Trail of the Mountain Man Read online

  “Nothin’, Judge. Not a thing.”

  Judge Proctor clucked to his team and rolled on.

  Standing beside Smoke on the boardwalk, Lawyer Hunt Brook said, “Here they come, Smoke. Two went out, two are returning.”

  “That’s about the way I figured it would be.”

  Judge Proctor halted his team in front of Hunt and Smoke. “Since you are handling this case for Miss Colby, Mister Brook,” the judge said, “I’ll see you in your offices in thirty minutes. I should like to wash up first.”

  “Certainly, your honor,” Hunt said.

  Smoke walked with the lawyer down the long, tightly packed street to his law office. Hunt went on into his personal office and Smoke sat out in the pine-fresh outer office, reading a month-old edition of a New York City newspaper. He looked up as Colby entered.

  “It ain’t good, is it, Smoke?” the father asked.

  “It doesn’t look good from where I sit. You sure you want to be here, listen to all this crap?”

  “Yeah,” the man said softly. “I shore do want to hear it. I left Belle with Velvet. This is hard on my woman, Smoke. She’s talkin’ hard about pullin’ out.”

  “And you?”

  “I told her if she went, she’d have to go by herself. I was stayin’.”

  “She won’t leave you, Colby.”

  “Naw. I don’t think she will neither. It’s just ... whatever the outcome today, Smoke, we gotta get back, get Adam into the ground. You reckon that new minister, that Ralph Morrow, would come up to the high country and say a few words over my boy?”

  The man was very close to crying.

  “I’m sure he would, Colby. Soon as this is over, I’ll go talk to him.”

  “I’d be beholden, Smoke.”

  Judge Proctor and Sheriff Carson entered the office. The judge extended his hand to Colby. “You have my deepest and most sincere condolences, sir.”

  “Thank you, Judge.”

  Monte stood with his hat in his hand, looking awfully uncomfortable.

  Hunt motioned them all into his office. When they were seated, Judge Proctor looked at them all and said, “Well, this is a bit irregular, and should this case ever come to court, I shall, of course, have to bring in another judge to hear it. But that event appears highly unlikely.”

  Smoke’s smile was ugly.

  Monte caught the mocking smile. “Don’t, Smoke,” he said quietly. “We done our best. And I mean that. If you can ever prove we slacked up even a little, you can have my badge, and I’m sayin’ that in front of witnesses.”

  For some reason, Smoke believed the man. Queer feeling.

  “Here it is,” Judge Proctor said. He looked at Colby. “This is highly embarrassing for me, sir. And please bear in mind, these are the words of the TF men who were ... well, at the scene.”

  “Just say it,” the rancher-farmer said.

  “Very well. They say, sir, that your daughter had been, well, shall we say ... entertaining the men at that location for quite some time. They say this has been going on since last summer.”

  “What’s been goin’ on?” Colby blurted. “I ain’t understandin’ none of this.”

  Smoke had a sudden headache. He rubbed his temples with his fingertips and wished all this crap would be over. Just get all the goddamned lies over and done with.

  “Sir,” Judge Proctor said. “The TF men claim that your daughter, Velvet, has been entertaining them with sexual favors for some time. For money.”

  Colby sat rock still for a moment, and then jumped to his feet. “That there’s a damned lie, sir! My Velvet is a good girl!”

  Smoke pulled the man back into the chair. “We know, Colby. We know that’s the truth. It’s all a pack of lies. Just like we figured it would be.”

  “Please, Mister Colby!” Judge Proctor said. “Try to control yourself, sir.”

  Colby put his face in his hands and began weeping.

  Lawyer Brook wet a cloth from a pitcher on his desk and handed the cloth to Smoke, who handed it to Colby. Colby bathed his face and sighing, looked up. “Go on,” he said, his voice strained.

  The judge looked at the sheriff. “Would you please take a part in these proceedings, Sheriff? You explain. That’s your job, not mine.”

  “Mister Colby,” Monte said. “Them Harris brothers who ride for the TF brand, Ed and Pete? It was them and Billy and Donnie and Singer and ... two or three more. I got their names writ down. Anyways, they claim that Miss Velvet was ...” He sighed, thinking, Oh, shit! “Chargin’ the men three dollars a turn. There would have been more than twenty-one dollars there this time except that not all the men got their turn.”

