Return of the Mountain Man (11 page)

The outlaws inside the cabin taunted Smoke, telling in great detail of raping Nicole. Smoke lined up the Sharps and pulled the trigger. A PSR rider began screaming in pain.

Canning and Felter ran out of the front of the cabin, high-tailing it for the safety of the timber. In the creek, Kid Austin crawled upstream, crying in pain and humiliation.

Another of the PSR riders exited the cabin, leaving one inside. He got careless and Smoke took him alive.

When he came to his senses, Smoke had stripped him, staked him out over an anthill, and poured honey all over him.

It took him a long time to die.

Smoke buried his wife and son amid a colorful profusion of wild flowers, stopping often to wipe away the tears.

“W
hat are you thinking, young man?” Audie asked.

“About what Potter and Stratton and Richards ordered done to my wife and son.”

“Preacher told us. That was a terrible, terrible thing. But don't allow revenge to destroy you.”

“When this is over, Audie, it's over. Not until.”

“I understand. I have been where you are. I lost my wife, a Bannock woman, and two children to white trappers. Many many years ago.”

“Did you find the men who did it?”

“Oh, yes,” Audie smiled grimly. “I found them.”

Smoke did not have to ask the outcome.

“There will always be men who rise to power on the blood and pain of others, Smoke,” the former-schoolteacher-turned-mountain-man said. “Unfortunate, certainly, but a fact, perhaps a way, of life.”

“The people who run the shops in that town can leave,” Smoke said. “Even though I know they are, in their own way, as bad as Potter, Stratton, and Richards. I'll let them go, if they'll just go.”

“They won't,” Audie prophesied. “For most of them, this is the end of the trail. Behind them lies their past, filled with crime and pettiness. For most of them, all that waits behind them is prison—or a rope. Theirs is a mean, miserable existence.” He waved his hand at the mountain men. “We, all us, remember when that town was built. We sat back and watched those dreary dregs of society arrive. We have all watched good people travel through, look around them, and continue on their journey. I, for one, will be glad to see that village razed and returned to the earth.”

Audie walked away. About three and a half feet tall physically, about six and a half feet of man and mind and courage.

Smoke sat back on his bootheels and wondered what razed meant.

He'd have to remember to ask Sally. She'd know. And with that thought, another problem presented itself to Smoke's mind. Sally. He knew he cared a lot for the woman—more than he was willing to admit—but what did he have to offer someone like her? When news of what he planned to do to Bury reached the outside, Smoke Jensen would be the most wanted man in the west. Not necessarily in terms of reward money, for if he had his way, Potter, Stratton, and Richards would be dead and in the ground, but more in terms of reputation. A hundred, five hundred, a thousand gunhawks would be looking for him to make a reputation.

Back to the valley where Nicole and Baby Arthur were buried?

No. No, for even if Sally was willing to come with him, he couldn't go back there. Too many old memories would be in the way. He would return to the valley for his mares; he wanted to do that. Then push on and get the Appaloosa, Seven.

Then…?

He didn't know. He would like to ranch and raise horses. And farm. Farming was in his blood and he had always loved the land. A combination horse and cattle ranch and farm? Why not? That was very rare in the west—almost unheard of—but why not?

Would Sally be content with that? A woman of class and education and independence and wealth? Well, he'd never know until he asked her. But that would have to wait. He'd ask her later. If he lived, that is.

 

Deputy Rogers was the first to report back to Potter and Stratton and Sheriff Reese. Josh Richards was still out in the field; he knew nothing of the true identity of Buck West. Not yet.

“North road's blocked 'bout three miles out of town,” Rogers reported. “An' I mean blown all to hell. Brought a landslide down four-five-hundred feet long.”

Deputy Payton galloped up and dismounted. “South road's blocked by a landslide. A bad one. Ain't nothing gonna get through there for a long time. They's riflemen stuck up all around the town, watchin' the trails. Old mountain men, looks like.”

