“What?”
“How does it look over there on your side, Cal?” Pearlie asked. “Everything look all right to you?”
“Uh, yeah, I haven’t seen anything.”
“That’s very reassuring,” Pearlie said.
“Yeah, well, I tell you what, I’m glad the driver said we’d be there by suppertime, because if you want to know the truth of it, I’m getting a little hungry,” Cal said.
“Cal, would you mind telling us when you have not been hungry?” Sally teased. “I do believe you were born hungry, and had a relapse.”
* * *
“Get the horses off the road, over there behind those trees,” Lanagan ordered.
“Aren’t we goin’ to be mounted when we brace ’em?” Grogan asked.
“No. I’ve got it in mind how I’m goin’ to do this,” Lanagan said.
“You’re the boss,” Grogan replied.
“Yes, I am, ’n don’t none of you never forget that. Teeter, you’re the smallest of us, you can prob’ly climb the best, ’n bein’ as you ain’t all that big, you ain’t as likely to be seen. What I want you to do now is climb up on this hill here, ’n when you get to the top, why, you should be able to see a long way down the road. Soon as you see the coach a-comin’, you yell out, then come on back down so’s we can all get ourselves where we need to be.”
“All right,” Teeter, who stood only one inch over five feet tall, replied. “Somebody give me a boost up to that first rock,” he asked.
Vargas grabbed him by his pants waist, then chuckled. “Hey, Gates, you get ’im on the other side. He’s such a little feller we can just throw ’im up there.”
“Just give him a boost and stop tryin’ to be funny,” Lanagan ordered.
Teeter climbed to the top of the hill, and no sooner did he get there than he saw a plume of dust down the road. Shielding his eyes with his hand, he stared at it until the stagecoach appeared.
“Here comes the coach!” he shouted down to the others.
“Any outriders?” Lanagan called up.
“Nah, onliest thang I can see is the coach. Lanagan, you sure this coach is carryin’ that money like you said? The reason I ask is, it don’t look to me like it’s even got no shotgun guard a-ridin’ with it.”
Lanagan smiled, and rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
“You know what that means, don’t you, boys? That means we’ve caught ’em by surprise ’n this is goin’ to be as easy as taking candy from a baby.”
Teeter remained standing on top of the hill, looking down the road toward the coach.
“Teeter, don’t just keep standin’ up like that, you fool! If you can see them, they can see you,” Lanagan said.
“Oh, yeah,” Teeter said. He dropped back down onto his stomach, then slithered down.
“Ever’ body get ready,” Lanagan ordered. “This is goin’ to be the easiest money any of you has ever made.”
* * *
In the coach, Smoke was looking through the window as he listened to the conversation of the others. That was when he saw someone standing on top of a hill ahead. It might have been nothing more than someone who was merely curious about the approaching coach. But any innocence in the observation was put to question when Smoke saw the observer suddenly drop down, as if purposely trying to avoid being seen. That act, happening as quickly as it did, pushed the observation beyond mere curiosity.
“It looks like our peaceful trip is about to be interrupted. I think we are going to have some unwanted company,” Smoke said.
“Why do you say that? Did you see something?” Cal asked.
“Yes, I did,” Smoke replied. “There’s a hill a little ahead of us, where the road curves. I just saw someone climb down from that hill, only he didn’t exactly climb down. What he did was drop down to keep from being seen. I do have a feeling that he’s telling some others that we are coming.”
“What do you think we should do?” Pearlie asked.
“For now, I suppose the only thing we can do is just be alert.”
“Smoke, we should warn the driver,” Sally said.
“You’re right.”
“You know what? Maybe one of us should get up there with the driver,” Pearlie suggested.
“Good idea,” Smoke agreed.
Smoke opened the door and leaned out the window.
“Driver!” he called up. “Stop the coach!”
The driver pulled the team to a stop. “What is it?” he asked. “Is something wrong? What did you want me to stop for?”
“I’ve got a feeling that up ahead, just around the bend, there are some men who are planning to make a try for the ten thousand dollars you’re carrying.”
