Heart of the Mountain Man (13 page)

15

Close to midnight, Smoke and his friends fired their final shots at the outlaw camp and jumped on their horses to ride back to Jackson Hole. They left behind them a camp in ruins, with most of the cabins destroyed or severely damaged, the corral torn asunder and the horses scattered and running wild. At least ten men lay dead and many more were wounded.

As they rode back down the mountain, Smoke watching carefully for the landmarks Muskrat had pointed out to him, Louis pulled his bronc up next to Joker.

“You think there's any chance we killed Slaughter and put an end to this entire sorry episode?”

Smoke shook his head. “In all my years out here, Louis, I've trailed lots of men and had some on my trail, and I've never had a problem solved that easily. I think we'd better figure on Slaughter surviving our assault.”

“What do you think he's going to do?”

“Well, first off it's going to take him a while to sort out the mess we left back there, at least a day or so. Then, he's going to get to thinking that the only place an attack like that could have come from would be Jackson Hole. I think he's going to come to town loaded for bear, looking for anyone who's new to town or doesn't fit in. He'll want revenge, and I don't think he'll be particularly selective on who he takes his anger out on.”

“Perhaps we should pack our gear and get on the trail toward home before he comes looking.”

“We can't. We've got to stay here long enough to give Monte and Mary time to get away clean. If we can stall him for a few days, there won't be any way he can catch up to them before they manage to get back to Big Rock.”

“And if he and his gang comes to Big Rock looking to get even?”

“I'm going to send Sally a wire tomorrow morning. Monte and Mary have lots of friends back home. I'll tell her to organize the town and to be ready. We may be in for a monumental fight once he rebuilds his gang.”

“Do you really think he'll go to all that trouble for a mere fifty thousand dollars?”

Smoke shook his head. “It's gone way beyond the money now, Louis. Slaughter's been dealt a severe defeat, and in his own backyard. It's his reputation he's going to be concerned with now. If word gets around that some country sheriff took Big Jim Slaughter on and kicked his ass, Slaughter won't be able to move without looking back over his shoulder all the time to see if someone else thinks they can do the same thing.”

Just as they came down off the mountain slope and pulled onto the main trail headed toward Jackson Hole, a light snowfall began. Smoke and the others pulled their coats tight around them, settled hats low to keep the snow out of their eyes, and spurred their mounts toward town.

* * *

For the next two days, Smoke and Louis and Cal and Pearlie were careful to take their meals apart and not to be seen talking to each other. Louis continued to frequent the gaming halls, giving expensive lessons to the cowboys about the dangers of playing poker with an expert. Smoke spent most of his time in various saloons, hanging around and listening to idle talk. Cal and Pearlie made it a point to let everyone think they were miners, working a claim in the nearby mountains, so if Mr. Schultz told anyone they'd bought some dynamite and gunpowder, there wouldn't be any suspicions raised.

Sheriff Walter Pike walked up and stood next to Smoke at the Cattleman's Saloon bar. “Howdy, Mr. West.”

Smoke took a drink of his beer before replying. “Hello, Sheriff Pike.”

“Well, I've gone through all of my circulars and can't seem to find any recent paper on you, Johnny.”

Smoke shrugged, as if it were no concern to him. “I told you, Sheriff. I'm just a law-abiding citizen hanging around until I can find some work.”

Pike nodded, his experienced eyes taking in the way Smoke moved and handled himself. “Uh-huh, sure you are.”

“What's that supposed to mean, Sheriff?”

“I've seen a lot of men come through here, West, and I've gotten to be a pretty good judge of character. You don't fit in with the rest of the pond scum in this town.”

Smoke raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“No. Oh, I can see you're handy with a gun, that's evident. But you don't go around trying to impress everyone with how mean and tough you are, even though it's plain you could take just about anyone else in town with those six-killers on your hips.”

“Sheriff, I make my living with these pistols. I'm not one to use them unless there's a profit in it for me. That's all.”