“I should have put it all together,” Stratton said with a sigh. “I should have known when that damn Jensen came ridin' in, bold as brass. Should have known that's who it was.”

“What are we going to do, Keith?” Wiley Potter asked.

“Wait and find out what Jensen wants. Hell, what else can we do?”

Audie had made himself a megaphone out of carefully peeled bark. He had stationed himself on a ridge overlooking the town of Bury.

“Attention below!” Audie called. “Residents of Bury, Idaho Territory, gather in the street and curb your tongues.”

“Do what with a tongue?” Deputy Rogers asked.

“Don't talk,” Stratton said.

“Oh.”

“Armageddon is nigh,” Audie called. “Your penurious and evil practices must cease.
Will
cease—immediately. The women and the children will be allowed to leave. You have twenty-four hours to vacate and walk out with what meager possessions you can carry on your backs. Follow the flats south to Blue Meadows. Where you go from there is your own concern. Twenty-four hours. After that, the town of Bury will be destroyed.”

“What's that about arms?” Dan Reese asked.

“Armageddon,” Reverend Necker said. “Where the final battle will be fought between good and evil.” He looked around him. “Has anybody got a jug? I need a drink.”

“I ain't gonna hoof my tootsies nowhere,” Louise Rosten said. “They's wild savages out there.”

“Just head straight across the flats toward the east,” her husband told her. “They's a settlement 'bout thirty miles over yonder. Pack up the kids and git gone. Hell, you can outshoot me.”

“Hunts-Long and his Flatheads will escort the women and children to safety,” Audie's voice once more rang out over the town. “They'll be waiting on the east side of the creek. You have twenty-four hours. This will be my last warning to you.”

“I ain't travelin' with no damned greasy Injuns!” Veronica Morgan said. “I ain't leavin' the hotel.”

Her husband looked at her. “Get those snot-nosed brats of yours and get out. I'm tired of looking at your ugly face and listening to those brats squall.”

Veronica spat in her husband's face and wheeled about, stalking back to the hotel.

“Potter! Stratton! Richards!” Smoke's voice boomed through the bark-made megaphone. “This is Smoke Jensen. I'm giving you a better chance than you gave my pa, my brother, and my wife and son.”

None of the town's residents had to ask what Smoke was talking about. They all, to a person, knew. They knew the town was built on stolen gold and Jensen blood. They all knew the whole bloody, tragic story. And they had consented to live with that knowledge.

Stratton's heavy jowls quivered with rage and fear. He turned his little piggy eyes to Potter. “Now what?” he demanded.

“Just stay calm and keep your senses about you, man,” Potter said. “Look at facts. We've a hundred and fifty men in this town. Thirty of them are hardcases drawing fighting pay. Josh is out there,” he waved his hand, “with fifteen or twenty other gunhands. We're up against a handful of old men and one smart-aleck gunhawk who is too sure of himself. We've both known Hunts-Long for years. He's a peaceful, trusting Indian and so is his tribe. Send the women and kids out and we'll make ready for a siege. The stage is due in three days. We'll have someone there to meet it, turn it around, and get the Army in here from the fort. Then we'll hang Smoke Jensen and his damned old mountain men and be done with it once and for all.”

Stratton and the others visibly relaxed. Sure, they thought. That was a damn good plan. Some of them began to laugh at how easy it would be. Soon all those gathered in the street were laughing and slapping one another on the back. The women were cackling and the men hoo-hawing.

“Sounds lak they havin' a celebration down thar,” Lobo said. “Wush they'd let us in on it.”

“They're thinking about the stage,” Smoke said. “If they could turn it around with a message, they could get the Army in here and chase us all the way to Canada.”

“Les' we had someone down thar to meet it with a story,” Phew said.

Smoke smiled at that. “That's what we'll do, then.”

“Now what?” Dupre said.

“We give them twenty-four hours, just like I promised.”

