Last Mountain Man by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone [Johnstone, William W.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: E-Reads, Ltd.
Published: 2010-07-01T07:00:00+00:00

Ten miles out of town, the pair met two hands riding easy, heading into town. Smoke and Preacher sat their saddles in the middle of the range and waited.

“You boys is on TC range,” one of the riders informed them, his voice holding none of the famed western hospitality. “So get the hell off. The boss don’t like strangers and neither do I.”

Smoke smiled. “You boys been ridin’ for the brand long?” he asked congenially.

“You deef?” the second rider asked. “We just told you to get!”

“You answer my question and then maybe we’ll leave.”

“Since ’66, when we pushed the cattle up here from Texas — if it’s any of your damned business. Now git!”

“Who owns the TC?”

“Ted Casey. Boy, are you crazy or just stupid?”

“My Pa knew a Ted Casey. Fought in the war with him, for the Gray.”

“Oh? What be your name?”

“Some people call me Smoke.” He smiled. “Jensen.”

Recognition flared in the eyes of the riders. They grabbed for their guns but they were far too slow. Smoke’s left-hand .36 belched flame and black smoke as Preacher fired his Henry one-handed. Horses reared and screamed and bucked at the noise, and the TC riders were dropped from their saddles, dead and dying.

The one TC rider alive pulled himself up on one elbow. Blood poured through two chest wounds, the blood pink and frothy, one .36 ball passing through both lungs, taking the rider as he turned in the saddle.

“Heard you was comin’,” he gasped. “You quick, no doubt ’bout that. Your brother was easy.” He smiled a bloody smile. “Potter shot him low in the back; took him a long time to die.” The rider closed his eyes and fell back to the ground.

“Let’s go clean out the rest of nest of snakes,” Smoke said.

“There may be men at the ranch didn’t have nothin’ to do with your Pa and your brother dyin’.”

“Yes. I have thought about that. I would say they have a small problem.”

“Figured you’d say that, too.”

“He that lies with the dogs, riseth with fleas,” Smoke said with a smile.

“Huh?”

“It was in one of those books I read at the cabin on the Fork.”

“Shoulda burned them gawddamned things. I knowed it all along.”

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