Venom of the Mountain Man

Book 47: Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone, J.A. Johnstone

Genres: Westerns

Synopsis

When Smoke Jensen sees a gang of outlaws holding up a stagecoach, his gunfighter instincts take over and he storms in with guns blazing. He kills one of the gunmen; the rest scatter like the rats they are. Another notch on the sharpshooter’s weathered grip. But the dead man is the brother of the notorious outlaw Gabe Briggs, and Briggs will want revenge....

Tired of the savagery of the lawless countryside, Smoke’s wife Sally heads back east for a spell, only to find the big city choking in filth, violence, and corruption. Before Sally can head back home, though, she’s snatched right off the street.

When Smoke gets word that Sally’s been kidnapped, he hops the first train east. But Gabe Briggs and his ruthless band of bad men are along for the ride. Unless Smoke can punch their ticket to hell first, they’ll blow this train sky high....

Release date: November 28, 2017

Publisher: Pinnacle Books

Print pages: 384

Sample

Salcedo, Wyoming Territory

The hooves of Smoke Jensen’s horse Seven made a dry clatter on the rocks as Smoke made a rather steep descent down from a seldom-used trail. Seeing the road below, he felt a sense of relief. “There it is, Seven, there’s the road. Taking the cutoff wasn’t all that good an idea. I was beginning to think we never would see that road again.”

Seven whickered.

“No, I wasn’t lost. You know I don’t get lost. I just get a little disoriented every now and then.”

Seven whickered again.

“Ah, so now you’re making fun of me, are you?”

On long rides, Smoke often talked to his horse because he wanted to hear a voice, even if it was his own. Talking to his horse seemed a step above talking to himself.

Smoke dismounted and reached up to squeeze Seven’s ear. Seven dipped his head in appreciation of the gesture.

“Yeah, I know you like this. Tell you what. Why don’t I walk the rest of the way down this hill? That way you won’t have to be working as hard. And when we get on the road, we’ll have a little breather.”

Before they reached the road, Seven suddenly let out an anxious whinny, and using his head, pushed Smoke aside so violently that he fell painfully onto the rocks.

“What was that all about?” Smoke said angrily.

Seven whinnied again and began backing away, lifting his forelegs high and bobbing his head up and down.

Smoke saw the rattler, coiled and bobbing its head, ready to strike. He drew his pistol and fired. There was a mist of blood where the snake’s head had been, the head now at least five feet away from the reptile’s still coiled and decapitated body.

“Are you all right?” Smoke asked anxiously as he began examining Seven’s forelegs and feet. He found no indication that the snake had bitten him. He wrapped his arms around Seven’s neck. “Good boy. Oh, wait. I know what you really want.”

Again, he began squeezing Seven’s ear. “Well, as much as you like this, we can’t hang around here all day. We need to get going.”

Smoke led Seven on down the rocky incline, then just before he reached the road, his foot slipped off a rock, and he felt the heel of his boot break off. “Damn,” he said, picking up the heel. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to remount right away, but probably a little earlier than I previously intended.”

He limped along for at least two more miles. When he was certain Seven was well rested, he swung back into the saddle. “All right, boy. Let’s go.” He started Seven forward at a trot that was comfortable for both of them.

“We’ll be coming into Salcedo soon. Tell me, Seven, do you think this bustling community will have a shoe store?”

Seven dipped his head.

“Oh, yeah, you would say that. You always are the optimist.”

Salcedo was the result of what had once been a trading post, then a saloon, then a couple houses and a general store until, gradually, it became a town along the banks of the Platte River. The river was not navigable for steamboats, and even flatboats had a difficult time because of the shallowness of the water and the many sandbars and rocks along the route.

A sign at the town limits, exaggerting somewhat, stated

Smoke had been to Rawlins and was on his way back to his Sugarloaf ranch when he broke the heel. He found a boot and shoe store on Main Street, and the cobbler said that he could fix the boot. As Smoke stood at the window of the shoe repair shop, his attention was drawn to a stagecoach parked at the depot just across the street.

“Swan, Mule Gap, and Douglas!” the driver shouted. “If you’re goin’ to Swan, Mule Gap, or Douglas, get aboard now!”

