Violence of the Mountain Man. William W. Johnstone

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      “Thank you, Mister Jensen, for your permission. Not that I needed it,” she added, though her smile and the twinkle in her eyes softened her words.

      After Sally stopped in front Lucy’s Dress Emporium, Smoke rode on down to Longmont’s, dismounted, then went inside. As was his custom upon entering any saloon, he stepped immediately to the side and pressed his back up against the wall. He stood there a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the lower light inside while he looked for possible trouble among the patrons. Even though he knew he was almost as safe in his friend’s restaurant as he was in his own house, he’d been hunted and tracked for more than half his life, and the habit of caution was so ingrained in him that when he was cautious, he didn’t even notice it.

      The owner of the saloon and restaurant, Louis Longmont, was sitting at his usual table in a corner. He smiled as he watched his friend go through his regular ritual. Louis was a lean, hawk-faced man, with strong, slender hands, long fingers, and carefully manicured nails. He had jet-black hair and a black pencil-thin mustache. He was dressed in a black suit, with white shirt and a crimson ascot. He wore low-heeled boots, and a pistol that hung in tied-down leather on his right side. The pistol was nickel-plated, with ivory handles, but it wasn’t just for show, for Louis was snake-quick and a feared, deadly gunhand when pushed.

      Although Louis was engaged in a profession that did not have a very good reputation, he was not an evil man. He had never hired his gun out for money. And while he could make a deck of cards do almost anything, he had never cheated at poker. He didn’t have to cheat. He was possessed of a phenomenal memory, could tell you the odds of filling any type of poker hand, and was an expert at the technique of card counting.

      Louis was just past thirty. When he was a small boy, Louis left Louisiana and came West with his parents. His parents had died in a shantytown fire, leaving the boy to cope as best he could.

      Louis had coped quite well, plying his innate intelligence and willingness to take a chance into a fortune. He owned a large ranch up in Wyoming Territory, several businesses in San Francisco, and a hefty chunk of a railroad.

      Though it was a mystery to many why Louis continued to stay with his saloon and restaurant in a small town, Louis explained it very simply.

      “If I left the business, I would miss it,” he said. Smoke understood exactly what he was talking about.

      Still standing just inside the door, Smoke glanced over and saw his friend smiling at him. He returned the grin, then moved across the floor to take a seat at Louis’s table.

      Louis was shuffling a deck of cards and dealing poker hands. He turned up three hands, studied them for a moment, then pointed to the hand that was still facedown.

      “If I were a betting man—and incidentally I am—I would bet on this as the winning hand,” he said.

      “What makes you think so? This one has a pair of aces,” Smoke said, pointing to one of the hands.

      “I think this will have three of a kind,” Louis said. “Small cards to be sure, but three will beat a pair of aces.” He turned up the cards to expose three sixes, a jack, and a queen.

      “I’m glad I didn’t bet,” Smoke said.

      “Did Miss Sally remain behind at Sugarloaf?” Louis asked as he picked up all the cards and folded them back into the deck.

      “No, Sally came with me. She will here shortly.”

      Louis’s smile broadened. “Ah, good, good. I am always glad to see you, my friend, but the lovely Mademoiselle Sally?” Louis raised his hand to his lips and, putting his thumb and forefinger together, made a kissing motion. “It is well known that Mademoiselle Sally’s beauty brings joy to a dreary world.”

      “Do I have to keep reminding you, Louis, that Sally is not a mademoiselle? We are married.”

      “Yes, mon ami, I know you are married,” Louis said, “but l’espoir est éternel. Hope is eternal,” he translated.

      Smoke laughed, and was still laughing when Sheriff Carson came into the saloon, breathing a little heavily from having walked down from his office.

      “Have I missed a joke?” he asked.

      “Alas, my gendarme friend,” Louis said. “The joke is on me.”

      “How about a round of beers on me?” Smoke said. “I’m heading down to Frisco and could use one for the trail.”

      “Why Frisco?” Louis asked as he signaled the bartender.

      “Yes, Mr. Longmont?” the bartender called to him.

      “Bring us three beers, will you, Andrew?”

      “Yes, sir, right away.”

      With the beers ordered, Louis turned his attention back to Smoke. “You were about to tell us why you were going to Frisco.”

      “I’m going there to meet a cattle buyer named Davencourt. Turns out he has a contract to supply beef to the army, and I figure he is going to be in the market.”

      “But can’t you sell your beef here? To C.D. Montgomery, or one of the other buyers?”

      “I could,” Smoke said. “But Davencourt is paying more, providing I deliver the cattle to the railhead in Frisco.”

      “I see,” Longmont said. “Do you think he will pay enough to make it worth your while to take your cattle to Frisco?”

      “I think he will. At least, that’s what I intend to find out with this trip.”

      “That sounds smart to me,” Carson said. “No wonder Sugarloaf is the most successful ranch around. You are always on top of things.”

      “Ha, don’t give me credit for this,” Smoke said. “This was all Sally’s idea.”

      “Yes, I know. She is not only beautiful, she is also very smart,” Louis said. He sighed. “Ah, what a woman.”

      “Oh, say, Smoke, do you remember a fella by the name of Van Arndt?” Carson asked. “Reece Van Arndt?”

      “Yes, I remember him,” Smoke said. “As I recall, he tried to hold up a train a few years ago.”

      “As you recall,” Carson said with a chuckle. “Tried is right. He tried, but he didn’t succeed because of you, my friend. His gang was killed and he wound up going to prison.”

      “Good place for him,” Smoke said.

      “I would agree with you,” Carson said. “Unfortunately, he is no longer there. I got a wire a few days ago from Warden Parker at the prison.”

      “Don’t tell me Van Arndt has escaped.”

      Carson shook his head. “He didn’t escape, he was let out. He served his time and is now a free man. The warden thought you might like to know that.”

      “Why would he think that?” Smoke asked. “Has Van Arndt made any specific threats?”

      “I don’t know and Warden СКАЧАТЬ