Assault of the Mountain Man

“Yes,” Smoke said. “But not for any reward. My quest is a personal vendetta.”

“And what do you want from me, Mr. Jensen? Do you want some legal action, similar to that which was dispensed to Frank Marlow?”

“Frank Marlow?”

“The gentleman hanging from the cottonwood tree.”

“Not exactly.”

“I see. You want to dispense your own justice, do you?”

“Yes. And what I want from you, Judge, is your permission. This is your town, and as long as I am in your town, I am willing to play by your rules.”

“Interesting,” Webb said. “All right, you have my permission. You do know, do you not, that Wes Harley is one of the men who is associated with Bill Dinkins?”

“I have heard that. But he had no hand in shooting my wife.”

“That doesn’t matter. I expect that you are not going to be able to get to Dinkins, without first going through Wes Harley. And I think you would find him to be quite a formidable adversary.”

“I have never seen him, but I have heard him described,” Smoke said. “Is he in this room now?”

“He is not. I believe he is visiting in one of the cribs out back.”

“Thank you. I guess that means I’m going to have to take care of him first.”

Smoke stood up then, and looked out over the men, and the few women, who were in the crowded saloon. Pulling his pistol, he shot it into the floor. The sound of the gunshot got everyone’s attention, as he expected it to.

“Folks. I have a bone to pick with Wes Harley. I have reason to believe he is out back with”—he looked at one of the women, whose face reflected her fear, and smiled at her—“with a lady friend. If one of you would be so kind as to summon him, please tell him I will be waiting for him in the street out front.”

Wanda watched as the tall, handsome cowboy pushed his way through the bat wing doors. She recognized him, having seen him once, several years ago. She knew if there was anyone in the country who could face up to Wes Harley, Buck West would be that man. And that, she would like to see.

She went out behind the saloon to Emma’s crib, which was the second from the end, and knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” Emma called.

“Emma, honey, it’s me. Wanda. Is Mr. Harley in there with you?”

A second later the door opened, and Harley stood there, wearing only his pants and boots. Wanda had never been with Harley and for a second, she was struck dumb seeing just how hairless his body was. Even though Emma had said, “He doesn’t even have hair around his pecker. You should see him. He is as hairless as a baby,” she really wasn’t prepared for what she was seeing.

“What is it?” Harley asked gruffly. “What do you want?”

“There is someone who wants to meet you in the street,” Wanda said.

“What do you mean, meet me in the street?”

“I think he wants to have a gunfight with you.”

To her surprise, Harley smiled. “Well now, a gunfight. Good. It was getting a little boring around here. Who is it?”

“I don’t have any idea,” Wanda lied.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Word had spread, not just through the saloon, but all through town, that someone had challenged Wes Harley to a gunfight in the street. The name of the man who had challenged him, Dixon informed the others, was Buck West, a long-ago resident of Risco.

“Why does this West fella want to go up agin’ Harley for?” someone asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe he just wants to make a name for himself. Whoever kills Wes Harley is goin’ to be famous, that’s for sure.”

“No. What you mean is, whoever goes up agin’ Wes Harley is goin’ to be dead. And that’s what’s about to happen here. We’re about to see this Buck West fella get hisself kilt by Wes Harley.”

Outlaw Way was lined on both sides with spectators, as every resident of Risco had turned out to watch the gunfight.

Smoke was standing in front of the saloon. He felt a little exposed. No doubt there were people in the crowd who had one reason or another to want him dead. But there was also an intense interest running through the crowd, the excitement of seeing a gunfight take place between two men who had far-reaching reputations as to their skills with a pistol.

“Here comes Harley!” someone shouted, and the excitement of the crowd grew more pronounced.

Someone had told Smoke that Wes Harley looked like a walking skeleton, and he thought that description was apt. Harley was a gangly-looking man, that was true, but it wasn’t the fact that he was skinny, as much as that he was hairless, and his head really did look like a skull.

He walked into the middle of the street in front of the general store. He stood, not facing Smoke, but with his side to him, presenting much less of a target that way.