William Johnstone - Battle of the Mountain Man

He stood up and cast a sweeping look at the snowy mountain peaks around them. “I’ll hate to leave here. I reckon there’ll always be a part of me wanting to stay in this high country from time to time.” He smiled at her. “Especially with you. But like you said, we’ve got a ranch to run and miles to travel to make our plans for the future work out. We can start packing gear today and leave at first light tomorrow. It’ll be slower, going down with all this snow on the ground. We should be back at Sugarloaf in four days.”

“It’ll be good to see Pearlie and Cal and Johnny,” she said after a bit. “I didn’t realize I’d miss them so much. I guess they’re like a part of the family, almost. When I saw you with Huggie and Del, or Grizzly this winter it made me happy to hear you talk about what it was like to be one of them. You seemed to really be enjoying yourself.”

“I was,” he answered truthfully. “It was good to see them again, to talk about old times. I was sorry to hear Happy Jack got killed by that grizzly last spring, but a mother with cubs can be one of the most dangerous animals on earth. Griz Cole knows bears better’n anybody, and he said Happy Jack never did give ’em enough room. Carelessness caught up with him, I reckon. And none of ’em knew for sure what ever happened to Preacher.”

She placed her hand in the crook of his arm. “Still, this was the most peaceful winter we ever spent together, and I’m so grateful for that, I’ll always remember it, and how gentle you can be. The only time you used a gun was to hunt fresh meat, and I’m grateful for that too.”

“Maybe I’ve changed,” he told her. “Let’s get started with that packing. Won’t be as much to carry going down, so our pack animals will have an easier time of it.”

She smiled and kissed him lightly. “I love you, Mr. Jensen.”

“I love you too, Mrs. Jensen. Maybe I didn’t realize just how much until we spent this peaceful winter together. It made me realize just how important you are to me.”

She tilted her head, still smiling. “Maybe you have changed your ways, darling. Those are some mighty sweet words coming out of your mouth this morning. Maybe the old Smoke Jensen is gone for good, so I won’t have to worry so much…”

Pearlie and Cal and Johnny shook hands with Smoke and Cal gave Sally a hug, still being part boy despite a fast growing up riding alongside Smoke in a few tight spots.

“Everything’s plumb satisfactory,” Pearlie said. “Only had this one aggravation all winter long.”

Smoke’s expression clouded. “And what was that?”

“That feller Ned Buntline showed up, wearin’ this derby hat like he belonged in Saint Louis or somewheres. Asked to talk to you. I told him you was gone fer the winter.”

Cal ’s face brightened. “He told me all about how he writes those dime novels. And you ain’t gonna believe this! He wants to write one about you!”

Pearlie wagged his head before Smoke could disagree. “I went an’ told him he’d be wastin’ his time, that you wasn’t gonna tell him a damn thing. He acted real disappointed. Then he told us this crazy story, ’bout some feller up near Willow Creek Pass who wore this albino buffalo robe. Buntline said he never saw his face or got his name, but he told us that feller saved his life when his mule run off. Built a fire so he wouldn’t freeze to death, and tied his mule up fer him. Buntline said he was an ornery cuss. Wouldn’t answer a single question ’bout who he was or how come him to be way up there. Downright unusual, fer a man to own an albino buffalo skin. Ain’t seen but two my whole life, an’ they was way off, wild as deer.”

Smoke turned northwest, looking at the distant peaks outlined against a clear sky. Had Ned Buntline accidentally run into Preacher up there somewhere? He was reminded of the story Del had told him about the unusual footprint at Willow Creek Pass, not real proof of anything. Bundine’s story might only be the product of a fertile imagination of the type he used to write his books.

He spoke to Pearlie. “Ride to the neighboring ranches, the Walker spread and Bob Williams’s place. Ask them if they want to ride with us down to New Mexico Territory at the end of next week to pick up those Hereford bulls.”

“We leavin’ that soon?” Pearlie asked. “It’s still a touch on the chilly side.”

“It’s a long trip, and comin’ back with those gentle bulls will be slow,” Smoke answered. “We’ll leave next Friday, and anybody who wants to ride along with us is welcome company.”

“I’ll ride to the Williams place,” Johnny offered, as Cal was helping unload the packhorses. “One thing, Mr. Jensen,” he added, glancing over to Sally as she went in the house with an armload of winter clothes. “While I was in Big Rock the other day, Mr. Longmont said he read somethin’ in the Denver newspaper, that there was big trouble down in New Mexico. Folks are callin’ it the Lincoln County War, an’ you said Lincoln County was where we had to go to meet Mr. John Chisum an’ pick up them bulls. Mr. Longmont said there was dead bodies all over the place, an’ it might not be a safe place to be.”

While this wasn’t particularly good news, Smoke said, “It isn’t our war, Johnny. We’ll stay out of it If we can.”

Pearlie chuckled. “I never did know you to avoid no kind of war. If there’s any killin’ goin’ on wherever we’s headed, I’m dead sure we’ll get in on our share of it.”

Smoke didn’t want any danger discussed in front of Sally. “Don’t say any more about it, Johnny, not when Sally’s in hearing distance.”

“Yessir. I mean, no sir, I won’t.”

“It’s because she worries too much,” he explained, unsaddling the bay Palouse colt.

Pearlie muttered, as he stripped the saddle off Sally’s mare, “Maybe it’s because she’s got good reason to worry. This outfit ain’t exactly famous fer ridin’ the other way when lead’s flyin’.” Fifteen

They made up quite a group riding south along the base of the Rockies, following a cattle trail that would take them to Durango before they crossed over the New Mexico line, Cal and Pearlie and Johnny, then Cletus Walker and Bob Williams, along with a seasoned cowboy from the Williams ranch by the name of Duke Smith. Smoke left Tinker Warren to help out at the ranch and watch over Sally while they were away. He trusted Tinker, and the old man could shoot straight if he had to, which was just as important as his cowboying skills when Smoke considered he was there to protect the most important thing in his life… Sally.

“Snow’s already melted in this low country,” Pearlie said, “an’ here it is only the middle of April.”

Cletus Walker offered his opinion on the subject. “Ain’t near as pretty this far south, an’ it sure as hell ain’t as good grazin’ land.” Cletus was a stocky man in his fifties, a good neighbor and friend although he and Smoke rarely saw each other, his spread being over ten rugged miles east of Sugarloaf.

“It’s warmer,” Bob Williams remarked, a lanky bachelor who ran cattle in lowlands south of Smoke and Sally, “but I’ll agree with Cletus that this is junk land compared to what we’ve got. There ain’t hardly enough grass most places in this valley to keep a jack-rabbit alive.”

Duke Smith, not much older than Cal, said, “It’s damn sure different all right. I never rode this trail afore, but I been up the Goodnight twice. Believe me, if you figure this part of Colorado ain’t got much grass, wait’ll you see the Goodnight down in the south part of New Mexico. You can count the blades of grass an’ not run out of fingers in some of them stretches along the Pecos.”

Cal had been unusually quiet for several days after they left the ranch. He rode silently beside Smoke as though his mind was on something else. “Down along the Pecos is where they’s havin’ that big fight, accordin’ to Mr. Longmont. Lincoln County is where he said most of it was, an’ that’s right where we’re headed. They’s callin’ it the Lincoln County War, if you’ll remember.”