Cannon House

By Troy Andrew Smith

Death in Montana... if the gunsmoke, flashing blades, and flying lead in Cannon House doesn't satisfy your lust for action and adventure, then you're not a real western fan. Troy Andrew Smith is the real thing and his writing smells of saddle leather, sweat, and black powder smoke. Don't miss Cannon House if you love real western action adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.C. Hulsey Books
• Release date: Feb 11, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224178551

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Stolen Horses

The sun was high and hot as it beat down on the high plateau a few miles west of the Cannon House stage station in the territory of Montana. Back East in this year of 1881 people were living in the new industrial age. More and more automobiles kept replacing horses and streetcars replaced carriages. In New York, Gentlemen wore Derby or Homburg hats as they read the latest newspapers or smoked a good cigar. Ladies strolled down sidewalks carrying parasols. They wore dresses with lace collars as they visited various shops to browse the latest fashions.

A horse named Ben Ali won the Kentucky Derby and John L. Sullivan was still considered to be the reigning World Heavyweight Champion in bare knuckle boxing. In Australia a fighter by the name of Peter Jackson might’ve disputed Sullivan’s claim because he had just won the Australian Heavy Weight Title and believed he could beat any and all comers.

None of that meant a thing to Jim Stalls as he lay hunkered down behind a low out cropping of rocks that were too hot to touch. But touch them he did because the alternative was to die. Every time he even tried to shift his hastily chosen position, another bullet would sprang off the rock closest to his head and send freshly made gravel to sting his face and the dust would get in his eyes. Each time this happened Jim Stalls hugged the hot rocks just a little closer. He also cussed a bit to himself. At first there’d been a lizard under one of the rocks to keep him company. But, after one of the shots had bounced off of the rock, the lizard was gone. Jim hadn’t even seen where he’d gone to, a safe hole Jim figured. Jim would’ve given most anything at the moment to have a safe hole to climb in.

Off to his right his horse was standing three legged waiting for Jim Stalls to come help him. Jim knew there was only one thing he could do for the horse. He also knew the horse wasn’t going anywhere because his off side front leg swung useless in the air. It was the end result of breaking through the crust of the earth, at a high lope, that had previously covered a gopher hole. The fall had probably saved Jim Stalls’ life but had cost the horse his. Stalls knew the initial shock would be wearing off soon and the horse would start to suffer more pain.

Sweat ran down his back and trickled along the side of his nose to finally find its way into his eyes. Jim wanted to rub the salty sting away but knew better than to try and move. His hat lay not far from him but the distance might as well have been a hundred miles for all the good it was doing him. Frustrated and angry, Jim tried one more time to move his rifle barrel over a little and once more was rewarded by a shower of rock fragments.

Damn it! yelled Jim at his tormentor. I just want to put my horse out of his misery.

Almost instantly another shot broke the silence of the Montana landscape. This time there were no rock fragments but Jim Stalls involuntarily ducked anyway. There was only the whump sound of a lead slug slamming into flesh and bone. It was followed by a swooshing sound of released air as Jim’s crippled horse folded up on the ground. He couldn’t see what had happened, but Jim Stalls knew, just as sure as if he’d watched the whole event.

Thanks a heap! he yelled sarcastically at his unknown attacker. More rock fragments stinging his face was the only reply he got in the way of a ‘You’re Welcome.’

Now, he was not only on foot, he was also pinned down in a poor defensive position, with no water and no help. If he moved, he was sure as heck a likely candidate to be shot. If he stayed where he was for much longer, without water and without his hat, he was sure his brain would be boiled or he’d die of thirst. He couldn’t say he was crazy about either one of those scenarios.

Jim was about to take his chances with the bullets and make his play, when suddenly a barrage of lead pellets hit the rocks in front of him. Stalls decided, he really didn’t want to take his chances with the bullets. As the sound of the shots rolled across the vast expanse of empty land, he reconsidered his earlier position and thought, Maybe dying of thirst wasn’t so bad after all?

At that moment, all he could do was try to force himself deeper into the Montana soil. He wasn’t sure how many shots were fired his way. It seemed like a hundred, but Jim was pretty sure it was really only five or six. Still, it was enough to convince him to stay where he was, until all of a sudden, he heard horses running.

