Assault of the Mountain Man Read online

  “How would you know?”

  “’Cause I’ve been right there beside him when the real thing happened,” Cal said.

  He walked over to join Smoke, who had gone back up to the big house. Smoke was leaning against the porch, punching out the spent cartridges and replacing them with live bullets. “Better not let Sally know we used one of her pie pans for this.”

  “Oh, yeah, I nearly forgot!” Cal said. He examined the pie pan carefully, then breathed a sigh of relief. “Ah, it doesn’t look like it was hurt any.”

  At that moment Pearlie came driving back in the buckboard. He came all the way up to the porch, smiling as he was holding up a letter.

  “Looks like you got a letter from Miss Sally,” Cal said.

  “Looks like it, doesn’t it?” Smoke said.

  “Reckon how long she’s going to be gone before she comes back?”

  “Next week, I believe,” Smoke said as he reached for the letter. “Unless this letter says something different.”

  My Darling Smoke

  I have enjoyed my visit back East, (please notice that I did not say back home, as the only home for me is our beautiful Sugarloaf) but am growing anxious to return. The weather here has been abysmal; it snowed ever y other day for the two weeks I spent in New York. I did get to see a play in which Andrew and Rosanna MacCallister appeared. It made me feel special to be sitting in the theater, watching as they enthralled the audience, knowing that their brother and my husband are good friends.

  I visited Washington, D. C., and President Cleveland asked about you. Smoke, I am used to everyone in the West knowing who you are, but when a hotel concierge, a restaurant maitre d’, a hack driver, and the president of the United States ask about you, I must say that it does give me pause.

  Mrs. Cleveland, whose name is Frances, is a most delightful person. She is younger than I am, but is mature beyond her years. She took me on a personal tour of the capital, and how fun it was to see the city through her eyes.

  How glad I am that I stuck to my childhood dream of seeing the wonderful West, and how fortunate I have been in finding in you, the love of my life. I shall be returning home next week, and expect to arrive in Big Rock at eleven o’clock Tuesday morning. I can hardly wait until I breathe the high, sweet air of Colorado once again, and, if I may be so bold as to put it in words, to taste the lips of the man of my dreams.

  Your loving wife,

  Sally

  “Yahoo, boys!” Smoke said. “She’ll be back home next Tuesday!”

  “Reckon we’ll be through ridin’ bog by then?” Cal asked.

  Pearlie chuckled. “You ain’t never really through ridin’ bog, Cal. You know that.”

  “Yeah, I know, but it’s generally worse right after winter is over,” Cal said. “Then it starts easin’ up some.”

  Another necessary, but unpleasant job, would be cleaning out the water holes. It would require a team of horses and a scraper. Depending on the size of the hole, and how much weed, mud, and cow-dung there were in the water, it would sometimes take up to a week just to clean one hole.

  Of course, even before the general roundup was done, there would be a roundup of all the newly born calves, so they could be branded. This was the kind of work that was keeping Smoke, Pearlie, Cal, and the other cowboys, those who had been present all winter, and those who were newly signed on for the spring roundup, busy.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Big Rock

  When Sally Jensen stepped down from the train it was nearly midnight. Dark and cold, the little town of Big Rock was a windy emptiness under great blinking white stars. “What ever do you see in that wild and wooly West?” Molly Tremaine had asked, during Sally’s recent visit with her. Molly was an old schoolmate, now married to a Boston lawyer.

  “It isn’t something that can be explained,” Sally replied. “It is something you have to experience. There is nothing more beautiful, nothing more vibrant, than to live in that wonderful country.”

  Sally wished Molly could be here, right now, to get a sense of the magnificent wonder of the place—high and dry, with the stars so huge it was almost as if she could reach up and pluck one from the sky.

  Sally had written to Smoke telling him she would arrive mid-morning Tuesday, but when she was in St. Louis she took advantage of a faster connection, which caused her to arrive in Big Rock almost twelve hours ahead of her schedule. At first she thought only of the time she would be saving, not realizing it meant she would arrive in the middle of the night. She was alone on the depot platform and there was no one to meet her.

