William Johnstone - Code of the Mountain Man

He did not think of Sally or his children. He had no thoughts of friends or family. He forced everything except survival from his mind. He had told Louis where he had cached supplies and his horses. If he died in this valley, Louis would see to his stock.

Just as dawn was streaking the sky with lances of silver and gold, Smoke Jensen, the last mountain man, threw back his head and screamed like an enraged panther.

The chirping of awakening birds and chattering of playing squirrels ceased as the terrible scream cut through the forest and echoed around the mountains.

Smoke was telling his enemies to come on; he was ready to meet them.

* * *

"My God!” Mills said, standing at the base of the mountain where so many men had died of gunshots and the avalanche. The sunlight was bright on the side of the slope, the rays reflecting off of dark splotches of dried blood.

“The rumbling we heard yesterday,” Larry said.

“Yes,” Moss replied, looking at the hands and arms and legs sticking out from under tons of rock. His eyes touched upon what was left of two men who’d been crushed under huge boulders, the boulders rolling on after doing their damage.

“I can say in all honesty, I have never seen anything like this,” Winston said.

“Do you suppose the fight is over?” Sharp asked.

“No,” Albert called, squatting down off the rock face. “A group of men rode out of here. Heading that way.” He pointed.

Mills consulted a map he’d purchased at the assayer’s office. “If Smoke is still behind this death mountain, he’s probably trapped. According to this, there is only one way in and one way out of that little valley. And you can bet the outlaws and bounty hunters know it and have sealed off the entrance.”

“How far are we from the mouth of that pass?”

Larry asked.

“I’m not sure, but—”

The sounds of a shot echoed to them.

“It’s started,” Hugh said.

Smoke opened the dance, His .44-.40 barked, the slug taking Dumas in the throat. The outlaw gasped and gurgled horribly and died as he watched his life’s blood gush from the gaping wound.

Smoke lay about seventy-five yards from the mouth of the pass and watched and waited with all the patience of a great puma sunning itself.

“We got ourselves an em-pass-see goin’ here,”

Tom Post said.

“A what?” Lee asked.

“We can’t go in, and he can’t come out.”

Rod and Randy giggled.

One-Eye looked at Morris Pattin and shook his head in disgust. Morris nodded his head in complete agreement.

“We got to go in,” Luttie said. “We got to get him. It’s a matter of honor, now. We’re finished in this country. No matter what, we’re done here.”

Ed and Curt exchanged glances and began crawling toward the mouth of the pass. They passed the bloody body of Dumas and tried not to look at it. Slowly, one by one, the others followed them, staying low on their bellies, offering Smoke no target. They knew that some of them were going to die breeching the mouth of that narrow pass. They also knew that once inside, they could track Smoke Jensen down and kill him. The money was unimportant now. Not even a secondary thought. Their honor was at stake. One man, Smoke Jensen, with a little help, had nearly destroyed a huge gang. He had to pay. That was their code.

They understood it, and Smoke Jensen understood it.

Bobby Jackson jumped up and ran toward the rocky mouth of the pass, firing as fast as he could work the lever of his rifle. Smoke put a slug into his belly, and the man folded up on the ground, his rifle clattering on the rocks.

But four outlaws had worked a dozen yards closer to the entrance.

A bounty hunter called Booker ran into the clearing and jumped for cover. He almost made it through unscathed. Smoke’s .44-.40 barked, and the slug hit Booker in the hip, turning him in the air. He hit the ground hollering in pain. But he was inside the valley and still holding onto his rifle.

“Come on!” Booker shouted, and began laying down a withering fire, forcing Smoke to keep his head down.

Tom Post, Martine, and Mac made it inside the valley and fanned out. Smoke saw them and backed up, crawling on his belly into a thick stand of timber. The other manhunters poured into the valley, sensing victory. That was very premature thinking on their part.

A rifle slug grazed the side of Smoke’s head, knocking him to one side and addling him for several moments. He felt the warm stickiness of blood oozing down his cheek. He forced himself to ignore it as he shifted positions.

Smoke found better cover and sighted in on a man. Mac took the slug just below his belt buckle and hit the ground howling, unable to move his legs. The bullet had angled up and exited out his back, tearing his spinal cord. Keno dragged the screaming man back toward the entrance to the valley.

“I cain’t move my legs!” Mac hollered. “I’m crippled. Finish me, Keno.”

“All right,” the outlaw said, and shot the man between the eyes.

Outside the valley, reporters and the curious had gathered nearby, but not so close as to risk getting shot. After Louis and Sally had told their stories, the town of Rio emptied in a rush. Saloonkeepers had set up shop and were doing a brisk business in the wilderness. They kept people busy racing back and forth to town for more whiskey.

Sally was bathing in Louis’ quarters. She had no intention of returning to the wilderness. She would be waiting here for her man—when he returned. Not if. When. Louis had posted one of his men at the front and at the back of his quarters, with orders to shoot to kill any man who tried to breech Sally’s privacy.

Louis was sitting by Charlie Starr’s side, in a chair by the bed. Charlie was pale and hurting, but getting stronger.

“I know that valley,” Charlie said. “Found it with Kit back in ’48. Peaceful, pretty little place.”

“It isn’t peaceful now,” Louis told him.

“How many you guess are in there after him?”

“Twenty to thirty.”

“He’ll take lead.”

“He knows it. And so does Sally. But this last round is his. He told me so.”

“It’s got to be that way, Louis. It’s the code of the mountain man. Preacher taught him that. You and me, we just shortened the odds some.” He sighed. “I’ve known that boy for a long time. Me and Preacher went way back together. Them gunnies in that valley now, they don’t really know what they’re up agin. It’s been play time so far. Now Smokes gonna get nasty. He laid in his blankets this mornin’ and put ever’thing out of his mind except stayin’ alive. He Injuned and made his peace with the gods. Asked the wind and the rain and the lightning and the animals and the trees and the mountains to help him. He’s not quite human now, Louis. And as bad hurt as he might get, when this is over, he might stay up there for several hours or several days, fixin’ his mind so’s he can once more be fit to associate with normal human bein’s. Depends on how bad it gets in his head.”

Louis stirred in his chair. “I never saw him the way you just described him.”

“Be thankful. It’s a fearsome sight.”

Lilly came in and shooed Louis out. She took a bottle of sleeping medicine from the bureau and poured a tablespoon full. Charlie took it without grumbling. He smiled at the madam.

“When I get my strength back, I’m gonna repay you, Lilly.” He winked.

She returned the wink. “The saddle’ll be ready for you to ride, Charlie. Now go to sleep.” She drew the curtains to the small quarters in the big wagon. As she stepped down to the ground, her eyes flicked to the mountains. She’d been knowing Smoke Jensen ever since he was just a little tadpole roaming the country with that old reprobate Preacher. She’d heard Charlie telling Louis about how Smoke turned into some sort of unstoppable inhuman creature when he got all worked up. She knew it to be fact. She’d seen it one time. She hoped to God she never had to see it again. But she would, at least one more time. And soon.