No way to cover all the trails up to Hell’s Creek. There must be a dozen, and probably a few more that I don’t know about.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t try to do that. But I was thinking: Red has to buy supplies and he buys them in Barlow. It would be too time-consuming and costly to go anywhere else. Marbly hates Red. He never did knuckle under to him. He told me himself he still has the right to refuse service to anyone.”

Jim smiled. “Oh, now that would tick Red off. He’d go right through the ceiling.”

Smoke chuckled. “I’m counting on it, Jim. I am really counting on it.”

“He did what?” Big Max roared, jumping up from his chair and pounding a fist on his desk.

The outlaw Val Singer repeated what he had heard.

“That’s why the damn supplies didn’t arrive yesterday,” Max said, sitting down and doing his best to calm himself. “Jensen ... that low-life, no-good, lousy ...” He spent the next few moments calling Smoke every filthy name he could think of. And he thought of a lot of them.

Big Max shook himself like a bear with fleas and took several deep breaths. What to do? was the next thought that sprang into his angry mind.

Thing about it was, he didn’t know.

“Burn the damn town down,” Val suggested.

“They’d rebuild it,” Max said glumly.

“Grab some of their kids, then.”

“I have been giving that some thought, for a fact. But we’d have to be very careful doing it, Val. Very subtle.”

Val smiled, a nasty glint in his eyes. “That daughter of Martha Feckles is prime. She could pleasure a lot of us.”

Big Max had thought of Aggie a time or two. For a fact. Something ugly and archaic reared up within him when he thought of Aggie.

He could envision all sorts of perversions, all with Aggie in the lead role ... with him.

“I’ll think about it,” Max said, his voice husky.

Days passed and there was no retaliation from either Big Max or Red Malone. And that worried Smoke. To his mind, it meant that Max and Red were planning something very ugly and very sneaky. He warned everybody in town to keep a careful eye on their kids, to know where they were at all times. He warned the women to never walk alone, to plan shopping trips in groups. He visited everyone who lived just outside of town and warned them to be very, very careful.

He rode out into the county, visiting the small ranchers and farmers, repeating his message of caution at every stop.

“What do you think they’re gonna do, Mr. Jensen?” Brown asked. Smoke had stopped in for coffee.

“I don’t know, Brown. I wish I did so I could head it off. Whatever Max does, and probably Red Malone, too, is going to be dirty. Bet on that.”

“Would the army come in if we was to ask them?”

“No. This is a civilian matter. I can’t tell you who told me this, but I was told that the government is going to turn its back and let us handle it the way we see fit.”

“That seems odd. I mean, why would they?”

“I’ve worn a U.S. Marshal’s badge a time or two, Brown.”

Smoke had worn a marshal’s badge before, but that didn’t mean the government owed him any favors. He hoped Brown wouldn’t push the matter, and the farmer didn’t.

“If we got to go clean out that bunch at Hell’s Creek, or if we got to ride agin’ Malone and his bunch of trash, you can count me and all my neighbors in, Smoke.”

Smoke smiled. “The word I got is that you farmers won’t fight. That you’re scared.”

“You believe that?”

“Not for one second, Brown. I got a hunch you’re all Civil War veterans.”

“We are. Gatewood and Cooter fought on the side of the South, rest of us wore blue. But that’s behind us now. We seldom ever talk about it no more. And when we do, it ain’t with no rancor. Funny thing is, we never knowed each other during the war. We just met up on the trail and become friends. But don’t never think we won’t fight, Smoke. Some hoodlums along the trail thought that. We buried them.”

They chatted for a while longer and then Smoke pulled out, heading back to Barlow. He had him a hunch that Max Huggins had already sounded out Brown and Cooter and the other farmers in that area. Max was no fool, far from it, and he had guessed—and guessed accurately—that tackling that bunch would be foolhardy. Like most men of his ilk, Max preferred the easy way over the hard.

He pulled up in front of his office and swung down, curious about the horses tied to the hitchrail. He did not recognize the brand.

He looped the reins around the rail and stepped up on the boardwalk. The door to his office opened and several men filed out, one of them wearing the badge of sheriff of the county.

“You Jensen?” the man asked, a hard edge to his voice.

“That’s right.”

The man held out his hand. “I’ll take your badge, Jensen. I name my deputies.”