Five passengers responded to the driver’s call—two men, and a woman with two children. The coach had a shotgun guard, and as soon as he was in position, the driver popped his whip, the six horses strained in their harness, and the coach pulled away.

“Your boot is ready,” George Friegh, the shoemaker, said as he stepped up beside Smoke watching the coach leave. “It’s carryin’ five thousand dollars in cash money.”

“You mean that’s common knowledge?” Smoke replied. “I thought stagecoach companies didn’t want it known when they were carrying a sizeable cash shipment.”

“Yeah, most of the time they do try ’n keep it quiet. But you can’t do that with Emile Taylor.”

“Who is Emile Taylor?” Smoke asked.

“Taylor’s the shotgun guard. He’s an old soldier, and like a lot of old soldiers, he’s a drinkin’ man. I heard him carryin’ on last night while he was getting’ hisself snockered at the Trail’s End.”

The Trail’s End was the only saloon in Salcedo.

“He started talkin’ about the money shipment they’re takin’ down to Douglas. Five thousand dollars he said it was.”

“He told you that?”

“Not just me. Hell, mister, he was talkin’ loud enough that ever’one in the saloon heard him.”

Smoke examined the boot, then paid for the work. “You did a good job,” he said, slipping the boot back on. “I’d better be getting back on the road.”

Five miles south of Salcedo on the Douglas Pike

Four men were waiting on the side of the road, their horses ground hobbled behind them.

“You’re sure it’s carryin’ five thousand dollars?” one of them asked.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I heard the shotgun guard braggin’ about it.”

“The reason I ask if you’re sure is the last time we held up a stage we didn’t get nothin’ but thirty-seven dollars, ’n that’s what we got from the passengers. Hell, you could get shot holdin’ up a stage, and thirty-seven dollars ain’t worth it.”

“This here stagecoach has five thousand dollars. You can trust me on this.”

“Here it comes,” one of the other men said as the coach crested the hill and came into view.

“All right. You three get mounted and get your guns out. Gabe, you hold my horse. I’ll have ’em throw the money bag down to me. Get your hoods on,” he added as he pulled a hood down over his own head.

Smoke heard the unmistakable sound of a gunshot in the distance before him. There was only one shot, and it could have been a hunter, but he didn’t think so. There was a sharp flatness to the sound—more like that of a pistol rather than a rifle. He wondered about it, but there was only one shot, and it could have been anything, so he didn’t give it that much of a thought.

When he reached the top of the hill he saw the stagecoach stopped on the road in front of him. It was the same stagecoach he had watched leave Salcedo, and the passengers, including the woman and children, were standing outside the coach with their hands up. The driver had his hands up as well. For just a second he wondered about the shotgun guard, then he saw a body lying in the road beside the front wheel of the coach.

Four armed men, all but one mounted, were all wearing hoods that covered their faces. There was no doubt that Smoke had come upon a robbery.

Pulling his pistol, he urged Seven into a gallop and quickly closed the distance between himself and the stagecoach robbers. “Drop your guns!” he shouted.

“What the hell?” one of the robbers yelled, and all four of them shot at Smoke.

Smoke shot back, and the dismounted robber went down. There was another exchange of gunfire, and one of the mounted robbers went down as well.

“Let’s get out of here!” one of the two remaining robbers shouted, and they galloped off.

Smoke reached the coach then dismounted to check on the two fallen robbers to make certain they presented no further danger to the coach. They didn’t. Both were dead.

A quick examination of the shotgun guard determined that he, too, was dead.

“Mister, I don’t know who you are,” the driver said, “but you sure come along in time to save our bacon.”

“The name is Jensen. Smoke Jensen. Are all of you all right? Was anyone hurt?”

“We’re fine, Mr. Jensen, thanks to you,” the woman passenger said.

From the Douglas Budget:

Wiregrass Ranch, adjacent to Sugarloaf

Wiregrass Ranch had once belonged to Ned and Molly Condon. When they were murdered, Sam Condon, Ned’s brother, came west from St. Louis. Sam had been a successful lawyer in that city, and everyone had thought he was coming to arrange for the sale of the ranch. Instead, he’d decided to stay, and he brought his wife, Sara Sue, and their then twelve-year-old son Thad with him. Both adjusted to their new surroundings quickly and easily. Thad not only adjusted, he thrived in the new environment.

