Guns of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

  Murdock saw they were losing the battle and shouted at Vasquez, “Emilio, let’s get out of here!”

  The two men, who had managed to stay on the periphery of the gunfight, wheeled their horses and galloped back toward the Lazy M. They were able to escape Smoke’s trap only because of the heavy layer of smoke and dust in the air. By the time the men in the boulders saw them coming they were by and out of range of their shotguns.

  The fracas lasted another twenty minutes before all of the gunnies were either dead or wounded enough to be out of commission.

  It was full dark by now, and the punchers in the cabin lighted torches and joined with men from the trees and boulders and began to gather their wounded and dead. The injured who worked for Smoke were brought into the cabin and were attended to by Andre and the others. Their gunshot wounds were cleaned and dressed and they were given hot soup and coffee—those in pain, whiskey.

  Smoke bent over Monte Carson, checking his bandages to make sure they were tight. Carson drifted in and out of consciousness, but Smoke was sure he would survive.

  Andre fussed over Louis’s leg wound, cleaning and re-cleaning it until finally Louis said, “Just put a dressing on it, Andre. There’re others here who need you more than I do.”

  Smoke glanced at Louis, a worried look on his face. “Have you seen Cal or Pearlie or Joey, Louis?”

  Louis looked up quickly, “Aren’t they here?”

  Smoke shook his head. “No.”

  Louis struggled to his feet, using a rifle as a cane. “Let’s go. They may be lying out there wounded.” He glanced at Smoke, naked fear in his eyes. “Or worse.”

  The two men walked among the dead and dying outlaws, ignoring cries for help and mercy as they looked for their friends. The outlaws deserved no mercy. They had taken money to kill others, and would now have to face the consequences of their actions. A harsh judgment, but a just one.

  Finally, Smoke spied the horse Pearlie had been riding, standing over near a small creek that ran off to the side of the cabin. “Over here,” he called to Louis and ran toward the animal, praying he would find the young man alive.

  He stopped short at what he saw. Joey, his left shoulder wrapped in his bloodstained shirt, was trying to dress Pearlie’s neck and stomach wounds, but Pearlie wouldn’t let go of Cal to give him access. The young cowboy had one hand holding his wadded-up shirt against a hole in Cal’s flank to stop the bleeding, while he held his Colt in the other, hammer back, protecting his young friend from anyone else who might try to harm him.

  Smoke heard Joey say, “Come on, Pearlie, the fight’s over. Let me take care of where ya’ got shot. Then we kin git Cal over to the cabin fer treatment.”

  Pearlie shook his head. “I’m not movin’ from here ’til I see Smoke. I promised him I was gonna watch over Cal, and I aim to do just that!”

  Smoke chuckled as Louis hobbled up beside him. “Would you look at that, Louis. Like a mother hen with her chick.”

  Louis grinned. “If I ever find a woman who’ll take care of me like that, I’ll give up gambling and settle down.”

  “Pearlie, you’ve done a good job,” Smoke said as he knelt by Cal. “Now let Joey fix you up while I take Cal to the cabin so Andre can patch his wounds.”

  Pearlie lifted fatigue-ridden eyes to stare at Smoke. “Smoke, you got him?”

  Smoke lifted Cal in his arms. “Yes, Pearlie, I’ve got him.”

  Pearlie mumbled, “Good.” Then he let his pistol fall to the dirt and passed out. . . .10

  * * *

  Al Martine shook his head as Pearlie finished recounting the events of that night two years ago. “I can see es muy peligroso—very dangerous—to ride with you, Pearlie. From what I hear, every time Cal does so he ends up shot.”

  “It’s like I said, Al,” Pearlie said, watching Cal as his cheeks burned red, “that boy draws lead like honey draws flies.”

  21

  Lazarus Cain looked up as Joey Wells walked through the batwings of the Dog Hole Saloon in Fontana. When Joey walked straight to a table across the room and sat down by himself without so much as looking at Lazarus or saying hello, the bandits’ leader leaned over to speak in a low tone to Blackie Jackson.

  “Blackie, what do you think of Wells? Can he be trusted?”

