Butchery of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

  “She says she wants to go with you.”

  “Go with me? Go where with me?”

  Mouchette asked the question.

  “Je veux être sa femme, que j’étais la femme de Cooper.”

  Mouchette shook his head as he looked at John. “She says she wants to be your wife, as she was the wife of Cooper.”

  “I, no, that’s impossible,” John said. “Tell her no.”

  “Wait a minute, Mouchette,” Smoke said. “Let me talk to my friend here for a moment before you say anything else.”

  “All right,” Mouchette said. “Talk away.”

  “John, you might want to think about this before you just dismiss it out of hand.”

  “Smoke, do you expect me to marry this girl?” John asked.

  “No, and I don’t think she expects it either. In the first place, when she said ‘wife,’ I don’t think she actually meant it in that way. You know damn well she wasn’t Cooper’s wife. I think she just wants to come with you, that’s all.”

  “That’s all? If you ask me, that’s asking quite a bit.”

  “Look at it this way. If she was sold by her father, or her tribe, she can’t go back to them. She can’t go into some town and live with white people, and she can’t survive on her own. It’s easy to see why she wants to come with you. If she is left on her own, she’ll more than likely be dead within a month. And in a way, you are responsible for her.”

  “How am I responsible for her?”

  “You killed Cooper. And regardless of how he treated her, she is still alive because of him. And now she will live, or die, because of you.”

  John let out a big sigh of frustration.

  “What am I going to do with her?” he asked.

  Smoke smiled. “Whatever you want to do with her, I’m thinking.”

  John looked at the woman who had been following the conversation with great intensity.

  “Damnit,” John said, though he spoke the word quietly. “Damnit,” he said again. Then, “Mouchette?”

  “Oui, monsieur?”

  “Ask the girl her name.”

  “Quel est votre nom?”

  “Hanhepiwi. Cela signifie ‘clair de lune.’”

  “Her name is Hanhepiwi.”

  “I heard her say ‘Claire.’”

  “Hanhepiwi means clair de lune, or, in English, the clear moon.”

  John looked her and smiled. “Tell her, her name is Claire. And, yes, she can come with me.”

  Mouchette translated, and Claire smiled, then looked down at the floor.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Old Main Building

  “That is a most amazing story,” Professor Armbruster said. “And did he take her with him?”

  “Oh, yes,” Smoke said.

  “Professor, it’s four o’clock,” the young man who had been handling the recording said.

  “Very well, Wes, we’ll call it quits for today,” Professor Armbruster said. He smiled at Smoke. “You’ve spoken about all the saloons you have visited; how would you like to visit one of ours?”

  “One of your saloons?” Smoke replied with a puzzled look on his face. “Professor, have you forgotten prohibition?”

  “Oh, my, indeed, there is that pesky little problem, isn’t there?” Professor Armbruster answered with a conspiratorial smile on his face.

  “But, if you will come with me, I believe I know a place where people wink at prohibition. In fact, you might say they ignore it altogether.”

  “Would this be one of those speakeasies I’ve heard about?” Smoke asked.

  “Indeed, it might be,” Professor Armbruster replied. “As you know, Colorado went dry January of 1916, but thanks to Clyde Smaldone and dozens of others like him, we have never been totally dry. In fact, we got a four-year head start on the rest of the country in learning how to beat the system. I know that Louis Longmont is a long-time friend of yours. How is he dealing with it?”

  “Louis is a wealthy man,” Smoke said. “He closed his business down and is totally retired.” Smoke smiled. “He does, however, have a private reserve of, as he likes to call it, fine liquors, which he shares with his friends from time to time.”

  “I tell you what. If you would like to drive me to the establishment, I’ll show you where it is. I’ll get a ride home.”

  “Are you sure? I can bring you back.”

  “No need.”

  Professor Armbruster followed Smoke out to his car.

  “Duesenberg, nice car,” he said.

  “Thanks. What do you think of the Jordan Playboy?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The Jordan Playboy. Apparently it is a sports car, and my wife would like one. I believe she’s going through a second childhood.”

