Honor of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

  * * *

  They buried Puma that night next to a high mountain stream, near a beaver dam. As Smoke prepared to place the body in the grave, Cal stepped up and handed Smoke Puma’s buffalo-skinning knife. “I took this out of the last man Puma killed.”

  Smoke glanced down at the long, sharp knife, then back up into Cal’s eyes. “I think he would want you to have it, Cal. And, Pearlie, you take his pistols.”

  Smoke looked down at the small figure in his arms. “He always thought of you boys as his grandkids, and I know he’d be proud if you’d honor his memory by taking the things that he always kept by his side.”

  After the grave was filled, Smoke built a campfire and the men sat up until dawn listening to Smoke tell them about the life of one of the greatest mountain men who ever lived. “Singing his song,” as Smoke called it, paying tribute to a man he held as close in memory as his own father.

  * * *

  The next afternoon Smoke and his friends were gathered around the dining room table. “Joey, when I came up here with you, it was because of a debt I owed you for saving my life.” He drained his coffee cup, reddened eyes hard. “Now it’s gotten real personal. I don’t intend for Murdock or any of his hired thugs to live through the next few days.”

  Joey spoke up. “Smoke, because of Puma’s sacrifice, we’ve got time ta get ready.”

  Smoke asked, “When do you think they’ll hit, Joey?”

  The ex-soldier pursed his lips, humming tunelessly for a moment. He narrowed his eyes. “If’n they’re smart, which I’m not savin’ they are, there’s only two good times ta attack a fortified position. Once is right at dusk. Man can’t hardly see well enough ta shoot anything then, eyes plays tricks on ’im. The other time is round about two, three in the mornin’, when a body’s deepest asleep.”

  “You’re right,” Smoke said. He pulled a cigar out of his pocket and lit it. “However, I’m like you. I don’t think Murdock is smart enough to wait for the right time. He’s so pissed off now after our two attacks on his home, I think he’ll send those hired guns and outlaws of his here as soon as they can get ready.”

  Joey squinted out the window at shadows along the fence. “Well, it looks ta be ’bout three, three-thirty now, an’ it’s a good two-hour ride from Murdock’s place.” He built a cigarette and stuck it in the corner of his mouth, striking a lucifer on his pistol handle. As he puffed, he nodded. “I ’spect they’ll be here just ’fore dark, ’bout five or so.”

  Smoke stepped to the door and surveyed the land between his and Murdock’s ranch. “If they come straight here, they’ll be coming from the south, and the setting sun will be off to their left, our right. I’ll station a group of hands with long guns in that copse of cottonwoods over there, and another with shotguns in that group of boulders about fifty yards south of it. They can dig in and use the trees and rocks for cover, and they’ll be firing on Murdock’s men from out of the sun as they ride past.”

  Louis rubbed his cheeks, he hadn’t shaved for two days and had an unaccustomed growth of whiskers on his usually clean-shaven face. “What about those other little surprises you have planned for those miscreants? Are they all prepared and ready to go?”

  Smoke glanced at Cal and Pearlie, whose job it had been to get the traps and deadfalls ready. “How about it, men?”

  Pearlie and Cal both nodded. “We’re primed and loaded for bear, Smoke.”

  Chapter 21

  Murdock stood on his porch with his hands on his hips, Vasquez standing next to him, looking at the group of men gathered in front of him.

  Curly Rogers had just come back from finding One-Eye Jackson and his men’s dead bodies by the riverbed. Sandy Billings, the member of the group who had run away, told him where the fracas took place. Rogers said, “They’re all dead, Mr. Murdock. Weren’t no other bodies around, though there was some blood might’ve been from that old mountain man who attacked ’em.”

  Murdock said to Billings, “You say this old codger rode right down on your group of six men by himself?”

  “Yes, sir. His face was all painted with Indian war paint, and he was yellin’ and screamin’ and firin’ them big old Colt Armies like some demon outta hell!”

  Vasquez’s lip curled in a sneer. “And you, señor, you rode away without fighting?”

  Billings dropped his eyes, his face flushing. “Yeah, I did.” He looked up defiantly. “And I’d do it again. That old bastard was crazy or something, ’cause he sure wasn’t afraid of dyin’.”

