Trail of the Mountain Man Read Online Free Page A

TF rider backward to land in a sprawl of dead, cooling meat some distance away from the table.
    The other TF riders sat very still at the table, being very careful not to move their hands.
    Smoke holstered his .44 in a move almost as fast as his draw. “Anybody else want to dance?”
    No one did.
    â€œThen I’ll finish my beer, and I’d appreciate it if I could do so in peace.”
    No one had moved in the saloon. The bartender was so scared he looked like he wanted to wet his long handles.
    â€œPass me that bowl of eggs down here, will you, Beaconfield?” Smoke asked.
    The rancher scooted the bowl of hard-boiled eggs down the bar. Smoke looked at the bartender. “Crack it and peel it for me.”
    The bartender dropped one egg and made a mess out of the second before he got the third one right.
    â€œA little salt and pepper on it, please,” Smoke requested.
    Gas escaped from Red’s cooling body.
    Smoke ate his egg and finished his beer. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and deliberately turned his back to the table of TF riders. “Any backshooters in the bunch?” he asked.
    â€œFirst man reaches for a gun, I drop them,” a rancher friendly to Smoke said.
    â€œThanks, Mike,” Smoke said.
    He walked to the batwing doors, his spurs jingling. A TF rider named Singer spoke, his voice stopping Smoke. “You could have backed off, Matt.”
    â€œNot much backup in me, Singer.” Smoke turned around to once more face the crowded saloon.
    â€œI reckon not,” Singer acknowledged. “But you got to know what this means.”
    â€œAll it means is I killed a loud-mouthed tinhorn. Your boss wants to make something else out of it, that’s his concern.”
    â€œMan ought to have it on his marker who killed him.” Singer didn’t let up. “Matt your first or last name?”
    â€œNeither one. The name is Jensen. Smoke Jensen.”
    Singer’s jaw dropped so far down Smoke thought it might hit the card table. He turned around and pushed open the doors, walking across the street to his horse. As he swung into the saddle, he was thinking. Should get real interesting around No-Name ... real quick.

4
    As Smoke was riding out of the town, one of Tilden’s men, who had been in the bar around the card table, was fogging it toward the Circle TF, lathering a good horse to get the news to Tilden Franklin.
    Tilden sat on his front porch and received the news of the gunfight, a look of pure disbelief on his face. “Matt killed Red? What’d he do, shoot him in the back?”
    â€œStand-up, face-to-face fight, boss,” the puncher said. “But Matt ain’t his real name. It’s Smoke Jensen.”
    Tilden dropped his coffee cup, the cup shattering on the porch floor. “Smoke Jensen!” he finally managed to blurt out. “He’s got to be lyin’!”
    The puncher shook his head. “You’d have to have been there, boss. Smoke is everything his rep says he is. I ain’t never seen nobody that fast in all my life.”
    â€œDid he let Red clear leather before he drew?” Tilden’s voice was hoarse as he asked the question.
    â€œYessir.”
    â€œJensen,” Tilden whispered. “That’s one of his trademarks. Okay, Donnie. Thanks. You better cool down that horse of yours.”
    The bowlegged cowboy swaggered off to see to his horse. Tilden leaned back in his porch chair, a sour sensation in his stomach and a bad taste in his mouth. Smoke Jensen ... here ! Crap!
    What to do?
    Tilden seemed to recall that there was a murder warrant out for Smoke Jensen, from years back. But that was way to hell and gone over to Walsenburg; and the men Smoke had killed had murdered his brother and stolen some Confederate gold back during the war. 3
    Anyway, Tilden suddenly remembered, that warrant had been dropped.
    No doubt about it, Tilden mused, with Smoke Jensen owner of the