Betrayal of the Mountain Man Read online

  “Hey! That’s my money!” the pickpocket said. “You all seen it. He just stole my money!”

  “How much money did you have in your billfold?” Pearlie asked.

  “I had nineteen dollars,” Thornton answered. “Three fives and four ones.”

  The bartender counted the folded bills, then held them up. “Three fives and four ones,” he announced to all.

  The pickpocket tried to run, but two men grabbed him, then hustled him out of the saloon bound for the sheriff’s office.

  “Well, now, I would like to thank you two boys,” the victim said, extending his hand. “The name is Thornton. Michael Thornton.”

  “I’m Pearlie, this here is Cal,” Pearlie said, shaking Thornton’s hand.

  “Pearlie and Cal, eh? Well, I reckon that’s good enough for me. Could I buy you boys a drink?”

  “Later, perhaps, after we’ve had our supper,” Pearlie replied. “That is, if a fella can get anything to eat in here,” he added to the bartender. “Do you serve food?”

  “Steak and potatoes, ham and eggs, your choice,” the bartender replied.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, which?”

  “Yes, we’ll have steak and potatoes, ham and eggs,” Pearlie said.

  Thornton laughed. “These young men are hungry,” he said. “Bring them whatever they want. I’ll pay for it.”

  “You don’t need to buy our supper,” Pearlie said. “We were just doin’ what we figured was right.”

  “I know I don’t need to. It’s just my way of thanking you.”

  “If you really want to thank us, you can tell us where we might find a job in this town,” Cal said.

  “You two boys are looking for a job?”

  “Yes, sir,” Cal answered.

  “You aren’t afraid of hard work, are you?” Thornton asked.

  “Not if it’s honest.”

  “Good enough. I own the livery,” Thornton said. “I can always use a couple of good men if you are interested.”

  “We’re interested,” Pearlie said.

  “Then the job is yours.”

  Chapter Six

  Ebenezer Dooley turned in his saddle and looked at the five men who were with him. Buford Yancey, Fargo Masters, and Ford DeLorian were men he had worked with before. He had never worked with Logan, but he vaguely remembered him from their time together in prison. Curt Logan had brought along his brother, Trace, as the fifth man. Curt and Trace Logan were wearing identical red and black plaid shirts.

  Dooley spit out a wad of tobacco as he stared at the two brothers.

  “Logan, would you tell me why in the hell you and your brother are wearing those shirts? Don’t you know they stand out like a sore thumb? Ever’one in town is goin’ to see ’em, and remember ’em.”

  “There’s likely to be some shootin’, ain’t there?” Curt Logan asked.

  “I told you there might be. Robbin’ a bank ain’t like stealin’ nickels off a dead man’s eyes.”

  “Well, I already lost me one brother when he got hisself kilt by Smoke Jensen, and I don’t plan to lose me another’n. That’s why Trace ’n me is wearin’ these here plaid shirts.”

  Dooley shook his head in confusion. “What’s wearing a shirt like that got to do with it?”

  “Things gets real confusin’ when there’s a lot of shootin’ goin’ on, and I don’t plan for me’n my brother to shoot each other by mistake. As long as we’re wearin’ these here shirts, that ain’t likely to happen.”

  “If you lead the posse to us ’cause of them shirts, I’ll be doin’ the shootin’ my ownself,” Dooley growled.

  “Dooley,” Fargo said. “The sun’s gettin’ on up. I figure it’s nine o’clock for sure. The bank’ll be open by now.”

  “Right,” Dooley said. “All right, men, anybody got to take a piss, now’s the time to do it.”

  Three of the men dismounted to relieve themselves, then all remounted and looked at Dooley.

  “Fargo, you, Ford, and Yancey will ride into town from the south end. Me’n the Logans will come in from the north. That way, we won’t be drawin’ no attention on account of so many ridin’ together.”

  “All right,” Fargo said. “Come on, boys,” he said to the others. “We’ll need to get around to the other side.”

