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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live to regret.”
“Oh, you mean them fellers out there? Won’t be any problem. The door is built into the bottom of a grain bin an’ locked from this side. I keep just enough grain in there to hide it.”
Smoke scratched his head in wonder. “Where did you come up with all these ideas?”
“I went to Europe when I was young. Saw what they did in all those castles. Some of them, those with wells, were never taken by siege.”
“I am impressed. Now, our only real problem is if they send the wounded man for reinforcements. It would be nice to know where they came from.”
“Yep. I allow to as how it would, though the Basin has been crawlin’ with proddy fellers for the last four, maybe five days. Dependin’ on whether they’re locals or not, could be we’re in for a rough time of it.”
Ace Delevan had been a liar and thief all of his life. He became a killer at the tender age of twelve. Since then he had killed thirty men and maimed twice that number. He figured that made him an ideal choice as the one who would get Smoke Jensen. Though a vicious thug, none would say Ace Delevan was stupid. That’s why he brought along four of his cronies. Now Hank had a nasty bullet scrape on his upper left thigh and sat in a stall of the barn whining like a baby.
Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to come on like lawmen? They had heard in Baggs that Jensen had passed through. And that three local punks had gone after him—and hadn’t returned. Delevan and his friends rode on until they came upon a horse overburdened by three corpses. They backtracked the animal and picked up the trail of a man who had to be Smoke Jensen.
Although Smoke Jensen was reputed to have been on both sides of the law at one time or another, Ace Delevan knew that he most often sided with the law. Which gave him his big idea. If Jensen thought them to be lawmen, his respect for the breed would get him out in the open so they could blow him to doll rags. Ace accepted that one or two of his partners would buy a bullet. But he knew himself to be fast and accurate. At least as much so as anyone he knew. He would still be the one to collect that reward on Jensen’s head. A silhouette moved across one of the vellum windows and he fired in reaction.
A hole popped in the scraped animal skin. No response from a wounded man. One thing bothered Ace. He had no idea how many men were in there. Jensen for sure, he had gotten a glimpse of a broad-shouldered, ash-blond man in the doorway. A man so quick and steady he put a slug along the side of Hank Graves’s thigh. A groan came from the wounded man as Ducky Yoder finished bandaging the limb.
“How’s he doin’, Ducky?”
“I’m doin’ miserable, Ace,” Hank answered for himself.
“He can ride, if that’s what you want to know,” a surly Ducky Yoder growled.
Ace Delevan slitted his eyes. “Who said we were gonna ride anywhere? Smoke Jensen is in there an’ we’re gonna git him.”
Ducky cut his eyes to the open barn doors and the cabin beyond it. “Who says that’s Jensen in there?” He meant, “besides you.”
Ace chewed on the drooping left end of his mustache. “I say it’s him. For that matter then, you tell me what man could fling open that door, jump into the openin’, bust off a cap, an’ pop back outta sight without even gettin’ a shot at him if it ain’t Jensen.”
That silenced Ducky for the moment. Ace eased through the shadowy interior of the barn to where he could see through a crack. Burl Winfree and Pauli Hansel had taken up good positions that covered the front door. They had the back covered. A clapboard add-on had been tacked to the rear, to allow for a kitchen and wash house. The door to that hung open a slight bit. Ace sighted in.
A billow of gunsmoke obscured his results for a while. When he could see clearly, he found only a neat little hole. He fired again. Something made of glass broke inside. There followed a shout of anger, then a cloud of wood
“Oh, you mean them fellers out there? Won’t be any problem. The door is built into the bottom of a grain bin an’ locked from this side. I keep just enough grain in there to hide it.”
Smoke scratched his head in wonder. “Where did you come up with all these ideas?”
“I went to Europe when I was young. Saw what they did in all those castles. Some of them, those with wells, were never taken by siege.”
“I am impressed. Now, our only real problem is if they send the wounded man for reinforcements. It would be nice to know where they came from.”
“Yep. I allow to as how it would, though the Basin has been crawlin’ with proddy fellers for the last four, maybe five days. Dependin’ on whether they’re locals or not, could be we’re in for a rough time of it.”
Ace Delevan had been a liar and thief all of his life. He became a killer at the tender age of twelve. Since then he had killed thirty men and maimed twice that number. He figured that made him an ideal choice as the one who would get Smoke Jensen. Though a vicious thug, none would say Ace Delevan was stupid. That’s why he brought along four of his cronies. Now Hank had a nasty bullet scrape on his upper left thigh and sat in a stall of the barn whining like a baby.
Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to come on like lawmen? They had heard in Baggs that Jensen had passed through. And that three local punks had gone after him—and hadn’t returned. Delevan and his friends rode on until they came upon a horse overburdened by three corpses. They backtracked the animal and picked up the trail of a man who had to be Smoke Jensen.
Although Smoke Jensen was reputed to have been on both sides of the law at one time or another, Ace Delevan knew that he most often sided with the law. Which gave him his big idea. If Jensen thought them to be lawmen, his respect for the breed would get him out in the open so they could blow him to doll rags. Ace accepted that one or two of his partners would buy a bullet. But he knew himself to be fast and accurate. At least as much so as anyone he knew. He would still be the one to collect that reward on Jensen’s head. A silhouette moved across one of the vellum windows and he fired in reaction.
A hole popped in the scraped animal skin. No response from a wounded man. One thing bothered Ace. He had no idea how many men were in there. Jensen for sure, he had gotten a glimpse of a broad-shouldered, ash-blond man in the doorway. A man so quick and steady he put a slug along the side of Hank Graves’s thigh. A groan came from the wounded man as Ducky Yoder finished bandaging the limb.
“How’s he doin’, Ducky?”
“I’m doin’ miserable, Ace,” Hank answered for himself.
“He can ride, if that’s what you want to know,” a surly Ducky Yoder growled.
Ace Delevan slitted his eyes. “Who said we were gonna ride anywhere? Smoke Jensen is in there an’ we’re gonna git him.”
Ducky cut his eyes to the open barn doors and the cabin beyond it. “Who says that’s Jensen in there?” He meant, “besides you.”
Ace chewed on the drooping left end of his mustache. “I say it’s him. For that matter then, you tell me what man could fling open that door, jump into the openin’, bust off a cap, an’ pop back outta sight without even gettin’ a shot at him if it ain’t Jensen.”
That silenced Ducky for the moment. Ace eased through the shadowy interior of the barn to where he could see through a crack. Burl Winfree and Pauli Hansel had taken up good positions that covered the front door. They had the back covered. A clapboard add-on had been tacked to the rear, to allow for a kitchen and wash house. The door to that hung open a slight bit. Ace sighted in.
A billow of gunsmoke obscured his results for a while. When he could see clearly, he found only a neat little hole. He fired again. Something made of glass broke inside. There followed a shout of anger, then a cloud of wood
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