Assault of the Mountain Man Read online

  Pittsburg, Colorado

  After leaving Elco, Smoke rode to Pittsburg, where he sent a telegram to Big Rock to check on Sally. He figured it would take at least an hour and a half to get a response. Kyle would have to deliver the telegram to Sugarloaf, then ride back with the answer. He had a leisurely lunch in the café, then walked back to the telegraph office.

  “Yes, sir, Deputy,” the telegrapher said when he saw Smoke come in. “I’ve got your message right here.”

  Anxiously, Smoke opened the envelope to read the message, then he laughed out loud.

  I WANT YOU TO FIRE BOTH PEARLIE AND CAL THEY WON’T LET ME DO A THING I TRIED TO BRIBE THEM BY TELLING THEM I WOULD BAKE SOME BEAR SIGNS FOR THEM BUT EVEN THAT DIDN’T WORK BE CAREFUL AND COME HOME SOON

  I LOVE YOU

  SALLY

  Picking up a pencil and a form, Smoke wrote out the telegram he wanted to send back to Sally.

  I HAVE NO INTENTION OF FIRING PEARLIE OR CAL IN FACT I AM GOING TO GIVE BOTH OF THEM A BONUS THEY ARE DOING EXACTLY AS I ASKED THEM TO DO

  I LOVE YOU TOO

  SMOKE

  While Smoke was reading his telegram, and writing his response, a new telegram came in. The telegrapher, his green visor in place, sat at the desk of the machine, writing quickly.

  “It looks like they are going to hang him tomorrow,” the telegrapher said.

  “Hang who?” Smoke asked, made curious by the telegrapher’s strange comment.

  “There was a bank robbery over in Crystal,” the telegrapher said. “Three bank customers were killed.”

  Smoke’s immediate reaction was that it was exactly like the bank robbery in Gothic. It had to be the same people.

  “Do they know who did it?”

  “Well, they know the one they caught, the one they’re going to hang tomorrow.”

  “Who is it? What is his name?”

  “Parnell. Cole Parnell. He was tried and convicted a couple days ago. I guess they held off on hangin’ him until they could get the gallows built, ’cause it looks like they’re goin’ to be hangin’ him tomorrow.”

  Cole Parnell, Smoke knew, was one of the men who had robbed the bank in Gothic, which meant he was one of the men who shot Sally.

  “Send this for me,” Smoke said, handing the telegrapher his reply to Sally. “And thanks for the information about the bank robbery.”

  Leaving the telegraph office, Smoke walked down to the livery to get Seven. He intended to ride over to Crystal.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Crystal

  When Smoke rode into the little town the next day the street was crowded with men, women, and children. Vendors were doing a brisk business as they worked the crowds selling everything from sandwiches, to beer, to candy.

  “Tommy, where are you going?” a mother called to her son.

  “I’m goin’ to climb up to the loft of the livery. I’ll bet there’s a real good spot to watch it from there,” Tommy answered.

  “You’ll do no such thing. You are going to stay right here with Maggie. You hold her hand.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she is your little sister, that’s why. And she might wander off.”

  “It ain’t fair that I’m gettin’ punished for somethin’ she might do.” Reluctantly Tommy reached down and grabbed the little girl’s hand.

  Riding farther into town, Smoke passed a medicine wagon. The tailgate of the wagon was down, and a man was standing on it, playing a banjo. He was quite good, and his efforts were being watched and appreciated by a fairly substantial crowd of men and women. Finishing his song to a polite applause, he put the banjo down. “Now that I have your attention, folks, let me tell you about this wonderful elixir.”

  “Play us another tune,” someone called from the crowd. “You’re pretty good on that thing. How did you learn?”

  “I didn’t learn,” the medicine man replied. “I never took a lesson in my life.”

  “Then how is it you can play so well?”

  The medicine man held up a bottle of his elixir. “I took one bottle of this, picked up the banjo, and discovered to my surprise that I could play it.”

  The crowd laughed.

  “I ain’t never heard such a lie,” another said.

