Read Online William W. Johnstone by Law of the Mountain Man - Free Book Online Page A

folks dubbed me Clarence, but nobody calls me that. Just Rusty.”
    “I guessed right at first glance.” Smoke speared some bacon out of the pan and handed a hunk of bread to Rusty.
    “Much obliged.” He let his eyes drift over Smoke’s rig, noting the two guns, one butt-forward.
    “You ridin’ east like all them others?” Smoke asked.
    “West for a day, then I’ll do a turnaround back to the Bear. Any work over yonder?”
    “I’m lookin’ for hands.”
    “You shore found one. My poke’s as flat as a sit-on pancake.”
    “Might be dangerous signin’ on with me.”
    Rusty’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of work you got in mind, mister-whatever-your-name-is?”
    “Punching cows. Fixing fence. Cleaning out water-holes. Cowboy work. You up to it?”
    “Shore! That’s what I been doin’ since I was big enough to sit a saddle. What’s the danger you talkin’ about?”
    Smoke sipped his coffee before replying. “Big rancher who is about half nuts is trying to run the old man and woman who own the spread off their land. They hit us the other night. We emptied seven saddles.”
    “How many is us?”
    “You talking about hands?”
    “Yep.”
    “Three old men who are about seventy and a handful of kids, average age twelve.”
    Rusty looked dead at him. “Are you serious?”
    “As a crutch.”
    “What’re you payin’?”
    “A hundred a month and found.”
    “A hundred a month! Shoot, man! You just hiredyourself a hand.”
    “Those are fighting wages, Rusty.”
    “I kinda figured they was. But I got to tell you, I ain’t never hired out my gun.”
    “Can you use it?”
    “Oh, yeah. I reckon I’m as good as the next man. I’ve drug iron a time or two.”
    “Any family?”
    “Ma and Pa died years back. I got some cousins somewhere that I ain’t never seen.”
    “Just curious. I want to know who to notify if you catch one.”
    “Just plant me where I fall, I reckon. And make sure my horse is taken care of. He’s a good one.”
    “I’m heading over to Malad City. Then we’ll head back to the Box T.”
    “Sounds good to me. You got a name?”
    “Doesn’t everyone?”
    “You are a most exasperatin’ feller! You ’shamed of your handle?”
    “No.”
    Rusty cussed and then ate his bacon, mopping the grease out of his tin plate with bread. He poured another cup of coffee, rolled a cigarette, and leaned back. “You a gunfighter?”
    “Some say I am.”
    “You look familiar to me. I seen you somewheres before. On a wanted poster, maybe?”
    “No. I’m not wanted. I own a ranch down Colorado way. The Sugarloaf. I’m just helping out an old couple. I don’t like to see folks shoved around.”
    “Right nice of you. I kinda get riled up some myself when somebody tries to roll over other folks. You gonna tell me your name?”
    Smoke smiled faintly. “I tell you my name, you might not come to work.”
    “For a hundred a month and found? You could tell me your name was Satan and I wouldn’t back away.”
    “All right,” Smoke replied. “Come to think of it, you just might be riding into a corner of Hell after all.” He left it at that.
    Smoke and Rusty reached Malad City at mid-morning, just as the town was catching its breath after a wild and raucous night. Things had been reasonably quiet the previous night, with only one killing.
    “Don’t never ask nobody for directions in this place,” Rusty told him. “When they laid out these streets, they just tossed a handful of sticks on the ground for a blueprint... and then followed it.”
    They stabled their horses and Smoke pointed out a cafe, telling Rusty he’d meet him there in a few minutes. He took care of Walt’s bank draft and walked the boardwalk to the cafe. He saw several gunslicks he knew by name and a dozen more who had the hardcase brand stamped all over them. And a half-dozen punks who were looking for a reputation, but more than likely would find a grave to hold their swagger long before they found a