“This badge is legal, partner. Judge Garrison swore me in and he has the power to do it. So that means that you can go right straight to hell.”

The sheriff shook a finger in Smoke’s face. “Now let me tell you something....”

Smoke slapped the finger away and his hand returned a lot harder. He backhanded the crooked sheriff a blow that jarred the man and stepped him to one side.

“Don’t you ever stick your finger in my face again,” Smoke warned him. “The next time you do it, I’ll break it off at the elbow and put it in a place that’ll have you riding sidesaddle for a long time.”

Sal and Jim had stepped out of the office, both of them carrying sawed-off shotguns. It made the sleazebag sheriffs deputies awfully nervous.

“Come on, Cart,” one of his men said. “I told you this wouldn’t work.”

Smoke laughed. “You have to be Paul Cartwright. Sure. I remember reading about you. You served time in California for stealing while you were a lawman out there. Get out of this town, Cartwright.”

“Come on, Cart,” one of his men pulled at his sleeve.

“I’ll be damned if I will!”Cart blustered. “I’m the sheriff of this county. And no two-bit gunslinger tells me what to do.”

He took a swing at Smoke, who in turn grabbed him by the arm and tossed him off the boardwalk and into the street. Smoke jumped down just as Cart was grabbing for his gun. He kicked the .45 out of his hand and jerked the man to his boots.

Then he proceeded to beat the hell out of him.

Every time Cart would get up, Smoke would knock him down again. The editor of the paper had grabbed his brand-new, up-to-date camera and rushed out of his office in time to see Smoke knock Cart down for the second time. He quickly set up and began taking action shots.

Cart was out of shape, and Smoke really didn’t want to inflict any permanent injuries on the man. He just wanted to leave a lasting impression as to who was running things in Barlow and the south end of the county.

The editor, Henry Draper, got some great shots of Cart being busted in the mouth and landing in the dirt on his butt. Jim and Sal thought it very amusing. Cart’s deputies failed to see the humor in it. But they stayed out of it mainly because of Jim and Sal and the express guns they carried.

Joe Walsh and several of his hands rode into town just as Smoke was knocking Cart down for about the seventh time. The rancher sat his saddle and watched, amusement on his face and in his eyes.

The county sheriff staggered to his boots, lifted his fists, and Smoke decked him for the final count. Cart hit the dirt and didn’t move.

Smoke washed his face and hands in a horse trough, picked up his hat, and settled it on his head. He looked up at Cart’s deputies and pointed to the sheriff. “Get that trash off the streets and out of this town. And don’t come back. You understand all that?”

“Yes, sir,” they echoed.

Smoke jerked a thumb. “Move!”

The deputies grunted Cart across his saddle, tied him in place, and rode out.

“You do have a way of making friends, Smoke,” Joe said, walking his horse over to the hitchrail and dismounting.

“Let’s just say I leave lasting impressions,” Smoke smiled the reply, shaking the rancher’s hand.

“What a headline this will make!” Henry said. The editor of the Barlow Bugle grabbed up all his photographic equipment and hustled back to his office to develop the pictures and write the story.

“Stick around,” Smoke told Joe. “We’ll have some coffee in a minute.” He looked at Sal. “When did Cart get here?”

“’Bout an hour ago. He was full of it, too. He had me and Jim plumb shakin’ in our boots.”

“I’m sure he did,” Smoke said, noticing the wicked glint in the man’s eyes. “I can tell that you haven’t recovered yet.”

“Right,” Jim said, grinning along with Sal. “They’re runnin’ scared, Smoke. All of them up at Hell’s Creek. Cart said that Big Max can’t get a freight company to haul goods up to them. He’s tryin’ to get goods pulled in from that new settlement to the west of him ... Kalispell; but the marshal over there told him to go take a dump in his hat. Or words similar to that.”

Joe Walsh and his men laughed out loud, one of the hands saying, “Me and the rest of the boys talked it over, Smoke. When you need us, just give a holler. We’ll ride with you and you call the shots.”

“I appreciate it. Max won’t stand still and get pushed around much longer. I expect some retaliation from Hell’s Creek at any moment. Unfortunately, I don’t have any idea in what form it might be.” He told them all what he’d been doing that day, riding and warning those in the south end of the county ... or as many as he could find.

