Strike of the Mountain Man Read online

“Puddle is dead,” Ken Conn said.

  “How do you know?” Templeton asked.

  “I seen ’im when Jensen brung him into town. He had Nixon, Curtis, and Noble too.”

  “All right. Thanks.” Templeton walked over to his horse and pulled a bottle of whiskey from his saddlebag. “Here. You’ve earned it.”

  “Yeah,” Conn said. “I was the only one to get away alive. Who would’ve thought Jensen was goin’ to show up?”

  Templeton went into the big house to report to Garneau. “Puddle’s dead.”

  “Good. You’re sure it can’t be traced back to me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know? What do you mean you don’t know?”

  “Three of our men were killed—Nixon, Curtis, and Noble. Sheriff might be able to trace them back to you.”

  “How? What is there to connect them to me?”

  “Well, nothing, I guess. Unless you claim the bodies.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “No reason, I guess.”

  “Monsieur Templeton, I have led men in time of war, I have lost men in time of war. As a leader, you cannot dwell upon the individuals under your command. You command an army. You do not command individuals. Losses are to be expected in battle, and when they occur, you simply move on. Those three men . . .”

  “Nixon, Cur—”

  Garneau raised his hand to stop Templeton. “I don’t care to hear their names again. They accomplished their purpose. That is all I need to know.”

  Templeton chuckled. “Yes, sir, if you look at it like that, I guess you have a point.”

  “I shall go into town and meet with Monsieur Perkins. It would appear that Carro de Bancada has come on the market, and I intend to buy it.”

  “Do you want me to ride into town with you, Colonel?”

  “You may if you wish.”

  Big Rock

  “Oh,” Don Pratt said when Smoke handed him Puddle’s will. “I’m afraid there is an assessment due on this ranch, and this will can’t be probated until the taxes are paid.” The probate clerk was slightly flushed.

  “How much is the assessment?”

  “Two hundred dollars,” the clerk said.

  “All right. I’ll pay it.”

  “If you pay it, ownership of the property will pass to you.”

  “I don’t want ownership to pass to me. I want it to pass to Mr. Puddle’s nephew, Malcolm Puddle.”

  “Then Malcolm Puddle will have to pay the assessment.”

  “Can I pay it in his name?”

  “If you have his power of attorney.”

  “All right. I’ll get his power of attorney.”

  “I don’t think you’ll have time to do that,” the probate clerk said. “The money has to be paid by the end of next week. There isn’t time for him to mail you his power of attorney.”

  “Let me see what I can do,” Smoke said. “If I can’t get his power of attorney here on time, I’ll pay the assessment and take possession of the land, then figure out how to transfer it to him.”

  “Very well, but remember, you have only eight days. No, six, actually. The last day of the month is on Sunday, which means the taxes will have to be paid by Friday.”

  One block away from the courthouse where Smoke was attempting to probate the will, Lucien Garneau and Templeton dismounted in front of the land office, then went inside.

  “Yes, sir, Colonel, how is my most valued client this afternoon?” Perkins asked by way of greeting.

  “Monsieur Perkins, I understand Monsieur Puddle met with a tragic accident today,” Garneau said. “Carro de Bancada may be available for purchase and if it is, I wish to buy it.”

  “Oh, heavens,” Perkins said. “I haven’t heard anything about an accident. What happened?”

  “From what I understand, a group of outlaws may have come by his place in an attempt to rob him. Monsieur Puddle fought them bravely, but was killed in defense of his land.”

  “He killed three of ’em before they got him,” Templeton added.

  “That’s a shame. Puddle was a good man,” Perkins said.

  “And he was my neighbor,” Garneau said. “After I buy his land, I shall put a plaque on the property in his honor.”

  “Well, I’m sure he would appreciate that,” Perkins said as he got out his land chart book. Opening the book he went through the pages until he came to Humboldt Puddle’s land. He examined it for a moment, then shook his head.

  “Well, it’s not going to be easy, Colonel. I’m afraid he owned the land outright,” Perkins said. “There’s no chance of acquiring it just by paying off the mortgage, though you might be able to buy it from whoever inherits the land.”

