back to St. Louis. The odds of anyone recognizing her or knowing anything about her past were a lot smaller.
“Sounds like things have worked out just fine for you.”
“Thanks to you, Preacher,” Roland said. “I’m not sure I’d ever want to go back over the Santa Fe Trail without you.”
“And we ain’t goin’ that way when we leave here,” Lorenzo said. “Preacher’s done promised to show me the mountains.”
“But you can’t leave before the wedding,” Casey protested.
Juanita reached over and took Preacher’s hand. “He’s not going anywhere,” she said firmly. “He still has a lot of recuperating to do, and I intend to see that he does it.”
Preacher chuckled. “You don’t hear me arguin’, do you?”
But he knew the time would come when the call of the wild and lonesome country would be too strong for him to resist. When that day arrived, he would have to bid a fond farewell to Juanita and answer that summons, even though she would be sad to see him go.
The trail of Preacher’s life was a long and winding one, and he hadn’t reached the end of it just yet.
Turn the page for an exciting preview of
MATT JENSEN, THE LAST MOUNTAIN MAN:
by
William W. Johnstone
Coming in February 2011
Wherever books are sold
CHAPTER 1
When Matt Jensen rode into Swan, Wyoming, few who knew him would have recognized him. He had a heavy beard, his hair was uncommonly long, and he looked every bit the part of a man who had not been under a roof for two months. He had said good-bye to Smoke Jensen in Fort Collins, Colorado, arranging to meet him in Swan eight weeks later. Not since then had Matt seen civilization, having spent the entire two months in the mountains prospecting for gold.
The success of Matt’s two months of isolation was manifested by a canvas bag he had hanging from the saddle horn. The bag was full of color-showing ore. Prospecting wasn’t new to Matt. He had learned the trade under the tutelage of his mentor, Smoke Jensen, so he knew the color in the ore was genuine. But exactly how successful he had been would depend upon the assayer’s report.
Swan was a fly-blown little settlement, not served by any railroad, though there was stagecoach service to Rawlings where one could connect with the Union Pacific. The town had a single street that was lined on both sides by unpainted, rip-sawed, false-fronted buildings. It could have been any of several hundred towns in a dozen western states. As Matt rode down the street, a couple scantily dressed soiled doves stood on a balcony and called down to him.
“Hey, cowboy, you’re new to town, ain’t you?” one of them shouted.
“You gotta be new ’cause I don’t know you,” the other one added. “And I reckon I
Matt smiled, nodded, and touched the brim of his hat by way of returning their greeting.
“Come on up and keep us company. We’ll give you a good welcome,” the first one shouted down to him.
“Ladies, until I get a bath, I’m not even fit company for my horse,” Matt called up to the two women as he rode underneath the overhanging balcony where the two women were standing.
The second soiled dove pinched her nose and, exaggerating, made a waving motion with her hand. “Oh, honey, you’ve got that right,” she teased.
Laughing, Matt rode on down the street until he reached a small building at the far end. A sign in front of the building read, J.A. MONTGOMERY, ASSAYER.
Matt swung down from his saddle and tied his horse at the hitching rail. Hefting the canvas bag over one shoulder, he stepped inside where he was greeted by a small, thin man.
“Can I help you?” the little man asked.
“Are you the assayer?”
“I am.”
Matt set the canvas bag on the counter, then took out a handful of rocks and laid them alongside the bag.
“I need you to take a look at this,” Matt said.
Montgomery chuckled. “You want me to tell you if it is gold or pyrite, right?”
“No, mister,” Matt said. “I know it’s gold. What I want you to do is tell me how much money all this is worth.”
The assayer picked up a couple rocks and looked at them casually, before putting them back down. Then, taking a second look at one of them, he picked it up again, and examined it through a magnifying glass.
“What do you think?” Matt asked.
“You’re right,” Montgomery said. “It is gold.”
“You have any idea as to the value?”
“Do all the rocks have this much color?”
“I wouldn’t have bothered carrying them in if they didn’t,” Matt replied.
