Ordeal of the Mountain Man (14 page)

“That's Bobby, our adopted son. He killed your sidekick over there.”

“My God, a whole fambly of gunfighters. What did we walk into?”

“Your doom.” Sally bent down and retrieved his weapons. He shivered violently and groaned. Then his death rattle rose eerily in his throat.

 

 

That night, Smoke Jensen escorted Tommy Olsen to a strategic spot near the outlaw camp. He spoke briefly of the importance of controlling the three spare horses they had brought along.

“Keep a tight rein on them, Tommy. When I scatter the remount herd, many of them will head this way.”

Tommy nodded vigorously. “I'll do it, Smoke.”

“Good. You won't have much doubt when things get started.”

With that, Smoke faded into the blackness and headed for the new camp. Due to the search for Tommy and their missing men, the gang had moved the horses less than fifteen miles that day. His first task was the same as the previous night.

Smoke located two outriders easily. They sat their horses, faced inward to the remounts, oblivious to any threat from outside. One rolled a cigarette while they talked about inconsequentials. Smoke dismounted and approached stealthily through the tall grass. A softly soughing breeze masked his movements.

After lighting his quirley, one of the outlaws queried his companion. “Rafe, where we takin' these critters?”

“To bent Rock Canyon, Norm.”

Norm drew in a deep draft of smoke. “Kinda a roundabout way, ain't it?”

Rafe nodded agreement. “Way I hear it, the boss wants to make the herd disappear somewhere over by Buffalo. Then we head south to the canyon.”

“How do we make all these horses disappear?”

Norm did not get an answer. Smoke Jensen chose that moment to leap atop the rump of the horse Norm rode. Arms extended, he grabbed each outlaw by the side of his head and slammed them together with enough violence to insure they would stay unconscious for a long while. When Smoke released the hapless pair, they fell to the ground.

Smoke dropped into the saddle and calmed the horses. Then he dismounted and tied the insensible men hand and foot. He led the horses off a distance and tied them to a sage bush. That accomplished, he set off to find more of the herd guards.

 

 

Smiling Dave Winters had little use for night herd duty. He looked upon himself as a leader, not a flunky. At least three of the men in his section of the gang had caught this turn with him. He had not encountered any difficulty in ordering around the other five. Which allowed him to make a circuit of the entire herd in a casual, relaxed mood.

That was until he discovered two men missing. Neither of them patrolled the sector he had been assigned to. At first it did not cause him any concern. With the horses quieted, no doubt they had wandered off to jaw with another of the sentries. Then he recalled who this herd was supposed to belong to. If true, there could be something very wrong with these missing men.

He became convinced of that when he found a third of the herd tenders swinging from a tree limb, at the end of a rope tied around his ankles. Quickly Smiling Dave dismounted and hurried to the side of this apparition. Hank Benson had been gagged, and his hands bound behind him, although he remained conscious. The fury that burned in his eyes told a clear story to Smiling Dave.

A quick look around failed to reveal to Smiling Dave a darker, more substantial shadow among the many that surrounded him. With one hand on the butt of his six-gun, Smiling Dave reached for his sheath knife. With a hiss, the loop of a lariat settled over his shoulders. Before he could react, it yanked tight, pinning his arms at his sides. The bite end of the rope went over the same tree limb that suspended Hank Benson, and Smiling Dave Winters rose into the air. Top-heavy, he turned head down the moment his feet left the ground.

His hat went flying as his forehead struck the turf. He sensed light tugs that indicated the free end had been secured around the tree trunk. Then a human form, which appeared to be upside down to Smiling Dave, walked into view. The stranger deftly removed the weapons from the captive and studied his face closely.

Then Smoke Jensen spoke in a whisper. “You're the one who put a bullet in Jerry Harkness and killed one of my hands. Then you smacked me in the head with a rifle butt.”

Although he didn't really need to ask, Smiling Dave blurted out, “Who—who are you?”

