Blood of the Mountain Man Read Online Free PDF

startled Red Lee and his foreman had just ridden up and stared in amazement at the sight before them.
    “Who is that out there?” Smoke asked the locals who were still sitting at a table.
    “Red Lee and Jim Sloane,” he was told. “Big rancher and his foreman.”
    “Is that right?” Smoke said. He found his whiskey, downed what remained of it, and walked out to the boardwalk, using the batwings, about all that was still intact at the front of the saloon.
    Smoke stood on the boardwalk and looked at the two men for a few seconds. The big, rough-looking man with red hair returned the stare.
    “I suppose you’re Red Lee,” Smoke said.
    “That’s right. What the hell is going on around here?”
    “Some of your boys decided to get lippy. One of their suggestions was to rope and drag me. I didn’t like the idea.”
    “Damn shore didn’t,” Shell muttered from the water trough. “It was a really bad idea.”
    “Shut up,” Red told him. He returned his gaze to Smoke.
    Smoke said, “You obviously enjoy the notion of your hands riding roughshod over people. So that makes you responsible for whatever happens. The saloon needs to be swept out and straightened up. You do it.”
    The whole town had turned out. At least thirty-five people now stood on the boardwalk, silent and listening and watching.
    Red’s expression was priceless. It took him a moment to find his voice. ‘You want me to do what?”
    “Swamp out the saloon.”
    “When Hell freezes over,” Red said.
    “Oh, it’ll be before then.” Smoke’s hand flashed and his .44 came out spitting fire and lead. The bullets howled and screamed around the hooves of Red’s horse. The animal panicked and reared up, dumping Red on his butt in the street. The foreman was frantically fighting to get his own horse under control.
    Smoke could move with deceptive speed for a man of his size. He was off the boardwalk and in the street in the blink of an eye. He jerked the foreman out of the saddle and threw him down in the dirt on his belly, momentarily addling the man. He turned and planted a big fist smack on the side of Red’s jaw. The rancher went down like a brick.
    Smoke jerked their guns from leather and tucked them behind his own belt. Jim got to his boots just in time to feel a hard hand gripping his neck and another hand gathering up denim at the seat of his pants. The foreman felt himself propelled out of the street, up on the boardwalk and then through the broken window. He slid on his face for a few feet before his face came to rest against a full cuspidor.
    Jim looked up to see his boss come sailing through the other broken window. Red Lee landed hard on his belly and slid a couple of yards, coming to an abrupt halt when his head banged against the front of the bar.
    The bartender had long since exited out the back door and hastily beat it over to the barbershop. He and barber were standing by the front window, watching.
    “Who is that man?” the bartender asked.
    “Damned if I know,” the barber replied. “But he’s sure a one-man wreckin’ crew.”
    Over at the saloon, the bulk of Smoke Jensen filled the pushed-open batwings. His hands were filled with guns taken from the still addled hands of Red Lee. “Find some brooms and dustpans,” he told the men on the floor. “And get busy.”
    “You’re a dead man,” Red Lee said, his voice harsh and filled with hatred.
    Smoke tossed him a pistol. The six-shooter landed on the floor, inches from the rancher.
    “You want to try your luck, be my guest,” Smoke told him.
    Outside, Ned had climbed out of the water trough and was slopping around. The liveryman ran over and whispered in his ear, and Ned damn near fainted. He squished up to the boardwalk and over to a busted window.
    “Boss? Dyer just read the brand on that stranger horse. “That’s Smoke Jensen, Boss.”

    The saloon had never been so clean. Ned, Shell and Carl pitched in and the five of them worked i it until it shone. Smoke sat at