Pike smiled. “I'm not so sure that's all, Johnny. You don't fit in, so I'm gonna be watchin' you to see just what your game is. All right?”

Smoke shrugged. “Sure, Sheriff. It's your town, you can do anything you want.”

Pike tipped his hat. “See you around, Johnny.”

“Be seeing you, Sheriff.”

* * *

The next day, Smoke was having lunch in Aunt Bea's dining room when he glanced out of the window and saw a group of four men talking to Sheriff Pike on the boardwalk in front of the Cattleman's Saloon. After a moment of conversation, the sheriff inclined his head toward Aunt Bea's Boardinghouse and said a few words. The four men looked over, nodded, and began to cross the street toward Bea's place.

Smoke took a deep breath. Unless he missed his guess, it was starting. Across the room Louis was at a table by himself, and Cal and Pearlie were sharing another table. Smoke caught their eyes and nodded slightly, cutting his eyes toward the dining room door. His friends nodded back, and he could see each of them reach down and take the hammer-thongs off their pistols. Louis leaned back and straightened his right leg, allowing him easy access to his pistol.

Smoke pushed his plate away, built himself a cigarette, and concentrated on his coffee cup when the four men entered the room.

A large, broad-shouldered man was the leader, and behind him was a tall, heavyset blond man, a thin, wiry albino, and a young kid in his teens wearing a black vest and twin pearl-handled Colts on his hips.

After standing in the doorway for a moment, surveying the customers, the tall man noticed Smoke and began to walk toward him, his friends fanning out behind him.

He stopped at Smoke's table. “Howdy, mister. Would you be Johnny West?”

Smoke slowly looked up. He took a deep drag of his cigarette and let smoke trail from his nostrils as he replied. “Maybe. Who wants to know?”

“I'm Big Jim Slaughter.”

“So?”

The young kid's hand moved next to the butt of his pistol and his face clouded with anger. “So, watch your mouth, cowboy!” he snarled.

Smoke let his unconcerned gaze drift over to the young man. “I ain't no cowboy, sonny boy an' if your hand twitches again, I'll kill you where you stand,” he said in a low, dangerous voice.

Slaughter put his hand on the Durango Kid's arm. “Hold on, Mr. West, there isn't any need for hostilities. May we join you?”

Smoke shrugged. “It's a free country.”

After getting extra chairs from a nearby table, the four men sat down across from Smoke.

Slaughter got right to the point. “I heard you were asking around about me last week,” he said, staring at Smoke to see his reaction.

“That's right. I was asking about a lot of people, trying to see if anyone was hiring guns.”

“And were they?”

“Nope. For a supposedly wide-open town, it's been quiet as a church around here.”

Slaughter leaned back in his chair. “I thought maybe someone had hired you to do a little job out at the hole-in-the-wall the other night.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. My men and I were attacked out there night before last.”

Smoke let his lips curl in a nasty smile. “Well, then, it couldn't have been me done the job.”

“Why not?” the albino interjected.

“'Cause if I'd hired out to attack you, Slaughter, you'd all be dead now, not sittin' here askin' me fool questions.”

The Durango Kid's face flushed with anger and he dropped his hand to his side, saying, “Why, you . . .”

In the wink of an eye, Smoke's pistol was in his hand and he slapped the barrel backhanded across the kid's face, knocking him backward out of his chair. He landed spread-eagled on his back with his nose bent to the side and a deep gash running across his cheek, leaking blood.

“Goddamn!” Swede said. “I never even saw him draw!”

As the kid shook his head and started to get up, Smoke eared back the hammer and pointed the barrel at the kid's face. “You sure you want some more of this, sonny boy?” he growled.

The kid's eyes widened and his face paled, fear-sweat breaking out on his forehead. “Uh . . . no . . .”

Before he could answer, Aunt Bea appeared at the table, a long-barreled shotgun cradled in her arms. “We aren't gonna have any trouble in here, are we, boys?” she asked.