Sam had made the conscious decision to sell off all the cattle Ned had owned and replaced them with two highly regarded registered Hereford bulls and ten registered Hereford cows. Within two years he had a herd of fifty, composed of ten bulls and forty cows.

Keeping his herd small, he was able to keep down expenses by having no permanent cowboys. Although not yet fourteen, Thad had become a very good hand.

Sam Condon’s approach to ranching paid off well, and he earned a rather substantial income by selling registered cattle, both bulls and cows, to ranchers who wanted to improve their stock.

Sam and Sara Sue were celebrating their seventeenth wedding anniversary, and they had invited Smoke and Sally, their neighbors from the adjacent ranch, to have a celebratory dinner with them.

“Chicken and dumplin’s, Missouri style,” Sara Sue said.

“Oh, you don’t have to educate me, Sara Sue,” Smoke said as his hostess spooned the pastry onto his plate. “It’s been a while, but I’m a Missouri boy, too.”

“Well, I’m from the Northeast, but I’ve learned to enjoy chicken and dumplings as well,” Sally said. “Smoke loves them so, that I had to learn how to make the flat dumplings.”

“She learned how to make them all right,” Smoke said. “She just hasn’t learned how to say dumplin’s, without adding that last g,” he teased.

The others laughed.

“Mr. Jensen, I read about you in the paper,” Thad said.

“Oh?”

“Yes, sir. I read how you stopped a stagecoach holdup, ’n how you kilt two men.”

“Thad,” Sam said. “That’s hardly a subject fit for discussion over the dinner table.”

“But that is what you done, ain’t it? You kilt two men?”

“That’s what you did, isn’t it?” Sara Sue said, correcting Thad’s grammar.

“See, Pa, even Ma is talking about it,” Thad said.

The others at the table laughed.

“I’ll tell you what,” Sam said. “We’ll talk about it after dinner. That is, if Smoke is amenable to it.”

“Amenable. Oh, a good lawyer’s word,” Sally said with a smile.

After dinner, Smoke, Sam, and Thad sat out on the front porch while Sally helped Sara Sue clean up from the meal. In the west, Red Table Mountain was living up to its name by glowing red in the setting sun.

“The newspaper said that one of the men who got away was Gabe Briggs,” Sam said.

“He probably was, but they never removed their masks, so there is no way of knowing,” Smoke replied.

“Would you have recognized him if he hadn’t been wearing a mask?”

Smoke shook his head. “No, I don’t think I would have. I’ve heard of the Briggs Brothers, but then, who in this part of the country hasn’t? But I’ve never seen either of them before that little fracas on the road.”

“But he did see you,” Sam said.

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t that worry you a little? I mean, he knows what you look like, but you don’t know what he looks like. If he is bent upon revenging his brother you could be in serious danger.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Smoke said, “but my life has been such that I have made as many enemies as I have friends. I never know when some unknown enemy is going to call me out or, even worse, try and shoot me from ambush. I’ve lived with that for many years. Gabe Briggs will be just one more.”

“How many men have you kilt, Mr. Jensen?” Thad asked.

“Thad! That’s not a question you should ever ask anyone!” Sam scolded.

“I’m sorry,” Thad said contritely. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I think Mr. Jensen is a hero.”

Smoke chuckled softly. “I’m not a hero, Thad, but I have always tried to do the right thing. I’m not proud of the number of men I’ve killed. No one should ever kill someone as a matter of pride. But I will tell you this. I’ve never killed anyone who wasn’t trying to kill me.”

New York, New York

In operations such as gambling, prostitution, protection, and robbery, the Irish Assembly and the Five Points Gang had been competitors for the last three years. For a while they had been able to establish individual territories, and thus avoid any direct confrontation, but over the last couple months, the Irish Assembly had been expanding the area of their franchise and they and the Five Points Gang had renewed their hostilities.

It had come to a head two days ago when a member of the Five Points Gang was killed by the Irish Assembly.

Both gangs were currently gathered under the Second Street El. They had started their confrontation by shouting insults at each other, but the insults had grown sharper until a shot was fired.

For fifteen minutes guns blazed and bullets flew as merchants and citizens along Second Street stayed inside to avoid being shot. When it was over, the Five Points gang hauled away their dead and wounded, and the Irish Assembly did the same.

