Brutal Night of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

  “First thing let’s do, let’s get our horses took care of,” Warren said.

  “Hell, can’t we just tie ’em off in front of the hotel?” Reed asked. “That way they’ll be there when we come out.”

  “I think we’d be better off leavin’ ’em tied off over on Center Street. That’ll keep ’em out of sight, ’n we can slip through between the buildings of the hardware store and the feed store. There ain’t no light in between the stores, so we can get away real quick.”

  “What are we gettin’ away from?” Reed wanted to know. “Jensen will be dead, ’n the law is on our side.”

  “I think it would just be better this way,” Warren said.

  “I agree with Muley,” Clinton said.

  For now, the three horses were tied in front of the Bull and Heifer Saloon. After they were mounted, Warren, Clinton, and Reed rode as if they were leaving, then once out of town, they doubled back on Center Street, which was one block over. They tied their horses off on a hitching rack that was in front of the apothecary, then came back to Waling Street by passing between the hardware and feed store. As Warren had said, it was very dark between the stores.

  “Damn, I can’t see nothin’ in here,” Reed said.

  “That’s good; it means nobody can’t see us, neither,” Warren replied.

  When they reached the Milner Hotel, they stopped.

  “See anyone watchin’ us?” Warren asked.

  “No, the onliest people that’s still up is all in one of the saloons,” Clinton said.

  As if validating Clinton’s comment, a woman’s high-pitched squeal, followed by laughter, came from the Pretty Girl and Happy Cowboy.

  “All right, let’s go in,” Warren said.

  Low-burning lanterns sat on a table, illuminating the middle of the lobby but leaving the outer edges shrouded in shadow. The lobby was deserted, and the scattering of chairs and sofas that in the daytime were often occupied by guests were now empty.

  Walking quietly across the carpet, the three men approached the front desk. The night clerk was sitting in a chair behind the desk. He had his chair tilted back on its rear two legs, leaning against the wall. His chest was rising and falling in rhythm with the snoring, which came in snorts, wheezes, and fluttering lips.

  “What room are they in?” Reed asked in a low whisper.

  “Atwood said they were in room two ten. That’s up on the second floor, nearest the street,” Warren replied. “Let’s get on up the stairs, but be quiet about it.” He pulled his pistol.

  With guns drawn, the three men stepped softly back across the carpeted lobby and through the shadows until they reached the foot of the stairs. They were surprised when they reached the second floor, because in contrast to the lobby and stair well, the hallway was incredibly bright. That was because there were four sconce-mounted kerosene lanterns on both walls, flanking the hallway.

  “Let’s get these damned lights out!” Warren ordered in a whisper, and Clinton went down one side of the hall and Reed the other side, snuffing out the lanterns one at a time. The hallway grew progressively dimmer as each of the kerosene lanterns was extinguished.

  * * *

  Sally had no idea what woke her up. One minute she was sleeping soundly, and the next minute she was wide awake, and alert. She had the strangest foreboding of danger, a sense that someone was close by, though there was nothing immediate to suggest that. Nevertheless, as she lay in bed she continued to experience a sense of unease. She looked toward the door, where she saw a narrow bar of light that slipped in under the crack. Had it actually dimmed slightly, or was this her imagination?

  As she continued to stare at the light bar under the door, she realized that it wasn’t merely an illusion, the light was progressively fading.

  “Smoke!” she whispered. “Smoke, something is wrong!”

  Smoke was awake instantly. “What is it?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  Smoke needed no further explanation. Sally’s intuition was enough.

  “Out of bed!” he ordered quietly, and Sally reacted quickly. When Sally saw Smoke putting a pillow under the bed sheet, she did the same thing. She grabbed a housecoat, and when Smoke pulled his pistol from the holster that hung from the head of the bed, she drew her own gun.

  Smoke moved quietly to the already open window, then raised it high enough so he and Sally could step through it. Their room opened onto the front of the hotel, and just below the window was the roof that covered the entry porch below.

