War of the Mountain Man

14

Over coffee the next morning in his office, Smoke told Jim and Sal and Judge Garrison what had brought on Max Huggins’s sudden departure the night before.

“Let me start canvasing various law enforcement agencies, Smoke,” Judge Garrison said. “I have many more contacts than you. I should have something within a week, probably in less time than that.”

“Good, Judge. Get right on it, will you?”

“Immediately.” The judge left the room and walked over to the telegraph office. He would be very busy for the next several days. Judge Garrison did not set a bond for Melvin Malone. He said the attempted murder charge meant he did not have to set a bond. Melvin would stay in jail.

“You’re dead, Jensen,” Melvin hollered from his cell. He rattled the barred door. “You’re a dead man walking around and you’re just too stupid to know that.”

“Shut up, boy,” Smoke called. “You’re only making things more difficult for yourself.”

“Son of a bitch!” Melvin yelled. “That’s you, Jensen. Low-life, no-good ...”

Smoke tuned him out.

“You know Red is gonna try to bust him out,” Sal said.

“Sure. Once he hears no bond was set, he’ll try force. Maybe as soon as tonight.”

“You want us to set up cots and sleep here?” Jim asked.

“No.” Smoke’s reply was quick. “Red, so I’m told, likes to use dynamite. That’s how he drove all those small farmers out that were settling around his holdings. He might decide to use explosives here. Too risky for us to sleep in.”

“Hell, Smoke!” Sal said. “He uses dynamite, he might blow up Melvin tryin’ to get him out.”

Smoke shook his head. “We won’t be that lucky, Sal.” Smoke cut his eyes to the window in time to see John Steele riding up, the point man for several wagons, coming into town for supplies. They pulled up in front of Marbly’s General Store.

“Oh, boy,” Jim said. “Here it comes.”

Smoke stood up and reached for his hat. “Yep,” he said, heading for the door. “Storm clouds are gathering and it’s about to rain trouble all over us. Let’s go, boys. I wouldn’t want to miss this.”

The three men crossed the street just as John Steele was entering Marbly’s store. They stepped up onto the boardwalk in time to hear John’s shout of disbelief.

“What the hell do you mean, you little worm?” John roared. “My money is no good? My money is as good as anybody’s, and by the Lord, you’re going to sell me what I want.”

“Get out of my store,” Marbly stood his ground. “I don’t want you or any of your scummy crew in my place of business. Get out, I say!”

John reached across the counter and grabbed Marbly by the shirtfront. Mrs. Marbly jerked an axe handle out of a barrel and bonked it across the top of John’s Stetson-covered head. John’s eyes rolled back in his head and he sank to the floor, out cold. One of the Lightning hands jerked out a gun and aimed it at the woman. Smoke dusted him through and through with a .44 slug. The force of the slug knocked the cowboy to one side and into a showcase. He died among women’s underthings, his head on a corset.

The townspeople reacted immediately to the shooting. The street filled with armed men. The remaining Lightning crew held up their hands in a hurry, not wanting to get plugged from every angle.

Smoke holstered his .44 and pointed to John Steele. “Drag him to jail.” He looked at Marbly. “You going to press charges?”

“Damn right!” the shopkeeper said, considerable heat in his voice.

“Charge him with assault and battery,” Smoke said to Sal. “Jim, get the undertaker.”

Smoke stepped outside and faced the Lightning crew. “This town is off-limits to you and to anyone who works for Red Malone—including Red. I am officially banning any and all of you from Barlow. Take the word back to Red.”

“Big talk, Jensen,” the hand sneered at him. “I’ll see your hide nailed to the wall afore this is over.”

Smoke reached up and took off his badge, handing it to Marbly. “You want to try it now, cowboy? Guns or fists, it makes no difference to me.”

The cowboy, who was going by the name of Dan since he was wanted in several states for cattle rustling and armed robbery, among other things, hesitated.

Smoke smiled, knowing he was giving the man no way out. It was the way of the West that when challenged, you had but two options: fight or be branded a coward. Smoke did not like the code but, in this case, felt he was justified in invoking it.

Dan took off his gunbelt and handed it to a Lightning puncher. He flexed his arms and looked back at Smoke. “You mind if I warm up a little first?”

“I don’t care if you do the Virginia reel,” Smoke told him, and that got a laugh from the gathering crowd, both men and women. “You probably can’t dance any better than you can fight.”

