Brutal Night of the Mountain Man Read online

  “Oh, heavens, Pearlie! You were shot with a shotgun?”

  Pearlie laughed. “Yeah. The shells had been loaded with strips of rawhide, so it stung like the dickens when it hit me, but it didn’t do much more than wound my pride.”

  “What happened to the watermelon?” Cal asked.

  This time it was Sally who laughed. “Leave it to Cal to worry about the watermelon.”

  “I dropped it and it broke open,” Pearlie said. “So, Kate and I just scooped the heart out, then ran.”

  * * *

  Prior to leaving Big Rock, Smoke had made arrangements to lease a special stock car to be attached to their train. The purpose of the car was to provide transportation for the horses, and when the four of them reached Etholen, the job of taking care of the horses fell to Cal. Smoke, Sally, and Pearlie took the luggage to the Milner Hotel where they arranged for the rooms. Then, from the hotel, Sally went to the jail to visit with Kate, while Smoke and Pearlie went to the Pretty Girl and Happy Cowboy Saloon.

  * * *

  When Sally stepped into the jail, it smelled of cheap cigar smoke, and the origin of the smell was quickly and easily ascertained. A thin man, with what looked like a week’s growth of scraggly whiskers, sat behind a desk with a lit cigar clenched between his teeth. He was dealing poker hands, but he was the only one playing since he was alone in the jail.

  “Marshal Witherspoon?” Sally asked.

  Sally had entered the room so quietly that she hadn’t been seen, and when she spoke, the man behind the desk was visibly startled.

  “Jesus, lady! Who the hell are you, and how did you get in here?”

  “I opened the door and walked in,” Sally replied. She purposely omitted giving her name. “Are you Marshal Witherspoon?”

  “Nah, I ain’t the marshal. I’m Deputy Calhoun. What do you want?”

  “I wish to visit one of your prisoners,” Sally replied.

  “One of ’em? Ha! We only got us one prisoner.”

  “That would be Mrs. Abernathy?”

  “Yeah. You know Kate, do you?”

  “You call her by her first name?”

  “Ever’one does. Hell, she runs a saloon. Any woman that runs a saloon don’t expect to be called by nothin’ else. Are you one of her whores? ’Cause if you are, I ain’t never seen you before.”

  “No.”

  “Then why do you want to see her?”

  “We have a mutual acquaintance.”

  The deputy squinted his eyes. “Yeah? That mutual acquaintance wouldn’t be her son now, would it? ’Cause, maybe you don’t know nothin’ ’bout it, but Rusty Abernathy, he’s wanted for murder.”

  “No, Rusty Abernathy isn’t the name of the person we share in common.”

  “Well, who is it then?” the deputy asked.

  “Why would you need to know who it might be?”

  “On account of ’cause I’m the law, ’n I got a right to know things like that. It’s all a part of investigatin’ ’n all, you know, so as we can find out where Rusty Abernathy is.”

  “The mutual acquaintance we share is her brother.”

  “Ha! Now I know you’re lyin’. She ain’t got no brother.”

  “Where was Kate born?” Sally asked.

  “What? How do I know where she was born?”

  “If you don’t know where she was born, then you don’t know everything about her, do you? She could have a brother, and you would know nothing at all about it.”

  Calhoun ran his hand through the scraggly growth of whiskers on his chin and stared at Sally for a long moment.

  “You’re wearin’ a pistol.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Deputy, you aren’t afraid of a woman, are you?”

  “All right,” Calhoun finally agreed. “Let me have your pistol and you can go on back there; you can talk to her. But I plan to listen to everything you talk about.”

  “Well, you are certainly welcome to do that,” Sally replied as she handed her pistol over, butt first. “We have no secrets.”

  When Sally stepped into the back of the jail, she saw a woman sitting on the edge of her bed.

  “You got a visitor, Kate,” Calhoun said.

  “Who are you?” Kate asked, looking up in curiosity.

  “Wes Fontaine sent me,” Sally said.

  Kate gasped. “Wes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Say, Kate, do you know who this fella Wes Fontaine is?” Deputy Calhoun asked.

  “Yes. Wes Fontaine is my brother.”

