Brutal Night of the Mountain Man Page 7

  Pearlie unbuckled the gunbelt, then held it out toward Deputy Calhoun. The deputy took it, then pulled the pistol from the holster to examine it.

  “What kind of pistol is this, anyway?”

  “Smith and Wesson, Model Three.”

  “Don’t think I’ve ever seen one like it.”

  “It’s new. I don’t have to tell you to be careful with it, do I?” Pearlie asked.

  “No,” Calhoun said as, self-consciously, he returned the pistol to its holster.

  “Take ’im back there to see the whore,” Witherspoon said.

  Pearlie glared at Witherspoon but said nothing.

  “What’s the matter, Fontaine? You didn’t know your sister was a whore?” Witherspoon asked with a chuckle.

  “To be honest, Marshal, she ain’t really a whore, ’n none of them girls that works for her is whores, neither,” Calhoun said.

  “Shut up, Calhoun. When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it,” the marshal replied in a low, hissing voice.

  * * *

  When Pearlie reached the back of the jail, he stopped and stood there for just a moment, regarding the woman who was sitting on the bunk looking toward the window. He was able to remain unobserved because she had not yet noticed him.

  Kate was five years older than Pearlie, and as he stood there, he recalled when he had last seen her. He was thirteen years old at the time.

  “You ain’t my mama,” Wes said. “You ain’t the boss of me.”

  “I’m your big sister, I have to look out for you,” Kate said.

  “You look out for yourself and I’ll look out for myself,” Wes said resolutely. “I’m goin’ to go get me a job punchin’ cattle.”

  “Wes, don’t go,” Kate pleaded. “You’re too young.”

  “No, I ain’t. I can ride as good as anyone.”

  “Please, don’t go. You’re not old enough, I’ll be so worried about you.”

  That was the last time Wes had seen his older sister, but now, despite the passage of time, there was enough of a familiarity about her that he knew without question this was the sister he had left so long ago. He took a deep breath, then walked back to her cell.

  “Hi, Katie,” he said.

  “Wes!” she said. She jumped up from the bed, then hurried over to the bars. “Oh, Wes!”

  Her eyes filled with tears, and she stuck her hands through the bars to touch his face. “You have grown up so. What a fine-looking man you have become.”

  “Now, don’t go embarrassing me first thing after we meet again,” Pearlie said, though there was a smile in his voice as he spoke.

  “There was a lady here, Sally Jensen, who said that you were in town. I was almost afraid to let myself believe her.”

  “You can believe it, ’cause here I am.”

  “She seems like an awfully nice lady.”

  “She’s the nicest lady I’ve ever known. I know proper grammar, I’ve read books, good books, too, not just dime novels. Why, I can quote Shakespeare, did you know that? And you can even ask me a question about history. Miz Sally taught me.”

  “My brother, quoting Shakespeare. Who would have ever thought something like that?”

  Pearlie assumed an affected position with hand over his heart, and the other arm extended. In a deep voice, he began to intone. “ ‘Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day,’” he broke his pose. “And it goes on from there.”

  Kate laughed. “You can quote Shakespeare. Oh, Wes, I’m so glad to see you. I have worried so about you over the years.”

  “Rusty said you knew I had come to Texas to deliver some horses to Mr. Byrd?” Pearlie asked. “How did you know that was me? I gave up the name, Wes Fontaine, a long time ago.”

  “One of the men you had ridden with at the B Bar B learned, somehow, that you were going by the name of Pearlie and that you were living in Colorado. Then, when I happened to be in San Vicente, I was told that there were some people who had brought some horses to Mr. Byrd. I saw you at dinner in the Marshal House, and I heard someone call you Pearlie. I studied you from the other side of the room and saw enough of the brother I thought I had lost that I just knew it was you. I almost walked up to you then.”

  “Oh, Katie, why didn’t you?”

  “I was afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “It had been so many years since we had last seen one another. And when you left you were so adamant about being on your own. I don’t know; I was afraid that you might reject me.”

  “I’m sorry. I suppose I can see why you might think something like that. I mean, I certainly gave you every cause to be a little scared of me.”