The crowd roared with laughter and Dan flushed in anger.

“I think I’ll just clean your clock,” Dan said.

“Then come on, cowboy.”

Dan tried a sucker punch that brought no response from Smoke. He hooked a left that Smoke blocked and tried to follow through with a right that Smoke flicked away.

Smoke jumped lightly off the boardwalk and waved Dan down to join him.

“Stand still and fight, damn you!” Dan yelled.

“Oh!” Smoke said. “I see. That’s what you want. I thought you were still warming up.”

The crowd loved it and roared their approval.

Dan didn’t think it was a bit funny and stepped in close. Smoke rattled his teeth with a left and put a knot on his head with a right. Dan backed up, shaking his head and spitting out blood.

“I’m waiting to fight,” Smoke taunted him.

Dan charged him with a shout of defiance, and Smoke stuck out a boot and tripped the man, sending him sprawling into the dirt of the street.

The Lightning cook sat his seat on the wagon and shook his head. Dan was gonna get the crap beat out of him for sure, and just as soon as that was over and done with and they got back to the ranch, Cookie was packin’ up his kit and gettin’ the hell gone from the Lightning brand. His oldest boy had been forever trying to get him over into Idaho to help on his horse ranch. This time, by God, he was going. Hadn’t oughtta a stayed this long with this pack of screwballs.

That thought had just crossed his mind when Dan got up from the dirt and went charging and yelling toward Smoke Jensen. The cook grimaced as Smoke poleaxed the puncher with a solid right fist that turned Dan around and sent him stumbling out into the street.

As a matter of fact, the cook thought, there ain’t no reason to go back to the ranch. I just got paid, I got my best clothes on, I’m wearin’ my gun, and I ain’t got nothin’ back there no good for anything no how.

The dull smack of Smoke Jensen’s fist again connecting with Dan’s jaw prompted Cookie to climb down from the wagon seat and walk up toward the stage office. He had more than enough money in his pockets to get a room at the Grand and buy his ticket over to Idaho. Hell with Red Malone and his foolish boy and the whole damn crazy bunch out at Lightning.

Cookie turned in time to see Dan whip out a knife. “Stupid, Dan,” he muttered. “Now Smoke’s gonna kill you.”

“I’ll gut you, Jensen,” Dan screamed his rage and frustration. He stepped closer.

Smoke reached behind his right hand .44 and pulled out a long-bladed Bowie knife. “You sure this is the way you want it?” Smoke asked him.

Dan moved closer, working the blade from side to side. He tried to fake Smoke but Jensen wasn’t falling for it.

“Don’t do this, Dan!” one of the Lightning crew yelled. “It ain’t worth it.”

Dan pressed on, curses rolling off his tongue. He swung the blade and Smoke parried it, the metal clanking as the razor-sharp knives met.

Smoke stepped in and cut Dan from earlobe to point of jaw. “Drop the knife,” he warned the puncher. “Mountain men raised me. I’ve been knife-fighting since I was sixteen.”

“Hell with you!” Dan said as the blood dripped from the cut on his face.

“I don’t want to kill you, boy,”Smoke told him. “Give this up.”

Dan moved in and Smoke cut his knife arm, opening him up from elbow down to hand. Dan screamed as the knife dropped from his numbed and useless hand.

“Get Dr. Turner,” Smoke said to the crowd. “See what he can do with this fool.”

Smoke wiped the blood from his blade and sheathed it. Turning to the Lightning punchers, he said, “You have one minute to get clear of this town. And don’t ever come back.”

Cookie watched from the boardwalk as the bleeding Dan was led to the doctor’s office. “Told you so, boy,” he muttered. “I learned fifty years ago to give mountain men a wide berth.”

Cookie turned and walked into the ticket office. Idaho sure looked good to him.

Red Malone received the news of being banned from Barlow stoically. He had been expecting something like this, so it didn’t surprise him.

But he was shook down to his boots at the news of John Steele being jailed. “How is Dan?” he finally asked.

“He ain’t never gonna use his right arm again. Tendons was cut.”

Red grunted. “Cookie?”

“He quit.”

“Get my horse. I’m riding to Barlow.”

“You want me to get the boys together?”

“No. I’m riding alone. Do it, Jake. I don’t want to hear any arguments.”

