Pursuit Of The Mountain Man Read Online Free PDF

livery and stood for a moment in the darkness of the huge barn, studying the horses at the hitchrail in front of the saloon.
    “Those two horses over yonder,” he asked the boy. “They local brands?”
    “Naw,” the lad replied. “They come in this mornin’. From the south. Hardcases, they look to me. Askin’ questions about any strangers in town. You look familiar, mister. Are you famous, or something?”
    Smoke smiled. “In a way that I did not choose,” he told the boy, then gave him a silver dollar. “That’s for you. Rub my horses down good and give them grain. Watch that Appaloosa; he’ll kick the snot out of you if you aggravate him.”
    “I seen you on the cover of a book!” the boy said. “You’re Smoke Jensen, the gunfighter. Jeepers! Smoke Jensen is standin’ right here in front of me!”
    “I’m Jensen. Does that little cafe over there serve up good meals?”
    “Yes, sir. It’s the best place in town to eat.” He thought about that. “It’s the only place in town to eat.”
    “Fine. I want me a meal, a bath and a shave, and I can’t do any of that until I get those two gunhands over there in the saloon off my back.”
    “Is there gonna be a shoot-out?” the boy asked excitedly.
    “I hope not. But there might be a pretty good fist-fight in a few minutes. Is there a back door to that saloon?”
    “Yes, sir. You can duck around the side of this barn and come up from the north. That’s a blind side.”
    “Fine. Now you keep still about me being in town for a few minutes. Then you can tell your friends. All right?”
    “Anything you say, sir. Yes, sir.”
    “Where’s the marshal?”
    “Out of town chasin’ a thief. Stole a horse and rode right through Mrs. MacKenney’s wash. Took her drawers slap off the line. She ain’t found ’em yet.”
    Smoke laughed at that. “Is there a jail?”
    “Right over yonder.” He pointed up the street. “Got four cells.”
    “I’ll just need one. Do my horses right now, you hear?”
    “Oh, yes, sir!”
    Smoke stepped out the back of the livery and walked the alley to the edge of the small town. He crossed the street and cut back toward the saloon, taking the alley route. If his plan worked out, von Hausen was going to be plenty miffed. Smoke thought that might do the arrogant baron some good. Or count, or whatever he was. Smoke had a pretty good idea what he was, but that wasn’t printable.
    Smoke found the rear door to the saloon-easily done because of the mound of broken whiskey bottles and beer kegs-and slipped inside. He made his way through the gloom and peeked through a hole in the wall. He could tell the regular patrons because they were staying well away from the two trail-dusty, sweat-stained and unshaven men standing at the bar.
    Smoke opened the door and stepped inside the barroom. He walked up to the bar and told the barkeep, “Beer.”
    Lou Kennedy and Pride Anderson glanced at each other. Both of them wore very startled looks on their ugly faces.
    The mug of beer was placed in front of Smoke and he took a sip. Bootsteps sounded on the short boardwalk in front of the saloon. A young man hurried inside, sat down at a table, and whispered something to the men seated there. The men all took a quick glance at Smoke, their eyes wide.
    The barkeep waddled over to the table and listened. He looked at Smoke and at the two men standing at the bar. “Bar’s closed,” he announced, and sat down at the table.
    Smoke dropped his right hand down to the butt of his gun. “Before I kill a man, or in this case, two men, I like to know their names.”
    “Oh, Lord!” a farmer-type said. “Somebody call the law!”
    “Shut up,” a cowboy seated across the room said. “Remember me, Mister Smoke?” he asked. “I rode for you down on the Sugarloaf two, three years ago. Dusty Hill.”
    “Dusty. Sure. But you stay out of this. They got any friends in town?”
    “I don’t think so. I’ll watch your back, Mr. Smoke.”
    “Good