Free Shootout of the Mountain Man by William W. Johnstone, J. A. Johnstone Page B

careful.”
    With another laugh, Smoke kissed her goodbye. Then he waved at Pearlie and Cal before stepping up into the car.
    The car was dimly lit by six wall-mounted lanterns, three on either side, in the front, middle, and back of the car. Smoke found a seat midway through the car on the depot side, and sitting down, he raised the window and looked out at Sally, Pearlie, and Cal. They were still there, and would remain there, Smoke knew, not only until the train left the station, but until it was well out of sight.
    It was odd, he thought, how a person’s life took such turns and twists. As he sat there, looking out at the woman who was now so much a part of his life—a part of him, really—he could well believe that she was the only one ever for him. And yet, if Nicole had not been killed, he would have never even met Sally, and he knew, with no diminishment of his feelings for Sally, that he would have been just as happy and satisfied.
    The engineer blew the whistle two times, then with a rattle of couplings, a squeak of bearings, and a few jerks to take up the slack, the train started forward. Within less than a minute, the train had reached its normal running speed of twenty-five miles per hour.
    This train was not equipped with sleeping berths, so Smoke made himself as comfortable as he could under the circumstances. He pulled his hat down over his eyes, folded his arms across his chest, and quickly fell asleep.
    He was going to be on a train for a long time.
    When the town of Desolation, Nevada, was laid out, it was with the absolute assurance and confidence that the Nevada Central Railroad would come through. Instead, the railroad passed ten miles to the west. As a result, the town that had started with such high hopes was now withering on the vine.
    There were some attempts to revive the town—talk, for example, of running a spur track from the main line to Desolation, much as had been done at Austin, which was ten miles south. A few stores hung on, depending upon area ranchers and miners to provide them with a customer base. But the most successful business establishment in Desolation was the New Promise Saloon.
    Desolation had no city marshal. The nearest law was the Lander County sheriff, who was located in Austin, and he provided no deputies for the dying town. This complete lack of law meant that Desolation was a town where even those who had wanted posters being circulated on them could come without fear of being arrested. The citizens of Desolation had mixed feelings about this. Some welcomed the business of the outlaws since most of the outlaws not only had money, but had nowhere else to spend it except with the merchants of Desolation. In addition, others pointed out that, in a perverse way, the outlaw element was itself a form of protection, for none of the outlaws wanted to create a disturbance in the only place where they could feel welcome.
    At the moment, Frank Dodd was sitting at a table in the back of the New Promise Saloon, eating pickled pig’s feet and drinking beer.
    “Dodd,” Jules Stillwater said. “I got them two boys for you to meet.”
    Dodd gnawed at one of the pig’s feet, pulling back the tough skin to get to a little piece of meat.
    “What two boys?” he asked. He spit a piece of gristle onto the floor.
    “Phillips and Garrison, the two I told you about. You said you wanted to get a couple more men to make up for losin’ Cabot.”
    Dodd finished off the pig’s foot, then set the white bone down with a little pile of white bones.
    “All right bring ‘em in.”
    Stillwater went back out front, then returned a moment later with two men. They were both of average size, and both were badly in need of a shave and in even worse need of a bath. One of them had a gun stuck down in his waistband; the other was wearing a well-worn holster.
    “Either one of you ever used one of those before?” Dodd asked, pointing to the guns the men wore.
    “Yeah, sure, lots of times,” one of