War Of The Mountain Man

“Pete Akins told us the rest of it,” Judge Garrison said. A little bit of soap was still on his face. He had been shaving when the news of Smoke riding in reached him. “This is absolutely the most dastardly act I have seen in all my years on the bench.”

“How much damage did you do in Hell’s Creek, Marshal?” a citizen asked.

“Burned down about a half-dozen buildings. Got lead in maybe a dozen people. I used some dynamite, and the explosions probably killed another six or seven and put that many out of commission for a time. How is Martha?”

“She’s sleeping,” Turner said. “Victoria and Sally are with her now. I just gave her a sedative about fifteen minutes ago. She’ll be groggy when she wakes up.”

“The girl was shot at close range,” Smoke told him. “the slug took off about half her face. Have the undertaker do his work and then nail the coffin lid shut. Let’s spare Martha that.”

The doctor nodded his agreement.

“I’ve got to get some rest. I’ll see you all this afternoon.” Smoke wearily climbed the steps to their suite after asking Toby to have a boy get water for a bath.

He hung up his guns, pulled off his boots, waited in his long-handles until the tub was filled, and then took a bath. Sally came into the WC and scrubbed his back.

Smoke slipped under the cool, fresh sheets and closed his eyes. He slept deeply and soundly and dreamlessly. He awakened just after noon and was finishing shaving when the sounds of gunshots and women screaming sent him running down the hotel steps.

16

Max had not waited long to retaliate. The gunhands on his payroll and those who lived in Hell’s Creek had hit the town hard from the north and were now preparing to strike again, from the south end. Several had thrown torches and two buildings were on fire; but the bucket brigades were working and the fires were being snuffed out before much damage could be done.

“Get into position!”Smoke yelled. “Just like we practiced. Move!”

The men and women of the town responded, quickly getting into battle positions on the roofs and behind shelter. The outlaws saw what was taking place and broke off the second attack before it could get started. They galloped south.

Smoke didn’t need a fortune-teller to know where they were heading: to Red Malone’s spread.

“Do we follow them?” Toby asked, coming out of the hotel carrying a rifle.

“Not a whole bunch of us. That’s what they want. They’d set up an ambush point and nail us. Jim,” he called, “saddle me a horse. Not Star. He needs a rest.”

Smoke looked around. “Judge, deputize Pete Akins. Pete and Jim will stay here. Sal, come on. Let’s do some head-hunting.”

Sally pressed a couple of biscuits and salt meat in his hand while the hotel cook made a poke of food for the men to take with them. Smoke gulped down a cup of coffee and then was in the saddle, riding a long-legged buckskin with a mean look in his eyes.

“I know that horse,” Sal said. “That’s the stableman’s personal ride. He’s a good one.”

Smoke nodded and the men were off, leaving the road just outside of town and cutting across country. From their tracks, it was clear that the outlaws had arrogantly elected to stay with the road, daring Smoke and any others to chase them.

The short cut that Smoke chose was one pointed out to him by Jim; and Sal knew it as well or better. It would cut off miles getting to the Lightning spread. It was rough country; high-up country.

The men rode the mountain trails and passes in silence. A great gray wolf watched them from a ridge. Smoke spoke to the wolf in Cheyenne, one of several Indian languages that Old Preacher had taught him. Preacher had taught him that for man to fear the wolf was downright ignorant. Preacher had said that he’d never known of a man being attacked by a wolf unless that man was threatening the wolf or got too close to a fresh kill. Either way, according to Preacher, it was the man’s fault, not the wolfs.

“Magnificent animals,” Sal said, looking at the timber wolf. “But they don’t make good pets worth a damn.”

“They’re not meant to be pets,” Smoke agreed. “God didn’t put them here for that. Damn stupid hunters keep killing them, and the deer and elk population suffers because of it. They’re part of the balance of nature. I wish the white man would understand that. Indians understood it.”

The wolf stood on the ridge and watched the men pass. Then it turned and went back to its den, where it was watching over the cubs while its mate hunted for food, which is a lot more than can be said for a great many so-called superior humans.

“There they are,” Sal pointed out.

Smoke looked to his right and slightly behind him. A group of riders, tiny from this distance, rode far below them. About twenty-five of them.

“We’ll be a good fifteen minutes ahead of them after we cut off up yonder,” Sal said. “I know a place that’ll be dandy for an ambush.”

“Take the lead, Sal. I’ll follow you.”