“I’ll kill you,” Clint said. “I’ll beat you to death, Jensen.”
“I doubt it,” Smoke told him, then kicked the man on the kneecap.
Clint howled and jumped around, favoring the throbbing leg. Smoke stepped in and busted the man’s mouth with a left and a right. Off balance, Clint tumbled to the ground. Smoke made no attempt to use his boots on the fallen man. Unless Clint tried it dirty, Smoke would keep it as clean as brawling could be in those times.
Clint charged in, swinging wide. Smoke saw what the man had in mind and ducked. He grabbed the thick wrist with both hands and turned his body, throwing Clint to the dirt. Clint landed on his face and came up cussing, spitting dirt, and mad as hell.
The crowd was roaring and cheering, but neither man paid them any attention.
Clint bored in, smashing blows to Smoke’s face and body. Smoke’s mouth was bleeding and his side hurt where Clint had connected. Smoke stuck his fist into Clint’s face and pawed. When Clint lifted his arm to brush away the gloved fist, Smoke blasted a right into Clint’s belly. The man whooshed out air, dropped his guard, and Smoke hit him hard on the side of the jaw. Clint’s knees buckled and he backed up. Smoke didn’t let up. He stalked the man relentlessly, hammering at him with fists that seemed to be made of iron.
Clint recovered and connected with a solid left that hurt. Smoke backed up and Clint jumped at him, swinging both big fists. Smoke ducked and dove at the man, catching him in the belly with a shoulder. Smoke wrapped both strong arms around the man’s waist and hurled him to the ground, knocking the wind from him.
Smoke grabbed the man by the hair, jerked his head back, and, standing over the fallen rancher, drove his right fist into the man’s face half a dozen times. Clint’s lips were pulped, his nose was spread all over his face, and one ear was nearly torn off.
Smoke released his hold on the man’s hair, grabbed him by one arm and jerked him to his boots. Holding on to his arm, Smoke threw him across the street, with Clint spinning and staggering and flapping his arms, trying to halt the momentum. Clint slammed into a hitchrail and it shattered under his weight.
Clint crawled to his feet and ducked his head into a watering trough. Then he came up roaring like a maddened bull and charged across the street.
“Punch his head off!” Jeanne Duggan yelled, caught up in the excitement.
“Kick him in the parts!” Toni shouted.
Sally looked at them and smiled.
Clint connected with a wild swing and Smoke went down. He rolled and came to his boots. Clint bored in and Smoke stopped him cold with a right to the jaw. Clint backed up and Smoke came on, hitting him with both fists, belly and mouth. Clint went down and Smoke waited, both hands clenched into fists.
The rancher lurched to his feet and Smoke planted both boots and hit the man with everything he had, putting all two hundred-plus pounds into the blow. Those standing by the ropes heard the man’s jaw shatter. Clint was poleaxed to the ground and did not move.
Smoke walked to the horse trough, stripping off his gloves and sticking them into a back pocket. He washed his face and dunked his head into the water. The crowd was yelling and hollering and cheering. Harris rose to his knees. He reached into a boot and came up with a knife. With blood pouring from his mouth, his nose, and one ear, he screamed curses at Smoke and ran toward him. Smoke could hear nothing over the roaring of the crowd. A pistol cracked, the slug taking Clint in the center of his forehead, stopping the man and flinging him backward into the churned up dirt of the street. He lay with arms outspread, the blade of the knife twinkling in the midday sun.
Harris Black had fired through the window of the general store.
The crowds fell silent, staring at the dead Clint Black. The rancher had possessed everything any man could ever want. But Clint had wanted more. And all it got him in the end was a bullet in his brain. A ruthless man’s reign of terror had ended. It was over.
28
The hired guns—now out of a job—stood and listened to Lucas’s words. The words were familiar; they had all heard them before. The gunslingers were surrounded by fifty heavily armed and grim-faced men. “You got one minute to get clear of this town,” the deputy said. “And don’t you ever show your faces around here again. At one minute plus one second, we all start shooting. And no, you don’t get your guns back. Now, move!”
Thirty seconds later, the pounding of hooves was fading into memory.
Harris Black motioned for Lucas to come into the general store. He handed him his sheriff’s badge. “I’m through. When I get on my feet, I hope I never have to use a gun against another man as long as I live.”
Smoke took a long hot bath behind the barber shop and dressed in fresh clothing. Before leaving the Double D that morning, they had packed for the ride back home. Smoke, Sally, and the three Sugarloaf hands stepped up into the saddles and looked at the crowd, watching them. The townspeople filled the street, standing in silence.
“We’ll never forget you.” Toni spoke for the twins and the town. The sisters had tears in their eyes as they watched the riders fade into the distance.
Harris, listening from his bed in the store front, muttered, “You can damn sure say that again.” He lay his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes. He tried to work up some degree of sorrow and pity for his brother. He could not. “Hell with it,” he said, and went to sleep.
The townspeople stood in the streets and on the boardwalks and cheered and applauded as the Sugarloaf riders headed south, back to Colorado.
Swede the blacksmith tossed a shovelful of dirt over the dark, bloody spot in the street where Clint Black had lain. He walked back to his shop and picked up his tongs. The undertaker’s hammer could be heard, nailing the coffin lid shut on Clint Black. The old mountain men and the famed gunfighters slipped quietly back into history. Felker, at the feed store, hung a sign in his window: Open For Business.
The last depositor at Clint Black’s bank withdrew his money and the manager shut the door, hanging a Closed sign in the window.
Denver and the former cook at the Double D, Liz, hunted up a preacher. They had a new life to begin.
Two traveling salesmen, riding in the stage, passed the five riders heading south. “Say,” one of the drummers said. “That was Smoke Jensen!”
“That’s balderdash,” his companion replied. “Smoke Jensen is just a myth. He doesn’t exist.”
“Maybe you’re right. There’s Blackstown up ahead. Say, look at that sign. The name’s been changed. Canyon City. Well, I’ll be darned. I bet there’s a story behind that.”
PINNACLE BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
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Copyright © 2007 by Kensington Publishing Corp.
The First Mountain Man: Absaroka Ambush copyright © 1993 by William W. Johnstone
Courage of the Mountain Man copyright © 1992 by William W. Johnstone
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN: 978-0-7860-2661-6
Table of Contents
THE FIRST MOUNTAIN MAN: ABSAROKA AMBUSH
AUTHOR’S NOTE
BOOK ONE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
&n
bsp; Chapter 15
Chapter 16
BOOK TWO
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
BOOK THREE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
COURAGE OF THE MOUNTAIN MAN
SMOKE JENSEN
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Absaroka Ambush (first Mt Man)/Courage Of The Mt Man Page 48