Savagery of The Mountain Man Read online

  Pearlie was just getting to his feet when two men, wearing badges, came into the saloon. Both were carrying shotguns and, seeing Pearlie struggling to his feet, bleeding from the shot that had hit him, they pointed their guns at him.

  “Drop your gun, mister!” one of the men said.

  “No need for all that, Marshal,” Pearlie said. He nodded toward Billy Ray, whose body was now lying half in and half out of the saloon. “It’s all over now.”

  “You the one that killed him?”

  “I am.”

  “Then it ain’t all over, boy. Not by a long shot, it ain’t over. It’s just startin’.”

  “Marshal Dawson, Billy Ray is the one who started this. He came in here, shooting first,” Lenny said. “You can see there at the bar, he fired the shotgun and took out part of the bar. Hit this man, too. This man had no choice but to shoot back, considering Billy Ray was ready to shoot again.”

  “If I need any comment from you, Lenny York, I’ll ask for it,” the marshal said. “You do the piano playing. I’ll do the marshaling around here.” He made a gesture with his shotgun, thrusting it toward Pearlie. “Shuck out of that gun belt, boy, and let it fall, real easy like, to the floor.”

  “Marshal, Lenny is right,” Deckert said. “Billy Ray come after this fella. Seems to me this fella didn’t have no choice.”

  “Lenny and Mr. Deckert are telling the truth, Marshal,” Mary Lou said.

  “So now the whore puts her two bits,” Dawson said dismissively. “Anybody else got anything to say?”

  Pearlie looked around, and when no one else said anything, the marshal spoke again.

  “I know Billy Ray had a temper,” he said. “But he wasn’t in the habit of goin’ after someone, especially with a shotgun, unless he had a good reason. Why did he come after you?”

  “We were playing cards. I won the hand and he took issue with it.”

  “Who else was playin’?”

  “I had been playin’ but I dropped out,” Deckert said.

  “Were you the only one?”

  “No, Doc and Brandon were playin’, too,” Deckert said.

  Dawson looked around the saloon. “Where are they?”

  “They left before the shootin’,” Evans said.

  Dawson turned his attention back to Pearlie. “So you’re saying that Billy Ray get mad just because he lost a hand of poker?”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “Well, now, I’ll admit that Billy Ray had a temper. But I don’t think even he would fly off the handle like that just because he lost a hand of poker.”

  “It might have been the way he lost, Marshal,” Deckert said.

  “Oh? And how was that?”

  “This here young fella, Pearlie, he said his name was, run a bluff, only it weren’t no ordinary bluff.”

  “You mean he cheated?”

  “No, wasn’t nothin’ like that. But he sorta set Billy Ray up, you might say, playin’ like he didn’t quite know what he was doin’, then when Billy Ray stepped into it, why, Pearlie here, closed the trap slick as a whistle.”

  “You a cardsharp, are you boy? I don’t like cardsharps.”

  “I enjoy playing. I’m not a cardsharp.”

  “Uh-huh. Tell me, boy, how do you make your livin’?”

  “I’m a cowboy.”

  “Is that a fact? Who do you work for?”

  “Well, I, uh, haven’t cowboyed the last six months,” Pearlie said.

  “How have you been supporting yourself?”

  “Doing odd jobs here and there,” Pearlie said. “I just came off a job of bein’ a shotgun guard on a stagecoach. I worked there for nearly three months.”

  “Doing odd jobs here and there, you say. Where was you a shotgun guard?”

  “Down in New Mexico.”

  “Why you wanderin’ around so?”

  “No particular reason,” Pearlie answered. He wasn’t about to tell the marshal about Lucy. That was none of his business.

  “Boy, I get real suspicious of folks that can’t stay in one place. I’ll just bet that if I go back down to my office, I’ll find some wanted dodgers on you.”

  “I’m not a wanted man,” Pearlie replied.

  “Uh-huh. You ever been in trouble with the law?”

  “I’m not a wanted man,” Pearlie repeated.

  “That ain’t what I asked. I asked if you have ever been in trouble with the law.”

  “Nothing to speak of,” Pearlie answered.

  “How much did you win tonight?”

  “About forty dollars.”