  Behind her the engineer blew his whistle twice, then opened his throttle to a thunderous expulsion of steam. The huge driver wheels spun on the track, sending out a shower of sparks until they gained traction. With a series of jerks as the slack was taken up between the cars, the engine got underway puffing loudly as it did so.

  As the train pulled out of the station, Sally watched the cars pass her by. Most of the windows were dark because the passengers were trying to sleep. But the windows of the day cars were well lit, and she could see the tired faces of passengers who were either unable or unwilling to pay for more comfortable accommodations.

  As the train left the station, she turned to walk toward the depot. Because there would be no more arrivals or departures until the next morning, the waiting room, which was dimly lit by the yellow light of an oil lantern, was empty. The ticket window was open, but there was no one behind the counter. She could hear a telegraph instrument clacking from the telegrapher’s office, so she assumed someone was there.

  “Miss,” someone said from behind her.

  Thinking she was totally alone, Sally was startled by the voice and she jumped at the sound.

  “Sorry, ma’am, didn’t mean to ... ,” the man started, then stopped in mid-sentence. “Why, Mrs. Jensen, what are you doin’ here at this hour of the night?”

  “Hello, Mr. Anderson,” Sally said to the baggage and freight agent. “I wasn’t supposed to get here until tomorrow morning, but I took an earlier train out of St. Louis. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course there was no way of letting Smoke know in time to meet me, so I haven’t gained a thing. It would appear that I have been hoist by my own petard.”

  “You been done what, ma’am?” Anderson asked.

  Sally laughed. “I’m just commenting on how foolish I was to change trains, is all. Did my baggage get off?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ve got it out on the platform right now.”

  “Could you keep it until tomorrow morning for me? I’m going to have to get a hotel room, I’m afraid.”

  “Yes ma’am. Well, if you’ll wait until I get your baggage put away, I’ll walk with you to the hotel. It’s not all that good for a lady to be out on the street in the middle of the night, alone.”

  Sally started to tell him he needn’t bother. She could shoot a gun as well as any man, and better than most, having been taught by her husband, who was one of the most proficient men with a rifle or pistol in the whole country. But even as she harbored that thought, she was aware she was not armed. In fact, she was wearing a traveling dress. It was stylish enough to have drawn many an admiring eye—though her delicate features and svelte womanly figure would have drawn as many admiring glances no matter what she was wearing. She was not wearing the more practical clothes she wore at the ranch.

  “I would be happy to have you accompany me, Mr. Anderson,” she said.

  She waited a moment longer, then after closing and locking the door to the baggage and freight room, Anderson came back to join her.

  As Sally walked down the street, escorted by Mr. Anderson, she pulled her shawl more tightly around her. The moisture clouds of her exhaled breath were almost luminescent in the dark night. From down the street a short way, she could hear the tinkling sound of an out of tune piano, loud male voices, and a woman’s high pitched laugh. The noises came from the Brown Dirt Cowboy Saloon, a business that had been established within the yea
r, and already was the scene of at least three shootings. She knew Sheriff Carson was contemplating closing it, if there were too many more shooting incidents there.

  They reached the McKinley Hotel, a three-story brick structure, one of the finest buildings in Big Rock, which had a very nice restaurant on its ground floor. Inside, a dozing clerk sat behind the desk in an empty lobby. In the middle of the lobby a wood burning stove roared, and glowed red as the fuel burned.

  “I’ll leave you here, ma’am,” Anderson said when they stepped inside.

  “Thank you.” Sally walked over to the desk and smiled as she saw the clerk, his head drooped forward, snoring rather loudly. She tapped the little bell, and the ding awakened him with a start. At first the clerk looked somewhat irritated that his nap had been interrupted, but he brightened considerably when he recognized her as the wife of one of the leading citizens in the county, if not in the state.