  “As I thought more about it, I realized I should have come out to the ranch to see you. But, when Mr. Byrd’s daughter, Katrina, was killed, I didn’t want to impose on his grief. It wasn’t until much later that I approached Mr. Byrd to ask about you. He told me that you worked for Smoke Jensen on the Sugarloaf Ranch near Big Rock, Colorado.

  “I knew then that you had made a good life for yourself, and I was pretty sure you didn’t need a long-lost sister to show up and complicate things. So, I made a vow never to bother you. And I never would have if this hadn’t come up. I sent a message for Rusty to find you, and I see that he did.”

  “Well, I can tell you right now that I’m glad he did. Katie, I’m sorry we haven’t kept up,” Pearlie said. “I should have; it was my responsibility to do so because I knew how to get ahold of you, but you had no idea how to find me.” Pearlie chuckled. “That is, not until we delivered those horses to Mr. Byrd. As it turns out now, I’m glad you happened to be in San Vicente that day.”

  “I’m glad as well, because it led to our finally meeting. But, Wes, or would you rather I call you Pearlie?”

  Pearlie chuckled. “I’ve been called Pearlie a lot longer than I was ever called Wes, so if it’s all the same to you, I think I would prefer to be called Pearlie.”

  Kate smiled. “All right, then, Pearlie it is. And, Pearlie, you did absolutely the right thing by not trying to get in touch with me. You have no idea how many times marshals and deputies questioned me about you when you first, uh, ran into trouble. And every time they came to see me I was able to tell them, truthfully, that I didn’t have any idea where you were, or even who you were. Then, of course, I had never heard of anyone named Pearlie.”

  “Katie, it’s important to me that you know those killings weren’t my fault. Every witness in the saloon was willing to testify that both of them were in self-defense. But it’s hard to make a case of self-defense when you kill a marshal.”

  “I know. Some of your friends from the B Bar B looked me up because they said they wanted me to know the truth about what happened. Our reunion, such as it is, has certainly been a long time in coming. I’m just sorry that, when we finally did meet again, it had to be like this, with me being in jail.”

  Pearlie smiled. “Don’t worry about it, Katie. I can promise you that you won’t be in here long. I know Rusty’s story, too, and I know that he’s no more guilty of murder than I was, so my friends and I are going to get both you and Rusty out of this mess.”

  “I appreciate your efforts, We . . . I mean Pearlie,” Kate said with a wan smile. “But I don’t see how you are going to be able to do that. It isn’t just the marshal and the judge. The person who is really in charge is . . .”

  “Silas Atwood,” Pearlie said, interrupting her.

  “Yes, and if you know about him, then you must know how many men he has working for him. He has his own private army.”

  Pearlie smiled. “He has one less now.”

  “What? What do you mean? Pearlie, you haven’t killed someone on my account, have you?”

  “It wasn’t me, it was Smoke.”

  “Who?”

  “Sally’s husband. But don’t worry about it, everyone in the saloon is willing to testify that Pardeen drew first.”

  “Pardeen? Pardeen is dead?”

&nb
sp; “Yes.”

  “Oh. Well, I don’t want to celebrate someone’s death, but Pardeen was one of the worst of the lot. Does Atwood know about it yet?”

  “He may know by now. As it turns out some of his other men were in there as well.”

  “That’s unusual for so many of Atwood’s people to be in there. Most of the time they can be found in the Bull and Heifer. They like the girls better there.”

  “What do you mean? The girls down at the Bull and Heifer can’t possibly be prettier than the girls at your place.”

  Kate smiled. “It’s not that they are prettier, it’s that they will . . . uh, it’s what they are willing to do.”

  “Oh,” Pearlie said, understanding then what Kate was saying.

  “Pearlie, be careful while you are here. Atwood is a very dangerous man.”

  “Don’t you worry any about it, Katie,” he said. “I’ve got a pretty good army with me, as well.”

  “You do?” Kate asked, surprised by Pearlie’s comment. “How many men do you have with you?”

