Destiny Of The Mountain Man Read online

  Preston and the others at the table laughed. “What’s the matter, Becky? You lettin’ a little thing like a gunshot scare you?”

  “It does make me nervous,” Becky admitted.

  “No need in bein’ nervous about it, unless you the one gettin’ shot at. Where you been anyhow? I haven’t seen you all afternoon.”

  “I’ve been asleep.”

  “Asleep? In the middle of the day?”

  “Well, honey,” Becky said seductively. “You boys rode me pretty hard last night, then you put me away wet.”

  “Son of a bitch, Becky, how you talk,” Manning said as he grabbed himself.

  “So, how about it? Are any of you ready to show ole Becky a good time?”

  Preston chuckled. “Well, now, that’s the problem, Becky. Seems to me that I show you a better time than you show me. Hell, maybe I should charge you.”

  The others at the table laughed.

  “Hoo, now, ain’t you the one, though?” Becky teased. “Well, don’t you worry none. If you ain’t ready for me just yet, they’s plenty others in here that is.”

  BANG!

  “Oh, shit!” one of the men at the front door said.

  Brandt looked toward the door. “What do you mean, ‘Oh, shit’?” he called. “What happened, Lou?”

  “I shot the son of a bitch,” Lou said, his gun still smoking.

  “Dead?”

  “Yeah, I think so.” Lou looked back at Brandt. “It was an accident, Major. I didn’t mean to kill ’im.”

  “Get out there and take care of it.”

  “Take care of it? How? What do you mean, take care of it?”

  “You can’t leave him lyin’ in the street. I’m not goin’ to run a town that has bodies lyin’ in the street.”

  “Well, hell, don’t you think some Mex is goin’ to pick ’im up?”

  “I said you take care of it,” Brandt said. “Take him down to the undertaker.”

  “All right,” Lou said reluctantly. “You come with me, Al.”

  “What the hell for? You’re the one killed him.”

  “ ’Cause I can’t carry him by myself.”

  “Go with him, Al,” Brandt ordered.

  “All right, Major, if you say so. But it don’t seem fair to me, seein’ as I’m not the one that shot the son of a bitch.”

  As the two men left, Brandt looked up at Preston. “I want you to go into Corpus Christi tomorrow and meet someone that’s coming in on the train.”

  “All right. What’s his name?”

  “Pugh,” Brandt said. “Dingus Pugh. He was in prison with us. You remember him, don’t you?”

  “Oh, yeah, I remember him.”

  “I told him he could join up with us, but I need someone to meet him and tell him where we are.”

  “Sure, I’ll do it,” Preston said. “I’ll be glad to.” He smiled broadly. “I’m always ready to go into Corpus Christi.”

  “Yeah, I thought you would be,” Brandt replied.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Alice King enjoyed her trip to Austin. When she was younger, she had attended finishing school in Austin and, while there, met Loretta Dixon, the daughter of a state senator. The two young women became fast friends, and had been exchanging letters and occasional visits ever since.

  Although Alice loved the ranch, she did sometimes miss some of the things she had enjoyed while attending school in Austin. Austin had theaters and operas and fine restaurants, to say nothing of the excitement of its just being the state capital, where one could attend sessions of the senate or the assembly and watch the state government in action.

  But even more than the cultural aspects of the city, she always enjoyed the opportunity of visiting with a girlfriend her own age. Although she lived in luxury on the ranch, she was somewhat isolated, so she very much enjoyed the opportunity of being around another young woman of her own age and approximate social station.

  What she particularly liked was being able to discuss very personal things with Loretta, and during this trip she had told her all about Bob Kleberg. They laughed as they made plans for her wedding.

  On the last day of her visit, Loretta’s mother gave an afternoon tea to honor Alice. To Alice’s surprise, she was somewhat of a celebrity, due to the fact that her father’s ranch was so large and so well known.

  “Is it true that it would take one entire day just to ride from one side of the ranch to the other?” one of the girls asked.