  “Dear God in Heaven!” Hunt Brook exclaimed. “Must you be so graphic, sir?”

  “I don’t know no other way to say it, Lawyer!” Monte said. “I’m doin’ the bes’ I can.”

  Hunt waved his hand. “I know, Sheriff. I know. Sorry. Please continue.”

  “They say Miss Velvet kep’ her ... earnin’s in a secret place back in the timber. They told us where it was. We ain’t been there, and you all know we ain’t had the time to go to the ranch, into the high country, and back here by now. I’ll tell y’all where they said it was. Y’all can see for yourselves.

  “Anyways, Miss Velvet’s brother come up there and started yellin’ and hollerin’ and wavin’ that rifle of his’n around. Then he just up and shot Steve Babbin. That’s for a fact. They buryin’ Steve this afternoon. Shot him in the eye with a .22. Killed him. Little bitty hole. Had to have been a .22. Them ol’ boys just reacted like any other men. They grabbed iron and started shootin’. Killed the boy. They kinda got shook about it and took off. That’s about it, boys.”

  Monte leaned back in his chair and looked at the newly carpeted floor.

  “And you believe their story, Sheriff?” Lawyer Brook asked.

  “It ain’t a question of believin’ or not believin’, Lawyer. It’s a matter of what can be proved. I don’t like it, fellers. I just don’t like it. But look at it like this: even if Miss Velvet could talk, which she cain’t, it’d still be her word agin theirs. And that’s the way it is, fellers.”

  Smoke stood up and put his hat on his head. “And that’s it, huh, boys?”

  “I’m afraid so, Mister Jensen,” Judge Proctor said. “I don’t like it. But we played this straight by the book. If you could bring me evidence to the contrary, I’d certainly listen to it and act accordingly.”

  “So will I, Smoke,” Monte said softly. “Believe it.”

  “Oddly enough, I do believe you. Come on, Colby. Let’s go.”

  Lawyer Hunt Brook was so angry he was trembling. “This is terrible!” He practically shouted the words. “This is not justice!”

  “The lady is blind, Mister Brook,” Judge Proctor said. “I shouldn’t have to remind you of that.” He stood up. “Come, Sheriff.”

  Stepping outside, the judge almost ran into Pistol Le Roux. “Good Lord!” Proctor said. “It’s been years, Pistol. You’re looking quite well.”

  “Thanks. How’d it go in yonder, Judge?”

  “Not to anyone’s liking, I’m afraid. Are you going to be in town long?”

  “I work for Smoke Jensen.”

  “Oh, my!” the judge said. “How many of you, ah, men did Mister Jensen hire, Pistol?”

  Pistol smiled. “Twenty or so.”

  Judge Proctor suddenly felt weak-kneed. “I see. Well, it’s been nice seeing you, Pistol.”

  “Same here, Judge.”

  As they walked off, Monte asked. “How come it is you know that old gunslick, Judge?”

  “I was up in the Wyoming country hearing a case of his when he was marshal of a town up there. Four pretty good gunhands braced him one afternoon.”

  “How’d it come out?”

  “Pistol killed them all.”

  “And they’s twenty of them old gunhawks workin’ for Jensen?”

  “Yes. Rather makes one feel inadequate, doesn’t it, Sheriff?”

/>   “Whatever that means, Judge.”

  The judge didn’t feel like explaining. “You know, Monte, you could be a good lawman if you’d just try.”

  “Is that what I been feelin’ lately, Judge?”

  “Probably. But since you — we — are in Tilden Franklin’s pocket, what are we going to do about it?”

  “We wasn’t in his pocket in this one, Judge.”

  “That is correct. And it’s rather nice feeling, isn’t it, Sheriff Carson?”

  “Damn shore is, Judge Proctor. Would you like to join me in a drink, Judge?”

  “No, Sheriff, I think not. I just decided to quit.”

  3

  When Smoke and Sally and Pearlie and most of the other aging gunhawks rode up to Colby’s place the following morning, they were all amazed to see the hills covered with people.

  “What the hell?” Pearlie said.

  “They’re showin’ Tilden Franklin how they feel,” Luke said. “And rubbin’ his nose in it.”

