Savagery of The Mountain Man Read online

  Pearlie looked through a gap in the canyon ahead, and as he did so, he saw two men who seemed to have an intense interest in the progress of the coach. It also appeared that they did not want to be seen, as they would peek around the edge of a large boulder, then jerked back quickly, then peek again, repeating the process. The amount of time they were exposed to view was so brief that, to any but the most experienced eye, they would have gone unnoticed.

  “Ben, I just saw them,” Pearlie said.

  “You sure about that?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “Because they are watching us and they don’t want to be seen watching us. They are waiting up at the bend.”

  “Damn, you are probably right. I’ve been thinkin’ all along that if they was going to hit us, more than likely they would do it here. We’re goin’ to be easy targets when we go through the pass.”

  “Or they will be,” Pearlie said.

  “What do you mean?”

  Pearlie reached down into the boot for the rifle. “I’m goin’ to hop down here,” he said. “You go on through as if you don’t suspect a thing. I plan to cut across the top here while you keep goin’. Slow down just a little bit to give me time to get into position. If I’m lucky, they’ll be so busy keepin’ an eye out for the stage that they won’t see me comin’.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” Ben said.

  “I’ll climb up on that rock just ahead,” Pearlie offered.

  “You keep your head down, young feller,” Ben said with genuine concern.

  “Don’t worry, I will. And if everything goes all right, I’ll see you on the other side.”

  “Right,” Ben answered.

  Pearlie climbed up onto the top of the stage. Then as they passed particularly close to the canyon wall, he stepped off the stage onto a rock. From the rock, he climbed on up to the top, then crouched low as he ran across the top of the canyon wall. A moment later, he saw the two men exactly where he thought they would be. Both had their guns drawn, and both were looking toward the opening in the canyon where the stagecoach would appear.

  “You two boys mind tellin’ me what you’re doin’ here?” Pearlie called out to them.

  “What the hell? Who are you?” one of them yelled. When the two men turned around, Pearlie recognized one of them as the shotgun guard whose firing had led to Pearlie taking this job.

  “Drop your guns, both of you,” Pearlie ordered.

  It looked for a moment as if the two men considered shooting it out with Pearlie, but he had a bead on them and they knew that, at the very best, at least one of them would be killed. After a quick glance at each other, they dropped their pistols, then put their hands up.

  “Get on down there on the road,” Pearlie ordered, motioning with the rifle.

  As the two men climbed down onto the road, Pearlie went down behind them, all the while keeping them covered. In the distance, Pearlie could hear the whistles and shouts as Ben worked his team through the narrow pass and around the curve.

  When Ben saw Pearlie standing in the road in front of him, with his rifle covering two men who held their hands in the air, he pulled the coach to a stop.

  “I’ll be damn,” Ben said, as he saw the two men. “Dempster, is that you?”

  “Hi, Ben,” the former shotgun guard said quietly.

  “Pearlie, I reckon you remember Bob Dempster, don’t you?”

  “I remember him,” Pearlie answered.

  “Dempster, I can’t believe you would have robbed me.”

  “I know you was responsible for me a-losin’ my job,” Dempster said. “I was just takin’ what I figure is owed me, that’s all.”

  “You’re the one that caused you to lose your job,” Ben said. “You was drunk more times than you wasn’t. I kept warnin’ you. If I’m goin’ to have someone lookin’ after me, they damn well better be sober.”

  Ben reached under the seat and threw down two pair of hand shackles. “Get these on ’em, Pearlie, then get ’em up on top of the coach. I’ve had these things for nigh on to five years, and I ain’t never had to use them before.”

  “Here!” one of the passengers in the coach called out. “You don’t intend to take those men on this stage with decent folk, do you?”

  “We got no choice, mister. We can’t leave ’em out here,” Ben called back. “They’ll be ridin’ up on top of the coach. You’ll never see them.”

  “I want you to know that I intend to make my protest known about this,” the passenger said.