Cursing, not quite under his breath, Jim Stalls jumped up and carrying his rifle, a lever action made by the Volcanic Fire Arms Co., he sprinted across to the mesa’s edge. There he stopped and threw the rifle up to his shoulder. A good fifty feet below and almost two hundred yards ahead, the distance growing with each stride the horses took, were 25 head of loose horses being driven away by the Tall Man riding a blood bay horse.

Jim Stalls was one of the best long range shots in the country and he knew it. Stalls had used the fine art of ‘creasing,’ to increase the number of horses he had to start his ranch. Creasing was when a rifleman shot a horse right at the point where the withers and the neck meet up. The shot has to be perfect and shallow so that it only ‘creases’ the hide. The shock of the bullet sends the horse into a temporary state of paralysis so they could be caught or in the case of some of the older range Studs, just kept out of the way for a short time. If the shot was properly placed, the horse would be up and around in a short while. If the shot was a touch off the mark... well, there were a lot of other mustangs.

Many times, he had creased a wild stallion that was being a problem for Jim, when Jim was trying to take the best young horses out of the Stallion’s band. Jim knew the technique was risky but he also knew what he could do with a rifle. He had yet to miss and his record for never killing one of the Stud’s was also perfect... so far.

Now, as Jim tried to get a shot lined up on the Tall Man, he kept finding one thing and then another that stopped him from pulling the trigger. For one thing, the loose horses were right in line with the Tall Man and he didn’t want to kill a horse accidentally. He had worked too hard to catch them and break them to want to shoot one, trying to save them from a rustler.

The other problem Jim had was trying to force himself to shoot a man in the back, even if the back did belong to a no good, horse thief. He knew he’d have no problem hanging the man if he ever caught him, but shooting a man in the back was a real moral dilemma for him. The problem was quickly solved by the lay of the land. Just as Jim got a clear shot at the retreating horse thief, the man dropped over another ridge and disappeared out of sight. The last thing Jim Stalls saw of the Tall Man and his own horses, was them dropping over the fold in the ground and the Tall Man putting his hand high in the air and waving to Stalls.

That final act of arrogance really made Jim Stalls mad. If there had been anyone close enough to hear, they would have been treated to a real extravaganza of cussing, swearing and cursing the likes of which have very seldom been equaled, let alone surpassed. Even though it was pretty much wasted on the gophers that inhabited the area, Jim used every curse word he’d ever heard and then made up a few of his own. These he laced together in long and colorful, even if they were a little off color, phrases he embellished by stomping the ground and kicking dirt and rocks into the air. Sometime after the Tall Man and Jim’s horses were long out of sight, Jim Stalls ran out of air and cuss words almost simultaneously.

No one ever noticed or at least never commented on the fact that he hardly ever cussed much after this. It may have been that he just wore his ‘cusser’ out that day or maybe way down deep inside, Jim knew by instinct he’d never be able to top the cussing he’d done this day and never tried to again.

As quickly as his temper exploded, it was used up and Jim went to work on the business of self preservation. He walked to his fallen horse and looked down on the dead animal. At least the Tall Man had made a near perfect shot and the horse hadn’t suffered before he died. Pedro had been a good horse and Jim knew it had been his mistake that had caused the little sorrel horse’s death.

He had discovered the tracks of his horses early that morning. He mainly used Pedro for close work, like cutting and sorting. Although he wasn’t a big horse, Jim sometimes even snubbed colts with him, to break them to lead. Pedro’s easy going attitude seemed to always calm the younger horses. Normally, Jim would have used a bigger, rangier horse, to follow the rustler on, but Jim had been riding Pedro when he discovered the trail. The tracks were so fresh he had figured he could overtake the outlaw quickly if he hurried. So, instead of going back to where he was building his ranch headquarters (a ten by ten shack with three sides made mostly out of dried buffalo hides. A hand dug well and rope corral completed the place) and changing horses, Jim stuck with Pedro and they took to the trail.

They were close and Jim was pushing hard. He realized now he had been pushing too hard. The fresher the tracks got, the faster he had pushed Pedro until at a high lope he’d found himself in the middle of a bunch of gopher diggings with bad ground all around them. He had tried to slow up but before he could, the horses leg dropped into a hole and it was just like his front end had been roped and jerked out from under them.

Stalls had been thrown over Pedro’s head and it still amazed him he’d kept hold of his rifle through it all. Truth was, the fall may have saved his life. As he went flying that’s when he heard the first shot. He heard the second and third shots as he scrambled, with dirt spouting little eruptions around him, for the only cover close by. He had thrown himself behind the bare protection of the low outcropping of rocks. There he had stayed until after the Tall Man had made good his escape with Jim Stalls’ horses.

