“Nevertheless, I am grateful to Governor Routt for this honor, and grateful to the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad for their generosity. Thank you very much.”
Matt resumed his seat to the applause of all.
After the reception and dinner, Matt was pleased to see that the people seemed as genuinely pleased to meet Smoke, and shake his hand, as they were to meet Matt and shake his. This was as it should be, Matt knew, because long before anyone had ever heard of Matt, Smoke Jensen was performing heroic deeds. As Matt watched the others react to Smoke Jensen, he recalled his connection with the famous mountain man.
After his parents were murdered by Payson and his gang, young Matt Cavanaugh wound up in an orphanage. Conditions in the orphanage were as brutal as any delinquent detention home, and unwilling to take it anymore, Matt ran away. He would have died had Smoke not found him shivering in a snowbank in the mountains. Smoke took him to his cabin and nursed him back to health.
It had been Smoke’s intention to keep the boy around only until he had recovered, but Matt wound up staying with Smoke until he reached manhood. During the time Matt lived with Smoke, he became Smoke’s student, learning everything from Smoke that Smoke had learned from Preacher many years earlier. He learned how to use a knife or a gun to defend himself; he learned how to survive in the wilderness, and how to track man or beast. But the most important lesson of all was how to be a man of honor.
By the time Matt reached the age of eighteen, he felt that the time was right to go out on his own. Smoke did not have the slightest hesitancy over sending him out, because Matt had become one of the most capable young men Smoke had ever seen.
But just before Matt left, he surprised Smoke by asking permission to take Smoke’s last name as his own. Smoke was not only honored by the request, he was touched, and to this day there was a bond between them that was as close as any familial bond could be.
Therefore, when Millie asked if they were family, Matt was able to say—truthfully—that Smoke was his brother.
At breakfast the next morning, Smoke commented on his surprise over the number of people who had made a special effort to greet him.
“You shouldn’t be surprised,” Matt replied. “Surely, you know that you are one of the best-known men in the entire state of Colorado. Why, if you ran for governor today, I’ve no doubt but that you would be elected.”
Smoke chuckled. “Don’t tell John that,” he said. “Though he has no need for worry, I have no intention of ever entering politics,” he said. “But maybe you should. You are getting quite an enviable reputation yourself, and you are still young enough—why, you could have a very successful political career.”
“Thanks, but no, thanks,” Matt replied, clearly uncomfortable with any such suggestion. Clearing his throat, he changed the subject. “How is Sally?”
“Sally sends her love.”
“You tell her that I send mine as well,” Matt said.
“I’ll do that,” Smoke said.
“Smoke, I need your advice on something,” Matt said.
Smoke smiled. “Well, now, that warms my soul,” he said. “It’s good to know that the student still thinks he can learn something from his teacher.”
“Are you kidding?” Matt replied. “There will never be a time when I can’t learn from you.”
“What is it?” he asked.
Matt reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out three .50-caliber shells, three strips of rawhide, and three pieces of paper, each of them bearing the same thing.
MATT JENSEN
“Where did you get these?” Smoke asked as he examined the symbols.
“They were given to me,” Matt replied.
Smoke looked up in surprise.
“In a manner of speaking,” Matt said. He explained how there had been three attempts on his life, and how, after each attempt, he had found one of these little symbols, wrapped around a bullet and held in place with a strip of rawhide.
“Have you made any Indian enemies?” Smoke asked.
Matt shook his head. “None that I know of.”
“Then you’ve made one that you don’t know of,” Smoke said. He pointed to the symbol.
“This is called the Maasaw. It is the Hopi Indians’ God of Death. Whoever is leaving this for you is Hopi. Or at least, part Hopi.”
“Hopi?” Matt replied. “But the Hopi have always been peaceful. Even their name means peace.”
“That’s true,” Smoke said. “But you can have a bad apple in any barrel. Just because the Hopi as a people are peaceful, doesn’t mean you can’t have one of them who is a mean son of a bitch. Do you know anyone who is Hopi?”
“No,” Matt answered.
“Well, some Hopi knows you. And he doesn’t like you very much. So keep your eyes open.”
“I will,” Matt promised.
“I need to get started back,” Smoke said, putting some money on the table as he stood.
“No,” Matt said resolutely. He picked the money up and gave it back. “I’m buying breakfast.”
Smoke took the offered money and laughed. “All right. But don’t you think for one moment that a measly breakfast is going to pay me back for all the meals I furnished you when you were a snot-nosed kid.”
Matt laughed as well and walked to the door with his friend. It was always like this when the two encountered each other. Matt had never made an effort to dissuade him from leaving, nor had he ever put forth any notion to join him. Each man was supremely confident in his own life, and in the absolute certainty that their friendship would remain strong, despite lengthy and distant separations.
Shortly after Smoke left, Matt returned to the hotel to move out of his room. When he asked the clerk what the charge was, the clerk shook his head.
“No charge to you, Mr. Jensen,” he said. “The owner of the hotel instructed me to tell you that your stay with us is free. He was at the ceremony last night when you were honored by the governor.”