  “Oh, I think it would take longer than that,” Alice said. “It is about the same distance across the ranch as it is from New York to Philadelphia.”

  “It is larger than the entire state of Rhode Island,” Loretta pointed out.

  Alice was uncomfortable with such conversation because it seemed to her that it could be construed as bragging. But the young women who had come to the party were so fascinated by it all that they continued to ply her with questions, so she answered as well as she could.

  “How did such a ranch come to be?” one of the young women asked.

  “Well, it was started in 1853,” Alice explained, “after Papa traveled north from Brownsville to attend the Lone Star Fair in Corpus Christi. His route took him through the Wild Horse Desert, where he ran across the Santa Gertrudis Creek, the first live water he had seen in one hundred twenty-four miles. According to Papa, the creek was an oasis shaded by large mesquite trees, and it offered protection from the sun, as well as cool, sweet water to refresh the traveler. He said he fell in love with the place at that very moment and vowed to find out who owned the land so he could buy it.”

  “You mean someone else owned that whole big ranch?”

  Alice laughed. “No. He just bought the land around the creek, then began adding to it until it became what it is today.”

  “Which is the largest and finest ranch in Texas,” a man’s voice said, and all the women looked around to see Senator Dixon, Loretta’s father. “I hate to spoil your party, ladies, but Alice has to catch a train tonight. Alice, my carriage is waiting.”

  “Thank you,” Alice said.

  “I’ll ride down to the depot with you,” Loretta offered.

  The sun was just going down as Alice and Loretta were driven toward the depot. A matched team pulled the Victorian carriage smartly through the lengthening shadows, their way lighted by lanterns at the front and rear. The driver halted at the edge of the depot, then napped on his seat while the two young women in the back continued their conversation.

  “You will be sure to invite me to the wedding, won’t you?” Loretta asked.

  “Of course I will. Why, I intend for you to be my maid of honor,” Alice said.

  “Pink,” Loretta said. “All the bridesmaids must wear pink. I look good in pink.”

  “Then pink it is.” Suddenly Alice laughed.

  “What is it?”

  “Poor Bob,” she said. “Here, we have the wedding all planned out, even to the color of the bridesmaids’ dresses, and he doesn’t even know yet that we are getting married.”

  “Well, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Loretta said, and both girls laughed uproariously.

  A distant whistle got their attention.

  “Oh,” Alice said. “The train is coming. I guess it really is time to say good-bye.”

  “Did you take a room?” Loretta asked.

  “No, it is just an overnight trip. I’ll be there shortly after breakfast in the morning. A berth in the Pullman car is all I need.”

  Because it was dark when the train pulled out of the station, Alice had the porter make up her berth right away. She was in bed within half an hour and, partly because she was tired from so much activity during the week, and partly because of the relaxing rhythm of the train, Alice was asleep quickly. She slept soundly all through the night.

  Had Alice ridden in a parlor car, she would have met the Jensens. For, in addition to chartering a cattle car for his stock, Smoke Jensen had taken two rooms in the Wagner Parlor Car, one for him and Sall
y, and one for Cal and Pearlie. The center of the car was, as the name indicated, a parlor, richly paneled and carpeted, and with overstuffed seats that could swivel to allow passengers to look out at the passing scenery or face inside for conversation.

  At one end of the parlor area a large, silver-plated coffee urn sat on a serving table. A tray of pastries sat beside the coffee urn. Pearlie walked up to the table and took two of the pastries.

  “Damn, Pearlie,” Cal said. “You had enough breakfast this morning to choke a horse, and now that’s about the fifth time you’ve been back to get yourself some of them sweets. You plannin’ on eatin’ all of ’em?”

  Pearlie had just taken a large bite from one, and with flakes of powdered sugar on his lips, he looked out at the others in the car.

  “Uhm . . . anyone else want one?” he asked, though the words were muffled.

  When nobody answered, he looked back at Cal. “No sense in lettin’ ’em go to waste,” he said.

