The Angry Land

Book 6: Smoke Jensen Novel of the West

by William W. Johnstone, J.A. Johnstone

Genres: Historical Fiction; Westerns

Synopsis

When a cattle train bound for Texas is ambushed by blood thirsty rustlers, legendary mountain man Smoke Jensen vows to get the cattle back, get the killers who stole them—and get revenge for the blood they spilled . . .

Johnstone Country. Where Outlaws Shoot. And Legends Shoot Back.

The completion of a new railroad line from Colorado to Texas is a dream come true for Smoke Jensen and the other ranchers of Big Rock. But this dream turns into their worst nightmare when the first herd they load onto the train is stolen by a vicious gang of kill-crazy rustlers. This is no ordinary train robbery. It’s an inferno of slaughter that includes the friendly rancher who volunteered to take Smoke’s place on the trip. Now Smoke is saddling up and riding out—to get the prairie rats who murdered his friend . . .

Smoke isn’t the only one who’s after these merciless killers. A pair of undercover lawmen from Texas have managed to infiltrate the gang by pretending to be dangerous outlaws. While Smoke is trying to track down the stolen herd, the undercover lawmen pretend to plot with the gang to rob more cattle trains. But there’s a hitch in the lawmen’s plan. To make sure they’re really on board, the gang wants them to prove their loyalty—by eliminating their biggest threat: Smoke Jensen . . .

Release date: June 25, 2024

Publisher: Pinnacle Books

Print pages: 336

Sample

“Mark my words, that varmint’s a killer. You’d better not go anywhere near him.”

Sally Jensen smiled in response to the dire warning Pearlie Fontaine, the Sugarloaf Ranch’s foreman, had just given her. She tried not to sound condescending as she said, “I’ve been riding for quite a while, Pearlie. I think I can stick on this bronc, as you or Smoke might say.”

“Yeah, if Smoke was here . . .” Pearlie’s voice trailed off in an incomprehensible mutter.

“What was that?” Sally asked.

“Nothin’, nothin’ at all,” Pearlie said, shaking his head.

Sally’s eyes narrowed as she looked at him. She put a hand on one of the corral poles and said, “Good. I thought I heard something about how if Smoke was here, he’d put me over his knee and tan my bottom, but I was sure you wouldn’t say such a thing.”

“No, ma’am.” Pearlie cleared his throat. “Not at all.”

Sally decided she had given him enough trouble. After all, she was just having some fun with him and didn’t want to embarrass him too much. Pearlie was one of the best friends she and Smoke had, and they never would have built the Sugarloaf into the beginnings of a very successful ranch without his help.

Besides, that gray mustang was waiting inside the corral for her, and she was looking forward to taking him down a notch.

One of the other hands had saddled the horse and tied him to the snubbing post. He was green broke and had been ridden several times, including by Pearlie. About to climb over the fence, Sally paused and looked back at the foreman.

“I was watching when you rode him. He didn’t give you too much trouble, did he?”

Pearlie snorted. “He knew better’n to do that. But I swear, Miss Sally, I could see the look in his eye. If I’d given him half a chance, he’d have tried to buck me clear to Timbuktu.”

“Well, you didn’t give him a chance, and neither will I.” Sally tried to seem confident and wished she felt as certain as she sounded.

Without waiting for her nerves to get any tighter, she hauled herself up and threw a leg over the fence.

Always a perfect lady in public, today she wore boots, canvas trousers, a man’s flannel shirt, and had a broad-brimmed hat pushed down on her dark hair and held in place by a taut chin strap. She and Smoke had started the Sugarloaf by themselves a few years earlier, and from the first day, she had always done her share of riding the range.

Not only that, but it was also part of Sally’s nature not to shy away from any challenge. Riding that gray mustang was something she could be proud of. And Smoke would be impressed when he got back from the nearby town of Big Rock, where he was meeting today with the other cattlemen from the valley.

Dust puffed up around Sally’s boots when she jumped down from the fence and landed inside the corral. She walked toward the mustang. He turned his head to watch her approach, but didn’t seem skittish or upset.

Pearlie pulled himself up the corral fence and perched on the top rail with a worried look on his face.

The cowboy who had saddled the gray, Tom Baxter, said, “Are you sure about this, Miss Sally?”

“Of course. Wait until I get in the saddle, Tom, and then turn him loose.”

