Law Of The Mountain Man. William W. Johnstone
hunters ride out of town, heading west. The move was not unexpected and didn’t fool him one bit. He’d bet a sack of gold nuggets that Wills and his bunch would get a couple of miles out of town and then swing around and double back, try to get ahead of him and maybe set up an ambush. For sure they were going to head east where the trouble was, and the blood money was waiting for the man or men who killed Smoke Jensen.
Right then and there, over his apple pie and third cup of coffee—for Smoke was a coffee-drinking man—he made up his mind that he was in this fracus to stay, come Hell, Jud Vale, or that hot-eyed Doreen.
Smoke Jensen just did not like to be pushed.
Smoke left before dawn the following morning. He rode straight south out of town and did not turn east until he came to a canyon very close to the Utah line. He built a hat-sized fire and cooked his supper, then mounted up and rode until dusk before finding a place to bed down for the night. The bounty hunters might find him, but Smoke was going to make it as difficult as possible for them.
He was back in the saddle again before dawn, and did not stop to boil coffee until the sun had bubbled its way up into the sky and he’d found a place that was easily defended.
He crossed the Wasatch Range and pointed Dagger’s nose north, keeping on the west side of Bear Lake. He was on home range by late afternoon.
“Any trouble?” Cheyenne asked in the barn.
“None. But I did run into four bounty hunters.”
“More than that drifted in the last couple of days. And Jud Vale is hirin’ moreguns. I think the no-count is gonna hit the herd and to hell with whether the boys gits hurt.”
Smoke smiled. At the wire office he had sent and received more than one telegraph. He handed a copy to Cheyenne. The man read it and his leathery face crinkled in a smile.
Received your wire stop Would be delighted to accompany the boys on a cattle drive stop Expect me at the ranch in three days stop.
It was signed by the editor of the Montpelier paper.
“Tomorrow morning, I’ll ride over to the trading post and tack this to the wall.” Smoke said. “Jud will have it in his hands within hours. Then we’ll see how he reacts to this news.”
“Son of a bitch!” Jud shouted. Then he tore the wire to small bits, flinging the paper to the floor and kicking at the shreds. “Damn that Smoke Jensen to Hell!”
“This shore changes the plans,” Jason said.
With a long sigh, Jud nodded his head. “Tell the boys to relax. We can’t hit the herd with a damn newspaper man along. Public opinion would crucify me. The territorial governor would have this place swarming with U.S. Marshals if just one of those damn kids got hurt and it was reported.”
“But they might not have a ranch to come back to,” Jason said with a wicked smile.
“Yeah,” Jud said softly. “You damn right!”
“You boys take ’er easy,” Walt told the gathering in dawn’s first light. “Ten miles a day is fine with me.”
The editor of the newspaper had brought three men with him, a cub reporter from back East and two tough-looking men from his church. The men were heavily armed and ready for trouble.
Smoke knew there would be no trouble against the herd on this run. Jud was arrogant and perhaps crazy in the head, but he wasn’t stupid. Smoke expected the drive to make it through with only the normal mishaps that took place on any cattle drive.
But he was equally certain the ranch would be attacked.
They stood and watched as the men and boys began moving the cattle out, the cattle setting their own pace.
After the dust had settled, Smoke began his preparations for the attack he was sure was forthcoming.
Cheyenne would stay in and defend the bunkhouse. The old mountain man and gunfighter had loaded up several rifles and half a dozen pistols. He had plenty of food prepared by the ladies and a couple of barrels of water to use against fire should it come to that.
Before the drive began, Smoke had fortified the horses’ stalls with extra boards. The stalls were as safe from bullets as they could make them.
Both Alice and Doreen could handle a rifle or pistol as well, or better, than the average man. They would stay in the house with Walt and Micky.
Smoke would station himself in the loft of the barn. He had placed loaded rifles and shotguns at both ends of the building, and he had plenty of food and water to last out any siege.
Now all they had to do was wait, and sometimes that was harder than the actual battle.
The next move was up to Jud Vale and his men.
Probably forty or more men to wage war against an old rancher, his wife, a young woman, her eight-year-old son, three old men, a group of boys whose average age was twelve, and one gunfighter.
Smoke had to laugh and question the bravery of those who rode with Jud Vale.
Just before dark, Smoke did a once-around of the buildings, looking in first on those in the house.
“We’re set, Smoke,” the rancher told him. “We’ve got Micky in the basement, guardin’ the potatoes and the canned goods.”
Smoke grinned and nodded. “No bullet can reach him down there, for sure.” He noticed that both Alice and Doreen had changed into men’s britches, so they could get around faster. Doreen did things to those jeans that the manufacturer never dreamed of.
She noticed the direction his eyes were taking and smiled at him.
“I got to go,” Smoke muttered, and left the house.
In the bunkhouse, Cheyenne waved him toward the coffeepot. “I went over to the house about an hour ago,” the old mountain man said. “Both them wimmin was prancin’ around in men’s britches. I never seen the like. This goes on, wimmin’ll be votin’ ’fore long and that’ll be the ruination of the country.” He was reflective for a moment. "Not that I ever voted that much myself. Quit altogether about a year after I cast my vote for Millard Fillmore. But, hell, anybody can make a mistake. I was gonna vote for that Abe Lincoln. But by the time I made up my mind and got to where I could vote, somebody had done up and shot him. Plumb disheartenin’. Damn shore ruined Abe’s night out, too. You much on votin’. Smoke?”
“I wasn’t until I married Sally. Kind of hard to find a ballot box at Brown’s Hole.”
“For a fact. Fort Misery, we used to call it. But I ߣspect Preacher told you that.”
“Yes, he did.”
“OI Warhoss is still kickin’. He’s got to be eighty-five if he’s a day. But them Injuns is takin’ right good care of him. And I understand they’s some old gunslingers and mountain men got together and in the process of building a retirement home for us old coots.”
“That’s my understanding.”
“Won’t that be grand! I’ll have to go check that out—if I ever live to be old, that is.”
Smoke laughed at him and walked back to the barn.
It was full dark when he crawled into the loft and made himself comfortable at the east end of the barn. He figured that was the direction from which the attack would most likely come.
Before taking his position, he watched the lamps go out in both the house and the bunkhouse as the defenders made ready for war.
Smoke settled down and waited.
6
Arrogant! Smoke thought, as he heard the sounds of hooves drumming on the road. Jud is so sure of himself that he just rides right- up the road to the gate.
He