Pursuit Of The Mountain Man

“Yes. You do have weapons, don’t you?”

“We have a rifle and a shotgun,” Thomas said. “And Robert has a sidearm.”

“That’s good. Keep them close by.” He walked to his packhorse and returned with two gunbelts he’d taken from bounty-hunters in von Hausen“s party. ”Here,” he said, handing the guns and leather to Gilbert. ”I’m gettin’ loaded down with weapons. I’ll give you folks a .44 carbine, too.”

“This is very generous of you, sir,” Gilbert said. “Let us pay you for these fine weapons. We’re out here on a government grant.”

Smoke shook his head. “The people I took them from don’t need them any longer.”

“You’re a lawman?” Blanche asked.

“No, ma’am. Those guns belonged to some ol’ boys who were chasing me. They caught up with me.” He looked at her confused expression and smiled, transforming his entire face, taking years from him. “I’m not an outlaw, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m a rancher from down in Colorado. My wife is the former Sally Reynolds of New Hampshire.”

“How marvelous!” Paula said. “The banking family. Very old and respected name.” She closed her mouth and looked at the others in her group. “Then you must be? ... It was in all the newspapers ... Some thought it was so scandalous ... For her to marry a ... Oh, my God!”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m Smoke Jensen.”

The women got all flustered and the men got all nervous. Smoke sipped his coffee. Too weak for his taste. But he wasn’t about to complain.

“I read in the newspapers before we left that Sally was home visiting friends and family,” Carol said. “Her parents are still in Europe, are they not?”

“Yes, ma‘am. With our children. Look here, what do you call those hats y’all are wearing?”

“Pith,” Robert said.

Smoke almost spilled his coffee. He blurted, “I beg your pardon, sir?”

“Pith helmets,” Paula said. “They’re quite the rage for any type of expedition into the wilderness.”

“If you say so,” Smoke mumbled.

Thomas said, “These guns you just gave us ... the men chasing you gave them up voluntarily?”

“They did after I shot them.”

Blanche sat down on a log. “Were they severely wounded?”

“About as severe as you can get,” Smoke said, spearing a piece of bacon from the skillet. “They sure weren’t in any condition to complain about it.”

“You turned the thugs over to the law?”

“No. Their buddies buried them.”

Carol sat down beside Blanche and both women started fanning themselves vigorously.

“You ... killed them?” Gilbert asked.

“I sure did.” Then Smoke explained, in detail, about those chasing him. While he was explaining, he spotted the coffee can and made a fresh pot of coffee. Stuff that was drinkable. Cowboy coffee. “I just can’t seem to convince that crazy German to leave me alone. He’s about to make me mad.”

Robert poured a cup of the fresh brew and took a sip. His eyes bugged out as he bravely swallowed it. He sat the cup down.

“How ... many men do you have chasing you?” Gilbert asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. Twenty-five or thirty, I suppose. I killed three more the other day, over on the Yellowstone. They just keep coming at me and I just keep whittling them down. I’m goin’ to have to make a stand of it somewhere, I reckon. But I don’t want to see any innocent people get hurt.”

“I don’t think there is anyone else in the park this time of year,” Thomas said. “We did see some young men a couple of weeks ago. Government surveyors.”

“I ran into them. Nice bunch of boys. They said they were going to tell the superintendent about the men after me. But by the time he gets word out and the army, or U.S. Marshals get in, this fracas will be over.”

“You are very ... well, cavalier about this matter, Mister Jensen,” Carol said.

“No point in getting all worked up about it.” Smoke nibbled on a biscuit. “I’ll just handle it my way.”

“But there are thirty gunmen chasing you!” Blanche said.

Smoke shrugged. “More or less. And I assure you it’ll be less in a day or two. I faced eighteen men in the streets of a town on the Uncompahgre some years back. I was just out of my teens. I left all eighteen belly down in the dirt.”

“Eighteen!” Robert said. “You killed eighteen men by yourself?”

“Sure did. They got lead in me, I won’t deny that. Almost killed me. But I was still standing when the dust cleared ... sort of. I was on my knees in the street but I was still alive.”

“Where was the law?” Paula asked.

Smoke tapped the butt of a Colt. “Right there, ma’am. The law is good for handling lost horses and finding runaway kids and the like. It’s good to see the law walking the street and tipping their hats to ladies. Makes everybody feel good. All secure and such as that. But there are some things that a man has to handle personal. If he’s been pushed to the end of the line and can’t get any relief and if he’s capable and has the where-with-all. I’m