Return Of The Mountain Man Part 9

"I'm aware of that."

"Are you saying the sins of the father are also on the head of the son?"

"No," Buck's reply was given slowly, after much thought. "Why would I think that?"

She touched his face with her small hand. "Who are you, Buck?"

And just before his lips touched hers, Buck said, "Smoke Jensen."

"Well, this cinches it," Richards told MacGregor. "I've got a man I can trust. You agree?"

"Oh, most a.s.suredly," the Scotsman said. "I like the young man."

Richards gave his bookkeeper a sharp glance. d.a.m.ned little sour man had never seemed to like anybody. But if MacGregor gave his OK to Buck West, then Buck was all right.

"Boss," Jerry stuck his head into the office. "Some range-rider just reported a group of old mountain men's gatherin' south and west of here."

"Mountain men?" Richards said. "That's impossible. All those people are dead."

"No, sir," Jerry respectfully disagreed with his boss. "There's still a handful of 'um around. They old, but they mean and crotchety and not to be fooled with. Dangerous old men. I've run up on 'um time to time. And Benson over to the general store reports that one was in his place 'bout three days back. Bought supplies and sich."

"Mountain men," Richards vocally mused. "Now why would those old characters be hanging around here?"

Neither Richards nor Jerry noticed the faint smile on MacGregor's face. The Scotsman now knew what Buck/Smoke was up to. And it amused him. But, he cautioned himself silently, you d.a.m.n sure don't want to be around when Buck and his friends lift the lid on Pandora's Box. Best start making arrangements to pull out. It isn't going to be long.

"Don't know, boss," Jerry said. "Just thought you'd want to know about it."

"Yeah, right, Jerry. Thanks."

MacGregor watched the men leave the office. The under-cover federal marshal sat down at his desk and took up his pen, dipping the point into the inkwell. He returned to his company ledger book. But he had a difficult time entering the small, precise figures. His shoulders kept shaking from suppressed laughter.

"I must keep reminding myself that I'm a lady," Sally told Buck. But the twinkle in her eyes told Buck that while a lady she might be, there were a lot of hot coals banked within.

"Aren't you going to run away, screaming in fear?" Buck asked her. "After all, I'm the murderer, Smoke Jensen."

"You took an awful chance, telling me that."

"Maybe I have some insight, too."

"Yes, I suppose you do. Now tell me about Smoke."

She listened attentively for a full ten minutes, not interrupting, letting him tell his painful story, his way. Several times during the telling he lapsed into silence, then with a sigh, he would continue.

When he had finished, she sat on the cool creek bank, her long skirt a fan of gingham around her, and mentally digested all she had heard.

Finally she said, "And to think I work for those creatures." She hurled a small stone into the water. "Well, I shall tender my resignation immediately, of course."

Buck's smile was hard. "Stick around, Sally. The show's just about to begin."

"What would you do if I told you...well, I am quite fond of you, Buck?"

"What would you want me to do?"

"Well," she smiled, "you might kiss me."

Just as their lips touched, a voice came from behind them. "Plumb sickenin'. Great big growed-up man a-moonin' and a-sparkin' lak some fiddle-footed kid. Disgustin'."

Buck spun around, on his feet in a crouch, his hands over the b.u.t.t of his guns. His mouth dropped open.

"Shut your mouth, boy," Preacher said. "Flies is bad this time of year."

"Preacher!" Buck croaked, his voice breaking.

"It d.a.m.ned sh.o.r.e ain't Jedediah Smith," the old man said drily. "We lost him back in '35, I think it was. Either that or he got married. One and the same if'n you's to ask me."

Buck ran toward Preacher and grabbed him in a bear hug, spinning around and around with the old mountain man.

"Great Gawd Amighty!" Preacher hollered. "Put me down, you ox!"

Buck dropped the old man to the ground. His big hands on Preacher's shoulders, Buck said, "I can't believe it. I thought you were dead!"

"I d.a.m.n near was, boy! Took this old body a long time to recover. Now if'n you're all done a-s...o...b..rin' all over me, we got to make some plans."