  Again, Pearlie assumed the position of an actor on stage. “‘We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; for he to-day that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile. This day shall gentle his condition.’”

  “What?” Kate asked.

  Pearlie laughed. “I told you that Miz Sally had taught me Shakespeare. That’s from King Henry the Fifth. Anyway, all you need to know is that there are enough of us to get the job done. But the first thing we’re going to do is make bail so we can get you out of this jail.”

  “Judge Boykin won’t give you bail,” Kate said. “He’s as much one of Atwood’s toadies as is the marshal.”

  “We’ll get you out of here,” Pearlie repeated. “And we’ll do it legally. You don’t worry any about Marshal Witherspoon, Judge Boykin, or even Silas Atwood. We have a few strings and connections we can pull ourselves, if we have to.”

  “Oh, how I pray that you are right. By the way, how are Mr. Peterson and the girls doing, back at the saloon? I know they must be worried about what is going to happen to them.”

  “They seem to be doing as well as can be expected, but they are more worried about you than they are about themselves. Peterson, Dolly, and the young women who work for you all send their greetings. Katie, you have some very loyal people there.”

  “Yes,” Kate agreed. “They are good people, all of them. I want you to do something for me.”

  “All right.”

  “You haven’t heard what it is I want you to do.”

  Pearlie reached in through the bars and took Kate’s hand into his own. “It doesn’t matter what it is. If you want me to do it, I’ll do it.”

  “I have left Mr. Peterson in charge of the saloon. I know that Atwood is going to try again to take over the saloon. I want you to help Mr. Peterson hold on to it for me.”

  “Atwood is not going to get the saloon. I promise you, it will still be there for you when we get you out.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  When Pearlie walked back into the front of the jailhouse, Deputy Calhoun returned his holster and pistol to him.

  “How is Miz Kate getting along back there?” Calhoun asked. There seemed to be a degree of actual concern in the deputy’s question.

  “She’s doing all right. She’ll be a lot better when I can get her out of here, though.”

  “Only way you’re going to get her out of here is if that no-count boy of hers comes back so we can hang him instead of his whore mama,” Marshal Witherspoon said.

  Pearlie had just strapped his pistol belt back on and now, in a lightning-fast draw, he pulled his pistol and stuck the barrel into the marshal’s mouth, doing so with such force that the front blade-sight cut Witherspoon’s lip.

  “Whug . . . whug arg yug doig?” Witherspoon mumbled, unable to say the words clearly because of the gun barrel in his mouth. His eyes were open wide in fright.

  “You know, Marshal, I would take it just real neighborly of you if you wouldn’t call my sister a whore anymore,” Pearlie said. Even though he was jamming his pistol into the back of the marshal’s throat, he spoke the words quietly, and calmly, which had the effect of making them much more frightening than if he had raised his voice in anger.

  “I won’t, I won’t!” Witherspoon said, but because the barrel of the gun was in his mouth, the words came out, “Ah wug, ah wug.”

  Smiling, Pearlie returned his pistol to his holster. “I thought you might see things my way,” he said.

  “I could arrest you for armed assault against an officer of the law!” Witherspoon said as a little sliver of blood oozed from the cut on his lip.

  “Could you?” Pearlie replied.

  “I’ll . . . I’ll let it go this time,” Witherspoon said.

  “Well now, I appreciate that, Marshal. I’ll just be going then. But you do take care now, you hear?”

  Witherspoon watched Pearlie leave, then he took out his handkerchief and dabbed it against the small cut on his lip.

  “You just stood there and did nothing,” Witherspoon said.

  “What would you have had me do, Marshal?” Calhoun asked. “He had the gun stuck in your mouth. I was afraid that if I did anything he would’ve blowed the back of your head off.”

  “Get out,” Witherspoon said with an angry wave of his hand.

  “Where do you want me to go?”

  “I don’t care where you go, as long as I don’t have to look at you. Go somewhere and get drunk. That’s what you do, ain’t it?”

  “Marshal, I was just lookin’ out for you is all,” Calhoun said.

  Witherspoon held the handkerchief against his lip and glared at Calhoun, but he said nothing.

