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Authors: William W. Johnstone

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BOOK: Ambush of the Mountain Man
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E
LEVEN
Cletus Jones pulled his mount to a stop in a cloud of dust in front of the MacDougal ranch house and jumped to the ground. He had a feeling the telegram he'd picked up in Pueblo from Sarah MacDougal was important enough to need Angus's immediate attention.
Cletus had been MacDougal's foreman for as long as he could remember. They'd both come out here to Colorado Territory back when there were more Indians that white men, and had fought hard to carve a ranch out of the wilderness.
Cletus had been best man for Angus MacDougal's wedding, and he was godfather to both of the old man's children—now there was only Sarah since Johnny was dead.
As he ran through the front door, Mrs. MacDougal called out, “Cletus, don't you go running on my hardwood floors that've just been waxed!”
He tipped his hat and smiled, but didn't slow down appreciably as he headed toward the study/office where Angus could always be found this time of day.
Angus swiveled around in his leather high-backed chair and regarded Cletus with raised eyebrows. “Who lit a fire under your saddle, boy?” he asked in his rough, gravely voice. Cletus was just about the only man on the ranch that Angus would allow to burst in on him unannounced.
“I got this here message from Miss Sarah, Boss,” Cletus said, pulling a wrinkled yellow envelope from his breast pocket. It was wet with sweat from his rapid ride from town. “The telegraph man said it came in yesterday but it was too late to get it out here by then.”
Angus frowned, but didn't say anything as he slit the envelope with a thumbnail and pulled out the telegram. At first, he'd been very angry at her for taking off after Smoke Jensen on her own without consulting him. But after thinking about it, he'd realized he would have expected a son to do it, and Sarah had always been as good as, and often better than, his son had been at managing the ranch.
He smiled and opened up the folded yellow sheet of paper. After a moment spent reading it, he swiveled around and stared out the window, thinking.
Cletus was bursting with curiosity to find out what Sarah had done about Smoke Jensen, but he knew better than to interrupt the old man while he was thinking. Even though Cletus had been with Angus MacDougal since the early days when they'd fought off Indians and rustlers and road agents together while founding the MacDougal spread, and even though he was the kids' godfather, since they were pups he'd never thought much of Johnny. He knew he was and always had been a spoiled brat. However, Cletus thought Sarah was one of the prettiest and nicest womenfolk he'd ever known. Hell, if he'd been twenty years younger and hadn't been like family to her, he'd've made a run at her himself.
After a moment, Angus turned his chair back around, crumpling the paper in his fist. “Get your gear together and gather up the best ten men you can find, Cletus. You're gonna take a little trip down to Big Rock.”
When Cletus nodded, Angus turned back to his desk and picked up a pencil and paper. “And send little Jimmy in here. He's gonna need to ride to Pueblo and send my daughter an answer to her wire.”
“Uh, Boss, what do I tell the men we're gonna go to Big Rock for?” Cletus asked.
Angus MacDougal smiled grimly. “Tell ‘em you're gonna go down there and pick up a skunk and bring him back here to me to deal with.”
“Yes, sir,” Cletus said, though he really didn't understand just what the old man meant about picking up a skunk. Hell, they had plenty of those around here if'n he wanted one.
Cletus was loyal to the bone, but sometimes he was dumb as a post.
 
 
Three days later, days Macklin spent holed up in his hotel room lest he run into Smoke Jensen or one of his friends again, a bellboy knocked on the door to Jacoby's room and handed him a handwritten note.
Jacoby opened it and read; “Meet me at our usual dining place after the noon rush at three o'clock.” It was signed with only an S.
Jacoby tipped the boy a nickel and went next door and knocked on Macklin's door. When he answered, Jacoby showed him the note. “We've got about an hour till three o'clock. That ought to give you time to get freshened up a mite,” Jacoby said, wrinkling his nose as he looked at Macklin's disheveled attire and unshaven face.
His friend had been in a funk ever since the day Jensen scared him half to death by drawing on him and Sarah had chewed his butt about going against her father's wishes.
“Yeah, all right,” Macklin said in a dull voice.
“You got to snap out of it, man,” Jacoby said. “We got work to do.” He knew that Macklin was still ashamed that he hadn't had the courage to draw down on Jensen when he had the chance. Jacoby had tried to explain to him that it wouldn't have done any good, and that the only result would have been that Mac would now be deader than yesterday's news. Still, his friend was not accustomed to backing down from anyone, least of all the man who'd killed his best friend and his boss's son.