  “So you killed a man over forty dollars?”

  “No. I killed him because he was trying to kill me. Mr. Deckert, Lenny, and the young lady are tellin’ the truth,” Pearlie said. “Billy Ray came after me. I didn’t have any choice.”

  “It’s easy enough for you to get a couple of friends to lie for you,” the Marshal said.

  “What?” Pearlie looked over toward Lenny. “Lenny is not my friend. I’ve never even met him before. And the only reason I know Mr. Deckert is because he was sittin’ at the table with us, watching the game.”

  “Then how did you know York’s name?”

  “York? I thought it was Lenny,” Pearlie said.

  “It’s Lenny York,” the marshal replied. “Anyone else in here want to back up what York and Deckert just said? How about you, Evans?” he asked the bartender. “You got ’nything to say?”

  “Tell you the truth, Marshal Dawson, when the shootin’ started, I ducked down behind the bar,” Evans said.

  “Who shot first?” Pearlie asked.

  “I don’t know, mister,” the bartender answered. “It happened so fast that it seemed to me like it all started at the same time.”

  “Anybody else got ’nything to add?” Marshal Dawson asked.

  “Yeah, I do,” Kelly said. “This here fella started it.” He pointed at Pearlie.

  “Was you playin’ cards with ’em?” Dawson asked.

  “No, but you might take a look in that spittoon there,” Kelly suggested.

  “Now, why the hell would I want to do that?” Dawson replied.

  “Because this fella dropped Billy Ray’s pistol into it.”

  “Is that right?” Dawson asked Pearlie. “Did you actually drop Billy Ray’s pistol into the spittoon?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “We were playing cards, and Billy Ray got a little upset. I thought if I took the gun away from him, it might keep him from using it to shoot me.”

  “Didn’t you stop to think that might make Billy Ray mad?”

  “Like I said, he was already mad at me. I just figured the best thing I could do is put his pistol where he couldn’t get to it so easy.”

  “How’d you get his pistol in the first place?”

  “I took it from him when he tried to draw on me,” Pearlie said.

  “You took it from him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Billy Ray don’t seem like the kind of person you could just take a pistol away from.”

  “I hit him over the head with my gun and knocked him out before I took it. You can ask Mr. Deckert here. He saw it all.”

  “That’s right, Marshal,” Deckert said. “Like I told you, Billy Ray got mad at the way Pearlie won the pot.”

  “But you say he wasn’t cheatin’?”

  “No, he wasn’t cheatin’. He bluffed Billy Ray out of the hand. Also, I guess you could say he bought the pot.”

  “He bought the pot? From Billy Ray Quentin? How the hell could anyone buy a pot from Billy Ray Quentin?” The marshal looked back at Pearlie. “Are you rich, mister?”

  “No.”

  “Well, the Quentins is rich. So you want to tell me how you could buy the pot from Billy Ray Quentin?”

  “I raised the pot to more money than Billy Ray had brought to the table with him,” Pearlie explained.

  “And you wouldn’t let him go get anymore?
” the marshal asked.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I figured he probably had a better hand than I did. I was playing cards to win, Marshal, not to be a good sport.”

  “Mister, the more you talk, the deeper you are getting yourself into trouble.”

  “I’m just tellin’ you the truth,” Pearlie said.

  “Put the shackles on him, Wilson.”

  “Yes, sir, Marshal,” the deputy replied enthusiastically, as if this was the first time he had ever been involved in anything that offered such excitement.

  Deputy Wilson took a pair of iron wrist cuffs from his belt, told Pearlie to put his arms behind his back, then cuffed them.

  “There,” the marshal said. “I reckon that’ll hold you till we get you down to the jail.”

  “Jail. What are you taking me to jail for?”

  “Murder, boy,” Marshal Dawson said. “You shot down Pogue Quentin’s boy in cold blood. You’re goin’ to stand trial for that, and if Pogue Quentin gets his way, well, sir, I reckon you’re goin’ to hang.”

  “Wait a minute, Marshal, this was self-defense!” Pearlie said. “Ask anyone in here, they’ll all tell you, it was self-defense!”

