Terror of the Mountain Man Read online

“Judge Clayborne. Were you in the car where the shooting took place?” one of the other passengers asked.

  “I was.”

  “What the hell, Eugene,” the messenger said to the conductor. “As far as I’m concerned, this man may have saved a few lives, besides which, the robbers didn’t get one penny of money. Mister,” he said looking directly at Smoke, “I, for one, thank you.”

  Smoke nodded, but didn’t say anything.

  “Why’d you stop, Lyman?” the conductor asked. “None of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t stopped.”

  “Didn’t have no choice,” the engineer replied. “They put a barricade across the tracks.” Lyman glanced toward a couple of the stronger-looking passengers. “Fact is, we can’t move from this very spot till the track has been cleared. You two men want to bear a hand in gettin’ the barricade moved?”

  “Sure thing,” one of the two answered, and both passengers went to the front of the train with the engineer and fireman, to begin clearing the cut timber from the track.

  When Smoke returned to the train car the response toward him was measured.

  “What a strange reaction these people are having,” Sally said. “Don’t they know you just saved their lives?”

  “I wouldn’t take it that far,” Smoke said. “Besides, I fear that most of them think I endangered their lives by doing what I did.”

  “Nonsense,” Sally said. “I’ll soon set them straight on that.”

  Smoke reached out to put his hand on Sally’s arm. “I’d rather you not do that,” he said. “I would like for my return to Missouri to be as quiet as possible.”

  Despite the situation, Sally laughed out loud. When she did so, several others in the car stared at her accusingly.

  “As quiet as possible,” she said. “You just stopped a robbery in progress by shooting three of the robbers. Don’t you think it’s a little late to ‘enter Missouri quietly’?”

  Smoke chuckled as well.

  “If you put it like that, I suppose you are right.”

  “If I put it like that? How else am I going to put it?”

  It took less than fifteen minutes to get the track cleared, then, with a series of jolts that eventually smoothed out, the train started up again.

  About half an hour later the train began to slow, and Smoke pulled the curtain open to look outside. He saw a small house slide by, a dim, golden glow shining through the windows.

  When the train came to a complete stop, Smoke and Sally stepped out onto the brick platform at the Galena Depot and looked around.

  Behind them the train was temporarily at rest from its long run, but it wasn’t quiet. Because the engineer kept the steam up, the valve continued to open and close in great, heaving sighs. Overheated wheel bearings and gearboxes popped and snapped as its tortured metal cooled. On the platform all around him, there was a discordant chorus of squeals, laughter, shouts, and animated conversation as people were getting on and off the train.

  When Smoke looked toward the rear of the train he saw that the three bodies had been taken down from the last car and were being laid out side by side at the far end of the platform. Already the curious were beginning to gather around them.

  Smoke had brought his and Sally’s horses all the way from Big Rock, and he and Sally walked toward the attached stock car, away from those who were congregated around the men he had shot. They waited there as the horses were led down the board incline that had been lifted to the door of the car for that express purpose. The horses recognized them, and nodded and whickered in appreciation and relief that they had been reunited.

  “Good-looking animals,” one of the employees said.

  “Thanks. Is Grant’s stable still open?”

  “Grant? Where you been, mister? Emil Grant died ten years ago. It ain’t Grant’s no more. It was bought out by Dave Kern.”

  “Davey Kern?” Smoke smiled. He remembered Kern from when they were in school together. “Well, that’ll be just fine. I’ll be glad to leave my horses with him. Will there be someone there now?”

  “I expect there will be. He keeps someone on duty there all night long.”

  “Is the stable still in the same place, up on the corner of Maple and Fourth?”

  “Still there.” The depot man looked at Smoke more closely. “You from here, mister? ’Cause if you are, I don’t recollect you.”

  “You wouldn’t likely,” Smoke said. “I was just a boy when I left and that was a long time ago.”