  The ex-blacksmith stared at Joey for a moment before answering. “I don’t know, boss. He’s a strange one, all right. Don’t never enter into no conversation with the boys, nor join in with the whores in the back room.” He shook his head. “I just don’t have any clear idea of what’s goin’ on in his head most of the time.”

  Lazarus began to talk in the stilted manner he always used when quoting the Bible. “But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for he who doubts is like a wave of the sea driven and tossed by the wind. If he is a double-minded man, unstable in all his ways, as a flower in the field he will pass away.”

  Blackie looked at Lazarus, his eyebrows raised. “What’s that mean, boss?”

  “That is from the Epistle of James, Blackie, an’ it means if Joey is playin’ both ends against the middle I’ll cut him down like a weed.”

  “You got any reason to suspect he’s gonna go agin us?”

  “No . . . but then again, he ain’t exactly acted overjoyed to be with us, either. I want you to keep a close eye on Wells, Blackie, an’ let me know if he does anything outta line.”

  “Sure thing, boss. How about I get one of the boys to watch his room at night, an’ make sure he don’t leave without sayin’ good-bye or nothin’?”

  “That’ll be just fine, Blackie.”

  Lazarus got to his feet and walked over to Joey’s table, where he sat eating scrambled eggs and chorizo.

  “Mornin’, Joey.”

  Joey looked up and nodded, but continued to chew his food without speaking.

  Lazarus pulled out a chair and sat down. “Some of the boys been complainin’, Joey. They say you ain’t actin’ very friendly. Matter of fact, they say you been outright rude.”

  Joey cut his eyes at Lazarus, the cold deadliness of them making the hair on the back of the preacher’s neck stand up. Since his days in the Civil War, Lazarus had never met a man who could make him taste the bitter flavor of fear, until Wells.

  “Get to the point, Lazarus. I know you don’t give a damn what the boys think or say,” Joey growled around a mouthful of sausage and eggs.

  “I’ve been kind’a wonderin’ myself, Joey, if you’re committed to this little enterprise I got planned, or if you’re having second thoughts about it.”

  Joey swallowed and pushed his plate away, pulled out his Arkansas Toothpick, and shaved a sliver of wood off the edge of the table. He holstered his knife and used the piece of wood to pick bits of meat from between his teeth.

  “Lazarus, if’n I decide not to go along with you on your plan, I’ll pack my gear an’ leave. I certainly won’t hang around here, enjoyin’ the . . . delightful company you’ve gathered together in this garden spot of a town.”

  Lazarus gave a short laugh at the wry tone of Joey’s voice. “They do leave something to be desired in a conversation, don’t they?” he asked.

  “Only if’n you want to talk ’bout somethin’ other than whiskey, women, or who’s killed the most men in their lives. I quit talkin’ to ’em when the conversation always seemed to get around to who’s fastest on the draw.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. I tried to tell the first couple’a men who brought it up that it ain’t who’s fastest that counts, it’s who’s left on his feet when the smoke clears. Any galoot can practice again’ tin cans ’til he’s fast as greased lightnin’. But when you’re standing across from a man whose eyes tell you he’s gonna kill you, and your bowels are turning to liquid and gurglin’ in your stomach, it do make a difference in your perspective on the matter of gunfightin’.”

  Lazarus threw back his head and laughed out loud. “Joey, I couldn’t’ve said it better myself. Speed with a gun is only one part of winning
a duel. The willingness to go ahead, knowin’ you’re gonna take some lead an’ maybe die, but knowin’ also you’re gonna drop that son of a bitch facin’ you, is more important than speed.”

  Joey reached across and poured a couple of fingers of whiskey into his glass. He held up the glass and looked into the liquid, speaking as if to himself. “Hell, facin’ death is easy, Lazarus. It’s facin’ life that’s hard.” As he finished speaking, he drank his glass empty and then stood up.

  “If’n you’re through askin’ me questions, I’m gonna go take a walk.”

  “Sure, Joey. Go right ahead,” Lazarus said, a wide smile on his face. “Go anywhere you want.”

  Joey glanced back at him with a smirk as he turned to leave. “I wasn’t askin’ your permission, Cain, I was just lettin’ you know.”

  Lazarus’s face turned a bright red as Joey sauntered out of the room. Damn, but that man could be infuriatingly smug. After all this is over, Lazarus promised himself, I’ll wipe that smart alec expression off his face for good.