  “And who would that be? Do you know?”

  Perkins shook his head. “No, I don’t. For all I know he may have died intestate, in which case the land will revert to the county. If it does, it will be auctioned off, so you will have a chance to buy it then.”

  “I don’t want to have to deal with an auction. I want to buy it now.”

  “Well, as I said, that’s not . . . wait a minute. Here’s something,” Perkins said as he examined the land charts.

  “What?”

  “You may remember how we were able to acquire the Babcock land by paying the taxes?”

  “Yes. Will we be able to do the same thing with Puddle’s ranch?”

  “Perhaps. I see here that he hasn’t yet paid the assessment for water improvement. That means there is an unsatisfied lien against the land. And, just as you did with Babcock, if you pay the assessment you can take possession of the land.”

  “Where do I pay that?”

  “Well, you would pay it at the assessor’s office, but if I were you, I would just go across the street to the law office and see Robert Dempster. He could make certain everything is properly done so the land is transferred to you.”

  “Merci, Monsieur Perkins,” Garneau said. “I will do so.” He turned and left the land office.

  “Ha!” Templeton said when he caught up with Garneau out front. “Once you get Puddle’s property, it’ll be easy to get everyone else to come around. Puddle was their leader.”

  “We will not count our chickens until the eggs have éclos.”

  “Until the eggs what?”

  “Hatched.”

  “No problem,” Attorney Dan Norton said to Smoke. “If Malcolm Puddle has a certified witness on hand, he can send you the power of attorney by telegraph. That will suffice for thirty days, which will give him time to send a certified power of attorney by mail.”

  “Thanks, Dan.”

  “It’s a shame about Mr. Puddle getting killed. I didn’t know him that well, but from what I did know of him, he was a decent man who tended to mind his own business.”

  “That was Mr. Puddle, all right,” Smoke said. “Well, I’d better get the telegram sent off.”

  Brooklyn, New York

  Malcolm was in the transit office checking the items to be shipped against the invoice. It was a very detailed procedure, and he had to be very accurate. If he made a mistake, he was liable for any differences between the invoice and the actual shipment. He was good at it, but he disliked the tedium. It was to escape the tedium he’d decided to become a professional prizefighter. But the people who fought in the middleweight division made very little money, so Malcolm had to keep his job, boring though it was.

  He was just finishing with one shipment and about to start another when a Western Union messenger came into the office. “Is there a Mr. Malcolm Puddle here?”

  “I’m Malcolm Puddle.”

  “Telegram, Mr. Puddle.” The messenger handed over the envelope, then waited for his tip. “Thank you, sir,” he said, when Malcolm gave him a quarter.

  Malcolm opened the envelope and removed the telegram.

  REGRET UNCLE HUMBOLDT PUDDLE KILLED STOP

  YOU INHERIT RANCH BIG ROCK COLORADO STOP

  TELEGRAPH TEMPORARY POWER OF ATTORNEY TO
/>   ME STOP I WILL PAY $200 TAX STOP MAIL CERTIFIED

  POA BY ONE MONTH STOP PLEASE ADVISE BY RETURN

  TELEGRAM STOP KIRBY JENSEN

  “I don’t know who this Kirby Jensen person is,” Malcolm said to David Blanton, his lawyer. “I haven’t heard from my uncle in a long time, and I don’t know if he really is dead or alive. What should I do?”

  “First, let’s find out if your uncle really is dead, and if such a will exists,” Blanton said. “We can do that by telegraphing the court in Eagle County. We can also check on this man, Kirby Jensen, who sent you the telegram.”

  “How soon do you think we’ll hear back?” Malcolm asked.

  “Oh, I expect we’ll have a response within the hour,” Blanton said. “Why don’t we go over to the telegraph office and send off a telegram? We can wait for the reply in Ned’s Bar.”

  They stopped at Western Union, and Blanton sent the telegram.

  “We’ll be in Ned’s Bar when the answer comes back,” Blanton told the telegrapher.

  “Very good, sir.”

  They left the telegraph office, bought beer in the bar, then found an empty table.

  “I hear it took Toby Gleason two months before he could talk again,” Blanton said with a chuckle. “He swears you hit him with a club.”