  “Would you look yonder?” Jay said. “That there is Big Mamma. In a dress!”

  “Musta been a tent-maker move into town,” Apache said.

  “Who is that pretty lady beside the ... large lady I presume you men are talking about?” Sally asked.

  Smoke and Sally were in a buckboard, the others on horseback.

  “That’s Big Mamma’s wife, Miss Sally,” Silver Jim explained.

  Sally looked up at him. “I beg your pardon, Silver Jim?”

  “They was married ‘bout three year ago, I reckon it was. Big Mamma had to slap that minister around a good bit ’fore he’d agree to do it, but he done ’er.”

  Sally turned her crimson face forward. “I do not wish to pursue this line of conversation any further, thank you.”

  “No, ma’am,” Silver Jim said. “Me neither.”

  The service was a short one, but sincerely given by Ralph. Adam’s forever-young body was buried on a hillside overlooking the Colby ranch.

  And while most knew the TF riders were watching from the hills, no TF rider showed his face at the funeral. The mood of the crowd was such that if any TF riders had made an appearance, there most likely would have been a hanging.

  Belle Colby and Velvet sat in the front yard during the service. Velvet had yet to speak a word or utter any type of sound.

  Tilden sat on the front porch of his fine ranch house. He hurt all over. Never, never, in his entire life, had he been so badly torn up. And by a goddamned two-bit gunslinger.

  Clint walked up to the porch. “Twelve hands pulled out last night, Boss.”

  “You pay ’em off?” The words were hard to understand and even harder for Tilden to speak. His lips were grotesquely swollen and half a dozen teeth were missing. His nose had yet to be set because it was so badly broken and swollen hideously.

  “No. They just packed it all up and rode off. Told Pete Harris they hired their guns to fight men, not to make war on little kids.”

  “How noble of them. Hell with them!”

  “Some of the others say they’ll ride for brand — when it comes to punchin’ cows. But they ain’t gettin’ involved in no war.”

  “Hell with them too. Fire ’em!”

  “Boss?”

  “Goddamn you! I said fire them!”

  Clint stood his ground. He put one boot up on the porch and stared square at Tilden. “Now you listen to me, Boss. We got a hell of a big herd out yonder. And we need punchers to see to that herd. Now I feel sick at my stomach over what I ordered them men to do to that Colby girl, but it’s done. And I can’t change it. I reckon I’ll answer to the Lord for that. If so, that’s ’tween me and Him. But for now, I got a herd to look after. Are you so crazy mad you can’t understand that?”

  Tilden took several deep breaths — as deeply as he dared, that is. For Smoke had broken several of his ribs. He calmed himself. “All right, all right, Clint! You’ve made your point. I want a tally of how many men are going to fight for me. Those that want to punch cows, do so. But for every one that won’t fight, hire two that will. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Let’s face it. You made a mistake by suggesting what was done to the Colby bitch; I made a mistake by going along with it. All right. Like you say, it’s done. I understand that Colby brat wrote in that stupid book about Luke avenging him, right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I figured by now that old bastard would have come storming in here, fire in his eyes and his guns smoking. Maybe he’s lost his balls.”

  Clint shook his head. “You never knew Luke Nations, did you, Boss?”

  “Can’t say as I ever had the pleasure.”

  “I do,” Clint said softly. “He’s ...” The foreman searched for a word. “Awesome. There ain’t a nerve in his body, Boss. He’ll be comin’ in smokin’, all right. Bet on that. But he’ll pick the time and place.”

  “Hire the gunnies!” Tilden ordered, his voice harsh. “And then tell our gunhawks it’s open season on nesters.”

  Clint hesitated. “Can I say something, Boss?”

  “What is it, Clint?”

  “Why don’t we just drop the whole damned thing, Boss? Call it off? If word of this war gets to the governor’s ears, he’s liable to send in the Army.”

  “Hell with the governor. We got the sheriff and the judge in our pockets; how’s anything goin’ to get out?”

  “I don’t know about Monte and the judge no more, Boss. They was both pushin’ real hard yesterday about that Velvet thing.”

  “I got them elected, I can get them un-elected.”

  Clint’s smile was rueful. “You’re forgettin’ something, Boss.”