Baxter hesitated before responding. Sally was the boss’s wife, and all the crew respected her for that, as well as for never being afraid of hard work. But Sally saw the glance Baxter threw toward Pearlie and knew that if the foreman said no, he wouldn’t obey her orders.

Pearlie gave the cowboy a curt nod, though, indicating that he should let Sally go ahead with what she wanted to do. Baxter said, “Yes, ma’am.”

The mustang continued standing there placidly as Sally grasped the saddle horn in both hands, put her left foot in the stirrup, and swung up onto his back. The horse shifted slightly under her weight, but showed no signs of bucking.

“Good boy,” Sally said as she settled herself. She lightly stroked the mustang’s shoulder.

She took a deep breath and nodded to Baxter. He untied the reins holding the mustang to the snubbing post and handed them to Sally, then backed off toward the fence. She tightened her grip and lifted the reins. She was about to nudge her boot heels against the mustang’s flanks when she cast a last glance toward Pearlie on the fence.

She just had time to register the sudden look of alarm on his face before the mustang exploded underneath her.

Smoke Jensen looked around the town hall in Big Rock where the meeting was taking place. More than a dozen ranchers had come to town today to discuss an idea Smoke had come up with.

Sheriff Monte Carson was on hand, as well, but only as an interested observer and friend of Smoke, since he wasn’t in the cattle business.

“I want to thank you boys for showing up today,” Smoke began. “I know it meant a ride into town and chores you had to postpone, but I hope you’ll think the time was well spent.”

“I’m always interested in whatever you have to say, Smoke,” Wallace Dixon said. “Without you, this valley might not even be settled yet, and Big Rock sure as shootin’ wouldn’t be here!”

“That’s the truth,” Carl Featherstone added. “All of us who came along later owe you a mighty big debt.”

Smoke shook his head. “Nobody owes me anything. We’re all in this together, and we all had a hand in settling the valley and founding Big Rock.”

Smoke wasn’t the sort of hombre to waste time standing around listening to others sing his praises. But in point of fact, the Sugarloaf had indeed become the first spread in the valley when he and Sally rode in here a few years earlier, not long after their marriage.

A lot had changed since then. A man named Tilden Franklin started a town called Fontana, but the gunmen and outlaws who worked for him ran roughshod over the honest citizens who moved in. There had come a point when the decent folks moved out and started their own town, which they called Big Rock. Eventually, Franklin’s crooked, brutal tactics started a war . . . and Smoke ended that conflict with his guns, along with a lot of help from assorted friends and allies.

Those allies included Monte and Pearlie, both of whom had been hired guns working for Franklin before seeing the light and coming over to the side of law and order. Now they were two of the staunchest friends Smoke had.

With Tilden Franklin and his hired killers gone, Fontana had dried up and blown away. More ranchers had moved in, taking advantage of the valley’s lush meadows and ample water. The railroad had arrived in Big Rock a year or so earlier . . . and that was why Smoke had called this meeting today.

“Those of you who have been around here for a while remember when we had to drive our herds all the way to Abilene to ship them back east to market,” Smoke went on. “That wasn’t as long or as rough a drive as ranchers down in Texas had to make to reach the railhead, but it was still a big chore.”

Ben Harper, who’d had an outfit in Texas before moving north and west to Colorado, nodded and said, “I made several of those drives up the Chisholm Trail. Wouldn’t want to do it again. We always lost men and cattle.”

“Since the railroad reached Big Rock, we haven’t had to worry about that. We can just drive our cattle to town and ship them right here, and that’s what we’ve been doing. The freight rates are high, though, and can cut pretty deeply into a ranch’s profit.”

Nods and mutters of agreement came from those gathered in the town hall.

“But that got me to thinking,” continued Smoke. “We’ve all been making deals individually with the railroad to ship our beef. I’ve heard that spreads in Texas sometimes pool their herds to make the drive to the railhead together. Isn’t that right, Ben?”

“It sure is,” said Harper. “Those are big herds, but every ranch throws in some men for the crew so there are plenty of cowboys to handle the critters.”

“If all of us here in the valley”—Smoke made a surrounding motion with his hands—“gathered our herds together into one big bunch, we might be able to convince the railroad to drop their price per head. The railroad would get a bigger payday all at once, but all of us would wind up with a few extra dollars in our pockets, too.”

Featherstone said, “If that worked, the savings could add up to considerable money over time.”

