Trek of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

  “That don’t apply to Cal and me,” Pearlie said. “We been with you the whole time, so they couldn’t have seen us.”

  Louis nodded. “Pearlie’s right, Smoke. Having a couple of extra guns around just might give you the edge you need to save Sally.”

  “I agree, Smoke,” Monte said. “If, God forbid, they do manage to get the drop on you, there’d still be Cal and Pearlie there to maybe save Sally.”

  Smoke thought for a moment, and then he slowly nodded. “You’re right, as usual, Louis, and saving Sally is the most important thing to think about.”

  He stepped over to his saddlebags and pulled out a wrinkled map of Colorado. Spreading it on the table, he bent over it. “See here, if they head straight for Pueblo from the Sugarloaf, they’re going to have to go through Canyon City first.”

  He looked at Louis. “Louis, I need to borrow some of that cash you always carry. I didn’t bring much with me when I left the Sugarloaf.”

  Louis grinned and pulled a large, black wallet from his coat pocket. He pulled out a wad of greenbacks and handed it to Smoke. “There ought to be about five thousand dollars there, Smoke, give or take a hundred.”

  Smoke handed the bills to Pearlie. “I need for you to get me some supplies in Canyon City. Things I’m gonna need to take on this gang of Pike’s.”

  He asked Martha if he could get a sheet of paper and a pencil, which she quickly pulled from a kitchen drawer and handed to him. While he made a list of the things he wanted Pearlie and Cal to buy, he asked Bill Wiley, “Bill, do you happen to have any dynamite or a long gun of any kind handy?”

  Wiley nodded. “Got all the dynamite you’ll need, Smoke. We use it to clear stumps out when we cut wood. As for the long gun, the only thing I have is an old Sharps buffalo rifle my daddy used when we first started this ranch.”

  Smoke grinned. “That’ll do just fine, Bill. They don’t make ’em any better than the Sharps.”

  He handed the list to Pearlie, who asked, “What do you want us to do after we get this stuff, Smoke?”

  “Just hang around town and keep your eyes open,” Smoke answered. “I don’t think they’ll dare take Sally into town, but if these men have been on the trail for a while, I doubt if they’ll pass up the chance to visit a saloon if they get a chance. I need you two to try and find out just how many men we’ll be going up against and to get some idea of how good they are.” He paused, and then he added, “But I don’t want you or Cal to try anything that will make them notice you.”

  “What are you gonna do, Smoke?” Monte asked.

  “I’m going to try and cut their trail before they get to Canyon City. It shouldn’t be too hard, with the recent snowfalls.”

  “And then what?” Louis asked.

  Smoke grinned, but it was a terrible grin without a trace of humor in it. “I’m going to follow them and keep a close eye on them. If I get a chance, I’ll go in and take Sally away from them. If not, I’ll bide my time until they get to Pueblo and make their camp. Sooner or later, they’ll let their guard down enough for me to make my move.”

  While Bill Wiley got the Sharps and dynamite together, Smoke put his saddlebags on his horse. When Wiley came outside, Smoke packed the dynamite on one of the extra horses Louis and Monte had used, along with the Sharps and a bag of extra ammunition for it, and some .44 cartridges for Smoke’s pistols and the Winchester rifle he always carried with him.

  “I don’t know if this’ll be of any help, Smoke,” Wiley said, handing him a short-barreled ten-gauge shotgun and a couple of boxes of shells, “but if you get in close, this thing will blow a barn door down.”

  “Much obliged, Bill,” Smoke said, adding the shotgun and shells to the packhorse.

  Martha Wiley came out of the house and handed Smoke another sack. “I’ve put some fried turkey, fatback, beans, and a handful of biscuits in there for you Smoke. You’re going to need some good food up in those mountains when the snows come.”

  “Thank you kindly, Martha,” Smoke said as he swung up into the saddle. He tipped his hat.

  “And if you need another gun, I’m at your service too,” Bill said.

  “I’ll let you know, Bill.” Smoke looked around at his friends, realizing that with the odds he was going up against, this might be the last time he saw them. “See you later,” he said, and then he put the spurs to his horse and took off toward the distant mountains, pulling the packhorse behind him.

