Rage of the Mountain Man by William W. Johnstone Page B

boy has led. I’m so grateful 1 had the parents I did. It shaped the way I look at raising children. And I’m so glad you had Preacher to bring you up to be the man you are. Our children never knew how bleak life could be.” She sighed, flashed a winsome smile, and changed the subject. “Ever since that shootout in Keene, my father has thought the world of you.”
    “I suspected that. And I hope John Reynolds hasn’t turned out the whole town as a welcoming committee.”
    “Father is quite enthusiastic about this visit,” Sally replied cautiously. “I know he gets carried away sometimes, but he’s promised me that everything will be done quietly this time. Only ... he did say something about having something planned for you.”
    Smoke laughed softly and kissed the top of Sally’s head. “I’m afraid to ask what it might be.”
    “We’ll find out soon enough,” Sally replied vaguely, her mind already on the wonderful night that lay ahead, with them making love in the moonlight while the train rocked them gently.

    Tall, stately maples and leafy American elms lined the streets of Keene, New Hampshire. Their shade fell in dappled patterns on the wide, trellis-edged porch and white clapboard front of the two-story house that belonged to John Reynolds. Inside the far-from-modest dwelling, the senior Reynolds, his son, Walter, and his son-in-law, Chris, sat at a table in the spacious dining room.
    John Reynolds looked up from his study of a handbill just presented to him by an inkstained printer’s helper. He nodded and passed it to Walter. “I think these will do nicely. Tell Silas he can begin printing them right away. Make it a thousand copies.”
    “Yes, sir,” the adenoidal youth squeaked.
    “ ‘The New England Lecture Society proudly presents the Mountain Man Philosopher of the Rockies, ’ ” Walter read aloud. “It sounds mighty impressive, Father. But do you think there will be enough interest to fill a hall?”
    “Was there any interest the first and only time Smoke Jensen visited Keene?” John Reynolds challenged.
    “How do you know he’ll go along with it, sir?” Chris asked, still deferring to his father-in-law, although he was himself the father of four Reynolds grandchildren.
    John smiled a soft, knowing smile. “I have an ace in the hole.”
    “Sally,” Chris responded immediately, with a chuckle.
    “Precisely. If anyone can get Smoke Jensen to take to the lecture circuit, she can. He’s a wealthy man in his own right now, and no longer has need to undertake those hair-raising adventures of his. Thank God.”
    “Amen to that,” Walter added. “Even though you stood side-by-side with him against those ruffians who invaded Keene, I know your heart wasn’t in it.”
    John Reynolds gave his son an odd expression. “To say it like Smoke put it, I wouldn't be alive now if my heart wasn’t in it. I actually enjoyed my short opportunity to employ western justice.”
    “Oh, dear,” Chris let slip out. “What—what did the firm say?”    
    John Reynolds grinned broadly. “Don’t you remember? Old Hargroves called me a barbarian. The younger partners actually envied me. Hargroves came around, though, about a year ago, just before he died. Said he’d begun to think lately that we could use some of that Western—ah—‘creative law enforcement’ back here. Particularly down in Boston and New York.” He snorted. “Enough of that. I want you two to go down to the newspaper office and see that the first of those flyers are put up here in Keene before the ink is dry.”
    After the younger men had departed, Abigale Reynolds joined her husband. Her cultured voice remained soft as she gently probed John about his plans for the lectures. When he admitted to her that Smoke knew nothing about the proposed grand tour of New England, her words took on a more chiding tone.
    “Perhaps Smoke Jensen will not be too happy about this when he does learn?” she suggested.
    “Well, now,