  As Joey strolled down the rotting boardwalks of Fontana, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Blackie Jackson walked out of the batwings of the Dog Hole just after he did.

  He decided to turn down a side street and see if the man was following him or if it was just a coincidence that he’d left at the same time.

  After covering fifty yards, Joey stopped in front of an old storefront that still had a couple of panes of glass in the windows. He stood there, pretending to look inside, and watched the reflection in the glass.

  Sure enough, he saw Blackie peek around the corner at the end of the street, evidently interested in just where Joey was going and what he was going to do.

  Damn, Joey thought, Cain must be suspicious to have sicced his trained dog on me like this. I’m gonna have to be careful when I go to meet Pearlie, that is if Cain ever lets it slip when he’s planning on having his little party out at Smoke’s place. It just won’t do to have him dog my steps, so I’ll just have to discourage his curiosity a mite.

  Joey put his hands in his pockets and continued to stroll the streets, as if he had nothing on his mind other than passing the time of day with a little exercise.

  Eventually he came to the livery stable and entered. He walked over to where Red was stabled and took a bucket of oats and poured a generous helping into the bucket hung on a nail in front of his mount. Better let the big stud stock up on some grain, ’cause he was going to need all the stamina he could muster if push came to shove and Joey had to travel fast and far. Grass and hay were okay for general purposes with a horse, but nothing improved their bottom like grain, and plenty of it.

  22

  Smoke came out on the porch when he heard the sound of the buckboard coming up the road to the cabin. He was surprised, and delighted to see the two Mexicans riding with Pearlie and Cal.

  As they climbed down, he walked over and held out his hand. “Compadres!” he called. “¡Buenos días!”

  “Señor Smoke,” Al said as he took Smoke’s hand. “Your Spanish has improved since our last meeting.”

  Smoke laughed. “Well, I haven’t had much occasion to use it since you and your partner headed south, amigo.”

  “It has been most boring in Chihuahua, without you to liven up the lives of the occupants of our little town,” Louis said, shaking Smoke’s hand with both of his.

  “I take it you two are the surprise Joey said he’d arranged for me?”

  “Sí. Señor Joey said you might need some help, so we came as fast as the Union Pacific could bring us,” Al said.

  Sally stepped out on the porch and waved. “Hello, men,” she said.

  Both men bowed and took off their hats. “Buenos días, Señora Sally,” they said in unison.

  “I figure you’ve already eaten, but I’ve got some hot apple pie on the stove, if you’re interested.”

  Al immediately turned and put his hand up against Pearlie’s chest. “Only if someone will restrain this man whose stomach is larger than the Grand Canyon. Otherwise, there will not be enough left for us to eat,” Al teased.

  “We’ll put Pearlie at the end of the line,” Smoke said.

  “I think I should get first shot at that pie,” Cal said, “since the doctor tole me I need to keep my strength up by eatin’ as much as possible.”

  As he walked rapidly toward the cabin, Smoke laughed. “Seems to me you’re pretty spry for someone who’s supposed to be recovering from a gunshot wound.”

  He called back over his shoulder as he disappeared into the house, “Miss Sally’s food has done wonders for my healin’.”

  Later, Al leaned back in his chair and eyed the empty pie tin on the table in front of the cowboys. “That was most wonderful, Señora Sally. I have not had such food in many months.”

  Sally brought the pot from the stove and refilled coffee cups all around, except for Cal, who was drinking fresh cow’s milk.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Since you’re going to be staying a while, I’ll cook up some more, just in case you get hungry later.”

  Smoke took his cup and walked out onto the porch so he could smoke a cigarette. As he built one and lighted it, he said, “You boys know what you’re getting into here?”

  Both men nodded. “Sí,” said Louis. “Pearlie told us about the bandido, Cain, and his plans to attack your rancho.”

  “Are you aware of how much he’s got us outnumbered?”

  Al Martine shrugged. “Numbers, they do not matter so much, Smoke, as the men who make up the fight.”

  “Sí,” Louis agreed. “It is what is inside a man, here,” he said, pointing to his chest, “not how many guns he has in his hands.”

