Cunning of the Mountain Man by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Westerns, (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯), Fiction
ISBN: 9780786015122
Publisher: Pinnacle
Published: 2001-10-01T05:00:00+00:00

Out at the Tucker ranch, Smoke Jensen made his own plans for the day of Benton-Howell’s big fiesta. He wanted to be on hand to inspect the layout firsthand. To do so, he would have to make a scout of the place. And that night seemed ideally suited to his needs. He asked Martha Tucker for directions and rode out an hour before sundown.

While midnight beckoned with stygian darkness, Smoke Jensen crested a pinon-studded ridge and started down the back slope. Only the scant, frosty light of stars illuminated his surroundings. Well and good, Smoke thought to himself. If Benton-Howell had night riders posted, he had a better chance of eluding them this night. What he had in mind could all go up in a flash, if some nighthawk stumbled on him prematurely.

Might be he was overcautious, Smoke decided, as he descended the eastern grade that formed the bowl valley which housed the B-Bar-H. The thicket of trees grew denser the further he drifted toward the distant ranch house. He wanted to check out sites within long-rifle range of the area where the fiesta would be held in the event he needed to make use of them.

Smoke had used this tactic with telling effect in earlier confrontations with some of the evil trash that infested the frontier. Not one to discard a useful strategy, he always considered employing it when presented the opportunity. Preacher had seen to it that a much younger Smoke Jensen had learned to be an effective fighter, even when entirely alone. Yet, he didn’t like being out of contact with Jeff York. No idea what might develop there. He had to live with it, though.

The widespread nature of this sinister business made it necessary to go at it from more than one direction at a time. He recalled situations in the past when it would have been convenient to be able to divide himself in two or even three parts. A sudden flare of yellow light alerted Smoke that Benton-Howell had put out sentries.

Not very smart ones, at that. The flare of a match not only gave away the position of a guard but destroyed his night vision long enough for him to lose his hair, if there were Indians about. One of the first lessons Preacher had taught him, Smoke thought grimly. Now he would have to find out how many there might be, and where.

Smoke combined his missions. He worked his way with great caution around the crescent face of the ridge through the long hours of early morning. A thin line of gray brightened the eastern horizon when he finished scouting the ranch. Another hour on foot took him away from the area far enough so that he could risk mounting and riding off toward the Tucker spread.

It would take some doing, but he could spoil Benton-Howell’s little party right easily. “And that’s the way I like it,” Smoke said aloud to himself.

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