War Of The Mountain Man

“Red, I could stand here and try to explain the differences between us until I fell off my horse from exhaustion. No matter what I said, I’d never get through to you. So I’ll tell you this: If you’re not going to change your murdering, thieving ways and try to live a decent life, if you’re not going to fire the scum from your payroll and run them out of this country, I suggest you go make your peace with God. Go make out your will and leave your ill-gotten holdings to Tessie.”

“Tessie! Hell’s fire, man. She’d go through my money like a whirlwind. I’ll leave my holdings to my son.”

“He won’t be around very much longer, Red.”

“Huh?”

“If he beats the charges—and he probably will; Judge Garrison says the attempted murder charge is pretty flimsy—he’ll come after me. And I’ll kill him. Then you’ll go on the prod, and I’ll put you down. The way I see it, Red, any way it goes, you’re looking at a grave.” Smoke glanced at the packet in his left hand. “I thought you wanted to see your boy?”

“I changed my mind. I got some ruminatin’to do, Jensen. I got to think on what all you’ve said this day. I don’t know whether you’re the bravest man I ever met or just damn crazy. But if you wanted another enemy, Jensen, you just made one with me.”

“See you around, Red.”

“You set foot outside this town, Jensen, you better be wearin’ a gun.”

Smoke smiled. “I’m wearin’ one now, Red.”

Red shook his head and wheeled his horse, heading back to his ranch.

Smoke rode back to the jail and inspected the contents of the packet. Exactly what Red had said. He rifled through the pages of the Bible to check for a derringer or a knife, then tossed money and Bible to Melvin.

“Your dad brought you some reading material, kid.”

Melvin began tearing out the pages.

“What are you doing, boy?” Smoke asked. “That’s the holy Bible.”

“Damn heathen,” Sal muttered.

Melvin grinned. “Tell my pa thanks, Jensen. I needed something to wipe my butt with.”

15

Melvin Malone was released from jail, the attempted murder charge dropped. Sal picked up the torn pages from the Bible and carefully disposed of them, muttering about heathens and those doomed to the pits of hell.

A week passed, with no retaliation from either Max Huggins or Red Malone. But the townspeople did not relax; they knew an attack was coming. They just didn’t know when or how.

Smoke received an unsigned telegram telling about the further misadventures of Paul Mittermaier and Henri Dubois. It seems the pair had been arrested and jailed in Kansas City for strong-arm robbery. They told some wild tale about being beaten and drugged in a small town out west, and then waking up in an empty railroad car. They claimed they were really foreign tourists, over here to do some buffalo hunting.

The judge laughed at them and sent them off to prison for a couple of years.

Smoke sent the wire to Max Huggins.

On a warm and bright summer’s day, Aggie Feckles walked into a field on the outskirts of town to pick flowers for the kitchen table.

Several hours later, Martha showed up at the marshal’s office, nearly hysterical.

Smoke didn’t need a crystal ball to know what had taken place. He sent a boy over to the hotel for Sally, so she could look after Martha, and began stuffing his saddlebags with items he might need when he declared war on Hell’s Creek.

“We’ll get a posse together,” Judge Garrison said.

“No, we won’t,” Smoke nixed that idea. “That’s what Max wants. They want a posse chasing after shadows and leaving the town undefended.” He looked around him. Sally and Martha had gone over to Mrs. Marbly’s. “If Aggie is still alive, I’ll bring her back.”

“If she’s still alive?” The blacksmith, Benson, questioned.

“The lawyers have a phrase for it,” Smoke replied. He glanced at Judge Garrison.

“Corpus delicti,” the judge told the crowded room. “It means the facts to prove a crime. In a case this heinous—and we might as well say the word: rape—Max, if it is Max, would probably dispose of the body after the viciousness was done. He’d be a total fool to keep her alive. And Max is not a fool. Let’s all hope and pray he’s savoring the anticipation and has not completed the act.”

Smoke walked out of the office and stepped into the saddle.

Judge Garrison followed him out. “Smoke, I’ve received some confirmation about Max Huggins’s back trail. I was on my way over to tell you when I heard about Aggie. He’s wanted back east. Mostly for rape of young girls. He then killed them. In several states.”

“Do you have the warrants?”

“That’ll take some time. Probably a month or better. It’s a time-consuming process, Smoke.”

Smoke shook his head and grimaced as he picked up the reins. “Aggie doesn’t have a month, Judge. Looks like this is going to be western justice. See you.”

He rode out of town, heading north.

Smoke stopped at the Brown farm and pulled the farmer off to one side, briefing him.