  “I would say that you are going to spoil your dinner,” Cal said, “but that would be a laugh. Nothing kills your appetite.”

  Sally was reading Harper’s Weekly magazine, and from time to time, as she came upon something interesting, she would share it with Smoke.

  “Smoke, have you ever seen a telephone?” Sally asked.

  “No, I can’t say as I have,” Smoke said. “But I’ve heard of them.”

  “What about Mr. Edison’s talking machine?”

  Smoke nodded. “Well, yes, I did see one of them in Denver.”

  “Well, listen to this smart idea.” She began reading. “It is still not clear as to what purpose Mr. Edison’s talking machine will be put, but what if some clever scientist could find a way to connect it to the telephone? Then, if someone engaged the instrument to contact the house of a subscriber who was absent, Mr. Edison’s talking machine could answer the telephone and record a message that the subscriber could retrieve at a later time.”

  Finishing the reading, Sally looked up at Smoke. “We do live in a marvelous age.”

  “I’d like to have me one of them tellyphones,” Cal said.

  “What would you do with it?” Pearlie asked.

  “Why, if I wanted to go for a walk or a ride with a pretty girl, I would just call her on the tellyphone,” Cal said. “ ‘Hello,’ I’d say. ‘This here is Calvin Woods. Would you like to go ridin’ with me this afternoon? You would? Well, fine, I’ll be by for you at two o’clock.’” Cal smiled broadly. “See how easy that would be?”

  “Yeah,” Pearlie snickered. “And it would be just that much easier for her to tell you no.”

  The conductor came through the car then, and Smoke called out to him.

  “How much longer until we reach Corpus Christi?”

  The conductor pulled his watch from his pocket, snapped it open, and examined the face.

  “Oh, I’d say less than half an hour now,” he said.

  It had been a four-day run down from Big Rock, and though the car had been comfortable, it was good to hear that the trip was nearly over.

  Smoke got up to stretch, then reached for his hat.

  “Where are you going?” Sally asked, looking up from her magazine. “He said we have half an hour yet.”

  “I know, but I thought I’d just go back and check on the livestock one last time. I’ll be right back.”

  “Want me to go with you, Boss?” Pearlie asked.

  “No need.”

  Five years ago, Private Dingus Pugh went absent without leave from Ft. Clark, Texas, riding an Army horse and carrying an Army pistol. He was arrested when he tried to sell the horse in San Antonio, was court-martialed, and was sentenced to five years in prison.

  While in prison he met Jack Brandt and Wiley Stone. When Brandt got out of prison, which was three months before Pugh’s sentence was to end, he recruited Pugh for his army.

  “Why would I want to join your army when I ran away from the one I was already in?” Dingus asked.

  “You can get rich in my army,” Brandt had answered. “Can you get rich in the one you were in?”

  The idea that he could get rich appealed to him, so Pugh agreed and was given instructions by Brandt on where to find him. Brandt was turned out of jail with a new pair of blue jeans, a flannel shirt, and five dollars. Five dollars was not enough money to buy a train ticket to where he wanted to go, so Pugh augmented his purse by breaking into a store and stealing sixty-three dollars.

  Now he was sitting in the dining car nursing a second cup of coffee as he ogled a beautiful girl at her breakfast. That was one thing about prison. There were no women. And having only been out for two days, he really hadn’t had the opportunity to meet one. But his luck had just changed, and he intended to meet this one.

  When she finished her breakfast and left, Dingus left as well, hurrying after her. He caught up with her on the second vestibule.

  “Hold it, miss,” he called. “You dropped something.”

  All the while Alice was at her breakfast, she had been aware of the man staring at her. It had been unpleasant, but because they were both in a public place she had not let it worry her. But being confronted here on the vestibule between cars was a little disconcerting. She started into the next car, but before she could reach the door he leaped across the vestibule plates and stood in her way. In fact, he was now standing in such a way so as to force her to the side of the vestibule, blocking her from going forward or returning to the car she had just left. She could smell the smoke from the engine, and feel the wind against her. The vestibule plates shook and rattled under her feet, and the car wheels clacked as they passed over the rail joints.