  Professor Armbruster laughed. “Wouldn’t you rather have her young and vibrant, than an old fuddy-duddy?”

  “I suppose you have a point there,” Smoke said.

  Smoke parked in an empty lot on High Street in what looked like an industrial section of the town. He followed Professor Armbruster across the road to a two-story brick building which had all its windows boarded over. There was nothing outside the unmarked building to indicate that it was anything other than a deserted building. There was a wooden door with a small window which, like the large ones, was boarded over.

  Professor Armbruster knocked on the door, and when the little window opened, he passed a dollar bill and a card through the door. A moment later, the door opened.

  “Good evening, Professor,” the doorman said.

  “Hello, Marty. Good crowd tonight?”

  “If you ask me, the whole student body is here,” Marty said. He looked, suspiciously, at Smoke.

  “It’s all right, Marty, this gentleman is my guest,” Professor Armbruster said.

  Marty stepped aside to let them in.

  Inside was a large room, tall and majestic with beautifully molded ceilings. The bar itself was worn, and could have been taken directly from any of several hundred saloons Smoke had visited over his lifetime. Conflicting with the bar were booths that looked brand new, running around the outer edge of a large, open space. The open space was a dance floor, the dancers being painted by hundreds of glowing dots reflecting from a rotating mirrored ball that was hanging down from the ceiling.

  Professor Armbruster led Smoke to the bar. “The whiskey is good and safe here,” he said. “It’s not moonshine; it’s brought down from Canada.”

  Smoke ordered a whiskey.

  “Hey, old man,” someone said from the bar. “Ain’t you a little old to be out with the young people? What are you, some old pervert looking to pick up some young girl?”

  “I’m afraid I’m beyond that,” Smoke said. He picked up the whiskey and held it out toward the man, who didn’t appear to be a student. “Here’s to you.”

  “Hey, old man, aren’t you afraid that whiskey will make your false teeth fall out?” He laughed, and the three people with him, another man and two women, laughed as well.

  “They aren’t students, are they?” Smoke asked Professor Armbruster.

  “Not on your life,” Professor Armbruster replied.

  “Hey, old man, look here. Don’t you wish you could do this?” He had his hand stuck down inside the top of the dress of the young woman he was with. His hand was, clearly, gripping her breast. “I’ll bet you don’t even remember what a young woman’s titty feels like.”

  “Hell, Vinnie, women didn’t even have titties when he was young,” the other man said.

  “Come on over, old man,” Vinnie said. “I’ll let you feel Linda’s titty.”

  “Vinnie, no you won’t,” Linda said, pulling his hand away from her. “You act like that, I’m not even goin’ to let you feel it.”

  “Ah, ha, Vinnie, you’ve stepped in it now,” the other man said, laughing at him.

  “Hey, old man, this is all your fault,” Vinnie said, continuing his harassment of Smoke. “Now, you come here and apologize to my girl. You
hear me? You come over here and apolo—”

  That was as far as Vinnie got before Smoke, in a lightning, and totally unexpected move, brought a roundhouse right, connecting with Vinnie’s jaw and dropping him to the floor. It was doubly effective as the first half of the swing had been hidden from Vinnie’s view because of Smoke’s position at the bar.

  “Hey, you old son of a bitch! That was my friend you just hit!” the other man shouted and he picked up a barstool, lifting it over his head.

  “Huh, uh, not a smart move,” Smoke said, and to the surprise of the man holding the barstool, as well as everyone else in the speakeasy, Smoke was holding a .44 pistol in his hand, the hammer back.

  “You . . . you have a gun,” the man said, surprised.

  “Yes, I do, don’t I?”

  The man started to put the barstool back down.

  “No,” Smoke said. “If you move that barstool so much as one inch, I’ll kill you where you stand.”

  “I’m not going to hit you with it, I’m just going to put it down.”

  “No, you aren’t. You’re going to hold it until I tell you, you can put it down.”

