War Of The Mountain Man

When Melvin left town, Smoke was leaning up against an awning support watching him go. Smoke raised a hand in farewell. Melvin looked at him, then cut his eyes away, refusing to acknowledge the friendly gesture.

Smoke walked back to the office. Sally had just finished cleaning and straightening it up. “What do you think of Red’s son, Smoke?”

Smoke poured a cup of coffee and sat down at his desk. He sipped and said, “He’s crazy and he’s cruel. I’ll have to kill him someday.”

Little by little, in small groups, Red’s hands began drifting back into town for a drink or a meal or to buy this or that. So far, Red had not tried to buy any supplies from Marbly. The rancher was going to be in for a rude shock when he did.

Red’s hands caused no trouble when in town. They had all noticed that every man in town was packing iron: the bartender, the editor of the Bugle, the store clerks ... everybody. And they promptly took that news back to Red.

Red digested that bit of information with a sigh. “Then that’s it, John,” he told his foreman. “We’ve got to make a move and do it quick, before the town really gets together and runs our butts out of the country. And they’ll do it eventually. Believe me.”

“Before the dance, Red?”

Red shook his head. “No. After it. Maybe a week after it. Max has got some long-distance shooters comin’ in from Europe. They was invited to come in here for a hunt long before Smoke Jensen showed up. They should be here this week. Early next week at the latest. We’ll get things firmed up with Max after the party.”

“Take Jensen out first?”

“I don’t know. I think it’d be better to start working on the townspeople. I just don’t know. Whatever Max decides to do, we got to back him up. That’s the deal we made and I always keep my word.” He looked around him and sniffed, a look of distaste crossing his face. “What in the name of God is that horrible smell?”

“The cook is tryin’ to teach Tessie how to cook. Tessie is fixin’ supper, so I’m told.”

“Oh, my Lord. I’ll eat with you boys tonight. What the Sam Hill is she cookin’, skunk?”

“Fried chicken.”

“She must have left the feathers on.”

Henri Dubois and Paul Mittermaier were blissfully unaware of what was taking place in Barlow and Hell’s Creek. They had seen the sights of St. Louis and were now ready to board the train west.

What they did not know was that they were under surveillance by agents of the U.S. Federal Marshal’s office. They knew of the situation building in Barlow and Hell’s Creek, and they also knew that with just a little help, Smoke Jensen would handle it and they would not have to get directly involved. The marshals sent a wire to the nearest town to Barlow, and the message was forwarded to Smoke Jensen by stage.

Smoke opened the envelope and read: Mercenaries left St. Louis this a.m. No charges against Dubois or Mittermaier. They are unaware of what is taking place in your area. Watch your back and handle situation as you see fit.

It was unsigned, but Smoke had a pretty good idea what federal office had sent it.

He showed the message to Jim and Sal. Neither man could understand why Smoke was smiling. Jim asked him.

“They have to come right through here, boys.” He walked to a wall map and put his finger on a town south of them. “This is rail’s end. From here to Barlow is either by horseback or stage, and I’m betting they take the stage.”

“And you got what in mind?” Sal asked.

“Any trouble that happens out in the county, you boys handle it. Starting day after tomorrow, I’ve got to meet the stage.”

“I wonder what he’s got in mind?” Jim asked Sal after Smoke left the office.

“Be fun to watch, whatever it is.”

“You reckon the Frenchman and the German will see the humor in it?” Jim asked with a grin.

“Somehow I doubt it. I really do.”

“The saloons are runnin’ out of whiskey,” Max was informed. “And the boys is gettin’ right testy.”

Max took a long pull on his stogie. “Yeah, and I had me five boxes of cigars on that shipment Jensen seized, too. So what else is new? I can’t find any freight haulers to handle our orders. The only option we have is some outfit out of Canada, and by the time all the red tape is over with, it’ll be six months before we get any supplies.”

Alex Bell shifted in the chair. “Max, the boys ain’t gonna stand still for this very much longer. They all got cash money to spend and nothin’ to buy. The women is raisin’ holy hell ’cause the boys is unhappy. Somethin’ has got to pop, and damn soon.”

Max Huggins’s little empire was crumbling at the edges and he didn’t know what to do about it. For the umpteenth time since Jensen entered the picture, the thought that he should pull out entered his brain. And for the same number of times, the thought galled him; but with each revival of the thought, the intensity of the sourness was somewhat lessened as common sense fought to prevail.