oughta change the name of this town to Dead Man’s Gulch, Damn, what a mess.” He gave Louis a tight grin. “On top of bein’ the undertaker’s best friend, you’ve been mighty good for the glass windowpane business up in Denver .”
Louis nodded, taking note of the fact that Cal was standing over Otto with a waxy look paling his cheeks. “It’s a necessary expenditure in the whiskey trade, Monte. As a businessman, I have to be prepared for a certain amount of fixed overhead. Windows are a part of that figure.”
Smoke heard Cal speak softly to Pearlie. “This feller ain’t got but one eye. You can see plumb into his skullbone. I swear I’m gonna be sick. Lookee there, Pearlie… he’s still breathin’ once in awhile. Jeez. I sure as hell ain’t got no appetite now. You can have my steak an’ eggs.”
“A man dyin’ ain’t never a pretty sight,” Pearlie replied, putting his arm around Cal ’s shoulder. “Go on outside fer a spell an’ catch yer wind. You’ll feel better in a little bit.”
Cal turned and hurried past Smoke’s table without looking at him, embarrassed by the way he felt sick to his stomach, Smoke guessed. Outside the Silver Dollar, curious citizens of Big Rock peered through front windows to see what all the ruckus was about so early in the morning… some were still dressed in nightshirts and long Johns.
Louis spoke to the bartender as Sheriff Carson stepped over to the doors behind Cal, following him out to fetch the undertaker. “Tell Andre to hurry with that food,” Louis said, as though he knew Smoke and Pearlie would be hungry despite what had just happened.
A nervous-eyed waiter refilled Smoke’s coffee cup and gave a similar warm-up to Louis’s, then Pearlie’s.
“Helluva way to start the day,” Smoke said under his breath as he brought the cup to his lips.
Louis chuckled and sat down. “I’ve had worse and so have you. Sometimes it comes with the territory if a man carries a gun.”
Smoke thought of something. “I don’t intend to talk to this Buntline. If he asks, tell him I’m not in the habit of talking about old friends, or even old enemies. He’ll have to get his information someplace else.”
Louis stared thoughtfully into his cup. “I doubt if any of the old-timers up high will talk to him either, if he can find any of them in the first place. I figure Mr. Buntline wasted a trip out here. As you know well, mountain men are a different breed, for the most part. I never knew one who could be called long-winded about what goes on up there.”
Smoke recalled his introduction to mountain men and their habits. “Preacher wouldn’t talk to other folks about it. Puma could be as talkative as a clam when somebody asked him about the mountains.”
Louis glanced at him. “Preacher had a tremendous influence on you, didn’t he?”
For a moment, Smoke closed his eyes, forgetting the killings only minutes ago to think back to his upbringing. “More than anyone will ever know,” he said, “I reckon it was the little things, not just how to survive in the wilds or how to use a gun or a knife or my fists. It was the way he took things in stride that I remember most. No matter how rough things got, no matter how bad any situation turned out to be, Preacher always kept his head. I never saw him scared. He never let his anger show when somebody crossed him. He was a man of damn few words, but when he talked it was a real good idea to listen. Never heard him say things twice, or ask a man but once to do what he wanted done. I learned real early to pay close attention to everything he told me, that there was a reason behind it. Nothing ever surprised him, either, no matter how bad it was. I used to think Preacher expected everything to go wrong, I was nearly grown by the time I understood that was his way of being ready for the worst.”
Louis was studying Smoke’s face. “I hear tell no one knows if Preacher is still alive. He’d be an old man by now…”
Smoke remembered his conversation with Puma Buck, asking the same question one night before the battle with Sundance Morgan and his gang.(See 'Vengeance of the Mountain Man') “I asked Puma what he thought one night. He said as long as there was beaver to be trapped up high, or grizzlies on the prowl, he didn’t figure it was time for Preacher to cross over. I think that was his way of telling me something he was sworn not to tell, that Preacher is alive up yonder somewhere. Like you say, he’d be getting on up in years by now and maybe it’s his pride that won’t let him come down to show himself after age has robbed him of a few things, maybe some of his eyesight and hearing, some aching joints or an old wound that didn’t heal. I respect him too much to go off looking for him even if he is alive in the emptiest parts of the high lonesome. Knowing Preacher like I do, I know if he wanted to see me or anybody else, he’d come looking for ’em, or send word. I’ve been thinking about it for years now, off and on. A prideful man is too proud to be humbled by old age in front of anyone else. I’ve got it figured he’s still up there, hunting and fishing, exploring the last stretches of wild country. He’s a mountain man all the way through, and his kind don’t need people to enjoy what’s around him.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have brought the subject up,” Louis observed, lighting another cigar with a sputtering lucifer. “I didn’t mean to open pages in a closed book.”
Smoke shrugged. “The book on Preacher isn’t closed until I get word he’s gone, or find his bones on some high mountain ridge someplace. As far as I’m concerned, he’s still up there, having one hell of a good time living the way he wants.”
Pearlie walked over, having overheard part of their conversation. “Puma said he’d lay money Preacher was still alive, that night me an’ Cal got took to his cabin.”
Louis gave Pearlie a stare. “I think the subject ought to be dropped right now, Pearlie.” He looked toward a waiter with a tray laden with steaming plates. “Here comes your breakfast. If you want, I’ll have someone tell Cal his food is ready.”
“I don’t think the young ’un is up to it just yet.” Pearlie replied, “but I’ll walk outside an’ ask. The boy’s seen a right smart share of killin’ in his short years, but when he got a good look up close at some of them bullet holes, his belly went to doin’ a flip-flop, which ain’t the natural place to put no big passel of food. Like invitin’ a schoolmarm to ride a pitchin’ bronc.”
Louis laughed, casting a sideways glance in Smoke’s direction. “I know one schoolmarm who’s up to the task. Sally can ride a bucking horse as well as any cowboy in this country.”
Smoke’s thoughts went to Sally. He’d promised her only this morning that they’d winter up in an old cabin high above Sugarloaf for a spell, so they could spend some time alone and perhaps encounter a few of the wandering mountain men still living in the Rockies northwest of the ranch. “She’s a good hand with a horse,” Smoke agreed. “She’s a right decent hand when it comes to handling men, like her husband. I’ve never laid claim to being the smartest feller in Colorado Territory, but she can outsmart me damn near any time she takes the notion. When she’s after something she wants, she can-be deadlier than a two-headed rattler. Worst thing is, she lets me think
