Shootout of the Mountain Man

disappoint him, so he nodded, then reached for the book.

“None of this is true, you know,” Smoke said as he began to sign.

The boy smiled. “I know it isn’t,” he said. “Heck, I’ve read enough about you in the newspapers to know that the real things you have done are much better than these stories. But I would like to have your autograph anyway. ”

“All right,” Smoke said, signing the book. “What’s your name?”

“Timothy, sir. But ever’ one calls me Timmy.”

How old are you, Tim?”

“Tim, yes, I like that better than Timmy. I think I’ll be Tim from now on. I’m fifteen.”

Smoke stopped in mid-signing and looked for a long moment at the boy.

“Is something wrong, Mr. Jensen?” Tim asked.

“No, son, nothing is wrong,” Smoke said as he completed the signing. He handed the book back. “There you go. Just remember, don’t believe everything you read. ”

“I won’t. And thank you, sir,” Tim said, holding the book to his chest excitedly as he returned to sit with his mother and younger sister.

Smoke watched as the boy proudly showed the book to his mother and sister. The boy had said he was fifteen. His son, Arthur, would be fifteen now. But Arthur had been murdered along with his mother, Smoke’s wife, Nicole.

As Smoke thought of Nicole and young Arthur, he connected them with the mission he was on now, and he remembered what a hard time Nicole’s brother had had in dealing with the murder of his sister and nephew.

Young Bobby Lee wiped the tears from his eyes. “My sister never hurt anyone. She was a good person.”

“Yes, she was,” Smoke answered. He had his arm around the boy’s shoulder, and he pulled him closer to him. Although Smoke’s own son, Art, was still just a baby, Smoke had become a father figure to Bobby Lee. It wasn’t the first time Smoke had ever been a father figure to a young boy. Even before Smoke had married Nicole, he’d rescued a boy who was lost in the mountains, half frozen and half starved. Taking him back to his own cabin, Smoke had raised him until he was an adult. Out of gratitude once the boy was on his own, he’d taken Smoke’s last name. He was now known as Matt Jensen, and had established a reputation of his own.

“Why did they kill Nicole? And little Art? He was just a baby. Who could kill a baby?”

“I can’t answer that question, Bobby Lee. There are some people who are just too evil to live. ”

“But these people are evil, and they are alive,” Bobby Lee said.

“Yes,” Smoke said. “They are alive now, but they won’t be alive much longer. ”

“You are going after them, aren’t you?”

“I am. ”

“I want to go with you. ”

Smoke ran his hand through the boy’s hair. “I know you do, son. And I wish I could let you come with me. But you are still a bit too young, and if I have to worry about you, it will make my job harder to do. You do want to see them pay for what they did, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Bobby Lee said resolutely.

“Then you understand why I can’t take you with me?”

“Yes,” Bobby Lee said again. “But Smoke?”

“Yes?”

“When you kill the sons of bitches, kind of think about me while you’re doin’ it, will you?”

“I promise.”

“And I’m sorry I cussed like that. Nicole, she didn’t like me saying things like son of a bitch.”

“I think, in this case, Nicole would forgive you,” Smoke said. “Sons of bitches is about the only way you can describe these people. ”

“Sons of bitches,” Bobby Lee said. “Sons of bitches, sons of bitches, sons of bitches. “He repeated the words, using them as a means of fighting against the sobs that he was trying, not too successfully, to hold back.

A porter came through the car announcing dinner with a three-note chime, thus interrupting Smoke’s reverie. He joined the others in moving toward the dining car.

It was just after midnight and Frank Dodd and the six men with him were waiting alongside the Nevada Central tracks just south of Rock Creek.

“That ain’t high enough,” Dodd said. He was speaking to Conklin, who was standing on a collapsible ladder. A pyramid of three poles had been erected in the middle of the track, and Conklin was attempting to attach a lantern to the poles.

“That’s about as high as I can make it,” Conklin said.

“You can get it higher. Put it all the way up on top,” Dodd ordered.

“Well, how high does it have to be anyway?”