  As they were speaking, Smoke saw his father’s coffin being removed from the baggage car and placed, carefully, on one of the iron-wheeled carts. He handed the reins of his horse to Sally and walked over to it.

  “This belong to you?” the baggage master asked as Smoke approached.

  “Yes.”

  “It isn’t empty, is it?”

  “No, it contains the remains of my father. I’ve brought him here to be buried.”

  “What do you want done with it for now?”

  “Can you keep it here, until I can make arrangements for it?”

  “I reckon I can, but it’ll cost you a quarter a night for me to put it up here.”

  Smoke gave him a dollar. “I should have all the arrangements made by the time this is worked off.”

  The baggage master took the money, nodded, then motioned for one of the other men to move it into the depot baggage-storage area.

  Chapter Two

  After making arrangements for his father’s coffin to be safely stored until he was ready for it, Smoke walked down to the far end of the station platform where the bodies of the men he had shot had been laid out as if on display. Each one had his arms folded across his chest. The eyes were open on two of them, the third had only one eye open, the other having been destroyed by the entry of the bullet.

  There were two men standing there, looking down at the bodies. One was the well-dressed passenger from the train, the one the conductor had referred to as “judge.” The other man, who hadn’t been a passenger, was also wearing a suit, and was smoking a cigar. A star, attached to the lapel of his suit jacket, identified him as the sheriff.

  “This is the man who did it, Sheriff,” the judge said.

  The sheriff took his cigar out of his mouth and spit out a few pieces of loose tobacco before he spoke.

  “You shot these men, did you?” he asked.

  “I had enough people who saw me do it that it would be rather foolish of me to deny it, don’t you think?” Smoke replied.

  The sheriff chuckled. “You have a point there,” he said.

  “There is no sense in you seeking an indictment on this man, because I will not grant it,” the judge said.

  “I’ve already been told by half a dozen others what happened, Judge. You don’t have to worry about it, I won’t be bringing any charges against him.” The sheriff stuck the cigar back in his mouth and looked at Smoke again. “I do have one question, though.”

  “What would that be?” Smoke asked.

  “Why? Why did you take a chance like that?”

  “They were robbing the train.”

  “So I heard. But what business is that of yours?”

  “It would have been my business if they started taking money from the passengers. I was one of the passengers.”

  “That’s correct, Sheriff,” the judge said. “Jimmy Dill announced the moment he stepped onto the train, that it was their intention to rob the passengers, regardless of what might have been in the express car.”

  The sheriff stuck the cigar back into his mouth and stared at Smoke for a long moment. That was when Smoke recognized him. This was Paul Sadler. But Smoke had changed a lot more than Sadler had over the intervening years, so he knew that while Sadler might find him familiar, he probably wouldn’t be able to place him.

  “Are you going to need me anymore, Sheriff? I need to get my horses down to Kern’s livery, then get checked into the hotel.”

  “No,” the sheriff said. “Truth is, the railroad, and
the town, owe you a debt of gratitude. Will you be stayin’ long?”

  “Just for a few days,” Smoke said. “I’m here to take care of some personal business.”

  “If I run into you in the saloon, I’ll buy you a drink.”

  Smoke nodded. “I’ll appreciate it.”

  “Damn, I didn’t even ask him his name,” Sheriff Sadler said as he walked away. “And I should have. He’s damn familiar-lookin’ to me.”

  “A man like that doesn’t stay unknown for long,” the judge replied. “I expect we’ll learn his name soon enough.”

  Once arrangements for the horses were made at the Kern Livery Stable, Smoke and Sally checked into the Bracken Hotel.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Kirby Jensen,” the hotel clerk said as he read the entry. “Welcome to Galena.”

  “Thank you,” Smoke replied.

  “Why did you use the name Kirby?” Sally asked after they went upstairs.

  “A couple of reasons,” Smoke said. “One reason is because Kirby is how I was known when I still lived here. But primarily it’s because back here, I doubt that anyone has connected the name Kirby with Smoke, and I’d just as soon nobody is able to do that. I’d like to keep this visit as quiet as I can.”