“Three killed,” Gallagher said. “We lost three good men!”

“So did the Five Points Gang,” Kelly said.

“Aye, well, they can afford it, for ’tis a lot more people they have than we do. Would someone be for tellin’ me what good did it do?”

“Here now, Ian, you wouldn’t be for lettin’ them be runnin’ over us, would you?” Kelly asked.

“Gallagher’s right. I think the time has come for us to change,” one of the others said.

“And give up ever’thing we’ve built up?” Ian asked.

“We’ve built nothing ’n if we don’t change, we’ll be for losin’ it all.”

“In what way would you be for changing? I’m asking that,” Gallagher said.

“I’d say come to an accommodation with the Five Points gang,” Kelly said.

“You’d be for givin’ up to ’em?”

“Aye. Let’s face facts. ’Tis time to realize that we can’t beat them. The only thing we can do is find some way to work with them.”

Sugarloaf Ranch

“You’re sure you want to do this now?” Pearlie asked.

“Yes,” Thad said.

“Maybe we ought to ask your mama before you do something like this.”

“No, Pearlie, don’t do that. She would just say no.” Smoke had recently bought five new, unbroken horses. Pearlie and Cal always broke the new horses, and so far Cal had broken two, and Pearlie two. There was one horse remaining, and Thad, who had come over to Sugarloaf Ranch with his parents, had left them visiting with Smoke and Sally while he went out to watch. It was just before Pearlie was about to mount the horse that Thad had asked to be allowed to do it.

“I’m thirteen years old. I’m not a baby.”

“All right,” Pearlie said. “I guess this is as good a time as any to learn.”

“What do I do?”

“Keep a hard seat and keep your heels down. Watch his ears. That’ll help tell you when it’s coming. Keep his head up. As long as his head is up, he can’t do all that much.”

Pearlie pointed to a loop. “Put your right hand in here and grab a fistful of mane with your left hand. And don’t be afraid to haul back on the mane. That’ll let ’im know who is in control.”

“All right,” Thad said somewhat tentatively.

“You gettin’ a little nervous? You want to back out? Nobody is goin’ to say anything to you if you do back out. Ridin’ a buckin’ horse is not an easy thing to do.” Pearlie chuckled. “And there’s most that’ll tell you, it’s not exactly a smart thing to do, either.”

“I’m a little scared,” Thad said. “But I want to do it anyway.”

A broad smile spread across Pearlie’s mouth. “Good for you. If you weren’t scared, I would say that you are too dumb to ride. If you admit that you are scared, but you are still willing to do it, then you may have just enough sense and courage to have what it takes to do this. Climb up here, and let’s get it done.”

Thad climbed up onto the side of the stall where, a few minutes earlier, Cal had brought the already-saddled horse. Thad paused for a moment, then he dropped down into the saddle just as Cal opened the gate.

The horse exploded out of the stall, leaping up, then coming down on four stiffened legs. The first leap almost threw Thad from the saddle.

“Pull back on his mane!” Pearlie shouted.

“Hang on tight!” Cal added.

The horse kicked its hind legs into the air, but Thad hung on. It tried to lower its head, but following Pearlie’s instructions, Thad pulled back on the mane and prevented the horse from doing so. It began whirling around, but it was unable to throw its rider.

“Yahoo!” Cal shouted.

“Thata boy, Thad! Hang on!” Pearlie called.

“THAD!” Sara Sue screamed, coming out with the others to see what was going on.

“Watch, Ma! Watch!” Thad shouted excitedly. The horse tried for another several seconds then, unable to rid itself of its rider, began trotting around the corral under Thad’s complete control.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, Sara Sue, it looks to me like he’s just broken a horse,” Sam said with a big smile.

“And you approve of that? He could have broken his neck.”

“He didn’t break his neck, but he did break the horse. I not only approve of it, I’m proud of him. In fact, Smoke, if you would be willing to sell him, I would like to buy that horse from you. Seems to me that any boy who can break a horse ought to own the horse that he broke.”

“I’m sorry, Sam, but that horse isn’t for sale,” Smoke said.

“Oh? Well, I’m disappointed, but I understand.”