  Ben leaned over and spit out a quid in the general direction of the irate passenger. The passenger had to jerk his head in quickly to keep from being hit.

  “You do that,” Ben said.

  Working quickly, Pearlie put the shackles on the two would be road agents, then ordered them up onto the top of the coach. Once they were on top, he loosened their shackles just long enough to pass the chain through one of the luggage guards. Then he reconnected them before joining Ben on the driver’s seat.

  “You ready?” Ben asked.

  “I’m ready,” Pearlie replied.

  Ben nodded, then whistled at the team, and the coach continued on its way.

  It was late afternoon when the coach pulled into town. Because the coach was the town’s major physical connection with the outside world, it always garnered attention. That was partly because Ben made his arrivals, just as he made his departures, with the horses pulling the coach along at a rapid trot.

  Today, though, the coach attracted even more attention as it was very obvious that there were two men shackled to the roof of the coach. And one of them the townspeople recognized right away.

  “Hey! That’s Dempster!” someone shouted.

  “Dempster, what are you doin’ up there?”

  “You remember Dempster, don’t you? He used to be a guard for the stage. Now they got him shackled up there on top.”

  Chapter Seven

  Colorado Springs

  Although the train ran through the night, it had neither Pullman cars nor pull-down berths; therefore, Smoke and Sally had to sleep as well as they could on the seats. Smoke, who could sleep almost anywhere, had a much easier time of it than Sally, who sat by the window, staring out into the darkness for most of the trip. After leaving Big Rock, they had to change trains in Como, then again in Denver, both changes made in the middle of the night. It was harder in Como, because they had to wait for one hour in the small depot with only hard, wooden, and backless benches to accommodate them.

  The depot in Denver was much larger, and would have been considerably more accommodating if they had had to wait, but the train for Colorado Springs was on an adjacent track, already taking on passengers, even as they were arriving.

  Sally finally fell asleep on this, the last leg of their trip, but it was more because of exhaustion than anything else. She woke up just as they were coming into Colorado Springs, and was surprised to see that it was now light outside.

  “Ahh, good, you are awake, I see,” Smoke said.

  “Barely,” Sally mumbled.

  “If you want, I can just leave you on the train. Whenever you finally wake up, you can take the next train back,” Smoke teased.

  “Ohh,” Sally groaned. “I don’t want to see another train, ever.”

  “That’s interesting. You plan for us to walk back, do you?”

  The couplings began rattling and the brakes squealing as the train slowed on its approach to the station.

  “What do we do first?” Sally said. “And I truly hope it is find a hotel.”

  “That’s what I plan to do, then I’ll look up Tom Murchison,” Smoke said.

  “Who is Tom Murchison?”

  “He is a lawyer here. Jim Robison recommended him to me. In fact, I would be surprised if Jim hadn’t contacted him already.”

  Jim Robison was a lawyer back in Big Rock who was not only a friend, but who’d done some work for Smoke.

 
“Well, if Jim recommends him, that is good enough for me,” Sally said.

  Finally, the train jerked to a halt and the other passengers in the car started securing their things, preparatory to exiting.

  “Oh, what a handsome-looking train station,” Sally said as she and Smoke stepped down from the train.

  The building that had caught Sally’s attention was the Denver and Rio Grande Depot. Built of brick, it was one of the more impressive-looking buildings in town. The depot had a red-tiled roof with dormers and a cupola on top from which the yardmaster could observe train traffic on the eight sets of tracks that made up the marshaling area.

  Sally saw him first, a young man standing on the platform, holding up a sign.

  SMOKE JENSEN

  “Smoke, look over there,” Sally said, pointing the young man out to her husband. “Oh, I hope that isn’t Mr. Murchison. He is so young.”

  “Lawyers aren’t born old, you know,” Smoke replied. “They are all young at some point.”

  “I suppose so. But I do prefer a little seasoning.”

  “Let’s go meet him,” Smoke said, leading Sally in the direction of the young man. “I’m Smoke Jensen,” Smoke said when they reached him.