Now, he stood over Pedro’s body and looked down on his rig trying to figure out how to get the center fire saddle off and not think about it being his horse that was dead. Taking the canteen lose from the horn, Jim Stalls was glad Pedro had been considerate enough not to fall on the thing. He’d dang shore be in trouble if it was split by the impact and leaked all the water out. The Jefferson River wasn’t too far away but it was below the old buffalo jump and a man might have to walk a long distance around to find a way down off the bluff. Plus, he would lose a lot of time getting to water instead of following his horses.

After wetting down his thirst, Jim had to loosen the cinch, from the off side of the saddle, because Pedro was on top of the side he would normally undo. After a few unsuccessful attempts at pulling the saddle off while standing, Jim was forced to lie down next to the already swelling carcass and by putting his feet against the horse and pulling on the saddle horn he was finally able to free up his rig. Jim was not the type to leave the saddle behind. He used the latigo to tie up the stirrups. Then he slung the canteen over one shoulder and the saddle over the other. He carried his rifle in his right hand and with his hat in place he started after his horses... again. Jim Stalls was not a happy man.

CHAPTER TWO

Jolynn

The W. J. Behan chugged its way along the Mississippi river. It was a wooden hulled, stern wheeler that had begun life on the river by making the run from Shreveport to New Orleans. Its double boilers worked steady to provide enough power to push the riverboat up its new route headed into the Dakota’s.

Captain George Wilkinson was in the Pilot House keeping a sharp look out for anything that wasn’t supposed to be in the water. Although, Captain George Wilkinson was all business, he couldn’t help but marvel at how many stars shinned on the murky water of the upper Mississippi. It seemed to him there were more stars up here in these Northern waters than he’d ever seen down in the Deep South. Of course, Marsh Grant had been Captain of the old girl for much of her time around New Orleans. *

The captain knew the Behan was getting to be a little long in the tooth but she still did her job and he liked her. If the company could only get a few more years out of her, he could probably retire off of her. Provided of course, he lives that long. Captain Wilkinson didn’t know it at the time but ever since the Fort Benton Transportation Company had bought the riverboat from the New Orleans and Red River Transportation Company the boat’s fate had been sealed. In just three more years the boat would be lost in the ice and destroyed close to Bismarck, North Dakota.

None of this mattered much to the captain as he turned the wheel over to his Second and left to join the passengers on board. They didn’t care about the history of the Behan either nor its future, at least any future it might have past the time they had reached their destinations. They were too busy making history of their own, even though most of them didn’t realize they were, they were just living their lives, trying to find their way.

The travelers were from all walks of life. Most were men but there were a few women on board. The men ranged from a few fancy dressed City types to one old Mountain Man geezer that still dressed as he had in the ‘60’s when he had been dodging Blackfoot Indians trying to take his hair. Although he was no longer a young man he was still as tough as they come and a dangerous man in a fight. Whether it be with fists, knives or pistols, he was a man better to have on your side than not. Right now, he was building up to a fight but he was reluctant to do so. Mainly because he was looking at what had to be the prettiest gal on the boat and maybe in the entire west. His dilemma came from the fact he knew she was cheating him but he wasn’t sure how.

They had been playing poker since the boat had pulled away from the dock. There had only been a few gamblers when the trip started but at each place the riverboat put ashore they had picked up a few more. At the poker table where the old Mountain Man was playing, there had been some players come and go but three of them had been there pretty much straight through.

One of them was a pretty slick gambler and it didn’t take a real wizard to figure out he knew his cards. He’d had done most of the winning for a long ways at the start of things. Now, he was losing ground.

Across the room his partner Lorenzo was becoming annoyed. Lorenzo was a handsome man with sharp features and dark hair. He cut a dashing figure in most lady’s minds but he was as hard and brittle as your average icicle. The gambler was becoming obsessed about losing a few dollars. At the same time, he was losing track of their real objective. Lorenzo was tied up in a game and couldn’t get out without drawing suspicion to himself. He only hoped his so called partner would come to his senses before it was too late.

To the gambler’s right sat a tall lanky kid that lacked a few years of being the man he’d be known for later on in life. Later he would be a lawyer, a State Senator and a near celebrity. Right now, he was gaining an education at cards; a costly education at that. Truth was he didn’t even mind that much. He’d been able to win enough in small pots to get to stay in the game and keep his seat and that was his main goal for now. He wanted to stay where he could look upon the face, and various other parts, of the angel across the table from him. He would pay twice the amount he was losing in this card game, if he had it, to just be able to look upon her beauty forever.