  “Out here,” Smoke said, and after helping Sally through the window, he followed her out onto the roof.

  “We should have slept out here,” Sally said quietly and with an easy smile. “It’s a lot cooler.”

  * * *

  “Come on!” Warren said in a loud hiss. “That’s his door down there!”

  The three men moved silently through the now dark corridor toward the front end of the hallway.

  “Are you sure his wife is goin’ to be with ’im?” Clinton asked.

  “Yeah, that’s what Atwood said.”

  “Good. When the shootin’ starts, she’s mine. I’ll show that bitch to pull a gun on me.”

  The conversation had been carried on in a very low voice as the three men made their way toward the room that had been identified as the room occupied by their targets. Now they were standing in front of a door to which had been attached, in white-painted tin numbers, 210.

  “Shall we break it in?” Reed asked.

  “No need for that,” Warren said.

  “How we goin’ to get in?”

  “Atwood not only give us the room number, he also give us the key,” Warren said, holding it up for the others to see.

  “How the hell did he get the key?” Reed asked.

  “We’re talking about Atwood, remember? He can get anything he wants.”

  Warren slipped the key into the keyhole, then turned it. It moved the tumblers, but as they were tripped they made a clicking sound that seemed considerably louder than any of them had expected. Startled, the three men stepped to either side of the door, staying there for a long moment to see if there was any reaction.

  There was none.

  “He must not have heard nothin’,” Warren said, and reaching out to the cut-glass knob he turned it and, slowly, swung the door open. To his relief, it opened quietly.

  “You two go in first,” Warren ordered, making a motion with his hand. It didn’t actually occur to the other two that by so doing, Warren was putting them in harm’s way before he submitted himself to any possible reaction from someone who might be waiting just inside the room.

  The room was slightly brighter than the hallway because of the pale moonlight that fell in through the open window. That allowed them to see the two mounds under the bedclothes, as well as a hat that was hanging from the brass bedpost.

  “There’s his hat,” Warren whispered. “That means he’s here.”

  “Of course he’s here, I can see ’im in the bed,” Clinton replied, pointing to the two covered mounds.

  On a chair, near the bed, there was a dress.

  “Look at that!” Reed said excitedly, pointing to the dress. “Damn, I’ll bet she’s nekkid!”

  “Quiet, you fool! You want to wake them?” Warren said. He aimed at the bed.

  “Now!” he shouted as he pulled the trigger. The other two began firing as well, and for a moment, all three guns were firing, lighting up the darkness with white flashes and filling the room with thunder.

  * * *

  In his room at the far end of the hall, Cal suddenly sat up in his bed. Those gunshots were coming from this very floor, and they were coming from the other end of the hall. Could they be coming from Smoke and Sally’s room?

  Cal reached for his pistol.

  * * *

  After firing three shots apiece, Warren called out to the other two men. “Stop your shootin’!” he shouted. “We’ve made enough noise to wake the dead, ’n the whole town
is goin’ to be comin’ up here in a minute. We got to get out of here,” he said. “Clinton, you check on ’em, ’n make sure that both of ’em is dead.”

  Clinton walked over to the bed and felt around, then gasped in surprise.

  “Son of a bitch!” he shouted. “Muley, there ain’t nobody here!”

  “What? What do you mean there ain’t nobody there? If they ain’t there in the bed, then where in the hell are they?”

  “We thought we’d sleep out here tonight. I mean, it is a lot cooler,” Smoke said. He was standing on the porch roof just outside his window, his large frame back-lit by the ambient light of the streetlamps.

  “Son of a bitch! He ain’t dead!” Reed shouted.

  “Shoot ’im, shoot ’im!” Warren yelled.

  With shouts of frustrated rage and fear, all three would-be assassins turned their guns toward the window and began firing. Bullets crashed through the window, sending large shards of glass out onto the porch roof. They found no target though, because Smoke had jumped to one side of the window as soon as he spoke, and by so doing was able to avoid the initial fusillade. The outside walls of the hotel building were of brick construction, so shooting into the wall beside the window would have been an exercise in futility.

