Power of the Mountain Man by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone [Johnstone, William W]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2017-05-23T04:00:00+00:00

2

Brian came at him like a furious bull. The punches he had gleefully planned a moment before did not land. Smoke Jensen received the young bully with a series of stinging, punishing blows to the face, left . . . right . . . left . . . right... left. A cut opened above Brian’s left eye that sent a sheet of blood to blind him. His nose smashed, more crimson fountains joined the flow. Already damaged lips grew fatter and scarlet ribbons of tinted saliva hung in long strands. Brian’s knees buckled when the hard leather-encased knuckles of Smoke Jensen crashed solidly against his jaw.

Taking a step back as Brian toppled, Smoke brought up a knee with blurring speed. It cracked under the point of Brian’s chin. He went to the ground twitching and unconscious. That didn’t slow Fin any. He had recovered enough to fly at Smoke, arms held wide, to grab the older man around the waist. They crashed to the dirt of the street together. Fin’s arms tightened, squeezing Smoke’s intestines painfully. Air gushed from his lungs. Dark dots danced before Smoke’s eyes. Fin drove a shoulder into Smoke’s gut.

Sharp agony shot through Smoke’s liver. Smoke rolled slowly to the side until Fin was on top. Then he drove a fist into Fin’s right kidney. It brought forth a grunt and a howl. A second hammer blow brought another grunt and a loosening of Fin’s grip. Smoke smacked him soundly on the top of the head. Fin’s arms fell away. Smoke grabbed Fin by the chin and the back of his head. His slackened neck muscles gave little resistance as Smoke twisted violently to his right. Just short of breaking Fin’s neck, he let off pressure.

Fin began to twitch and jerk like a demented marionette. Arms and legs flew akimbo as he did a crab scuttle in the dust. In the next second, Smoke Jensen turned to aid his older friend. Monte Carson had one of the punks bent over a tie-rail, pounding the exposed, taut belly of Rupe like a drum. Clutching an abandoned length of two-by-four, Casey began a swing at Monte’s head.

Smoke got to him first. Before Casey could launch his attack, Smoke grabbed the chunk of lumber and yanked backward. Casey went off his feet. He struck the ground on his shoulders. Give him credit, Smoke thought, he bounded right back. Snarling, the bully swung the board at Smoke. The last mountain man anticipated that and dodged. With his opponent off balance, Smoke kicked him in the knee. Wobbly, Casey doubled over, to catch a fist in his face. He backpedaled two painful steps and then sat down. Hands at the ready, Smoke Jensen surveyed their accomplishments.

Fin still jittered on the street, his face in a pile of horse dung. A groggy Brian tried to regain his feet. His face a mass of red gore, he shook his head, which released a shower of droplets. Bleary-eyed, he located his enemy and stumbled toward Smoke Jensen.

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