“That’s very nice of him, but it isn’t really necessary,” Matt said.
The hotel clerk chuckled. “Don’t worry, Mr. Jensen. We’ve doubled the price on the room where you stayed. There will be people who will be more than willing to pay the price, just so they can tell their friends where they stayed. The hotel will make the money back within one week.”
Matt shook his head and chuckled. “I don’t know why anyone would want to do such a thing, but I thank you for the room,” he said.
The train fare was also free, thanks to the offer made by the Denver and Rio Grande.
“Where would you like to go, sir?” the ticket agent asked.
“You suggest a place,” Matt said.
“I beg your pardon, sir?” the clerk replied, surprised by Matt’s response.
“I don’t have any particular place to go,” Matt said. “What would you suggest?”
“Oh, well, Colorado Springs is certainly nice this time of year.”
Matt smiled. “Then Colorado Springs it will be,” he said. “For me and my horse.”
Chapter Sixteen
The Butrum ranch
On the very night Matt was leaving for Colorado Springs, at the Butrum Ranch near Greenborn Creek, Silas Butrum laid his pocket watch on the night table and blew out the lantern.
“So, you are finally coming to bed, are you?” his wife asked from the bed.
“I’m sorry, Karla, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said. “I was just going over the books. It looks like we have finally turned the corner, old girl. Paying off the mortgage was a good thing.”
“I thought it would be,” Karla said.
“Wait a minute,” Silas said.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know, I thought I just saw a light outside.”
“A light? Why would there be a light way out here?”
“That’s just what I was thinking,” Silas said.
Walking over to the window, he pulled the curtain aside to stare out into the darkness. On the
bed alongside him, the mattress creaked, and his wife raised herself on her elbows.
“What is it, Silas?” she asked. “Do you see anything?”
“No, I guess not,” he said.
Silas looked through the window for a moment longer. He saw only the moon-silvered Purgatory Peak.
“Ah, don’t worry about it, Karla,” Silas replied, still looking through the window. “It’s prob’ly just the moon reflectin’ is all.”
“Come on to bed. You’ve been up too late and you have to get up too early in the morning,” Karla said.
“Is it my sleep you’re worryin’ about, woman?” Silas teased. “Or is it that you’re just wantin’ me to lay beside you?”
“A woman takes comfort in lyin’ alongside her man,” Karla replied in a welcoming voice.
Three hundred yards away from the house, Marcus Strayhorn twisted around in his saddle and looked back at the others. “Put that cigar out!” he hissed.
“Sorry, Marcus, I guess I wasn’t thinkin’,” Decker said.
Strayhorn, Teech, and Decker were all wearing hats pulled low over their faces and long dusters that were hanging open to provide access to the pistols that stuck from their belts.
“You sure there’s money here?” Teech asked.
“You heard what them fellas said same as I did,” Strayhorn said. “Butrum got hisself almost fifteen hundred dollars for the cows he sold last fall, and he keeps ever’ cent of it in the house.”
“That’s what they said all right,” Teech agreed.
“Besides, we ain’t only goin’ to get the money, we’ll get some vittles as well. Decker, you hit the smokehouse, take ever’ bit of meat they got a’curin’.”
“Hope they got a couple slabs of bacon,” Decker said.
“Teech, you go in with me,” Strayhorn said.
Inside the house, Silas had just gone to bed when he heard men talking.
“Damn, Karla, there is somebody outside,” he said, suddenly sitting up in bed.
“What? Are you sure?”
“You damn right I’m sure. I can hear ’em talkin’,” Silas said. He relit the lantern, then got out of bed and started to pull on his trousers. Suddenly, there was a crashing sound from the front of the house as the door was smashed open.
“Silas!” Karla screamed.
Holding up his trousers, Silas started toward the living room and the shotgun he kept over the fireplace.
“You lookin’ for this?” Teech asked. He was holding Silas’s shotgun.
“Who the hell are—” That was as far as Silas got. His question was cut off by the roar of the shotgun, and a charge of double-aught buckshot slammed him back against the wall. Silas slid down to the floor, painting the wall behind him with blood and viscera from the gaping exit wounds in his back.
“Silas! No!” Karla shouted, hurrying into the living room. She knelt on the floor beside him, holding his head in her lap.
“What about the woman?” Teech asked.
“If she tells us where the money is, we’ll let her live,” Strayhorn said. “If she don’t, we’ll kill her.”
“It’s in the bedroom, under the mattress,” Karla said.
Strayhorn smiled. “Well, now, that’s more like it.” Rushing into the bedroom, Strayhorn flipped the mattress over and, seeing a small cloth bag tied to the springs under the mattress, he opened it.
“Here it is!” he said excitedly, but as he counted the money, the expression on his face changed from one of excitement to one of anger and frustration.
“Where’s the rest of it?” he asked.
“Rest of it? What rest of it?” Karla asked. “That’s all we have. Take it.”
Moving quickly to Karla, Strayhorn reached down and pulled her to her feet. Then he slapped her viciously in the face.
“Where is the rest of it?” he demanded.