  “What? Are you crazy?”

  Smoke shook his head. “I might be. Or maybe I’m just senile. I am an old man, as you and Vinnie have been pointing out to me.”

  The man continued to hold the stool over his head, and by now the dancers had stopped dancing, and the band had stopped playing. Everyone was watching the drama play out before them.

  “Please, mister, this stool is getting heavy.”

  “Is it, now? And that’s what you were going to bring crashing down on my head? A barstool? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? You were going to hit an old man in the head with a heavy barstool? Something like that could have killed me. You know, I believe I could shoot you right now, and claim that it was self-defense. I don’t believe any jury in the state would convict me.”

  “No, mister, please, no! Don’t kill me!”

  “It’s your own fault, Eddie,” the other woman said. “Vinnie was being a fool. You had no business getting involved.”

  Eddie’s arms started shaking.

  “My God, mister, I can’t hold it any longer! I’m going to drop this stool and you’re going to shoot me!”

  “That’s right,” Smoke said calmly. “If you so much as move that stool by one inch, I’m going to shoot you.”

  A wet stain appeared on the front of Eddie’s pants.

  “Miss, would you take the stool from him, please?” Smoke said. “Eddie seems to have had an accident.”

  “Look at that, he peed in his pants!” one of the college students said, pointing to Eddie.

  The young woman took the stool down, and Eddie doubled over in pain and embarrassment.

  Vinnie sat up, groaning, and rubbing his jaw. “What happened?” he asked.

  “Apparently, you tripped over the footrail,” Smoke said.

  By this time nearly everyone else in the speakeasy had gathered around, and confident now that there wasn’t going to be a shooting, they all laughed.

  “What the hell is everyone laughing at?” Vinnie asked. Then seeing the front of Eddie’s pants, he laughed as well. “Damn, Eddie, you pissed in your pants!”

  “Let’s go,” Eddie said.

  “I’m not ready to go anywhere,” Vinnie complained.

  “Stay if you want to. Remember, I drove.”

  Eddie started toward the door, and both of the women went with him.

  “Wait a minute, what’s goin’ on here?” Vinnie shouted. He turned toward Smoke. “I’ve got a feeling you’re behind . . . you’re holding a gun in your hand. Are you crazy? I’m going to call the cops.”

  “Right, you are going to call the police and bring them to a speakeasy,” Smoke said. “Where everyone in here would be subject to arrest. And by the way, I’m a deputy United States marshal. I not only have the right to have a pistol, I also have the authority to arrest you right now, for consuming alcohol.”

  “What are you talking about, arresting me? Everyone in here is drinking.”

  “Really? It looked to me like they were all dancing. You are the only one I actually saw drinking.”

  Very pointedly, Smoke picked up his glass and took a drink of whiskey.

  “Get out of here, mister,” one of the college kids said to Vinnie. “Or we’ll throw you out.”

  With a final look of hate and anger toward Smoke, Vinnie turned and hurried toward the door, chased by the laughter of the others.

  When Smoke turned back to the bar, Professor Armbruster was laughing. “Last night I told Edna I would like to have seen you in your prime. By damn, I think I just did.”

  When Smoke returned to the Boulderado Hotel, he saw that china and silver had been laid out on the table in the suite’s dining room. Two unlit candles were in the middle of the table, and Sally was standing by the table, dressed in an evening gown.

  Smoke smiled at her. “I don’t know who you are, you young hussy, but you can just get out of this room now. I’m happily married to a sixty-eight-year-old woman, and I don’t need some floozy here, trying to make me go astray.”

  Sally laughed. “How you do carry on. You are so full of blarney. Your tuxedo is laid out on the bed. Please change into it.”

  “My tuxedo? What are you talking about? I didn’t bring a tux.”

  “Yes, you did. I packed it. And tonight, I want you to wear it.”

  Reluctantly, Smoke went into the bedroom, where he saw his tux laid out on the bed. The last time he had worn the tux was at the world premiere of the movie Guns of the West, in which the actor Tom Mix portrayed Smoke. In fact, that was the only time he had ever worn the tux.