“They wouldn’t want to risk losing all of our business, so they’re bound to go along with the idea,” Wallace Dixon said. He slapped his thigh with enthusiasm. “I’ll bet a hat they’d agree to the deal!”

“Careful there, Wallace,” called one of the other men. “The way you’re goin’ bald on top, you can’t afford to risk losin’ your hat!”

That brought laughter from the rest of the group. The middle-aged Dixon grinned, took off his hat, and ran his hand over his thinning hair and shiny dome.

Smoke chuckled, too, and then said, “We wouldn’t need a big crew. Each rancher could drive the cows he wants to ship to the holding pens just outside town like they do in Abilene. Once they’re loaded onto the cattle cars and headed east, they’d be the railroad’s responsibility.”

“Well, that’s true, but I’m not sure I’d feel comfortable just turnin’ my stock over to the railroad with nobody to keep an eye on it until the critters were bought and paid for in Abilene.”

Several men spoke up in agreement with Dixon’s point.

“I know what you mean,” said Smoke. “That’s why I figured that if we were to do this, we’d need to appoint somebody trustworthy to represent all of us and just keep an eye on things, as Wallace said, until everything is squared away.”

“Now that sounds like a deal,” Ben Harper said. “And I know just the man to go along with the cattle and oversee everything. He’s standin’ up there at the front of the room!”

“Smoke’s the man for the job,” Carl Featherstone agreed.

Shouts of agreement came from the men.

Monte Carson sidled up next to Smoke and said, “I told you they’d want to put you in charge. That’s what you get for coming up with bright ideas.”

“I halfway expected as much,” Smoke admitted. “I’d be fine with it if somebody else wanted the job, but at the same time, it was my idea, so I guess I ought to take responsibility for it and make sure everything goes like it’s supposed to.”

The discussion continued for a while longer. Roundup season was already upon them, so each rancher had a good start on gathering a herd suitable for shipping to market. They agreed they could finish their roundups, pool the herds in Big Rock, and have them ready to go within a week.

The small holding pens that already existed would need to be expanded. Some men from each crew could devote themselves to that task while the cattle were being gathered and then driven to town.

In the meantime, Smoke would meet with the railroad officials and negotiate a better price for the cattlemen. Wallace Dixon was selected to give him a hand with this.

“The station manager will likely have to burn up the telegraph wires communicatin’ with the district manager back east,” Dixon commented. “The fella here in town ain’t high enough in the peckin’ order to decide that his own self. We ought to have time to get it settled, though, before we have to load those beeves.”

Several men suggested shipping rates that would be agreeable to them. Smoke made note of the suggestions and promised that he and Dixon would negotiate the best rate they possibly could. If the plan worked out and the ranchers were able to proceed in this fashion in the future, it would make their spreads more profitable and successful, which would be good for everybody in the valley.

The meeting broke up with handshakes and back slaps all around. Obvious feelings of excitement and anticipation gripped the men as they left the town hall.

Smoke and Monte remained behind. Monte thumbed back his hat and said, “As happy as those fellas are now, they’ll be just that mad at you if this doesn’t work out, Smoke. You’re taking on a big job.”

“Won’t be the first time,” said Smoke. “And I have to admit, the whole thing kind of goes against the grain for me. Except for Preacher and Sally, and then you and Pearlie and Louis, I’ve been pretty much a loner for most of my life. Even with you boys, we’re just good friends. We’re not in business together.”

“It was your idea,” Monte reminded him.

“I know. But I was trying to think of what’s best for everybody in the valley.”

“You can’t look out for everybody else. Those men are going into this with their eyes wide open. If things don’t go to suit them, they won’t have any right to blame you, because you’ll have done your best to make it pay off.”

“That’s true.” Smoke smiled. “And maybe I’m getting ahead of myself with the worrying. Could be it’ll be a smooth-running, profitable operation all around.”

“Sure,” Monte said as he clapped a hand on Smoke’s shoulder. “What could possibly go wrong?”

The gray mustang bowed its back and went straight up in the air. Sally cried out in surprise, but she clamped her legs around the horse and grabbed the saddle horn with her free hand. The mustang swapped ends in midair, which would have thrown a lot of cowboys, but Sally clung to the saddle like a tick.

