War Of The Mountain Man

“What a headline this will make!” Henry said. The editor of the Barlow Bugle grabbed up all his photographic equipment and hustled back to his office to develop the pictures and write the story.

“Stick around,” Smoke told Joe. “We’ll have some coffee in a minute.” He looked at Sal. “When did Cart get here?”

“’Bout an hour ago. He was full of it, too. He had me and Jim plumb shakin’ in our boots.”

“I’m sure he did,” Smoke said, noticing the wicked glint in the man’s eyes. “I can tell that you haven’t recovered yet.”

“Right,” Jim said, grinning along with Sal. “They’re runnin’ scared, Smoke. All of them up at Hell’s Creek. Cart said that Big Max can’t get a freight company to haul goods up to them. He’s tryin’ to get goods pulled in from that new settlement to the west of him ... Kalispell; but the marshal over there told him to go take a dump in his hat. Or words similar to that.”

Joe Walsh and his men laughed out loud, one of the hands saying, “Me and the rest of the boys talked it over, Smoke. When you need us, just give a holler. We’ll ride with you and you call the shots.”

“I appreciate it. Max won’t stand still and get pushed around much longer. I expect some retaliation from Hell’s Creek at any moment. Unfortunately, I don’t have any idea in what form it might be.” He told them all what he’d been doing that day, riding and warning those in the south end of the county ... or as many as he could find.

“A man who would harm a kid is scum,” Joe said. “I suggest we keep a rope handy.”

A crowd had gathered around and they heatedly agreed.

Smoke let them talk it out until they fell silent. “You watch your children, people. Tell them not to leave the town limits. Not for any reason. Always bear in mind that we’re dealing with scum. And these people have no morals, no values, no regard for human life. Adult or child. The farmers in this part of the county are breaking ground and planting. And they’re doing it with guns strapped on. I don’t want to see a man in this town walking around without a gunbelt on or a pistol stuck behind his belt. It’s entirely conceivable that Max and Malone may even try to tree this town. If they do that, we want to be ready. Any woman here who doesn’t know how to shoot, my wife will be conducting classes.” He smiled. “She doesn’t know that yet, but I’m sure she’ll be more than willing to teach a class.”

“You better watch out, Tom,” a good-natured shout came out of the crowd. “Ella Mae learns to shoot, she’s liable to fill your butt full of birdshot the next time you come home tipsy.”

Tom Johnson grinned out of his suddenly red face. Tom liked his evening whiskey at the saloon.

“You’re a fine one to talk, Matthew,” the blacksmith yelled. “I ’member the time your woman tossed you out of the house with nothin’ but your long-handles on.”

The crowd burst out laughing and went their way. It was good laughter, the kind of laughter from men and women who had decided to make a stand of it. To not be pushed around and taken advantage of by thugs like Big Max Huggins.

“That laughter is good to hear,” Joe said. “These folks have been down for a long time. I’m glad to see them back on their feet and standing tall.” He paused to finish rolling his cigarette and light up. “And you’re responsible for straightening their backbone, Smoke.”

Smoke had been curious about something, and he figured now was the time to ask it. “Why didn’t you do it, Joe?” he asked softly.

“Wondered when you’d get around to asking that. It’s a fair question. Me and the wife left right after roundup three years ago. Took us a trip to see San Francisco. Spent all summer in California. Up and down the coast. The kids is all growed up and in college back east. We left right around the first day of May and didn’t come back until late September. Hell, Smoke, it was all over by then. Big Max had built Hell’s Creek, him and Red Malone was in cahoots around here, and Big Max’s outlaws had cut the heart right out of this town.”

He dropped the cigarette butt into the street and toed it dead. “I spent the next year just protecting my herds and my land. Red tried his damndest to run me out. But I wouldn’t go. I lost ...” He looked at one of his hands. “How many men, Chuck?”

“Four, boss. Skinny Jim, Davis, Don Morris, and John.”

“Four men,” Joe said quietly. “Good men who died for the brand. When Red finally got it through his head that I wasn’t gonna be run out—and I can’t prove it was Red doing it—he backed off and let me be.”

“No way you can prove it was Red?”