“No, ma'am,” Slaughter replied, though his eyes remained fixed on Smoke. “Kid, get up and wait for us over at the Cattleman's,” he said.

“But . . . but Mr. Slaughter,” the kid whined.

Slaughter turned to stare at him, his face showing he would brook no argument. “I said go!”

“Yes, sir,” the kid replied, his face flaming as blood spilled down onto his fancy black vest and shirt.

He got to his feet and walked rapidly out of the room without looking back.

Aunt Bea grunted. “If you men are going to stay here, you're gonna eat, not fight.”

Slaughter smiled up at her. “Would you bring us three of the house specials, please, and some coffee?”

After she left, Slaughter addressed Smoke. “I thought the Durango Kid was supposed to be fast.”

Smoke smiled. “Evidently not fast enough. The Kid ought'a change professions, 'fore he gets killed tryin' to be something he's not.”

“You interest me, Mr. West. I might have a place for you in my organization.”

“I don't come cheap,” Smoke replied, as if he might be interested.

“I'll bet you don't,” Slaughter said. “Would you be willing to travel?”

“Depends,” Smoke said. “How far, an' what's the pay?”

“Me and my men are going to take a little trip over to Colorado in a few days. The pay's a hundred a month against a cut of what we make when we get there.”

Smoke grinned. “A hundred a month, huh? That what you're paying these men?”

Slaughter nodded. “Yeah.”

“Then I'm gonna cost you a hundred and a half,” Smoke said.

“What?” Slaughter asked.

“And you're lucky I don't ask for two hundred, since I'm at least twice as good as what you got working for you now.”

Slaughter laughed, while Swede and Whitey scowled. “All right, Mr. West. If we decide to use you, you'll get a hundred and fifty a month.”

Smoke nodded. “Sounds fair.”

“Good. I'll let you know in a day or so.”

Smoke dropped his cigarette butt in his coffee and stood up. “You know where to find me.”

Slaughter nodded. “That I do, Mr. West, that I do.”

16

After Smoke left the room, Whitey glanced at the door to make sure he was gone, then turned back to Slaughter. “What'a you think, Boss?”

Slaughter rubbed the beard stubble on his face, his eyes contemplative. “I don't know yet. Mr. West could'a been one. He's certainly good enough with a six-shooter.”

“Why didn't you let the Kid take him on, Jim?” Swede asked.

“We lost over half our men the other night, Swede, an' another third're so scared they ain't gonna be worth spit. West would've killed the Kid as easily as swattin' a fly.”

“You think he's that good?”

Slaughter looked at him. “Did you see him draw? He has the fastest hands I've ever seen. He could snatch a double eagle off a snake's head and give him change 'fore he could strike.”

“He don't look all that bad to me,” Whitey said, his lips curled in a sneer.

Slaughter laughed. “Then you weren't lookin' at the same man I was.”

As they ate, the three men looked around at the other customers in the dining room.

“See any other likely suspects?” Swede asked.

Slaughter nodded. “Those two over there in the corner impress me as being right sure of themselves.”

Swede glanced over his shoulder at the table containing Cal and Pearlie. “You mean those two boys?”

“They're not exactly boys, Swede,” Slaughter said. “Oh, I'll grant you they're young, but look at their eyes. They've seen plenty of action, an' the way they wear their guns shows they ain't no pilgrims.”

“You want I should go brace 'em?” Whitey asked.

Slaughter thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No. Let's finish our food, then we'll see what happens.”

* * *

Cal could see Slaughter and his men watching them out of the corner of his eyes.

“Pearlie,” he said, “I think they're talkin' 'bout us.”

Pearlie paused a moment from shoveling pancakes into his mouth to glance up at Cal. “I don't doubt it, Cal. I figger they gonna be lookin' at most ever'body in town for the next day or so, just like Smoke said. They got to know the men who blasted 'em came from here, so it's only natural to try an' figger out who it was.”

