Read Online Ordeal of the Mountain Man by William W. Johnstone - Free Book Online Page B

who had been playing cards now stood at the rear of the room, their backs to the wall. The five hard cases who lined the bar had spread out. They eyed the batwing doors intently, marking the time. Aaron Turner had gone behind the bar. One hand hovered over a hefty bung starter.
    Mayor Norton entered the saloon first, nearly precipitating a fusillade. Two of the gunmen at the rear actually unlimbered their six-guns. Smoke Jensen came in a moment behind the mayor, his .45 Colt leading the way. He shot first one, then the other man who had drawn their weapons. Deliberately aimed high, the heavy slugs slammed into their shoulders. Two Colt Frontier models thudded in the sawdust on the roughhewn floor.
    In the next second, Smoke Jensen roughly shoved Lester Norton to the floor, and the air rocked to the roar of eight blazing six-guns. Smoke shot one of the trash at the bar and dived into a roll that took him halfway across the room. He came up with bullets cutting the air to both sides and over his head. Another quick shot and a would-be ambusher went down screaming, his kneecap shattered. Smoke raised his six-gun and fired again.
    A fifth saddle tramp groaned and left the fight, shot through the right side an inch above his hip bone. Smoke dived behind an overturned table and expended his last two rounds. Another man in the back of the room sprang backward and collided discordantly with the upright piano. Smoke’s final slug destroyed half of the top octave. The strings pinged musically as the lead snapped them.
    Smoke holstered his right-hand revolver and reached for his second Peacemaker, worn high on his left side, butt forward and slanted across his hard, flat stomach. A slug from one of the hard cases at the bar clipped the hat from his head. He returned the favor with a bullet that struck the face of the cylinder in the offending six-gun.
    Hot needles of pain shot through the shooter’s hand, and he let go of his damaged weapon. Another tried to work his way around to Smoke’s blind side. He made three side steps along the bar and stopped suddenly when Aaron Turner rapped him smartly on the top of his head with a bung starter. The gunhawk crashed to the floor with a meteor shower behind his eyes.
    Alone in a reign of such fury, the remaining hard case chose wisdom over pain. He reversed the revolver and offered it to Smoke butt first. Far too wise in the ways of gunhandling, Smoke did not fall for that one. Instead he gestured toward the green baize top of a poker table.
    â€œLay it down there. Do it or I’ll shoot you anyway.” Smoke turned to where the mayor remained sprawled on the floor. “Now, Mr. Mayor, if you’d be so kind as to help me take this garbage out of here and lock them up.”
    â€œWhat’s the charge?” complained the one with the red, swollen, throbbing hand.
    â€œAssaulting a peace officer, for a start. Maybe the territorial attorney can make attempted murder stick.”
    Fear loosened the brigand’s tongue. “No, man, I swear, no. We didn’t intend to kill you, just bust you up a little and run you out of town. Nobody said a thing about killing. I swear it.”
    Coolly, Aaron Turner put in his contribution. “He lies.” He nodded to the one Smoke had killed. “That one stood right here and said they would bury you come tomorrow. They all thought it a good idea. The mouthy one there said something about drilling you tonight and planting you in the morning.”
    Smoke Jensen stopped in his roundup of the casualties. “Say, I wanted to thank you for your timely assistance. You’re pretty handy with that thing.”
    Turner looked down at the bung starter in his hand and back at Smoke. He smiled shyly, and his ears colored. “Oh, this. I get a lot of practice.”
    Smoke nodded. “Might be you won’t have near as much for some while.” With that he and the mayor started off with their