Free William W. Johnstone by Law of the Mountain Man Page A

put the first bullet into the dirt. There they are, Rusty. I got a hunch they’ll want to jaw a little first; work up some courage. We’ll let them. You ready?”
    “As I’ll ever be.”
    The men stepped off into the dirt of the street and began the short walk toward destiny.

8
    The hired guns and bounty hunters had positioned themselves by a falling-down old bam, obviously one of the first structures to be built in the town. And it was just as obvious that the men had done so with a plan in mind. Smart, Smoke thought.
    “After the first rounds are fired,” Smoke told Rusty. “Any left standing are going to dive for the protection of that old bam. You hit the ground behind that log pile and I’ll take the back of the building.” His words were spoken low, so only Rusty could hear.
    But the hired guns could see his lips moving. “What the hell are you two whisperin’ about?” Montana called. “You workin’ up some sort of sneaky play?”
    “Neither one of us need sneaky plays to deal with scum, like you,” Smoke called, his voice easily carrying the distance.
    Montana Slim cursed them both, loud and long.
    All four of the men Smoke and Rusty faced were wearing two six guns, low and tied down.
    “Most men can’t use but one gun at a time. And some of them can’t use that one very well,” Smoke pointed out as the gunfighter and the cowboy continued their shortening the distance to death.
    “And you ...?”
    “I’m the exception,” Smoke said without a single note of bragging. He was simply telling the truth.
    There was about fifty feet between them when Smoke halted the parade.
    “All right, Montana,” Smoke called. “You made your brags back at the cafe. Now let’s see if you’ve got the sand to back it up.”
    “Ten thousand on your head, Jensen!” Bob Garner called out. "We’ll live nice on that money."
    “You have to collect it first, Gamer,” Smoke tossed that reminder out to him.
    Garner’s laugh was full of confidence.
    Ten thousand, Smoke mused. Surely it can’t go much higher than that.
    But then, after a second’s thought, he changed his mind, realizing that perhaps there was no limit to Jud Vale’s obsessions with being king.
    “Ten thousand!” Rusty muttered. “Man, I am choppin’ in-some high cotton, Smoke. Somebody is shore scared of you.”
    Smoke did not reply, nor did his eyes leave Montana Slim. It was as he had thought, Slim and Garner were partners and were staying together. Rusty would have to deal with the two bounty hunters—if that’s what they were.
    Smoke could hear faint rustlings on the boardwalks behind them. He knew that the crowds were gathering to watch the show. It was a dangerous sport for spectators, and many an onlooker had caught a stray bullet. But entertainment was scarce in western towns; many folks packed picnic lunches and would drive a wagon for a hundred miles, bringing the entire family to make an all-day event out of a public hanging.
    “I’m tired of all this jawing, Slim,” Smoke told him. “And I really don’t want a killing. Why don’t you boys justget on your horses and ride out of here?”
    There was something unnerving about Smoke, something that shook even a hardened gunfighter like Montana Slim. He was just so damned sure of himself. Maybe he ought to be, Montana admitted silently. He’s put more than a hundred men in the ground and there he stands, lookin’ at me.
    But Montana Slim knew he had backed himself into a corner with only two ways out: either walk away victorious, or be propped up in front of the undertaking parlor on a board for all the folks to see.
    “And I’m just damn tarred of your mouth, Jensen,” Montana yelled. “Grab iron!” His hands flashed to his guns.
    Montana thought he heard Smoke say, “All right, Slim.” Then he felt twin hammer-blows slam into his chest as his knees began to buckle. Out of the corner of his eyes, the light fading fast, he saw Bob Garner run into the old barn. Montana