Blood of the Mountain Man (8 page)

“A
whorehouse!
” she said.

The next morning she was on the train, heading north.

Not yet trusting Devil around people he was not familiar with, Smoke saddled up Buck for the ride into town. Jenny climbed up beside Ladd and off they went, rattling down the road.

Just before leaving, Smoke told Van Horn, “I’m expecting trouble in town. It’s just a feeling I have in my guts.”

The old gunfighter nodded in agreement. “So do I.” He toed out his cigarette butt. “Ladd and Cooper are good boys. They’ll stand. Don’t worry about things here. You just be careful. We don’t have many friends in Red Light.”

That was evident when the man at the big general store insulted Jenny and refused to sell her anything. Ten seconds later, after looking into the cold eyes of Smoke Jensen and almost soiling his drawers, he apologized profoundly for his remark and began filling the large order as fast as he could work.

Several cowboys appeared in the door. Smoke had seen the Biggers brand —a Triangle JB —on a dozen horses lining the narrow street. “Shopkeeper, you was told not to sell to them,” one of the men said.

“It’s a free country,” Smoke replied, turning from the counter to face the men. “And who the hell asked you to stick your mouth in this matter?” “Jensen” the spokesman for the group said, “you may be a big wheel down where you come from. But around here, you ain’t jack-crap. I’d bear that in mind, was I you.”

“You’re not me,” Smoke told him. “Now why don’t you just shut your face and wander back to wherever the hell it is you came from?”

“That’s all!” Sheriff Bowers said, walking up and stepping into the store. “Seems like you can’t even come to town without startin’ trouble, Smoke.”

“I didn’t start this. But I will finish it, if I have to. We came into town for supplies, that’s all. These yahoos tried to stop the store owner from selling to us. Now, what do you have to say about that?” Club Bowers was silent for a moment. Everything would have been real easy if Smoke Jensen hadn’t a showed up. Everything was working out to plan . . . until he rode into town. Now everything was all fouled up. Taking a ranch away from a seventeen-year-old girl and an old has-been of a gunfighter was one thing. Pulling iron against a U.S. Marshal was something else. Especially when that marshal was Smoke Jensen. He knew the Marshals’ Service had a nasty habit of avenging their own. And they didn’t always do it according to a law book. What the powers that be in the town didn’t need right now was for a bunch of U.S. Marshals to come riding in, hell-bent for revenge. But, Club thought, if I ain’t in town, I can’t be held responsible for what happens.

“You boys go on back to the saloon and cool down,” Club told the JB riders.

“The boss said to . . .”

“Did you hear me?” Club’s question was loudly and harshly spoken. “Move.” When the men had gone, Club turned and walked swiftly to the livery.

“He’s ridin’ out,” Cooper said.

“Well, we’re in for it now,” Smoke said.

“That was Dick Miles doin’ all the talkin’,” Ladd said. “He’s a bad one, Smoke. All of Biggers’ men are drawin’ fightin’ wages.”

Smoke smiled. “I forgot to tell you boys —so are you.”

The punchers smiled. That extra money would go a long ways toward a new saddle or a gun or a handmade pair of boots, to wear on special occasions.

“There go the deputies,” Cooper said. “All of them. Hightailin’ it right after Club.”

“And here comes Dick and a whole bunch of others,” Ladd added. “They ain’t even waitin’ ’til the law gets out of town.”

Smoke walked to the gun racks and took down three double-barreled shotguns, tossing one each to Cooper, Ladd, and Jenny. He broke open a box of shells and said,    “Load them up. I’m going to open the dance. Stay inside and when I yell, if I yell, open fire.”

“Mister Jensen?” the shopkeeper said. “I heard that Major Cosgrove has offered a thousand dollars to anyone who kills you.”

“Is that all?” Smoke asked. “That’s an insult. I’ve had a hundred times that amount on me.” Smoke pulled both guns and stepped out onto the high boardwalk, cocking the ,44s. He’d been doing this since he was a boy, and Preacher had taught him that when somebody’s huntin’ you, why hell, just take it to them and open the dance.

“Is it a good day to die, boys?” Smoke called, lifting his .44s.

“Jesus!” one of JB hands said, a rifle in his hands and the words drifting to Smoke. “This ain’t gonna be no tea party.”

“You can believe that,” Smoke said, and opened fire without warning.

The street was suddenly filled with rolling thunder, twelve rounds fired so close together it sounded like one long, ragged volley. Smoke jumped from the boardwalk and jerked his rifle from the saddle boot. But there was no one left standing in the street, only a bloody pile of dead and dying and badly wounded Triangle JB hands.