  “All right then, you wasn’t lyin’. You two go ahead and talk, I’ll just listen in.”

  “Wes wanted me to tell you about the new quilt I made for him,” Sally said. “Which do you like, Cactus Wreath? Or Country Stable? Of course, I also like Sassy Sunflower. But then, Tile Tangle is nice, too.”

  At first, Kate was puzzled, then, when she saw the expression on the deputy’s face, she realized what Sally was doing.

  “Well, I’ve always liked Lilies of the Field. What sort of stitch are you using? Stitch in the Ditch, or Outline?”

  “Stitch in the Ditch; I know it’s more difficult, but it makes a much more beautiful quilt. Why I . . .”

  “Is this all you two are going to talk about?” Calhoun asked with a sigh.

  “Oh, but Deputy Calhoun, you should see the quilt. Why, if I say so myself, it’s the most beautiful quilt I’ve ever made.”

  Calhoun shook his head in disgust. “There ain’t no way I’m goin’ to stay back here ’n listen to you two prattle on about quiltin’ and such.”

  Calhoun left, then closed the door behind him so that the two women were alone in the back of the jail. They looked at each other and laughed.

  “At first, I wasn’t sure what you were talking about,” Kate said. “That was a good way of getting rid of him. How is Wes doing?”

  “He’s doing just great. He got your message, and he’s here, in town.”

  “What about . . .” Kate stopped in midsentence, then looked toward the door to make certain that the deputy wasn’t listening. “Wait a minute. How do I know you are who you say you are? It could be that my message to Wes was intercepted, and you’re somebody Atwood paid to pretend to know Wes. I think it would be better if we didn’t talk.”

  “What happened when you and your brother tried to steal watermelons from Mr. Rowe?” Sally asked.

  For a moment Kate was surprised by the question, then a broad smile spread across her face.

  “Mr. Rowe had loaded some of his shotgun shells with bits of rawhide, and he shot Wes.” She laughed. “There’s absolutely no way you could possibly know that if Wes hadn’t told you. You are who you say you are.”

  “I am indeed. And we are here to help you.”

  “Have you seen Rusty?”

  “Yes, and he’s fine,” Sally said. “He’s the one who told us about your problem.”

  “Oh, but, he isn’t here, in town, is he? It’s much too dangerous for him to be here.”

  “No, he is nearby, but he isn’t here. We’ll get you together when it is safe to do so.”

  “We?”

  “My husband, Pearlie, Cal, and I.”

  “By Pearlie you mean . . .”

  “Your brother,” Sally said, answering before the question was completed. Sally reached through the bars, and Kate took her hand.

  “Yes, I heard that he was calling himself Pearlie now.”

  “Just sit tight, and don’t worry about a thing,” Sally said. “We are going to get you out of this.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “I’m told a lady owns this saloon. Is that true?” Smoke asked as he and Pearlie stepped up to the bar to order a drink. Smoke was well aware that it was true, but he asked the question so that he could measure the bartender’s reaction.

  “Yes, sir, and a fine lady she is, too,” the bartender said as he drew two beers.

  “Lady, hell? She ain’t much more’n a whore,” one of the drinkers at the other end of the bar said.
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br />   “That ain’t true, ’n you know it, Pardeen. Miss Kate is not a whore,” the bartender said.

  “What do you mean, she’s not a whore? She’s got whores that works for her, don’t she? That’s the same thing. What she should do is sell this place to my boss.”

  “Why should she do that?” the bartender asked. “Miss Kate is a fine woman, and she treats all of us real good.”

  “Yeah? Well what are you goin’ to do when they wind up hangin’ her in place of her son, on account of he run away after he murdered Calley.”

  “Rusty didn’t murder Calley. You forget, I was here, and I saw what happened. That shooting was self-defense, pure ’n simple,” the bartender said.

  “The hell it was. Calley warn’t even a’ lookin’ at Abernathy when he got shot. I was on the jury, remember, ’n that’s how come we found ’im guilty. ’N that’s how come Judge Boykin sentenced him to hang.”