Next to the kid was a fellow named Burk. The Mountain Man didn’t know his last name but Burk was enough. Burk wasn’t winning too often but when he did win it was always a big pot. It didn’t seem to matter who had the deal; Burk managed to win the big ones. If he didn’t the lady would.

At the thought of the lady, the Mountain Man let his eyes drift over and take in another helping of the scenery she was providing. He was starting to think maybe that scenery had been what had kept his mind off of the pattern he was starting to notice. Damn, she was purty, he thought. Seemed a shame she was a card cheat. He didn’t know how she was cheating but he was sure she was. It was no small aggravation to him that he was now almost broke, at least as far as cash went, but he wasn’t really through playing poker and drinking. After all, he only got into the civilized world every now and again, he should get to enjoy himself. He knew he could probably use the map he had tucked away under his waistband to raise more capital to spend at the table but he was not about to risk such a treasure in a game like this. Silently, he tapped the spot where the map and mining claim were hidden, just to feel reassured they were still there.

It turned out the old Mountain Man wasn’t the only one at the table that had noticed a tendency on Burk’s part to be the one person the lady lost to consistently.

The gambler pushed his chair back a bit from the table and studied the pot and the cards that had been laid down. His own cards were still in front of him on the table and he kept shifting them around with his hand closest to Burk.

Captain Wilkinson came into the room and right away, Jolynn caught his eye. The truth being, she was the main reason he chose to come down for a drink and do some visiting with the passengers in the first place. As he approached the bar a shot of whisky was placed in front of him by the new bartender. He wants to keep his job, thought the captain as he pulled a cigar from his coat pocket, hope he doesn’t try and short change the wrong man like his predecessor did. Biting off the end of the cigar, the captain allowed himself to enjoy the tingling sensation the rich tobacco had on the tip of his tongue before it was lit. As was his ritual, he downed his first drink in one gulp, then struck a sulfur match and held it, not quite touching, to the end of the cigar. It was a matter of pride to him, that he knew the proper way to heat the tobacco until it caught. He drew his first puff off of the cigar as his second drink was poured.

Captain Wilkinson didn’t pay a bit of attention to any of this. All of his movements are as automatic to him as breathing. His attention rested on the face of the most beautiful woman he thought he had ever seen.

As the captain stared from the other side of the small State Room, Jolynn added to the growing pot on the table. Her contribution was quickly followed by one from the young kid. Jolynn already knew the kid had three treys in his hand, but she also knew that both her and Burk had him beat.

Jolynn wasn’t sure about the gambler’s hand. She was sure he had supplemented it some since the time it had been dealt. The fact he had started to study his cards instead of her bosom also caused her some concern.

The play passed to Burk who at first glance looked like a business man from the East. But if you took the time to look, you’d notice there was no softness about him at all. His smile was engaging and there was a twinkle of humor in his eyes as he called the pot.

I hate to take a pretty lady’s money, ma’am. Burk said as he laid down his cards. But, I’m betting these three ladies right here in my hand are the only ones that can run you any competition for being the prettiest lady around.

The gambler slowly folded his cards and laid them face down on the table in front of him. Neither Jolynn nor Burk seem to be paying any attention to anything but the card game.

Why Sir, there is no rule that states you are forced to take my money, Jolynn replied coyly. I do believe a man can lay down any hand he wants too; if he feels gallantly enough.

No disrespect intended, but, Burk stated with a grin on his face, I don’t believe I’ve ever felt that gallant in my life.

No, I doubt that you have either. She smiled a very captivating smile at Burk.

I’m not so sure about that, interrupted the gambler as Burk reached for the chips in the center of the table. I’m not sure about this game at all. I think those chips should stay right where they are.

I be thinking the same, stated the Mountain Man and to emphasize his words he placed a large Bowie Knife on the table by his chip stack; at least what was left of the stack.

Burk realized too late that he had extended himself too far trying to reach all of the chips, now he was in a most venerable position. There was no way from here to make a play for his gun without being killed long before he could get it into action. He hoped the gambler and Mountain Man were thinking about the money and not the fix they had him in.