  “What do you want?” she asked in a frightened tone.

  “I told you, you dropped something,” the man said.

  “No, I don’t think I did.”

  The man held up a ten-dollar bill. “You dropped this here money.”

  “No, I didn’t. If you found it, someone else must’ve dropped it.”

  “But I seen you drop it,” the man said. He smiled at her, showing a mouth of crooked, yellowed teeth. “You ain’t callin’ ole’ Dingus a liar now, are you, missy? That wouldn’t be very nice now, would it?”

  “Then, if I dropped it, you may have it,” Alice said. “Please, just go on and let me return to my seat.”

  “I tell you what, missy. I seen that there was a stock car back there. There’s bound to be some soft hay. What say me’n you go on back there? You show Dingus a good time, and this here ten dollars is yours. Now that’s a lot more’n I’d have to give to any saloon doxy.”

  “What? Sir! How dare you make such a proposition to me?”

  Dingus pulled his pistol out of his holster, pointed it at her, and covered it with his hat. “Here’s the thing, little lady,” he said. “You’re goin’ to go back to that stock car with me whether you take the ten dollars or not. ’Cause if you don’t, I’m goin’ to shoot you right here and throw you off the train.”

  “You . . . you wouldn’t dare!” Alice said. “You would never get away with it!”

  “Oh, yes, I would,” he said. “As much noise as these here trains make, nobody would even hear the gunshot. Now, what do you say? Are you goin’ to come back with me?”

  At that moment, Smoke Jensen stepped out onto the vestibule. Seeing a man and woman there, he smiled at them.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “Mornin’,” the man replied. “Say good morning to the man, Martha.”

  There was something about the woman’s face that alerted Smoke.

  “Good morning,” the woman said in a small, choked voice.

  Nodding, Smoke stepped on by them, and into the next car.

  “Well, now, you handled that just fine, Martha,” Dingus said, laughing. “Now, let’s . . . uhh!”

  That was as far as he got, because Smoke came back out of the car, grabbed Dingus by the scruff of the neck and the seat of his pants, ran him toward the edge of the vestibule, and shoved him off, p
ushing him hard enough that he cleared the car.

  “Ahhh!!!” Dingus shouted, but his shout quickly faded as the train moved on.

  Smoke turned back toward the woman, who had watched the entire scene in shock.

  “How . . . how did you know?” she asked.

  “I saw that he was holding a gun under his hat, and it was pointed at you. I didn’t make a mistake, did I? You didn’t welcome his company, did you?”

  Alice shook her head. “No, sir, I assure you, you did not make a mistake. I did not welcome his company, and I thank you.”

  Smoke nodded, and touched the brim of his hat.

  “I’m glad I could be of service,” he said before he stepped back into the car.

  Captain Richard King, his wife, Henrietta, and Robert Kleberg were sitting in the restaurant of the Hotel Peabody in Corpus Christi, the remains of a late breakfast on the table before them. From the large window in front of the restaurant, they had a magnificent view of the bay. Several ships were tied up at the docks, almost equally divided between sailing ships and steam vessels. Some of the ships belonged to King and when they had come into town the day before, he had met with a few of his captains, as well as with the man who ran his operation out of an office in Corpus Christi.

  He had also exchanged telegrams with cattle buyers in Dodge City.

  “The going rate right now is thirty-two dollars per head,” King said. “And they expect that price to hold through the next three months.”

  “Ten thousand head,” Kleberg said, “with an anticipated attrition rate of twelve percent, should return two hundred eighty-one thousand and six hundred dollars.”

  King smiled. “Not a bad payday for someone who started his working career at six dollars a month, is it?”

  Kleberg chuckled. “No, sir, it’s not bad at all,” he said. “Oh, did you check on the train?”

  “Yes, it’s on time,” Kleberg said.

  King looked over at his wife. “Well, Mrs. King, what do you think? Do you think your daughter enjoyed her visit?”