War Of The Mountain Man

The hooded raiders were riding in a panic now, not knowing how many riflemen were hidden along the ridges. Smoke lifted the Sharps and sighted in another, firing and missing. He sighted in another man and this time he did not miss. The raider pitched forward, both hands flung into the air, and toppled from the saddle.

Smoke walked back to his horse, booted the rifle, and mounted up, riding down to see if any of the outlaws on the ground were still alive. Two of them were, and one of them was not going to make it. The second man had only a flesh wound.

Smoke jerked the hoods from them and glared down at the men. “You’ll live,” he told the man with the flesh wound. He cut his eyes to the other man. “You won’t. You got anything you’d like to say before you die?”

Brown and his family had gathered around. The sound of the galloping horses of the farmer’s neighbors coming to their aid grew loud. Soon the men of the entire complex had gathered around the fallen raiders.

“How’d you know?” the dying man gasped out the question, his eyes bright with pain, his hands holding his .56-caliber-punctured belly.

“I didn’t,” Smoke told him. “I was having lunch on the ridges when you crud came riding along.”

“What’d you gonna do with me?” the other outlaw whined.

“Shut up,” Smoke said. “You get on my nerves and I might just decide to hang you.”

“That ain’t legal!” the man hollered. “I got a right to a fair trial.”

Cooter snorted. “Ain’t that something now? They come up here attackin’ us, and damned if he ain’t hollerin’ about his right to a fair trial. I swear I don’t know where our system of justice is takin’ us.”

“Wait a few years,” Smoke told him. “I guarantee you it’ll get worse.”

“I need a doctor!” the gut-shot outlaw hollered.

“Not in ten minutes you won’t,” Gatewood told him.

“What’d you mean, you hog-slop?” the outlaw groaned the words.

“ ’Cause in ten minutes, you gonna be dead.”

He was right.

23

Smoke helped gather up the weapons from the dead raiders. Brown and the others in the farming complex now had enough weapons and ammo to stand off any type of attack, major or minor.

“They got their nerve comin’ back here,” Cooter said as they dug shallow graves for the outlaws.

“And we’ll keep comin’ back,” the outlaw trussed up on the ground said. “Until all you hog-farmers are dead.” He had regained his courage, certain he was facing death and determined to face it tough.

“You’re wrong,” Smoke told him, stepping out of the hole and letting one of Cooter’s boys finish the digging. “Take a look at these men around you, hombre. Even without my guns, they’d have stopped the attack. I don’t know whose idea this was, but I doubt if it was Max’s.”

The young man on the ground glared at him but kept his mouth closed.

Smoke had an idea. “Can you read and write, punk?”

“Huh?”

“You heard me. Can you read and write?”

“Naw. I never learned how. What business is that of yours?”

Smoke walked to his horse, dug in the saddlebags, and found a scrap of paper and the stub of a pencil. He wrote a short note and returned to the outlaw. Folding the paper, he tucked it into the raider’s shirt pocket and buttoned it tight.

“That’s a note for Big Max. You give it to him, and to him alone. I’II know if you’ve showed it to anyone else.”That was a lie, but Smoke figured the outlaw wouldn’t. “You understand?”

“You turnin’ me loose?”

“Yeah. With a piece of advice. And here it is: Get gone from this country. Give the note to Max and then saddle you a fresh horse, get your kit together, and haul your ashes out of Hell’s Creek. We know Max and Red are going to attack the town. That is, if the old arrest warrants on his head don’t catch up with him first. And they might.” Another lie. “The town is ready for the attack, hombre. Ready and waiting twenty-four hours a day. We know the bank is tempting. But don’t try it; don’t ride in there with them. The townspeople will shoot you into bloody rags. There’s nigh on to six hundred people in and around Barlow now. Six hundred.” That was also a slight exaggeration. “And there are guards standing watch around the clock, ready to give the call. It’s a death trap waiting for you.”

“You say!” the outlaw sneered, but there was genuine fear in his voice that all around him could detect.

Smoke jerked the man to his feet, untied his hands, and shoved him toward his horse, who had wandered back toward its master after running for a time. Pistols and rifle and all his ammo had been taken from the raider.

“Ride,” Smoke told him. “And give that note to Max.”

The man climbed into the saddle and looked down at Smoke. “I might take your advice. I just might. I got to think on it some.”

“You’d be wise to take it. I’m giving you a break by letting you go.”

“And I appreciate it.” He tapped the pocket where Smoke had put the message. “All right, Smoke. I’ll give this to Big Max, and I’m gone. You’ll not see me again unless you come around a ranch. That’s where you’ll find me ... punchin’ cows.”

“Are there any kids in Hell’s Creek? Any decent women?”