“He isn’t for sale because I’m giving him to Thad,” Smoke said with a big smile.

“Really? This horse is mine?” Thad said while still in the saddle of the now docile horse.

“He’s yours.”

“Oh, thank you!” Thad shouted.

“Yes, Smoke, thank you very much. That’s very nice of you,” Sam said.

“What are you going to name him?” Pearlie asked.

Thad bent forward to pat the horse on his neck. “I’m going to name him Fire, because I got him from Mr. Smoke Jensen. Smoke and fire. Do you get it?”

“I get it. And I think it’s a great name,” Pearlie said,

“because this horse also has fire in his belly.”

“Open the gate to the corral so I can ride him around,” Thad said.

“Cal, open the gate,” Pearlie called.

Cal opened the gate.

“Now, watch us run!” Thad slapped his legs against Fire’s sides, and the horse burst forth like a cannonball. Thad leaned forward but an inch above Fire’s neck. He galloped to the far end of the lane, about a quarter of a mile away, then turning on a dime, raced back before he dismounted.

“Ma, when we go home, can I sleep in the stable with Fire tonight?”

“You most certainly cannot.”

Sam laughed. “I guess we’re lucky he doesn’t want to bring Fire in to sleep in bed with him tonight.”

Sara Sue laughed as well, then ran her hand through her son’s hair. “Come on in. Mrs. Jensen has supper on the table.”

“What are we havin’?” Thad asked.

“Thad! We are guests! A guest never asks the hostess what is being served,” Sara Sue scolded.

“I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t serving cauliflower. I hate cauliflower.”

Smoke laughed. “Then you are safe, young man. Sally never serves cauliflower, because I don’t like it, either.”

New York City

“Mule Gap? And is it serious that you be, Warren Kennedy, that you would be going to a place called Mule Gap?”

“Aye, Clooney, ’tis serious I am,” Kennedy replied.

The two men were in Grand Central Depot, awaiting the departure of the next transcontinental train. Clooney had come to see Kennedy off.

“And would you be for tellin’ me, why you would pick a place with the name of Mule Fart, Wyoming?”

Kennedy laughed. “Mule Gap, not Mule Fart. And the why of it is because there is nothing left for me here in New York. Our last adventure was too costly. I have studied Mule Gap, ’n ’tis my thinking that such a wee place can provide opportunity for someone with an adventurous spirit ’n a willingness to apply himself to the possibilities offered.”

“I’ve read about the West,” Clooney said. “There are crazy men who walk around out there with guns strapped around their waists. They say that such men would as soon shoot you as look at you.”

“’N are you for tellin’ me, Ryan Clooney, that in this very city the people who lived along Second Street weren’t dodging the bullets that were flying through the street? Aye, ’n we as well.”

“That was different. There was a war bein’ fought between the Five Points Gang and the Irish Assembly, ’n we just happened to be caught up in it,” Clooney insisted.

“Aye, that may be true. But I’d just as soon not be caught up in such a thing again. ’N before someone decides to start another war, ’tis my intention to be well out of here.”

“I can’t believe you would leave New York ’n all your friends ’n family behind.”

“I have no family but m’ father, ’n he has said he wants nothing to do with me. I can make new friends.”

“Still, it’ll be strange havin’ you gone.”

“All aboard for the Western Flyer!” someone shouted through a megaphone. “Track number nine. All aboard.”

“That’s my train,” Kennedy said, starting to the door that led to the tracks. “If you think you’d like to come out, let me know, and I’ll find a place for you.”

“Find a place for me? Find a place doin’ what?”

“Same as before. Doin’ whatever I tell you to do,” Kennedy said with a little chuckle.

He boarded the train, then settled back into his seat. Born in Ireland, he had lived in New York from the time he was four years old. He knew nothing but New York, yet he was leaving it all behind him.

And he didn’t feel so much as one twinge of regret.

Walcott, Wyoming

Seven days later, after just under two thousand miles of cities and small towns, farmland and ranches, rich cropland and bare plains, desert and mountain, the train pulled into the small town of Walcott, Wyoming. When the train rolled away, continuing its journey on to the coast, Kennedy had a moment of indecision. He was used to big buildings, sidewalks crowded with people, all of whom were in a hurry, streets filled with carriages, trolley. . .