Journey Of The Mountain Man

blood between you and Jim Kay?”

Smoke shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of. I’ve known him since I was just a kid. He’s a friend of Preacher.”

Cord smiled. “Preacher pulled my bacon out of the fire long years back. Only time I ever met him. I owe him. I often wonder what happened to him.”

“He’s alive. But getting on in years.”

Cord nodded his head, then his eyes swept the room. “I’ll say it now, boys; we leave the Box T alone. Our fight is with Dooley Hanks. Box T riders can cross our range and be safe doin’ it. They’ll be comin’ through lookin’ for the cattle we scattered. You don’t have to help them, just leave them alone.”

A few of the gunslicks exchanged furtive glances. Cord missed the eye movement. Smoke did not. The gunfighters that Smoke would have trusted had left the area, such as Jim Kay and Red and a few others. What was left was the dregs, and there was not an ounce of honor in the lot.

Smoke finished his beer. “See you, Cord.”

The rancher nodded his head and Smoke walked out the door. Riding toward the Box T, Smoke thought: You better be careful, McCorkle, ‘cause you’ve surrounded yourself with a bunch of rattlesnakes, and I don’t think you know just how dangerous they are.

Seven

The days drifted on, filled with hard honest work and the deep dreamless sleep of the exhausted. Smoke had hired two more hands, boys really, in their late teens. Bobby and Hatfield. They had left the drudgery of a hardscrabble farm in Wisconsin and drifted west, with dreams of the romantic West and being cowboys. And they both had lost all illusions about the romantic life of a cowboy very quickly. It was brutally hard work, but at least much of it could be done from the back of a horse.

True to his word, Lujan not only did his share, but took up some slack was well. He as a skilled cowboy, working with no wasted motion, and he was one of the finest horsemen Smoke had ever seen.

One hot afternoon, Smoke looked up to see young Hatfield come a-foggin’ toward him, lathering his horse.

“Mister Smoke! Mister Smoke!” he yelled. “I ain’t believing this. You got to come quick to the house.”

He reined up in a cloud of dust and Smoke had to wait until the dust settled before he could even see the young man to talk to him.

“Whoa, boy! Who put a burr under your blanket?”

“Mister Smoke, my daddy read stories about them men up to Miss Fae’s house when he was a boy. I thought they was all dead and buried in the grave!”

“Slow down, boy. What men?”

“Them old gunfighters up yonder. Come on.” He wheeled his horse around and was gone at a gallop.

Lujan pulled up. “What s going on, amigo?”

“I don t know. Come on, let’s find out.”

Fae was entertaining them on the front porch when Smoke and Lujan rode up. Smoke laughed when he saw them.

Lujan looked first at the aging men on the porch, and then looked at Smoke, When he spoke, there was disapproval in his voice. “It is not nice to laugh at the old, my friend.”

“Lujan, I’m not laughing at them. These men are friends of mine. As well known as we are, we’re pikers compared to those old gunslingers. Lujan, you’re looking at Silver Jim, Pistol Le Roux, Hardrock, and Charlie Starr.”

“Dios mio!” the Mexican breathed. “Those men invented the fast draw.”

“And don’t sell them short even today, Lujan. They can still get into action mighty quick.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it for a minute,” Lujan said, dismounting.

“If I’d known you old coots were going to show up, I’d have called the old folks home and had them send over some wheelchairs,” Smoke called out.

“Would you just listen to the pup flap his mouth,” Hardrock said. “I ought to get up and spank him.”

“Way your knees pop and crack he’d probably think you was shootin’ at him,” Pistol laughed.

The men shook hands and Smoke introduced them to Lujan.

Charlie Starr sized the Mexican up. “Yeah, I seen you down along the border some years back. When them Sabler Brothers called you out. Too bad you didn’t kill all five of them.”

“Wasn’t two down enough?” Lujan asked softly, clearly in awe of these old gunslingers.

“Nope,” Silver Jim said. “We stopped off down in Wyoming for supplies. Store clerk said the Sabler boys had come through the day before, heading up thisaway. Ben, Carl, and Delmar.”

Lujan sighed. “Many, many times I have wished I had never drawn my pistol in anger that first time down in Cuauhtemoc.” He smiled. “Of course, the shooting was over a lovely lady. And of course, she would have nothing to do with me after that.”

“What was her name?” Hatfield asked.

Lujan laughed. “I do not even remember.”

The old gunfighters were all well up in years—Charlie Starr being the youngest—but they were all leather-tough and could still work many men half their age into the ground.

And the news that the Box T had hired the famed gunslingers was soon all over the area. Some of Cord McCorkle’s hired guns thought it was funny, and it would be even funnier to tree one of the old gunnies and see just