  After the first volley, Smoke leaned around and fired through the window. One of the would-be assassins went down as he stumbled backward into the hallway.

  “Clinton! He shot Warren!” someone said.

  “Come on, Reed! Let’s get the hell out of here!” a second voice replied.

  * * *

  Cal had taken time to slip on his trousers before leaving his room and was moving up the hallway as quickly as he could. Although the hall lanterns had been extinguished, several of the doors had been opened, and the occupants were standing in the open door of their rooms. Some of them were holding lit lanterns, which cast enough light out into the hall for Cal to see his way.

  “What is it?” one of the men asked.

  “What’s going on?” another questioned.

  Cal saw two shadowy forms darting down the stairs, and he gave a passing thought to going after them, but frightened for Smoke and Sally, decided to check on their condition first.

  * * *

  When the remaining two men left the room, Smoke started to climb back through the window.

  “Smoke, wait!” Sally called out to him. “You know they’ll be coming out through the front door of the hotel.”

  “Yeah!” Smoke said with a chuckle. “Yeah, you’re right.”

  “Smoke!” Cal shouted.

  “We’re out here, on the roof, Cal!” Smoke replied.

  Cal hurried through the room to the window.

  “Cal, watch your feet,” Sally cautioned. “There’s glass everywhere.”

  Carefully, because he was barefooted, Cal picked his way through the broken glass, then stepped out onto the edge of the porch. He no sooner got there, when two men ran out into the street.

  “Hold it right there!” Smoke called down to them.

  One of the men turned and fired, the bullet whizzing by Smoke’s ear, much closer than he would have liked.

  Smoke, Sally, and Cal returned fire, all three of them shooting at the same time, and the shooter went down.

  The remaining gunman darted across the street and disappeared into the darkness between two buildings on the other side.

  Smoke stepped to the edge of the porch, preparatory to jumping down into the street.

  “Smoke, wait! You’re wearing your underwear!” Sally said.

  “Yeah,” Smoke replied with a chuckle. “I suppose I am at that.”

  By now others in the town had begun to react to the shooting. Several men came out of the two saloons, and a few even came out from the houses that fronted Waling Street.

  In addition to the few hotel guests Cal had seen during his traverse of the hall, others had been awakened as well, and now several of them were gathered in the hallway, asking questions.

  “What was all the shootin’?”

  “What happened to the hallway lights?”

  “Good Lord! There’s a body lyin’ right here on the floor!”

  Smoke knew that someone from the law would be here shortly, so he pulled on his trousers and boots, then put on a shirt. Sally took the dress from the chair and slipped it on as well so that, dressed, Smoke and Sally joined as many as a dozen of the hotel patrons out in the hall, where the lanterns closest to Smoke’s room had now been relit. Cal, who had been wearing only trousers, borrowed one of Smoke’s shirts before he, also, stepped out into the hall.

  “Well now,” Cal said. “Look here. This is one of the men who was giving us trouble last night.”

  “Smoke, you don’t think they came here because I . . .” she was about to say because she drew on them, but Smoke held up his hand to stop her.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t think that had anything to do with it at all.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “What happened here?” the hotel clerk asked. “What was all the . . . oh, my goodness! Is that man dead?”

  “Deader ’n a doornail he is, ’cause I just checked,” one of the hotel guests replied to the question.

  “Who is it? Does anyone know?”

  “His name is Warren,” Smoke replied.

  “Make way! Make way! You folks get out of the way!” an authoritative voice was shouting as he came up the stairs. Deputy Clark pushed his way through the others until he reached the body.

  “I’ll be damn! This is Muley Warren,” he said. “And the one lyin’ dead down there in the street is Danny Reed.”

  “You know both of them, do you, Deputy?” the hotel clerk asked.

