Trek of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

  Pike shook his head and pulled the pistol out, staring at the slug in its handle with wide eyes. “Jesus, that little derringer kicked like a mule,” he said.

  Blackie grunted. “I don’t know, Boss. All I saw was Jensen throwing that money in the air in your face, and the next thing I know I’m waking up with a jaw that feels like it’s broken in two. What happened?”

  Pike gave him a sardonic grin. “You wouldn’t believe it,” he said. “I ain’t never seen nobody move that fast in my whole life. The bastard must’ve slipped his wife a purse gun an’ a knife when he was talking to her. After he slugged you, she shot Rufe an’ me an’ that’s the last I remember.”

  “Let’s go see where the hell the rest of the men are and maybe they can tell us what went on,” Pike suggested.

  He turned to walk to the cabin and he saw Rufus Gordon lying on his back, pink froth and bubbles coming out of his mouth as he gasped for breath like a fish out of water.

  They moved quickly to his side and Pike knelt and cradled the wounded man’s head in his hands. “Rufe, you still with us?” he asked.

  Gordon’s eyes opened and he tried to speak, but all that came out was a gurgle, followed by a moan of pain as he tried to get his breath.

  The hole in his chest was still slowly oozing blood, and it was clear from the froth on his lips and the sound his breath made when he breathed that he had a lung wound.

  Blackie whispered, “He’s lung-shot, Boss. He ain’t gonna make it.”

  Pike nodded, and laid Gordon’s head back down on the ground and stood up. He looked around the clearing and saw Zeke Thompson sprawled on his back just in front of the cabin, bleeding from what looked like a dozen wounds in his chest, arms, and legs.

  “Jesus,” Pike grunted. “Look at Zeke.”

  Blackie nodded. “Looks like he got in the way of an express gun.” He looked back at Rufus and noticed his shotgun was missing. “Probably Rufe’s.”

  “Come on, let’s see if he’s still alive,” Pike said, and they walked toward the wounded man.

  As the moved across the clearing, a movement on the slopes above them caught Pike’s eye and he crouched, drawing his pistol and pointing it upward.

  “Hold on there, Boss,” Hank Snow called. “It’s just us.”

  Several of Pike’s men began to appear from their hiding places on the side of the mountain above the clearing, moving slowly and looking back and forth to make sure they weren’t going to be fired on again.

  Pike holstered his gun and squatted next to Zeke, shaking his shoulder with his hand.

  “Goddamn!” Thompson exclaimed, coming awake and grabbing for his holster with his good hand.

  “Hold it, Zeke,” Pike said, grabbing his arm. “It’s me an’ Blackie.”

  Thompson shook his head and pushed himself up to a sitting position in the dirt. He looked down at the numerous patches of blood on his shirt and pants and began to gingerly feel of each and every one.

  “What happened, Zeke?” Pike asked. “I’m a little hazy on the details after I was shot.”

  Thompson didn’t answer for a moment, being busy making sure none of his wounds were serious. After a few minutes, he looked up, his face a mask of hate. “Jensen threw the money in the air to distract you and then he knocked Blackie on his ass. While he was doin’ that, his bitch of a wife shot you and Rufus with that little peashooter Jensen slipped her while he was hugging her.”

  Pike’s eyes narrowed as he pictured it in his mind, again remembering how fast Jensen had moved.

  “I came out of the cabin when I saw what was goin’ down, both my guns blazin’, and Jensen grabbed Rufus’s scattergun and let me have it with both barrels.” His lips curled in a sarcastic grin. “Good thing Rufe made his own loads, ’cause they must’ve been light. The buckshot just barely went under my skin ’stead of clear through me.”

  Blackie was puzzled and he frowned. “But Zeke, why didn’t the rest of the men blow Jensen to hell and gone after he made his move?”

  Thompson shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you’d better ask them. That shotgun plumb knocked me on my ass, even though the loads were light, I took both barrels at one time, and it put my lights out.”

  “I guess I’ll do that,” Pike answered, standing up and turning to face the men coming down the slope.

  Hank Snow was leading the way, his left arm cradled in his right hand, blood smeared on his shirt from an arm wound.

