Rage of the Mountain Man by William W. Johnstone Read Free Book Online

his head in resignation. How would he ever put up with being surrounded for two weeks by thousands like this one?
    “. . . uh—said I was sorry. I spoke out of line,” Arthur mumbled a bit louder.
    Smoke made himself be magnanimous. “That’s all right. The offense is forgotten. Have a pleasant journey.”
    Some imp of rebellion lingered in Arthur from Boston. “Yeah, sure. I know you will.”
    ' Smoke chose to ignore it and turned to Sally. “How do they get so lippy?”
    “It probably comes from living all crowded up close to one another,” Sally opined. “And it might be because they have ordinances prohibiting people from going around armed. From even owning guns, in some places.” She nodded to indicate the cartridge belt and the pair of Colts under Smoke’s dress coat.
    Smoke produced a rueful grin. “Yeah. An armed society is a polite society. Preacher always said that.”
    Sally dimpled with a conspiratorial smile. “I know. I have that cute little Lightning in my purse.”
    Cute? Smoke thought wonderingly. That Colt was an instrument of death. Sally ought to know better. Preacher had taught Smoke that one respected guns, cared for them, even might fear them in the hands of others, but you didn’t personalize them, or give them familiar names, like Old Betsy. He took Sally’s arm and helped her onto the vestibule platform.
    They started through the first of two Pullman cars when Smoke had to grab Sally’s elbow to steady her. A sudden jolt and loud, rumbling crash of metal against metal came from the rear of the train.
    “Don’t hump that car, you dizzy idiot!” the conductor shouted to the yard goat engineer. “The colonel will have your balls for that.”
    “It appears our coach has arrived,” Smoke said through his amusement.

    Although well-accustomed to train travel, Sally Jensen had never seen anything quite so opulent as Colonel Drew’s private coach. Entering, they encountered a narrow passageway past the lavatory, storage pantry, and kitchen. A narrow, cell-like space provided sleeping accommodations for the cook, his helper, and the butler. Next came the doors to four sleeping compartments. Beyond that, the dining room, which had opened out to full width, its forward and rear walls covered with crystal mirrors in mahogany frames. A cut-crystal chandelier with Tiffany reflector hung over a large, oval cherrywood table. Matching chairs, with plush seat cushions, provided seating for eight.
    Graceful columns of polished mahogany formed an archway into the sitting room. Overhead, pressed tin ceiling covers depicted scenes from mythology, the details picked out in gold foil. Comfortable wing chairs, a loveseat, and a chesterfield sat in casual disarray among low tables and smoking stands in the sitting room. A small bar graced the wall that screened the dining room. Stained glass bordered the windows and a domed cupola that admitted light. Sally drew in a delighted breath.
    “It’s so beautiful.”
    Smoke circled her still-trim waist with both arms and spoke over one shoulder, into her ear. “I’d buy you diamonds if you had anywhere to wear them.”
    “Oh, pooh, I already have diamonds.” Sally looked around in eager appreciation. “Do you really think . . . that we can afford one of these?”
    “We never go somewhere often enough to make it practical. And I, for one, don’t find that unappealing,” Smoke teased.
    “Stick-in-the-mud!” Sally challenged.
    The door to the observation platform at the rear opened suddenly. It caught Smoke and Sally in their intimate embrace. A gangly young man stood in the opening. He awkwardly held an alligator-skin gladstone bag.
    “Excuse me” he said, in a somewhat squeaky voice. “I think you have the wrong car.”
    Smoke released Sally. “Maybe it’s you who are in the wrong place,” he challenged.
    The boy stood his ground. “This is Colonel Joshua Drew’s private car. I’m his son-in-law, his new son-in-law. I—we—we’re on our