  “Yes, I know ’em. They both ride for . . . that is, they rode for Mr. Atwood, out at the Eagle Shire Ranch. They don’t ride none for ’em now, seein’ as they’re both dead.”

  “If they both rode for Atwood, what do you suppose they were doing here, in the hotel?” Smoke asked.

  “I don’t know what they was doin’ here. Who kilt ’im, anyway?”

  “I did.”

  “Damn, Jensen, that makes the fourth man you’ve kilt since you’ve been here. Pardeen, Critchlow, and Conroy. And one of them fellas that come with you, the one called Pearlie? Why, he kilt one, too.”

  “Actually, I’ve killed five,” Smoke said dispassionately. “Don’t forget the one that’s lying out in the street. I killed Reed as well.”

  “Wait a minute, Smoke,” Sally said. “If there are two bullets in him, one of them is mine.”

  “I was shooting, too, don’t forget,” Cal added.

  Smoke chuckled. “I guess that’s right.”

  “So you might say all three of us killed him,” Sally said.

  “What did you kill ’em for?” Clark asked.

  “Come in here, and I’ll show you,” Smoke invited.

  Clark followed Smoke, Sally, and Cal into the room, where Smoke showed the deputy the bullet holes in his bed.

  “We killed them because they came into our room and tried to kill us,” Smoke said. “We’re sort of funny that way.”

  “Wait a minute, if they come in here ’n put these bullet holes in your bed, how come you two wasn’t kilt?”

  “Yes, that has to be disappointing to Atwood, doesn’t it?” Smoke asked.

  “What do you mean, disappointin’ to Mr. Atwood?”

  “You did say that these two men worked for Atwood, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “I believe Atwood sent them here to kill me. And not just me, but my wife as well.”

  “Or maybe you was just finishin’ the job you started last night,” a new voice said. This was Marshal Willis, who had just arrived.

  “What are you talking about?” Smoke asked.

  “I was told you got into it with these three men last night.”

  “These three men?” Smoke asked.

  “Yes. Wasn’t all three of ’em at the Palace Café la
st night?” Willis pointed to Sally. “And didn’t you pull a gun on ’em for no reason at all?”

  “What three men would that be, Marshal?” Smoke asked. “There are only two men that I can see. Warren, here, and Reed, who is laying out in the street.”

  “Well, yes, but . . .” Willis stammered.

  “You think there were three men who came to kill us?”

  “Well maybe it was just these two,” Willis said. “Thing is, they was three of ’em last night and I just sorta thought that . . . uh, maybe all three of ’em come in town together.”

  “To kill my wife and me,” Smoke said.

  “Uh, listen, you ain’t goin’ to leave town, are you?” Willis asked. “I’m goin’ to need to investigate this.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me leaving town, Marshal. I’m not going anywhere until this business with Atwood is settled.”

  “Settled? What do you mean, settled?”

  “Settled,” Smoke said, repeating the word without further amplification.

  * * *

  From the Etholen Standard:

  ATTEMPTED MURDER THWARTED

  Last night, as Mr. and Mrs. Smoke Jensen lay peacefully sleeping in their bed at the Milner Hotel, three brigands gained access to their room in the middle of the night. Once in the room the three men began shooting into the bed where they believed Mr. and Mrs. Jensen to be. Their nefarious scheme was foiled, however, because the Jensens, sensing not only their presence but their evil intent, managed to step out onto the porch roof, their room being at the front of the hotel, thus allowing their egress.

  In the exchange of gunfire that transpired, two of the three attackers were killed, their names being Muley Warren and Danny Reed. The identity of the third man is unknown.

  Reed and Warren were both in the employ of Silas Atwood, as was Jeb Calley, who readers will remember attempted to kill Rusty Abernathy. Marshal Bo Willis and Deputy Clark were also once employees of Silas Atwood, and one can’t help but think that, though they are supposed to be servants of the public, they are still at the beck and call of their former employer. No villain in literature has visited as much evil upon others as Silas Atwood has upon our fair community.