  “Let’s put it to a test.” The medicine man pointed to the man who had asked him how he learned to play the banjo. “Would you come up here on the stage for a moment?”

  “No, I ain’t one for standin’ up in front of other folks.”

  “It will only be for a moment, and to prove a point. Folks, give him a hand.”

  The others applauded, and the man climbed awkwardly onto the little stage formed by the tailgate of the medicine wagon.

  “Here, play this banjo for me.” The medicine man handed him the banjo.

  “I can’t play that thing.”

  “Try.”

  The man plucked a few strings, making a discordant sound.

  “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, sir, but let me ask the crowd. If I said that sounded like a heifer with her foot caught in a wire fence, would you agree with me?”

  “Yeah, that’s exactly what it sounded like,” someone from the crowd shouted, and they all laughed.

  “Drink this,” the medicine man said, holding out the bottle of his elixir.

  The man drank the whole bottle, then handed the empty bottle back.

  “How do you feel?”

  “I feel pretty good,” the man said. “My back was a’ hurtin’ when I clumb up here, but it ain’t a’ hurtin’ no more.”

  “Try to play the banjo again.”

  “So’s you can have fun by pointin’ out how bad I am?” the man asked.

  “Trust me. Just give it a try.”

  The man raised up the banjo, plucked a few strings, sounding as discordant as before. Then, suddenly he began playing “Ole Dan Tucker,” dancing around as he did so.

  “Give me some of that!” someone shouted from the crowd, and Smoke, who had stopped to watch the show, smiled as he rode on away from the wagon.

  Finding an empty hitching rail, he dismounted, then tied Seven to the rail. As he did so, a young, freckle-faced boy walked over to him, holding up a stiffened piece of card.

  “Mister, you want to buy this here official program what was put out by the town of Crystal?” the boy asked. “It only costs a nickel, and you’ll be able to keep it for a long time as a souvenir.”

  “A nickel, huh?” Smoke took a coin from his pocket. “Well, I reckon I can see my way clear to spending a nickel. But tell me, what is it a souvenir of ?”

  “Why, it’s a souvenir of the hangin’ of course,” the boy said. “You mean you didn’t know nothin’ ’bout the hangin’ we’re fixin’ to have here?”

  “I’m afraid I didn’t,” Smoke replied. “Is that what all this is? Are all these people here to see a hanging?”

  “Yes, sir, that’s what this is. This fella Parnell that we’re fixin’ to hang, him and four others it was that robbed the bank and got away with over six thousand dollars, they say. Only it ain’t the bank robbin’ he’s gettin’ hung for. What the robbers done is, they kilt Mr. Walker, Mr. Jones, and Mr. Teasdale, all of ’em bein’ customers in the bank when it was bein’ robbed.”

  Although Smoke had told the boy he knew nothing about the hanging, that was a lie. He was there, not only because of the hanging, but specifically because Parnell was the name of the man being led to the gallows.

  “Yes, sir, it’s goin’ to be a jim-dandy of a hangin’ all right,” the boy said. “I can’t hardly wait to see it.”

  “Have you ever seen a hanging, boy?” Smoke asked.

  “No sir, not for real. That’s ’cause we ain’t never had no legal hangin’ here before. But last summer, a fella by the name of Kelso was found hangin’ from a tree downtown, and I seen that afore they cut him down. Onliest thing is, they don’t nobody know whether he kilt hisself, or whether someone else kilt him.”

  “Trust me, son,”
Smoke said. “A hanging isn’t a good thing to watch.”

  “Yes, sir, well, I reckon I’m goin’ to watch this one, though. And the hangin’ is all legal and proper. He was tried and ever’thing, and found guilty. You can read all about it in the program.” The boy turned and started toward another part of the crowd. “Program!” he shouted. “Get your souvenir program here!”

  Smoke read the program.

  LEGAL HANGING!

