Trail of the Mountain Man by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2013-07-15T04:00:00+00:00

20

“What the hell?” Billy said, eyeballing Tilden and Clint and the other TF rowdies removing their gunbelts and looping them on their saddle horns.

The livery stable-swamper darted across the street and into Louis Longmont’s gaming place.

“Smoke!” he called. All heads turned toward the small boy in the doorway. “Tilden Franklin and them gunhands of his’n done dropped their gunbelts, and they’re all headin’ this way. I don’t know what they’re about, but I betcha it’s bad trouble.”

“I know what it is,” Smoke said. He set his untouched tumbler on the bar. “Thanks, Billy.”

“Come here, son,” Louis said. “You get over there,” he pointed, “and stay put. Andre!” he called for his chef. “Get this young man a sarsaparilla, s’il vous plait?”

“But monsieur ... ou?”

“Reasonable question,” Louis muttered. “Where indeed? Lemonade?”

Andre’s face brightened. “Oui!”

A big glass of cool lemonade in front of him, Billy slipped from the table to the eggs-and-cheese-and-beef end of the bar and filled a napkin with goodies. Eating and sipping, Billy sat back to watch the show.

Louis watched the boy’s antics and smiled. His big bouncer, Mike, stood close by Billy, his massive arms folded across his barrel chest.

The chef, Andre, had beat it back to his kitchen. Let the barbarians fight, he thought.

Boot heels drummed on the boardwalk and Tilden Franklin’s bulk filled the doorway. “I thought I’d take you up on your offer, Gambler,” he said.

“Certainly,” Louis said. “Be my guest.”

Tilden walked to the bar and poured a tumbler of whiskey. He toyed with the shot glass for a moment, then lifted the glass. “To the day when we rid the country of all two-bit nesters.”

Tilden and his men drank. None of the others acknowledged the toast.

Tilden smiled. “What’s the matter, boys? None of you like my toast?”

Smoke lifted his glass. “To the day when farmers and ranchers all get along.”

Smoke’s friends toasted that. Tilden, Clint, and the other TF men did not.

“What’s the matter, Tilden?” Smoke asked. “You don’t like my toast?”

Tilden’s smile was thin. Toying with his empty shot glass, his eyes on the polished bar, he said, “I’ve always had this theory, Jensen ... or whatever your name is. My theory is that most gunslicks live on their reputations, that without a gun in their hand, they’re mighty thin in the guts department. What do you think about that?”

“I think you’re mighty thin between the ears, Tilden. That’s what I think. I think you sit on your brains. Now what do you think about that?”

“I’m not armed, Jensen,” Tilden said, still looking down at the bar.

Smoke unbuckled and untied. He handed his guns to Colby. “Neither am I, Tilden. So the next move is up to you.”

Tilden looked at his riders. “Clear us a space, boys.”

Gaming tables and chairs were pushed back, stacked against one wall. The barroom floor was empty.

Tilden’s smile was ugly and savage. “I’m gonna break you in half, Jensen. Then your wife can see for herself what a real man can do ... when she comes to my bed.

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