War Of The Mountain Man

“No. Not a chance. And I tried. That’s on record at the territorial capitol. I raised some hell about it, and that, and with me and the boys fighting the night riders brought an end to it. They all wore hoods. Don’t all cowards wear hoods or masks? I never was able to get a look at any of them.” He smiled. “But I did recognize their horses. Unfortunately, that won’t cut it in court.” His eyes darted toward Sally as she stepped out of the hotel. “My wife is looking forward to you and your missus coming out. But I told her let’s get this situation with Red and Max taken care of first, then we’ll socialize.”

“Yeah. My leaving town now, for any length of time, would not be wise. Hey! I got an idea. How about a community dance and box supper?”

Sally walked up. “You took those thoughts right out of my head, honey. Hi, Joe.”

“Ma’am,” the rancher touched the brim of his hat. “I think that’s a good idea.”

Smoke’s grin turned into a frown.

“What’s the matter with you?” Sally asked.

“It’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“It would mean too many people would be leaving their homes unguarded. That might be all it would take for Max or Red to burn someone out.”

“Oh, pooh!” Sally said, stamping her foot.

“Smoke’s right. I didn’t think about that. Must be getting old. Max and Red wouldn’t pass up an opportunity like that. And we couldn’t keep it quiet. It’d be sure to leak out.”

Smoke began smiling again.

“Now what?” Sally asked.

“I know how to have the dance and avoid troubte—at least for the farmers and ranchers.”

“How?” Joe asked. “What about Red and Max?”

“That’s just it. We’ll invite them.”

10

Joe Walsh rode back to the ranch, chuckling as he went. Smoke Jensen was not only the slickest gunhandler he’d ever seen, but the man was damn smart, too.

There was no way a western man was going to turn down an invitation for a box supper and a dance with some really nice ladies. And both Max and Red would know that if anyone’s place was torched that night, the fires could be seen for miles and there was no way either of them would leave Barlow alive.

“Slick,” the rancher said. “Just damn slick.”

“I had my mind all made up to not like Smoke Jensen,” one of his hands said. “But I sure changed my mind. He’s a right nice fellow.”

“Yes, he is, Curly. I had my mind all made up to dislike the man. I figured he’d be a cocky son. Shows how wrong a man can be.”

“I can’t wait for this shindig,” another hand said. “Been a long time since we had a good box supper and dance.”

“Be a damn good time to put lead in Max Huggins and Red Malone, too,” Curly said. Curly and Skinny Jim had been close friends.

“Be none of that, Curly,” Joe cautioned his hand. “Not unless they open the ball. Too much a chance that women and kids would get hit.”

“I hate both them men,” Curly replied. “With Jensen leadin’ the pack, we could ride into Hell’s Creek and wipe it out. I don’t see why we don’t do that.”

“It might come to that, Curly,” Joe said. “For sure, a lot of blood is going to be spilled before this is over.”

“Just as long as the blood spilled comes out of Max Huggins and Red Malone and them that ride for them,” Curly said. “I don’t wanna die, but I’ll go out happy if I know I got lead in Max or Malone.”

Joe cut his eyes to the puncher. I’m going to have to watch him, the rancher thought. He’s let his hate bubble very nearly out of control.

Sally and the ladies of Barlow met with the editor of the paper and designed and had printed dozens of invitations. Smoke made certain that Max Huggins and Red Malone received an invite.

Max stared at his invitation for a long time, being careful not to smudge the creamy bond paper. “What’s Jensen doing this time?” he questioned the empty office. “He’s got to have something up his sleeve.” Then it came to him: If he attended this shindig and there was any trouble caused by his men, Max and Red would be gunned down on the spot; shot down like rabid skunks.

The big man was filled with grudging admiration for Jensen. Slick. Very, very slick. If he and Red didn’t attend, Jensen and the others would be put on alert that something was going to happen out in the county, and it would be open season for any Lightning rider or gunhand from Hell’s Creek caught out after dark.

He sent one of his bodyguards to fetch Val Singer, Warner Frigo, Dave Poe, and Alex Bell to his office.

“Me and Red will be attending this shindig,” he informed the outlaw leaders. “And there better not be any trouble out in the county. You hold the reins tight on your boys ... and I mean tight.”

“It might be a trap,” Val pointed out.

Max shook his head. “No. I don’t think so. The people of Barlow are going to let off a little steam, that’s all.” He waved the invite. “This is their way of insuring that they can do so without fear of any trouble.” He eyeballed them all. “And, by God, there isn’t going to be any trouble. Those are my orders. See that they are carried out.”