  Jason Turnball, the city marshal for the town of Etna, was a big man, standing almost six feet six and weighing well over two hundred pounds. He was sitting in a chair on the porch in front of Dunnigan’s General Store. Dunnigan had reinforced the chair just for the marshal, because he liked having the marshal parked on his front porch. That tended to keep away anyone who might get the idea to rob the store, almost as if he had hired his own personal guard.

  Marshal Turnball had his feet propped up on the porch railing, and his chair tipped onto the back two legs. He was peeling an apple, and one long peel hung from the apple all the way to the porch.

  Billy Frakes, an eighteen-year-old who worked as a store clerk for Dunnigan, was sweeping the front porch.

  “I tell you true, Marshal Turnball,” Frakes said. “I believe that’s about the longest peel you’ve ever pared.”

  “Nah,” Turnball said as he cut it off at the end, then held it up for examination. “I’ve done longer.” He tossed the peeling to the bluetick hound that lived under the porch. The dog grabbed the peel, then backed up against the front wall to eat it.

  “Look at them folks,” Frakes said, pointing to the three riders who passed by in front of the store. “Two of ’em’s got shirts just alike.”

  Turnball laughed. “Wouldn’t think two of ’em would be dumb enough to wear a shirt that ugly, would you?”

  Frakes laughed with him.

  Fargo, Ford, and Yancey reached the bank just before Dooley and the Logan brothers. They stopped across the street from the bank and dismounted in front of a leather goods store. Yancey and Fargo examined a pair of boots in the window, while Ford dismounted and held the reins of the three horses. Dooley and the Logans arrived then, and Dooley nodded at Fargo, just before he and the Logans went into the bank.

  “That’s funny,” Frakes said.

  “What’s funny?” Turnball replied.

  “Them fellas over there in front of Sikes Leather Goods. How come you reckon that one is holdin’ the horses, ’stead of tyin’ ’em off at the hitchin’ rail?”

  “Maybe them other two just wanted to look at the boots and they was goin’ to ride on,” Turnball suggested.

  “Well, if they’re just wantin’ ’em some boots, maybe one ’em would be interested in buyin’ a pair of boots I just made,” Frakes said. “I think I’ll go down there an’ see.”

  “If you go down there and sell your boots in front of Al Sikes’s store, takin’ business away from him, you never will get him to sell your boots for you,” Turnball said.

  “No, sir. I think it’s just the opposite. If Mr. Sikes seen that folks would be willin’ to buy boots that I’ve made, why, that might just make him want to sell ’em in his store,” Frakes insisted as he stood the broom up against the wall. He stepped inside Dunnigan’s for just a moment, then came back out carrying the boots he had made. He held them out for the marshal’s inspection.

  “What do you think of ’em?” he asked.

  “They’re good-lookin’ boots all right,” Turnball agreed. “Can’t nobody say you don’t do good work.”

  Smiling under Turnball’s praise, Frakes started down the street toward Sikes Leather Goods.

  Trace Logan stayed out front holding the horses, while his brother Curt and Dooley went into the bank. There were only two people inside the bank, Rob Clark, the owner, and Tucker Patterson, the teller. Both were just behind the teller’s cage, and Patterson looked up as the two men came inside.

  “Yes, sir,” Patterson said. “Can I help you gent . . .” he began. Then he paused and gasped as he saw that both men were wearing hoods over their faces. They were also holding guns.

  “This here is a holdup,�
�� Dooley said in a gruff voice. He held up a cloth bag. “Fill this bag with money.”

  “Mr. Clark?” Patterson said. “What shall I do?”

  Dooley pointed his pistol at Clark and pulled the hammer back. It made a deadly-sounding click.

  “Yeah, tell him, Mr. Clark,” Dooley said. “What should he do?”

  “T-Tucker,” Clark said in a frightened voice. “I think you had better do what the man says.”

  “Yes, sir,” Patterson said.

  “Now you’re getting smart,” Dooley said.

  Patterson started taking money from the cash drawer and putting it into the sack.

  “Take a look out in the street,” Dooley said to Curt. “Anybody comin’ in?”

  “Don’t see nobody,” Curt answered.

  “That’s all the money we’ve got,” Patterson said, handing the sack back.