  Pearlie slapped Cal on the shoulder. “We’d better git movin’ too, Cal.”

  “Just a minute, Pearlie, and I’ll fix you up a sack of food for your journey,” Martha Wiley said, rushing back into the house.

  Cal grinned. “Better make it two sacks, Mrs. Wiley. You’ve seen how he puts it away.”

  Louis stepped over to Pearlie. “There’s a telegraph in Pueblo, Pearlie. If things look like they’re going badly, wire me at Big Rock and I’ll come running.”

  Monte nodded. “We’ll come running.”

  8

  At mid-afternoon of their first day on the trail, snow again began falling from low-hanging, dark clouds. The air became so cold and so dark that Bill Pike decided to make camp and build a fire before he and his men froze to death in their saddles.

  They were still in the foothills of the mountains, and were not making as good a time as he’d hoped, though he knew that the foul weather would bother anyone who was trying to follow them as much as it was slowing his men.

  He held up his hand, signaling the men riding behind him to stop. “Rufe, tell the men to make camp here,” he said, moving his horse off the trail and under a stand of tall ponderosa pine trees nearby.

  Sally, who’d been riding with her head down to keep the blowing snow out of her eyes, glanced up as the man holding the reins to her horse jerked it to a stop.

  The man had a deformed right arm, with what appeared to Sally to be a frozen right elbow. His right leg hung out straight from the side of his horse, and was affixed with two wooden braces with leather straps that ran from his upper thigh down to his ankle. She’d noticed that he continually stared at her with hate-filled eyes, though she had no idea why since she hadn’t heard him open his mouth the entire journey.

  “Are we making camp here?” she asked the strangely silent man.

  He merely grunted, and awkwardly swung his right leg over his saddle and hopped to the ground.

  Bill Pike tied his horse’s reins to one of the pine trees, and then he walked over to help Sally down off her horse. “Come on down, Mrs. Jensen,” he said in a not-unkind voice. “We’re gonna make a fire to get some of the chill out of our bones and heat up some food.”

  Pretending to be more helpless than she was, Sally let him take her elbow as she got down off her horse. She figured if he thought she was a helpless female, it would improve her chances of escape later.

  She did not have to fake her shivering, however, since the poncho she was wearing did little to keep her warm. Since she’d been taken without a hat or gloves, her hands and ears felt numb and tingly, almost in the first stages of frostbite.

  As the flames of the campfire rose, casting an orange glow over the gloom of the copse of trees they were under, she moved as close as she could, holding her hands out almost in the flames to heat some life back into them.

  Shortly, Bill Pike handed her a steaming tin cup filled with dark boiled coffee. “Sorry,” he said, inclining his head in a short bow. “We ain’t got no sugar nor milk.”

  “That’s okay,” Sally said, gratefully downing half the cup to get some heat into her stomach. “I take it black.”

  “Humph!” the man with the crooked arm snorted from across the fire, where he sat nursing his coffee and staring at Sally with grim eyes.

  She glanced at Pike. “What is wrong with that man over there?” she asked. “He looks like he wants to kill me.”

  Pike laughed shortly. “Well, he probably does, Mrs. Jensen, an’ you can’t hardly blame him. It were your husband who ruined his arm and
his leg for him.”

  “Smoke did that?” Sally asked.

  “Yep.”

  “When did this happen?”

  Pike chuckled again. “More’n twenty year ago.”

  Sally finished her coffee and handed the cup back to Pike. “And he’s just now getting around to doing something about it?”

  “Well, it seems old Zeke there spent some time in a prison over at Yuma . . . for rape and murder,” Pike said, staring at Sally with flat eyes. “And he said the whole time he was doin’ it to that woman, he was plannin’ in his mind what he’d do to Smoke Jensen’s woman if he ever got the chance.”

  Sally shook her head. “That poor man.”

  “What?” Pike asked, astounded at her reaction.

  “Yes. To be eaten up with hatred for all those years must have made his life miserable.” She hesitated, and then she looked Pike in the eye. “But I do know one thing. If Smoke did that to him, then he deserved it, because Smoke Jensen never shot a man except in self-defense or that he needed shooting.”

