Vengeance of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

  Cal glanced at dark, snow-filled clouds overhead. “I guess that means bein’ cold ourselves most of the time, too.”

  Smoke nodded. “If you’re gonna wage war in the high lonesome, being cold is part of it. But you’ll get used to it before those galoots from Texas do. They’re more used to frying in the heat than shivering in the cold, and that’ll be to our advantage when the time comes. Let’s go, we’re burnin’ daylight.”

  Smoke wheeled his mount to ride up the mountain and began moving toward the peaks. “I’m gonna take you to where we’ll make our last stand, assumin’ we both live long enough to get there. On the way, I’ll show you some of the traps and falls I’ve set up, and how to spot them if you have to get out of here on your own.”

  “I don’t much like it when you talk like that, Smoke, ’bout us maybe not surviving and such.”

  Smoke agreed. “I can see where it’d bother you, Cal, but it’s the truth of the matter.” He looked at the boy. “I want you to understand what we’re going up against here, ’cause this ain’t no Sunday school picnic, and it sure as hell ain’t no kid’s game where you get up after you’re shot bad to try again. This here’s for real.” He sighed deeply. “Cal, only a few men are gonna ride out of this fracas forked end down. I hope it’s you and Pearlie and Puma and me, but it’s liable to be Sundance who pisses on our graves, not the other way ’round.”

  “Smoke, I ain’t afraid of dyin’, I’m more afraid of not bein’ good enough, or of doin’ more harm than good by bein’ up here with you. I don’t want you to get hurt ’cause you’re havin’ to look after me.”

  Smoke chuckled. “Don’t worry about that, son. Everybody gets a mite nervous ’fore a battle, but once the lead starts to flying, your natural instincts will take over and you’ll do just fine. If I didn’t believe you were up to what’s gonna happen, I wouldn’t let you stay—and I’m a damn good judge of character.”

  Cal sat a little straighter in his saddle and began to look for traps Smoke had set. He wanted to find some without Smoke having to show him where they were, to prove to his friend he was worthy of his trust.

  After a few miles he reined up, asking, “What’s that ahead of us?”

  Smoke turned his head. “What are you lookin’ at?”

  “Right there, near the pine tree. That pile of leaves and pine needles don’t look natural—kinda there on purpose.” He stepped out of his saddle and walked slowly up to the tree, squatting before it, leaning down. “Uh-huh, here’s a rope, covered with mud or something, wrapped ’round the trunk.” He followed the rope with his hands where it ran along the ground across the trail to encircle another tree and finally to where it was tied to a branch, holding it back under tension. “Jumpin’ Jiminy, Smoke. If we’d tripped this here rope, it would’ve let that branch go and it would’ve damn near taken our heads off!”

  Smoke smiled. “You’re learning, Cal. That’s exactly what it’s meant to do. Let’s hope the gunslicks aren’t as keen eyed as you.”

  Cal walked to his horse and swung into the saddle, blushing over the compliment. “I’d never have seen it if’n I weren’t lookin’ fer it,” he said quietly.

  “Don’t let up,” Smoke added, “there’s a few more between us and our destination.”

  * * *

  Cal managed to find two more of three traps on the way to where Smoke had left his supplies. Smoke had to stop him before he walked his mount onto a thin covering over a pit Smoke dug in the middle of a mountain path. Even after he was shown the trap, Cal stated he could not tell it from what looked natural.

  They came to Smoke’s fort, as he called it, at noon. Smoke figured it would be a good time to take their nooning.

  “Want me to gather wood fer a campfire?” Cal asked.

  Smoke frowned. “Remember what I told you. We don’t make a fire where we’re gonna camp.”

  “But Smoke, they ain’t hardly had time to get up here yet,” Cal protested.

  Smoke shrugged. “You’re probably right, Cal, but are you willing to bet your life they haven’t sent a scout or a party of gunmen ridin’ hard to try and catch us unawares?”

  “When you say it like that, I reckon not.”

  “No, and I’m not, either. This is a game with high stakes, life or death, and it don’t do to underestimate your opponent. We won’t get any second chances, so we’d better be right every time.”

