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

reputation.
    Smoke Jensen had been elusive for over a decade, surfacing outside of his ranch in Colorado only briefly. Many people knew his name but could not put a face to it, unless they had memorized the covers of the many penny dreadfuls, most of which were rarely accurate.
    He received many a furtive glance as he walked toward the cafe, for danger clung to him; it was an aura that made many strong and brave men step aside until he had passed.
    Smoke was scarcely into his thirties, just now approaching the prime years of his life, but he was already a living legend, and not just west of the Mississippi. Had he elected to cut notches into the handles of his Colts after each kill, he would have gone through half a dozen sets and still nothave any handles left. But only tinhorns did that.
    He opened the door to the cafe and stepped in, the good smells of cooking making him realize how hungry he was. Rusty was already working on his first plate of bacon and eggs and fried potatoes—and the first of several pots of coffee.
    The redhead pushed out a chair with his boot and Smoke sat down.
    “Been several folks wonderin’ who you are,” the newly hired puncher said. “Most I heard come to the conclusion that you was a lawman of some sort.”
    “I’ve worn a badge a time or two,” Smoke admitted, then called out his order to the counterman. He picked up his cup and allowed the waitress to fill it.
    She met his eyes. “I seen you two or three years back,” she spoke the words softly. “You be careful in this town. It’s filled up with hired guns, all of them just bumin’ to kill you.”
    “I appreciate that.”
    She nodded and walked back into the kitchen.
    Rusty’s freckled face screwed up with disgust. “Seems like ever’body knows who you are but me!”
    Smoke sugared his coffee and stirred. “The name is Jensen.”
    The redhead’s fork froze midway to his mouth. “ Smoke Jensen?” he finally managed to say.
    “That’s it. Now close your mouth before a bug decides to fly in there.”
    Rusty filled his mouth with food and then closed it. “Boy, I sure know how to pick ’em,” he muttered. “I’m beginnin’ to wonder if a hundred a month is enough.”
    “And found,” Smoke reminded him.
    “Food ain’t too tasty with a bellyful of lead,” the puncher said mournfully. But there was a definite twinkle in his eyes.
    “You didn’t sign a contract,” Smoke reminded him.“Feel free to ride.”
    “Naw! Hell, I’ll stick around. I ain’t never ridden with such highfalutin’ company before. Might be interestin’.”
    “I’m not looking for trouble, Rusty. After we eat our meal, I plan on saddling up and riding out.”
    “That must be why you walk around with them hammer thongs off your guns.”
    Smoke grinned. “I just believe in being a very cautious man, that’s all.”
    “Right. With your name, you damn well better be.”
    The two men cleaned their plates, Rusty eating two plates of food without apology, then finished off another pot of coffee. Not as strong as they liked it, but it would do. Then they leaned back, rolled cigarettes, and lit up. The cafe was gradually filling with the lunch crowd, all of the diners giving the two men short and cautious looks as they took their seats.
    Then the door opened and four hardcases stepped inside.
    Bob Garner and Montana Slim were the only two that Smoke recognized. The other two were unknown to him. But Garner and Montana Slim were quite enough to face on a full stomach.
    Or an empty belly for that matter.
    Slim’s eyes widened as they settled on Smoke and recognition set in. Then he grinned, his hands close to the butts of his guns.
    But the humor—if that’s what it was—did not reach his killer eyes.
    “We done got the hotshot all bottled up, boys,” Slim announced, in a too-loud voice. “And some funny lookin’ pup with him.”
    “This dog’s got teeth, partner,” Rusty told him. “An’ I ain’t been a pup in a long