  OF THE BANK ROBBER

  COLE PARNELL

  TO TAKE PLACE IN THE TOWN OF

  CRYSTAL, COLORADO

  ON THE 21ST INSTANT

  SCHEDULE OF EVENTS:

  ADDRESS BY MAYOR KINCAID

  SONGS BY METHODIST CHURCH CHOIR

  PRISONER VISITATION ON THE GALLOWS BY

  FATHER LESTER D. OWENS

  OF ST. PAUL’S EPISCOPAL CHURCH

  READING OF WARRANT OF EXECUTION BY

  SHERIFF JOHN C. DENNIS

  LAST WORDS BEFORE HIS EXECUTION BY

  COLE PARNELL

  HANGING!

  Smoke looked around until he saw the jail, then walked to it. A deputy stood just outside the front door. He held out his hand to stop Smoke. “Can’t nobody go in till after the hangin’.”

  “I’m a deputy United States marshal investigating a murder,” Smoke said. “I need to talk to your prisoner before they hang him.”

  “I don’t care who you are. Sheriff Dennis told me not to let anyone in and that’s just what I’m doin’.”

  “Is the sheriff inside?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let’s see what he says.” Smoke started toward the door.

  “I done told you what he said.” The deputy went for his gun.

  Smoke had his own pistol out so quickly the deputy was startled. He stopped, midway through his draw and offered no resistance as Smoke reached out to take his pistol from him.

  “What do you say we talk to the sheriff now?” Smoke suggested.

  They went inside. The sheriff was standing alongside his desk, looking down at an older man, who was filling out some papers.

  “Here, what is this?” the sheriff asked. “Scooter, I told you to keep everyone out till after the hangin’.”

  “Don’t blame Scooter, Sheriff Dennis. I forced the issue.” Smoke still held both pistols in his hands and seeing that, the sheriff put his hands up.

  “What do you want, mister?”

  Smoke put his pistol back in his holster, then handed the deputy’s gun back to him. “It’s like I told your deputy. I’m a deputy United States marshal, and I’m investigating a case. I need to talk to your prisoner before you hang him.”

  “Did you have to come in with your gun drawn?”

  “Uh, Sheriff, I drawed on him first,” Scooter said.

  “I see. Well, Deputy ... what’s your name?”

  “Jensen. Kirby Jensen, but most folks call me Smoke.”

  The irritated expression on the sheriff’s face disappeared, replaced by a broad smile. “Smoke Jensen? The Smoke Jensen.”

  “That’s the Smoke Jensen, all right, John,” the older man said. “It’s been a long time, Smoke. How are you doing? And how is your beautiful wife, Sally?”

  “Hello, Judge Norton,” Smoke replied. “Sally was shot. And the polecat you have here, and the others who were with him when he robbed the bank, are the ones who shot her.”

  The smile left the judge’s face. “Oh, Smoke, I’m so sorry. Is she—I mean did he ... ?”

  “She’s going to be all right. But they killed three others in the same bank robbery.”

  “Yes, they killed three here as well,” Judge Norton said. “I was just signing the warrant authorizing the execution.”

  “Is Parnell in the back?”

  “Yes, you can go on back there to talk to him if you want.”

  Smoke started toward the door that led into the back, then stopped, pulled his pistol from the holster, and walked over to lay it down on the corner of the desk. “You forgot to ask me for that.”

  “Yeah, I, uh—wasn’t sure how you would handle it,” the sheriff said.

  When Smoke went into the back of the building he saw that, though there were four cells, only one was occupied. The occupant of that cell was sitting on a cot, holding his head in his hands.

  “Parnell?”

  He looked up. “Who wants to know?”

  “My name is Jensen. Smoke Jensen.”

  “I’ll be damned. You’re the husband of the woman Dinkins shot, ain’t you?”

  “Dinkins is the one who shot her?”

  “Yeah, Dinkins shot her. He also shot the man that said he owned the bank.”

  “What about Mr. Deckert? And the sheriff? Who shot them?”

  “Truth to tell, there ain’t no way of knowin’ who it was shot them, seein’ as we was all shootin’ while we was leavin’ the bank.”

  “Where are they now, Parnell?”

  “You think you can come in here and just ask me to tell you where my friends are and expect me to tell you?”

  “Your friends?”

