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

honeymoon.”
    This was something he had not been advised about in advance. Smoke drew a deep breath and removed his Montana Peak Stetson. He studied the callow young man and wondered how the colonel had ever consented to allow his younger and most precious daughter to marry such a one.
    Had the invitation to use the private car been in error? Smoke removed the tickets from his inside coat pocket, accidentally revealing the cartridge belt and the butt of his gunfighter-rigged crossdraw .45.
    Immediately the youthful newlywed washed pale white and dropped the bag. He clutched at the arm of the girl who now stood beside him. “Watch out, Priss,” he bleated. “This ruffian has a gun.”
    Priscilla Drew looked beyond her husband’s agitated face and her efforts at recollection moved fluidly across her face. “Why, I know you,” she addressed Smoke.- “You’re Mr. Jensen. You worked for my father. You laid the course for the D & R G through the high passes of the Rockies.” “That’s correct. But I don’t recall you, Miss—er—Mrs. . . ."
    A light trill of laughter came up a long, graceful throat and bubbled on pretty lips. “Small wonder, Mr. Jensen. I was only a child at the time.”
    Not much more now , Smoke thought to himself. He produced a smile, along with a memory. “The one who loved horses more than locomotives, am I right? That lovely blond hair gives you away. You wore it in sausage curls then, too, didn’t you?”
    Priscilla absolutely glowed. “Oooh, I would have just died of ecstasy if I had known you noticed me then.” She turned to her husband and said, “Thomas, it skipped my mind, what with everything that went on before and after our wedding. Daddy did say that we would be sharing the car with a good friend of his and his wife. This must be them. Mr. Smoke Jensen, my husband, Thomas Henning.” Then she added with glowing pride, “I'm Mrs. Henning now."
    “How do you do?” Thomas Henning responded stiffly, his eyes still fixed on Smoke’s waistline, where he had seen the cross-draw gun.
    “Fine, thank you. I was about to show you our tickets and travel itinerary. Your father is most generous, Mrs. Henning. We have use of the car all the way to Boston.”
    “It’s like him,” Thomas Henning said poutishly. “Send along a chaperone on our honeymoon.”
    “May I present my wife, Sally Reynolds Jensen,” Smoke finished the introductions, ignoring the petulance of Thomas.
    At mention of Sally’s family name, Thomas cocked an eyebrow. Now that he had calmed somewhat, his voice held the distinct flavor of an eastern accent. “Would that be the New Hampshire Reynoldses? Banking, the stock market, diversified investments?”
    “The same,” Sally informed him, fighting to suppress a throaty chuckle.
    “Well, I must say, I had no idea that these rough-edged westerners even knew anyone from the distinguished families, let alone that one had married into a family so—so acceptable as the Reynoldses.”
    That torqued Smoke Jensen’s jaw as very little else could. “I think you have it wrong, boy. Sally married me; I didn’t marry into any family.”
    “Please, Thomas, don’t be such a snob. You’ve had a problem with that since you came to Denver,” Priscilla chided.
    “But, he’s—he’s so . . . common.”
    “ Thomas! ” Priscilla cried, embarrassed for herself as well as him. “One doesn’t talk to people out here like that.” “Not unless one is prepared to back it up,” Smoke prodded.
    Thomas paled again and his upper lip trembled. “I’m not armed. I abhor firearms.”
    “Which is what is keeping you alive right now,” Smoke growled, his dander fully aroused. Then, when he saw the sickly expression that washed over Thomas’s face, he uttered a sound somewhere between a shout and a bark of laughter. “Come on, folks, this is rapidly going nowhere. Relax, Mr. Henning. Sally always tells me my bark is worse than my bite. Since we’re going to be together in