  “I would have, if I could have found one,” Malcolm said.

  Blanton chuckled. “I don’t blame you. He’s a big, powerful man. So is Costaconti. People are still talking about how you handled them.”

  “Being big and strong means nothing, if you don’t know how to fight,” Malcolm said. “And clearly, neither of them know how to fight. They’ve always depended on their strength to get their way.”

  “About your inheritance,” Blanton started.

  “If there is an inheritance,” Malcolm said.

  “Yes, if there is. Will you be going to Colorado?”

  Malcolm smiled. “Yeah, I think I will.”

  A few minutes later, a Western Union messenger came into the bar and began looking around. Seeing him, Malcolm called out. “Are you looking for me?”

  The messenger smiled. “Yes, sir, Mr. Puddle.” He brought the telegram over and Malcolm tipped him, then opened the envelope.

  HUMBOLDT PUDDLE DEAD STOP ESTATE LEFT TO

  MALCOLM PUDDLE STOP TAX DUE STOP KIRBY JENSEN

  UPSTANDING CITIZEN STOP MONTE CARSON SHERIFF

  EAGLE COUNTY

  Malcolm showed the telegram to Blanton. “What do you think?”

  “I think the whole thing is legitimate,” Blanton replied.

  Malcolm smiled and stuck his hand across the table. “How would you like to shake hands with a genuine rancher?”

  “What do you know about ranching?” Blanton asked.

  “That’s where you raise cows, isn’t it?”

  Blanton chuckled. “I assume so.”

  “You think they raise cows to milk? Or for meat?”

  Blanton laughed out loud. “If I were you, I wouldn’t ask that question once you get out there.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Big Rock

  Smoke was in Longmont’s Saloon, having a beer with Louis, when Sheriff Carson came in.

  “What have you got, Monte?” Smoke asked.

  Sheriff Carson joined them at the table. “We’ve identified the three men who were killed out at Puddle’s place.” Carson pulled out three wanted flyers and showed them to Smoke, one at a time.

  $1,000 REWARD

  to be paid for

  OLIVER NIXON

  WANTED for MURDER

  The other two wanted posters were exactly like the first, except the names were Pete Curtis, and John Noble.

  “But there was nothing noble about either of them, I can tell you that,” Sheriff Carson said. “Back in Nebraska John Noble killed an entire family, the mother and father and their two little ones. Anyway, it looks like you have just earned yourself three thousand dollars.”

  “I only got two of them. Mr. Puddle got the other one.”

  “Yeah, well, Puddle is dead, so you may as well take the money.”

  “I tell you what. Puddle left everything to his nephew. Suppose we give the money to him. That is, if we can find him and he comes out here.”

  “All right. Sounds fine to me.” Sheriff Carson looked at the woodcuts of the three outlaws and shook his head. “What in the world were they doing at Carro de Bancada in the first place?”

  “According to Mr. Puddle, they were working for Lucien Garneau.”

  “I wouldn’t doubt it,” Carson said. “But even if we can prove they worked for him, it doesn’t necessarily connect the murder to him. They could have been acting on their own. Every one of them has a record, and like I said, Noble once killed an entire ranch family.”

  “A real nice guy,” Smoke said sarcastically.

  “I know Puddle didn’t get along with Garneau. It could be he just assumed the men who attacked him were working for the Frenchman. Seems more likely they were just planning to rob him.”

  “Rob him of what?” Longmont said. “I knew Puddle. He never had more than one beer when he came in here. He was always watching his money.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they wanted his horses. He did have a pretty good string of horses,” Sheriff Carson said. “Where are the horses now, by the way? Are they still at Puddle’s ranch?”

  “Yes, I sent one of my men over to keep an eye on them.”

  “Pearlie or Cal?”

  Smoke shook his head. “Neither one. They’re both in Denver running my processing plant.”

  “Ha! Knowing those two boys, I don’t expect either one of them is very happy about that.”

  “There’s no doubt they’d rather be back at Sugarloaf,” Smoke said. “But they are good men and do what needs to be done without much protest.”

