Return of the Mountain Man

lifestyle. But he sure as hell had never heard of any Don Quixote.

Heads turned as they entered the dining room. Some dining there gave the young couple disapproving looks. A few smiled. They took a table next to the wall, affording them maximum privacy, and ordered supper. PSR beef, naturally, with boiled potatoes and beans, and apple pie for dessert.

Neither admitted it, for separate reasons, but both wondered what might be taking place at the grand house of the PSR ranch.

“And it was a fair fight?” Josh Richards asked Sheriff Reese.

“Stand up and square,” Reese said. “I didn’t see it, but Sam did. He said he ain’t never seen nothin’ like that Buck West’s draw. Lightnin’ fast. Neither Dickerson nor Russell got a shot off. And they drew first.”

“And he’s a bounty hunter?” Stratton asked. He was a big man gone to fat. Diamond rings glittered on his soft fat fingers.

“That’s what Jerry told me.”

“Jerry saw him fight back at the trading post, that right?” Potter asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Wiley Potter, like his two partners, had pushed his past from him. He almost never thought of his outlaw and traitor days. He was a successful man, a man under consideration to be territorial governor. And he played his political power to the hilt. He was always well dressed, well groomed.

Josh Richards listened, but had little to say on the subject of the bounty hunter, Buck West. If this West was as good as described, Richards wanted him on the payroll. Of the three men, Richards had changed the least. Physically. He was still a powerful man. Something he had always been proud of. That and his reputation with the ladies. But he knew it was time for him to be thinking of settling down. And while Janey’s reputation was a bit scarlet, she was, nevertheless, the woman he planned to marry. She was just as ruthless and cunning as Richards. Would do anything for money. They made a good team.

“I’ll see him in the morning,” Richards said. “Let’s eat. I’m hungry.”

Potter was big politically—the front man, all smiles and congeniality, territory-wide. Stratton was the local big shot—the president of the bank and so forth. But Richards ran the show, always staying quietly in the background. That’s the way he wanted it.

The men trouped out of the study into the dining room. Richards looked at Jane. “Something the matter?” he asked in a whisper.

“That Buck West. I’ve seen him before. Somewhere.”

“Can you remember where?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. But I will.” She looked him directly in the eyes. “He’s trouble, Josh.”

“Your imagination, my dear. He’d be a good man to have on our side.”

“Watch him,” she cautioned. “I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t even know him, Jane!”

“Yeah, I do. I just can’t remember where I met him, that’s all.”

“It’ll come to you.”

“Bet on it.”

9

Buck knew he wasn’t going to tolerate much living in the hotel. He didn’t like the closed-in feeling. The sheets were clean, and that was nice, but the bed was soft and made his back hurt. Buck was not accustomed to the finer things in life. So-called finer things. To Buck, the finer things were the clean smell of deep timber; the high thinness of clean air in the mountains; the rush of a surging stream, wild white water whipping and singing; the cough of a puma and the calling of a bird. Now that was fine living!

He walked down to the cafe in the coolness of the early morning. The eastern sky was just beginning to streak with silver, but the cafe was busy, the smell of bacon and eggs and frying potatoes filling the air.

Conversation stopped when Buck walked in and took a seat at a far table, his back to the wall. When the waitress came to take his order, Buck said, “If the food’s as good as it smells, I’ll take one of everything on the menu.”

The waitress smiled at him. Buck ordered breakfast and said, “The owner must make a fortune in this place, the food’s so good.”

“The owner?” the waitress asked, a curious look in her eyes.

“Yes. Are you the owner?”

She laughed. “Not hardly, sir. Mr. Stratton is the owner. Mr. Stratton owns everything in Bury. Every building and every business.”

“Interesting,” Buck said. “Everything?”

“Everything, sir.”

Buck mulled that over in his mind while he ate. The buzz of conversation had returned to normal and the townspeople were ignoring Buck, concentrating on eating. Eating was serious business in the west. Not to be taken lightly. Not at all. Buck thought, The waitress might think Stratton owns everything in sight, but Potter and Richards are right in there as well.

So no one owns their own business. Good. That will make it easier when I burn the damn place to the ground.