  Sergeant Joe Rutledge was limping along behind him, his hand holding his right flank where a bullet had pierced his side.

  Slim Cartwright was alongside Rutledge, his face covered with blood where stone splinters had peppered it and shredded the skin. Luckily, his eyes had been spared.

  Pike took in their condition with a glance and then he looked back up the slope.

  “Where’s Johnny Wright and Razor Jackson?” he asked.

  Hank Snow grimaced. “They’re both still up there, Boss. Johnny looks like he’s been through a meat grinder, an’ all we could find of Razor is about eight pieces, none much bigger’n my hand.”

  “What the hell happened up there?” Pike asked, shaking his head. “How come you boys didn’t take Jensen and his wife out when he started this ruckus?”

  “We were too busy ducking to do much good, Boss,” Snow answered. “Jensen must’ve had lots of help, ’cause soon as he hit Blackie and his wife shot you an’ Rufe, we came under a shitload of fire from across the way over there,” he said, pointing to the area where Cal and Pearlie had been lying.

  “What about Johnny and Razor?” Pike asked. “How’d Jensen manage to blow ’em up like that?”

  “This is how,” Sergeant Rutledge said, holding up an Arbuckle’s can he was carrying. “I found this over by one of the boulders we was hiding behind. It was half-buried and the spot was marked with a piece of white cloth.” His eyes moved toward the place Snow had pointed out. “Jensen must’ve had somebody over there with a long rifle, an’ when the fight started he just shot the cloth, blowing up the cans.”

  He put the can down and pried off the top, showing the horseshoe nails and gunpowder inside.

  He looked up. “As you can see, somethin’ like this explode under your feet, it’ll mess up your entire day.”

  “How long ago did all this happen?” Pike asked, glancing at his pocket watch.

  “They pulled out ’bout thirty minutes ago,” Hank Snow said, “Leastways, it’s been that long since they done any shooting at us.”

  “Then we’ve still got a chance to catch them and kill the sons of bitches,” Zeke Thompson growled, snapping open the loading chamber on his pistol and reloading.

  Pike nodded. “Sarge, you get over there where they were firing from and see if you can tell how many we’re dealin’ with. I’ll gather up the money an’ we’ll take off down the mountain after ’em.”

  “We got the money, Boss,” Blackie Johnson said. “Why not just let it go?” He glanced around at the wounded men. “After all, most of us ain’t exactly in the best shape for another gunfight.”

  “Let ’em go, hell!” Thompson yelled. “They kilt Johnny and Razor and Rufe an’ you want to let the bastards go?”

  Pike held up his hand to silence Zeke and he turned to Blackie. “Son, if we let them get down to Pueblo, they’re gonna go straight to the sheriff an’ he’ll wire every federal marshal between here and Texas. It won’t be much fun tryin’ to spend this money with the marshals on our asses, will it?”

  Johnson hung his head. “No, I guess not.”

  “Then get busy loading up our mounts,” Pike said forcefully. “We got some people to catch.”

  * * *

  When they were all mounted up and ready to go, Rutledge came out of the bushes where Cal and Pearlie had been stationed. “Looks like only four horses, Boss,” he said, pointing to the tracks in the snow.

  “And one of them is his wife,” Pike said. “So we’re only goin’ up against three men.”

  Blackie grunt
ed. “From what I could see, Mrs. Jensen could handle herself ’bout as good as most men.”

  Pike nodded. “That’s why we’re not going to show her any mercy. She goes down just like the rest of the bastards when we catch up to ’em.” He jerked his horse’s head around and pointed it down the trail. “Now, let’s ride!”

  * * *

  They spurred their mounts down the trail, Pike in the lead, followed closely by Slim Cartwright and the others in single file behind him.

  They’d only gone about fifty yards when Pike’s mount stepped in one of the pits Smoke and the boys had dug. The horse screamed in agony as its right leg snapped and it swallowed its head in a tumbling somersault, throwing Pike headfirst into a thick snowbank alongside the trail.

  Following too close to stop or turn, Cartwright jerked his horse’s reins and had him jump Pike’s horse in a running leap.

