William Johnstone: Butchery of the Mountain Man

“Yes,” Smoke replied. “Yes, I can understand.”

“Hope I didn’t make you mad or nothin’ by bringin’ that up,” Pete said, anxiously.

“No, why should I be mad? It happened, and just about everyone knows that it happened.”

“Yes, sir, just so’s you know I don’t mean nothin’ bad by it. Anyhow, what I’ve heard now is that Iron Bull, he’s the chief of the Crow, has rounded him up twenty warriors from the Big Dog Warrior Society to hunt this feller down and kill him.”

“But there is something I don’t understand. If the Indians killed this man’s wife and child, why isn’t the army involved?” Smoke asked.

“I don’t rightly know why the army ain’t involved, but reckon it’s ’cause it was a squaw and a papoose the Injuns kilt, bein’ as that was who the mountain man was married to. And it’s more ’n likely that the army don’t really care that much about a squaw and a papoose, even if they are married to a white man.”

“I see,” Smoke said. He shook his head. “But I’m afraid I can’t help you. I have no idea as to who it might be.”

“The thing is, whoever it is, what I’ve heered now is that the Crow is out to kill ’im, and they’re sendin’ whole war parties out. It’s come down to bein’ purt’ nigh that feller all by his ownself agin the entire Crow nation. Don’t seem like no fair fight to me.”

“Maybe he’ll leave the country so’s the Crow can’t find ’im,” Preacher suggested.

“No, sir, I don’t think so. This here feller seems to have hisself a lot more guts than he’s got brains, if you know what I mean. He’s bound to just stay up there ’n keep on killin’ Injuns an’ eatin’ their gizzards, till he gets kilt his ownself.”

“I hope that fella didn’t disturb you men none,” the bartender said after Pete went back to join Ned.

“No, he didn’t disturb us. What have you got in the kitchen?”

“Ham and beans.”

Smoke pointed to an empty table. “Bring us some. We’ll be back there.”

“Yes, sir,” the bartender replied.

Smoke and Preacher took their beer with them then walked back to the table in the far corner.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

“It’s him,” Smoke said. “I know it is.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“The man that’s killing the Crow and eating their livers. That has to be John Jackson. Though, I’m not sure he is actually eating their livers.”

“It’s just like you told that cowboy back there,” Preacher said. “You don’t really have no idea who it is. It don’t have to be John, why, it could be purt’ nigh anyone.”

“But I know that John took the Indian girl to be his wife. And there’s been plenty of time for them to have had kids. But there’s something else about it.”

“What’s that?” Preacher asked.

“I feel it.”

Preacher made no teasing response to that. He well knew the value of intuition, though that wasn’t a word he had ever heard. For him, it was best described as feeling it in his gut. And his life had been saved more than once because he had reacted to a feeling in his gut.

“Yeah,” Preacher said. “Well, there is that.”

“I think I’ll just mosey on up there and see for myself.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Preacher asked.

“No, there’s no need.”

“Do you think I’m too old? Sonny, I was dealing with Injuns long before you were born. Even before your pa was born.”

“Preacher, I don’t doubt your courage, your skills, or your ability in dealing with, or fighting against Indians. But John and I may well find ourselves in positions where we have to move fast. You’ve slowed down a mite, and if you are honest with yourself, you’ll admit that.”

Preacher was quiet for a moment, then he nodded, and stood. “I guess I’d better get myself on back up to my cabin now. As old and as slow as I am, it’ll more ’n likely take me a month or two to get there.”

For just a moment, Smoke thought Preacher was hurt, then he saw the smile on the old man’s face.

“You take care, young ’un,” he said, grabbing Smoke’s hand.

“I will,” Smoke promised.

[ It was the underground telegraph I alluded to in my previous editorial insert that first alerted Smoke Jensen to the fact that his friend was in a personal struggle. Jackson had killed at least ten braves and Iron Bull sent twenty of his most fearsome warriors to kill Jackson.

Smoke valued friendship and loyalty above all other personal traits, so he left Colorado to look for Jackson, not to stop him, but to help him. He wasn’t sure he believed the part about John eating the livers of the Indians he killed, but there was no doubt that his friend was being hunted. Smoke rushed in to help, knowing it wouldn’t be easy.—ED. ]

Old Main Building

Professor Armbruster laughed. “Gizzards? Did that cowboy really think that human beings had gizzards?”

“Well, you have to understand, Professor, most cowboys had seen the innards of animals and people, but except for the heart, and maybe the lungs, most of them wouldn’t know the difference between a pancreas and a spleen.” Smoke laughed as well. “Hell, I’m not sure I could pick out a liver from any of the other human organs. But at least I’ve always known that we didn’t have gizzards.”

“What did you think when you learned that the army had no intention of intervening on behalf of your friend?”

“To be honest with you, Professor, I don’t really know that I gave it much thought at all. I just sort of figured that this was a personal war between John and the Crow, and I calculated that the odds were way against him, so I decided to go up and see if I could lend him a hand.”

“Did you go up to Montana and look for John Jackson as soon as you heard that he was in trouble?” Professor Armbruster asked.

“Yes,” Smoke replied. “Well, I say yes. I didn’t actually leave until after I returned home to tell Sally what I was doing.”

“How did she feel about that? I mean, you hadn’t been married all that long then. Did she understand that this was something you had to do? And was she all right with that?”

“We hadn’t been married too long then, that’s true,” Smoke said. “But Sally always was a very smart woman, and she knew, right away, what kind of man I was. From the very beginning she told me that she wouldn’t get in the way if I had to do something that, in her words, ‘was a matter of conscience or honor.’ So, yes, she was all right with it.”

Sugarloaf Ranch

Smoke and Sally were sitting on the front porch watching a couple of the cowboys pitching horseshoes.

There was a clang, then a yell of triumph. “Ha! I got me a leaner!”

“Yeah? Well watch this.”

The next cowboy threw and his horseshoe knocked the leaner away, then fell down, ringing the stob.

The other cowboys yelled in approval.

“Look at that, would you? Mack is good!”

“He ain’t good, he’s just lucky,” the first cowboy said, dejectedly.

“You’ve got something to tell me, don’t you, Smoke?” Sally asked.

“What makes you think that?”

“I know you, Smoke. I can read you like a book.”

Smoke chuckled. “I guess I better never lie to you, huh?”

Sally laughed. “You couldn’t lie to me if you tried. Now, what is it you have to tell me?”

“You remember me telling you about John Jackson?”

“Of course I remember. You spent a year with him, teaching him how to become a westerner.”

“I need to go see him.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so? I’d love to meet him. Didn’t you say he got married? Oh, don’t tell me,” she added excitedly. “They have a child now. Of course you must go. We must go.”