Pursuit Of The Mountain Man

“Luck to you, Smoke.”

“What exactly is the Hole?” Gunter asked.

They had camped for the night, eaten supper, and were drinking coffee before turning in.

John T. said, “It’s about fifty miles south of a brand new town called Buffalo, and due east of the Powder River. Used to be run by a man called Poker-Face Carey. I don’t know whether he’s still there or not. It’s a shanty town of shacks and a couple of saloons. I’ll angle over that way in a couple of days and see if anyone’s interested in hookin’ up with us.”

“How many days to Dodge City?” Marlene asked.

“Long-hard ride, missy,” Utah Red said. “I’d hate to even guess. We’re days away from Dodge.”

“Get ten men,” she told John T. “Ten good men who are fast with a gun and who aren’t afraid of Smoke Jensen. We’ll pay each one a hundred dollars a day and a thousand dollar bonus apiece if they’ll get us to Dodge City.”

John T. smiled. “I don’t except I’ll have much trouble gettin’ ten pretty good ol’ boys.”

“One-Eye’s there,” Gil Webb said. “I know him. And I’m pretty sure Dick Dorman’s still there.”

“You know Dick?”

“Sure.”

“Soon as we hit the Bighorn‘s, you angle off and beat it for the Hole. We’ll meet up on the south fork of the Powder. You know the crossin’?”

Gil nodded.

“I had me a partner once. Name of Slick-Finger Bob. He’ll do to ride the river with. He was usin’ the Hole ’fore it became so known. Get him if he’s there.”

“See if an ol’ boy named of Barton is there,” Paul Melham said. “Henry Barton’s his name. Tell him to come on; mention my name.”

“Ask around for Sandy Beecher,” Utah Red said. “He’s a good one, too.”

Later, Marlene lay beside von Hausen. They talked in whispers. “Getting to Dodge City is only part of the trip, mein liebling,” she said. “What happens to us after the men are paid off and gone?”

“Gunter will go in alone. You’ve noticed the beard he’s growing? He’ll be dressed like a cowhand. He’ll contact that attorney and get the money. We’ll pay the men off and one by one go in and catch the train. Jensen will be looking for us east. We won’t go east. We’ll head back west, to San Francisco, and take the long way home. By the time we get back, all this will have been forgotten.”

“I wish we did not have to go to Dodge City. We are placing ourselves in a great deal of danger by doing so.”

“So do I. But we couldn’t risk taking that much money with us. These desperadoes would have killed us the first night on the trail. I had to set it up this way for our safety. I think with the men from this Hole place, we’ll make it. If nothing else they’ll buy us some time.”

“Do you suppose Valdes and the others might have killed Jensen?”

“I doubt it. But it’s a nice thought to go to sleep on, isn’t it?”

She laughed. But it was an ugly laugh.

When Smoke crossed the Bighorn River he cut slightly south, skirting the Bighorn Mountains and angling down to catch the stagecoach road that led to the settlement slowly being build around Fort Caspar on the North Platte.

He had a plan, and he thought it would work. Alone, with the big strong Appaloosa under him, he was making about ten miles a day more than those in the large von Hausen party. He’d get to Fort Caspar at least two days ahead of their planned arrival. At Fort Caspar, he would resupply and then head back west and see what damage he could do, plus he wanted to turn the party more north.

Von Hausen would not dare show his face at the Fort, so the only flaw in Smoke’s plan was if the party decided to change directions on him. But he didn’t think they do that. They had to have supplies. Von Hausen and party would camp well away from the fort and send some of their hired guns in for supplies.

Fort Caspar was named for Lt. Caspar Collins, who was killed by Indians while trying to rescue a wagon train. Casper came about due to the misspelling of the railroad clerk who filed the plat for the town.

Gil Webb rode to the Hole and came away with ten salty ol’ boys who thought they could handle Smoke Jensen. What they were were thugs and petty thieves and riff-raff and horse-stealing bums. They were good with a gun, give the devil his due, and any of them would kill for the pennies off a dead man’s eyes.

Smoke had found a tinker on the stagecoach road who was more than willing to sell him coffee and bacon and flour for inflated prices. Since he did not have to go to Fort Caspar, he headed straight north about the time Gil was leaving the Hole with his band of thugs.

The rendezvous on the Powder was going to be very interesting. And quite lively.

24

“This here’s One Eye Slim,” John T. introduced the man to von Hausen.

Von Hausen looked at the man. Both his eyes seemed fine.

“He likes to gouge out the eye of anyone he fights,” John T. explained.

“It’s my trademark,” One Eye said proudly.

“Wonderful,” von Hausen replied. “We all have our little quirks.”

He was introduced to Dick Dorman. “He can do a border roll faster than you can blink,” John T. said.

Von Hausen and company did not have the foggiest idea what a border roll was and none of them were