 

“I can't help but feel sorry for the kids,” Smoke said.

“There isn't a child down there under ten or eleven years of age,” Audie observed, watching through binoculars. “They are past their formative years; or very close to it. They are just smaller versions of their parents.”

The sun had been up for an hour and the women and children of Bury were moving out. On foot. Had Smoke and the mountain men been able to hear the comments of the men, it would have left no doubt in any of their minds.

“I shore am glad to see that bitchin' woman clear out,” Hallen said. “Hope I never see her again.”

Morgan watched his wife—common law, since each of them was still married, to someone else—and her brats walk out of town. “I hope they're attacked by Indians,” was his comment.

Simmons watched his wife trudge up the road. “Old lard-butted thing,” he said, under his breath. “God, I hope I never see her again.”

Like comments were being shared by all the men as they watched the women and kids move out.

Linda Potter and Lucille Stratton had elected to remain with their men. True to the end. Or 'til the money ran out—whichever came first.

Hunts-Long and his Flatheads were waiting by the creek. They had orders from Preacher to escort the women to the flats and keep them there until the matter was settled in Bury—one way or the other.

“You can't know that for certain,” Smoke said, looking at Audie, who had lowered his binoculars from the stream of humanity.

“With very little exception, my young friend. It doesn't hold true always, but water will seek its own level.”

“We're gonna have to keep a sharp lookout for Richards's men, boy,” Preacher said. “Them fifteen-eighteen riders he's got is all gunhands. Now you listen to me, boy,” Preacher spun Smoke around to face him. “Them gold and silver mines that belong to them Big Three assayed out high. One mine, they got the gold assayed out at more than one hundred thousand dollars a ton. You know anything about gold, boy?”

Smoke shook his head.

“Two hundred dollars a ton is a workable mine, Smoke. So them boys ain't gonna just sit back and let you and us'ns destroy a fortune for 'em. We gonna have to be ready for nearabouts anything.”

“I done warned them far'ners at the mines to stand clear of Bury,” Matt said. “They took it to heart.”

“How about the other miners?”

“Some of the miners here now was at the mining camp on the Uncompahgre,” Preacher said. “The bettin' is high and fast.”

“Who is the favorite?”

“Hell, boy,” Preacher grinned. “Us'ns!”

A
ccording to the calendar, it was still the middle of spring in the mining country of East-Central Idaho. Someone should have told Mr. Summer that. By noon of the day of the pull-out, the temperature had soared and the sun was blisteringly hot. Bury, located in a valley, lay sullen and breezeless, the pocket in which it lay blocking the winds.

And the tempers of those trapped in the town were beginning to rival the thermometer.

 

One of Richards's men had discovered the blocked road and had hightailed back to the PSR ranch, informing Josh. Janey had just informed him as to Buck's real name. Josh Richards stood in the lushly appointed drawing room of the mansion and stared out at all the PSR holdings. Slowly, very slowly, a smile began playing at the corners of his mouth.

“What do you find so amusing, Josh?” Janey asked, watching the man.

“I will soon be the richest man in all of Idaho Territory,” Josh replied. He carefully lit a cigar and inhaled slowly.

“I don't follow you.”

“Think about it, Janey. We—you and I—are in the best possible position. Your brother is going to take some losses at Bury. He might even get himself killed. We can hope for that, at least.” She shrugged. Whatever happened to Kirby didn't concern her at all. “All we have to do is pull the PSR men off the range, leaving only a skeleton crew with the herds, and station them around the house in armed circles. Let Smoke and his mountain men kill off as many as they can in Bury. For sure, Smoke will kill Stratton and Potter—that's what he came here to do. By the time the siege is over at Bury, Smoke's little army will be shot up and weakened; no way they could successfully attack this place. When they start to pull out, that's when I take my men and wipe them out.” He grinned hugely. “Simple.”

“So you're tossing Wiley and Keith to the wolves,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Sure,” he replied cheerfully. “Do you care?”

