Battle of the Mountain Man

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Smoke Jensen rode his big Palouse, Horse, into Big Rock, Colorado, just as the sun peeked over the mountains to the east. As Horse cantered down dusty streets, Smoke’s eyes flicked back and forth, checking alleyways and shadows for potential trouble. Though his days as one of the West’s most feared gunfighters were behind him, old habits died hard, and old enemies seemed to live longer and outnumber old friends.

As Smoke passed the jail, Sheriff Monte Carson stepped through the door and tipped his hat. “Howdy, Smoke. Gettin’ an early start this mornin’?”

Smoke smiled at his old friend and pointed back over his shoulder at a buckboard following him. “Got to set an example for these young punchers, Monte. Otherwise they’d sleep half the day away.”

Monte grinned and glanced at the wagon. Pearlie, foreman of Smoke’s Sugarloaf ranch, was riding slumped over, his hat pulled down over his eyes, snoring loud enough to be heard over the creaking of wheels and the clopping of horses’ hooves.

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