  Dooley looked down into the sack. “There’s not more’n a couple hundred dollars here,” he said. “I know you got more’n that. I want the money from the safe.”

  “I . . . I don’t have the combination to the safe,” Patterson said. “Only the bank president has the combination.”

  “Where is the bank president?”

  Patterson glanced toward Clark, but he said nothing.

  “I see,” Dooley said. “All right, Mr. Bank President, I’ll ask you to open the safe.”

  Clark didn’t move.

  Dooley pointed his gun at Patterson. “Open the safe or I’ll kill him right now,” Dooley growled.

  “Mr. Clark, please!” Patterson begged.

  Nodding reluctantly, Clark walked over to the safe. Within a few minutes he had the door open. Dooley could see several small, filled bank bags inside.

  “Damn!” Curt Logan said with a low whistle. “Have you ever seen so much money?”

  “Put them bank bags in the sack,” Dooley ordered, handing the sack over to Clark.

  “What’s takin’ ’em so long?” Yancey asked, looking back toward the bank.

  “Maybe there’s lots of money and it’s takin’ ’em a while to get it all,” Fargo suggested. “You don’t worry about them; you just do the job you’re supposed to be doin’. Keep a lookout all around you.”

  “There ain’t nobody payin’ no attention to the bank,” Yancey said.

  “Fargo, Yancey, there’s someone comin’,” Ford called from his position holding the horses.

  “Where? Who?” Fargo asked.

  “Up there,” Ford said, nodding. “He’s comin’ right for us.”

  “He’s carryin’ a pair of boots,” Yancey said. “Maybe he bought some boots here and he’s bringin’ ’em back.”

  “This is a hell of a time for him to be doin’ that,” Fargo said.

  At that moment, Dooley and Curt Logan ran from the bank, still wearing hoods over their faces. Clark appeared in the front door of the bank, right behind them. He was carrying a pistol, and he fired it at the three men as they were getting mounted.

  “Holdup!” Clark shouted. “Bank robbery! These men just robbed the bank!”

  Dooley and both of the Logan brothers shot back at the banker, and Clark dropped his gun, then fell back into the bank.

  “Shoot up the town, boys!” Dooley shouted. “Keep ever’one’s head down!”

  Frakes, who was nearly to the leather goods store by then, was surprised to see that the three men he was coming to see were also part of the robbery. He dropped his boots and ran as they began shooting up and down the street, aiming as well at the buildings. Window glass was shattered as the bullets crashed through.

  One of the bullets hit the supporting post of the awning in front of the meat market, just as Frakes stepped up onto the porch. Frakes turned, and dived into the watering trough right in front of the meat market. Sinking to the bottom, he could hear the continuing sound of shots being fired, though now it was muffled by the water. Frakes held his breath as long as he could, then lifted his head up, gasping for air. By that time he could see the six men just crossing over the Denver and New Orleans railroad track. They galloped out of town, headed almost due west toward Thunder Butte, which rose some twenty miles away.

  Frakes climbed out of the trough and stood in the street alongside, dripping water. The town was in a turmoil with men yelling at each other, dogs barking, and children crying. Several men were running toward the bank.

  “Was anybody hit?” someone asked.

  “Help me,” Patterson was calling from the front of the bank. “Help me, somebody! Mr. Clark has been shot!”

  By now there were several men gathered at the bank and as Frakes started toward it, he saw Dr. Urban going there as well. Urban was carrying his medical bag, and when he reached the bank he started shouting at the people to let him through.

  “It’s the doc,” someone said. “Let him through.”

  Frakes went over as well, and because there were too many people crowded around for him to see, he climbed up on the railing. That gave him a good view, and he saw Dr. Urban kneeling beside Clark’s prostrate form.

  “How is he, Doc?” someone asked.

  Dr. Urban put his fingers to Clark’s neck, held them there for a moment, then shook his head.

  “He’s gone,” Dr. Urban said.

  “Somebody better go tell Mrs. Clark,” Tucker Patterson said.

  Dr. Urban looked up at Patterson. “Well, Mr. Patterson, I expect that should be you,” he said. “You know her better than anyone else.”