  “Now, son, you seen me ask, didn’t you? Kelly says you started it, the bartender says he didn’t see it. That leaves you, Decker, Lenny, and the whore. Deckert, are you really willing to go to court? Hell, you ain’t got nerve enough to even stand up to your wife. Do you think you can stand up to Pogue Quentin, and tell him that his boy was at fault here?”

  Deckert looked at Pearlie, who was now in shackles, and at Dawson and the deputy.

  Deckert was quiet for a long moment. “No, I—I reckon not,” Deckert said. “Now that I think back on it, it all seemed to happen so fast that I ain’t exactly sure what happened.”

  “Deckert, that ain’t true and you know it! You seen ever’thing!” Pearlie said.

  Deckert didn’t answer. Instead, he looked toward the floor so he could avoid looking into Pearlie’s eyes.

  “That leaves you with nobody but the piano player and the whore. And ever’body knows they didn’t neither one of them like Billy Ray. Let’s go, mister,” Dawson said, waving his pistol toward the front door. “I’ve got a nice cell waitin’ for you down at the jail.”

  The jailhouse was at the far end of the street from the saloon, and as Marshal Dawson marched Pearlie down the street, many followed along so that, by the time they reached the jail, there were at least forty or more townspeople who had fallen in behind them, creating a regular parade.

  “When you goin’ to hang him, Marshal?” Kelly asked.

  “Yeah, let’s string ’im up now!” another said.

  “Just hold off, the both of you,” Dawson said. “He’s goin’ to hang, all right, but it’s all goin’ to be done fit an’ proper, soon as we get the judge down here.”

  “Who you goin’ to get to try him? Won’t do now to get someone who is all too highfalutin,” Kelly said.

  “I’ll be sendin’ for McCabe,” Marshal Dawson said.

  “Yeah, that’s it, send for the Hangin’ Judge,” one of the others in the crowd said. “Yeah, that’ll do just real good.”

  Marshal Dawson pushed Pearlie into the cell, then closed the door. “Turn around and back up to the bars and I’ll get those shackles off,” he said.

  “Thanks,” Pearlie said, turning around while the marshal unlocked the chains.

  “Boy, I don’t know what made you come into our town, but you would have been a lot better givin’ Santa Clara a wide berth.”

  “Santa Clara?” Pearlie said. “Is that the name of this town?”

  “You mean to tell me you don’t even know where you’re at?” Dawson asked.

  “I didn’t notice the sign when I rode in.”

  “So what you done is, you just come into a town you didn’t even know, just so’s you could kill one of our leading citizens.”

  “If the fella I killed is one of your leading citizens, then your town is in sorry shape,” Pearlie said.

  “Yeah? Well, we see what kind of shape we’re in when you’re danglin’ from the gallows.”

  “You got a doc in this town?” Pearlie asked. “I mean other than Doc Patterson, who said he was a veterinarian.”

  “Yeah, we got a doc. What of it?”

  “I’ve got a few shotgun pellets in me. You might of noticed that.”

  “Don’t worry about ’em. They ain’t a-goin’ to kill you afore we hang you,” the marshal said.

  Chapter Fourteen

  When Lenny York stepped into the jail that night, he was carrying a tray covered with a cloth.

  “What have you got there?” Deputy Wilson asked.

  “I brought the prisoner his supper,” Lenny said.

  “Who told you to do that? The marshal didn’t leave me no money to pay for the prisoner’s supper.”

  “I paid for it myself,” Lenny said.

  “Why?”

  “Because I saw what happened and I know this man didn’t have any choice. If he hadn’t killed Billy Ray, Billy Ray would have killed him, and maybe even someone else in the saloon, the way he was using that scattergun.”

  “Damn, if you feel like that, maybe I better check just to make sure you ain’t carryin’ him in no gun or nothin’,” Wilson said.

  Wilson took the cover off, revealing a bowl of beans and a small plate that had two corn bread muffins. He picked up one of the muffins and took a bite.

  “Hey, put that back! That isn’t yours,” York complained.

  Wilson laughed. “I’m the deputy,” he said. “There’s been some hard feelin’ about this man, seein’ as he kilt Billy Ray Quentin. I need to make sure you wasn’t poisonin him or nothin’.”