  “Hell, Pardeen, Calley was countin’ out loud, ’n he told ever’one in the saloon that he was goin’ to kill Rusty when he got to ten. He was already up to nine when Rusty shot ’im, ’n if Rusty hadn’t of shot him, Calley damn sure would’ve shot Rusty,” one of the other patrons said.

  “Yeah, but Calley was lookin’ away from Rusty when Rusty picked up that gun ’n kilt ’im.”

  “That doesn’t matter. There is nobody who saw it who would say that the shooting wasn’t justified,” the bartender said.

  “Yeah, well I seen it, ’n I was on the jury, ’n we said what he done was murder,” Pardeen said.

  “Wait a minute,” Smoke said. “Are you telling me that you were a witness to the event, and yet you served on the jury?”

  “Yeah,” Pardeen said. “That’s what I’m tellin’ you.”

  “There was no one on that jury except men who Atwood either controls or men who ride for him. And none of them were real cowboys, either. They were all gunhands, same as Calley,” the bartender said.

  “It don’t make no never mind now whether Rusty is guilty or not,” Pardeen said. “He won’t never be comin’ back here. ’N if he don’t come back, the whore that owns this place is goin’ to get her neck stretched.”

  “Maybe common sense will prevail,” the bartender said.

  “If there was any common sense, she woulda sold this place to Atwood when she had the chance. Now, she’s goin’ to wind up dead, that no-count son of hers is gone to hell ’n back, ’n that means they won’t be nobody left to own this place. What’s goin’ to happen is the marshal will wind up takin’ it over, then he’ll sell it to the highest bidder, ’n that’ll be Atwood.”

  “I’ll tell you this, Pardeen,” the bartender said. “If Atwood does wind up owning this place, he’ll have to get a new bartender, because I sure as hell won’t work for him.”

  “No, and neither will any of the girls,” a nearby bar girl said.

  “Ha,” Pardeen replied. “Bartenders are a dime a dozen, ’n whores are even cheaper. You won’t have to quit, Atwood will more’n likely fire ever’one anyway. Why, I might wind up tendin’ bar myself.”

  “Yeah, you’d make a fine bartender. You don’t know scotch from bourbon,” the bartender replied.

  “What is your name, bartender?” Smoke asked.

  “The name is Peterson. Ray Peterson.”

  “Mr. Peterson, I like a man who is loyal to his employer. You’re a good man.”

  The bartender smiled. “Why, I thank you, sir,” Peterson replied. “But when you have a boss like Miss Kate, it isn’t hard to be loyal.”

  The scoffing sound Pardeen made may have been a laugh. “You beddin’ her, Peterson?” he asked. “Is that why you takin’ up for her like that?”

  “You have a big mouth,” Peterson said.

  “You know what? I don’t want you to quit. I want you to beg Atwood to let you stay on. I want to see him fire you.”

  “Mr. Pardeen, you keep talking about Atwood. Do you know him?” Smoke asked.

  “Yeah, I know him. I work for him.”

  “You’re a cowboy?”

  “Cowboy?” Pardeen smiled. “Yeah, I’m a cowboy.”

  “He’s no more a cowboy than I am,” Peterson said. “He’s one of Atwood’s gunhands.”

  “I want you to take a message to Atwood,” Smoke said.

  “A message? What kind of message?”

  “You can tell him that he is not going to buy this saloon.”

  “Oh? Who’s going to buy it? You?”

  “Nobody is going to buy it. It’s going to stay in the hands of its current owner.”

  “Really? You bein’ new here, maybe you don’t know that Kate is in jail now, ’n she’s more’n likely goin’ to hang if her no-count son don’t come back so’s we can hang him.”

  “My sister isn’t going to hang, and neither is my nephew. We aren’t going to let that happen,” Pearlie said.

  “Your sister? Who the hell are you?”

  “My name is Pearlie, and Katie is my sister.”

  Pardeen laughed. “Pearlie? What the hell kind of name is Pearlie?”

  “It’s my name,” Pearlie said without any further explanation.

  “And you’re going to stop ’em from hanging, are you? Tell me . . . Pearlie, just how do you plan to stop that?”

  “We’re going to stop it by taking Atwood down. You might tell him that for us,” Smoke said.

