Pursuit Of The Mountain Man

“Not too many of them around. I like it for a cross-draw. You boys aren’t from the west, are you?”

“Why ... no. As a matter of fact, we’re not,” Charles replied. “What gave us away?”

“Nothing in particular. I just guessed.”

Smoke let them eat in peace for a moment, then asked, “Not that it’s any of my business, but what direction did you men come in from?”

“From the north,” Harold said. “We’ve been working up near Tower Falls.” He looked puzzled. “Why would it not be any of your business? It was a perfectly harmless thing to ask?”

“Out here, boys, it’s sometimes not healthy to ask too many questions about a man’s back trail.”

“Ahhh!” Charles said. “I see. The person to whom the question is directed might be a road agent?”

“Something like that.” Smoke fixed his plate and poured a cup of coffee.

“Would it offend you if I inquired as to your name, sir?” Morris asked.

Smoke smiled. The young men all looked to be about the same age. Early twenties at best. “My name is Jensen. People call me Smoke.”

The young men stopped eating as if on command. They froze. Smoke went right on eating his supper and sipping his coffee. Finally he lifted his eyes and looked at them. “Eat, eat, boys. Your supper’s getting cold.” He smiled again. “I don’t bite, boys, and I’ve never shot a man who wasn’t trying to do me harm. So relax.”

“I ... ah ... thought you would be a much older man,” Harold said when he finally found his voice.

“We’ve read all the books about you and we saw the play about you in New York City our senior year in college,” Morris said. “Did you really ride with Jesse James?”

“Nope. Only met the man one time. I was just a boy during the war when Jesse and his bunch stopped by the farm and I gave them a poke of food. He give me a pistol; Navy .36 it was, and an extra cylinder. That’s the only time I ever saw him.”

“You’ve killed a ... ah ... uh ...” Perry stopped, an embarrassed look on his face.

“A lot of men,” Smoke finished it for him. “Yes. I have. First white men I killed was down in Rico, just west of the Needle Mountains. Back in ’69 or ’70. Me and a mountain man name of Preacher was riding over to Pagosa Springs to find the men who killed my father. A man by the name of Pike and a buddy of his-I never did know his name-braced me in the trading post. They were a little slow on the draw.”

“You killed both of them?”

“Yes.”

“And since then?” Charles asked softly.

“Long bloody years. I changed my name for several years. Married and had children. But trouble came my way and I faced it. I’m Smoke Jensen and if people don’t like it they can go to hell.”

“Mind another question, sir?” Harold asked.

“Go right ahead.”

“I—we—heard that you were a successful rancher over in Colorado.”

“That’s correct. My wife and I own a spread we call the Sugarloaf.”

“Yet ... here you are in the middle of the wilderness. The first national park in America. There are no cattle here, Mister Jensen.”

“No. But there is plenty of cover here, and no people to get hurt when the lead starts flying. I’ve got about twenty-five or thirty hardcases on my backtrail, led by a crazy European Baron name of Frederick von Hausen. They plan on killing me ... for sport.”

All four young men stared at Smoke, disbelief in their eyes. Morris broke the silence. “They plan on killing you, sir?”

“Yeah. It’s a sporting event, according to them. Track me down, corner me, kill me, and then go home and boast about it, I suppose.”

“Have, uh, they found? ...” He shook his head and frowned. “Well, it’s quite obvious they haven’t found you. You’re still alive.”

“Oh, they’ve found me a couple of times. I killed three or four of them, beat the crap out of one, and nicked two or three more. I blew up their camp last week. I suspect von Hausen has sent for more men. He seems to be a very determined man.”

“You killed three or four, sir?” Charles said.

“Yeah. I could have killed them all when I Injuned into their camp one night and laid down a warning to one of the women in the bunch. But I didn’t.”

“They have ladies with them?” Perry was horrified at just the thought.

“I don’t think they’re ladies. That’d be stretching the point some. But they’re definitely female.”

“And this bunch of hooligans ... they are here, in the park?”

“Oh, yeah. I blew their camp up down on the Monument, then hauled my ashes after I watched several men head out to re-supply. Probably at that trading post up on the Shoshone. But they’re coming after me. So you boys rest easy here tonight, and I’ll fill you full of deer meat for breakfast and then you best be on your way ’fore the lead starts flying.”

“But we can’t have anything like that going on here!” Charles said. “Good heavens, sir. This is a national park. We have many visitors every year. Many come just to see Old Faithful erupt.”