  Gulping, Patterson nodded. “I expect that’s so,” he said.

  “Did anyone get a good look at the ones who did this?” Turnball asked.

  “Marshal, it was them same fellas we seen comin’ into town,” Frakes said. “The ones with them plaid shirts.”

  “Yeah, I seen them shirts too,” one of the other townspeople said.

  “That’s right, Marshal,” Patterson said. “Two of them were wearing red and black plaid shirts.”

  “Did you see their faces?” Turnball asked Patterson.

  Patterson shook his head. “No, I didn’t see their faces. They had their faces covered with hoods.”

  “The ones outside wasn’t wearin’ hoods,” someone said.

  “Yeah, well, wearin’ hoods or not don’t make no difference,” one of the others said. “Near’bout all of us seen them shirts. You can’t hide a shirt like that.”

  “You goin’ after them, Marshal?”

  “There are six of them,” Turnball said.

  “I don’t care how many of ’em there is, they got our money. Hell, after this winter we just come through, that’s near’bout all the money the town has left.”

  “I’ll need a posse.”

  “I’ll ride with you.”

  “Me too.”

  “You can count on me.”

  “I’ll ride with you, Marshal,” Frakes said.

  “All right, men, get yourselves a gun, have your women put together two, maybe three days’ food, get mounted, and meet me in front of my office.”

  “When?”

  “I figure you should all be ready within an hour.”

  “An hour? Marshal, them outlaws can get a long ways in an hour,” one of the men said. Like Turnball, he was wearing a badge, because this was Turnball’s deputy.

  “Pike, they’ve already got fifteen minutes on us,” Turnball said. “If we go off half-cocked now, we ain’t got a snowball’s chance in hell of catchin’ up to them. Best thing for us to do is be prepared. Now, are you plannin’ on riding with the posse or not?”

  “You know I’m goin’,” Pike said. “I’m your deputy, ain’t I?”

  “Then get you some food, then get on back down to the office and wait until we are ready to go.”

  “All right, all right,” Pike said. “I just don’t want them sons of bitches to get away, that’s all.”

  Turnball looked at the others, who seemed to be standing around awaiting further instructions. “What are you all a’waitin’ on? Now!” he said gruffly, and with tha
t, the posse scattered.

  “Marshal, you want I should get some cuffs so we can cuff ’em when we find ’em?” Pike asked.

  “Of course,” Turnball said. “Unless you were plannin’ on just askin’ them not to try and get away.”

  “No, it’s not that, it’s just that I thought, well . . .” Pike hesitated.

  “You thought what?”

  “I wasn’t all that sure we would be bringin’ ’em back in, if you know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I mean men like that, shootin’ down Mr. Clark and stealin’ all the town’s money like they done. Well, some folks might think they don’t have no right to be brought back in alive.”

  “Pike, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Turnball said.

  “It’s not like I’m talkin’ lynchin’ or anything,” Pike said. “I meant, uh, well, I meant, what if they put up a fight and we have to kill ’em? I mean, all legal like.”

  “Now, you get back down to the office and get ready, like I said.”

  “Sure, Marshal, sure,” Pike said. “Like I said, I didn’t really mean nothin’ by it. I was just thinkin’ on what might happen, is all.”

  “Do me a favor, will you, Pike? Don’t think,” Marshal Turnball said.

  Smoke was riding north through a level forest. Just behind him a boulder-covered hillside rose almost ten thousand feet to the wooded and still-snow-covered peak of Thunder Butte. It was getting toward midday when Stormy started limping and Smoke had to stop. He had just lifted the left foreleg of his horse to look at the foot when he saw six men riding toward him.

  Smoke didn’t pay that much attention to them at first. He was on relatively level ground, which meant that anyone who was traveling through here would have to come in his general direction. Right now his biggest concern at the moment was the shoe. But the approaching horses made an obvious turn so that they began moving directly toward him.

  Smoke had no idea what they wanted, so he kept an eye on them as he examined Stormy’s hoof. He saw that the horse had picked up a rock between the shoe and the hoof, so he started working to get it out.