Journey of the Mountain Man (14 page)

“The
Reno Kid!”
Golden hissed, as his front chair legs hit the boardwalk.

“He's right!” Gandy, a member of Cat Jennings's gang almost shouted the words. “I was there! I seen it! That there is shore nuff the Reno Kid. He's all growed up and put on some weight, but that's him!”

“Damn right!” the wino said. “I said it was, din I. I was thar, too.”

“That's why he don't never pack no gun,” another said. “Who'd have thought it?”

“He's mine,” Golden said.

“We'll both take him,” Gandy insisted. “Man lak 'at you cain't take no chances with.”

“But he ain't packin' no iron!” another said. “Hit'd be murder, pure and simple.”

Golden said a cuss word and leaned back in his chair.

“Here they come!” Gandy looked up the street. “To hell with it. I'll force his hand and call him out. Make him git a six-gun.”

“I'll keep you covered in case he's packin' a hideout gun,” Golden told him.

Both men stood up, Gandy stepping out into the wide street, directly in the path of the buggy.

Parnell whoaed the horse and sat glaring at the gunslick.

Gandy glared back.

“Will you please remove your unwashed and odious presence from the middle of the street, you ignorant lout!” Parnell ordered.

“Whut the hale did you say to me, Reno?”

Parnell blinked and looked at Rita, who was looking at him.

“I'm afraid you have me confused with someone else,” Parnell said. “Now kindly step out of the way so we may proceed on our journey.”

“Git outta that thar buggy, Reno! I'm a gonna kill you.”

“He thinks you're the Reno Kid.” Rita gripped Parnell's arm.

“Who, or what, is the Reno Kid?”

“A legendary gunfighter from the Nevada Territory. He'd be about your age now. No one has seen him in fifteen years.”

“What the hale-far is y'all whisperin' about?” Gandy hollered. “What'd the matter, Reno, you done turned yeller?”

“I beg your pardon !” Parnell returned the shout. “Begone with you before I give you a proper hiding with a buggy whip, you fool!”

No one seemed to notice the tall, lean, darkly tanned stranger standing in the shadows of the awning in front of the Pussycat. He was wearing a gun, but then, so did nearly every man. He stood watching the goings-on with a faint twinkle of amusement in his dark eyes.

If it got out of hand, he would interfere, but not before.

“Y'all heard it!” Gandy shouted. “He called me a fool! Them's fightin' words, Reno. Now get out of that there buggy.”

“I most certainly will not, you . . . you . . . hooligan!”

“I think I'll just snatch your woman outta there and lift her petticoats. Maybe that'll narrow that yeller stripe a-runnin' down your back.”

Before he even thought about the consequences, Parnell stepped from the buggy to the street. His coat was covering his pistol. “I demand you apologize to Miss Rita for that remark, you brute!”

“I ain't a-gonna do no sich of a thing, Reno.”

“My name is not Reno and oh, yes, you will!”

“Your name shore as hell is Reno and I will not!”

Gandy could not see most of Parnell for the horse. Parnell brushed back his coat and put his hand on the butt of his gun, removing the leather thong from the hammer and stepping forward, drawing as he walked.

Gandy saw the arm movement and grabbed iron. Parnell stubbed his toe on a rock in the street and fell forward, pulling the trigger. The hammer dropped, the slug striking Gandy right between the eyes and knocking him down, dead before he hit the dirt.

Shocked at what he'd done, Parnell turned, the muzzle pointing toward Golden just as Golden jerked his gun out of leather.

Parnell instinctively cocked and fired, the bullet slamming into Golden's stomach and doubling him over. By this time, Rita had jerked a Winchester out of the boot and eared the hammer back.

“That's it, Reno!” Eddie Hart hollered. “We don't want no more trouble.”

Parnell looked at the dead and dying men. He felt sick at his stomach; fought back the nausea as he climbed back into the buggy, first holstering his pistol. He picked up the reins and clucked the mare forward, moving smartly up the street.

“I feel quite ill,” Parnell admitted.

“You're so brave!” Rita threw her arms around his neck and gave him a wet kiss in his ear.

