Ordeal of the Mountain Man by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone [Johnstone, William W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2014-02-26T05:00:00+00:00

Another cold camp. From a close examination of the hoof prints, Smoke determined that they had quickly closed the gap. The width of the trail indicated that the rustlers were indeed having trouble with the herd. Obviously not experienced wranglers, they let the horses spread out too far, making control difficult. Their nearness continued to gnaw on Smoke.

There would be no chance to retake the herd with so few able-bodied men. The best he could hope for would be to continue to keep watch and wait for reinforcements. After a supper of antelope ham and cold biscuits, Smoke felt it necessary to reassure Della. He took her aside.

“I don’t want you worrying about Tommy, or yourself and the girls. I have no intention of going after those horses without a lot more gun-hands than I have. We’ll trail along, keep out of sight and wait.”

“I’m so relieved.” Della waved a hand in a half-circle gesture that encompassed the terrain and their condition as well. “All of this. It’s . . . it’s so bizarre. Outlaws stealing horses, raiding our ranch and burning it. Now chasing after these evil men. It was not like that back east. Not at all. We were—always so safe.”

“Yes, but didn’t you notice how much freedom you had to give up to be that safe?”

Della considered that as though a novel idea. “I never thought of that. A policeman on every corner. He knew everyone by face and name.”

“He also knew everything everyone knew, said, or thought, right?”

Again a frown of concentration. “Yes. You’re right. Any miscreant was soon hauled off the streets and questioned until he confessed.”

Gently, Smoke probed farther. “Do you have any idea how those confessions were acquired?”

“N-no. Now that you mention it.”

“Usually with boots, fists, and night sticks. Not that lawmen out here have found that method unworkable. It’s effective; yet to me, it seems to take something fundamental out of the one beaten and the one doing the beating.”

With an uneasy trill of laughter, Della dismissed the grim images. “That did not apply to our life. Sven had a good position at a large steel mill in Pennsylvania. He was an accountant, before becoming a pioneer.”

“Your children were born there?”

“Tommy and Sarah-Jane. Gertrude came along after we moved west. First, it was Kansas. That’s where Sven learned how little he knew about farming. Especially dry farming like they have to do there.” She cheered slightly. “But he found he had a knack with livestock. Cattle in particular. We nearly lost the farm. Sven had a lucky streak when he found a buyer. We bought seed stock and started west. We ended up here in the territory.”

Smoke listened sympathetically to her narration for the better part of an hour. When Della got to a recounting of her husband’s death, she broke down and began to sob softly, hands clamped to her mouth. Solicitously, Smoke comforted her while she cried on his shoulder. The moon had set by the time she retired to the wagon, and smoke rolled up in his blankets to sleep.

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