The horse came down straight-legged with such force that the impact jarred all the way up Sally’s spine and felt like it was going to shake her teeth out by the roots. That didn’t happen, of course. She bent forward in the saddle and held tightly to the horn as the mustang arched its back and crow-hopped around the corral.

When that didn’t work, the mustang went to straight bucking, again and again and again. Sally’s head was thrown back and forth so violently it felt as if it were about to fly right off her shoulders.

She hung on for dear life.

She was barely aware that Pearlie was in the corral now, along with Tom Baxter. The two cowboys dashed and darted around as they tried to get close enough to grab the gray’s harness and bring him under control. They were risking life and limb to do so, but were forced back by the mustang’s flashing hooves.

Sally managed to stay on the horse for what seemed like an hour . . . an awful, bone-jarring, stomach-clenching hour. In reality, the ride was almost certainly less than a minute. Not even thirty seconds, actually, Pearlie would inform her later. That mustang packed a whole heap of bucking into a short period of time.

Then it came to an abrupt end as the horse leaped into the air and changed ends again. Sally tried to hang on, but her grip had run out of strength. Although half-stunned by the mustang’s frenzy, she still had the presence of mind to kick her feet free of the stirrups as she felt her rear end part company with the saddle leather.

She suddenly found herself in midair, a heart-stopping flight that saw her rise seemingly in slow motion and then slam to the earth with incredible speed. The hard landing knocked all the breath out of her body. Her mind was stunned. She wasn’t sure her heart was beating. She wasn’t even sure she was still alive.

Then strong hands clamped on her shoulders and pulled her up into a sitting position. She gasped for air. The world spun crazily around her, the corral fence going so fast it was just a blur. The hands gently shook her as a familiar voice said, “Miss Sally. Miss Sally!”

The spinning slowed and the corral fence finally stopped moving. Pearlie’s face loomed large in front of her. Eventually, Sally figured out that he was kneeling there, holding her shoulders and staring at her with a mixture of fear and anger on his rugged features.

As her eyes focused on his and he realized she was aware of where and who he was, he burst out, “What the hell!”

It was a measure of how upset he was that he would speak to her like that. Like most western men, he was always courteous, even chivalrous, around women, and doubly so with her since she was his best friend’s wife.

She struggled to make her voice work and finally said, “I . . . I’m all right . . . Pearlie. . . .”

“You scared the britches off me, gal!” Clearly, he hadn’t regained his composure yet. “I figured you’d break your neck, the way that damn mustang flung you off, and then he acted like he was gonna trample the stuffin’ right outta you. . . .”

Pearlie had to stop and take a deep breath. He sounded a little calmer when he went on, “If Tom hadn’t grabbed that varmint’s reins when he did, you might’a been a goner. I told you that blasted horse was a killer, Miss Sally. I told you!”

She nodded shakily. “You did,” she admitted. “I . . . I’m sorry.”

“Well, as long as you’re all right, I reckon it don’t matter.” Again he drew in a breath. “And I’m sorry for flyin’ off the handle like that. The way I was talkin’ to you sure ain’t proper.”

She summoned up a smile. “It’s all right. I’m not insulted. Not even a little bit. You were just worried about me, that’s all. And I . . . I should have listened to you and heeded your warning.”

It was very difficult for Sally to admit when she was wrong. She just wasn’t built that way. But in a situation such as this, the truth was clear as day.

Pearlie must have realized he was still holding her shoulders, because he let go of her like she was a hot stove lid. He straightened and stepped back. His hand went to the butt of the gun holstered on his hip.

“I’m gonna put a bullet through that outlaw hoss’s head,” he muttered.

“No, don’t!” cried Sally. “You can’t kill him just because he threw me.”

“Seems like a good enough reason to me.”

“It’s not,” Sally insisted. “Especially since you told me not to ride him. Let me ask you this, Pearlie. . . . Can you make a good mount out of him?”

“Well, he’s got plenty of sand, that’s for sure. A good bronc buster could maybe work the rough edges off him. I ain’t sayin’ I’d want the job, mind you, but some of the boys might like the challenge.”

“Then please, don’t shoot him. That would be wasteful.” She looked across the corral to where Tom Baxter was standing and holding the mustang’s reins. The gray looked utterly peaceful and friendly again. “Besides, I feel like this is somehow my fault. I must have done something to set him off.”

“No, ma’am, some critters are just loco part of the time, and you never know when they’ll show it.” Pearlie took his hand away from his gun. “But I’ll do like you say, especially since you don’t seem to be badly hurt. We’ll give him another chance . . . for now.”

