War Of The Mountain Man

Smoke shook his head. “We won’t be that lucky, Sal.” Smoke cut his eyes to the window in time to see John Steele riding up, the point man for several wagons, coming into town for supplies. They pulled up in front of Marbly’s General Store.

“Oh, boy,” Jim said. “Here it comes.”

Smoke stood up and reached for his hat. “Yep,” he said, heading for the door. “Storm clouds are gathering and it’s about to rain trouble all over us. Let’s go, boys. I wouldn’t want to miss this.”

The three men crossed the street just as John Steele was entering Marbly’s store. They stepped up onto the boardwalk in time to hear John’s shout of disbelief.

“What the hell do you mean, you little worm?” John roared. “My money is no good? My money is as good as anybody’s, and by the Lord, you’re going to sell me what I want.”

“Get out of my store,” Marbly stood his ground. “I don’t want you or any of your scummy crew in my place of business. Get out, I say!”

John reached across the counter and grabbed Marbly by the shirtfront. Mrs. Marbly jerked an axe handle out of a barrel and bonked it across the top of John’s Stetson-covered head. John’s eyes rolled back in his head and he sank to the floor, out cold. One of the Lightning hands jerked out a gun and aimed it at the woman. Smoke dusted him through and through with a .44 slug. The force of the slug knocked the cowboy to one side and into a showcase. He died among women’s underthings, his head on a corset.

The townspeople reacted immediately to the shooting. The street filled with armed men. The remaining Lightning crew held up their hands in a hurry, not wanting to get plugged from every angle.

Smoke holstered his .44 and pointed to John Steele. “Drag him to jail.” He looked at Marbly. “You going to press charges?”

“Damn right!” the shopkeeper said, considerable heat in his voice.

“Charge him with assault and battery,” Smoke said to Sal. “Jim, get the undertaker.”

Smoke stepped outside and faced the Lightning crew. “This town is off-limits to you and to anyone who works for Red Malone—including Red. I am officially banning any and all of you from Barlow. Take the word back to Red.”

“Big talk, Jensen,” the hand sneered at him. “I’ll see your hide nailed to the wall afore this is over.”

Smoke reached up and took off his badge, handing it to Marbly. “You want to try it now, cowboy? Guns or fists, it makes no difference to me.”

The cowboy, who was going by the name of Dan since he was wanted in several states for cattle rustling and armed robbery, among other things, hesitated.

Smoke smiled, knowing he was giving the man no way out. It was the way of the West that when challenged, you had but two options: fight or be branded a coward. Smoke did not like the code but, in this case, felt he was justified in invoking it.

Dan took off his gunbelt and handed it to a Lightning puncher. He flexed his arms and looked back at Smoke. “You mind if I warm up a little first?”

“I don’t care if you do the Virginia reel,” Smoke told him, and that got a laugh from the gathering crowd, both men and women. “You probably can’t dance any better than you can fight.”

The crowd roared with laughter and Dan flushed in anger.

“I think I’ll just clean your clock,” Dan said.

“Then come on, cowboy.”

Dan tried a sucker punch that brought no response from Smoke. He hooked a left that Smoke blocked and tried to follow through with a right that Smoke flicked away.

Smoke jumped lightly off the boardwalk and waved Dan down to join him.

“Stand still and fight, damn you!” Dan yelled.

“Oh!” Smoke said. “I see. That’s what you want. I thought you were still warming up.”

The crowd loved it and roared their approval.

Dan didn’t think it was a bit funny and stepped in close. Smoke rattled his teeth with a left and put a knot on his head with a right. Dan backed up, shaking his head and spitting out blood.

“I’m waiting to fight,” Smoke taunted him.

Dan charged him with a shout of defiance, and Smoke stuck out a boot and tripped the man, sending him sprawling into the dirt of the street.

The Lightning cook sat his seat on the wagon and shook his head. Dan was gonna get the crap beat out of him for sure, and just as soon as that was over and done with and they got back to the ranch, Cookie was packin’ up his kit and gettin’ the hell gone from the Lightning brand. His oldest boy had been forever trying to get him over into Idaho to help on his horse ranch. This time, by God, he was going. Hadn’t oughtta a stayed this long with this pack of screwballs.

That thought had just crossed his mind when Dan got up from the dirt and went charging and yelling toward Smoke Jensen. The cook grimaced as Smoke poleaxed the puncher with a solid right fist that turned Dan around and sent him stumbling out into the street.

As a matter of fact, the cook thought, there ain’t no reason to go back to the ranch. I just got paid, I got my best clothes on, I’m wearin’ my gun, and I ain’t got nothin’ back there no good for anything no how.