War Of The Mountain Man

Smoke turned around. Robert was charging him on horseback, waving his sword. Smoke ducked the slashing sword that could have taken his head off and swung up behind Robert as the frightened horse reared up, dumping both men on the ground. Robert lost his sword and Smoke gave him a one-two combination that dropped the man to the ground, out cold. Smoke tore the pith helmet off and used the leather chin strap to bind Robert’s hands behind his back. He used the man’s belt to securely bind his ankles, then rolled the doctor under a building. Smoke picked up his shotgun and stepped back into the fray.

Two raiders, apparently having lost their appetite for any further battle,came racing up the street, heading north. Smoke stepped out and gave them both barrels of the sawed-off. Two more saddles cleared.

Smoke stepped up on the boardwalk and ran toward the center of town, reloading the shotgun as he went. He turned down an alleyway and entered the hotel through the back door, muttering curses because the rear of the building was not guarded.

Just above him, on the second floor, Warner Frigo had kicked open the door to the presidential suite and was looking down at Lisa, huddled on the floor, holding her puppy close.

“Well, now,” the outlaw said with a sneer. “Won’t you just be a juicy little thing to have.”

He holstered his guns and reached down for her, lust in his eyes.

“You’ll hurt no more children and kill not another child’s pet,” Warner heard the woman say.

He looked up. Sally stood in the foyer, holding a sawed-off in her hands, both hammers eared back.

Warner’s lips peeled back in an ugly smile. “I’ll have you after I taste little-bit here.”

“I doubt it,” Sally said, then pulled both triggers. The force of the blast knocked Warner off both boots and sent him flying into the hall. He hit the hall wall and slid down to the carpeted floor. The wall behind him was a gory mess.

Smoke looked up as the shotgun went off. If anyone had tried to mess with Sally, they picked the wrong woman. He went up the stairs to check it out.

He saw Warner’s body and stuck his head into the foyer. “Everybody all right in there?” he called.

“Just dandy,” Sally said. “Would you please remove that garbage from the hall, darling?”

“Sure.” Smoke dragged Warner’s body down the hall and threw him out the second-story window. The downward hurtling body hit Sid Yorke and knocked him out of the saddle. The outlaw stared in horror at what was left of Warner Frigo.

He looked up at Smoke, standing behind the shattered window, grinning down at him. Sid lifted his pistol, and Judge Garrison, standing in his office, fired both Remington .44’s, the slugs knocking the man to his knees. The outlaw died in that position, his hands by his side. His hat fell from his head. The wind picked it up and sailed it down the street.

Sal stepped out from his position just as John Steele was rounding a corner.

“Hey, John!” Sal called.

The foreman of the Lightning whirled in a crouch, both hands by his holstered guns.

“You always bragged how good you was,” the newly elected sheriff said, his voice carrying over the din of battle and the whinnying of frightened horses. “You wanna find out now?”

John dragged iron. He was far too slow. Sal put two slugs in his belly before Steele could clear leather.

“I guess now you know,” Sal told him.

“You sorry ...” John gasped the words. He never got to finish it. The foreman fell off the boardwalk and landed in a

horse trough.

“Have to remember to clean that out,” Sal muttered.

Judge Garrison went out the back door of his office and came face to face with Paul Cartwright. The judge smiled at the man. “You used to love to lord it over me, Paul. You have guns in your hands. Use them!”

The deposed sheriffs guns came up. Judge Garrison lifted his Remington Army Model .44’s, and the muzzles blossomed in fire and smoke. Paul Cartwright fell backward, dead.

The judge reloaded and walked up the back of the buildings, conviction and courage in his eyes.

“Gimme all your goddamn money, you heifer!” Frank Norton yelled at Mrs. Marbly.

Mrs. Marbly lifted her shotgun and blew the outlaw out the back door.

“Nice going, mother,” her husband said.

Larry Gayle knew it was a losing cause. He had been thrown from his rearing, bucking horse and was now cautiously making his way out of town ... on foot. He’d find a horse. To hell with Barlow, Max Huggins, and the whole mess. There had to be easier pickings somewheres else was his philosophy.

“Going somewhere, Larry?” the voice spun him around.

Pete Akins stood facing him.

Larry lifted his Smith & Wesson Schofield .45 and got off the first shot. It grazed Pete’s shoulder. Pete was much more careful with his shooting. He shot Larry between the eyes. He walked to the prostrate and very dead outlaw and looked down at him. He shook his head.

“Whoo, boy. You was ugly alive. Dead, you’ll probably come back to haunt graveyards.”