  “You’re right about that. They are both good men. Tell me, Smoke, what do you think is going to happen to Puddle’s ranch now?”

  “I don’t know,” Smoke answered. “I guess that will be up to Humboldt’s nephew.”

  “I wonder what kind of man he is?”

  “If he’s anything like his uncle, he’ll be a good man,” Smoke said.

  Sheriff Carson nodded. “You’ve got a point there, my friend.”

  At that moment, the Western Union messenger came into the saloon, and seeing him, Smoke called out, “I’m over here, Eddie.”

  Smiling, Eddie brought the telegram to him. Smoke tipped him, then read the message.

  BY THIS MESSAGE MALCOLM PUDDLE TRANSFERS

  POA TO KIRBY JENSEN LIMITED TO PAYING TAXES

  ON CARRO DE BANCADA RANCH IN NAME OF

  MALCOLM PUDDLE STOP NOTARIZED POA TO

  FOLLOW STOP MALCOLM PUDDLE

  “Good,” Smoke said. “I’m going to the clerk’s office now to pay the taxes so the will can be probated.”

  He left the saloon and stepped into the clerk’s office a few minutes later, recognizing the very large man standing at the counter. Dempster wasn’t a lawyer for whom Smoke had a lot of respect.

  Smoke addressed the probate clerk. “Mr. Pratt, I’m here to probate Humboldt Puddle’s will. I have Malcolm Puddle’s power of attorney to pay the taxes.”

  “You are too late, Mr. Jensen,” Dempster said. “I am here to pay the assessment on that property. Once I do, I will assume ownership.”

  “Once you do? You mean you haven’t paid the taxes yet?”

  “I’m filling out the forms now.”

  “Then it isn’t too late.”

  “Oh, but I’m afraid it is. I got here before you.”

  “How are you going to fill out those forms?” Smoke asked.

  “What do you mean, how am I going to fill out the forms? I’m just going to do it.”

  “No, I mean, how are you going to write with a broken hand?” Smoke asked calmly.

  “What? Are you threatening me?”

  “I wouldn’t call it a threat.” Smoke smiled at Dempster, but there wa
s absolutely no humor in his smile. “I would say it is more along the line of a promise.”

  “I will have you arrested and put in jail for this!” Dempster said. “And Pratt will be my witness.”

  “Witness to what?” Pratt asked. “I haven’t seen anything.”

  “You heard him threaten me.”

  “Like I said, Mr. Dempster, I haven’t seen anything.”

  “What’s it going to be, Dempster? Are you going to walk out of here with no bones broken? Or do we give Pratt here something to see so he won’t testify for you?”

  “You! You!” Dempster sputtered. “I won’t stand for this. Do you hear me? I simply won’t stand for it!”

  Smoke looked over at Pratt. “Has he given you the two hundred dollars yet?”

  “No, he hasn’t.”

  Smoke took two hundred dollars from his pocket and gave it to the clerk. “Here’s the money. I’d say that puts me in front of him, wouldn’t you?”

  Pratt smiled and nodded. “Yes, sir. I would say that it does.”

  Smoke turned toward Dempster. “Are you still here?” Dempster glared at him, but said nothing before he turned and left the clerk’s office.

  Seven days after Malcolm Puddle boarded the train in New York, it rolled into Big Rock, Colorado. He sat at the window on the left side of the car, taking in the town that was to be his new home. He took in every building and sign as the train rolled by—Earl’s Blacksmith Shop, GOOD WORK DONE FAST; Dunnigan’s Meat Market, OUR MEAT IS FRESH AND CLEAN; the Big Rock Journal, EAGLE COUNTY’S LEADING NEWSPAPER; Longmont’s Saloon, BEER, WINE, WHISKEY; Murchison’s Saddle and Leather Goods store, CUSTOM LEATHER WORK; Delmonico’s Restaurant, FINE DINING; Nancy’s Bakery, PIES OUR SPECIALTY; and White’s Apothecary, FINEST POTIONS AND SYRUPS.

  The train stopped, and Malcolm saw the Western Union office and the Denver and Pacific depot building. The depot was constructed of red brick, and had a small white sign hanging from the end.

  BIG ROCK, COLORADO