War Of The Mountain Man

One of the gunslingers unbuckled his gunbelt and draped it over his shoulder. “Well,” he drawled. “Let’s go be good little boys and check our guns and dance with some real ladies, and then we’ll eat some home cookin’ for a change.”

Smoke stood on the edge of the lantern-lighted perimeter and let Curly from the Circle W and a redheaded hand from the Lightning brand slug it out. He had no idea what had started the fracas, but as long as no guns were involved, he had told his deputies to let the men fight, but to just keep it away from the ladies.

“Anybody that would work for Red Malone would eat road apples,” Curly told the puncher.

Red flattened him.

Curly jumped up, butted Red in the stomach with his head, and both of them went rolling across the dirt. Curly came up on top and proceeded to rearrange Red’s face for him.

Smoke finally pulled the man off the Lightning puncher. “That’s enough, Curly. He’s out of it. Kill him and the matter becomes something other than a fistfight.”

The blacksmith, Benson, grabbed Curly and led him off to a horse trough. Benson, strong as a grizzly bear, picked Curly up and dunked him headfirst into the trough several times.

“Now cool down, man,” Benson told him. “Your sweetie’s box is gonna be comin’ up soon. You miss the bid on it and she’ll never speak to you again.” Benson was holding him by his boots, upside down.

“You do have a point,” Curly sputtered. “Now turn me a-loose.”

“You sure?” Benson asked.

“Damn right, I’m sure.”

Benson turned him loose and Curly dropped headfirst into the horse trough.

Everybody gathered around, including Max and Red, had a good laugh at that.

Curly came up for air, sputtering and cussing.

Smoke walked to where Dr. Turner was kneeling down beside the moaning cowboy.

“He’ll be all right,” the doctor said. “His nose is broken and he’s lost some teeth, but I can’t find any broken ribs. Hell be sore for a few days. Barbaric method of settling arguments,” he added.

“Beats the hell out of guns,” Smoke told him.

“You have a point,” the doctor conceded.

The rest of the evening went smoothly, with no more trouble. The bidding on the boxes was fast and sometimes heavy, depending on whether two young men were courting the same young lady. Smoke bid on Mrs. Walsh’s box and Joe bid on Sally’s, and everybody seemed to have a good time. Even Max got into the spirit of things and was laughing and telling jokes to the ladies ... clean jokes.

After everyone had eaten and the dancing began, Max walked over to Smoke, standing in the shadows.

“You really think you’ve got the bull by the horns, now, don’t you, Jensen?”

“Or riding a tiger.”

Max chuckled. “Yes. The old East Indian proverb. I know it. And you surely must know, Smoke, that we of Hell’s Creek are not simply going to give up and desert the town.”

“You’d be smart if you did.”

“No way, Jensen. Y ou’ve backed us into a corner. We have to fight.”

“If you say so.”

“Innocent people will be hurt ... killed.”

“That’s usually the way it goes.” He turned slightly to face Max. “Take some advice, Max: Pull out. Break up your gangs and leave the country. If you stay, I’m going to have to kill you. You must know that.”

“Or I’ll kill you.”

“A lot of men have tried that, Max. I’ve soaked up a lot of lead in my day. I’m still here.”

“Oh, I think Melvin is as good as you are. And you’ll never bring that boy to trial, Smoke.”

“Maybe not. We’ll have to see, won’t we?”

“And maybe I have a couple of aces in the hole, Smoke.”

“By the names of Henri Dubois and Paul Mittermaier?”

Max’s smile was not in the least pleasant to look at. The big man sighed in disgust. He had been counting on the back-shooting pair.

“I’ve got their fancy rifles locked up in my office. Those two are halfway back to New York City by now. They’re so doped up it’ll be days before they even know who they are, much less where they are.”

Max chuckled. Outlaw, killer, thief, he nevertheless had a sense of humor. And while he did not like being bested, he could still appreciate—however reluctantly—the method that was used in doing so.

“Slick, Jensen. I keep underestimating you. I’ve got to stop doing that. Jensen, what is the point of your interference? Is this what you’re going to do for the rest of your life, stick your damn nose in other peoples’ affairs?”

“I hope not, Max. To tell the truth, my wife and I came up here to visit friends. Nothing else.”

“Dr. Turner and his wife,” Max put it together. “I should have guessed. Sure. Who else in Hell’s Creek would your wife want to associate with? So, now Barlow has a doctor and we don’t. What’s next, Jensen?”

“Your packing up and pulling out.”

“That is something I will never do, Jensen.”