"How'd you find me, Preacher?"

"h.e.l.l's fire, boy! I just followed the bodies! Cain't you keep them guns of yourn in leather?"

"Come on, Preacher! Tell the truth. I know you'd rather lie, but try real hard."

"You see how unrespectful he is, Missy?" Preacher looked at Sally. "Cain't a purty thang lak you do no better than the laks of this gunslick?"

"I'm going to change him," Sally said primly. She was not certain just how to take this disreputable-looking old man, all dressed in buckskins and looking like death warmed over.

"Uh-huh," Preacher said. "That's whut that white wife of mine said, too."

"White wife!" Buck looked at him. "You never had no wife except squaws!"

"That's all you know, you pup. I married up with me a white woman that was purtier than Simone Jules Dumont's mustache."

"Heavens!" Sally muttered.

Simone Jules Dumont, also known as Madame Mustache, was either from France or a Creole from the Mississippi Delta region-it had never been proven one way or the other. She'd showed up in California during the 1849 gold rush and had soon been named head roulette croupier at the Bella Union in San Francisco. Eventually, Simone had moved on to a livelier occupation: running a gambling saloon/wh.o.r.ehouse at Bannack, Montana. It was there she is rumored to have taught the finer points of card dealing to Calamity Jane. And her mustache continued to grow, as did her reputation. She killed what is thought to be her first husband-a man named Carruthers-after he conned her out of a sizable amount of money. She moved on to Bodie, California, mustache in full bloom, and killed another man there when he and another footpadder tried to rob her one night. She lost most of her money in a card game on the night of September 6, 1879, and pa.s.sed on through the Pearlies that same night after drinking hydrocyanic acid.

"Did you have any children from that union, Mister Preacher?" Sally asked.

"Durned if'n I know, Missy. I lit a shuck out of there one night. Walls was a-closin' in on me. I heard she took up with a minister and went back east. I teamed up with John Liver-Eatin' Johnston for a time. He lost his old woman back in '47 and went plumb crazy for a time. Called him Crow Killer. He kilt about three hundred Crows and et the livers out of 'em."

Sally turned a little green around the mouth. Buck had heard the story; he yawned.

"I didn't think crows were good to eat, Mister Preacher," Sally said.

"Not the bird, Missy," Preacher corrected. "The Indian tribe. You see, it was a bunch of Crows on the warpath that kilt Johnston's old woman. John never did lak Crows after that. Et a bunch of 'em."

"You mean he was a...cannibal?"

"Only as fer as the liver went," Preacher said blandly. "He got to lookin' at me one night while we's a-camped in the Bitterroot. Right hongry look in his eyes. I took off. Ain't seen him since. Last I heard, old Crow Killer was a scout for the U.S. Army, over on the North Plains."

Sally sat back on the bank, averting her eyes, mumbling to herself.

"I wish you had gotten word to me that you were still alive, you old coot," Buck said.

"Couldn't. I were plumb out of it for a couple of months. By the time I could ride out of that Injun camp, Nicole and the baby was dead and buried and you was gone. I'm right sorry about Nicole and the boy, Smoke."

Buck nodded. "Better get use to calling me Buck, Preacher. You might slip up in town and that would be the end of it."

"I ain't goin' into town. Not until you git ready to make your move, that is. You wanna git a message to me, Smoke, they'll be a miserable-looking old Injun in town named Hunts-Long. Flathead. Wears a derby hat. He'll git word to me. Me and the boys was spotted last yesterday, so we'll be changin' locations." He told Buck where. "I's tole you met up with Audie." That was said with a grin.

"I thought I was seeing things. I thought he was an elf."

"He's the furrtherest thang from an elf. That little man will kill you faster than you can spit. Yessir, Smoke, you got some backup that'll be wrote up strong when they writes about the buryin' of Bury. Got Tenneysee, Audie, Phew, Nighthawk, Dupre, Deadlead, Powder Pete, Greybull, Beartooth, and Lobo. And me. 'Course I'm a better man than all them combined," Preacher said, in his usual modest manner. "And Matt."