Red rode to the town limits and sat his saddle in the middle of the road. Malone was many things, but a fool was not one of them. Someone would soon spot him and take the news to Jensen. Smoke would ride out to see what he wanted.

In a couple of minutes, Jensen rode up and faced him. “Something I do for you, Red?”

“Has bond been set for John Steele?”

“Fifty dollars. He’s out, saddling his horse. He’ll be along shortly.”

“He hurt?”

“He’s got a knot on his noggin and his pride is bruised, that’s all.”

Red nodded his head. “You’d a done Dan a favor if you’d gone on and killed him. A one-armed puncher ain’t good for much, Jensen.”

“That’s his problem, Red.”

John Steele came riding out, wheeled his horse up beside Red, and faced Smoke. The man was killing mad and it showed on his face, which was chalk-white with anger. Smoke knew that was the sign of a very dangerous man. A red-faced man usually meant all bluff and bluster, but one whose face was chalk-white meant he was cold inside.

“I want to see my boy, Jensen. He ain’t much, I’ll give you that, but he’s still mine. You can have my gun and search me. Have a deputy there with us. But I want to see him.”

“All right, Red. I wouldn’t have kicked up any fuss at that. A father has a right to see his own. John, you ride on to the spread. Don’t come back to town. I mean it. Your high-handed, roughshod ways of dealing with the people of Barlow are over.”

“You and me, Jensen,” the foreman said tightly. “Someday, just you and me.”

“Shut your mouth and clear out, John. Don’t dig your own grave.”

John wheeled his horse and rode away.

“Did this ... incident with John go down the way my hand said it did?”

“What’d your hand say about it?” After listening to a brief rundown, Smoke nodded his head. “That’s about it, Red.”

It was obvious that Red had more on his mind than seeing his son. Smoke got the impression Malone didn’t even like the boy. He might love him, but he sure didn’t like him.

“Where am I supposed to buy supplies, Jensen?”

“I don’t know, Red. But if Marbly doesn’t want you in his store, that’s his right.”

“You’ve pushed me up against a wall just like you’re pushin’ Max. Don’t you think we’ll push back, Jensen?”

“We’re ready anytime you boys want to start the tug-of-war, Red.”

“Damnit, man!” Red stirred in the saddle. “My boys will have to drive teams way the hell south of here for supplies.”

“There’s a way you can prevent that, Red, and you know it.”

“There’s two ways, Jensen. And you know the other way I’m talkin’ about.”

“You want to try it now, Red?” Smoke calmly laid down the challenge.

Red grudgingly smiled at the man’s calmness and courage. He took a deep breath and shook his head. “I reckon not, Jensen. But you can’t stick around here forever. You got to leave sometime. I’ll wait.”

“I’m betting you won’t, Red. Oh, you might; I’ll give you that. But sooner or later, your daughter is going to want some pretties from the dress shop or the general store, and she’ll agitate you or someone else until you drive her in. One of your hands is going to get drunk and come rip-snorting in here. You or some of your crew or your kid will get sick and have to see the doctor or the man at the apothecary shop. Any of those things could blow the lid off. And one of them more than likely will.”

“You’d stop me from bringing my girl or one of my men in to see the doctor?”

“That’s right, Red.”

“You’re a heartless bastard, Jensen!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t prevent the doctor from going out to your spread. Or you could bring them to this town limit and he could treat them. But after today, unless it’s for a court appearance, neither you nor any of your family or crew sets a foot in Barlow.”

Red curtly nodded his head. “I got a packet in my saddlebags for Mel. It’s some readin’ material and money so’s he can buy himself some food from the cafe. Is that all right?”

“Suits me, Red.”

Red unbuckled the straps and handed Smoke a small packet.

“You know I’ll have to inspect it?”

“I know. It’s a Bible, Jensen. That’s the only book I could find in the house. Maybe hell read it, maybe he won’t. I reckon I should have.”

“You think it’s too late for that, Red?”

The rancher thought about that for a moment. “Yeah, I think it is, Jensen.” He shook his head. “That don’t make no never-mind. I’ll deal with the devil when I meet him. Jensen, either I’m gonna kill you, John Steele is gonna kill you, Max Huggins is gonna kill you, or somebody is gonna kill you for that bounty on your head ... and you know there is one.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“And there you sit, just as calm and unconcerned as a hog in slop.”