  Vasquez nodded. “But you were, cabrón.” He stepped down off the porch and walked to stand face-to-face with Billings. “We all ride for Señor Murdock,” he said, glancing around at the group of gunfighters gathered there. “He pay us money to fight, not to run away like small children.”

  He looked back at Billings and slapped him hard across the face, driving the man to his knees. “This is what happens to cowards,” Vasquez said, and drew his machete and slashed down at Billings, catching him between his shoulder and neck, almost decapitating him.

  Billings flopped to the ground, thrashing and screaming as his blood pumped out to spray several men nearby. After a moment the gunman lay still, his blood soaking into the dry earth around him.

  Vasquez held his blood-covered machete above his head. “Remember, vaqueros, is better to stay and die like men than to taste my blade.”

  Murdock’s eyes were squinted, looking hard at his hired guns. “We have Jensen and his men outnumbered three or four to one. Any man who’s afraid to ride against those odds, I have no use for.” He inclined his head toward Vasquez. “If you want to quit, turn in your resignation to Vasquez right now.”

  He paused for a moment, but no one moved to take advantage of his offer. “Okay, then. Load up your weapons and feed and water your horses. We ride against Jensen in an hour.”

  As the men dispersed, the Silverado Kid stepped over to Vasquez. “Emilio, I can see you think you and you’re knife are big shit.” He took the cigarette out of his mouth and flicked it at the Mexican. “Billings was a friend of mine. When this is over, if you’re still alive, I’m gonna dust you for what you just did.”

  Vasquez smiled, his eyebrow arched. “Why for you defend coward?”

  “He was married to my cousin, an’ he wasn’t no coward. That old man took down five hombres, none of ’em slouches with guns.” He pointed his finger at Vasquez. “Sometimes it makes more sense to run than to fight, an’ that’s somethin’ you oughta think about after this little fracas, Mex.”

  The Kid walked off toward the corral to get his horse without looking back at Vasquez.

  Shotgun Sam Willowby leaned across his saddle and spoke in a low voice to Gimpy Monroe. “Gimpy, I don’t know about you, but these wages ain’t looking as good right now as they did in Pueblo.”

  Gimpy straightened from adjusting his stirrups. “Yore right, Shotgun.” He looked around to make sure no one could hear. “I’m thinkin’ o’ kinda gittin’ lost on the way to this little shindig and makin’ my way back to New Mexico.”

  Shotgun Sam nodded. “Yeah, sounds good to me. We’ll just hold back on the reins a mite and ride to the rear till we cross that riverbed, then make a sharp turn and shag our mounts toward home.”

  Curly Rogers and his group of men stood next to the corral, tightening cinch belts and straightening saddles and blankets on their mounts. “Well, boys, it’s about time we paid that bastard Jensen back for what he did to us up on that mountain,” Rogers said, looking over his bronc at the others.

  Boots fingered his facial scars and bent and misshapen nose. “Yeah, that son of a bitch is goin’ to be sorry he marked me up like this. I’m gonna put one ’tween his eyes for leavin’ me lookin’ like a hoss stomped me.”

  “You’re gonna have to stand in line,” Gates said, limping around his horse’s rear end to pick up his saddlebags. “I cain’t hardly walk on the leg he shattered, an’ in the winter it pains me so, I cain’t get no sleep at all.” He stuck his thu
mb in his chest. “I’m gonna be the one that curls him up!”

  Gooden, another member of the group, shook his head. “You boys don’t have nothin’ to gripe about. That bullet Jensen put in my side messed up my bowels somethin’ fierce. I hadn’t had a normal shit in two years, and I can’t eat nothin’ heavier than oatmeal or I git the runs.” He stared at the others. “If anybody has a reason to blow Jensen to hell, it’s me.”

  Twenty feet away, Sam Silverwolf and Jed Beartooth were discussing the upcoming battle. “Jed,” Sam said as he flipped open his loading gate and checked the rounds in his pistol. “After we kill the gringos, I want to go back to Pueblo.” He raised his eyebrows and grinned. “The women are very pretty there, no?”

  Jed Beartooth grinned back and grabbed his crotch with his hand. “Sí, I too am ready for another kind of riding, amigo.”

  Bill Denver said to his partner, Slim Watkins, “Slim, you hear what the Kid said to Vasquez over there?”

  Watkins nodded, not being much for talking.

  Bill asked, “Who do you think’ll win in that little dust-up? The Kid or Vasquez?”