  “Mrs. Jensen,” he said. “What a pleasant surprise. You will be taking a room with us?”

  “Yes, I just arrived on the train, and Smoke isn’t expecting me until tomorrow. I do hope you have an available room.”

  “Indeed we do.” The clerk turned the register around so she could sign it.

  Picking up the pen, Sally saw a name on the line just above hers. “Tamara Gooding McKenzie! That has to be Tamara Gooding. Is she here?”

  “Mrs. McKenzie? Yes, she checked in at about six this evening,” the clerk said. “She came in on the afternoon coach from Gothic.”

  “Tamara is an old and dear friend of mine. Please do not let her leave tomorrow without seeing me.”

  “I will tell her you are here.” The clerk handed a key to Sally.

  As she climbed the stairs, she got a reminder that the elevation in Big Rock was over seven thousand feet. Having lived there as long as she had, she was used to the elevation. But she had been gone for six weeks, all the while at sea level, so she would need to get reacquainted with the altitude.

  The hotel room contained a double bed, a dresser, a stand with a water pitcher and basin, and one chair. There was also a small stove which had already been prepared with wood and kindling. Sally took one of the matches from a box on the dresser, struck it, then got the fire going.

  Within minutes the room was warm and cozy so that when she slipped under the covers of the bed, she didn’t even mind that the sheets were cold and damp. She fell asleep quickly.

  Sugarloaf Ranch

  As was his routine, especially during roundup time, Smoke Jensen was up before dawn. He stood in the doorway of the cookhouse. Even though he was in silhouette, it was easy to identify him. He had shoulders as wide as an ax handle, strong arms, flat stomach, and stood just over six feet tall.

  For the six weeks Sally had been absent Smoke had been taking all his meals in the cookhouse, eating at a private table where he was occasionally joined by Pearlie or Cal. They believed, as did Smoke, that as they would be working closely with the cowboys, they should eat with them.

  It was early enough that none of the other cowboys were awake yet. Pearlie and Cal had been with Smoke long enough to know his schedule, so they were having their breakfast with him at his table, as they discussed the roundup.

  “We’ve got cattle scattered from hither to yon,” Pearlie said. “It’s goin’ to take two, maybe three weeks to get ’em all rounded up, branded, and ready to drive into Big Rock to the railhead.”

  “Miss Sally gets back today, don’t she?” Cal asked.

  “Don’t say that in front of her,” Smoke said.

  “Don’t say what?”

  “Don’t say, ‘don’t she.’ It is, doesn’t she.”

  “Oh, yeah, her bein’ a schoolteacher an’ all, I sometimes forget what store she sets by talkin’ good English.”

  Smoke laughed.

  “What?”

  “Never mind. You are incorrigible, and I would merely be casting pearls before swine.”

  “Smoke, I tell you the truth, sometimes you don’t make no sense a-tall,” Cal said.

  “Miss Sally does get in today though, doesn’t she?” Pearlie asked.

  “Yes. I’ll be going into town to pick her up this morning,” Smoke said.

  Big Rock

  At breakfast in the dining room of the hotel, Sally and Tamara sat across the table from each other. They had been classmates at Vassar and later taught together. This was the first time they had seen each other in a long time.

  “Yes, I knew you were living here,” Tamara said, “but I didn’t want to bother you with my troubles.”

  Sally reached her hand across the table to lay it on Tamara’s hand. “Tamara, we are friends. Friends are never a bother. Now, please, tell me what is going on with you.”

  “Shortly after you and Smoke Jensen were married, I married a man named Ian McKenzie.”

  “Did he live in Bury?”

  “No. I left Bury and went to Denver to take a position there. That’s where I met Ian. He was a lawyer, and a wonderful man.”

  “Was?”

  “He took cholera and died two years ago,” Tamara said.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “Yes, it was awful. I miss him so. But, to make matters worse, I found out his law partner had been cheating him all along. I’m sure that Ian died thinking I would be well taken care of, but there was nothing left of his estate. I left Denver with nothing but the clothes on my back.”