“I'm Smoke Jensen. And you are a dead man.”

Smoke used Smiling Dave's knife to slit the outlaw's throat. Then he headed off to find the rest of the herd tenders.

Smoke Jensen had but a little distance to go in order to locate another sentry. He glided up behind him while the man stood on the ground, easing cramped leg muscles. With a single, swift blow, Smoke cracked him over the head with the butt of his Peacemaker. He tied the unconscious man and relieved him of his weapons. Then he glided off afoot to locate more.

By one-thirty in the morning, Smoke had located all but the final sentry. The outlaw sat his mount, one leg cocked up around the pommel of his saddle, rolling a quirley. Smoke eased in close and spoke in a low, though friendly, tone.

“Could you use a cup of coffee?”

“You bet. I'm obliged.” He leaned forward as Smoke reached out with his left hand.

When the thug's head reached the proper level, Smoke swung his right arm and laid the barrel of his .45 Colt alongside the outlaw's cranium, a fraction above his left ear. The victim uttered a low grunt and continued earthward from his perch. Swiftly, Smoke Jensen secured him and started for the distant camp, his goal the picket line.

On the way, he worked through the remounts until he found his 'Palouse stallion, Cougar. The spotted-rump horse followed Smoke without need of a halter or reins. At the picket line, Smoke went from one animal to another, undoing the ropes that held them to the tether. He left Cougar there with a borrowed bridle and skirted the camp beyond the orange glow cast by the bed of coals. He emerged from the darkness when he reached the Olsen wagon.

Smoke awakened Della first, with a hand over her mouth to prevent a cry of alarm. He whispered in her ear, and she tried to turn her head. Smoke eased his grip, and she glanced left to verify that it was indeed he.

In a soft breath, Smoke explained his presence. “I came to get you away from here. Wake the girls and meet me out there in the dark, just beyond your wagon.”

Della started to protest that their meager possessions would be lost, only to have Smoke shake his head sternly. “Would you rather it be your lives?” he asked harshly.

Smoke remained behind to cover their escape. When the youngest Olsen girl disappeared into the darkness, Smoke withdrew from the edge of the camp. He found them huddled together at the base of a gnarled cottonwood and led them to the picket line, where he lifted the girls atop two of the outlaws' horses. They settled astraddle with accustomed ease. Then Smoke turned to assist Della.

“I've not ridden bareback since I was little,” she told him with a toss of her silver-frosted, light brown locks.

“You'll remember how easy enough,” Smoke assured her as he made a step-up with cupped hands.

Della hoisted the hem of her night dress, placed a foot lightly in his grasp and grabbed a handhold in the mane of the horse. She swung aboard and settled in. Smoke vaulted to the back of Cougar and turned to take in the Olsens.

“Now what?” Della prompted.

Smoke waved a hand in the direction of the herd. “Now we stampede the herd.”

He could not clearly see Della's reaction, but Smoke heard her gasp. Then she spoke in a reasonable tone. “Then we're going to need a way to guide these beasts.” So saying, she bent forward and formed a reasonably good hackamore out of the tie rope. With a steady hand, she eased over to her daughters and did the same for them, then spoke softly.

“You girls stay close by me, hear?” They nodded, and Della turned to Smoke. “We're ready.”

Smoke drew his right-hand .45 Colt and eared back the hammer. A chilling wolf howl quavered from his lips, and he fired three rapid shots. The horses bolted at once. With wild whinnies, they raced off in the direction Smoke intended that they would take.

Several of the rustlers yelled in alarm, and two screamed in agony as the remounts thundered through the camp. One of the screamers grew silent after a fifth set of hooves pounded into his chest and belly, pulped vital organs and shattered ribs. Taking care to keep the Olsens in sight, Smoke pushed the herd from behind. The terrain proved an ally, as the startled animals swerved to avoid rock outcrops and disastrous ravines.

