Return of the Mountain Man by William W. Johnstone Page A

But I cannot, for the life of me, envision Greybull as an elf.”
    â€œMister Audie, I don’t even know what it is you just said.”
    â€œWe’re watching you,” Audie plunged onward, undaunted. “We’ll be there when you need us.” He wheeled his pony around and trotted off.
    Buck watched him disappear from view. Buck removed his hat and scratched his head. “I’ve seen the seasons change, the birthing of human life, and been in love. But I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that!”
    At No Name, Buck tied up in front of a building with the name PSR on the false front. Rex Augsman was painted on the door. Buck pushed open the door and stepped inside, pausing for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the dimmer light.
    â€œYou Rex Augsman?” Buck asked the man who was rising from behind his desk.
    â€œThat’s me.”
    â€œYou got some proof of that?”
    He pointed to a diploma hanging on the wall. Mining engineer. Rex M. Augsman.
    â€œI’m from PSR headquarters up in Bury.” He held out the saddlebags. “I’m supposed to give this to you.”
    â€œYou look like you might just have some sense,” Rex said. “A definite improvement over the others.” He opened the padlocks and looked inside. He smiled and said, “Welcome to the team. You passed the final test.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Buck asked.
    The engineer dumped the contents of the heavy saddlebags onto the counter. The bags had been filled with cut-up pieces of newspaper and lots of rocks.
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    â€œThe young man is not exactly a paragon of intelligence,” Audie said. “But there is something about him that suggests there might be a glimmer of hope.”
    â€œSmart as a whip, you dwarf!” Preacher fired at the former schoolteacher. Halfway to the Divide, Preacher had run into a band of friendly Flatheads. Yes, they had been into Bury many times to trade. Yes, they would keep their eyes and ears open and report back to Preacher. Preacher had returned to the base camp.
    â€œNo doubt you speak nonprejudicially,” Audie said.
    â€œDon’t you cuss me!” Preacher warned. “I’ll rap you upside the head.”
    Audie reached for the sawed-off .44. Preacher reached for his Colt.
    Lobo suddenly growled like a wolf and the two old friends settled down, dropping their hands from the butts of pistols.
    â€œSorry ’bout that, little friend,” Preacher said.
    â€œI, too, offer my sincere apologies, Preacher,” Audie said. “It’s the tension of waiting for the unknown.”
    Dupre grinned and walked to his bedroll. He pulled two clay jugs out of the blankets. “I tink perhaps we have a drink or three,” he said.
    â€œRight good idee,” Greybull said.
    â€œI could stand a taste myself,” Matt said. “How ’bout you, Nighthawk?”
    â€œUmmm.”
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    Buck had asked for a receipt for the newspapers and rocks. Back in Bury, he solemnly presented it to MacGregor. The Scotsman looked at Buck, then the receipt, and a sour smile slowly formed on his lips.
    â€œYou’re a damn fool for staying, boy,” MacGregor said. “I told Richards you were an honest man. That impressed him. But honest men won’t last long in a town filled with scalawags and hooligans. Tell him I said it, if you wish—but you won’t. You’ve stepped into a snake pit, young man. There isn’t a handful of people—men and women—in this town and surrounding area that is worth spit. Oh, I know why you’re here, Mr. Kirby Jensen, aka Smoke, aka Buck West. You’re here to avenge your wife, your son, your father, your friend Preacher. You’re so full of hate it’s consuming you, eating you alive. If you let it, boy, it will destroy you.”
    â€œHow many others know who I am?” Buck asked, keeping his voice calm.
    â€œI think the red-haired gunman,