Code of the Mountain Man by William W. Johnstone

Lord!” Mills shouted. “This is exhilarating.” He just got the words out of his mouth when the punk hit him on top of the head with the stovepipe and knocked him spinning across the room.
    Smoke splintered a chair across the punk’s teeth, the hardwood knocking the kid up against a wall.
    The barkeep climbed up on the bar and jumped onto Deke’s back just as the man was getting to his boots. Deke threw the smaller man off and came in swinging at Smoke.
    Bad mistake on Deke’s part.
    Smoke hit him with a left-right combination that glazed the man’s bloodshot eyes and backed him up against the bar. Smoke hit him twice in the stomach and that did it for Deke. He kissed the floor and began puking.
    Dirty hit Smoke a sneak punch that jarred Smoke and knocked him around. Smoke recovered and the men stood toe to toe and slugged it out for a full minute.
    Mills was smashing Greeny’s face with short, hard, brutal blows that brought a spray of blood each time his big fists impacted with the outlaw’s face.
    The soot-covered kid climbed to his boots and decided to take on the barkeep.
    Bad mistake on the kid’s part.
    The barkeep had retreated to the bar and pulled out a truncheon, which he promptly and with much enthusiasm laid on top of the punk’s head. The punk’s eyes crossed, he sighed once, and hit the floor, out cold.
    Dirty backed up and with Smoke’s hands still balled into fists, grinned at him and went for his gun.
    Smoke kicked the man in the groin, and Dirty doubled over, coughing and gagging. Smoke stepped forward and kicked the murderer in the face with the toe of his boot. Dirty’s teeth bounced around the floor. He screamed and rolled away, blood dripping from his ruined mouth.
    Deke grabbed for his guns, and Smoke shot him twice in the belly, the second hole just an inch above the first. Deke tried to lift his pistol, and Smoke fired a third time, the slug hitting the man in the center of the forehead.
    Dirty rolled to his boots and faced Smoke, a gun in each hand, his face a bloody mask of hate.
    Smoke had pulled both .44s and started them thundering. He was cocking and firing so fast it seemed a never-ending deadly cadence of thunder. Puffs of dust rose from Dirty’s jacket each time a. 44 slug slammed into his body. Dirty clung to the edge of the bar, his guns fallen to the floor out of numbed fingers.
    â€œJesus!” the barkeep said. “What’s the matter with him? Why don’t he say something?”
    â€œBecause he’s dead,” Smoke said.
    Dirty Jackson fell on his face.
    Greeny was moaning and crawling around on the floor. The kid was beginning to show some signs of life. The other two had wisely decided to stay on the floor with their hands in plain sight.
    â€œYou others, get up!” Smoke told the two outlaws, wide-eyed and on the floor. “And haul the kid and that jerk over there to their boots.”
    Greeny and the punk were jerked up. “The punk goes to jail,” Smoke said. “The others get chained to that tree by the side of the office.”
    â€œHey, that ain’t right!” Greeny said. “What happens if it rains?”
    â€œWe give you a bar of soap.”
    * * *
    â€œDamn!” Albert said, looking at his boss. “How come we miss all the fun, Mills?”
    Mills was dabbing horse liniment on yesterday’s jaw bruise and ignored the question.
    â€œYou know, Smoke,” Hugh said. “You really can’t keep those men chained up to that tree.”
    â€œWhy?” Smoke asked, scratching the little dog behind the ears.
    â€œBecause they’re human beings and as such, have basic rights accorded them by the Constitution.”
    Mills smiled. He’d already gone over that with Smoke. He would have gotten better results by conversing with a mule.
    â€œGreeny didn’t think much of the rights of those people he killed up in Canada, Hugh. Lebert didn’t