  Wilson ate the corn bread muffin with obvious enjoyment, then made a dismissive motion with his hand.

  “Go ahead, you can take it to him,” he said.

  Lenny nodded, then walked back to the cell.

  “I brought you something to eat,” he said.

  “Thanks,” Pearlie replied. “I haven’t eaten since this morning and I was getting pretty hungry.”

  Lenny passed the bowl and plate through the bars, then turning the tray on edge, passed it through as well so Pearlie would have something to eat on. Pearlie sat on his bunk, put the tray on his knees to use as a table, and began to eat.

  “This is very good,” he said. “Or else I’m just very hungry.”

  “No, it is really good,” Lenny said. “I know, because my ma fixed it. She runs Kathleen’s Kitchen and Boarding House.”

  “Really? Yes, I saw that as I rode by it while coming into town,” Pearlie said. “I almost stopped there before I went to the saloon. I should have. If I had done that I wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

  “You shouldn’t be here now anyway,” Lenny said. “What you did was in self-defense.”

  “Yes, well, when we have the trial, with you, the young lady, and Deckert testifying, I shouldn’t have any problem convincing the jury.”

  Lenny shook his head. “Deckert isn’t going to testify in court.”

  “Why not? He spoke up back at the saloon.”

  “Yes, but remember when the marshal questioned him again, he backed down. He isn’t going to testify because he’s too afraid.”

  “Afraid of who? The marshal?”

  “He’s afraid of Pogue Quentin,” Lenny said. “Everybody in town is afraid of him.”

  “Are you scared of him?”

  Lenny nodded. “He is not a man I would want to cross.”

  “Does that mean you aren’t going to testify for me?”

  “No, I’ll testify for you. I’m scared of Pogue Quentin all right, but that doesn’t mean I won’t testify.”

  “Well, Lenny, I appreciate that,” Pearlie said. “From the way the marshal talks, your testimony may not do much good, but I appreciate that you are willing to do it.”

  “Your cheek looks like it�
��s beginning to swell up some from the shotgun pellets,” Lenny said. “How come the doc didn’t take ’em out?”

  “I haven’t seen a doctor.”

  “That’s not right. The marshal should have gotten him to look at you. I’ll get him to come by.”

  “If the marshal doesn’t ask him to come, I doubt he’ll do it,” Pearlie said.

  Lenny shook his head. “No, he’ll come if I ask him,” he said. Lenny smiled. “Dr. Urban is a single man, and my ma is a widow. Dr. Urban has been callin’ on her.”

  “I appreciate that, Lenny.” Pearlie put his finger on one of the pellet wounds on his cheek and winced. “You think you could get the doctor to come look at me pretty soon?”

  “I’ll get him,” Lenny said.

  “Lenny, are you sure you want to get involved in this?” Lenny’s mother asked a few minutes later when Lenny told her what had happened.

  “Doesn’t seem like I have any choice, Ma,” Lenny replied. “You have always said I should do what is right, regardless of what anyone else thinks. Well, this is the right thing to do.”

  “I always said you should play the piano in concerts in grand theaters, too,” Kathleen York said. “And where do you play? In a saloon.”

  Lenny chuckled. “How many grand theaters are there in Santa Clara?”

  “You don’t have to stay here.”

  “I know I don’t have to stay here, but I want to I mean, you are here, aren’t you? Besides, I’m not really good enough to play anywhere except a saloon.” Lenny chuckled. “But I’m not complainin’. Playing the piano certainly beats mucking manure out of a stable over at the livery—and that’s about the only thing else I would be qualified to do.”

  “I’m not the only one keeping you here, am I?”

  “What do you mean, Ma?”

  “Are you still seeing that—uh—woman over at the saloon?”

  “Only in a matter of speaking. Mary Lou Culpepper is a good woman, but she doesn’t want to have anything to do with me.”

  “Surely she doesn’t think she is better than you?” Kathleen asked.

  “No, Ma, it’s just the opposite. She doesn’t think she is good enough for me.”

  “Well, who am I to judge?” Kathleen said. “After your father died, it was quite a struggle keeping food in our mouths and a roof over our heads. If I hadn’t managed to make a go of the restaurant and boardinghouse, who knows what I would have done?”