“That is, if I ain't been fired,” Macklin said, and shut the door in Jacoby's face.
 
 
It was five after three and the Sunset Café was almost deserted when Macklin and Jacoby joined Sarah at their usual table in the rear. Jacoby was thankful that Macklin had shaved and washed up before the meeting. He didn't want Sarah to see how his friend had declined in mental attitude since his run-in with Smoke Jensen.
Sarah had already ordered, so the men sat down across the table from her and told the waitress to just bring them whatever she was having, though they both wanted coffee instead of the hot tea she favored.
After the waitress left, Sarah placed a telegram on the table so they could both read it. It said:
I AGREE FULLY WITH YOUR IDEA STOP WILL SEND SOME MEN TO HELP YOU ROUND UP STOCK AND BRING THEM BACK HERE TO RANCH FOR FURTHER EXAMINATION AND FINAL DETERMINATION OF THEIR DISPOSITION END
Macklin raised his eyebrows. “Just what does this mean, Sarah?”
She took a bite of her food and washed it down with her hot tea. “I telegrammed my father and told him I was having trouble rounding up the stock he was interested in and that I needed some more help, and that the beeves should be transported to the ranch rather than being slaughtered here.” She inclined her head at the paper on the table. “You can see his reply for yourselves.”
Jacoby leaned forward. “So what are you saying? Your dad's gonna send some men here to take Jensen prisoner and bring him back to the ranch in Pueblo?”
She smiled and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Yes, that's exactly what it means. I didn't figure the three of us would be able to get the drop on Jensen and get him all the way back to Pueblo by ourselves.” She hesitated, glaring at them through narrowed eyes. “Especially considering the rather friendly feelings toward him you two have been showing.”
“Sarah,” Macklin said, shaking his head. “This is crazy. Kidnapping is a hanging offense.”
“So is murder, in case you've forgotten what he did to my brother,” she snapped in reply. After a moment, she took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. She needed their help, and there was no need getting them so angry they might refuse it.
“Besides, since both of you seem to have some notion that Jensen is not guilty where it comes to my brother's death, I would think that you'd be glad Daddy has consented to us bringing Jensen out to the ranch and letting him tell his side of it.”
Jacoby and Macklin glanced at each other. They both knew that wasn't the reason old Angus MacDougal wanted Jensen brought to him—it was more likely so the old man could have the pleasure of putting a bullet in Jensen himself, or worse, torturing the poor son of a bitch. Knowing the old man as they did, they didn't figure he'd just shoot Jensen and be done with it without first causing the man a good deal of pain and humiliation. Angus had been around long enough to have fought Indians in the old days, and to hear him tell it, he'd learned some interesting ways to torture a man from them.
“All right, let's say for the sake of argument that you are right,” Jacoby said. “Just how do you think a gang of men are going to show up here in Big Rock and not bring a lot of attention to themselves so that when Jensen disappears they are not suspected?” He shook his head. “Hell, they'd have a posse on our tails ‘fore we got fifty miles.”
“That's easy,” Sarah said, a note of triumph in her voice as she bent her head and began to eat her meal. “They're not coming into town.”
“What?”
“That's right, because you and Mac are gonna ride out on the trail from Pueblo and camp out until the men get here. You'll tell them to wait out there until I can bring Jensen to them.”
“And just how in blazes do you expect to do that little trick?” Jacoby asked, while Macklin just stared at her through bloodshot eyes.
Sarah leaned back and smiled seductively while fluffing the lace ruffles on the front of her blouse. “Well, a woman's got her ways to get a man to do what she wants.”
Jacoby laughed. “Bullshit, Sarah!” he exclaimed, flushing at his use of profanity in front of a woman. “Jensen may be a lot to things, killer included, but I can tell you this, the man is no womanizer. He don't even look at other women, ever!”
Sarah blushed and went back to her meal. “Well, don't you worry, Mr. Smart-aleck. You just go out there and wait for the hands my daddy is sending. I'll get Jensen there one way or another, and I'll do it so it'll be a while before anyone knows he's missing.”
Jacoby and Macklin looked at each other, both thinking that Sarah had gone round the bend. There was simply no way she could get the drop on a man like Smoke Jensen, no way at all, they thought.
 
 
As they walked back to their hotel, Macklin shook his head. “Now I know I should have killed Jensen.” He turned tortured eyes on Jacoby. “Sarah is gonna mess around and get herself hurt or put in jail.”