Cooper and Ladd and Jenny stood in the store and stared open mouthed at the carnage before them. Smoke calmly punched out empties and reloaded, holstering his .44s. A half dozen men, all with guns in their hands, had come after Smoke Jensen. Only two would live past that bloody morning in Red Light, Montana. Dick Miles had taken a round in his rifle butt, the slug’s impact driving the stock into his belly and knocking the wind from him and putting him on the ground, otherwise unhurt. His ridin’ buddy, Highpockets Rycroft, was only slightly wounded. But neither of them wanted any more of Smoke Jensen on this day.

A doctor ran out into the street and began ministering to the wounded as best he could,'but their wounds were fearsome ones, all belly and chest shots.

Dick struggled up on one elbow. “You won’t get away with this, Jensen,” he called. “This is one time when your fancy name don’t mean nothin’ to nobody.”

“Yeah?” Smoke said. “Why don’t you carve that on the tombstones of your buddies?”

* * *

“I tell you, boys,” Cooper said, relating the day’s events to the crew, “I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it in my life. Smoke just walks out on the boardwalk, says, ‘Is it a good day to die, boys?’ and started tossin’ lead.”

“That’s the only way to do it,” Van Horn said. “If you know somebody’s comin’ after you, don’t give ’em no breaks. Just plug ’em.

“I wish I’d a seen it!” Jimmy said, sitting wide-eyed on his bunk.

“You’ll see a lot more than that ’fore this battle’s done, son,” Van Horn promised. “Jack Biggers will pull out all the stops now. He don’t have no choice in the matter. This is gonna be a fight to the finish, and Smoke knew it today. That’s why he done what he done.”

“Well,” Wolf Purcell said, rising up from his bunk. “That’s four gunhands we won’t have to deal with. Let’s go have some of Miss Jenny’s grub. I’m hongry.”

Jack Biggers couldn’t believe his eyes or ears. Four of his best men had been brought back to the ranch tied across their saddles. Dick was out of it for a few days because of a horribly bruised stomach, and Highpockets had lost the use of his left arm for a time.

"Jensen just opened fire?” the rancher asked. “He just started shooting? Why, that’s against the law!”

The two survivors exchanged glances at that comment. “He asked us if it was a good day to die, and started shootin’,” Dick said.

“I don’t think any of us even got off a shot,” Highpockets admitted. “I never heard a man work no .44s like that. This wasn’t no fast draw. Jensen had his hands full of iron when he stepped out of the store. And I never in my life seen no man that rattlesnake cold.”

“Oh, I have,” Biggers said. “I know several of them. I’ll send a wire and have them here within a week. If this is the way Jensen wants to play it, I’m just the man to show him a thing or two.”

The two toughs again exchanged glances. Maybe so, maybe not, they were thinking. But you might change your mind if you ever see Jensen in action.

“I’ll have that girl’s spread,” Biggers said, after shouting for a rider to get the hell over to the house. “And I’ll have it soon.”

Highpockets thought: I wouldn’t count on that, was I you. I really wouldn’t.

Sally rode into town, accompanied by three Pinkertons who looked as though they would relish the idea of a little trouble, just to liven things up. No one bothered them, for the word had spread from track’s end.

Deputy Brandt called for Club as soon as he saw the three men and one woman ride in.

“Leave them alone,” Club said. “Trouble with Pinks is the last thing we want.” His eyes appraised Sally as she swung down from the saddle. Quite a looker, he thought. But something told him that Smoke Jensen’s wife would be just about as tough to handle as Jensen himself. Sally was one hundred percent a lady, Club had no doubts about that. It was evident in her bearing. But she also had a pistol strapped around her waist and a short-barreled carbine shoved down in a saddle boot. Club had no doubts as to her ability, and willingness, to use both weapons. Club decided to play the gentleman. He walked over to the group and introduced himself, being sure to take off his hat.

“If I may be so bold, ma’am,” Club said. “Are you Mrs. Jensen?”

Sally turned to put cool eyes on him. She was a lovely lady, Club thought again, and she sure do fill out them jeans. But them eyes is remindful of the eyes of Smoke Jensen. This woman would kill a man just about as quick as her husband would. Biggers, he mused, you better back off and rethink your plans. All of you better do that.

“I am,” Sally said.

“I’m Sheriff Bowers, ma’am. Pleased to meet you, I’m sure. The Circle Cherry is just a few miles outside of town. That’s where your husband is. Take the right fork at the end of town and you’ll ride right to it.”