  Pike’s expression turned sour. “I’ll be sure an’ let Zeke know that,” he said.

  “What is his last name?” Sally asked.

  “Thompson. Zeke Thompson,” Pike replied. “He’s my half brother.”

  Sally nodded. “So that’s why you attacked my men and burned my house down. To avenge Mr. Thompson’s wounds.”

  “No, not really,” Pike answered. “I don’t give a damn about Zeke. Never did like him much anyway.”

  “But then why?”

  “’Cause, right before Jensen shot Thompson, he shot and killed my full brother, Ethan Pike. I didn’t know about it till Zeke got outta prison a year or so ago and looked me up. When I found out, I decided to make things right and to make Smoke Jensen pay for what he done.”

  “So, your heart’s filled with hate also,” Sally said, giving Pike a look of pity.

  He shrugged. “No. I didn’t particularly like my brother Ethan either, but there are just some things a man’s gotta do, an’ killin’ the man who kilt his kin is one of them.”

  Sally smiled back at Pike. “Could I have another cup of coffee, please?” she asked.

  “Sure,” Pike said. “Wouldn’t want you to freeze to death ’fore the boys have had a chance to help keep you warm tonight.”

  As he handed her the cup, Sally, her face showing no fear whatsoever, said in a casual voice, “So, that’s how it’s going to be, is it?”

  Pike shrugged. “It’s been a long time since the boys have seen a woman as pretty as you, Mrs. Jensen. It’d be a shame to disappoint them.”

  Sally took a drink of her coffee and nodded. “I can understand that, but. . . .”

  “But what?” Pike asked, wondering why this woman wasn’t cowering with fear and begging for her life.

  “It’s just that I thought you said you wanted revenge on Smoke Jensen.”

  “Yeah, we do,” Pike agreed.

  “Raping and killing me out here in the wilderness wouldn’t be near as satisfying as waiting until you have Smoke Jensen prisoner and then doing it in front of him, don’t you think?” Sally said, her voice still as calm as if she were discussing the weather.

  Pike threw his head back and laughed. “You’re just hoping that Jensen will get the best of us and save you before that happens.”

  Sally looked at him, her eyes wide and innocent. “Well, of course I am, Mr. Pike. But that doesn’t change the fact that if you want the ultimate revenge on Smoke Jensen, that would be the way to do it.”

  Pike sipped his coffee and stroked his mustache, thinking for a few minutes. Finally, he looked back over at Sally. “I’ll tell you one thing, Mrs. Jensen, you’ve got sand.”

  “Well,” Sally said, “what do you think about my idea?”

  “I think you’re right. If Smoke truly loves you, I can’t think of anything that’d make him suffer more than to see my men take you on right in front of him.” He nodded to himself, as if the whole thing had been his idea. “So, I guess that’s the way it’s gonna be.”

  Sally looked around the fire at the men sitting there, drinking coffee or whiskey and staring at her with hungry eyes. “I don’t know, Mr. Pike,” she said easily. “It looks like your men may have other ideas.”

  Pike straightened and puffed out his chest. “My men do what I tell them to do, Mrs. Jensen. Don’t you worry none about that.”

  “I hope so,” Sally said under her breath, waiting to see how things would turn out.

  * * *

  Blackie Johnson, who was the group’s designated cook since he was the only one present who could make biscuits that were at all edible, finished frying several large slabs of fatback bacon. He took a large knife and sliced the slabs up while they were still sizzling in the pan. “Meat’s ready,” he called, and stood back as the men rushed over with tin plates in their hands to help themselves to the bacon, some beans he had cooking in a pot on the fire, and more coffee.

  Johnson took it upon himself to fix a plate of food for Sally and take it to her. “Here you go, Mrs. Jensen,” he said, his eyes not quite meeting hers.

  Sally sensed this man was different from the rest, not quite as coarse and rough. Even his voice was cultured, as if he’d actually gone to school some.

  Sally took the plate, searching Johnson’s face as she said, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he replied.

  “Would you tell me your name?” she asked as she began to eat.