“What're we gonna do if'n they come over here askin' a lot of questions?”

Pearlie gave a small shrug. “Just act like Smoke tole us. We're miners, pure an' simple. Don't wanna have no truck with gunfighters an' such.”

Sure enough, when Slaughter and his men finished their breakfast, they got up from their table and ambled over to stand in front of Cal and Pearlie.

Slaughter stood there, looking down until the two men glanced up at him.

“Howdy, boys,” he said.

Pearlie nodded, his mouth bulging with eggs and pancakes.

Cal just looked and didn't answer.

“I was wondering if you men were interested in hiring on with me and my men,” Slaughter said.

“Doin' what?” Pearlie asked after he washed his food down with a slug of coffee.

Slaughter pointed to the pistol on Pearlie's hip. “Usin' those six-killers on your hip.”

Pearlie looked at Cal and grinned. “See, Cal? The man thinks we're gun hawks.”

He glanced back up at Slaughter and the two hard-looking men standing with him. “Thanks for the offer, mister, but my brother an' me is miners. We don't hire our guns out.”

“Miners, huh?” Slaughter asked. “Doin' any good?”

Pearlie let his face get a suspicious look on it. “Some days're better'n others. Why?”

“Oh, no reason. Just wonderin'.”

“Well, we're makin' enough to keep us in beans an' bacon, an' that's all anybody needs to know.”

“You two must be the pair that bought some dynamite from Schultz's store the other day.”

Pearlie leaned back and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “You been askin' round 'bout us?”

“Well, let's just say we're interested in anybody who bought dynamite.”

“Yeah, we bought some. You ever tried to dig through twenty feet of granite, mister?”

“Schultz said these two men also bought a lot of cartridges at the same time.”

Pearlie nodded. “Lot of men try to take other people's gold, 'stead of diggin' it out themselves. You got any more fool questions?”

Whitey stepped forward, his hand near his pistol. “I'd watch your mouth, miner man, 'fore somebody shuts it for you.”

Pearlie scooted his chair back and let his hand rest on his thigh next to his holster. “You're welcome to try, mister, any time you think you're ready.”

Slaughter raised his eyebrows. Not many men stood up to someone as mean-looking as Whitey.

“You're pretty tough for a miner,” Slaughter said.

“I've mined in Tombstone, Deadwood, an' lots of other places filled with men who thought they were fast with a gun,” Pearlie answered. “I ain't particularly fast, but I generally hit what I aim at an' I'm still alive, so call your dog off, mister, or somebody's gonna get a gut full of lead.”

Slaughter grinned, shaking his head at Whitey. “You sure you don't want a job? I could use some men who ain't afraid to use their guns.”

Pearlie shook his head. “No, I told you, we're minin' right now.” He hesitated a moment. “But you might ask again after the snow fills the passes. If we don't dig out enough to get us through the winter, we might just take you up on your offer.”

Slaughter smiled. “I'm afraid that'll be too late.” He tipped his hat. “Good luck to you in your hunt for gold,” he said, and turned to walk out the door.

“Jimminy,” Cal said after they'd left. “I thought for a minute there that albino was gonna draw on you, Pearlie.”

Pearlie nodded. “So did I. He's lucky he didn't, or he'd be headed for boot hill by now.”

Pearlie rotated his head to loosen neck muscles made tight by the confrontation. Then he looked around the room. “Now where is Aunt Bea? I'm ready for some more pancakes an' coffee.”

* * *

Louis, who'd been watching the scene with Slaughter and Pearlie, relaxed as the men left. He reached down and eased the hammer-thong back on his Colt, grinning when he saw Pearlie order more food.
Unbelievable how much chow that cowboy can consume,
he thought.
I do believe someday when the Grim Reaper comes for Pearlie, he's going to ask the man with the sickle what kind of food they serve up in heaven, and if he doesn't like the answer, he'll probably ask to be taken to the other place.