Slowly Burk relaxed his shoulders. Keeping his hands high and in plain sight, he eased back into his chair. Just a little bit more, Burk thought, and these two will have made the biggest mistake of the entire night. Maybe the biggest mistake of their entire lives. He was nearly back enough to be in a defensible position when Jolynn came to his aid.

Why Sir, she queried the gambler, What on earth could you object about this Gentleman accepting his rightful winnings? She looks across the table at Burk. Huh, if I may be so brazen as to ask, what is your name so I can address you properly once this little misunderstanding is resolved?

Burk, Ma’am. Most folks just call be Burk.

Oh, that’s a nice touch, says the gambler. It makes it almost sound like you two have never met before. He stops playing with his cards and leans forward just a bit.

I assure you, Burk starts to reply but he is cut short by the gambler’s angry outburst.

Keep your useless assurances to yourself, Burk. It’s taken me a while. You dang near threw me plumb off by you two not getting on the boat at the same place. The gambler started drumming his fingers on the table with his right hand. As he spoke, he also nodded his head up and down as if he was agreeing with himself.

Burk was pretty sure the man had a sleeve gun on that arm. He also knew the man could flip it into the palm of his hand, just by swinging the arm in Burk’s direction. Burk knew it wouldn’t be the type of pistol that would have much accuracy at a distance. That didn’t ease his mind much since he was sitting close to the gambler.

It took me awhile but I remember where I’ve seen the two of you before, continued the gambler.

Why, I do not know what you are talking about, Jolynn objected in a somewhat insulted sounding tone of voice. I have never...

What about Pittsburgh, the gambler questioned? You two were working the same little trick there. Pretty good charade you play. One of you gets on at one landing, the other goes on by land and gets on at the next. Then you each get in the same game. She wears something low and provocative and needless to say, distracting. Men being what they are, they fail to keep their cards covered as well as they should, now and then. If she spots good cards in another player’s hand she signals him. When she gets a good hand or he does, they let the other one know by some small hand or eye signal. Then the other pushes the pot...

For the first time, the youngest player at the table, is able to tear his gaze away from the prominent cleavage, he has spent most of the game gawking at and makes a statement in Jolynn’s defense.

I don’t think it is gentlemanly to make accusations towards such an obviously innocent...

The young man’s speech is cut short by the fact the Mountain Man is holding the point of his knife against the young man’s Adams apple. The young man couldn’t remember even seeing the old cuss reach for the knife.

Maybe you should go on back to admiring the lady in silence, advises the Mountain Man, So yee’s can live a mite longer and learn a mite more about the wiles of women, heh?

Suddenly, the booming, authoritative voice of Captain Wilkinson cut off all talk as he stepped up behind the gambler. Although the captain had no weapon showing, his left hand was inside one of the large square pockets of his coat. From where he stood he was in a good position to cover the gambler and the Mountain Man.

What seems to be the problem here?

The captain’s voice left little doubt that he was very much annoyed with this disturbance taking place on his riverboat. The Mountain Man moved his knife away from the young man’s throat and laid it back on the table.

You’ve got some card cheats on your boat, stated the gambler.

I assume you mean someone beside yourself? asked the captain.

These two. The Mountain Man points back and forth, with his left hand, at Jolynn and Burk. They’s in cahoots and it’ll be a dark night fer sure before you see a blacker spot on the world than her heart. He points towards Jolynn.

And you have proof of these allegations?

I’ve seen them before, answered the gambler to the captain’s question. They work together.

I’m sure you’ll pardon me for being callous enough to not instantly pull out the hangman’s noose on your say so alone? taunted the captain.

You’ve all seen my cards, says Burk. All eyes around the table drop to the full house Burk recently laid down in order to win the pot. A pair of Deuces and a set of Queens make up Burk’s hand. Let’s see his.

The gambler’s cards still lie stacked on the table in front of him.

I don’t think my cards are the issue here, the gambler objected. I didn’t call the pot so...

Before anyone could react, Burk grabbed the Mountain Man’s knife and used the tip of the blade to slip under the stack of cards in front of the Gambler. He flips the cards face up. An Ace, a pair of Kings, and two Queens look up at the gathered throng of card players and the captain. One of the Queens in the gambler’s hand is much more faded than the other.

That makes five Queens in this deck, stated Burk. But, one of yours seems to have aged a mite faster than the other. Burk looked at the captain, Been keeping her out too long. You’ve slipped her out of another deck and kept her up your sleeve.

Burk’s observations were pretty much the same as what everyone else but the gambler was thinking. The gambler knew he had never seen that odd Queen before in his life.

