Battle of the Mountain Man

guns drawn.

“I heard all the shooting,” Chisum said. “You must have scared them off. I stayed put, not knowing whether I’d be in your line of fire. When these boys rode up, we were about to head up this slope, when all of a sudden, the shooting ended.”

“You’ll find three dead Mexicans up there in those trees,” Smoke said. “I reckon somebody oughta bury ’em an’ notify their next of kin. I wounded another bushwacker and we had a little talk before I let him go. He told me he works for a man by the name of Jessie Evans…”

“He’s the ramrod of Jimmy Dolan’s gang of rustlers,” Chisum said bitterly, “only I can’t prove a thing and nobody in official circles will look into it. Evans is a paid killer from down in Texas some place.” Chisum stared at Smoke a moment. “You said you killed three of them all by your lonesome?”

Smoke began reloading his pair of Colts. “Mexican pistoleros, by the look of ’em, I’ve tangled with their kind before.”

“You must be one hell of a gunman yourself, Mr. Jensen. I’d like to offer you a job, if you’re interested.”

“My guns ain’t for hire,” he replied, closing the loading gate on an ivory-handled .44 before he hoistered it. “But I did send Jessie Evans a little message, by way of his wounded sidekick. I told him if one more bullet came at me or my men, or if I lost a single cow on my way back to Colorado, I’d come lookin’ for him, and that I’d kill him.”

“Evans won’t scare easy,” Chisum declared.

Smoke gave the crossbred steers another look as he said, “I wasn’t meanin’ to scare him, Mr. Chisum. I meant every goddamn word. Whoever this Jessie Evans is, he’ll be a dead son of a bitch if he tests me on it. Now, if you’re ready, let’s take a look at those young longhorn cows you’re offering for sale.”Twenty

Billy Barlow glanced over his shoulder as his horse ran up a steep incline. Another horseman was gaining ground on him. Was it the broad-shouldered crazy man with two pistols, he wondered. He relaxed some when he recognized Pedro Lopez racing away from the scene of the shooting, the same as Billy had when it became clear the man who rode with Chisum had no fear, no sense, like a locoed bronc, the way he’d charged up that mountain with both guns blazing.

Billy slowed his horse to a walk at the top of the climb to scan the trail behind Pedro. The lunatic with two guns was not following them. He waited for Pedro to catch up.

Pedro’s horse was floundering under the punishment of spurs when Pedro rode up beside Billy.

“He ain’t followin’ you?” Billy asked, looking again at their backtrail, finding it empty.

“No,” Pedro gasped, looking back himself. “El hombre loco is too busy killing Jorge and Carlos and Raul. This son of a bitch be muy loco, to come at us like that.”

“He ain’t just loco,” Billy said. “He can goddamn sure shoot.”

“Verdad, it is the truth,” Pedro wheezed. “He come straight at us like un idiota. I never see a man so foolish as him before today.”

“It’s like he wasn’t afraid of our guns at all.”

Pedro mopped his brow with a bandanna, glancing back again to look for dust or any sign of the stranger. “I see Roy Cooper ride off very fast when this idiota come up the hill. He ride to the east. I don’t understand. Cooper is loco himself, but he is also mean with a gun. But he don’t stay when this stranger come shooting. He run away, like he know this hombre don’t be right in his head.”

“I didn’t see which way Cooper went,” Billy said. “I was too busy lookin’ out for my own ass. That guy, whoever he is, can’t have a lick of sense to charge us like that all by himself with just two pistols. He’s either dumb as a rock, or nearly the meanest bastard who ever stood in a pair of boots.”

“Maybeso Cooper go back to get him when he think we all go away,” Pedro suggested.

“I ain’t so damn sure,” Billy replied. “Maybe Mr. Roy Cooper ain’t as tough as we think he is. He lit out of there like his tailfeathers was afire.”

Pedro shrugged. “Who can say? I see Cooper shoot those cowboys in the night like he enjoy it.”

“Maybe he don’t enjoy it so much when somebody’s shootin’ back at him.”

“Senor Jessie be plenty mad when he hear this,” Pedro said, as though he was speaking to himself.

“Then let him face this crazy son of a bitch. We’ll tell him he’d better bring Pickett an’ every spare gun he’s got if he aims to kill that big bastard. I got a feelin’ this guy ain’t gonna be easy to kill.”

“Is the truth,” Pedro muttered, looking over his shoulder yet another time. “I don’t see Victor. Maybeso this hombre kill him too.”

“You’re right about one thing,” Billy added as he urged his horse to a lope. “Jessie sure as hell ain’t gonna like this when we give him the news.”

Roy Cooper lay on his belly in tall grass near the mouth of the valley, putting his rifle sights on the square- shouldered cowboy who came at them earlier. He was riding beside Chisum and his ranch hands like a man who didn’t have a care in the world. Roy knew the others were either dead or they’d deserted him, which was typical of Mexican gunmen—short on courage when things got tight.

The range for his Winchester .44 was still too great to be sure of the shot, and thus Roy waited, holding his rifle against his shoulder, doing his best to keep the barrel from catching sunlight that might warn the riders below of his presence. He was sure he could take down the newcomer when the distance was right.

The stranger’s head turned toward the grassy hilltop where Roy lay, but only for a moment. “He didn’t see me,” Roy whispered. Then the stranger did an odd thing… He got down off his horse and walked into a line of trees while the others halted to wait for him.

“He needed to piss,” Roy told himself. “He’s too bashful to pull his pecker out while everybody’s watchin’. Maybe I can get him when he walks out of them pines…”

Time seemed frozen, although it did seem to be taking the stranger a hell of a long time to let his water down. Roy was motionless, his rifle aimed for the spot where the stranger went into the trees, judging his chances of a