“Please!” Karla screamed. “There is no rest of it! This is everything we have!”
Strayhorn slapped her again. “You’re lying!” he shouted angrily. “There’s not more than a hundred dollars here. I know damn well you got almost fifteen hundred dollars for them cows you sold last fall.”
“We paid off the mortgage on our place,” Karla said. “There is no more money.”
“Ahhh!!” Strayhorn yelled in anger. Then, seeing the lantern Silas had lit, he picked it up and threw it against the wall. The lantern broke, and flames began leaping up onto the kerosene-soaked wall paper.
“Let’s get out of here,” Strayhorn said.
“What about her?” Teech asked, pointing to Karla.
“Drag her out to the barn,” Strayhorn said. “No more money than we got, we may as well have a little fun with her.”
Teech looked at Karla and smiled. His face, bathed orange now in glow of the fire, gave him the appearance of a demon from hell.
“Yeah,” Teech said. “That’s what I figure as well.”
“No!” Karla said. She began fighting when Teech reached for her.
Teech slapped her so hard that it knocked out one of her teeth. She began bleeding from the mouth.
“Woman, whether you’re dead or alive, we’re goin’ to have our way with you,” Teech said.
“I won’t fight you anymore,” Karla said. She pointed to her dead husband. “But please don’t leave him in here to burn up.”
“You don’t understand, do you?” Strayhorn said. “You ain’t in no position to bargain.”
The flames were growing higher and hotter, and a strip of burning wallpaper fell onto the floor.
“Damn!” Teech said. “We’re all goin’ to cook if we don’t get out of here.”
“Grab her, and let’s go,” Strayhorn said.
As Teech reached for the woman’s shoulders, she suddenly, and unexpectedly, pulled his gun from his holster.
“What the hell!” Teech shouted, jumping back away from her.
Karla pointed the gun at Teech, then at Strayhorn. Then, to the shock of both men, she put the gun to her temple and pulled the trigger. Blood and brain tissue sprayed from the opposite side of her head, and she fell across her husband’s body.
“Son of a bitch! What did she do that for?” Teech asked.
By now, the smoke was so thick that both men were beginning to cough.
“Let’s go!” Strayhorn said. “If we don’t get out of here now we’ll choke.”
Coughing, the two men ran from the room, then out of the house. Decker was already standing out front, holding a slab of bacon and a sack of coffee beans.
“What happened?” Decker asked. “How did the house catch on fire?”
“The lantern fell over,” Strayhorn said.
“Did you get the money?” Decker asked.
“Let’s go,” Strayhorn said without answering the question.
The three rode away, while behind them the Butrum house, now entirely involved with fire, roared as flames climbed up the walls and leapt up from the roof. A pillar of smoke and hot air carried thousands of sparks into the sky, scattering red stars among the blue.
When he first saw him, he gasped, for he thought that the man had no nose and he wondered if it had been cut off. When the man came to sit at the table with him, though, he saw that he did have a nose, it was just mashed so flat that it was almost even with his face.
“My name is Nelson,” the man said. “I got a message to meet someone here, at this table, at eleven o’clock. Would that be you?”
“Yes.”
Nelson sat down. “Some folks call me No Nose, but I don’t know why.” As soon as he said it, he began wheezing through his misshapen nose as he laughed at the joke he had just told on himself. “Do you get it?” he asked.
“Yes, I get it.”
“I got ’n a fight with my brother when I was a kid and he smashed me in the face with an ax handle, broke my nose so that it’s like this,” No Nose said. “Can’t do nothin’ about it, so I joke about it.”
“Indeed.”
“I didn’t get
your name,” No Nose said.
“My name isn’t important.”
“It’s important to me, mister, if we’re going to do business together,” No Nose said.
“Very well, my name is Smith.”
“Is that your name?”
“I have a proposition for you,” Smith replied without answering.
“A what?”
“A . . . suggestion,” Smith explained. “A suggestion as to how you might be able to make a lot of money.”
“A suggestion,” No Nose repeated.
“Yes. If you are interested.”
“I might be. You say it could make me a lot of money. How much money are we talking about?”
“Oh, I assure you, we are talking about a great deal of money. For both of us.”
“So you say.”
“Yes, so I say. And I am in a position to know what I am talking about. Are you interested? Because if you aren’t interested, I can always get someone else.”
“No, no, I’m interested,” No Nose said. “What is this great idea?”
“Before we proceed, I must tell you that what I am proposing, though it will be extremely profitable, is against the law. You could go to prison if caught.”
No Nose laughed. “Mr. Smith, I don’t reckon you would have even got in touch with me if this was legal. I ain’t afraid of doin’ somethin’ illegal. Most ways of making a lot of money is against the law anyway.”
“It will also require a few more people who are equally willing to violate the law. Do you have access to such men?”
No Nose laughed. “Do I have access?” he mimicked. “Yes, I have . . . access.”
“How many men do you have?”
“How many do I need?”
“At least four, I would think. Maybe more.”
“I can get them.”
“You can get them? Or you have them?”
Deadly Trail Page 14