  Smoke nodded. “You’re right. And with this group, I think Cain may have bitten off more than he can chew.”

  Pearlie, hearing the sound of hoofbeats in the distance, stood up and shaded his eyes with his hand as he peered out over the Sugarloaf.

  “Company comin’, Smoke,” he said, resting his hand on the butt of his pistol.

  Immediately the men on the porch got out of their chairs and drew guns, wondering if somehow Cain and his men were already coming.

  After a moment, Pearlie relaxed. “You won’t believe this, Smoke. It looks like Louis Longmont is bringin’ us more reinforcements.”

  Sure enough, within minutes four riders came into view. Louis Longmont, accompanied by George Hampton, Johnny North, and Monte Carson rode toward the cabin.

  They dismounted and tied their horses to the hitching rail nearby and walked to the porch.

  Smoke shook his head, a tight smile on his face. “What have we here?” he asked as Longmont approached.

  “Hello, Smoke, boys,” he said.

  “What’s going on, Louis?”

  “After talking with Pearlie and Al and Louis, I got to thinking that perhaps you might have need of some more firepower, Smoke. So, I spoke to Monte, and then we rode out to North’s place to see if he’d be willing to take a hand in this little poker game.”

  He spread his hands wide. “As you can see, you now have a few more guns available when Cain decides to make his move.”

  “Sally,” Smoke called, “better put another pot on the stove. It seems there are some more men here who have more loyalty than brains.”

  Pearlie went into the cabin and brought out four additional chairs and everyone sat down. Soon Sally brought cups and coffee for their guests.

  “How do you want to play this, Smoke?” Johnny North asked. “You think it’d be better to set up an ambush here at the Sugarloaf, or plan on makin’ our play somewheres else?”

  Smoke glanced around at the terrain surrounding the cabin, slowly shaking his head. “If at all possible, if we have enough time, I don’t think we ought to let them get this far. The area around the cabin is too difficult to defend. Too many trees and boulders that would give the attackers cover.”

  Monte Carson nodded in agreement. “You’re right, Smoke. If they get this far,
I don’t know if eight of us, nine counting Joey, could stand ’em off without taking the chance of losing the cabin to fire or dynamite.”

  “Our best chance, when faced with as many men as Cain has riding for him, is to set up an ambush somewhere where we have the advantage of good cover or high ground,” Louis Longmont said, pulling a cigar out of his pocket and firing it up.

  Smoke agreed. “A lot will depend on how much time we have to prepare. Pearlie’s supposed to meet with Joey tonight to see if he’s heard anything definite about the time Cain plans to attack.”

  “Cicero, when writing about the campaigns of the Roman army, made mention of the fact that the best defense is a good offense,” Longmont said. “We had good luck once before when faced with a similar situation by attacking the gunmen while they were still in Fontana.”

  “That is un bueno plan, Señor Longmont,” Al Martine said. “That way, the bandidos will not be ready for the fight, which will give us an advantage.”

  “It’ll also help keep the ranch safe. No tellin’ how many head of cattle an’ fences and things you’ll lose if the battle takes place on the Sugarloaf,” Johnny North added.

  Smoke looked at Monte Carson. “We had a few more men last time we took on Fontana. Do you think nine of us is enough to do the deed, Monte?”

  Monte shrugged. “Better nine against fifty when they’re not expectin’ us an’ fightin’ in a town where there’s plenty of cover, than tryin’ to outfight ’em on horseback on the plains.”

  “Yeah, Smoke,” Cal added. “If’n we can do it late at night, an’ catch ’em whilst they’re all asleep, they’re liable to be shootin’ each other in all the confusion, while we’ll know where each other is.”

  “What do you mean we, Cal?” Pearlie asked. “You ain’t in no shape for another fracas just yet.”

  Cal’s eyes narrowed and his lips grew tight. “Just try an’ stop me, Pearlie. I ain’t about to miss a chance to get back at those men who shot me.”

  “Here’s what I propose,” Smoke said. “There’s a hill overlooking Fontana, just to the south. I’ll sneak up there and make a sketch of the town. When Pearlie meets with Joey, we’ll have him try to find out where most of the gang is bunking down. Then we’ll make a plan of attack to make the most out of the element of surprise.”