  “Ha! After that private war you had before we arrived here, just how long do you think it will be before someone puts two and two together?”

  Smoke smiled. “Who’s going to put two and two together? I grew up here, remember? Math never was a strong suit around here.”

  “You’re awful,” Sally said, laughing as she threw a pillow at him.

  The next morning a slight breeze filled the muslin curtains and lifted them out over the wide-beamed planking in the floor. With Sally still asleep beside him, Smoke moved to the window and looked out over the town, which was just beginning to awaken. Water was being heated behind the laundry and boxes were being stacked behind the grocery store. A team of matched mules pulled a fully-loaded freight wagon down the main street.

  From somewhere Smoke could smell bacon frying, and his stomach growled, reminding him that he was hungry.

  “Sally, come on, get up!” he called. “Are you planning on sleeping in for the entire day?”

  “I could be talked into it,” Sally replied sleepily.

  “I’m hungry. Let’s go have some breakfast.”

  After breakfast Smoke and Sally went down to Welch’s Funeral Home. They stopped just before they went in, because standing outside the building, and strapped to boards to hold them up, were the three bodies of the men Smoke had killed on the train the night before.

  “I wish they wouldn’t do that,” Sally said.

  “Yeah, I’d just as soon not see them. But it could have been us.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly. They wouldn’t have put us up here,” Sally insisted.

  The mortician, Gene Welch, stepped outside. “These three men tried to rob the train last night,” he said. “If you would like, you can have your picture taken beside them. It’ll only cost you a quarter.”

  “You’re charging people to have their picture taken beside these bodies?” Sally asked, incredulously.

  “Yes. The money isn’t for me, you understand. It will be used to purchase coffins to bury these poor unfortunates.”

  “I thought the county paid for their burials,” Smoke said.

  “Yes, but county money is taxpayers’ money, so you might say that I’m just looking out for the people.”

  “Do people actually have their pictures taken in such a way?” Sally asked.

  “Oh, yes, you would be surprised at the number of people who do. And often, they will pose with a gun, as if they were the ones who actually shot them. Of course, everyone knows, now, that they were shot by one of the passengers on the train. But twenty, or thirty years from now, who will know the difference?”

  “Yes, who will know the difference?”

  “Evidently you didn’t come to have your picture taken, so, how may I help you?”

  “I used to live near here, some time ago,” Smoke said, “and I have brought my father back to be buried here. My mother is also here, but she is buried on our old home place. I would like to have her exhumed and brought into town. Then I want to have her and my father buried side by side, right here in the local cemetery. Can you handle that for me?”

  “Indeed I can. How long has your mother been interred?”

  “It’s been over twenty years now.”

  There was a shocked expression on Welch’s face. “Oh, my. You do understand, don’t you, sir, that if the coffin has been in the ground that long, unless it was a very good one, that it may well have deteriorated to the point that by now it will be difficult to move and rebury it.”

  “She’s not in a coffin. I’ll be wanting to buy one from you.”

  “Very good, sir. Oh, I’m afraid this is most indelicate, but there is no other way but to come right out and say it. If she wasn’t in a coffin, I must assume that she also wasn’t embalmed.”

  “I buried her myself,” Smoke said. “I put her in a feed trough and closed it up with a door. I’m pretty sure there will be nothing left but bones, but whatever ‘there’ is there, I want it moved to town.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll take care of both of them for you. Would you like to view our coffins, to pick one out for your mother?”

  “I’ll let you do that. I want the best.”

  “Yes, sir,” Welch said with a big smile. “That would be our Eternal Cloud. It is guaranteed for five hundred years.”

  “Five hundred years?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Suppose I want to do this again in five hundred years, and I find that the coffin has deteriorated, will you give me my money back?”