“That’s me, Red. I don’t worry about things I have no control over. I don’t fret about too little or too much rain. That’s in God’s hands. And I don’t worry about what you or Max and your scummy crews are going to do. Oh, I could take control of that, Red, by blowing you out of the saddle right now. But even though I’ve killed lots of men, I’m not a murderer and I don’t force gunplay on people who haven’t pushed me. So I just wait.”

“Lemme see if I can get through to you, Jensen. The people in this town are little people. You and me and Max, we’re big people. Big people have always had little people under their thumb. That’s what makes the world go round, Jensen. Do you understand that?”

“I hear your words, Red, and you’re wrong. But you’ll never see that, though. If you lived in a big city, you’d be running a sweatshop, forcing decent people to work long hours under miserable conditions for little pay. That’s just the way you are, I reckon. Lots of folks are like you and Max, Red. You’re born that way. I call it the bad seed theory.”

“Goddamn you, Jensen,” Red flared. “I came out here in late ’65 when this country was wild, man, wild! I built my spread with sweat and blood, a lot of it my blood. I fought Injuns and homesteaders and hog-farmers and white trash. I scratched and clawed and chewed my way to what I got. And I’ll not see it tore apart in front of my eyes. I demand respect.”

“You left out a lot of things, Red. You left out that you probably came out here running from the law back east....”

Smoke knew he’d hit pay dirt from the expression on Red’s face. The man looked like he’d been hit with a club. He ground his teeth together so hard Smoke could hear the gnashing. Red’s face turned white and he fought to maintain control.

“You always were a liar and a cheat and a thief and a womanizer. I’m told you beat your wife so often and so savagely she finally had enough and quit you. Now I add all that up, Red, and do you know what the total is?”

Red stared at Smoke. He was killing mad but smart enough to know if he dragged iron, Jensen would beat him. Red was good with a gun, but no match for Smoke Jensen.

“So add it up and tell me what you come up with, gunfighter,” Red spat the words.

“Scum,” Smoke said softly. “One hundred percent stinking scum.”

“I’ll spit on your grave, Jensen.”

“I doubt it.”

“Goddamn you, Jensen!” Red flared. “Who gives you the right to pass judgment on me? You’re nothin’ but a gunhandler. You made your money killin’ people. What in the hell gives you the right to think you’re better than me?”

“Oh, don’t think I’m better than you in the Biblical sense, Red. We’re all going to have to stand before our Maker and be judged.”

Red’s face had regained much of its normal color. He wore a puzzled look as he spread his hands wide. “Then? ...”

“Red, I could stand here and try to explain the differences between us until I fell off my horse from exhaustion. No matter what I said, I’d never get through to you. So I’ll tell you this: If you’re not going to change your murdering, thieving ways and try to live a decent life, if you’re not going to fire the scum from your payroll and run them out of this country, I suggest you go make your peace with God. Go make out your will and leave your ill-gotten holdings to Tessie.”

“Tessie! Hell’s fire, man. She’d go through my money like a whirlwind. I’ll leave my holdings to my son.”

“He won’t be around very much longer, Red.”

“Huh?”

“If he beats the charges—and he probably will; Judge Garrison says the attempted murder charge is pretty flimsy—he’ll come after me. And I’ll kill him. Then you’ll go on the prod, and I’ll put you down. The way I see it, Red, any way it goes, you’re looking at a grave.” Smoke glanced at the packet in his left hand. “I thought you wanted to see your boy?”

“I changed my mind. I got some ruminatin’to do, Jensen. I got to think on what all you’ve said this day. I don’t know whether you’re the bravest man I ever met or just damn crazy. But if you wanted another enemy, Jensen, you just made one with me.”

“See you around, Red.”

“You set foot outside this town, Jensen, you better be wearin’ a gun.”

Smoke smiled. “I’m wearin’ one now, Red.”

Red shook his head and wheeled his horse, heading back to his ranch.

Smoke rode back to the jail and inspected the contents of the packet. Exactly what Red had said. He rifled through the pages of the Bible to check for a derringer or a knife, then tossed money and Bible to Melvin.

“Your dad brought you some reading material, kid.”

Melvin began tearing out the pages.

“What are you doing, boy?” Smoke asked. “That’s the holy Bible.”

“Damn heathen,” Sal muttered.

Melvin grinned. “Tell my pa thanks, Jensen. I needed something to wipe my butt with.”