“What are you talking about?” the driver replied sharply. “What makes you think I’m carrying ten thousand dollars?”
“I overheard you and the courier from the bank talking, just before we left Weatherford. I don’t blame you for being cautious. But I am not your problem, Mr. Parsons. Whoever is waiting for us up ahead, is.”
“What . . . what do you think I should do?”
“My two friends and I are armed,” Smoke said. “I’ll come up there with you, and they’ll stay down in the coach, but they’ll be ready if anything happens.”
“All right,” the driver said. “As far as I know, you might be tellin’ me this so you can take the money, but seein’ as you got no horses so as to make a getaway, I reckon I may as well trust you.”
“I think that would be a good idea,” Smoke replied, smiling at the driver as he climbed up to settle in the seat beside the driver. “All right, go ahead.”
“Heyah!” Parsons called, snapping his whip over the heads of the team. The six horses strained into the harness and started forward.
“How many did you see?” Parsons asked.
“Just the one at the top of the hill,” Smoke said. “But you can bet your bottom dollar there are more of them in wait.” He chuckled, though it was without mirth. “I suppose I could say you bet your bottom ten thousand dollars, since that’s what’s at stake here.”
“Mister, I sure hope you’re the Good Samaritan you say you are, ’cause I’m puttin’ ever’thing up to ’n includin’ my life in your hands right now.”
“Like I said, Mr. Parsons. I’m not your enemy,” Smoke replied.
“All right, what do I do?”
“You just keep driving,” Smoke said. “My friends and I will take care of anything that comes up.”
* * *
“What’s keepin’ ’em?” Gates asked.
“Don’t be so anxious,” Lanagan replied. “It ain’t like they’re goin’ to turn around ’n start back. They’ll be here.”
“Yeah. I guess I’m just anxious to get my hands on the money,” Gates replied.
“All right, Cooper, you get here on the left side of the road. Teeter, you get on the right. You other four stand across the middle of the road. That way the coach won’t have nowhere to go, ’n he’ll have to stop. All of you, be ready, ’n have your guns in your hands.”
“Where you goin’ to be?” Teeter asked.
“Right back here so I can keep an eye on things ’n make sure ever’ thing is goin’ all right.”
“Think we should start shootin’ soon as he comes around the curve?” Gates asked.
“No, if you kill the driver the team might bolt ’n we’d have to chase the coach down. If he sees all of us, he’ll stop.”
* * *
As soon as the coach rounded the corner, Smoke saw the armed men standing spread across the road.
“Damn! You was right!” the driver said.
“Yeah, I wish I hadn’t been,” Smoke replied.
“Stop that coach!” The man who yelled was standing behind the six.
“What should I do?” Parsons asked.
“Stop the coach, we’ll handle it from here,” Smoke said.
The driver pulled the coach to a halt.
“What’ll we do now, Lanag
an?” one of the six men standing in the road asked, turning toward the man who was standing behind them.
“Pearlie, Cal, now!” Smoke shouted, and Pearlie and Cal jumped out of either side of the coach. Smoke stood up.
“Drop your guns!” Smoke called to the outlaws.
“What the hell!” the man standing behind the would-be robbers shouted. “Kill ’em, kill ’em all!”
The six bandits opened fire, as did Smoke, Pearlie and Cal. The six who were spread across the road went down, the seventh, the one who had shouted the order, didn’t engage in the gunfight. Instead, as soon as the shooting started, he ran off the road, darting so quickly behind the cover of rocks that he took himself out of the fight.
For the next few seconds the air was filled with the flash and roar of gunfire, as a cloud of acrid, nostril-burning gun smoke drifted across the road. Then it grew quiet, with even the final echo fading away. Smoke, Pearlie and Cal stood still for a moment, holding smoking guns in their hands as they looked toward the downed men to see if any of them represented a challenge.
“It looks like one of them got away,” Cal said.
“Yeah,” Pearlie said.
