Spirit Of The Mountain Man/ordeal Of The Mountain Man (Pinnacle Westerns) by William W. Johnstone Page A
Authors: William W. Johnstone
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dolt, you’d know that.”
“Say what? Was you tryin’ to insult me, Mr. Spectre?”
Victor spoke lightly, his face unreadable and his tone dry. “No, Mr. Huntoon. I was praising the remarkable lack of genius engendered in the terminally inbred.”
“Well—ah—okay, I reckon that’s no insult then. Ain’t often I get praised.”
“No, I expect not.” Spectre turned away.
One of the new men, Judson Reese, better spoken and dressed than the average, touched his hat brim in a sort of salute. “If we cannot have the exact location, can you at least give us a general idea of our destination?”
Spectre beamed at him. “I admire a well-spoken man. Yes, I’ll answer that, since you’ve put it so nicely. In the short term, I feel you men need some recreation. Especially after being in that straight-laced place. We shall pay a visit to the Utes. I hear there is a prosperous trading post not far north of here. Then we will be going on to Wyoming, perhaps even Montana. But, rest assured, wherever we go, Smoke Jensen will come to us.”
Back on the Sugarloaf, Sally Jensen knew something had gone terribly wrong for her husband the moment he rode up the lane to the main house. His usually high, smooth brow wore lines of furrows. He kissed her somewhat absently, then hugged her tightly to his chest as though it would be the last time.
“What is it, Smoke?”
Neither he nor Monte Carson had mentioned the real cause of Monte’s visit to the ranch a week earlier. Now Smoke found himself at a loss as to how to explain. So, he used the time-honored tactic of husbands everywhere. He evaded.
“It’s nothing important. I’ll tell you over supper. And—ah—ask Bobby to take supper with us, too, please.”
That worried Sally even more. Good wife that she was, though, she remained quiet about it. She fixed them a choice rib roast from a steer recently slaughtered out of the small herd kept for that purpose—Smoke would like that—and mounds of mashed potatoes—Bobby would like that—with pan gravy, turnips, and a half gallon, blue Mason jar of wilted lettuce put up last summer. She had already baked a pie.
They ate and Smoke related only the gossip he had picked up in Big Rock that he knew would interest Sally. Then, over a second piece of pie and a cup of coffee, Smoke grudgingly drug out the topic he least wanted to discuss.
“Sally, do you remember when Monte rode out here a while ago?”
“How could I not? It was only last week.”
“What you are not aware of is why he came.” And he went on to give her a highly edited version of the escape and the backgrounds of the men involved. When he had finished, Sally sat with her hands in her lap and stared at the checked tablecloth. At last, she raised her head and spoke somewhat shakily.
“What is it you are going to do?”
Smoke frowned. Now came the hard part. “I am going to be gone for a while. It’s me they want, not you, or the hands, or even Bobby. Odds are they are unaware he exists. I’ll put some distance between us and then let it be known where I am. The word will get to them. They’ll come. And then I will take care of them the way I should have the first time around.”
Sally said it plainly enough that its tone of resignation nearly broke Smoke’s heart. “You’ll kill them.”
“If that’s what it takes.” He broke his hazel gaze from her steady, demanding eyes. “We can hope it ends otherwise.”
Bobby suddenly charged into the conversation. “I want to go with you, Smoke.”
“No. That’s out of the question. I have to do this alone and not endanger anyone else. Monte even offered me deputies and his own help to defend the Sugarloaf. I told him no. My way is the best.”
“I’m big enough,” Bobby protested. “You’ve gotta let me come. I can shoot and I’ve been practicin’ with rifle and six-gun. Ike says I’m a far above average shot, even from horseback. And you taught me how to live in the
“Say what? Was you tryin’ to insult me, Mr. Spectre?”
Victor spoke lightly, his face unreadable and his tone dry. “No, Mr. Huntoon. I was praising the remarkable lack of genius engendered in the terminally inbred.”
“Well—ah—okay, I reckon that’s no insult then. Ain’t often I get praised.”
“No, I expect not.” Spectre turned away.
One of the new men, Judson Reese, better spoken and dressed than the average, touched his hat brim in a sort of salute. “If we cannot have the exact location, can you at least give us a general idea of our destination?”
Spectre beamed at him. “I admire a well-spoken man. Yes, I’ll answer that, since you’ve put it so nicely. In the short term, I feel you men need some recreation. Especially after being in that straight-laced place. We shall pay a visit to the Utes. I hear there is a prosperous trading post not far north of here. Then we will be going on to Wyoming, perhaps even Montana. But, rest assured, wherever we go, Smoke Jensen will come to us.”
Back on the Sugarloaf, Sally Jensen knew something had gone terribly wrong for her husband the moment he rode up the lane to the main house. His usually high, smooth brow wore lines of furrows. He kissed her somewhat absently, then hugged her tightly to his chest as though it would be the last time.
“What is it, Smoke?”
Neither he nor Monte Carson had mentioned the real cause of Monte’s visit to the ranch a week earlier. Now Smoke found himself at a loss as to how to explain. So, he used the time-honored tactic of husbands everywhere. He evaded.
“It’s nothing important. I’ll tell you over supper. And—ah—ask Bobby to take supper with us, too, please.”
That worried Sally even more. Good wife that she was, though, she remained quiet about it. She fixed them a choice rib roast from a steer recently slaughtered out of the small herd kept for that purpose—Smoke would like that—and mounds of mashed potatoes—Bobby would like that—with pan gravy, turnips, and a half gallon, blue Mason jar of wilted lettuce put up last summer. She had already baked a pie.
They ate and Smoke related only the gossip he had picked up in Big Rock that he knew would interest Sally. Then, over a second piece of pie and a cup of coffee, Smoke grudgingly drug out the topic he least wanted to discuss.
“Sally, do you remember when Monte rode out here a while ago?”
“How could I not? It was only last week.”
“What you are not aware of is why he came.” And he went on to give her a highly edited version of the escape and the backgrounds of the men involved. When he had finished, Sally sat with her hands in her lap and stared at the checked tablecloth. At last, she raised her head and spoke somewhat shakily.
“What is it you are going to do?”
Smoke frowned. Now came the hard part. “I am going to be gone for a while. It’s me they want, not you, or the hands, or even Bobby. Odds are they are unaware he exists. I’ll put some distance between us and then let it be known where I am. The word will get to them. They’ll come. And then I will take care of them the way I should have the first time around.”
Sally said it plainly enough that its tone of resignation nearly broke Smoke’s heart. “You’ll kill them.”
“If that’s what it takes.” He broke his hazel gaze from her steady, demanding eyes. “We can hope it ends otherwise.”
Bobby suddenly charged into the conversation. “I want to go with you, Smoke.”
“No. That’s out of the question. I have to do this alone and not endanger anyone else. Monte even offered me deputies and his own help to defend the Sugarloaf. I told him no. My way is the best.”
“I’m big enough,” Bobby protested. “You’ve gotta let me come. I can shoot and I’ve been practicin’ with rifle and six-gun. Ike says I’m a far above average shot, even from horseback. And you taught me how to live in the
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