Thus channeled, the horses streamed toward where Tommy waited with the saddled mounts. Behind them, Smoke could hear the curses and uproar created when the outlaws found their own mounts missing. So far, he thought, not a bad night's work.

 

 

Smoke Jensen wasted not a second longer than required to retrieve his saddle and remount the Olsens on saddled horses. Then he gave them hurried instructions on how to bring the stampeding horses under some form of control. Over the days they had been together, Smoke had come to accept the fact that Tommy Olsen was mature beyond his years. He entrusted the left flank to Tommy and his mother. He took the two girls with him on the right flank. With only swing riders it would be difficult, yet Smoke trusted that the terrain of the foothills, which now narrowed the trail, would be to their advantage.

Which set Smoke to thinking about another matter. If they continued to Powder River Pass, it stood to reason that the rustlers would jump them again. They could head due north, to Granite Pass, which would bypass Buffalo on the far side, where the Olsens wanted to go. Or they could turn west, which would take them far from the Crow Agency and Fort Custer. All three courses had advantages, but the disadvantages outweighed choosing the lower altitude Powder River Pass.

Silently, he pondered his choices through the night. When the faintest gray ribbon spanned the eastern horizon, Smoke called a halt on the bank of the north fork of the Powder River. By then the horses had lost their fright and settled down in loose bunches under the herd leader and his subordinates. Comfortingly, to Smoke's way of seeing it, the largest gather, some seventy animals, led the pack. The stop would do everyone good, even the critters.

At least, they did not need any supervision to walk mincingly into the shallows and drink from the river. In the cool, mountain breeze, their coats steamed and their breath fogged the air. Smoke shared out some cold, hard biscuits and strips of jerky. He and the Olsens munched them industriously while the herd drank. At last, Smoke spoke what was on his mind.

“We've covered what I'd reckon to be fifteen miles from where we left the rustlers. I think we should get some rest here, then move on. Sleep awhile if you can.”

Della Olsen looked at the rugged Smoke Jensen with a radiant face. “Oh, I'm much too exhilarated to sleep. Goodness, getting rescued is certainly exciting.”

Sarah-Jane and Gertrude nodded eager agreement. “And we get to ride astraddle, like Tommy,” Sarah-Jane declared in delight.

Della's eyes narrowed for a short moment. “Not too much of that, young lady. It is not proper for a woman to ride that way.”

“But Momma, you're doing it,” Sarah-Jane protested.

“Yes, but I've had three chil—” Della broke off abruptly and blushed furiously. “Oh! What am I saying? You must think me terribly brazen, Mr. Jensen.”

Smoke hastened to reassure her. “Not at all, and it's Smoke, remember, Della? My wife rode side-saddle until after our second child was born.” He gave Della a mischievous grin. “Although I could never figure out why.”

Her embarrassment vanished, Della produced a relieved smile. “Oh, we women have our reasons, Smoke. Now, have you figured out what we are going to do for food?”

Smoke scratched idly at his chin. “After everyone gets the hang of handling the herd on the move, Tommy can take off and hunt for game. There's wild bulbs and plants we can gather, also. No one has ever starved out here unless the weather was against them or they were just plain stupid.”

“Did you ever eat pine nuts, Smoke?”

“Oh, yes, many a time.”

“My hus—Sven was exceedingly fond of them.”

“They're a good source of energy.”

With that revelation, they continued to eat in silence until the first thin slice of orange slid above the eastern horizon. With that growing, Smoke roused a lightly slumbering Tommy Olsen and called the family together.

“We're going to do this a little differently today. Della, you and your youngest will take the right swing, Tommy the left with Sarah-Jane. I'll ride drag.”

Furious over the loss of the herd and their own horses, Reno Jim Yurian stood in the orange light of the new sun and cursed Smoke Jensen with fervor. When he at last ran down, he pointed a finger at Yancy Osburn.

“Yancy, take five men and spread out until you find some horses. Head north. I think I heard a couple whinny right at sunrise. If you find them, keep going until you have more.”

“Sure, boss. Do we take saddles with us?”

