Triumph of the Mountain Man Read Online Free PDF Page A

self-defense in the three years since he bought it.
    â€œWhat’s funny, Cliff?”
    â€œI was thinking about my gun, Brice. Do you realize I have not used it, except for practice, in the past three years?”
    Noble nodded to Granger. “That’s what Cole is here for. But, I can tell you I’m looking forward to whatever food they have for us.”
    With a shriek of sand caught between brake shoe and wheel, the stage jolted to a stop. The station agent brought out a four-step platform with which the passengers could dismount. “Welcome to Española, folks. We’ve got some red chili, chicken enchilada and beans inside for you.”
    â€œSounds good,” Cole Granger told him with a big smile.
    Clifton Satterlee saw it differently. “By all that’s holy, don’t you have any white man’s food?”
    â€œNope. Not with a big, fat Mexican cooking for me. She cooks what she knows how to.”
    Satterlee appealed to his partner. “Do you know what that will do to my stomach, Brice?”
    â€œFill it, no doubt.” Then, to the agent, “Do you have any flour tortillas?”
    â€œYep. An’ some sopapillas with honey to finish off with.”
    Stifling a groan, Clifton Satterlee instructed, “I’ll start with those.”
    Inside, over savory bowls of beef stewed with onions, garlic, and red chili peppers, corn tortillas stuffed with chicken, onions, black olives, cheese, sauce, the driver and guard joined in demolishing the ample food laid out for the occupants of the coach. Satterlee morosely doused the fried dough in an amber pool of honey. After devouring four of the sopapillas, he spoke low to Noble.
    â€œI want you to stay a few days, up to a week, in Taos. Look around, make contact with our people. Make certain they are getting things done. My wife and I will return to Santa Fe two days from now.”
    Brice Noble chewed on the flavorful cubes of meat. He washed them down with beer that had been cooled in the well. “What do you propose doing next?”
    â€œOur people have to accelerate their efforts. We need that timber and damned soon. Our whole lumber business depends upon it. Go after those blasted savages.”
    * * *
    Smoke Jensen stopped in on Monte Carson the next day, before he took the afternoon train south to Denver, where he would change for the run to Raton. He could have taken the AT&SF to Santa Fe, but he wanted to catch what word there might be running up and down the trail. Monte was awake when Smoke entered the infirmary. His skin held a pallor, and his response when he turned his head and saw Smoke was weak.
    â€œSmoke, good you came. Maybe you can talk sense to the man.”
    â€œWhat’s that about?”
    â€œThat croaker, Simpson, says I have to stay here for two, maybe three weeks. Then some kind of operation by a doctor from Denver.”
    Smoke nodded. “You’ve got a bullet in you, Monte. I’ll tell you what he probably won’t. It’s near your spine. There’s the chance . . . for permanent injury.”
    Monte cut his eyes away from Smoke. “Damn. If that happens, I won’t be fit for anything. Old before my time and stove up. Not a fittin’ end.”
    â€œNo,” Smoke agreed. “At least you would be alive.”
    â€œYou call that alive? Ask me, it’d be nothin’ more than livin’ hell.”
    Smoke decided on a change of subject. “I came to tell you what was in that letter from Don Diego.”
    That brightened the lawman somewhat. “Really? What did the old grandee have to say?”
    Smoke’s fleeting frown framed his words. “There’s trouble brewing out in the Sangre de Cristo. Some feller named Satterlee has it in mind to build himself a little empire. According to Don Diego, he’s not shy about the sort of persuasion his men use to get what he wants. Alvarado’s lost some stock and some cowboys. He