War Of The Mountain Man

“The highest value I can accord it, Vicky ... for those who respect the rights of others; for those who can follow even the simplest rules of society. I don’t prejudge on the basis of what a person has contributed to our society, but whether a person has taken away from it. None of us are obligated to create fine art or music, or invent things that better mankind. We’re not obligated to do anything to improve society. What we are obligated to do is not take away from it.” He waved one big hand. “There is an entire subculture out there with only lawlessness on their minds. To hurt, to steal, to kill, to maim, to destroy. They don’t give a damn for your rights, or my rights, or Lisa’s rights to live life and enjoy it in relative safety and comfort. They want what they want and to hell with anything else. They spit in the face of law and order and decency. If those types of people get in my way, I’ll kill them.”

Although the day was not cool, Victoria shivered. It did not escape the attention of Smoke.

“You think I’m half savage, don’t you, Vicky?” he asked.

“I don’t know what my thoughts are about you,” she replied honestly. “You bring Lisa a little puppy and then talk about killing human beings. You are a philosopher and yet you’ve killed at least a hundred men. Probably twice that number. You respect law and order, and yet carry the name of gunfighter. I think you are a walking contradiction, Smoke Jensen.”

He smiled. “I’ve been called that, too, Vicky.”

“What are you, Smoke Jensen? The Robin Hood of the West?”

“I don’t know whether I’m that or that fellow who went around sticking his lance into windmills.”

“Don Quixote. No, I don’t think you and Don Quixote have much in common. You get quite a lot accomplished ... in your own rough way.”

“It’s a rough world, Vicky. There is a saying out here: A man saddles his own horse and kills his own snakes. Now, only a few species of snakes are harmful, and a rattlesnake will usually leave you alone if you don’t mess with it. But these two-legged snakes we have surrounding us right now are the vicious kind. They are capable of thinking, know right from wrong, but still want to strike out and sink their fangs into anyone who gets in their way or tries to block their lawless behavior. They have had their chance to live decently. They looked at a decent way of life and chose to ignore it. And they’ve made that choice dozens of times. Nobody forced them into a life of crime. They chose it willingly. As far as I am concerned, that means they gave up any right to demand compassion when they’re caught. If they face me, they are going to get a bullet.”

“The West frightens me, Smoke. I like the people in this town. But even they carry guns.”

“Then go back east, Vicky. Go back where you have a uniformed police officer on every street corner and it’s getting to be when a criminal is caught, the punishment is light or nothing at all.”

“But they’re human beings, Smoke!”

“They’re garbage, Vicky. Rabies-carrying rats whose diseased fleas are hopping onto everyone who gets close to them.”

Smoke stopped talking as a tall stranger on a painted pony rode slowly into town. The stranger cut his eyes to Smoke, sitting on the porch, and smiled.

Smoke stood up. “Time to go to work, Vicky. Max is pulling in the heavyweights now.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s Dek Phillips. A hired gun from down Texas way originally.”

“Why is he here?”

Smoke stepped off the porch. “To kill me.”

19

Victoria gasped and put one hand to her mouth. “But ... you’re the marshal! A deputy sheriff!”

“That doesn’t mean anything to men like Dek. When this is over, Vicky—the war, I mean—and Max Huggins and Red Malone are either dead or have pulled out, go on back to Vermont or wherever you came from. Maybe I’m judging you hastily. But I don’t think you’re cut out for the West. Excuse me now, Vicky. I got to go stomp on the head of a snake.”

“You’re going to arrest him?”

“I’m probably going to kill him.”

“But he hasn’t done anything!”

“That’s right. So I’ll just crowd a little bit and see what he’s got on his mind. If he wants to ride on out, I’ll let him. Thanks for the coffee. See you, Vicky.”

Smoke walked over to his office. Sal, Jim, and Pete were standing out in front. Dek’s horse was tied to the hitchrail outside the saloon.

“We seen him ride in,” Sal said. “You know him, Smoke?”

“I know him. From years back. He’s a no-good.”

“We agree on that,” Pete said. “I’d hired on for fightin’ wages down in Arizona some years back. I seen Dek shoot a nester woman in the back. I drew my wages and left. But give the devil his due, Smoke. He’s good. He’s damn good.”

“I’ve seen him work. Yeah, he’s good. But the problem is he knows it and it’s swelled his head. He stopped working with his gun years ago, letting his reputation carry him.”

“By the way,” Jim said. “I been hearin’ shootin’ every mornin’ for the past week or more. From outside of town. Real faint like. Sounds like someone practicin’. Reckon who that is?”