  “Tamara! If you knew I was living here, you should have come to see me,” Sally said.

  “I couldn’t do that. I won’t be a burden to my friends or to my relatives.”

  “Where are you living now? And what are you doing in Big Rock?”

  “I am living in Gothic,” Tamara said.

  “Gothic? Why, that is very close to here. Tamara, if you are that close, you should have come to see me.”

  “I planned to do so once I got back on my feet,” Tamara replied.

  “Are you teaching in Gothic?”

  “No. I applied, but there is no position for me. I have been earning a living baking pies and cakes and selling them from my house.” Tamara smiled. “I’ve actually done better than I thought I would, so that gave me the idea of starting a restaurant.”

  “Why, Tamara, that is a wonderful idea,” Sally said. “So, why are you in Big Rock? Do you plan to start it here?”

  “No. The restaurant will be in Gothic. To tell the truth, I have come to get some ideas from the people who are running this restaurant. There is already another café in Gothic, and I’m not sure they would be all that happy to have competition, so I thought I would do my research over here.”

  “I remember what a good cook you were, even when we were in college. You would sometimes prepare a veritable feast for us. I think your restaurant will do wonderfully.”

  “Thank you. I hope I can convince, Mr. Flowers.”

  “Mr. Flowers?”

  “He owns the Miners’ Bank in Gothic,” Tamara said. “I will be applying to him for a loan to get my restaurant started.”

  “How much money will you be asking for?”

  “Quite a lot, I’m afraid. From all I have been able to figure, I’m going to need at least two thousand dollars.”

  “You’ve got it,” Sally said.

  “No, I don’t have it. That’s why I’m going to have to borrow from the bank.”

  “No, I mean you’ve got the loan. There is no need for you to go to the bank. I will lend you the two thousand dollars you need.”

  “Oh, Sally, no,” Tamara said. “I told you, I don’t want to be a burden to my friends. And I especially don’t want to borrow money from them. Why, what if the restaurant doesn’t make it?”

  “What would you do with the bank if the restaurant doesn’t make it?”

  “I don’t know, to be honest. I haven’t thought it through that far.”

  “That’s because your restaurant is going to make it. I’ll come over next week with the two thousand dollars you need. If you
truly are my friend, you won’t upset me by turning this offer down.”

  Tamara’s eyes welled with tears. “Oh, Sally. What a wonderful friend you are.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Colorado State Penitentiary, Cañon City, Colorado

  The prison guard walked down the center aisle between flanking rows of cells, carrying a large ring of keys.

  “Hey, Jack, you comin’ to let me out of here? I’m innocent, you know,” one of the prisoners called to him.

  “Yeah,” the guard answered. “There’s not a guilty person in this whole prison.”

  “That’s right,” another prisoner said. “We’re all innocent, so when are you goin’ to let us out?”

  “Two men are getting out today,” Jack replied. “They aren’t innocent. They’ve just served their time.”

  “Hey, tell the warden to check his books. I know damn well I’ve served my time,” another prisoner said.

  “Hell, Smitty, you’ve only been in here two months,” someone else said.

  “Is that right? Damn, I thought I had been here for ten years already.”

  The other prisoners, and even Jack, laughed.

  He stopped in front of one of the cells, and the prisoner, as was the routine, stepped all the way back to stand against the wall.

  “What’s your name?” Jack asked the prisoner.

  “Hell, Jack, you know who I am. I done been here for five years,” the prisoner answered.

  “You do want to get out today, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’ll do this my way. What is your name?”

  “Parnell. Cole Parnell, number 1210.”

  Jack unlocked the door.

  “Step out into the aisle, Parnell, and come with me.”

  Parnell did as instructed until they reached the far end of the aisle, where Jack went through the same procedure with a man named Johnny Putnam, number 1138. Parnell and Putnam marched in step with Jack toward the lock gate at the other end of the aisle. Prisoners shouted their goodbyes as the men walked by.