Pursuit Of The Mountain Man by William W. Johnstone Read Free Book Online Page A

backs, or just simply and quickly stomped them to death. He had run this town with an iron hand-or fist—for several years; now this drifter shows up and starts with the mouth.
    Finally Tom found his voice. “You better enjoy that sandwich, drifter. ’Cause it’s gonna be the last thing you’ll ever eat except my fist.”
    Smoke shoved the square table with all his strength, one sharp corner catching Tom in the thigh and pushing through the cloth of the big man’s trousers, tearing a gouge in his leg. Tom screamed in pain and grabbed at his bleeding leg just as Smoke came around the table, picking up a sturdy chair during his brief journey. Smoke brought the chair down on Tom’s head, driving the man to his knees and destroying the chair. Using what was left of the chair back as a club, Smoke proceeded to rain blows on the bully, the wood ringing like a blacksmith’s hammer as Smoke bounced it against Tom’s head.
    A crowd began to gather, both inside the saloon and on the boardwalk in front.
    When Smoke had beaten the man unconscious, he tossed the club to the floor and dragged Tom Lilly across the floor and to the now open door. He dragged him across the boardwalk and dumped him in the street.
    The citizens, male and female, stood and applauded Smoke as he walked back inside the saloon. The barkeep stood rooted behind the bar, disbelief and fear in his eyes. “Don’t kill me!” he finally squalled.
    “He’s been Tom Lilly’s biggest supporter,” a tired-looking man said. “But he’s nothing. As soon as Tom’s men come back from making their collections around the area, you’re gonna be in real trouble, mister.”
    “Collections?” Smoke asked.
    “They claim to be protecting us,” a woman said, standing outside the saloon and speaking through the open door. No way a good woman would enter a saloon. “They showed up here about three years ago. Next thing we knew, our part-time marshal was dead and Tom and his bunch were running things.”
    “Several tried to intervene,” a man said. “They come up dead or missing.”
    “How many in Tom’s gang?” Smoke asked, knowing he had gotten himself into another situation.
    “It varies. Anywhere from six to ten. Scum just seem to gather around the likes of Tom Lilly.”
    “Oh, my Lord!” a woman cried. “Tom’s gettin’ to his feet.”
    Smoke stepped out onto the boardwalk. By now, all had noticed the unusual way he wore his guns and pegged him as a gunfighter. The man from the livery stood on the fringe of the crowd and said nothing. But there was a big grin on his face.
    With blood running down his face from the savage beating he’d just taken from Smoke, Tom Lilly staggered to his feet and swayed for a moment. “No man does this to me and lives,” Tom snarled the words. Then he grabbed for his gun.

6
     
    Smoke’s draw was faster than the blink of an eye. He put a .44 slug into Tom’s arm, the slug breaking the bully’s elbow and rendering the arm useless. Tom screamed as the gun dropped back into leather. Smoke’s draw had been so fast Tom had been unable to clear his holster.
    “Jesus,” a man said. He cut his eyes to Smoke. “Who in hell are you, mister?”
    “A man who doesn’t like bullies,” Smoke told him.
    “My arm’s ruint!” Tom bellowed. “You done crippled me.”
    “You people do with him as you see fit,” Smoke told the crowd. The whole town had turned out; about a hundred people, including the dogs and cats.
    “My boys’ll burn this damn town to the ground,” Tom yelled. “They’ll have their way with the women and kill the men. You people better wise up and run this drifter outta town and get me some medical help.”
    “We’ll help you,” a man said, uncoiling a length of rope he’d taken from his saddle.
    “I’ll be down the street at the cafe,” Smoke said. He walked back into the saloon and got his coat and hat. He looked at the barkeep. “If you have any sense at all, you’d better take to the