  “Mr. Jensen, my name is Roy Clinton.”

  “Good,” Sally said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I mean, I thought you were Mr. Murchison.”

  “No, ma’am. Mr. Murchison asked me to pick you up and take you to the hotel. He has already secured a room for you, and he said he would join you for breakfast.”

  “Oh, I’m too tired for breakfast,” Sally said.

  “You may as well eat,” Smoke said. “Besides, a good breakfast will refresh you.”

  “How far is the hotel?” Sally asked.

  “Your room is at the Homestead Hotel. It’s a nice place, and it’s close by,” Roy said. “Do you have luggage?”

  “Yes, it’s on the luggage car.”

  “That’s the surrey over there. Why don’t you go climb aboard? I’ll make arrangements to have your luggage sent directly to your hotel room.”

  “All right, thanks,” Smoke said.

  Smoke was carrying a small grip with him, and he and Sally walked over to the surrey and climbed in. As they waited in the surrey, Smoke watched Roy speak to one of the railroad officials and give him some money.

  “He seems like a nice young man,” Sally said.

  “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself now?”

  “Why should I be ashamed?”

  “For saying you are glad it wasn’t Murchison.”

  “No. I’m still glad he isn’t Mr. Murchison.”

  Roy came back to the surrey.

  “All taken care of,” he said as he climbed into the surrey, then picked up the reins.

  “Are you a lawyer in Tom Murchison’s office?” Smoke said.

  “Yes and no,” Roy replied. “I’m reading for the law, but I am not yet a practicing attorney. I’m apprenticed to Mr. Murchison.”

  “Well, you seem quite efficient, so I’m sure you will make a very good lawyer,” Sally said.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Roy replied, beaming at the compliment.

  Smoke and Sally checked into the hotel, then went up to their room.

  “Oh, look, a bed,” Sally said. “Couldn’t we just send our regrets and meet Mr. Murchison for lunch?”

  “I tell you what. You go ahead and take a nap,” Smoke said. “I’ll meet Mr. Murchison for breakfast.”

  “You are a dear,” Sally said, kissing Smoke.

  When Smoke went downstairs to the dining room, he was met by the maître d’.

  “I’m to meet Mr. Murchison for breakfast,” Smoke said. “I’ve never met him, so I don’t know what he looks like. When he comes in, I would appreciate it if you would send him over to my table.”

  “He is already here, sir,” the maître d’ replied. “Follow me, please. I’ll take you to him.”

  Tom Murchison was rather short, with thinning hair that had once been red, blue eyes enlarged by his glasses, and a spray of freckles. He stood as Smoke approached.

  “Mr. Jensen,” Murchison said. “I have heard so much about you. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Please, have a seat.”

  “Thank you,” Smoke said, taking a seat that put his back to the wall and allowed him to have a view of the room and the door.

  “I was led to believe that Mrs. Jensen was with you. Will she be joining us?”

  “No, not right away. Later perhaps.”

  “Very good. Oh, I’ve researched the bull that is being auctioned. Prince Henry’s sire is Gold Nugget, and his dam is Gladys of Farleigh, both of whom have won awards in cattle shows. Prince Henry has already proven himself to be a good breeder, and his progeny are all well framed, heavy muscled, moderate at birth, but with a tremendous growth curve, correct off their feet and legs, and with great eye appeal.”

  “So he is what they claim him to be?”

  “Yes, every bit of it. He will be a prize for whoever gets him.”

  “Do you have any idea how many people will be coming to the auction?” Smoke asked.

  “About a hundred, I think.”

  “Whoa! A hundred?” Smoke asked in surprise.

  “Yes, there is to be a dinner tonight for all who will be at the auction tomorrow.”

  “Will they all be bidding on Prince Henry?” Smoke asked.

  “Very few will actually bid on Prince Henry. I mean when you think about it, he’s the crème de la crème of the auction and he is probably out of the price range of all but a few. But there will be several other bulls and cows in the auction, and that is what is attracting most of the others who will attend.”

