clean. His Colts was oiled and deadly.
Ol’ Hardrock. Charlie smiled. What could he say about Hardrock? The man had cleaned up more wild towns than any two others combined. Now he was aging and broke. But still ready to ride the high trails of the Mountain Men.
Charlie lifted his eyes and spotted Moody. Ol’ Moody. Standin’ away from the others, livin’ up to his name. Never had much to say, but by the Lord he was as rough and randy as they could come.
Linch. Big and hoary and bearded. Never packed but one short gun. Said he never needed but one.
Luke Nations. A legend. Sheriff, marshal, outlaw, gunfighter. Had books wrote about him. And as far as Charlie knew, never got a dime out of any of them.
Pistol Le Roux. A Creole from down in Louisiana. As fast with a knife as with a gun…and that was plenty fast.
Quiet Bill Foley. Wore his guns cross-draw and had a border roll that was some quick.
Dan Greentree. Charlie had riden many a trail with Dan. Charlie wondered if these mountain trails around Fontana would be their last to ride.
Leo Wood. Leo just might be the man who had brought the fast draw to the West. A lot of people said he was. And a lot of so-called fast guns had died trying to best him.
Cary Webb. Some said he owned a fine education and had once taught school back East. Chucked it all and came West, looking for excitement. Earned him a rep as a fast gun.
Sunset Hatfield. Supposed to be from either Kentucky or Tennessee. A crack shot with rifle or pistol.
Crooked John Simmons. Got that name hung on him ’cause he was as cross-eyed as anybody had ever seen. Had a hair-trigger temper and a set of hair-trigger Colts.
Bull Flagler. Strong as a bull and just as dangerous. Carried him a sawed-off shotgun with a pistol grip on his left side, a Colt on the other.
Toot Tooner. Loved trains. Loved ’em so much he just couldn’t resist holding them up back some years. Turned lawman and made a damn good one. Fast draw and a dead shot.
Sutter Cordova. His mother was French and his dad was Spanish. Killed a man when he was ’bout ten or eleven years old; man was with a bunch that killed his ma and pa. Sutter got his pa’s guns, mounted up, and tracked them from Chihuahua to Montana Territory. Took him six years, but he killed every one of them. Sutter was not a man you wanted to get crossways of.
Red Shingletown. Still had him a mighty fine mess of flamin’ red hair. He’d been a soldier, a sailor, an adventurer, a rancher…and a gunfighter.
And there they stood, Smoke thought, gazing at the men from the cabin. I’m looking at yet another last of a breed.
But did I do right in asking them to come?
Sally touched his arm. Smoke looked down at her.
“You did the right thing,” she told him. “The trail that lies before those men out there is the one they chose, and if it is their last trail to ride, that’s the way they would want it. And even though they are doing this for you and for Charlie, you know the main reason they’re doing it, don’t you?”
Smoke grinned, wiping years trom his face. He looked about ten years old. All except for his eyes. “Ol’ Preacher.”
“That’s right, honey. They all knew him, and knew that he helped raise you.”
“What do you plan on having for supper?”
“I hadn’t thought. Why?”
“How about making some bearsign?”
“It’s going to run me out of flour.”
“Well, I think me and Charlie and some of those ol’ boys out there just might ride into Fontana tomorrow. We’ll stop by Colby’s and get him to take his wagon. Stock up enough for everybody. ’Sides, I want to see Louis’s face when we all come ridin’ in.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, poking him in the ribs and tickling him, bending him over, gently slapping at her hands. “But mostly you want to see Tilden Franklin’s face.”
“Well…He suddenly swept her up in his arms and began carrying her toward the bedroom.
“Smoke. Not with all those…”
He kissed her mouth, hushing her.
“…men out…”
He kissed her again and placed her gently on the bed.
“Who cares about those men out there?” she finally said.
It came as no surprise to Smoke to find the men up before he crawled out from under the covers. This high up, even the summer nights were cool…and this was still late spring. The nights were downright cold.
The men had gotten their bearsign the previous night, but Sally had been just a bit late with them.
Smoke dressed, belted on his Colts, and, with a mug of coffee in one hand, stepped out to meet the breaking dawn, all silver and gold as the sun slowly inched over the high peaks of Sugarloaf.
“Charlie, I thought a few of us would ride into town this morning and pick up supplies. We’ll stop at Colby’s place and he’ll go with us in his wagon.”