  They staked their horses on the trail below and hiked up the steep incline to a level spot at the top, stumbling some on loose soil. They surveyed the approach, and Smoke said, “I picked this place for its defense.” He pointed down. “We got an unobstructed view in front and both sides, and our back is covered by those cliffs behind us. A rock slide some time back took out the trees and brush on the hill to the front, and there aren’t any boulders or tree trunks big enough for our attackers to hide behind while working their way up here. We’ve got over a hundred and fifty yards of clear space they’ll have to cross to get to us, on foot ’cause it’s too steep for horses.” He pointed left and right, “Not quite as good over on the sides, there’s some good-sized rocks and a couple of fallen trees over there, but I’m gonna let you hide a few surprises in that cover there in case our friends decide to try and use ’em.”

  Cal’s forehead wrinkled, “What kind of surprises?”

  Smoke shook his head. “You’ll get no help from me. I’ll show you what we got to work with, and you let your imagination take it from there. Hell, if you can’t cook up something mean, then I may have to change my opinion of the natural contrariness of young men.”

  Cal rubbed his chin a moment, thinking. “You say you got some extra dynamite and a few cans of black powder?”

  “Yep, and there’s a pile of gourds and small pumpkins and rocks I gathered the other day, if you’re planning what I think you are.”

  Cal pointed to several areas and explained in detail what he had in mind to Smoke, causing the older man to grin in anticipation. “You know, Cal, you almost make me hope some of those outlaws make it this far, just so we can see if your plan works.”

  “Me too, boss,” Cal said.

  Smoke opened his saddlebags and broke out some jerked meat and biscuits he had saved from breakfast, along with a few dried apples. They washed their food down with water from canteens. After they finished eating, Smoke gave Cal a tour of his caches of guns, rifles, and shotguns, ammunition, and explosives he had placed in various locations around his plateau. “I’ve spread the supplies around ’cause I don’t know how many are going to be coming up after us and I don’t have any way of knowing if we’re gonna be wounded or able to move around much, if they’re firing on us real heavy.”

  Cal followed Smoke as he showed him where everything was located, nodding his head at the meticulous planning that had gone into the arrangement. “Looks like you thought of most everything, Smoke,” he said.

  “I doubt it, because you can never anticipate all the possibilities, but I’m damned if I can think of anything else to do up here to prepare for an assault.” Smoke packed up the remnants of their lunch and said, “Now, we set about making more tricks for Sundance and his gang. That’s the other part of fightin’ like Indians—instilling fear of the unknown in your adversaries.”

  They slipped and slid down the embankment to their horses and mounted up. Smoke inclined his head at his bedroll. “I’ve got an extra pair of moccasins and some buckskins in there, so remind me to give ’em to you later. We’re gonna be doing some sneaking around and I want you to be as quiet as a mouse, and as close to invisible as I can make you in the dark. Get rid of your spurs, and anything else that jangles or clinks when you’re crawling around on your hands and knees. We’ll also get you some mud to put on your weapons, just in case the clouds clear and we get some moonlight. It won’t do to have anything that’ll cause a glare or reflection to give us away.”

  “You mean we’re gonna go right into their camp?”

  “Maybe. There’s nothing makes a ma
n more nervous than to wake up and find the gent next to him with his throat cut and his scalp gone.” He grinned at Cal’s wide-eyed expression. “Makes it a mite tough to get to sleep the next night, and tired men don’t fight real well or think too clear.”

  * * *

  The balance of the afternoon was spent setting more traps, undermining areas of the trail, and digging pits and placing sharpened stakes in the bottoms. Smoke was amazed at how quickly Cal grasped the ideas behind creating fear and terror in their enemies, and how innovative he was at thinking up his own surprises for the gang.

  At dusk, Smoked called a halt to their preparations, and they made camp a few miles from Smoke’s fort. The hat-sized fire was placed up against some rocks so the flames couldn’t be seen from more than a few yards away. Smoke cooked the last of Puma’s venison, made pan bread and a pot of boiled coffee, which Cal said was considerably weaker than Puma’s.

  Smoke’s eyes twinkled in the firelight as he said, “I want you to get some sleep tonight, and real mountain man coffee will keep somebody who isn’t used to it awake for a spell—like two or three days.”

