Triumph of the Mountain Man Read Online Free PDF

asked if I’d come take a look.”
    â€œAnd are you?”
    Smoke nodded. “Leavin’ today, Monte. Train to Raton, then trail it from there. But, I feel bad about leaving you here all bunged up.”
    Monte tried to make little of it. “Not much happens in Big Rock anymore. My deputies can handle it.”
    â€œAfter that list you gave me yesterday, and what we ran into, I’d say your ‘not much’ is a bit of an exaggeration.” Smoke tipped back the brim of his Stetson. “Well, I have to get to the depot. Look out for yourself, Monte. And do what the doctor says.”
    Monte scowled, then gave a feeble wave. “Watch yer back trail.”
    Smoke turned for the door. “I have a feelin’ I’m going to have to.”

3
    On the train south, Smoke Jensen settled into his Pullman car with a copy of the Denver Dispatch and sat in the plush seat that would become part of his sleeping berth. The editorial page contained the usual harangue about the lawlessness of the miners and smelter workers. Someone named Wilbert Clampton had a piece on the subject of temperance. According to him, Demon Rum was soaking the brains and inflaming the passions of the lower classes. Until Denver banned liquor, the depredations chronicled elsewhere in the newspaper would only continue and increase. A moderate man in his drinking habits, Smoke could not find the energy to get worked up over Clampton’s cry for abstinence. After twenty minutes and a dozen miles had gone by, Smoke put the paper aside. Immediately he noticed an attractive young woman seated in the same car.
    She smiled in his direction with her eyes as well as her lips, then dabbed at her mouth with a dainty square of white linen. Her heart-shaped face was framed by a nest of small, blond curls. That and her expensive clothes added to her allure. Fiercely loyal to his beloved Sally, Smoke made only the lightest of passing acknowledgment to her discreet flirtation. The rail carriage swayed gently as the train rolled through the high mountains. Up ahead, Smoke knew, his two horses, a sturdy pack animal and Cougar, would be comfortable in padded stalls in a special car. The expense of such travel conveniences had grown steeply over the past few years. Yet, he could afford it. Blooded horses brought good money. Far more so than cattle. Smoke went back to his newspaper.
    There was talk again of building a canal across Central America to speed ship passage. More for cargo, Smoke knew, than passengers. With the nation linked from coast to coast with steel rails, the hazards of a sea voyage could be easily abandoned for the more secure railroads. At least with the James gang out of business, there seemed little possibility of robberies like those of the past. After completing the speculations on a canal, Smoke reached into an inner coat pocket and removed a twisted tip Marsh Wheeling cigar and came to his boots.
    When he walked past the young woman, on his way to the vestibule for his smoke, she spoke in a melodic, honeyed voice. “Good day.”
    Smoke touched fingertips to the brim of his hat. “Yes, it is.”
    He had barely gotten in four satisfactory puffs when she appeared in the doorway to their car. With a hesitant smile, she came forward. “Excuse me. My name is Winnefred Larkin. Forgive me if this sounds too brazen. But, I’m traveling alone, you see, and I wish to ask you if you would be so kind as to escort me to the dining car later this evening.”
    Smoke hid his smile behind his cigar. “Not at all, Miss Larkin. My name is Jensen, Smoke Jensen. I would be delighted to be your escort.”
    â€œThank you. I am so relieved. Smoke . . . Jensen. What an odd name.”
    â€œIt’s sort of a handle other folks hung on me. My given name is Kirby.” Now why did he say that? Smoke wondered. He hated that name.
    Winnefred made a small moue of her pretty lips. “Then I shall call you Smoke.