  “What?”

  “The people elected ’em. For four years.”

  Clint turned around and walked off, leaving Tilden alone on the porch ... with his hurting body.

  And his hate.

  Two weeks passed with no trouble ... none at all. Between Tilden and the smaller spreads, that is. There was still minor trouble in town. But Monte and his men put that down quickly and hard. And the now-sober Judge Proctor hit the offenders with such stiff fines and terms in the new jailhouse that it seemed to deter other potential lawbreakers.

  And Monte stopped collecting graft from the saloons and other businesses. He was being paid a good salary as sheriff, and decided that was enough. Any deputy that didn’t like the new rules could leave. A few did, most stayed. All in all, it was a good job.

  Monte looked up as the front door to his office opened. Johnny North stood there, gazing at him.

  “You decide to make your move now, Johnny?” Monte asked.

  “I don’t know,” the gunfighter said. “Mind if I sit down?”

  Monte pointed to a chair. “Help yourself.”

  Johnny first poured himself a cup of coffee. He sat and looked at the sheriff. “What the hell’s the matter with you, Monte? You got religion or something?”

  Monte smiled. “I ain’t got religion, that’s for sure. Maybe it’s the something. Why do you ask?”

  “I been waitin’ for you to come brace me for two damn weeks. You forgot we’re supposed to hate each other?”

  “No, I ain’t. But I’ll tell you this: I can’t remember what we’re supposed to hate each other for!”

  Johnny scratched his chin. “Come to think of it, neither can I. Wasn’t it something about a gal?”

  Monte started laughing. “I don’t know! Hell, Johnny. Whatever it was it happened so many years ago, what difference does it make now?”

  Johnny North joined in the laughter. “You et yet?”

  “Nope. You buyin’?”

  “Hell, why not? it’s gettin’ too damn hot outside for a gunfight anyways.”

  Laughing, the old enemies walked to a cafe.

  A few of Tilden Franklin’s hands were lounging in a tight knot outside a saloon. These were not the gunhawks employed by the TF brand, but cowboys. And to show they were taking no sides in this matter,
they had checked their guns with the bartender inside the saloon.

  Monte Carson had made it clear, by posting notices around the town, that TF gunhawks had better not start any trouble in his town, or in any area of his jurisdiction. He’d had to get the judge to spell all the words.

  The judge had done so, gleefully.

  “Looks like Johnny North and the Sheriff done kissed and made up,” one cowboy remarked.

  “That’s more trouble for Tilden,” another observed. There was just a small note of satisfaction in the statement.

  Another TF puncher sat down on the lip of a watering trough. “It’s May, boys. Past time to move the herds up into the high country for the summer.”

  “I been thinkin’ the same thing.”

  “I think I’ll talk to Clint when we get back to the ranch. Kinda suggest, nice-like, that we get the herds ready to move. If he goes along with it, and I think he will, that’ll put us some thirty-five miles from the ranch, up in the high lonesome. Take a hell of a pistol to shoot thirty-five miles.”

  “Yeah. That’d put us clean out of any war, just doin’ what we’re paid to do: look after cows.”

  Another cowboy sat down on the steps. He looked at the puncher who had suggested the high country. “You know, Dan, sometimes you can show some signs of havin’ a little sense.”

  “Thank you,” Dan said modestly “For a fact, my momma didn’t raise no fool for a son.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yeah,” Dan said with a smile. “I had a sister.”

  The aging gunfighters were having the time of their lives. They were doing what most loved to do: work cattle. Smoke’s bulls had been busy during the winter, and his herd had increased appreciably now that the calving was over. It was branding time, and the gunfighters were pitching in and working just as hard as Smoke or Pearlie. Some had gone to other small spreads in the area, helping out there, their appearance a welcome sight to the overworked and understaffed ranchers.

  It appeared that the area was at peace. Smoke knew, from riding the high country, that Tilden Franklin’s punchers were busy moving the TF herds into the high pastures, and doing so, he suspected, for many reasons, not all of them associated with the welfare of the cattle. That was another sign that Tilden had not given up in his fight to rid the area of all who would not bend to his will. Those TF hands who were not gunslicks but cowboys were clearing out of the line of fire.