  Cal asked, “Why’d you make so much? Ain’t no way we’re gonna drink all that.”

  “I brought a couple of spare canteens. What we don’t drink tonight, we’ll put in those. Cold coffee ain’t high on my list of favorite things to drink, but it’ll help keep us alert if we aren’t able to make a fire to warm it.”

  Cal was about to answer, when suddenly Smoke held up his hand. A Colt appeared in Smoke’s fist as if by magic, so fast that Cal never saw him draw. “Keep talking, like I’m still here,” Smoke whispered, and slipped out of camp as silently as the breeze.

  Cal continued to talk, until a few minutes later when Smoke reappeared, leading Pearlie’s horse by the reins, with a blushing Pearlie still in the saddle.

  “Cal,” Smoke said, barely visible at the edge of the firelight, “we’re coming in, so don’t shoot.”

  Cal holstered the Colt Navy he was holding and stood up to welcome his friends back to camp. “Hey, Pearlie, glad you found us,” he said.

  “Shucks, I didn’t find you. Smoke found me. I figgered if I rode around up here makin’ enough noise, y’all’d hear me sooner or later.”

  Smoke said, “What if it’d been Sundance’s gang who heard you?”

  Pearlie shook his head. “Naw, I passed their camp over five miles down the mountain. You can’t hardly miss it, since they got a fire big enough to roast a cow, although they seem to be drinkin’ their supper instead of eatin’ it.”

  “That’s good—drunk and hungover men have a tendency to be careless about keeping their scalps in a fight. Did you get the Aldritch women down to Big Rock?” Smoke asked.

  “Yes sir. Just missed meetin’ up with the outlaws, though.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah.” Pearlie squatted before the fire, piled some deer meat and bread and beans on his plate, and poured a cup of coffee. While he ate, he told Smoke and Cal about the gunfight in Big Rock.

  Smoke shook his head. “I can’t believe those fools tried to tree that town.”

  Pearlie grinned. “I don’t know if the fight was strictly the outlaws’ idea, boss. ’Pears to me that Monte Carson and Louis Longmont set them up where they didn’t exactly have any choice in the matter. Monte said the town wanted to soften ’em up a mite fer ya’.”

  “I’d certainly call killing a dozen hardcases softening ’em up,” Smoke said, “though I wish my friends hadn’t taken such a chance on my account.”

  “Turned out all right. Those gents will think twice ’bout ridin’ back though Big Rock any time soon.”

  Smoke’s eyes, reflected in the campfire, radiated hate. “I don’t intend to give them that chance, Pearlie. Every one of the sorry sons of bitches is going to be planted right here, in the up-high, or I will.”

  Cal added softly, “You mean, we will, Smoke. Me an’ Pearlie are in this with you to the very end.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  As the sun rose above the eastern slopes of the Rockies, Sundance walked among his sleeping men, kicking them out of their bedrolls with the toe of his boot. Hungover gunfighters and outlaws moaned and groaned, holding their aching heads and complaining about the early hour.

  The smell of frying fatback and coffee finally roused the unhappy gang. They crawled out of their bedrolls, shivering and shaking in the early morning chill as they gathered around a fire gulping coffee, waiting for Sundance to give them their orders.

  He sat on a boulder, his hands wrapped around a steaming tin cup, elbows on knees. His gaze flicked over the ragtag group of misfits and murderers he brought with him while he thought about their forthcoming battle with Smoke Jensen. He realized most of his men would be useless—they were too dumb or too slow to be a danger to a mountain man. Their only benefit to Sundance would be to draw attention to Smoke’s location by drawing his fire.

  Sundance knew the gang stood no chance at all if they stayed together. Thirty men on horseback would be noticed before they could get in range, and would make a tempting target for ambushes and long-range rifle fire from cliffs and overhangs. He didn’t like the idea of breaking up his followers, but there wasn’t any other way to proceed in this country. Its thick forests, steep and narrow trails and passes were ideal for bottling up a large group, or catching them in a crossfire if Smoke managed to bring help with him. Sundance had few options, thus he made the only decision he could.

