Cemetery Jones 4 by William R. Cox

Author:William R. Cox
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: westerns, the wild west, gunfighters and outlaws, ned buntline, william r cox, piccadilly publishing westerns, cemetery jones western series, alpha male character
Publisher: Piccadilly

Six

Growing up in Montreal, Pierre Lamont had been abandoned, abused, and, worst, ridiculed. Possibly in revolt, he had become fascinated with firearms. Always he had been apart from his contemporaries. He was known to them as ‘the White Rabbit,’ or ‘the Crazy Mouse.’ He was an albino, complete to the pink eyes.

In the underworld of the ancient city, however, Pierre Lamont became known as King Rat. His close companion was a harelip youth, who lost an eye in combat with the police and was known as the Mouth. Between them they developed a coterie of young men who robbed anywhere there was plunder. By the time they were in their twenties they had put together, at Lamont’s insistence, a cache of guns and ammunition. It was then they escaped a raid by the law and crossed into the United States with a wagonful of weaponry and began their career as arms merchants.

Lamont had, because of his early persistent interest, become an expert gunsmith. The Mouth, real name Vincent Lamour, was his able assistant in the craft. Since there was a demand for arms always, everywhere, the team was successful. Moving ever westward, building, expanding, hiring and firing cohorts, they had now come to Montana and been caught in a downpour and had lost a wheel en route to the rendezvous with Deke Harvey on Silver Mountain.

There were three men with the leaders, toughened veterans of the conscienceless trade. All knew wagons and horses. It was merely a matter of time before they could repair the wheel and go on their way. Still, there must be word for Harvey. Lamont considered the situation as the rain lessened, leaving treacherous mud as an obstacle.

Lamont was a man of no morals, no conscience. The money he made was spent on gambling and women, and well he knew that he was forever an object of curiosity, indeed aversion. Yet his business depended upon his reputation for keeping his word. That he did to the utmost of his ability. Now he must keep faith with Deke Harvey, whom he heartily despised.

He said, “Vince, send Pawnee to the Hole.”

The Indian known only as ‘Pawnee’ said from the shelter of the wagon, “I dunno the Hole.”

“Straight ahead and they’ll see you,” Lamont said patiently. He needed the Indian right now. Later there would he reprisal for insubordination, however insignificant. “Go.”

The coldness of his voice brought the Indian from the wagon and sent him on the way, rifle on his back. Lamont climbed to the wagon seat and waited for the rain to stop. The accident had happened. There was only one way to proceed; he refused to worry. He was a man unto himself; he made his own laws and obeyed them.

It was midmorning when Sam Jones rode into the tiny town of Peapack. The sun hung above fleecy clouds and all seemed peaceful. But when he stopped at the livery stable to have his horse cared for, the proprietor was wearing a Colt and had a rifle leaning against the stable door.

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