“No, just bridles. We need those horses fast.” Reno Jim turned to the remaining gang members. “The rest of you, see what you can find to salvage in a camp that's been run through by two hundred forty-five horses.”

With that, he kicked a crushed coffeepot and swore with renewed vehemence.

 

 

With only a boy, a woman and two small girls to control the herd, Smoke found little to celebrate, beyond the rescue of the Olsens. In daylight, with the horses refreshed and tested, difficulties began to crop up almost at once. First to impinge on Smoke's quiet reverie were the rebellious outlaw horses. A shout from Tommy alerted him to the problem.

“Hiii! Hiiii-yaah! Get back there. Get back,” the boy yelled as he streaked along the left flank of the herd in pursuit of four fractious mounts with minds of their own.

Smoke veered to cut off the runaways. He and Tommy managed to contain three of them. The fourth put its tail in the air and streaked between them, back in the direction from which they had come. In disgust and defeat, Tommy spat a word that Smoke did not think the boy had in his vocabulary. He decided that a little fatherly advice was called for. He walked Cougar over and clapped a hand on the boy's thin shoulder.

“Better not let your mother hear you say that.” At Tommy's grimace, Smoke went on. “We're going to lose more than one of those horses. They belong to the rustlers and will try to break away every chance they get.”

Tommy made a face. “But they're worth some money.”

Smoke shook his head. “They don't wear my brand, and I can't sell them to the army. The idea is to keep them out of the hands of the gang long enough for us to get clean away. And with this herd, that will be hard to do.”

Pondering that a moment, Tommy spoke his inner expectation. “I thought maybe I could sell them and get a stake for Maw.”

“A generous idea, though it would make you a horse thief.”

Tommy cocked an eyebrow. “D'you think
those guys
paid for their nags?”

Smoke shrugged. “Probably. Out here they still hang a man for stealing horses.”

A tinkle of laughter erased the frown on Tommy's forehead. “Imagine that, rustlers buying their mounts.”

Smoke took a deep breath. “Now that is settled, I think we should cut out all of their animals and send them off at an odd direction.”

“Why, Smoke?”

“Once the critters take it in mind to run off, the others will jump at the chance, too. We don't have the manpower to round up the entire herd if that happened.”

That sounded reasonable to Tommy. “Sure, but how do we find the right ones?”

“My remounts haven't been shod. Look for the horses with shoes.”

With that as a guide, Tommy soon cut out twenty-three broom tails and scattered them to the winds. Seven more refused to budge from the herd. Smoke appeared satisfied with that and rode on, wondering what would happen next.

 

 

Tommy Olsen discovered their next setback when they had advanced into the high, steep pass. Ahead of him, the leaders turned about and began to mill among the horses that came after them. He trotted forward, only to return at twice the speed, his eyes wide.

“Smoke, there's a big ol' tree up there, fallen across the trail.”

“Does it look like someone cut it down?”

“No. It's dead. I think it just fell over.”

Smoke looked at Tommy as they cantered forward. “We'll have a devil of a time getting it moved.”

“Yeah. No saws or an axe.”

After a moment's thought, Smoke offered a suggestion. “We do have ropes, and plenty of horses. If we fasten onto some larger limbs, we can maybe pull it away.”

“Who'll watch the herd?”

“Your mother and the girls.”

Tommy made a face. That brought a laugh from Smoke. But he wasn't laughing when he got a look at the downed tree—a large, old pine, which if it had not been dead a long time would have weighed tons. Even in its present condition, Smoke harbored a small doubt as to whether they could move it. He had little choice, so he set about it with a will.

Smoke put Della and the girls behind the herd, to calm and hold them in place. Then he and Tommy cut out three of the remounts and took ropes from each saddle. At Smoke's direction, Tommy fastened the ends of the lariats to stout branches high up the trunk. Smoke fitted the loop ends over the necks of the three horses, then took a fourth and did a dally around his saddle horn.