“Thank you.” Sally smiled. “Now, if you’ll help me up . . .”

“You ain’t gonna try to ride him again, are you?”

“No, I think I’ve learned my lesson about that.”

Pearlie extended a hand and clasped wrists with her. With very little effort, he pulled her to her feet and then let go of her.

And promptly, Sally screamed and collapsed back to the ground.

During the ride back to the Sugarloaf from Big Rock, Smoke thought about what had happened at the meeting and went over the plan again in his head. Although the chance that something would go wrong always existed, he believed the idea of the ranchers in the valley combining their herds for shipping to Abilene was a solid one that would pay off.

He had discussed it thoroughly with Sally before sending messages to the other cattlemen and asking them to meet with him. As always, she’d been a good sounding board. She was smart and levelheaded and above all honest, so he could count on her to point out any flaws in the plan that he hadn’t seen.

She was an enthusiastic supporter of the idea, so he knew it was a good one.

When he came in sight of the ranch house, he spotted someone standing on the porch. Smoke wouldn’t have been surprised to see Sally waiting for him, but he could tell the person on the porch wasn’t her. As he came closer, he recognized Pearlie.

That put a frown on Smoke’s face. Normally at this time of day, Pearlie would be in the barn or out on the range or at least in the bunkhouse. The fact that he stood on the ranch house porch in an obvious attitude of waiting was a good indication something was wrong.

Smoke nudged his horse into a faster gait. He wanted to find out what had happened.

“Howdy, Smoke,” Pearlie called as his boss and friend drew rein in front of the porch. He lifted a hand in greeting, and Smoke tried to tell himself that was a good sign. Pearlie wouldn’t have wasted time on such a gesture if there was a bad problem.

“What is it?” Smoke asked without returning the greeting.

“Miss Sally’s hurt—”

Smoke stiffened in the saddle as his heart slugged hard in his chest. A few years earlier, his first wife, Nicole, and their infant son, Arthur, had been murdered by some of Smoke’s enemies. He wasn’t sure if he could stand another such shocking loss.

“But she’s gonna be all right,” Pearlie hurried on, evidently seeing how his words had shaken Smoke. “She twisted her knee pretty bad and can’t walk, but nothin’s broke and Doc Spaulding says she’ll heal up just fine.”

Smoke swung down from the saddle and looped his horse’s reins around the ring on the hitching post he had positioned near the front steps.

“You say Dr. Spaulding’s been here?”

“That’s right.”

“I didn’t run into him on the way out from town.”

“Well, you see, that was a stroke of luck,” Pearlie explained as Smoke came up onto the porch. “I sent one of the boys to Big Rock to fetch him, but he hadn’t gone a mile ’fore he ran right into the doc headin’ in this direction. It seems that Doc was called out to the Haskell place to tend to some of Miz Haskell’s, uh, female complaints, and he was on his way there already. Pinky Ford, the fella I sent to fetch him, brought him straight back here to tend to Miss Sally. The doc said it sounded like her problem was more urgent than Miz Haskell’s. And then when he was done, he just went on about the business he’d had to start with.”

That somewhat long-winded explanation made sense, Smoke decided, but it didn’t answer the most important question.

“What happened to Sally? You say her knee’s hurt?”

Pearlie cleared his throat. “Yeah, she, uh, she took it in her head to ride that gray mustang, and he bucked her off.”

Smoke stared at the foreman for a second before he said, “That mustang’s still green broke. He’s raw as can be. Sally had no business being on him.”

Pearlie slipped his hands into his back pockets and stood a little straighter. He looked Smoke straight in the eye and said, “I told her the same thing. Didn’t pussyfoot around about it, neither. But she was bound and determined to do it.”

“And you didn’t feel like you could stop her?”

“Reckon I’d have had to hog-tie her to do that. Wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it if I did. And I ain’t totally convinced she wouldn’t have shot me if I tried.”

For one crazy moment, Smoke wasn’t sure whether he was mad or wanted to laugh. Sally wouldn’t have shot Pearlie if he’d physically restrained her, of course . . . but he could see how Pearlie might have some doubts about the matter.

A little calmer now, he went on, “Was anything else hurt when she got thrown?”

“Nope. She got the wind knocked out of her when she landed and she was a mite . . .