  Pardeen turned to face Smoke and when he did so, Pearlie, recognizing the expression on Pardeen’s face, stepped to one side.

  “You’re going to take Mr. Atwood down, are you?”

  “Yes.”

  “It could be that I’ll just take you down instead,” Pardeen suggested.

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Smoke said.

  “Yeah?” Pardeen said with an easy, confident grin on his face. “I’ll just bet you do. Don’t want to get shot, do you?”

  “No, I don’t want to have to kill you,” Smoke replied. “I’d rather you stay alive so you can deliver my message to Atwood.”

  “You don’t need to worry none about . . .” Pardeen didn’t finish his sentence, and it was soon obvious that he had no intention of doing so, because the sentence was just a distraction. Pardeen snaked his gun from his holster in a lightning-swift move.

  But Smoke was faster. Smoke intuitively knew that Pardeen was about to go for his gun, and even before Pardeen was able to bring his gun to bear, Smoke was pulling the trigger.

  Pardeen pulled the trigger as well, but it was a reflexive action because as he went down with a bullet in his heart, the bullet from his gun punched a hole in the floor, in front of the bar.

  There were a few gasps of surprise from some of the other patrons in the saloon, and they looked on in shock at the calmness the two men displayed as Smoke and Pearlie took their beers over to a table near the back wall, leaving Pardeen dead on the floor behind them.

  “Who are those men?” someone asked.

  “That one feller said he was Kate’s brother, but I never heard her say nothin’ ’bout havin’ a brother. I don’t have no idee who the other ’n is.”

  Smoke and Pearlie had chosen this particular table because its location meant that nobody could get behind them, and from here, both men could see everyone at the bar.

  “Do you think that might shake Atwood up a bit?” Smoke asked.

  “Yeah,” Pearlie replied with a chuckle. “I think it might just do that.”

  Smoke noticed that a couple of the men who had been standing next to Pardeen when they first came in were now talking to one another in what could only be described as anxious whispers. They were joined by a third man.

  “From the way those men are acting, keeping their conversation close and glancin’ over here toward us, I wouldn’t be surprised if the were plannin’ somethin’,” Pearlie said.

  “I would say that is a good observation,” Smoke replied.

  Smoke and Pearlie continued to monitor the three men, though doing so without being too obvious.


  After their brief conference the three men separated, one standing at either end of the bar, and one taking his place at the middle of the bar. Then, as one, they all three turned to look back toward the table occupied by Smoke and Pearlie.

  “Here it comes,” Smoke said quietly.

  “Mister, you’ve just committed murder,” one of the men said. “And until the marshal comes, we intend to keep you from running away.”

  Smoke took a swallow of his beer before he put the glass down. “I’m not planning on going anywhere,” he said.

  That wasn’t the answer the man was expecting, so he blinked his eyes in surprise. Then he continued to tell Smoke and Pearlie what he was thinking, just as if they had asked him.

  “What I’m a’ thinkin’ is, Mr. Atwood is more’n likely not goin’ to be too pleased with you killin’ one of his men like that.”

  “Do you mean you work for Atwood?” Smoke asked.

  “Yeah, we do.”

  “Willis, if I were you, I’d leave that gentleman alone,” Peterson said. “There’s not a soul in this room who didn’t see what happened, and we’ll give Witherspoon an earful when he gets here.”

  “There ain’t goin’ to be no need for you to be a’ tellin’ Witherspoon anything,” Willis said. “I expect by the time Witherspoon gets here this will all be over with.”

  “Pearlie, I do believe these three folks are getting ready to draw against us,” Smoke said.

  “Do you think so?” Pearlie replied.

  “I don’t know, but it seems to me like they’re trying to get up their courage to give us a try.”

  Smoke and Pearlie were talking about the potential life-or-death situation as calmly as if they were discussing whether or not it might rain. Their calmness in the face of this situation awed the patrons of the saloon and somewhat unnerved Willis and the two men with him.

  But by then, Smoke and Pearlie had seen something that the three men hadn’t seen. They had seen Cal come into the saloon just in time to take notice of the situation.

  Pearlie smiled. “You know, I think it would be a big mistake for these men to draw on us,” Pearlie said.