William Johnstone: Battle of the Mountain Man

“Maybe he’s just too young to know to be scared,” Jessie offered.

Pickett shook his head. “Age ain’t got all that much to do with it. It’s what’s in a man’s backbone that counts. He sure did look plumb silly in that ol’ hat, an’ them’s the worst-lookin’ buck teeth I ever saw. But there may come a time when you wish you’d have let ’em hire on with us. I hope I’m dead wrong about it, that we won’t be wishin’ we had Mr. William Bonney on our side of this fight.” Nine

Smoke’s chest and arms glistened with sweat as he split the last of yet another cord of wood piled beside the cabin. It had been hard at first, to see Puma’s old log dwelling where he and the Ute girl had lived so long ago, until smallpox took her. There were so many memories here for Smoke, and as colorful fall leaves swirled around him, with the coming of winter he couldn’t help a recollection or two, of time he spent with Puma in this aspen forest back when they were younger men, and it saddened him some to think of Puma being gone forever. He told himself that wherever Puma was, there would be mountains and rivers and clear streams.

On the ride up to the cabin he and Sally talked about their plans for an improved cow herd, the Hereford bulls and what Sally said was sure to be a way to raise crossbred breeding stock for the future. Smoke even told her about another idea he’d been toying with… to buy a Morgan stallion to cross on their mustang and thoroughbred mares, adding strength and muscle and short-distance speed to the offspring. On the way down to New Mexico he planned to inquire about purchasing a Morgan stud. He grinned when he thought about their three-day trip up to Puma’s cabin, how infectious Sally’s enthusiasm was when she talked about the Hereford crosses. She was a rancher at heart, with a natural gift for handling livestock, better than most experienced men who made a living off raising cattle. But Smoke’s grin was far more than amusement over her excitement when she talked about their future plans… it was an unconscious way of showing how much he loved her. He’d decided long ago that Sally had been the best thing that had ever happened to him. She had changed his life and he often wished for the words to tell her how much she truly meant to him.

Smoke rested the axe against the splitting stump and took a look northward. A line of dark clouds was building along the horizon. At these higher altitudes, a storm would mean snow, the first snowstorm announcing the coming of winter. They’d just barely had time to unpack the packhorses, clean out the abandoned cabin and stretch cured deer hides over the windows and rifle ports, repair rawhide hinges on crude plank doors, and clean out the rock chimney. Sally was inside now, fashioning hanging racks for their heavy winter clothing and other essentials, after putting their food staples away on what was left of the shelves Puma had made near the fireplace. They had plenty of warm blankets and a thick buffalo robe given to Smoke by a Shoshoni warrior years back. Last night, Smoke had held Sally in his arms atop that furry buffalo skin, watching her eyes sparkle in the firelight when he kissed her. He vowed to make this winter with her a special time, away from the day-to-day chores around the ranch which were now being done by Pearlie, Cal, and Johnny North… what little there was to do with no beef cattle on the place, only the horse herd and old Rosie, their Jersey milk cow, to attend to. Smoke knew Sally needed the rest as much as he did, not only from ranch work but away from the troubles that seemed to follow Smoke Jensen no matter how peacefully he tried to live now. Trouble had a way of finding him, and he hoped it wouldn’t track him down here, in a beautiful mountain valley near the headwaters of the White River, roughly eight thousand feet into the Rockies, where few white men had ever traveled, formerly the hunting ground of the Utes until a treaty with Washington moved them farther west. Here, Smoke could be at peace, spending time alone with his beloved Sally.

Falling aspen leaves showered to the forest floor, a mix of reds, bright yellows, and every shade of brown. Towering ponderosa pines grew thick on the slopes around them. The scent of pine was strong in the air, mingling with the smell of smoke coming from the chimney as Sally prepared their supper. They had plenty of foodstuffs and clothing, and enough firewood for even the most brutal winter, after almost a week of hard labor gathering dead limbs and fallen tree trunks. It had been a wonderful time, as was the ride up with Sally. If it were possible, he loved her more deeply with each passing day.

He heard light footfalls behind him.

“You must be getting old, darling,” Sally said, smiling one of her memorable smiles. “I’ve never seen you needing a rest so often. You used to be able to chop wood all day without stopping to catch your breath every five minutes. I may have to look for a younger man, if this keeps up.”

“A younger man would refuse to take all this punishment from a woman, no matter how pretty she was. I’m only slave labor, in your opinion. That would be just like you, to throw me away for a younger man as soon as I’ve chopped and split all this firewood to keep us warm.”

“A younger man could have finished this job in half the time and still had something left for me.”

He turned to her, hard muscles gleaming in the sunlight. “I may have a surprise for you tonight, Mrs. Jensen,” he told her with mock seriousness. “I may be getting a little long in the tooth, but I can still chop wood all day and make love all night. I hope you feel up to it.”

Her smile only widened. “I think I’m developing a headache just now. Maybe another time. Ask me in the spring.”

He sauntered over and put his arms around her, staring down into her eyes. “Be careful, pretty lady, or you might force me to tear your clothes off right now and throw you down on a bed of pine needles. I’m not buying any headache stories.”

She forced a frown, giving a halfhearted attempt to pull away from his embrace. “You’re an animal. I’ve known it for years. You only brought me up here so you could use me, and I won’t stand for it. I’ll scream.”

He chuckled. “No one will hear you, except for a few grizzlies or an elk or two. Scream your head off, for all I care. I’m taking what’s mine.”

“You think of me as a piece of property?”

“My property, and if any younger man lays a hand on you I swear I’ll kill him. You can include older men in that same bunch.” He scowled.

Sally tried to conceal the beginnings of a grin. “Not only are you an animal, but you’re violent, a savage beast. I should have listened to my mother. She warned me about you.“

He maintained a stern expression “She did? Exactly what did she say?”

Now Sally was serious for a moment. “She told me that some men are loners, that they can’t be tamed or tied to one woman or the same piece of ground for very long. She said it was bred in them, and that I’d never change you from being a solitary mountain man or a drifter.”

“She was wrong,” he whispered, bending down to kiss her gently on the lips. “She didn’t give her daughter enough credit for knowing how to change a man’s ways.”

She stared deeply into his eyes. “Some things about you will never change, my darling,” she told him softly. “You’ll always be just a push or a shove away from another fight. You are two different people. One is the gentle man I love so dearly who can’t seem to stop showing me or telling me how much he loves me. Then there’s the other Smoke Jensen, the man almost everyone in Colorado Territory fears. It’s hard to describe, how you can change so quickly. One wrong word, a wrong look, a wrong deed, and you become someone I scarcely recognize. It’s not that you can’t control your temper… You always seem calm, in control of yourself. But when you get your mind set to go after another man, or a dozen men, for whatever reason, you can’t be talked out of it. Not even by me, not even when you know how much it frightens me when I think about the possibility of losing you.”