War of the Mountain Man Read Online Free Page A

would even clear leather. But one never really knew for sure.
    Smoke watched the man approach him and, for another of the countless times, wondered why a man would risk his life for the dubious reputation of a gunfighter.
    â€œJensen!” Chub called.
    â€œRight here,” Smoke said calmly.
    â€œYour wife’s a real looker,” Chub said, a nasty edge to the words. “After I kill you, I’ll take her.”
    Smoke laughed at the man. Chub’s face grew red at the laughter. He cursed Smoke.
    Smoke was suddenly tired of it. He wanted a good night’s sleep, lying next to Sally. He hadn’t ridden into town looking for trouble, and he resented trouble being pushed upon him. He was just damned tired of it.
    â€œMake your play, punk!” Smoke called.
    Chub’s hands hovered over his pearl-handled guns. “Draw, Jensen!” he shouted.
    â€œI don’t draw on fools,” Smoke told him. “You called me out, Chub, remember? Now, if you don’t have the stomach for it, turn around and go on back home. I’d rather you did that. ”
    â€œThen you a coward!”
    Smoke waited, his eyes unblinking.
    â€œYou a coward, damn you!” Chub hollered. “Draw, damnit, draw!”
    Smoke’s cold, unwavering eyes bored into the man’s gaze.
    â€œHow’s it feel to be about to die?” Chub called, trying to steel himself for the draw.
    â€œI wouldn’t know, Chub,” Smoke’s voice was calm. “Why don’t you ask yourself that question?”
    The sheriff and his two deputies watched from the small office and jail.
    â€œNow!” Chub yelled, and his hands closed around the butts of his guns.
    Smoke drew, cocked, and fired with one fluid motion. A draw so fast that it was only a blur. Blink, and you missed it.
    The .44 slug took Chub in the center of the chest, knocking him off his boots and down to his knees in the dusty street. His hands were still on the butts of his guns. The guns were still in leather.
    â€œGood God!” the cowboy said. “I never even seen him draw.”
    The sheriff and his deputies stepped out of the office just as the boardwalks on both sides of the street filled with people.
    Smoke stepped off the porch and walked to the dying Chub. He held a cocked .44 in his right hand.
    Sally had risen from her seat to stand at the window, watching her man.
    Chub raised his head. Blood had gathered on his lips. His eyes were full of anguish. “I ... never even seen you draw,” he managed to gasp.
    â€œThat’s the way it goes, Chub,” Smoke told him just as the lawman reached the bloody scene.
    Chub tried to pull a pistol from leather. The sheriff reached down and blocked the move.
    â€œBastard!” Chub said. It was unclear whom he was cursing, Smoke or the sheriff.
    A local minister ran up. “Are you saved, Chub?”
    â€œHell with you!” Club said, then toppled over on his side. He closed his eyes and died.
    The sheriff looked at Smoke. “Now what?”
    Smoke shrugged his shoulders as he punched out the empty and reloaded. “Bury him.”
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    Smoke and Sally rode out before dawn. The hotel’s dining room had not even opened. They would stop along the way and make breakfast.
    â€œWhy do they do it, Smoke?” Sally broke the silence of the gray-lifting morning.
    Smoke knew what she meant. “I’ve never understood it, Sally. Men like Chub must be very unhappy men. And very shallow men. Let’s get off the trail and follow this creek for a ways,” he changed the subject. “See where it goes.”
    The creek wound around and lead them to the Swan River. There they stopped and cooked breakfast. “Fellow back at the hotel said the Swan would lead us right to Hell’s Creek. We may as well stay with the river. There are two more little towns between here and Hell’s Creek. He said it was right at a hundred