Parnell almost lost the rig.

“I seen some fancy shootin' in my days, boys,” Pooch Matthews said. “But I ain't never seen nothing like that. Damn, but that Reno is fast.”

“Like lightnin',” another said. “Smoke's been holding an ace in the hole all this time.”

The stranger walked back into the Pussycat and up to the bar. “You got rooms for rent upstairs?”

“Sure do. Bath's out back. That was some shootin', wasn't it?”

“Yes,” the stranger chuckled. “I will admit I have never seen anything like it. I'll take a room; might be here several days.”

“Fix you right up. Even give you a clean towel. Them sheets ain't been slept in but once or twice. Maybe three times. Clean sheets'll cost you a quarter.”

The stranger laid a quarter down on the bar. “Clean ones, please.”

“We ain't got no registry book. But I'm nosy. You ain't from around here, are you?”

“No.”

“If you gonna hire on with Dooley, the room is gonna cost you fifty dollars a night.”

“I never heard of anyone called Dooley. I'm just tired of riding and would like to rest for a few days.”

“Good. Fifty cents a night, then. The schoolteacher is really the Reno Kid. Dadgum! How about that? Where are you from, mister?”

“Oh, over Nevada way.”

 

 

“Dammit, Parnell!” Smoke grabbed the reins behind the driving bit. “I told you not to go into town wearin' that gun.”

“He's the Reno Kid!” Rita shouted, and everybody within hearing range turned and came running. “I just watched him beat two gunnies to the draw and kill them both. Right in front of the Hangout.”

Smoke looked at Parnell, shock in his eyes. “You
hit
something? With a pistol?”

“I stubbed my toe. The gun went off. I am not the Reno Kid.”

“He ain't the Reno Kid!” Charlie said. “I been knowin' Reno for twenty years.”

Parnell turned to Rita. “You see. I told you repeatedly that I am not the Reno Kid.”

“Oh, I know
that,
honey. But I sure got everybody's attention, didn't I?” She hopped from the buggy and raced over to Sandi to tell her story.

“Reno changed his name about fifteen years ago and went to ranchin' up near the Idaho border.” Charlie cleared it up. “But he shore left a string of bodies while he was gunslingin'.”

Smoke turned back to Parnell. “You really got them both?”

“One was hit between the eyes. I'm sure he's dead. The lout called Golden took a round in the stomach. If he isn't dead, he'll certainly be incapacitated for a very long time.”

“What the hell is in-capassiated?” Hardrock muttered.

“Beats me,” Pistol said. “Sounds plumb awful, though.”

Parnell climbed down from the buggy and Corgill led the rig to the barn. Smoke faced the man. “All right, Parnell. You're tagged now. There'll be hundred guns looking for you . . .”

“That is perfectly ridiculous!” Parnell cut in. “I am not the Reno Kid!”

“That don't make no difference,” Silver Jim told him. “This time tomorrow the story will be spread fifty miles that the Reno Kid has surfaced and is back on the prowl. By this time next week it'll be all over the territory and they'll be no tellin' how many two-bit punks and would-be gunhawks comin' in to make their rep. By killin' you. Welcome to the club, Schoolteacher,' he added bitterly.

Charlie patted Parnell on the back. “You go git out of them town duds, Parnell. The four of us is gonna take you under our wing and teach you how to handle that there Colt.”

Parnell stood with his mouth open, unable to speak.

“But Parnell don't sound like no gunfighter's name to me,” Silver Jim said. “Where was you born, Parnell?”

“In Iowa. On the Wolf River.”

“That's it!” Charlie exclaimed. “You ain't the Reno Kid, so from now on, your handle is Wolf.”

“Wolf!”
Parnell stared at the man. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

“Nope. Wolf, it is. The Wolf is on the prowl. I like it.”

“This is madness!” Parnell yelled.

“Go on now, Wolf,” Hardrock told him. “Git you some jeans and boots. Strap on and tie down that hogleg. We'll set up a target range.”

“See you in a few minutes, Wolf.” Pistol grinned at him.