“The Circle . . .
Cherry?
” Sally gasped.

“Yes, ma’am,” Club replied. “Like the little fruit with a circle around it. It’s kind of an . . . unusual brand.”

“I saw the Golden Cherry riding in.”

“Ah . . . yes, ma’am. But that’s something that’s not fitten for a man to discuss with a good woman* “You mean it’s a whorehouse, don’t you?” Sally laid it out bluntly.

The three Pinks all looked everywhere except at Sally. The blue of the sky suddenly held a lot of interest for them. Club had not blushed since childhood. But blush he did now. “Ah . . . yes, ma’am. You are certainly right about that.”

The mayor, Fat Fosburn, walked up to take a better look at this beautiful woman dressed in men’s britches.

“Mayor,” Club was quick, “this is Smoke Jensen’s wife.”

Fat looked first at Sally, then at the three heavily armed men with her, and then swept off his hat.

“My escorts,” Sally said, lifting a gloved hand toward the Pinks.

“Gentlemen,” Fat acknowledged.

“We’d better be riding, Miss Sally,” one of the Pinks said.

“Yes,” Sally said. She nodded at Club and Fat and swung into the saddle. Looking down at them, she said, “I’m certain we’ll be seeing each other again. My husband and I plan on spending a great deal of time around here. Good day, gentlemen.” She lifted the reins and was gone down the street.

“It just keeps gettin’ worser and worser,” Club said glumly.

“It’s a game to Jensen,” Fat said. “He’s played this out before. I know about Sally Jensen. Comes from one of the wealthiest families in New England. Railroads and banks and newspapers and all sorts of businesses. She could buy this whole damn town if she wanted to. She could have a hundred of them damn Pinks in here if she wanted to. Five hundred of them. Send one of your men with a message to Biggers and Cosgrove. We’ve got to have a meeting. Tonight. At my place. What started out as something simple has suddenly become very complicated.”

“It might be too late to stop it,” Club said, nodding his head toward two men riding slowly into town.

“What do you mean?”

“Yonder comes Whisperin’ Langley and Patmos. Biggers told me he was hirin’ him some guns.”

“All hell’s fixin’ to break loose around here,” Fat said.

‘Yeah,” Club said. “Everything’s complete now.”

Fat looked at him.

“The Devil’s already here. His name is Smoke Jensen.”

Sally and Jenny hit it off immediately and before the afternoon was over, they- were good friends. The Pinks stayed the night and were gone the next day. One more hand was hired, a quiet man in his late forties or early fifties who came riding up. Van Horn had hired him on the spot.

“Name’s Barrie,” Van Horn said. “I hadn’t seen him in years. Used to be a town-tamer down in the southwest.”

“I’ve heard of him,” Smoke said. “I thought he was dead.”

“Nope. He just got tired of it. But he’s pure hell with that .45. He’s a cowboy at heart. I heard that there was a big meetin’ at Fat’s house night before last,” Van Horn abruptly changed the subject. “I got me two, three sources in town. Club Bowers wanted Cosgrove and Biggers to back off and leave us alone. But they wouldn’t hear of it.”

“What’s so special about this ranch, Van Horn?”

“That’s a good question, Smoke. There sure ain’t no gold. It’s up yonder in the mountains. It boils down to greed, I reckon. Pure and simple. But it ain’t just the ranch. Red Light will boom for six months, a year, maybe two years. Then it will quiet down or just maybe die out, like a lot of other gold and silver towns out here. They just want it ’cause it’s here and they can’t have it. Then, too, as long as the town booms, the, ah, house of ill repute and the saloon will bring in tubfuls of money from the miners.”

Smoke had arranged with the local banker to make sure that Jenny’s money was deposited daily from the “businesses” in town. And even though Cosgrove owned the bank, he knew better than to dicker around with the girl’s money. With Sally now in town, and being from one of the oldest and most respected banking families in all the nation, Jenny could consider her money as secure as if it had been surrounded by a division of armed guards. Cosgrove was wealthy, but he knew that Sally Jensen could have him ruined with no more than a stroke of a pen. And he also knew that she would not hesitate to do so. All parties aligned with Major Cosgrove were in a bit of a quandary. Biggers had arranged for hired guns to come in, over the objections of Sheriff Bowers and Fat Fosburn. But so far, Smoke had not left the ranch since his wife had arrived. And attacking the ranch was not in anyone’s plans . . . yet.