  “Damn right, they are my friends.”

  “I understand that as you were riding away after the bank robbery here, your horse got shot.”

  “Yeah. You think I would be here iffen I had had me a horse to ride?”

  “Did any of your friends come back for you?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think any of them care now, that you are about to be hanged?”

  “I-I don’t know,” Parnell admitted.

  “Parnell, you don’t owe them anything,” Smoke said. “And in another hour or so it won’t make any difference to you one way or another. As a matter of fact, nothing will make any difference to you. So, as one of your last acts, you may as well do the right thing and tell me where they are.”

  Parnell was quiet for a moment. “To tell the truth, Jensen, I don’t exactly know where they are. But I know that Dinkins was plannin’ on hittin’ just about ever’ bank he could. The plan was to get a lot of money, then we was goin’ to divide it up an’ we was all to go off on our own. All except the Slater brothers, that is. I figure they’ll probably still stay together.”

  “I was told that five men robbed the bank here. But Putnam was killed back in Gothic, so that left only four,” Smoke said.

  “Yeah, that’s right. And four is how many of us there was until Harley joined us.”

  “Harley? Would that be Wesley Harley?”

  “Yeah, do you know him?”

  “I know of him.”

  “I bet you didn’t know that he is Bill Dinkins’ brother, though.”

  “No, I didn’t know that.”

  “I figure most people don’t know that, seein’ as they got different last names and all. Harley is the one who kilt all three of the people in this bank holdup.”

  “Why did he shoot them?”

  “One of them took a shot at us as we was leavin’ the bank, and Harley, he just spun around and shot all three of them. He’s fast with a gun.”

  “So I’ve been told,” Smoke said.

  “He’s damn fast. He may even be faster ’n you.”

  The door to the front of the building opened then, and Sheriff Dennis came through. “It’s time, Parnell.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Turn your back to the bars, then put your hands behind you.”

  Parnell did as he was directed. “Is there a crowd of folks to see my send off ?”

  “It’s going to be a show, all right,” the sheriff said.

  “Jensen?” Parnell called. “I’m sorry your woman got shot. Was she kilt?”

  “No. She’s going to be all right.”

  “I’m glad about that. Listen, I’ll tell you somethin’ else. You think you are just goin’ after Dinkins, Harley, and the Slater brothers, don’t you?”

  “You mean there are others in the gang?”

  “No, not exactly. But, ever since that newspaper article come out, saying that you was com
in’ after us? Well, it spooked Dinkins somethin’ fierce. So, what he has done is, he has put up a thousand dollar reward to anyone who kills you.”

  “How has he done that?”

  “How? He’s just let it be known, that’s all. Folks like us, we got our own way of spreadin’ the news around. I’ll guarantee you there ain’t an outlaw in Colorado, Wyoming, or Arizona that don’t know it’s worth a thousand dollars to kill you. They’ll be comin’ after you from ever’where.”

  “Thanks for telling me that,” Smoke said.

  “So, seein’ as I told you that, I want you to do me a favor, will you? Sort of like a last wish from a dyin’ man?”

  “What?”

  “I want you to stick around and watch me hang.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Lamp of our feet, whereby we trace

  our path when wont to stray;

  stream from the fount of heavenly grace,

  brook by the traveler’s way.

  The members of the First Methodist Church Choir had formed four half circles just in front of the gallows, and they were already singing when Smoke went back outside. The crowd of spectators filled the street from side to side, so Smoke found a place across the street from the gallows in front of Haussler’s Apothecary. Standing on the front porch and leaning against a roof support post, he had a pretty good view of the gallows, which, for the moment, was empty.

  The choir finished their song and Smoke checked the program he had bought from the boy. He saw that the choir was singing, which meant the mayor had already spoken, and he was thankful for small pleasures. He had already missed the mayor’s speech.

  “Here he comes!” someone shouted, and a buzz of excitement passed through the crowd.

  “Hey, Parnell!” someone shouted. “How does it feel to know you’re going to have supper in hell tonight?”

  “It will probably be better than the supper I had in jail last night,” Parnell responded.