“Hell, no!” the woman said. “And there's something else, too.”

“Oh?”

“You know the Army and the marshals will be in here investigating after it's over.”

“Yeah. Sure. What about it?”

“Well, you just tell them some crap about Potter and Stratton. Tell them you found out about some illegal dealings they were involved in; you broke away from them. Tell the investigators you didn't want any part of anything illegal. You can even tell them you and your men joined up with Smoke and the mountain men in the assault on Bury. But,” she said, holding up a warning finger, “that means that
everybody
has to die.”

“You're a cold-blooded wench, Janey,” he said with a great deal of pride and admiration.

“Just like you, love.”

“Oh, I like it. I
like
it!” Josh began to pace the floor. He began to think aloud, talking as he paced. “I've got the best of the gunhands out here. Most of these men have been with me for years. They're loyal to me, and to me alone. They'll stand firm. I'll put all the newer men out on the range, looking after the cattle. Put the range-cook out there with them with ten days–two weeks of supplies and tell the boys to stay put.” He grinned again, looking at Janey Jensen. “Love, we are going to
rule
Idaho Territory.”

“I always wanted to be a queen,” Janey said.

Josh and Janey began laughing.

 

To put a lid on the growing tempers in Bury, Stratton and Potter ordered free drinks at the town's many saloons and hurdy-gurdy houses. Then one drunk cowboy suggested they kick in the doors to the Pink House and have their way with the women barricaded inside.

About fifty men, in various stages of inebriation, marched up the main street and gathered in front of the Pink House. They began hooting and hollering and making all sorts of demands to the ladies. The hooting abruptly dipped into silence when the ladies inside shoved shotguns out through the barricaded windows. The sounds of hammers being jacked back was loud in the hot, still air.

The men took one look at a dozen double-barreled express guns pointing at them and calmed down.

“We are
closed
!” Miss Flora's voice came to the crowd. “You gentlemen have ten seconds to haul your ashes out of here. Aim at their privates, girls!”

A dozen shotguns were lowered, the muzzles aimed crotch-high.

The suddenly-sobered crowd hauled their ashes. Promptly.

Preacher watched it all through field glasses. He chuckled. He could not, of course, hear what was going on, but he could guess. “Them gals done read the scriptures to them ol' boys,” he said. “I don't think the ladies is gonna be bothered no more after this.”

One trapped PSR so-called gunhand emptied his pistol at the ridge overlooking the town. He stood in the center of the street and hurled curses at Smoke and the mountain men. Preacher reached for his Spencer and sighted the gunslick in. He emptied the tube, plowing up the ground around the man's boots. The cowboy shrieked in terror and dropped his pistol, running and falling and crawling for cover. He took refuge in the nearest saloon.

“We havin' fun now, Smoke,” Preacher said, reloading. “But it's gonna turn ugly right soon.”

“I know.”

“You havin' second thoughts 'bout this, boy?”

“Not really. But if those men down there, with the exception of Potter and Stratton, wanted to leave, I wouldn't try to stop them.”

“I's a-hopin' you'd say that. Audie! Bring Smoke that there funny-lookin' thang you built.”

Smoke took the megaphone and moved down the ridge, being careful not to expose himself. He lifted the megaphone to his lips.

“You men of Bury!” Smoke called. “Listen to me. It's Potter and Stratton and Richards I'm after. Not you. You don't owe them any loyalty. Any of you who wants to toss down his weapons and walk out can do so.”

There was no reply of any kind from the town.

Smoke called, “I'm giving you people a chance to save your lives. The men you work for murdered my brother. They shot him in the back and left him to die.”

“Rebel scum!” a voice called from the town.

Smoke shook his head. “The men you work for killed my pa.”

“Big deal!” another voice shouted.

“Real nice folks down there,” Audie muttered.

“The men you work for ordered out the men who raped and tortured and killed my wife, and killed my baby son,” Smoke spoke through the megaphone.