  Watkins spit a brown stream over his horse’s back, shifted his tobacco wad to his other cheek, and replied, “I’ll give you two-to-one odds and bet twenty dollars on the Kid if’n it’s with guns. I’ll give you even money if’n it’s with knives.”

  Bill said, “You’re on, cowboy.”

  The man named Colonel Waters rode up to where Murdock and Vasquez sat their horses. “Murdock, Vasquez,” he said, “I intend to kill Joey Wells personally. He was responsible for the death of over a hundred and fifty of my men after the war.”

  Vasquez stuck one of Murdock’s cigars in his mouth and lit it. “So, señor, what you tell us this for?”

  Waters shrugged. “Just to let you know what I intend to do. I don’t care overly much about the others you’re fighting. My attention is going to be on killing Joey Wells.”

  Murdock grinned. “That’s fine with me, colonel. But you’re going to have to get through the others to get to Wells, so take your best shot.”

  The man in the Union coat tipped his officer’s hat and rode off to join the rest of the gun hawks as they gathered in front of the corral.

  Vasquez glanced at Murdock and tapped his head. “Es muy loco. ”

  Murdock laughed. “I don’t care if he’s crazy, long as he can fire a pistol and don’t turn tail and run when the fighting starts.”

  He spurred his horse to the front of his group of men. “Let’s ride, men. Vamanos!” he called, and wheeled his mount and rode off toward the Rocking C, over fifty of the toughest, meanest gunnies from several states following.

  * * *

  Smoke stepped out the door of the cabin to talk to the men they had hired in Pueblo, who were waiting outside for instructions.

  “Boys, there’s trouble riding our way. Unless I’m mistaken, Jacob Murdock has hired a bunch of professional gunfighters and outlaws to ride for his brand. They’re on their way here to kill us so Murdock can have this land and set up his empire in Colorado. If that happens, he’ll next take over the town of Pueblo and will again install his own man as sheriff.”

  He pulled a cigar from his pocket and lit it as he talked. “Do you want that to happen?”

  His men all raised their voices to shout no, and a few held up rifles and shotguns and waved them in the air.

  “Okay, but are you willing to die to keep Murdock from having his way?”

  The men didn’t yell this time, but everyone stared back at Smoke without flinching, nodding their heads, their eyes filled with determination.

  “Thank you, men. Your sheriff, Ben Tolson, along with Joey Wells and Monte Carson and Cal and Pearlie and me are not going to let that happen either. We intend to stand alongside you and fight until Murdock and his men are all dead—or we are.”

  Louis and the others on the porch with Smoke stepped forward to stand next to him. Smoke said, “I’m going to let Joey Wells, who’s been working with you men for the past few days, assign you your places in the upcoming battle. He knows your strengths and your weaknesses, and he’s going to put you where you can do the most good.”

  Joey cut a chunk of tobacco off his plug of Bull Durham, stuck it in his mouth, and chewed as he talked. He pointed to one side of the crowd. “You Sammy, Joel, Tuck, and Benny. You an’ your men who have been punchin’ the cattle, I want you in the cabin here. Get your shotguns and rifles and get upstairs an’ on the roof. I want ev’ry window and door double covered. Ya got a clear field o’ fire for a hundred and fifty yards, so open them windows and git yourselves comfy, ya may be there awhile.” He leaned over the hitching rail in front of the house and spit a brown stream into the dirt. “ ’Member what I tole ya ’bout them guns. Take your time and aim, fire only when ya have a good shot, we don’t have a surplus o’ ammunition, so use what ya have to good advantage.”

  He looked to the left side of the crowd. “Mike, Jimmy, Todd, and Josh, I want you to set up in that copse of trees over yonder to the right. We already got you some holes dug there and there’s a couple o’ fallen logs ta git behind. You are the men who are best with rifles, so you’re gonna be a bit farther from the action. I want you all ta wait until Murdock and his gang are even with or maybe a bit past ya ’fore ya start to fire on ’em. Let ’em git good and close, then they’ll be trapped ’twixt you and the men in the house.”

  Joey waved his arm toward the center group of men. Tyler, you and Billy Joe and Tommy are my shotgun brigade. I want ya each carryin’ a sack or two of shells and I want ya to git out there in that mess o’ boulders yonder. We done got ya some logs and brush and such around some natural holes and caves in the rocks to git in and git outta the way if’n the lead gits too thick. You men are ta stay hidden until Murdock’s riders git by ya. Then we’ll have ’em boxed in between the house, the trees, an’ the boulders.”

