Chisum wheeled his horse for the closest tree. “Get to some cover!” he yelled, wasted breath since Smoke was already heeling his borrowed horse in the same direction.
Almost at the same instant, a rifle cracked somewhere above them. A pinon branch snapped above Smoke’s head just as they rode into the pines.
“Stay here an’ draw their fire!” Smoke bellowed, jerking his other pistol free, caught up in a rush of white-hot rage over the attempt to drygulch them.
He drove his spurs into the ribs of Chisum’s bay gelding, beginning a full-tilt charge toward the top of the ridge without knowing how many men he faced… At the moment he didn’t give a damn. . Smoke was hell-bent on teaching a bushwhacker some manners as he reined his galloping horse among the trees upslope. He heard a pistol bark behind him… Chisum was drawing their fire with his big Walker Colt .44.
Smoke saw a man kneeling with a rifle to his shoulder, hiding behind the trunk of a pinon. Steadying his pistol, despite the gait of a running horse underneath him, Smoke snapped off a quick shot at fifty yards.
A splash of crimson flew from the rifleman’s left ear as he was turning toward the sound of a speeding horse. The bushwhacker’s rifle discharged harmlessly in the air as he spun away from the tree with blood squirting from his skull.
Another movement caught Smoke’s attention, a stocky Mexican in a drooping sombrero turning a rifle in Smoke’s direction. As the Mexican readied for a shot, Smoke fired a roaring pistol shot aimed at his chest.
The Mexican staggered backward, dropping his Winchester to clutch his breastbone, where a dark red hole suddenly appeared in his soiled white shirt-front. Drumming his spurs into the bay’s sides, Smoke raced toward another shadowy shape in the dense pine forest, bending low over his horse’s neck, aiming as best he could with the bounding strides of the bay throwing his gunsights off a fraction.
The outline of another Mexican gunman became clear enough for a tricky shot and Smoke took it, hearing the roar of his .44 fill his ears, a wisp of blue gunsmoke curling past his face.
A sombrero-clad figure jerked upright next to a thick pine trunk, reaching for his shoulder, moving into plain sight just long enough for Smoke to fire again. A cry of pain filled the forest around them as Smoke pulled his bay to a sliding stop at the edge of a pinon thicket, leaping to the ground before the horse came to a complete halt… He had no way of knowing how many more men were hidden along this ridge, and now it was time to hunt them down individually, stalking them until he was certain no one else was there.
The third man he’d shot slumped to the ground, groaning. Off in the distance, maybe a hundred yards further down the ridge, he heard voices, men yelling to each other in rapid Spanish, at least two more gunmen who would pay dearly for trying to ambush him and Chisum.
Smoke crept forward, both pistols at the ready, his anger slowly cooling to a more calculated revenge. Moving on the balls of his feet, he advanced toward the sound of voices. His horse trotted back downhill to escape the noise of guns. Darting from tree to tree, never knowing where another attacker might be, he heard the drum of pounding hoofbeats coming from the back side of the ridge, a lone horseman escaping the battle, apparently running out of nerve.
Soundlessly, he stepped across beds of fallen pine needles, keeping to the shadows wherever he could. Now all was quiet along the ridge… The voices hac stopped.
A moment later, he heard another horse take of at a gallop, and he wondered if the last bushwhacker had pulled out, until he caught a glimpse of a running man, a Mexican wearing a sombrero, carrying a rifle.
It was a difficult target, requiring Smoke to steady his Colt against a tree trunk. When he fired, the report echoed back and forth throughout the pines accompanied by a yell as the potbellied Mexican went facedown, legs still pumping, trying to crawl.
Staying behind trees, Smoke hurried over to the wounded man, who left a blood trail over dry pine needles and yellowed winter grass beginning to turn green near its roots. The Mexican had a flesh woum across his ribs. Before Smoke knelt beside him, he gave the forest a close examination, until he was satisfied they were alone.
He put the muzzle of a Colt against the Mexican’s right temple and spat out a question. “Who sent you? You’ve got just one chance to answer before I scatter your brains all over this ridge.”
“Jessie,” the Mexican hissed, clenching his teeth against the pain. “Jessie… Evans.”
Smoke didn’t recognize the name, although it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. “You ain’t hurt all that bad, Paucho, or whatever your name is. Get on your horse an’ ride back to this Jessie Evans. Tell him if he ever messes with Smoke Jensen or any of my friends again, I’ll come lookin’ for him and I’ll kill him. I want you to make that real clear. My friends and me are ridin’ back to Colorado with a herd of cattle in a couple of days. If I lose so much as one cow or one bull, I’m gonna come lookin’ for Jessie. There won’t be no place in New Mexico Territory that’s safe from me if anything happens to my cows or my friends. I’ve got no stake in this range war, but I’ll goddamn sure take a hand in it if one more shot gets fired in my direction, or if I lose a single head of livestock. Understand, Pancho?”
The Mexican nodded, glancing sideways to the gun Smoke held to his head. “
Smoke wasn’t quite satisfied yet. “I killed three of your partners just now, an’ put a litde gash across your ribs ’cause you were lucky. Don’t count on bein’ lucky the next time. Tell Jessie Evans what I said.”
“
“I imagine Evans figures he’s pretty tough, pretty good with a gun. He can go on believin’ that if he wants, only be sure an’ tell him he’s never crossed paths with Smoke Jensen before. If he does it again, I’ll fill him so goddamn full of bullet holes he won’t have to take his pecker out to piss, ’cause he’s gonna be leakin’ all the time.”
“I will tell him you are one bad hombre, senor. I have seen this… for myself.”
Smoke lowered his Colt, lifted the Mexican’s pistol out of his gunbelt, and took his rifle before he stood up cautiously to check his surroundings. Then he spoke to the Mexican again in a voice like ice. “I don’t really figure it’ll do any good to give Jessie that warning, but I’m doin’ it anyway, just in case he’s got more sense than most. Men who think they’re tough usually have to be proven wrong. You can tell him Smoke Jensen is just the man who can get that job done. If it’s a fight he wants, I’m the man he’s lookin’ for.”
John Chisum lowered his pistol when he saw Smoke riding down to the cattle pasture. He waited until Smoke rode up to him to speak. Both Chisum cowboys guarding the herd had ridden up to the north end of the pasture with