Jacoby smiled grimly. “I think you underestimate Sarah, Mac. Remember, she's Angus MacDougal's daughter, an' she's always been twice as smart and four times as tough as her brother ever was.”
“Yeah, but Jensen's an experienced gunslick, Carl, an' he didn't get to be as old as he is by letting anyone, girls included, get the drop on him.” He sighed. “Hell, I couldn't even watch him in a crowded saloon without him knowing exactly what I was doing. The man has eyes in the back of his head and the instincts of a mountain cougar.”
Jacoby shrugged. “You may be right, but I don't know what the hell we can do about it.” He smiled again. “Of course, you're more than welcome to go over there an' tell Sarah she's full of beans and that you think she ought to stick to cookin' an' such an' leave the rough stuff to us real men if you want to.”
This last made even Macklin throw back his head and laugh. “No, thank you, Carl, ‘cause I do relish my
cojones,
and Sarah would sure as hell rip them off if I ever suggested there was something Angus MacDougal's daughter couldn't do as well as any man working for ‘em.”
As they walked up the stairs to their hotel room to get packed and do as Sarah had told them to, Jacoby glanced sideways at Macklin. “Tell you what, pardner. I'll bet ten dollars Sarah does get Jensen out there, an' I'll give you two-to-one odds.”
Macklin shook his head. “Nope. I learned a long time ago not to waste my money bettin' against a MacDougal, male or female.” He sighed as he came to his door, and looked back over his shoulder at Jacoby. “You got any idea how she's gonna do it since, like you say, Jensen don't chase no skirts?”
Jacoby gave a short laugh. “No, but knowing Sarah, I wouldn't put it past her to just walk up to him and pull a gun out of her purse and stick it in his face.”
“You really think so?”
Jacoby wagged his head. “Hell, Mac, I don't know. Predictin' what a woman's gonna do is like predictin' which way a frog's gonna jump—you're gonna be wrong at least half the time.”
T
WELVE
After Angus straightened him out on the real reason he was sending him to Big Rock, Cletus, picked ten of the toughest, meanest men they had working for them on the ranch. More than a few of them had once ridden the owlhoot trail and knew their ways around firearms. A couple had even spent time in the territorial prison for murder and mayhem.
As the gang of men sat on their horses in front of his house, Angus addressed them from the front porch. “Each of you men will receive a healthy bonus for this work. In fact, I'll pay you two months' wages for what should only be a couple of weeks of easy work.”
Jason Biggs, one of the men who'd done time in prison and had no compunctions about killing, called out, “What if this man Jensen should give us some trouble or try to escape?” He grinned, revealing brown cigarette-stained teeth. “You want us to shoot him if'n that happens?”
Angus stared at Biggs through flat, hard eyes, noting that unlike most cowhands, Biggs wore his six-shooter down low on his hip. Angus shook his head. Back in the old days, punks like this would've been run out of town on a rail by the citizens. “Should any of you take it upon himself to kill this man and deprive me of the pleasure of getting my hands on him, I will personally see that you experience what one of our bulls does when it is gelded. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Biggs?”
“But what if—”
“No buts, Biggs,” Angus interrupted. “There are eleven of you and you're meeting up with three more, including my daughter, Sarah. That should be more than enough to keep Mr. Jensen under control.” He shook his head. “And if it's not, then God help you when I get through with you.”
Biggs clamped his jaws shut and busied himself with building a cigarette.
 
 
Later, on the trail, Biggs rode up next to Cletus, who was leading the group of men.
“Clete,” Biggs said.
“Yeah?”
“Did the boss tell you anything about this Jensen feller 'fore he told you to go down to Big Rock and pick him up?”
Cletus shook his head, not looking at Biggs directly. He didn't like the man and never had. If it weren't so hard to find hands to stay at work through the brutal winters of Pueblo, then he'd never have been hired. “No, Jason, he didn't.” Now he turned and glanced at the man riding next to him. “Why? Do you know something?”
Biggs nodded. “Yeah, I heard of this Smoke Jensen when I was in the territorial prison a while back.”
Cletus continued to stare at Biggs, wondering just what the man had on his mind. Cletus didn't trust Biggs and never had, but surprisingly, he'd been a steady worker, even if he did tend to get into fights with the other hands. Luckily for him, he'd never gone so far as to pull his weapon, or he would've found out just how hard a boss Cletus could be.