  * * *

  A few minutes later, Calhoun showed up in the Pretty Girl and Happy Cowboy Saloon. He saw Kate’s brother talking to two other men and the woman who had visited Kate earlier. He stared at them for just a moment, but he didn’t approach their table.

  “What can I get for you, Deputy?” Peterson asked, moving down the bar to stand in front of him. Peterson had a towel in his hand, and he made a swipe across the bar in front of Calhoun.

  “Whiskey.”

  “I thought you said you were tryin’ to quit. When you couldn’t testify at Rusty’s trial it was ’cause you were drunk ’n couldn’t remember. Wouldn’t you rather just have a beer?”

  “Whiskey,” Calhoun said again. “I need a drink.”

  Peterson shrugged his shoulders, then poured a shot. Calhoun tossed it down quickly, then pushed his glass out.

  “Another one.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I want another one, damnit!” Calhoun said angrily.

  * * *

  Witherspoon had ridden out to Eagle Shire Ranch, and he was met by Atwood even before he dismounted.

  “Willis told me Pardeen was killed today,” Atwood said.

  “Yes, sir, he was, by a man named Jensen. Smoke Jensen.”

  “Why didn’t you arrest him?” Atwood asked angrily. “Pardeen was one of my best men, and this man killed him.”

  “It wouldn’ta done no good to arrest ’im,” Witherspoon said. “Ever’one in the entire saloon said it was Pardeen that drawed first.”

  “Are you telling me that this man, Jensen, was able to outdraw Pardeen?”

  “That’s what ever’one in the saloon said.”

  “I don’t believe it. Pardeen was the fastest gun of all my special cadre.”

  “Maybe so, but if I had arrested ’im, ever’one in the saloon would’ve testified that it was a fair fight.”

  “What difference does that make? They would’ve said the same thing about Kate’s brat, too. We didn’t let them testify.”

  “It’s not the same thing,” Witherspoon said. “Rusty Abernathy wasn’t nothin’ but a piano player, ’n he didn’t have nobody that would be willin’ to challenge us. But this here Jensen ain’t alone. They’s two others with ’im, and I figure that any one of th
em is ten times better than most men. I can’t see them just standin’ by ’n lettin’ us do to another what we done to Rusty Abernathy.”

  Atwood stroked his Van Dyke beard for a moment. “Yes, well, it may wind up being better this way,” he said. “Getting someone convicted and sentenced to hang doesn’t always work out that well anyway, as we have recently seen. Perhaps it will be best for us to handle this in some other way.”

  “What other way? What are you talking about?”

  “How do you fight a prairie fire?” Atwood asked.

  “I don’t know. I guess the best way is to set a back fire,” Witherspoon said.

  “Precisely. You fight fire with fire. Do you see what I mean?”

  “Not exactly,” Witherspoon replied, the expression on his face showing the confusion.

  “You just let me worry about it.”

  * * *

  Back in Etholen, Smoke and Pearlie were standing in front of the courthouse. They were able to find it, both by the flagpole and by the caisson-mounted thirty-two-pounder cannon that Peterson had told them to look for. Stacked up next to the gun were enough cannon balls to form a waist-high pyramid. A printed sign explained the display.

  THIS CANNON

  “OLD THUNDER”

  WAS DONATED TO OUR TOWN

  by the OFFICERS and MEN

  of FORT QUITMAN

  “Look at this,” Pearlie said, running his hand over the smooth barrel of the artillery piece. “Do you think it would still fire?”

  “I don’t know why not,” Smoke replied as he examined it more closely. “The touchhole hasn’t been spiked.”

  They were to visit with Judge Henry L. Boykin, and after a moment of examining the gun, Smoke and Pearlie went into the building where they were directed to Judge Boykin’s office.

  “Smoke Jensen? I understand you are the man who killed Rufus Pardeen,” Boykin said.

  “I am.”

  “Have you come here to seek some sort of official dismissal? If you have, you are wasting your time, because I cannot issue a dismissal. However, you shouldn’t worry about it, as there has been no charge filed. As far as I’m concerned, you are free to go.”