Laughter from the town drifted up to Smoke and the mountain men. The laughter was ugly and taunting. “She probably wasn't nothin' but a whore anyways!” a voice shouted.

“I can't believe it,” Smoke said, looking at Preacher. “I can't understand those types of people.”

“I can,” Audie said. “If you were my size, you would know just how cruel many people can be.”

“Rider comin',” Tenneysee said.

Sam rode up and dismounted, walking to the edge of the ridge. He waited until Smoke and his friends climbed back up. “Givin' them folks a way out, Smoke?” he asked.

“I tried,” Smoke replied.

“They ain't worth no pity,” Sam said. “Lord knows I ought to know. I worked for them long enough. I seen them people do things that would chill you to the bone. I ain't never seen a bunch so hard-hearted as them people down there. Lie, steal, cheat, kill—them words don't mean nothing to them people. Simmons at the general store worked his momma to death. And I mean that. Then buried her in an unmarked grave. Cannon at the newspaper is so bad he's barred from the Pink House. Likes to beat women, if you know what I mean. And them ranchers out from town”—he spat on the ground—“hell, they just as bad. They run down and hanged a twelve-year-old boy when they found him leadin' off unbranded stock. He was just tryin' to feed his sick ma. It was pitiful. I seen some sights, but that one made me puke. Don't feel no sorrow for them folks down there, boys. They ain't worth spit.”

“Come and get us, gunhawk!” a voice yelled from the town. “We'll give you the same treatment the rest of your family got.”

Smoke tossed the homemade megaphone to one side. “I tried,” he said. “I tried.”

 

The owners of the three other ranches located near Bury gathered at the home of Josh Richards. The owners had brought their so-called cowboys, many of whom were outlaws and gunfighters. Richards explained the situation at Bury—tactfully and pointedly leaving out that when his partners were dead, he would own it all.

“Well,” Marshall of the Crooked Snake spread said, “I can see why we can't rush the town. Them mountain men would pick us off afore we got close enough to do any real damage.”

The other two owners, Lansing of the Triangle and Brown of the Double Bar B, nodded their agreement. Lansing looked at Richards and asked, “You got a plan?”

“Not much of one. And my plan is rather self-serving, I'm afraid.”

“Self what?” Marshall asked.

“It helps us but doesn't do much for those trapped in Bury,” Richards explained.

“Hell with them!” Brown said. “We can always get more shopkeepers to come in.”

No one mentioned Stratton or Potter. The men just looked at each other and smiled. Honor among thieves, and all that.

“Let's hear it,” Lansing said.

 

“I don't understand it,” Sam said. “Richards has about twenty gunhands out there at the ranch. And by now he's called in Marshall and Lansing and Brown. Together, the four of them could put together forty-fifty men. That many men could put us in a box. I wonder what they're waiting for?”

Audie was thoughtful for a moment. “Perhaps this Richards person is hoping to gain from all this.”

Smoke looked at him. “Sure. If Stratton and Potter get dead, Richards has it all.”

“The loyalty of those men is overwhelming,” Audie said drily.

“I wanted to burn down the town,” Smoke admitted. “And I wanted revenge against those who killed my brother and pa, and who sent those men after me and my family. But as sorry as those people are down there in Bury, I don't want their blood on my hands.”

Preacher seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. He knew the young man well, and knew Smoke did not want needless killing on his mind.

“Mayhaps you won't have to kill none of them down there,” Preacher said.

“You chewin' 'round on something, Preacher,” Beartooth said. “Spit 'er out.”

“Well, lets us'ns slip word to Potter and Stratton that Richards is gonna lay out of this here fight. Kinda see what happens after that.”

“An' juice it up a mite, too,” Tenneysee said with a grin.

“Why, shore!” Preacher returned the grin. “Ain't nothing no better than a good joke.” He thought about that for a moment. “At our age, that is.”