“What'd you hear, Jason?” Cletus asked. He was curious about the man who'd shot Johnny. He'd heard the usual, that Jensen was pretty famous with a gun and that he'd once had some posters out on him, but that was about all he knew. He didn't get to town to listen to local gossip too often, being much too busy trying to keep the ranch going.
Biggs let his reins drop while he used both hands to build himself a cigarette. Once he'd gotten it going, he screwed it in the corner of his mouth and let it dangle there while he talked. “Well, first off, I heard he's rattlesnake-quick with a short gun.”
Cletus shrugged. “That don't surprise me none, since he somehow managed to shoot down Johnny and some of his friends, an' Johnny was no slouch with a handgun either.” Smelling the smoke coming from Biggs made him want a cigarette too, so he commenced to make himself one. “Besides, there's plenty of men who're quick with a gun out here, Jason. This territory just seems to be a magnet for men who think they can make a living off their six-shooters.”
Jason smirked, realizing this was directed against him, since he'd been one of those men until he'd gotten caught and sent to prison. He continued. “I also heard he's mean as a two-peckered Billy goat if you cross him or any of his friends.” He inhaled and let smoke drift from his nostrils. “I shared a cell with a man who'd tried to brace Jensen once in a saloon.”
Cletus laughed sourly. “If this Jensen is so fast and so mean as you say, how come the man braced him and lived to tell about it?”
Biggs smiled back. “'Cause Jensen didn't need to kill him. When my mate went for his gun, Jensen used his fists instead. He beat this guy so bad, he's gonna be eating through a straw for the rest of his life. He not only knocked all of his teeth out, he broke his jaw so bad his gums don't even come together right.” Biggs laughed. “Poor sumbitch is skinny as a rail, and he used to weigh over two hundred pounds, an' he has this kind'a funny whistle when he tries to talk.”
Cletus eyed Biggs. He'd never before seen Biggs give anyone the least amount of respect. “You sound like you're halfway a'feared of this man, Jason.”
Biggs's face flushed scarlet and he sat up straighter in his saddle, trying to look tough. “I ain't a'scared of no man, Clete!”
Cletus wasn't fooled. He could see it in the man's eyes, lurking deep in them, like a sore that won't heal. “Well, then, why're you tellin' me all this? We're being well paid to take this little trip.”
Biggs cleared his throat. “A couple of months' pay ain't so much when you're dealin' with a man like Jensen,” he said, rubbing his chin with his hand.
“Well, like the boss says, fourteen of us ought'a be able to handle one man, Jason,” Cletus said, trying to keep the scorn out of his voice. “But if you're so worried, then maybe you ought'a turn your mount around and head on back to the ranch where it's safe.”
Biggs snorted through his nose. “Thirteen men, Clete, and the boss's little bitch, who looks plenty good to play in the hayloft with, but who ain't near as tough as the old man seems to think.”
Before Biggs could blink, Cletus backhanded him with a fist the size of a ham, knocking him backward off his horse to land sprawling in the dirt.
When Biggs jumped to his feet and grabbed for his gun, he found himself looking down the barrel of Cletus's big Walker Colt. Cletus wasn't known as a fast draw, but he'd been handling men like Biggs for more years than he cared to think about, and he knew most of them were cowards when they didn't have an edge.
“You shouldn't ought'a talk about Miss Sarah like that, Biggs,” Cletus said, his voice soft but all traces of friendliness gone from his manner. “I don't much like it, an' I hate to think of what the boss would do if'n he happened to hear about it.”
Biggs relaxed and let his hand move away from his pistol. He tried a grin, but there was little humor in it and his eyes blazed with hate and humiliation. He wiped the blood off his lip with the back of his hand. “Aw, I was just funnin' with you, Clete. I know you got a soft spot for the girl. I didn't mean nothin' by what I said.”
“It ain't that way, Biggs. I knowed her since she was born, so watch you mouth when you're around me, you hear?”
“Yes, sir,” Biggs said, throwing an insolent half-salute.
“I mean it, Jason,” Cletus added, “or your friend from jail won't be the only one eating his meals through a straw.”
“Is it all right if I get back on my hoss?” Biggs asked, his face flaming scarlet.
Cletus holstered his gun and leaned over in the saddle until his face was close to Biggs's. “Sure. Just don't go getting any ideas about putting a lead pill in my back, Biggs, ‘cause I'm gonna tell the other men if that happens to string you up to the nearest tree. You get my drift?”
“Come on, Clete,” Biggs said with a sickly smile as he climbed into the saddle. “You know we've always been friends, even if I do let my mouth override my ass ever' once in a while.”