“This is absurd!” Parnell muttered. He started up the steps, tripped, and fell facedown on the porch. He picked himself up with as much dignity as possible and entered the house.

Charlie shook his head. “We got our work cut out for us, boys.”

 

 

Golden died that night, cursing the man he believed to be the Reno Kid as he slipped across that dark river. Twenty-four hours later, a dozen men were riding for Gibson, their burning ambition to be the one man who faced the Reno Kid and brought him down. Another twenty-four later, two dozen more punks and tinhorns would be on their way, until those looking to make a reputation by killing the Reno Kid would grow to a hundred. And the news had spread that Smoke Jensen was really in Gibson—nobody had believed it up to now; indeed, many people believed that Smoke Jensen really did not exist, he was such an elusive figure.

Telegraph wires began humming and a dozen big newspapers sent reporters into Montana to cover the story. Within a week, Gibson had a brand-spanking-new hotel and had been added to the stagecoach route.

The stranger from Nevada decided to stay, watching all the fuss with amusement in his eyes, spending most of his time sitting in a chair under the awning in front of the Pussycat.

Dooley had pulled in his men, cussing at all the notoriety and knowing this was no time to enlarge the range war. The hate within the man continued to fester, ready to erupt at any moment, spewing blood and violence all over the area.

Judge Ford was at some sort of conference, out of the state, and would be back in about a month.

“Another good idea shot down,” Cord said, disgusted at the news.

Four more saloons had been thrown up in Gibson, along with several more stores, including a gunshop, a dress shop—for a lot of ladies of the evening were coming in—an apothecary shop, and another general store.

A lot had happened in a week.

Thanks to the Reno Kid aka Parnell.

 

 

“We found out what was wrong with Wolf not bein' able to shoot worth a damn,” Charlie told Smoke.

Smoke closed his eyes for a few seconds and shook his head. “Wolf,” he muttered. “What a name. What was wrong with him, Charlie?”

“He's scared of guns! Pistols 'specially.”

“Good God! Charlie, there's about a hundred people in Gibson—new people—with one thought in mind: to kill the Reno Kid, real name Parnell, now called Wolf. He's a schoolteacher, Charlie. Not a gunfighter. The poor man is a walking target.”

Hardrock grinned. “But we come up with something, Smoke. Lookee here.” He held up the ugliest and most awesome-looking rig Smoke had ever seen.

“What in God's name . . . !”

The old gunfighters had taken two double-barreled shotguns and sawed the barrels down to about ten inches long. They had then fashioned a pistol-type butt for the terrible weapons.

“Those things would break a man's arm!” Smoke said, eyeballing the rigs.

“Not Wolf's arm. For a schoolteacher, he's powerful strong. And he's just as fast with these here things as he is with a pistol,” Silver Jim said with a nearly toothless grin.

“That's all the booming I been hearing.”

“Right! Man, Wolf is plumb awesome with these here things,” Pistol said. “We got 'um loaded up with rusty nails and ball-bearin's and raggedly little rocks and the like. We done loaded up near'bouts a case of shells for him. He's ready to go huntin' him a rep.”

“Pistol, Parn ... Wolf doesn't want a rep,” Smoke said.

Charlie grinned. “You ain't seen much of him for a week, Smoke. You gonna be ass-tonished at the change. Come on.”

Smoke was more than astonished. He didn't even recognize the man. Parnell had grown a mustache, and that had completely changed his appearance. He was dressed all in black, from his hat down to his polished boots. He looked very capable and very tough.

“I gotta see him draw and cock and fire these hand cannons,” Smoke said.

“With pleasure, Cousin.” Parnell strapped on the weapons.

“You watch this,” Charlie said, as Cord and several others gathered around.

Pistol and Silver Jim rolled several full water barrels out and backed away.

“They's a-facin' you, Wolf!” Charlie said, excitement in his voice. “Watch 'um now. Watch they eyes. That'll give 'em away ever time.”

Parnell tensed, his hands hovering over the butts of the terrible weapons.

“They's about ready to make their play!” Hardrock called out. “You got to take out the man on your left first, he's the bad one.”