“A man who would harm a kid is scum,” Joe said. “I suggest we keep a rope handy.”

A crowd had gathered around and they heatedly agreed.

Smoke let them talk it out until they fell silent. “You watch your children, people. Tell them not to leave the town limits. Not for any reason. Always bear in mind that we’re dealing with scum. And these people have no morals, no values, no regard for human life. Adult or child. The farmers in this part of the county are breaking ground and planting. And they’re doing it with guns strapped on. I don’t want to see a man in this town walking around without a gunbelt on or a pistol stuck behind his belt. It’s entirely conceivable that Max and Malone may even try to tree this town. If they do that, we want to be ready. Any woman here who doesn’t know how to shoot, my wife will be conducting classes.” He smiled. “She doesn’t know that yet, but I’m sure she’ll be more than willing to teach a class.”

“You better watch out, Tom,” a good-natured shout came out of the crowd. “Ella Mae learns to shoot, she’s liable to fill your butt full of birdshot the next time you come home tipsy.”

Tom Johnson grinned out of his suddenly red face. Tom liked his evening whiskey at the saloon.

“You’re a fine one to talk, Matthew,” the blacksmith yelled. “I ’member the time your woman tossed you out of the house with nothin’ but your long-handles on.”

The crowd burst out laughing and went their way. It was good laughter, the kind of laughter from men and women who had decided to make a stand of it. To not be pushed around and taken advantage of by thugs like Big Max Huggins.

“That laughter is good to hear,” Joe said. “These folks have been down for a long time. I’m glad to see them back on their feet and standing tall.” He paused to finish rolling his cigarette and light up. “And you’re responsible for straightening their backbone, Smoke.”

Smoke had been curious about something, and he figured now was the time to ask it. “Why didn’t you do it, Joe?” he asked softly.

“Wondered when you’d get around to asking that. It’s a fair question. Me and the wife left right after roundup three years ago. Took us a trip to see San Francisco. Spent all summer in California. Up and down the coast. The kids is all growed up and in college back east. We left right around the first day of May and didn’t come back until late September. Hell, Smoke, it was all over by then. Big Max had built Hell’s Creek, him and Red Malone was in cahoots around here, and Big Max’s outlaws had cut the heart right out of this town.”

He dropped the cigarette butt into the street and toed it dead. “I spent the next year just protecting my herds and my land. Red tried his damndest to run me out. But I wouldn’t go. I lost ...” He looked at one of his hands. “How many men, Chuck?”

“Four, boss. Skinny Jim, Davis, Don Morris, and John.”

“Four men,” Joe said quietly. “Good men who died for the brand. When Red finally got it through his head that I wasn’t gonna be run out—and I can’t prove it was Red doing it—he backed off and let me be.”

“No way you can prove it was Red?”

“No. Not a chance. And I tried. That’s on record at the territorial capitol. I raised some hell about it, and that, and with me and the boys fighting the night riders brought an end to it. They all wore hoods. Don’t all cowards wear hoods or masks? I never was able to get a look at any of them.” He smiled. “But I did recognize their horses. Unfortunately, that won’t cut it in court.” His eyes darted toward Sally as she stepped out of the hotel. “My wife is looking forward to you and your missus coming out. But I told her let’s get this situation with Red and Max taken care of first, then we’ll socialize.”

“Yeah. My leaving town now, for any length of time, would not be wise. Hey! I got an idea. How about a community dance and box supper?”

Sally walked up. “You took those thoughts right out of my head, honey. Hi, Joe.”

“Ma’am,” the rancher touched the brim of his hat. “I think that’s a good idea.”

Smoke’s grin turned into a frown.

“What’s the matter with you?” Sally asked.

“It’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“It would mean too many people would be leaving their homes unguarded. That might be all it would take for Max or Red to burn someone out.”

“Oh, pooh!” Sally said, stamping her foot.

“Smoke’s right. I didn’t think about that. Must be getting old. Max and Red wouldn’t pass up an opportunity like that. And we couldn’t keep it quiet. It’d be sure to leak out.”

Smoke began smiling again.

“Now what?” Sally asked.

“I know how to have the dance and avoid troubte—at least for the farmers and ranchers.”

“How?” Joe asked. “What about Red and Max?”

“That’s just it. We’ll invite them.”