Pursuit Of The Mountain Man

Ol’ Preacher had told him, long ago, that if God hadn’t wanted all the critters of the forests and plains and swamps and deserts to exist side by side with man, the Almighty wouldn’t have put them here. Preacher had said that if given the chance, nearly all the critters would leave man alone, if man would just take the time to understand them. Indians felt the same way. But most men were too impatient, and would not take the time to really understand the value of those who share the earth.

Smoke recalled Ol’ Preacher’s words: “One of these days, boy, after we’re dead and gone and has become a part of the wind and the sky and earth, man is gonna look around him and say: I wonder what happened to the wolf, the puma, the bear, the deer, the beaver, the jaybird, and the eagle. I miss them. What happened? And most will be too gawddamn stupid to understand that they was what happened. Bloodthirsty for the kill. Arrogant and unfeelin’ for God’s lesser creatures. Sometimes I wonder just who is God’s lesser creatures. Us, or the animals. Animals don’t kill for sport, just man. Animals don’t kill‘ceptin’ for food to eat or to protect young’uns or territory. Hell’s fire, Smoke, I’ve personal seen babies that wandered off from their tipis that was taken in by wolves and kept alive until they was found. And that’s the truth. You’ll see it yourself as we travel this land, you and me. I have to laugh when I hear folks say wolves is savage creatures. Not unless you mess with ’em they ain’t. But don’t we humans turn savage if somebody messes with us? We damn shore do. It’s a mighty strange and hypocritical world we live in, boy. We humans expect more out of animals than we do out of our own kind. And that’s stupid, boy. Stupid and arrogant.”

The wolf howled again. Its voice was beautiful in the night. Somewhere close to the wolf, a puma coughed a warning to stay out of its territory. An owl hunted in the darkness.

“Stay with us,” Smoke muttered as he put out the fire. “Stay with us. We need you a lot more than you need us.”

Smoke put out his fire and wrapped up in his blankets; but sleep was elusive on this night. He wrestled with his thoughts. He knew he should take the fight to those hunting him. Knew that with just one night’s deadly work he could so demoralize those man-hunters that many of those left would pull out, their hearts and minds numbed with fear.

So why didn’t he?

Because he was tired of the killing. He didn’t want to spill any more blood. It was just that simple. He wished he could shout to the world: Smoke Jensen wants no more.

Wants no more?

When did he ever want the killings? Sure, he had taken the fight to many people over the years. But only after they had done a harm to him or those he loved.

So what made this situation any different from any of the others? What had he done to any of those people hunting him?

The answer was that he had done nothing to any of them.

So why all the reluctance on his part?

He tried to convince himself as he turned in his blankets that it was because of the women with the group.

But he knew that held little truth. From what he had seen so far the women were just as savage and blood- thirsty as their male counterparts. They certainly hadn’t shown any hesitation to fire their weapons. He had seen that evidenced this afternoon.

The bottom line was that he was sick of all the killing. But there was an addendum to that.

Those hunting Smoke seemed determined to kill him.

So where did that leave him? What options did he have? Sleep finally took him as he was thinking: No options.

Al Hayre and his group looked at the silent timber and the towering mountains that loomed all around them. They could feel eyes on them; sensed that Jensen was watching them. It was an uncomfortable feeling knowing that he could see them but they couldn’t see him.

“I don’t like this,” a bounty hunter known only as Gary said.

“You got any better ideas on how to flush him out?” Utah Red asked.

Gary sat his saddle and shut his mouth, a glum expression on his face.

“That’s what I figured,” Utah said. He looked around him. “Where the hell is Cosgrove?”

The wind sighed off the mountains and through the lushness of the unspoiled wilderness, the cold breeze teasing the men, as if to say: I know.

“Well, hell!” Al Hayre said, twisting in the saddle and looking around him. “He was right behind me a minute ago.”

“Somethin’ movin’ in the timber,” Gary said, pointing. “Right over there.”

The men dismounted and ground-reined their horses, taking their rifles from the saddle boots and fanning out, moving toward the timber.

Cosgrove’s horse walked out of the timber, dragging its reins and trying to graze.

“Rope’s gone from the saddle,” Angel Cortez said.

“What the hell does that mean?” Gary asked.

No one replied. No one knew.

As the men drew nearer, muffled sounds came from the gloom of the timber and the thick underbrush.

“Somethin’ kickin’ in there,” Utah said. “High up, ’bout twenty foot off the ground. See it?”

“Si,” Angel said. “But I don’t know what it is—it does not look human.”

Utah was the first to enter the timber from the valley. He pulled up short. “Hell, it’s Cosgrove. He’s all trussed up and hangin’ from a limb. Cosgrove,” Utah yelled, “what in the hell are you doin’ up there?”