Triumph of the Mountain Man Read Free Page B

voice. “Provided the sheriff heals as expected, I’d say someone could operate within six weeks, if that lead don’t shift and paralyze him in the meantime.”
    â€œThat could happen?”
    With a hesitant nod Simpson replied, “I’m not a master surgeon, but right or wrong, it is taught in medical school that foreign objects in the body can shift under certain circumstances. That’s why I don’t want to operate on him. I’ll send for a special surgeon from Denver.”
    That information did not sit well with Smoke. While Dr. Simpson worked on him, he kept at the physician to give a more accurate description of what damage had been done to Monte Carson. He remained dissatisfied when the doctor cut the last piece of tape and handed him two laudanum pills.
    â€œTake half of one of these now. If the pain persists, take another half every six hours.”
    â€œI don’t think I’ll be needing them, Doctor,” Smoke informed him, handing back the medicine. “How much do I owe you?”
    â€œThe county will pay for it. You were working as a deputy at the time.”
    With that settled, Smoke shrugged into his bloodied shirt, put on his vest and hat and headed to the door. It would be a long, uncomfortable ride back to the Sugarloaf.

2
    Halfway back to the Sugarloaf, Smoke started to regret his rash decision to reject the opium-based medicine. He also thought darkly about the morning’s events. Why did it have to be Monte Carson who caught that bullet? Although Monte had the constitution of an ox, he was nearing sixty. People didn’t heal so quickly then. Smoke knew from experience that a lung shot often led to pneumonia, which more often killed the victim than the bullet itself. In his moody thoughts, Smoke castigated himself for not having gone along with Monte. Better still, gone in his place.
    No, Smoke admitted to himself, Monte had too much pride. It would have robbed him of his self-respect to acknowledge that age might be slowing his gunhand, delaying the proper read of a situation. Yet, the results spoke for themselves. Monte lay unconscious in the small infirmary off Doc Simpson’s office. Smoke had a slight bullet burn on his shoulder. They had both gone about it wrong. Admitting it did not mollify Smoke in the least.
    Once he had turned Cougar into the corral, in the hands of Bobby Jensen to cool him out, Smoke took the mail to the main house. Sally greeted him with a spoon dripping melted lard in one hand. “Hello, handsome. I’m fixing a batch of doughnuts. My, what a lot of mail.”
    â€œYep. There’s a Sears catalogue for you.”
    Sally clapped her hands. “Oh, goody, I get to buy things.”
    Smoke answered her with a sidelong glance. “No, you don’t. And a letter from a woman named Mary-Beth Gittings.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œThat’s what it says. I’ll give it to you inside.”
    Seated at the kitchen table, Smoke distributed the mail into neat piles. While Sally chattered on and added more lard to the heated deep skillet for the doughnuts, he turned his attention to the intriguing letter from New Mexico. He opened it to find a disturbing difference in his old friend. Instead of the usual bubbling enthusiasm of this jovial grandee, who so loved to entertain, it was a gloomy account of growing difficulties. High in the Sangre de Cristo range of the Rocky Mountains, things were not right, Don Diego Alvarado informed Smoke Jensen. He went on to illustrate:
    â€œThere is an Anglo named Clifton Satterlee, who covets all of the land around Taos. He is powerful and wealthy. He has a hacienda outside Santa Fe and is believed to have the ear of many of his fellow Anglos in the territorial government. It is also said that he has many interests and much influence in the East. He has surrounded himself with some most unsavory men, who aid him in achieving his goals by any means necessary. Amigo,”