  “Uh, Zechariah Johnson,” he replied. “But most of the men call me Blackie.”

  Sally cocked her head and looked at him with appraising eyes. “Forgive me for saying so, Mr. Johnson,” she said, “but you don’t look like you belong with these other men.”

  He gave a half smirk and shook his head. “Don’t let me being polite fool you, Mrs. Jensen. I am no better than the rest of the gang.”

  “But you speak as though you’ve had some education,” Sally replied.

  He nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I finished high school, and even had a year of college back in Ohio. I wanted to be a veterinarian.”

  “What happened to change your mind?”

  He shrugged. “I came upon this man beating a team of horses that couldn’t pull a wagon he had loaded too heavy, and when he refused to quit hitting them, I hit him.”

  “That’s understandable,” Sally said.

  “Yeah, but it seems I hit him too hard. When I saw he was dead, I hightailed it out of town and headed West.” He smiled, but it had more sadness in it than mirth. “I’ve been on the owlhoot trail ever since.”

  Just then, the man named Zeke Thompson stepped around the fire and shoved Blackie aside. “Don’t you go tryin’ to get this bitch into your blankets tonight, Johnson,” he growled in a husky, whiskey-roughened voice. “She belongs to me first, an’ if’n there’s anything left when I’m done, you can have it.”

  Pike moved behind Thompson and grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. “Shut your pie-hole, Zeke!” he said in a loud voice, his eyes blazing. “Ain’t nobody touching Mrs. Jensen until I say so.”

  Zeke, who was wearing a pistol on his right hip with the handle facing forward for a cross-handed draw, let his left hand move toward his belly. “That ain’t what we planned, Bill, an’ you know it.”

  Quick as a flash, Pike’s pistol was in his hand and the barrel was pressed up against the underside of Thompson’s chin. “Now, Zeke, you just calm down and try an’ remember who’s the ramrod of this gang,” Pike said in a voice loud enough for all the men to hear. “Any time you think you can do a better job, you’re welcome to try and take over,” he added, locking eyes with Thompson.

  Thompson blinked and looked down. “Aw, you know that ain’t it, Bill. I just wanted to teach this uppity slut a lesson.”

  “You’ll get your chance, Zeke, but not until I say it’s time.” He glanced over his shoulder as he eased the hammer down on his Colt and put it back in his holster. “And that goes for
the rest of you too. Mrs. Jensen will be left alone until I give the word. Anybody who touches her will have to answer to me.”

  Sally, watching this byplay, thought she saw a small smile curl Blackie Johnson’s lips. She made a mental note that he might turn out to be a valuable ally when it came time for her to attempt to escape.

  “If you’re through eating, Mrs. Jensen, it might be better if you turned in for the night,” Pike said. He leaned close and whispered so no one else could hear. “I want to get you out of sight so the men can quit thinking about what they’re all thinking about.”

  Sally nodded and got up off the ground. She followed Pike over to where he’d fixed a couple of blankets on top of a groundsheet under a pine tree. “I’m gonna put you over here next to me so nobody will mess with you,” he said.

  Sally eyed him. “Does that include you, Mr. Pike?” she asked.

  He grinned. “Oh, it’s not that I wouldn’t like to, Mrs. Jensen, but I gave you my word nothing will happen until we have captured your husband, an’ that’s the way it’s gonna be.”

  “Good night then, Mr. Pike,” Sally said, and she crawled beneath the blankets and pulled them up under her chin.

  9

  While Cal and Pearlie headed north by northeast toward the small town of Canyon, Smoke took off on a more directly eastern direction, hoping to cut across the trail the kidnappers would have to take to travel from the Sugarloaf to get to Canyon City and then Pueblo.

  Fall was rapidly changing to winter as chilly winds flowed from Canada down into the area of the Rocky Mountains, occasionally accompanied by glowering skies, overhanging clouds, and intermittent snow flurries. Smoke hoped the snow continued, for it would help him track the band of men who held his wife prisoner.

  He would have to cross the Sangre de Cristo Mountains to get to Pueblo, but that would be no problem for Smoke, who knew most of the mountains in Colorado Territory as well as he knew the pastures and features of the Sugarloaf.