  He’d only managed another fifteen yards when the barbed wire Smoke had strung across the trail caught him just under the chin. The razor-sharp barbs on the wire sliced through his neck like a hot knife through butter and took his head off just under the chin.

  Cartwright’s body continued in the saddle for another ten yards before it toppled lifelessly off the horse and sprawled onto the trail.

  “Holy shit!” Hank Snow exclaimed, jerking his horse to a halt when he saw the mess of Cartwright’s head hit the trail and bounce and roll like a child’s ball, leaving splotches of blood in the white snow.

  The rest of the men stopped their mounts and jumped down to see if Pike was still alive. All they could see of him were his boots sticking out of the pile of snow next to the trail.

  Johnson and Rutledge each grabbed a boot and yanked, pulling a sputtering Bill Pike out of the snow.

  He brushed himself off and moved over to stand next to his horse, which was snorting and gasping and trying to get to its feet. He pulled his pistol out when he saw the mangled leg and put a bullet in the horse’s head, ending its misery.

  Johnson stepped up next to him. “You’re lucky you hit that snowbank, Boss,” he said, “or you’d’ve broken your neck.”

  Sergeant Rutledge moved over next to Johnson and Pike. “Looks like Jensen laid some traps along the trail, Boss. Maybe we’d better rethink our idea of chasin’ him an’ his friends down.”

  “You’re right, Sarge. We’re down to five men now, an’ there’s no tellin’ what else that bastard has waitin’ for us along the trail up ahead.”

  “So, we’re gonna give up and head back to Texas?” Johnson asked.

  Pike shook his head. “Not on your life, Blackie. But we are gonna be very careful the next time we go up against Jensen and his friends.”

  29

  As they moved down the trail toward Pueblo, every so often Smoke would have either Cal or Pearlie hang back to watch their backtrail to make sure none of the outlaws were following them. He wanted to make sure they weren’t surprised before they got to the town and told the sheriff what had happened.

  While he was riding, Smoke found it difficult to keep his eyes off Sally. In spite of the fact that she’d not had a chance to do her hair or to bathe while a prisoner, and though she was still dressed in the oversized men’s clothing the gang had bought for her in Canyon City, he still felt she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

  It was amazing to him that after all she’d been through the last couple of weeks, she seemed to be none the worse for wear. She still managed to laugh and joke with Cal and Pearlie, and in general acted as if they were out on a trip to see the country instead of fighting for their lives against a band of desperate criminals.

  When they finally reached the outskirts of Pueblo and rode down along the main street toward the sheriff’s office, they attracted stares from almost everyone they passed on the way. Like all mining towns in the mountains of Colorado Territory, there were few women residents other than prostitutes and a very few hardy wives of miners, none of whom even approached Sally’s good looks and regal manner.

  A few of the younger men on the dirt streets even whistled or gave appreciative catcalls when they saw Sally passing, acts that infuriated Cal and Pearlie, but merely amused Smoke and Sally.

  When Pearlie almost went after a couple of the men, Sally laughed and calmed him down. “Take it easy, Pearlie,” she said. “They don’t mean any harm. It’s just their way of letting off steam after being up in the mountains for a long time without female companionship.”

  “But Miss Sally,” he said, glaring at the two miscreants with narrowed eyes, “they oughta show more respect for a lady.”

  Sally laughed again and looked down at the oversized men’s pants and shirt and coat she was wearing. “And just how are they supposed to know what a ‘lady’ I am, Pearlie, dressed like this?”

  Under Sally’s calming influence, the group finally made it to the sheriff’s office without being involved in any fights or other misadventures.

  When they entered the door, they found a tall, lean man with a handlebar mustache sitting at a scarred wooden desk with his feet up on the corner. He was leaned back in his desk chair and had a cup of steaming coffee cradled in his hands.

  A handmade sign on the desk informed them he was Sheriff John Ashby.

  When Ashby saw Sally enter with the men, he immediately got to his feet and tipped his hat, a weather-beaten black Stetson. “Mornin’, ma’am, gents,” he said in a voice that had more than a little Texas twang to it.

  Sally chuckled. “I can see you’re not from around here, Sheriff,” she said.