  “Of course, that’s what a guarantee . . . uh . . .” As if just realizing what Smoke said, Welch got a strange expression on his face. “Uh, of course, five hundred years would be . . .” He stopped, unable to complete the sentence.

  “Never mind,” Smoke said. “Once I get them here, I don’t plan to move them in the next five hundred years, so I’ll just have to take your word for it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Welch replied, not catching the sarcasm. “Uh, may I have your name, sir?”

  “It’s Jensen. Kirby Jensen.”

  “Very good, Mr. Jensen, I’ll take care of everything.”

  “Good, thank you. By the way, do you know the name of the man who actually killed these outlaws?”

  “No, I’m afraid I don’t. All I know is that it was one of the train passengers. For all I know, he may have gone on.”

  “Yes,” Smoke said.

  When they left Welch’s Funeral Home, they started down to the stable to get their horses.

  Sally laughed, quietly. “You want your money back in five hundred years? Smoke, sometimes you can be downright cruel, you know that?”

  “Well, if it’s a guarantee for five hundred years, why not get my money back?”

  Sally laughed again, louder this time, and, playfully, she hit Smoke on the arm.

  “Oh, hush.”

  A stable employee had taken their horses last night, but Dave Kern himself was there today. Smoke smiled, because he was certain he would have recognized him, even if he didn’t know the name.

  “We’ve come to get our horses.”

  “All right. And your name, sir?”

  “Don’t you recognize me, Davey?” Smoke said. “I’ll admit that it’s been a long time.”

  Kern stared at him for a long moment, but without recognition.

  “The name is Jensen. Kirby Jensen.”

  Now a huge smile spread across Kern’s face. “Kirby Jensen! Well, I’ll be.” He stuck out his hand. “It’s real good to see you again, Kirby. Old Mr. Byrd said you ’n’ your pa sold him your land ’n’ your mules, then rode out of here. But you never come back, and there ain’t nobody in town never heard from you, your brother, your sister, or your pa and ma again.”

  “Ma and Pa are both dead,” Smoke
said. “I’ve come here to bury them. Is Mr. Byrd still alive?”

  “Oh, yeah, he’s still alive. But he don’t live here no more. He lives down in Texas now, bought hisself a ranch down on the Rio Grande. His son Sam owns the farm now. Not only his farm, but the old Gimlin place as well.”

  “What about Mary Gimlin?”

  “Him ’n’ his wife is both dead. His daughter, Mollie, married Sam Byrd, which is how Sam Byrd come by the land. You plannin’ on goin’ out to see ’em?”

  “I thought I might.”

  “Well, I’m sure he’ll appreciate that. He’s good folks, even if he is about the richest man around here.” Kern called one of his employees in, and gave him a couple of numbers. “Tony, go get these two horses saddled and bring ’em up front, will you?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Kern.”

  “You’re goin’ to bury your folks here, are you? Well, that’ll be nice. I know there’s lots of people around that remember your folks just real kindly. By the way, where’s your sister at? I always thought she was a real pretty thing.”

  “She died last year. She was living in Kansas,” Smoke said without giving away any more information.

  “That’s too bad. Like I said, she was a real pretty thing.”

  “Mr. Kern, they’s a fella out here wantin’ to rent a buckboard,” someone said, sticking his head in the office then.

  “All right, I’ll be right there. Excuse me, Kirby. Have you come back to stay? Or just to take care of your ma and pa?”

  “Just to take care of them,” Smoke said. “I’ll be getting on back home as soon as that’s done.”

  “Well, I do hope I get a chance to see you again before you leave. Tony will have your horses up here in a moment. If you’ll excuse me, I’d prob’ly better see to the man who’s wantin’ to rent a buckboard. Ma’am, real nice to see you,” he said with a nod, just before he went outside to see to his customer.

  “Do you miss this town, Smoke?” Sally asked, when they were alone. “I mean, do you ever wish you were still here?”

  Smoke chuckled. “Sally, if I had wanted to be here, I never would have left in the first place. Why would you even ask such a question?”