They heard the hoof beats of what sounded like more than one horse.
“Damn, how many more were there?” Pearlie asked.
“There couldn’t have been more than one or two more, or they would have joined the fight,” Smoke said. “I think this was pretty much the lot of them.”
“Me ’n Cal will go check on the men who are down,” Pearlie said.
“Cal and I,” Sally’s disembodied voice came from inside the coach.
“Cal and I,” Pearlie corrected, with a little chuckle.
“Be careful,” Smoke said.
As Pearlie and Cal walked up to check the downed men, Smoke remained by the coach. He was alert, not only with regard to the men who were down, but also to the rock abutments that came out on both sides of the road, either of which could be harboring more men for a potential ambush.
Cal and Pearlie made a thorough examination of the downed men. They said a few words to each other, but so quietly did they speak that Smoke couldn’t hear them. Then Pearlie called back.
“They’re dead, Smoke,” he shouted. “All six of ’em.”
Sally climbed out of the coach. “What are we going to do with them, Smoke? We can’t just leave them there. This is a public road.”
“You’re right. We’ll take them in. Pearlie, do you see their horses anywhere?”
“We’ll look around, but I heard more than one horse running off.”
“I did too. There was at least one man who got away. I heard the others call him Lanagan. He might have run the other horses off.”
After a fruitless search, Smoke concluded that that was exactly what happened. Without the horses to carry them, Smoke, Pearlie, Cal, and the driver had no choice but to lift the six outlaws onto the top of the coach.
“I heard the others call you Smoke,” the driver said. “Is that your name? Smoke?”
“Yes, Smoke Jensen.”
“Well, Mr. Jensen, I was damn glad . . .” the driver stopped and seeing Sally, nodded. “Beg your pardon for the language, ma’am. What I meant to say is, I’m awful glad you men was with me. ’N if you wouldn’t mind, none, I’d take it kindly if you’d ride the rest of the way up here with me. There’s a rifle in the boot.”
“I’ll be glad to,” Smoke replied, climbing back up onto the driver’s seat.
“Smoke Jensen,” the driver said a few minutes later, after they were underway again. “Damn if I ain’t never heard that name before, somewhere.”
“You may have,” Smoke said without further edification.
“Well, I’m mighty glad to meet you, Mr. Jensen. My name is Parsons, which you already know, ’cause I heard you call me that.”
“I heard the hostler address you back at the stage depot.”
“Yes, sir, well, what you might not know is my first name is Sam.”
Sam Parsons was a talkative man, or perhaps he was just a man who, because he spent most of his time alone, was someone who would take advantage of having a conversation. Though, Smoke observed with a smile, most of the conversation was one-sided.
“Joined up as a boy, I did. Went off to fight for the Texas Volunteers when I was no more ’n sixteen years old. Got captured by the blue bellies at the Second Battle of Sabine Pass, ’n that ended my fightin’. I reckon you was too young for the war.”
In fact, Smoke was only fourteen when, after his mother was killed, he joined the Ghost Riders, a group of Missouri Bushwhackers led by a man named Asa Briggs. But he said nothing about it, listening instead to Parsons’ dissertations, which went from the war to his opinions on such things as mules or horses . . . “now mules is real good at pullin’ freight wagons, fact is, they’re better ’n horses, but horses is best for pullin’ a stagecoach,” to food, “I guess bein’ from Texas it prob’ly ain’t right for me to say this, but I’d much rather eat pork, than beef,” to women. “The purtiest women don’t need to be puttin’ nothin’ on their faces to look purty.”
Smoke saw a town rising from the prairie in front of them.
“There it is, Mr. Jensen. That’s the town of Audubon, population eight hunnert ’n twelve at last count. ’N if you ask me, it’s just a real nice town, too. They say a railroad will be comin’ through soon, ’n when it does, I don’t know what’ll happen to my job. More ’n likely the stage company will shut down, ’cause there won’t be no need for it.”
“Aren’t there other towns around that won’t be served by the railroads?” Smoke asked.
