Trail Of The Mountain Man/revenge Of The Mountain Man (The Last Mountain Man)

“Thanks. How’d it go in yonder, Judge?”

“Not to anyone’s liking, I’m afraid. Are you going to be in town long?”

“I work for Smoke Jensen.”

“Oh, my!” the judge said. “How many of you, ah, men did Mister Jensen hire, Pistol?”

Pistol smiled. “Twenty or so.”

Judge Proctor suddenly felt weak-kneed. “I see. Well, it’s been nice seeing you, Pistol.”

“Same here, Judge.”

As they walked off, Monte asked. “How come it is you know that old gunslick, Judge?”

“I was up in the Wyoming country hearing a case of his when he was marshal of a town up there. Four pretty good gunhands braced him one afternoon.”

“How’d it come out?”

“Pistol killed them all.”

“And they’s twenty of them old gunhawks workin’ for Jensen?”

“Yes. Rather makes one feel inadequate, doesn’t it, Sheriff?”

“Whatever that means, Judge.”

The judge didn’t feel like explaining. “You know, Monte, you could be a good lawman if you’d just try.”

“Is that what I been feelin’ lately, Judge?”

“Probably. But since you—we—are in Tilden Franklin’s pocket, what are we going to do about it?”

“We wasn’t in his pocket in this one, Judge.”

“That is correct. And it’s a rather nice feeling, isn’t it, Sheriff Carson?”

“Damn shore is, Judge Proctor. Would you like to join me in a drink, Judge?”

“No, Sheriff. I think not. I just decided to quit.”

3

When Smoke and Sally and Pearlie and most of the other aging gunhawks rode up to Colby’s place the following morning, they were all amazed to see the hills covered with people

“What the hell?” Pearlie said.

“They’re showin’ Tilden Franklin how they feel,” Luke said. “And rubbin’ his nose in it.”

“Would you look yonder?” Jay said. “That there is Big Mamma. In a dress!”

“Musta been a tent-maker move into town,” Apache said.

“Who is that pretty lady beside the…large lady I presume you men are talking about?” Sally asked.

Smoke and Sally were in a buckboard, the others on horseback.

“That’s Big Mamma’s wife, Miss Sally,” Silver Jim explained.

Sally looked up at him. “I beg your pardon, Silver Jim?”

“They was married ’bout three year ago, I reckon it was. Big Mamma had to slap that minister around a good bit ’fore he’d agree to do it, but he done ’er.”

Sally turned her crimson face forward. “I do not wish to pursue this line of conversation any further, thank you.”

“No, ma’am,” Silver Jim said. “Me neither.”

The service was a short one, but sincerely given by Ralph. Adam’s forever-young body was buried on a hillside overlooking the Colby ranch.

And while most knew the TF riders were watching from the hills, no TF rider showed his face at the funeral. The mood of the crowd was such that if any TF riders had made an appearance, there most likely would have been a hanging.

Belle Colby and Velvet sat in the front yard during the service. Velvet had yet to speak a word or utter any type of sound.

Tilden sat on the front porch of his fine ranch house. He hurt all over. Never, never, in his entire life, had he been so badly torn up. And by a goddamned two-bit gunslinger.

Clint walked up to the porch. “Twelve hands pulled out last night, Boss.”

“You pay ’em off?” The words were hard to understand and even harder for Tilden to speak. His lips were grotesquely swollen and half a dozen teeth were missing. His nose had yet to be set because it was so badly broken and swollen hideously.

“No. They just packed it all up and rode off. Told Pete Harris they hired their guns to fight men, not to make war on little kids.”

“How noble of them. Hell with them!”

“Some of the others say they’ll ride for brand—when it comes to punchin’ cows. But they ain’t gettin’ involved in no way.”

“Hell with them too. Fire ’em!”

“Boss?”