  “Boys, I’m going to divide us up into groups of four to six riders. Each group will have a leader. We’ll arrange meeting places and signals, in the event anyone catches sight of Jensen or his trail. I’ll also give each of you a password so we won’t be shootin’ each other in the dark, if it comes to that.”

  George Stalking Horse thumbed his hat back. “Boss, General Custer divided his troops and you remember what happened to him.”

  Sundance smirked. “You fool! Custer got his ass kicked ’cause he was facing several thousand Injuns with nothin’ but a bunch of green soldiers, and most of ’em had never been in an Injun fight before.” He waved his arm at thick pines and steep slopes around them. “George, just how do you expect thirty of us to cross these mountains and manage to sneak up on a man said to be one of the best mountain men in the territory?”

  George lowered his head, mumbling under his breath, while Sundance snorted in derision. “Anyone else gonna try an’ tell me how to run this outfit?”

  When he got no answer, he continued. “Bull, I want you and Toothpick and El Gato to pick some men to ride with. You’ll be the leaders, so pick boys you think you can work with who’ll obey orders.”

  Lightning Jack narrowed his eyes and flexed his huge arms until the muscles bulged beneath his shirt. “What about me, Sundance?”

  “I want you to ride with me. I need someone I can trust to watch my back. Besides, you’re the meanest son of a bitch on the mountain and I want you between me and Smoke Jensen.”

  As chosen leaders began to pick their riders, it was only a few moments before Bull and Toothpick squared off in an argument over who would ride with them. Toothpick had the point of his knife at Bull’s throat even as Bull stuck his sawed-off shotgun in the other’s stomach and jacked back the hammers.

  “Goddammit, hold on there!” Sundance yelled, quickly stepping between two angry men. He shook his head “If you can’t pick your bunches then I’ll do it for you.” He surveyed the band of milling outlaws. “El Gato, you and Chiva and those three men ride together.” He pointed to three Mexican pistoleros.

  “Toothpick, you take George Stalking Horse and those three cowboys over there,” he said, pointing to three of the Southerners.

  “Perro Muerte, you take Curly Bill and those four men.” He picked two Anglos and two Mexicans to join them.

  “One-Eye Jordan, you and Blackjack Walker grab those men by that tree over yonder.” A Mexican and two Texas gunmen looked up from saddling their mounts and nodded agreement.
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  “Bull, you take Moses Washburn and the four men standing next to that rock and make your plans.”

  He looked at his followers as they began to split into small groups. “I’m taking Lightning Jack, Jeremiah Gray Wolf, and the two remaining cowboys with me.” He put his hands on his hips, his face stern and eyes narrowed. “I’m only gonna say this once. Either you take orders from your ramrods, or you die. By their hands, or mine, It won’t make much difference, ’cause you’ll be in hell before you’re dead.”

  He stepped off to one side. “I want the men in charge over here and we’ll decide who goes where, and what our signals will be if anybody runs across Jensen.”

  Sundance squatted next to the fire and refilled his cup. El Gato, Toothpick, Suarez, Jordan, and Bull gathered around him, warming their hands over the flames, stamping their feet to get blood flowing.

  As Sundance looked up, sipping his coffee, snow-swollen clouds overhead emptied and flakes began to fall. Within a few minutes visibility was cut to less than ten feet and the temperature seemed to drop twenty degrees.

  “Okay men, here’s our situation. We got a lot of mountain to cover, and not a hell of a lot of time to do it if’n we want to kill Jensen and get down to the flatlands ’fore full winter.” He paused to roll a cigarette and drain his cup. “El Gato, you and Chiva and your vaqueros head up the mountain on the main trail. Take your time and watch out for ambushes. Fire three shots if you see anybody or need some help.”

  He pointed down their back trail. “One-Eye, you and Blackjack start down the trail behind us. After you make sure Jensen ain’t back there, ride north and go straight up the slope through the trees. It’ll be rough goin’, but at least you won’t have to worry about being bushwhacked.

  “Toothpick, you and George Stalking Horse and your men head northeast toward the peak. See if that breed can manage to cut Jensen’s tracks or pick up a trail on him. And don’t try to take him alone if you find him. Give the signal and we’ll all come ridin’ hard as we can. I don’t want that bastard gettin’ away.