Honor of the Mountain Man by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2018-05-15T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Curly Rogers looked up and saw Smoke Jensen walking toward their table. He nudged Taylor with his elbow, interrupting some story he was telling Bud about the good old days before law came to the West.

“What?” Taylor said irritably, turning to Rogers. He saw him staring and followed his gaze, blanching and turning pale when he saw Smoke standing in front of him, feet apart, hands hanging next to his Colts.

As the men at the table became aware of Smoke, all talking and joking stopped and they turned in their chairs to face the mountain man.

“Afternoon, gents,” Smoke said, his voice low and without welcome.

Curly Rogers half stood in his chair. “You got no call to roust us, Jensen. We ain’t breakin’ no laws or nothin’.”

Smoke’s eyes flicked around the table, pausing at each man for just a moment, causing each to lower their eyes. “Oh, I’m not rousting you, Rogers.” His eyes lit on Reilly and Taylor and his hand came up to point at them. “But I do have some unfinished business with these two.”

“Whatta ya mean?” asked Taylor, sweat beginning to form on his forehead.

“Remember the last time we met?” Smoke asked.

“Yeah,” answered Taylor, trying to put some bluster in his voice. “You put some wooden stakes through my legs and ruint ’em. I cain’t hardly even walk on ’em now,” he said, his voice turning from bluster to whine.

“That’s not what I meant. Do you remember what I told you as I let you ride off that day?”

“Uh ... no, I don’t believe I do.”

Smoke glanced to Ace Reilly. “How about you, Ace? You remember?”

The gunman tried a laugh that didn’t come off. “Yeah, you said you was gonna kill me if you ever saw me again.”

He looked around at his friends. “But you cain’t do that. I’m just sittin’ here, peaceably drinkin’ with my partners, not causing nobody no trouble.”

He glared defiantly at Smoke, then glanced over at the table where Tolson sat, his badge on his chest.

“You, mister, are you the sheriff of this town?”

Tolson nodded once, his lips tight.

“Are you gonna sit there and let this . . . this gunfighter threaten honest citizens for no reason?”

Tolson smirked. “I’ll tell ya what I’ll do, mister. I’ll stop this right here and now and we can mosey on over to my office and go through my wanted posters. If I don’t find any mention of you or your friend, I’ll let you ride on out of town.”

Reilly’s face slowly turned red. “And if there is somethin’ there? You’ll put us in jail?”

Tolson shook his head. “No. If you’re wanted for anything more than spitting on the street, then I’ll just step aside and let my deputy there, Smoke Jensen, do his duty.”

Taylor whined. “But, sheriff, that’s not fair.”

Curly Rogers spoke up. “Don’t worry, men, there’s five of us and only one of him. He won’t dare start anything with those odds.”

Chairs scraped back and four men from Smoke’s table stood and spread out—Joey, Cal, Pearlie, and Ben.

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