  When he came out of the bedroom, Sally flashed a big smile. “My, my, it’s true what they say, you know.”

  “What is true?”

  “Men, at least, some men, never age. They just get more distinguished looking, and more handsome. I’m glad we are dining in tonight. I would hate to have to fight off all the young ladies who would be throwing themselves at you.”

  “Now who is full of blarney?” Smoke teased. He kissed her, and was still kissing her when there was a knock on the door.

  “Room service,” a voice called from the other side of the door.

  Sally tried to pull away, but Smoke continued to hold her.

  “Uhmm, that’s our dinner,” she said. “It’ll get cold.”

  “Let it,” Smoke teased. “Don’t forget, you are the one who started this.”

  “Smoke,” Sally said, laughing.

  Smoke opened his arms and stepped back from her, but he continued to smile.

  The white-jacketed bellhop brought their dinner in on a cart, the various dishes protected by domed silver covers. He lit the two candles, then served the meal.

  “Thank you, Reginald,” Sally said,

  Dinner was a lobster bisque, followed by a filet mignon with asparagus and baked potato.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Old Main Building

  There were several young people out in front of the Old Main building when Smoke parked his car the next morning. Many of the young men were wearing gold sweaters, with the block letter C.

  “Hello, Mr. Jensen.”

  “Hi, Mr. Jensen.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Jensen.”

  The greetings were friendly and numerous, and Smoke returned them all as he went into the building.

  “What’s going on out front?” he asked Professor Armbruster.

  Armbruster chuckled. “Don’t you know? It is all over campus what you did last night, putting Vinnie Sarducci and Eddie DeSchamp in their place. Those two have made themselves very unpopular around here, and I think what you did was much appreciated. You have become a campus hero.”

  “There must be a scarcity of heroes,” Smoke said.

  “Not at all. It’s just that they have put you up there with them, and given your history, rightly so.”

  “So you say.”


  “Well, shall we go on? What happened with John and the Indian girl?”

  “John and I separated after Rendezvous. He and Claire went back into the mountains of Montana, I went back to Colorado.”

  Upper Missouri River, Montana—1870

  John Jackson and Claire rode west along the upper reaches of the Missouri. Because of his experience with Smoke the year before, John was well aware of the potential danger that threatened from behind every stand of trees and every butte or rock. They were just crossing a tributary when Claire called out to him.

  “John Jackson,” she said. She pointed up the tributary. “We go that way.”

  “What? You speak English?” John asked, surprised to hear the words.

  “Yes.”

  “But you said you only speak French.”

  “I did not want Cooper to know I can speak English. He was not a good man.”

  John chuckled. “That is as true a statement as I’ve ever heard. Why do you think we should go up this tributary?”

  “When the cold returns, the trapping there will be good. There would be a good place to build a house, because there is water and shelter from the cold winds in the winter, and shade from the hot sun in the summer. Also, the only Indians are friendly Indians.”

  “And you say that is where I should build the house, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right, if you say so, that’s where we’ll go.”

  The tributary took them into a wide ravine that, as Claire had pointed out, kept them shaded from the hot sun. It also tended to shield them from observation.

  “We’ll camp here, tonight,” John said. He led his horse and pack mule to the stream so they could drink. Claire, by agreement of everyone at Rendezvous, had inherited Cooper’s saddle horse and pack mule, and she led them to the stream to drink alongside John’s animals.

  “I’ll gather up some firewood,” John said. “Can you make us a fire pit from stone?” He picked up a couple of rocks and put them on the ground, then made a circle with his hand. “We’ll make the fire here.”

  “Yes,” Claire said, nodding her head.

  John wandered off into the trees, where he started gathering old, downed limbs, branches, and even a piece of rotted-out log. When he came back he saw that Claire had laid the fire pit, but he didn’t see her. Concerned, he put the wood down and started looking around. When he found her, he stopped in his tracks.