  As the men started to disperse, Joey shouted, “Now, remember what I said about our little surprises for the gunnies, and don’t none of you fall into any of those traps, ya hear?”

  Joey looked at Tolson. “Ben, with yore experience with that Greener, I’d like ya to stay on the first floor of the cabin, ta make sure none of the gunnies git close enough to set fire to it or to git inside. Okay?”

  Tolson nodded and grinned. “Sure, Joey. I’ll guarantee won’t none of those bastards get through the door, unless it’s over my dead body.”

  “Good. Now, Monte, I need you to get to the upper story of the cabin and keep those punchers calm up there. Ain’t none of ’em able to hit nothin’ with a gun, so I need someone to show ’em how to do it and to protect them if worse comes to worst.”

  Monte nodded, his eyes hard as flint. He glanced at Smoke. “These men are going to do you proud, Smoke, I’ll see to it.”

  After everyone else had gone to their assigned positions, Joey looked at Cal and Pearlie and Louis and Smoke. “Thet just leaves us, men. What’ll it be?”

  Smoke said, “I think we get to be the cavalry, boys. If we get on our mounts and wait just over that rise over there until we hear gunfire, then we can swoop down in among the gun hawks and do a powerful lot of damage at close range.”

  Louis nodded, as did Cal and Pearlie.

  Joey said, “I been fightin’ on hossback fer so many years, I don’t rightly know no other way. I’ll be ridin’ with the Jensen cavalry if’n you boys don’t mind a rebel yell now and again.”

  Smoke laughed. “I rode with the Gray during the war too, Joey, and I may just join you in the yelling.”

  Joey smiled. “I knew ya was a man after my own heart, Smoke.” He looked at Cal and Pearlie. “If you boys want to help, you can go out there and pour a little kerosene on our piles of wood. If they come at us after dark, we’ll light the woodpiles so we can see where our surprises are buried.”

  Pearlie chuckled as he grabbed a can of kerosene from the kitchen and stepped off the porch. “I cain’t hardly wait to see them boys’
eyes when they come bustin’ in here loaded for bear. Yes, sir, that’s gonna be a sight to see.”

  Joey walked over and put his arm around Pearlie’s shoulder, speaking low so only he and Cal could hear. “Boys,” he said, “I’ve grown right fond o’ the two o’ you.” He frowned and stared into Pearlie’s eyes. “If either one o’ ya git yoreselves kilt tonight, I’m gonna be right pissed off, ya hear?”

  Pearlie grinned. “Yes, sir. I’ll keep that in mind, and I want you to know, I’ll watch after Cal and make him keep his fool head down.”

  Smoke, who had come up in time to hear what was said, nodded. “You do that, Pearlie, and don’t you forget to keep yours down too.”

  Pearlie said, “Yes, sir, Smoke,” and left to attend to pouring the kerosene and checking the other deadfalls and traps he and Cal had prepared.

  André was in the kitchen, boiling large kettles of water for treatment of the inevitable wounds that were to occur, and making huge pots of coffee in case the battle lasted well into the night.

  Smoke was left alone on the porch with Louis Longmont, Monte Carson, and Joey Wells. He pulled his Colts out and checked his loads as he spoke. “Well, gentlemen . . . friends. I guess it’s about time we find out what we’re made of.”

  Joey squinted through narrowed eyes. “Those boys we hired’ll stand firm, Smoke, I kin tell ya that.”

  “I know, Joey. They’re a fine bunch of men.” He holstered his pistols and looked at his friends.

  Louis smiled. “I’m going to enjoy riding with you and Joey. Hell, I may have kids someday and I’ll not miss a chance to tell them I once rode and did battle with the famous Smoke Jensen and the infamous Joey Wells.”

  Smoke and Joey laughed, and Smoke said, “Then let’s shag our mounts, boys. I want to get a little ways away from the ranch house so we can ride and attack without getting shot by our own men.”

  They waited while Cal and Pearlie mounted up and then rode toward Murdock’s ranch at an easy trot. Smoke had Colts on both legs, a Henry repeating rifle in one saddle boot, and a Greener ten-gauge scattergun in the other.