William Johnstone - Code of the Mountain Man

The sharp odor of sweat was all mingled with the smell of blood and gunsmoke, filling the summer air as four men stepped out into the bloody, dusty street. All around the old town were the sprawled bodies of gunhands that had been on the payroll of the three men. They had taken on Smoke Jensen. They had died. Nineteen men had tried to kill Smoke in the ruin of an old ghost town out from Bury. Only three of them were still standing.

Richards, Potter, and Stratton stood at one end of the block. A tall bloody figure stood at the other. All their guns were in leather.

“You son of a bitch!” Stratton screamed, his voice as high-pitched as an hysterical woman. “You’ve ruined it all!” He clawed at his .44.

Smoke drew and fired before Stratton could clear leather. The man fell back on his butt, a startled expression on his face. He closed his eyes and toppled over.

Potter grabbed for his gun. Smoke shot him twice in the chest and holstered his gun before the man had stopped twitching in the dust.

Richards had not moved. He stood with a faint smile on his lips, staring at Smoke.

“You ready to die, Richards?” Smoke called.

“As ready as any man ever is,” Richards replied. There was no sign of fear in his voice. His hands were steady by the butts of his guns. “Your sister, Janey, gone?”

“Yep. She took your money and hauled her ashes out.”

“Trash, that’s what she is.”

“You’ll get no argument from me on that.”

“It’s been a long run, hasn’t it, Jensen?”

“It’s just about over.”

“What happens to all our holdings around here?”

“I don’t care what happens to the mines. The miners can have them. I’m giving all your stock to the decent, honest punchers and homesteaders.”

A puzzled look spread over Richards’ face. “I don’t understand. You did . . . all this!” He waved a hand. “For nothing?”

Someone moaned, the sound painfully inching up the street.

“I did it for my pa, my brother, my wife, and my baby son.” '

“It won’t bring them back.”

“I know.”

“Good God Almighty. I wish I had never heard the name Jensen.”

“You won’t ever hear it again, Richards. Not after this day.”

Richards smiled and drew. He was snake-quick, but hurried his shot, the slug digging up dirt at Smoke’s boots.

Smoke shot the man in the shoulder, spinning him around. Richards grabbed for his left-hand gun, and Smoke fired again, the slug taking the man in the chest. Richards cursed Smoke and tried to lift his Colt. He managed to cock it before Smoke’s third shot took him in the belly and knocked him down to the dirt. He pulled the trigger, blowing dust into his face and eyes. He tried to crawl to his knees but succeeded only in rolling over onto his back, staring at the blue of the sky.

Smoke walked up to the man.

Richards opened his mouth to speak. He tasted blood on his tongue. The light began to fade around him. “You’ll . . . you’ll meet . . .”

Smoke never found out who he was supposed to meet. Richards’ head lolled to one side, and he died.

Smoke holstered his guns and walked away.

“His brother,” Mills said. “Has to be. The judge’s name is Richards.”

“Well, then, he’s just as sorry as his damn brother was,” Smoke said. “And I’ll tell you this, Mills: no man will ever put handcuffs on me. No man.”

“Smoke . . .”

“No man, Mills. That was a fair fight, and judge Richards can go right straight to hell and take his warrants with him.”

Mills wore a crestfallen expression. “What if I’m ordered to arrest you?”

“Tell them you can’t find me. Ignore it. Quit your job. But don’t try to put cuffs on me. The warrants are bogus, Mills. It’s a made-up charge. There were dozens of people who witnessed that fight from the hillsides around the town. Don’t force my hand, Mills. It’s not worth your life, or any other lawman’s life.”

“You’d draw on me, Smoke?” the U.S. Marshal asked in a soft tone.

“If you forced me to do it. Lord knows I don’t want to drag iron against you, or any lawman, for that matter. But I won’t be arrested for something I didn’t do.”

“Smoke, the Marshal’s Service knows you’re here! If judge Richards signs those warrants, I will have no choice but to place you under arrest.”

“We all have choices, Mills. We all come to crossroads sometime in our lives. Many times the legal road is not the right road.”

Mills looked at Earl Sutcliffe. “And you, sir?”

“I stand by Smoke. I’ve talked to too many people who were at that fight in the ghost town. It was exactly as Smoke called it. I can have a dozen of the West’s most famed gunslicks in here in a week . . . all to stand by Smoke Jensen. If you want a bloodbath, just try to arrest Jensen.”

Mills shook his head. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. He and his men left the office.

“Goddamn a bunch of political appointees,” Earl swore, which was something he did rarely. “Your government is becoming like the one I left across the waters: out of control.”

“Can you imagine what it will be like a hundred years from now?” Smoke asked, sitting down and picking up the little puppy from its bed by his desk. Earl grimaced. “That, my friend, is something that boggles the mind. But let’s concentrate on the present. What are you going to do if the judge signs those warrants?” .

“I damn sure won’t be placed under arrest.”

Smoke took paper from his desk and dabbed pen into the ink well. “I’ll write a friend of mine up in Denver. He’s a federal judge. I’ll ask him to look into the matter. I’ll ask him to block those warrants until a complete investigation is done into the matter. I’ll take the legal course until the road ends.”

Earl did not have to ask what Smoke would do once, or if, that legal road came to a blockade. He knew only that if any man tried to arrest Smoke Jensen for something he was innocent of, the streets would run red with blood. And Earl Sutcliffe knew this, too: he would do the same thing.

There comes a time when legal proceedings came into direct conflict with a law-abiding person’s basic human rights.

And this was damn sure one of those times.

Earl walked outside, leaving Smoke’s pen-scratching behind him. He looked up and down the wide street of the tiny village. “Don’t send good men in here to do a bad thing,” he muttered. “Because if you do, you’ll force another good man to turn bad. And I’ll be standing by his side,” he concluded.

Chapter Nine

The stagecoach ran and Smoke had mail. He tore open the letter and quickly scanned the contents. Sheriff Monte Carson of Big Rock wrote that he now had flyers from the United States government proclaiming Smoke Jensen to be an outlaw and a murderer. There was a ten thousand dollar price on his head. Events were moving very fast, and he advised Smoke to haul his ashes out of there until this matter could be resolved.

Smoke showed the letter to Earl.

“I’ll go with you,” the Englishman said.

Smoke nixed that. “I’d appreciate it if you’d stay on here as marshal and deputy sheriff. Mills is going to need help with the outlaws.”

The man met his eyes. “The system is turning against you, yet you still have law and order in your heart. I don’t know that I could feel so magnanimous toward such a system.”

“Without some form of law, the country would revert to anarchy, Earl. I’ll head for the high country and wait until things straighten out. I’ve got some good people working in my behalf.”

“I’ll go purchase a few things for you at the store and arrange for a pack horse. I’ll have things ready to go in a hour. Did Mills receive any mail this run?”