  Ashby smiled. “No, ma’am. I came up here with my daddy a few years back from Galveston. He was seeking his fortune in the gold fields.”

  “Did he find it, Mr. Ashby?” Sally asked as she took a seat across from his desk.

  Once she was seated, the sheriff also sat back down behind his desk. “Yes, ma’am. At least, we dug up enough gold for him to head back down to Texas and buy himself a cattle ranch over near Austin.” He grinned. “But I never liked chasin’ beeves around under the hot Texas sun, so I stayed up here and somehow got myself elected sheriff.”

  Sally nodded and Smoke spoke up. “Sheriff Ashby, we’ve come to report some killings up along Fountain Creek.”

  “’Fore we get down to business, I got some hot coffee brewin’ on the stove over yonder,” he said, indicating a large Franklin stove in the corner of the office. “You folks can help yourselves if you’ve a mind to.”

  “Would you like a cup, Miss Sally?” Cal asked as he headed toward the stove.

  “Yes, please, Cal,” she answered.

  Once they all had mugs in their hands and had taken seats in front of his desk, Ashby crossed his legs and sat back in his chair. “Now, you want to tell me all about it?” he asked, his eyes centering on Smoke.

  Smoke started at the beginning and told the sheriff how a band of men from Texas had gone to his ranch, killed two of his hands, and kidnapped Sally.

  Ashby’s eyes narrowed and he looked at Sally. “They mistreat you any, ma’am?” he asked, his voice softening with concern.

  “No, not really,” Sally answered. “Other than keeping me tied up at all times, they did nothing to harm me in any way.”

  Ashby’s eyes went back to Smoke, who then told him about how he figured it was a revenge motive by Pike and Thompson for what he’d done years before in Idaho.

  “What did you say your name was?” Ashby asked.

  “I didn’t say, but it’s Smoke Jensen,” Smoke replied. “This is my wife, Sally, and my friends Cal and Pearlie.”

  “The Smoke Jensen?” Ashby asked, sitting forward in his chair, clearly more interested now.

  “I’m the only one I know of,” Smoke answered.

  “Last I heard, you was livin’ over near Big Rock,” Ashby said. “Settled down an’ livin’ the quiet life.”

  “That’s where my ranch is,” Smoke said. “And my life was quiet until Pike and his men interfered in it.”

  Ashby pursed his
lips. “You say there were ’bout ten or so of ’em?”

  “That’s right, Sheriff,” Smoke said, “though their numbers are considerably less now.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. I killed a couple of them a few days ago on the trail and I figure we got another two or three this morning.”

  “That still leaves five or six to deal with then,” Ashby said.

  “I guess that’s about right,” Smoke said.

  “Let me get some deputies together an’ you can show me where all this took place.”

  “Before you do that, Sheriff,” Smoke said, “my wife would like to clean up a bit and we all need to eat something. Can you give us a couple of hours?”

  Ashby shrugged. “Sure. It’ll take me that long to find some men to deputize to go with us anyway. We’ll meet back here in two hours, all right?”

  * * *

  After they left the sheriff’s office, Smoke asked Cal and Pearlie to get them rooms in the hotel while he and Sally made a couple of stops.

  He and Sally went first to the local general store, since the town of Pueblo didn’t have a woman’s dress shop. In there, Sally picked out some clothes that fit her better than the ones the gang had bought. She bought some pants, boots, and several shirts that were in her size, along with a fur-lined leather coat. After that, Smoke took her to the local gunsmith’s store down the street.

  After browsing for a few moments, Sally picked out a Smith and Wesson .36-caliber short-barreled pistol and a gunbelt and holster in a small size for her tiny waist. Though Sally could shoot a .44 as well as any man Smoke knew, she preferred the .36-caliber with its lighter recoil.

  When they got to the hotel, Smoke arranged for a hot bath for the two of them. Once the boy working for the hotel had the large tub filled with steaming hot water, Smoke shut the door and braced it closed by putting the back of a chair under the doorknob.

  When he turned around, Sally was already undressed and slipping into the tub. Smoke had started to take a seat in a nearby chair to wait for Sally to finish when she smiled at him. “This tub seems big enough for two, Smoke,” she said, lowering her eyes.