That the reason you didn’t call with your two high pairs, asked Burk as he drove another nail into the gambler’s coffin. Saw the arithmetic didn’t add up right so you folded?

That’s not my card! exclaimed the gambler. I had a duce that’s why I didn’t call. I just had Kings with an Ace high!

The gambler looked around at the suddenly hostile crowd and even his former ally, the Mountain Man, looked hard at him in disbelief. That’s not my Queen. The gambler knew his denials sounded false even to his own ears.

Across the room Lorenzo inwardly groaned. ‘The fools that a man is forced to do business with is deplorable sometimes,’ he thought to himself. As surreptitiously as possible he cashed in his chips and left the room. He did not want to be handy in case the fool gambler should seek his help.

I think I’ve seen enough, stated Captain Wilkinson. He made a wave with his right hand and two, previously unnoticed deckhands, push through the crowd. The Deckhands were both armed with cocked, double barreled, shotguns. The captain motioned at both the gambler and the Mountain Man.

Take these two men to their cabins. They will be allowed to remain there until we put ashore at our next port of call. At that time, they will voluntarily leave this vessel, never to set foot upon her decks again. Any attempt to do so, will be met with a full load of shot from the first handy firearm available. Do I make myself clear, Gentlemen?

Although the captain’s remarks were directed at the gambler and Mountain Man, all other heads nodded in unison, including the two Deckhands. As the Gambler and the Mountain Man were escorted from the table and the room, the gambler looked back at Jolynn and suddenly grinned.

It was a pleasure, Miss.

~~~~~~

Later that evening, Jolynn was in her stateroom preparing for bed. She unlaced her dress and slipped it off, just as a very light tap was heard on her door. Standing slightly behind the door she cracked it open to see Burk in the companionway holding a leather pouch. Quickly, he pushed his way in as she backed away from the door. Before the door shut, she had started to undo the lacing of her corset.

My, aren’t you the eager one? she teased as the corset loosened its hold on her upper body. I hadn’t even had time to undress yet.

Burk is serious but still takes in the developing view before he speaks.

If I only had time, he wistfully answers. I can’t stay in case the captain should come calling.

You think he will?

I would if I was him. In fact, said Burk, I’d bet my half of the money on it. Can’t let him see us together, just brought the money so we can stash it in your valise.

Burk pulled the money out of the pouch and started to count it.

So, tell me, said Burk without looking up from his counting, how’d you get that Queen into his hand?

I could tell he was getting suspicious when he quit looking down the front of my dress and started playing with his cards, she answered. I knew you had a set of Queens since you’d blinked twice and rubbed your left eye. So, while everyone was watching the two of you, which I thought was very rude and unthinkable since I am much more worthy of male attention than you are...

I can’t argue with you there, interjected Burk.

"Anyway, while you were stealing the show, so to speak, I slid the Queen in and the duce out. It was just luck that it gave him such a good hand and made him look even more guilty.

Before Burk could respond, Jolynn’s door flew open. The Mountain Man and the gambler push their way into the room. They both carried pistols already drawn and cocked.

See, said the gambler, I told you they were in this together. Can’t wait to see the look on the good captain’s face when he sees what a harlot and crook his ‘Lady’ really is.

Ta hell with the captain, there’s me money and I’m taking it back. The Mountain Man reached for the leather pouch. As he did his gun never wavered from Burk. The gambler seemed unsure as to whom he ought to aim at, so he waved his pistol from Jolynn, who stood in the corner holding her bodice with both hands, and Burk, now standing between the two invaders.

Just as the Mountain Man took hold of the bag of money, Jolynn let out a small kind of squeak and released her hold on her corset. The whale bone lined garment dropped immediately towards the floor leaving Jolynn very exposed from the waist up. With a gasp, she bent as if to retrieve the clothing but instead of grabbing something to cover herself with, she pulled a thin bladed knife from her stocking and lunged into the Mountain Man. She held herself close to him with her free arm. Before the Mountain Man could think about what was happening, he felt the blade slide between his ribs and into his heart.

As suddenly as the half naked Jolynn attacked the Mountain Man, Burk threw himself into the gambler. He pushed the pistol out of line with his right hand and grabbed for the gambler’s gun with his left.

The gambler tried to fire his pistol but the flesh between the thumb and forefinger of Burk’s left hand caught between the hammer and the firing pin. Even though this prevented the pistol from