Law Of The Mountain Man. William W. Johnstone
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keep his britches up. But he still wore his Colt low and tied down and Smoke knew the old mountain man could and would use it.
“All right, Cheyenne,” Smoke told him. “You’re the range boss on this job.” Cheyenne nodded. “You boys know what that means. Cheyenne tells you to make like a frog, you just jump as high as you can. You don’t have to ask if it was high enough. If it wasn’t, he’ll let you know. Dolittle and Harrison will be carrying orders from Cheyenne to you boys, and you boys will be spotted all around this spread.
“Now then, the first thing we’re gonna do is round up some horses and top them off; settle them down for you.” Smoke glanced at the animals the boys had used to get over to the Box T. Mules and plow horses. “Then you boys can turn your own animals out to pasture and let them rest.” He looked at Walt. “All right, Boss, what’s the first order of the day?”
The old rancher smiled. “The wife says the first thing we do is feed these boys.”
All the boys cheered at that.
Jud Vale balled the newspaper up and hurled it into the fireplace. “That no good—” He proceeded to cut loose with a stream of cuss words that almost turned the air blue.
When he had calmed down enough to try to catch his breath, his foreman said, "Boss, this is bad. If one of them kids gets hurt by a bullet, the governor will send the law in on us, that is, if some vigilantes from around here don’t hang us to the nearest tree first.”
“I know, Jason. I know. That damn Smoke Jensen! Jesus God, why didn’t I recognize him right off and let him alone?”
“Didn’t none of us recognize him, Boss. But we should have, I reckon.” He wore a sheepish look. “Damn bunkhouse is full of them penny dreadfuls writ about him.”
“I better not see any of them around!” “I’ll pass the word.”
“Do that. Damn!” Jud yelled. “Pass the word, Jason: stay off of Box T range and don’t bother the boys. Don’t even go near them. Jensen can’t stay up here forever and them damn kids got to go back to school come fall. We can wait.”
“Them high-priced gunhands is about next to worthless when it comes to workin’ cattle, Boss. Most of ’em is just salivating to get a chance to brace Smoke Jensen.”
“I’ll give a thousand dollars to the man who kills Jensen. You pass that word along, Jason.”
“That ought to get something stirred up, for sure!”
While in Montpelier, Smoke had arranged for a wire to be sent to Sally, advising her where he was, and for a courier to bring any reply to the ranch.
One was forthcoming quickly.
Darling Smoke stop Doctors say baby must remain in a warm dry climate for at least two years stop Mother and Father arranged to stay with me stop Father bought a bank here in Prescott stop We are fine stop Miss you terribly stop Come when you are finished stop Love Sally stop.
“Bad news?” Doreen broke into his thoughts. He had not heard her come up.
The girl moved like a ghost.
“Yes and no. Our baby has to stay down in Arizona for quite a long time. Lung problems.”
“Then you’ll be leaving ...?” She let that trail off with a catch in her voice.
“No. Sally knows I don’t go off and leave a job half-finished. I’ll see this through. If it hasn’t ended by midsummer, then I’ll finish it.”
She didn’t have to ask how he would do that. She knew. “That is very kind of you, Smoke.”
She moved closer. Doreen was a mighty comely lass. Smoke could smell the lilac water on her. Mayhaps, he thought, her middle name was Eve.
He moved back just a tad. “That is, I’ll make up my mind about staying when and if you people ever get around to telling me the truth.”
Her eyes turned frosty as an early morning chill. She spun around and stalked away, her rear end swaying like women’s rear ends have a tendency to do.
Mighty shapely lassie. And Smoke didn’t trust her any further than he could pick up his horse and toss him.
3
On the first full day of work, Smoke didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
The boys were sure willing enough, but the trouble was that none of them knew diddly-squat about ranch work. They were farm boys, used to gathering eggs and slopping hogs and plowing and such as that.
Little Chuckie fell off his mount, and landed in a fresh horse pile. The only other britches he had were hanging on the line to dry. He had to work the rest of that morning dressed, from the waist down, in his longhandles. With a safety pin holding up one side of the flap.
Of the boys, Jamie was the oldest and the strongest. He was built like the trunk of a large tree. And he could ride and was a fair hand with a rope.
Matthew was a frail young man who wore glasses and was in dire need of boots.
Smoke was making a list of what the boys needed; and he was going to see to it that they got it. One way or the other.
Ed meant well and tried hard, but it was plain that he would never be a cowboy. Smoke put him to running errands and taking messages back and forth.
Leroy would do. He never complained, even after being tossed a half-dozen times. He just got back up, dusted himself off, and climbed right back in the saddle and stayed there until he showed the bronc who was running this show.
Eli was the son of a carpenter and, like Ed, was no horseman. Smoke put him to work fixing up the place, and there was a lot of fixing up to do. A ranch starts to run down mighty quick, and this spread had been neglected for a long time.
Jimmy and Clark and Buster would do fine, Smoke concluded.
Cecil was fourteen, like Jamie, and solid and mature for his age. A fair horseman.
Alan was a grown-up thirteen, from a hardscrabble farm family. A good solid kid.
Roily, Pat and Oscar were all twelve and showed promise.
All in all, Smoke thought, a pretty good bunch of kids. But, he had to keep this in mind: they were kids. He could not chew on them like he would adults. He didn’t want them screwing up their faces and bawling like lost calves.
“All right, Cheyenne!” Smoke called, with Dagger under him. “Take the men to work!“
Smoke rode over to a three-building town located on Mud Lake, leading a pack animal. He would buy the boys as much clothing as possible here. May be all of it if he were lucky. And he could pick up any talk about how Jud Vale was taking this new twist.
As soon as he walked in, he could tell by the barkeep’s reaction that the name Smoke Jensen was known. Somebody had been talking about him, and fairly recently.
The barroom was separated from the general store by a partition, so the men could talk and cuss without bothering any ladies who might be shopping in the store. The only door connecting the store and saloon was closed.
Smoke ordered a beer and leaned against the bar, observing the very nervous barkeep draw the suds. Three men were silting at a table in the back of the room. It was gloomy in the small saloon, and the men were shrouded in shadows, but Smoke could see well enough to recognize the men as part of one of the groups who had chased him all over half of the southeastern part of Idaho days back.
And one of them was Sam Teller, a gunfighter from over Oregon way. Sam wasn’t known for his easy disposition and loving nature.
A local man, a farmer by the look of him, opened the door and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He stopped cold when he saw the tall man at the bar. His eyes cut to the three gunslicks sitting at the table. He swallowed hard,