Code of the Mountain Man Read Online Free

graves had not been filled in.
    The woman’s face bore the results of a savage beating. She looked up at him through eyes that were swollen slits. “You be the law, mister?”
    â€œNo. As far as I know there is no law within a hundred miles of here.” He swung down from the saddle and walked to her. She had fixed her torn dress as best she could; but it was little more than rags. “You had anything to eat?”
    â€œA biscuit I had in my pocket. The outlaws tooken everything else. Before they put the house to the torch. I ain’t able to move.”
    Smoke took a packet of food from his saddlebags and gave it to her. “I’ll get you a dipper of water from the well.”
    â€œI wouldn’t,” she told him. “They killed my kids’ dogs and dumped them in the well.”
    â€œThen I’ll get you some water from the creek.”
    â€œI’d appreciate it. I tried to get around, but I can’t. They kicked my ribs in. Left me for dead. I don’t think I got long ’fore I join my husband and girls. Ribs busted off and tore up a lung. Hurts.”
    He found a jug and rinsed it out, filling it up with water from the creek. Looking at the woman, he could see that she was standing in death’s door. Sheer determination had kept her hanging on, waiting for help, or more probably, he guessed, someone to come along that would avenge this terrible act.
    â€œWho dug the graves, ma’am?”
    â€œI did. The outlaws made me. Then they used my husband for target practice. Made me and my girls watch. He suffered a long time. My girls was ten and twelve years old. They raped me and made them watch. Then they raped the girls and made me watch. Then they thought they had kicked me to death. I lay real still and fooled them. They done horrible things to me and the girls. Things I won’t talk about. Unnatural things. I been sittin’ here for three days, prayin’ and passin’ out from the pain, prayin’ and passin’ out. Wishin’ to God somebody would come along and hear my story.”
    â€œI’m here, ma’am.”
    She drifted off, not unconscious, but babbling. Some of her words made sense, most didn’t. Smoke bathed her face and waited. The woman’s face was hot to the touch, burning with fever. While she babbled, smoke unsaddled Buck and let him roll and water.
    â€œWho you be?” she asked suddenly, snapping out of her delirium.
    â€œSmoke Jensen.”
    â€œPraise God!” she said. “Thank you, God. You sent me a warrior. I thank you.”
    â€œLee Slater’s gang did this?”
    â€œThat’s him. I heard names. Harry Jennings, Blackjack Simpson, Thumbs Morton, Bell Harrison, Al Martine. They was a Pedro and a Lopez and a Tom Post.” She coughed up blood and slipped back into delirium.
    Smoke took that time to walk to the graves and look at the shallow pits. His stomach did a slow roll-over. The man had been shot to ribbons. His wife had been right: he died hard over a long period of time. The naked bodies of the children would sicken a buzzard. The kids had been used badly and savagely. People who would do this deserved no pity, no mercy . . . and the only justice they were going to get from Smoke Jensen was a bullet.
    He filled in the holes and took a small Bible from his saddlebags. He read from the Old Testament and then set about making some crosses. He made four, for he knew the woman wasn’t going to last much longer.
    â€œThem names was burned in my head,” the woman said. “I made myself memorize them. They was Crown and Zack. Reed and Dumas and Mac. They was a Ray and a Sandy and some young punks called themselves Pecos, Carson, and Hudson. Three more pimply faced punks hung with them three. They was all savages. Just as mean and vicious as any man amongst ’em. They was called Concho, Bull, and Jeff.”
    Smoke rolled one of his rare cigarettes and waited,