  A waiter brought their breakfast then, and it wasn’t until he left the table that Smoke resumed his questioning.

  “About how many do you think will be bidding on Prince Henry?” he asked.

  Murchison chuckled. “I thought you might ask that,” he said, “so I made some inquiries.” He pulled a piece of paper from his inside jacket pocket and began to read.

  “It looks like there will only be about four serious bidders. Miller Smith owns Sky Meadow Ranch. He will be bidding. Smith is pretty stout and will be able to take the bidding up for quite a way. Tucker Phillips, of Backtrail Ranch, will also be bidding. But Phillips only manages Backtrail, he doesn’t actually own it. The owner lives in England, and I’m sure that means Phillips probably has a limit as to how much he can spend.”

  Smoke laughed. “We all have a limit as to how much we can spend,” he said.

  “Yes, but Mr. Phillips’ limit will be absolute. There will be one other serious bidder there, and he may be the one who will be your biggest competition. His name is Pogue Quentin.”

  “Pogue Quentin? I don’t think I know him.”

  “He owns the Tumbling Q down at Santa Clara,” Dan said. “From what I can determine, he moved there from Texas about ten years ago. Now he is the biggest rancher in Huereano County.”

  “That’s a pretty short time to become such a big rancher. He must have come well heeled.”

  “From what I understand, he did arrive with a considerable amount of money and was able to buy some land when it was at a depressed value,” Murchison said. “He’s recently enlarged his holdings by incorporating neighboring ranches, though I don’t know how he did it.”

  “Let’s discuss the bull,” Smoke said. “Where is Prince Henry now? Will it be possible for me to see him?”

  “Yes. He’s down at the auction barn. They are keeping him in a private stall, separated from the others. By all means, go down and take a look.”

  Smoke waited until Sally had finished her nap so she could accompany him when he went down to the sale barn to see Prince Henry.

  There were several cows in pens waiting to be sold, but Prince Henry was all alone in a clean and roomy stall. He was eating when Smoke and Sally stepped up to the pen to have a look at him. Prince Henry looked over tow
ard them with only mild interest, then returned to the task at hand—eating.

  “Oh,” Sally said. “Isn’t he beautiful?”

  “Careful, don’t be too loud with your compliments,” Smoke said. “He’s got a big enough head already.”

  Sally laughed. “What do you mean, he has a big enough head?”

  “Look at him,” Smoke said. “He knows he is the center of attention. Why, he is positively arrogant.”

  “That’s all right, Prince Henry,” Sally said. “You are smart, and you are beautiful. Be arrogant all you want.”

  “You are impressed with him, are you?”

  “Oh, Smoke, we have to buy him,” Sally said. “We simply must.”

  “Ha! And you are the one who was telling me I had to stay within a spending limit.”

  “Well, don’t go overboard. But I do want him.”

  “I tell you, it’s him,” Stu Sinclair said to his two brothers.

  “How do you know it’s him?” Emil replied.

  “The son of a bitch hit me right in the face. Do you think I can’t remember someone who hit me right in the face?”

  Emil, Stu, and Jason Sinclair were sitting at a table at the Bucket of Blood Saloon. Out of curiosity, Stu had gone down to the auction barn, but returned to tell the others that he had seen Smoke Jensen.

  “What would Smoke Jensen be doing here?” Jason asked.

  “How the hell do I know?” Stu replied. “All I know is I saw him.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe him,” a new voice said. “Smoke Jensen is here.”

  The three brothers looked up at the new voice, irritated that a stranger was interrupting their conversation. Then, Emil recognized him.

  “You!” he said. “You are the one who—”

  Pogue Quentin held up his hand to stop Emil in mid-sentence. “Do you want to stand up and shout to the whole world that you once robbed a train?” he asked quietly.

  “Won’t bother us none,” Jason said. “We done served our time for it.”