War Of The Mountain Man

Smoke stood up and put on his hat. He told the judge about Sal’s suspicions as to when an attack to free the prisoners might take place.

The judge nodded his head in agreement. “I think he’s right. They wouldn’t want to attack the prisoner wagon from the territorial prison; that might bring the state militia down on their heads. They’ll strike here, Smoke. Bet on it. We’ll just have to be ready for it.”

“We’ll be ready,” Smoke assured him. “I’m going to deputize all of Joe Walsh’s hands and Brown and Gatewood and the other farmers in that area just in case Max tries a diversion to pull me out of town.”

“That’s a good idea. If trouble comes—and it would be a diversion—north of town, Brown and his friends could then legally handle it. Same with trouble south of town. I’ll draw up papers making them full deputies. That will make it official and part of the record.”

“The trial going to be in the new civic building?”

“Yes. I expect a large crowd to attend. Oh, by the way, the Marblys’ dog had puppies about six weeks ago. Mrs. Marbly said to tell you to stop by and pick one out for Lisa Turner.”

“I’ll do that right now. See you, Judge.”

Marbly grinned at Smoke. “I’m afraid they’re mutts, Marshal. But they sure are cute. Come on, I’ll show them to you.”

“Mutts is right,” Smoke said, squatting down by the squirming, yelping litter. “That one,” he said, pointing. “The one with the patch around his eye.”

“Her eye,” Mrs. Marbly corrected.

“Whatever. I like that one.”

“Lisa will love it. Tell Mrs. Turner she’s paper-trained and completely weaned.”

“Victoria will love that, I’m sure.” Smoke picked up the puppy, who promptly peed all down his shirt from excitement and then licked his face to apologize, and carried the squirming mass of energy over to Dr. Turner’s house.

Lisa was so happy she cried—she named the pup Patches—and ran out in the backyard to play.

Since it was not proper for a man to be alone in a house with a married woman, Vicky invited Smoke to take coffee with her on the front porch.

“I love everything about this town, Smoke,” she said after the coffee was poured. “The people are so friendly and they accepted us immediately.”

“Yes. They’re good people. Where is Robert?”

“On a call out in the country. He left early this morning and said he wouldn’t be back until late. He wanted to check on the families who were burned out.”

“Anything serious?”

Vicky laughed. “Not really. One of the kids came down with chicken pock and gave it to all the other kids who hadn’t as yet had it. A lot of them are having an itching good time.”

Smoke grimaced, remembering his own bout with chicken pock as a boy back in Missouri.

“Are you expecting trouble when the trial starts, Smoke?”

“I won’t lie to you, yes, I am. Either during the trial or just after the sentencing. Security will be tight. Are you planning on attending?”

“I ... don’t know. I doubt it. I don’t want Lisa to have to hear all that—there will probably be some pretty rough language at times—and if I went, I’d have to leave her alone, and I won’t do that.”

“I think that’s wise. Sally isn’t going to attend either. I’ll ask her if she’ll come over and stay with you. If there is trouble, Sally—as you’ve seen in the shooting classes—can handle a six-shooter with either hand. And won’t hesitate to use one.”

Victoria shook her head. “Sally certainly has changed since our days back at school.”

“Out here, Vicky, one must change. Believe me when I say that the West will be wild for many years to come. People out here resist change; they fight it. It’s the sheer vastness of the West that makes laws so difficult to enforce. Here it is 1883, and there are still many areas that remain largely unexplored. Millions of acres for outlaws to run into and hide. Oh, it’s getting smaller with each year that passes. Law enforcement people are being linked by telegraph and train, but the gun still remains the great settler of troubles.”

“When will you hang your guns up, Smoke?”

“When a full year passes and no one comes after me looking for a reputation. When newspapers and magazines and books no longer carry my name.”

Victoria smiled. “What you’re saying is, you will never hang them up.”

“I’m afraid that’s true.”

“Would you like to hang them up?”

“Very much so.” He looked at her and smiled. “For one thing, they’re heavy.”

She laughed aloud at that, then sobered. “What value do you place on human life, Smoke?”