Cletus smiled back, his face equally devoid of humor. “No harm then, long as you keep your thoughts about Miss Sarah to yourself.”
He jerked his horse's head around and proceeded on up the trail, whistling softly to himself while the other members of the group looked from him to Biggs, unsure of how to take this altercation.
Behind him, Biggs rode along, keeping his face bland, but his teeth were so tightly clenched together it made his jaws creak. If Cletus could have read his mind, he would not have been so cavalier about turning his back on the ex-prisoner and murderer.
 
 
Just outside the city limits of Big Rock, on the trail to Pueblo and points north, Carl Jacoby and Daniel Macklin were having some trouble. The late fall temperatures had begun to drop, and there was even the smell of snow in the air, though it was early in the year for that.
They'd stopped at the general store and bought provisions for their camp , while Sarah pretended not to know them as she waited on them with Peg Jackson working nearby. Along with foodstuffs, they'd bought a couple of small one-man tents that would keep the worst of the weather off them, though the thin oilcloth of the tents' walls would do little to keep them warm in the dropping temperatures.
Working as ranch hands and cowboys for many years, they were both experienced in camping out under the stars, but neither particularly enjoyed it, having become accustomed to the niceties of bunkhouse living over the past few years working for Angus MacDougal.
They'd also become quite accustomed to having a camp cook make their meals for them, so neither was particularly looking forward to doing their own cooking.
Jacoby gathered some hat-sized stones and made a small circle in the middle of their camp, which they'd placed on a hill overlooking the trail a quarter of a mile below them. There were some maple and oak trees in a small copse nearby that would help keep the worst of the wind off them, but it was clear that it was going to be a cold night nevertheless.
Macklin dumped an armful of deadwood he'd picked up under the trees into the campfire area, and squatted next to the stones as Jacoby put a match to some moss and dry leaves to get it going. He reached into his pocket and took out his makin's, and proceeded to build himself a cigarette as he waited for the coffeepot on the edge of the fire to begin to boil.
“How long you reckon ‘fore the men from the ranch get here?” he asked.
Jacoby shrugged. “Who knows? If'n they left the same day Angus sent the wire, they could be here as early as tomorrow mornin', but that's unlikely. They'd have to get provisioned up and all, so I don't really ‘spect them for another couple of days.”
Macklin shivered as a cold wind blew up inside his jacket, and he reached for the coffeepot, which was beginning to put out some steam. “Damn,” he said as he poured them both mugs of dark, strong coffee. “That means we're gonna sit out here freezin' our balls off for two or three more days.”
Jacoby blew on his coffee to cool it. He glanced up at lowering, dark clouds overhead that were scurrying across the sky under heavy winds. “That's about the size of it.”
Macklin shook his head, letting cigarette smoke trail from his nostrils. “I should'a taken my chances with Jensen and drawn down on him when I had the chance.”
Jacoby smiled over the rim of his mug. “Then you wouldn't be out here freezing your balls off, Mac. You'd be planted forked-end-up in boot hill being food for the worms.”
“Hell, maybe not. Maybe I could've taken him,” Macklin argued, though it was clear from the way his face paled at the thought of bracing Jensen that he didn't believe a word of it.
“Yeah,” Jacoby snorted, “an' maybe pigs can fly too.”
Macklin took the cigarette out of his mouth and stared into the red-hot end for a moment. “Carl, why do you think a man like Jensen would trouble himself with a nobody like Johnny MacDougal?” He cut his eyes at Jacoby as he stuck the butt back into his mouth. “Hell, it ain't like he was gonna get more famous for killin' him.”
Jacoby sipped his coffee, turning it over in his mind. “You ever think maybe Jensen didn't have no choice in the matter, Mac, that just maybe Johnny pushed the man too far and had to pay the price for it?”
“Whatta you mean?”
“Just that the men with Jensen claimed they acted in self-defense, that Johnny got pissed when one of Jensen's party beat the shit out of him, and that he drew down and fired on them first without givin' them no warning.”
Macklin pursed his lips as he thought about this. “I can see it happenin', if Johnny had a snootful of liquor an' was actin' the big man like he usually did when he was drunk an' showing off in front of the boys.”
He hesitated, and then he looked at Carl. “You try tellin' that little story to his sister, Sarah?”
Jacoby shook his head. “No, she wouldn't listen to anything bad about Johnny. Her and the old man both always turned a blind eye to his shortcomin's, though he certainly had plenty of ‘em.”
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