"Phew?" Sally said. "Why in Heaven's name would you call a man that?"

"'Cause he stinks, Missy."

"I know Matt. The negro."

"That's him. Ol' one-eye." Preacher stuck out his hand. "Be lookin' at you, Smoke. You take care, now." He whistled for his pony and the spotted horse trotted over. Preacher jumped onto the mustang's back and was gone.

Sally looked at Buck. A load seemed to have been removed from his shoulders. His eyes were s.h.i.+ning with love as he watched the old man ride out. He seemed to stand a little taller.

He met her eyes. "It's sad. When those men are gone, a...time will have pa.s.sed. And it will never be again."

"That is not entirely true, Smoke Jensen," Sally said.

"Oh? What do you mean?"

"You'll be here to carry on."

12.

The day after seeing Preacher, Buck was witness to a scene that lent credence to what MacGregor had said about the men and women who made up the population of Bury. Buck was sitting on the boardwalk in front of one of Bury's hurdy-gurdy houses, leaned back in his chair, when a man and woman and three children walked up the main street. The man and woman wore rags and the kids looked as though they had not eaten in days. The ragged little band of walkers stopped in front of the large general store. Buck drifted over that way just as the red-headed cowboy, Sam, walked over from another direction. Buck and Sam looked at each other and nodded greetings.

"Watch this," Sam said out of the corner of his mouth. "This might change your mind about the men you're working for. And the sorry people in this town."

"You get your money out of the same hand that pays me," Buck reminded him.

"But I don't have to like it...Smoke."

"Do I know you from somewheres else?" Buck asked.

"I was in Canon City when you and that old mountain man drew down on Ackerman and his boys. Took me awhile to put it all together. But I knowed I'd seen you before."*

"Why haven't you tried to collect the bounty on my head, then?"

Sam hesitated. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "Mayhaps I'm havin' some second thoughts 'bout the way my life's been goin' up to date. And then mayhaps I just want to hang around and see the show. 'Cause I know when the time gets right, you're goin' to put on one h.e.l.l of a show."

"You gonna watch my back?"

"I don't know. Talk to you later. Listen to this."

The ragged emaciated-looking man was talking to the store manager. "I'm begging you, mister. Please. My kids are starving and my wife is worn out. I ain't asking nothing for myself. Just a bite of food for my wife and kids. I'll work it out for you."

The storekeeper waved his broom at the ragged man. "Get on with you. Get out of here. Go beg somewhere else."

"I'll get down on my knees and beg you, mister," the man said. He was so tired, so worn out, he was trembling.

The man who ran the leather shop next to the general store stepped out onto the boardwalk to watch the show. "What happened to you, skinny?" he called to the ragged man.

"Indians. They ambushed the wagon train we was on. We didn't have time to circle. They split us up. Most of the others died. We lost everything and have been walking for days. Brother, can you find it in your heart to give my kids and woman something to eat?"

"Only if you got the money to pay for it. If you don't, then haul your ashes on, beggar."

The man's shoulders sagged and tears began rolling down his dusty face.

Buck could not believe what he was hearing and seeing. But he knew he could not afford to step out of character-not yet. He watched and waited.

Other shopkeepers had gathered on the boardwalk. The man who ran the apothecary shop laughed and said, "There's a joyhouse down the end of this street. Why don't you put your woman in there? Clean 'er up some and she'll make enough to get you goin' again." The gathering crowd roared with laughter.

Sam explained. "Man poisoned his partner back in Illinoise," he said. "Then stole his woman and come out here. Real nice feller. Name's Burton."

"Yeah," Buck returned the low tone.

The hotel manager stepped out. He waved his arms at the ragged little band. "You ne'er-do-wells get out of here. That little girl looks like she's got galloping consumption. No one here wants to catch that. Stir up the dust and get gone from here."

"Morgan," Sam said. "Ran a hotel in Ohio until he burned it down. Killed several sleepers. Another nice feller."

"I just don't believe the heartlessness of these people," Buck said.

"You ain't seen nothin' yet, partner," Sam said. "Stick around."