“Well, yes, sir, I reckon there are.”
“The railroad will be bringing in more people than ever before,” Smoke said. “And most will be coming to Audubon, just because the train will get them this far. But most will be going on to other places then, places that aren’t served by the railroad. Your destination will probably change, you won’t be going to Weather-ford as much, but I have a feeling you’ll be doing more business than ever.”
A broad smile spread across Parsons’ face. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, that’s right, ain’t it? I hadn’t thought about it like that before. I’m goin’ to have to tell my wife about it. She’s been some worried ’bout me maybe losin’ my job when the railroad comes. This’ll cheer her up. Thanks.”
Smoke chuckled. “Always glad to lend a helping hand.”
“Hyeah!” the driver shouted, snapping his whip over the heads of the horses, urging the team to go faster.
“I always like to come in at a gallop,” Parsons said. “I think the folks in town have come to expect it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Because the daily arrival of the stage from Weatherford meant mail and news, it was always greeted by a handful of people, but today, with six bodies lying in obvious view on top, there was a lot more interest than normal. And one of the most interested was Deputy Sheriff Dalton Conyers.
“What happened?” Dalton asked.
“I’ll tell you what happened,” Parsons replied as he pulled the coach to a halt. “These galoots that’s a-lying dead up here on top o’ the coach tried to hold us up, only they wasn’t countin’ on me carrying these three fellers.”
“What three?” someone asked.
“This feller,” Parsons said, indicating Smoke, who was sitting beside him, “’n the two others that’s in the coach.”
Smoke climbed down from his perch on the driver’s seat, then opened the door to the coach to help Sally down. Pearlie and Cal left by the door on the opposite side.
“Smoke!” Dalton said, happily, noticing Smoke for the first time. “I wasn’t sure you would come!”
“I never say no to family,” Smoke replied.
“Hello, Miss Sally.”
“Hello, Dalton,” Sally said giving him a hug.
As Dalton was greeting Smoke and the others, Smoke overheard someone asking the driver for the bank pouch.
“No, sir,” the driver replied. “I can’t give it to you on account of I have been told that I was s’posed to give it only to Mr. Montgomery.”
“That’s nonsense, I work at the bank. Give it to me; I will give the pouch to Charles Montgomery.”
“No, sir, now, Mr. Metzger, I know you work at the bank, but I can’t give you this here money pouch,” Parsons said. “It’s like I told you, I can only give it directly to Mr. Montgomery.”
“Conyers, you’re the law here now, tell this damn fool driver to give me the transfer pouch,”
“Dalton, I don’t mean to mess into anyone else’s business, but I did hear the banker in Weatherford specifically tell Mr. Parsons to give the pouch only to Mr. Montgomery,” Smoke said.
“Sorry, Drury,” Dalton said. “If Mr. Parsons has his orders I’m not going to override them. You’d better tell Montgomery to come down himself to get the pouch.”
“This makes absolutely no sense at all. I demand that the pouch be given to me,” Metzger said, angrily.
“You demand? Who are you demanding it of?” Dalton asked.
“This fool driver,” Drury said. “Do something, you’re the sheriff now. Make him give the pouch to me.”
“Seems to me like the only thing that has to be done with the pouch is see to it that it gets to the bank. And seeing as Montgomery is the president of the bank, putting it in his hands will meet that requirement. Now you’re wasting time here, so I suggest that you go back to the bank and ask Charles to come down here.”
Metzger glared at both Dalton and the driver, then he turned and started back down toward the bank.
“Here now, wouldn’t you like to be stuck alone in a stagecoach with that man for a long trip?” Cal asked.
“He always has been a little full of himself,” Dalton replied.
By now, the bodies on top of the coach had been taken down and laid out on the ground so they could be identified.
“That’s Pete Grogan,” someone said.
“’N them two is Emile Gates, ’n Norm Vargas,” another said.
“That little feller there is Teeter, but I don’t know his first name.”
Nobody was able to identify the remaining two men.
Torture of the Mountain Man Page 17