Journey Of The Mountain Man

Ben did not hesitate. He jerked iron and shot Red in the head, putting him out of his agony, and then shot the snake, clipping its head off with deadly accuracy.

The bearded gunny staggered out the door, dying on his feet. Venom dripped from his face. He stood for a moment, and then fell like a tree, facefirst in the dirt. The rattler sidewinded toward Larado, who jerked out his pistol and emptied it into the rattler.

“Burn this damn place!” Lanny shouted.

“Slim’s in there!”

Lanny looked inside. Slim was already beginning to swell from the massive amount of venom in his body. Lanny carefully backed out. “Slim’s dead,” he announced. “Damn Smoke Jensen. The bassard ain’t human to do something lak this.”

“I heard that he was from hell, myself,” a gunny called Blaine said. He sat his horse and looked at the death house. “I knowed a man said Jensen took lead seven times one day some years back. Never did knock him down. He just kept on comin’.”

“That ain’t no story,” Ben Sabler said. “I was there. I seen it.”

Lanny looked at Ben. “I’ll kill him. And that’s a promise.”

“I gotta see it.” Ben didn’t back down. “I seen his graveyards. I ain’t never seen none of yours.”

“Hang around,” Lanny told him. He turned his back and shouted the order. “Burn this damn place to the ground!”

Seventeen

They stood in the front yard and watched the smoke spiral up into the sky, caught by vortexes in the hot air and spinning upward until breaking up.

Parnell stood with clenched fists, his eyes on the dark smoke. “I say now, that was unnecessary. Quite brutish. And that makes me angry.” He stalked away, muttering to himself.

Fae was on the porch, her face in her hands, crying softly. “She’s a woman after all,” Lujan said, so softly only Smoke could hear.

Del worked the handle of the outside pump, wetting a bandana and taking it to Fae.

Fae looked at the foreman, surprise in her eyes, and tried a smile as she took the dampened bandana. “Thank you, Del.”

“You’re shore welcome, ma’am.” He backed off a few feet.

“Lujan,” Smoke said. “You and me and Beans. We hit them tonight.”

“Si, senor.” Lujan’s teeth flashed in a smile. “I was wondering when you would have enough of being pushed.”

By late afternoon, everyone at the Circle Double C knew the three men were going headhunting. But no one said a word about it. That might have caused some bad luck. And no one took umbrage at not being asked along. This was to be—they guessed—a hit-hard-and-quick-and-run-like- hell operation. Too many riders would just get in the way.

When Smoke threw a saddle on Dagger, the big mean-eyed horse was ready for the trail, and he showed his displeasure at not being ridden much lately by trying to step on Smoke’s foot.

The men took tape from the medicine chest and taped everything that might jingle. They took everything out of their pockets that was not necessary and looped bandoleers of ammunition across their chests. They were all dressed in dark clothing.

Just after dusk, Beans and Sandi went for a short walk while Smoke and Lujan squatted under the shade of a huge old tree by the bunkhouse and watched as Cord left the main house and walked toward them.

He squatted down beside them in the near-darkness of Montana’s summer dusk. “Nice quiet evenin’, boys.”

“Indeed it is, senor.” Lujan flashed his smile. His eyes flicked over to Beans and Sandi, now sitting in the yard swing. “A night for romance.”

Cord grunted, but both men knew the rancher liked the young man called the Moab Kid. “Sandi would be inclined to give me all sorts of grief if anything was to happen to Beans.”

When neither Smoke nor Lujan replied, Cord said, “Three against sixty is crappy odds, boys.”

“Not the way we plan to fight,” Smoke told him. “They’ll be expecting a mass attack. Not a small surprise attack.”

Again, the rancher grunted. It was clear that he did not like the three of them going head-hunting. “We can expect you back when?”

“Around dawn. But keep guards out, Cord. If we do as much damage as I think we will, Dooley is likely to ride against you this night.”

“I’ll double the guards.”

Beans and Sandi had parted, with Sandi now on the lamplighted front porch. The Moab Kid was walking toward the three men at the tree. Faint light reflected off the double bandoleers of ammunition crisscrossing his chest.

All three men wore two guns around their waist; a third pistol rested in homemade shoulder holsters. They had each added another rifle boot; with two fully loaded Winchester .44 rifles and three pistols, that meant each man was capable of firing fifty-two times before reloading. And each man carried a double pouch over their saddlebags, each pouch containing a can of giant powder, already rigged with fuse and cap.

The men intended to raise a lot of hell at Dooley’s D-H spread.

Smoke and Lujan rose to their boots.

Cord’s voice was soft in the night. “See you, boys.”