Rampage of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

  Pardeen’s hair was dark and his eyes were brown. One of his eyes was what people called “lazy,” and it had a tendency to give the illusion that he was looking at two things at once.

  “Quince Pardeen, it is said that you have killed fifteen men, and that you may be one of the deadliest gunmen in the West. I could not try you for all those killings—I could only try you for killing Sheriff Logan, and that I have done. You have been tried by a jury of your peers and you have been found guilty of the crime of murder,” he said. “Before this court passes sentence, have you anything to say?”

  “Nah, I ain’t got nothin’ to say,” Pardeen said.

  “Then draw near for sentencing,” the judge said solemly. “It is the sentence of this court that you be taken from this place and put in jail long enough to witness one more night pass from this mortal coil. At dawn’s light on the morrow, you are to be taken from jail and transported to a place where you will be hanged.”

  “Your Honor, we can’t hang ’im in the mornin’. We ain’t built no gallows yet,” the deputy who was now acting sheriff said.

  Judge Clark held up his hand to silence the deputy, indicating that he had already taken that into consideration. “This court authorizes the use of a tree, a lamppost, a hay-loading stanchion, or any other device, fixture, apparatus, contrivance, agent, or means as may be sufficient to suspend Mr. Pardeen’s carcass above the ground, bringing about the effect of breaking his neck, collapsing his windpipe and, in any and all ways, squeezing the last breath of life from his worthless, vile, and miserable body.”

  The gallery broke into loud applause and cheers and shouts.

  “Hey, Pardeen, how does it feel? You’ll be in hell this time tomorrow!” someone shouted.

  “Hell is too good for you!” another said.

  Judge Clark banged his gavel a few times, then realizing the futility of it, looked at the deputy.

  “Get his sorry carcass out of here,” he said.

  Acting Sheriff Lewis Baker had been napping at his desk when something awakened him. Opening his eyes, he looked around the inside of the sheriff’s office. The room was dimly lit by a low-burning kerosene lantern. A breath of wind moved softly through the open window, causing the wanted posters to flutter on the bulletin board.

  A pot of coffee sat on a small, wood-burning stove filling the room with its rich armoa. The Regulator clock on the wall swept its pendulum back and forth in a measured “tick-tock,” the hands on the face pointing to ten minutes after two. The acting sheriff rubbed his eyes, then stood up and stretched. Stepping over to the stove, he used his hat as a heat pad and grabbed the metal handle to pour himself a cup of coffee. Taking a sip of his coffee, he glanced over toward the jail cell. He was surprised to see that Pardeen wasn’t asleep, but was sitting up on his bunk.

  Baker chuckled. “What’s the matter, Pardeen?” he asked. He took another slurping drink of his coffee. “Can’t sleep?”

  “No,” Pardeen growled.

  “Well, I don’t know as I blame you none,” the acting sheriff said. “I mean, you’re goin’ to die in about four more hours, so you may as well stay awake and enjoy what little time you got left on this earth.” He took another swallow of his coffee.

  “Ahhh,” he said. “Coffee is one of the sweetest pleasures of life, don’t you think? But then, life itself is sweet, ain’t it?” He laughed again, then turned away from the cell.

  He gasped in surprise when he saw someone standing between himself and his desk. He had not heard the man come in.

  “Who the hell are you?” Baker asked gruffly. “And what the hell are you doing in here? You aren’t supposed to be in here.”

  “My name is Corbett. I’ve come to visit Mr. Pardeen.”

  “There ain’t no visitors authorized right now,” Baker said.

  “I’ve got some sad news for him.”

  “Sad news?”

  “Yeah, his brother was killed.”

  Unexpectedly, Baker chuckled. “Is that a fact? His brother was killed, was he? Well, now, I wouldn’t want to keep our prisoner from getting any sad news,” he said. He made a motion toward the cell. “You just go ahead and tell Pardeen about his brother. The son of a bitch is going to be dead in four more hours. I’d like to do everything in my power to make his last hours as unpleasant as I can.” Baker laughed again.

  Corbett nodded, then walked over to the cell. “Pardeen, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but your brother Emerson got hisself kilt last week.”

  “Who killed him?”

  “A fella by the name of Smoke Jensen. You ever hear of him?”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard of him. How’d it happen?”

  “Damn’dest thing you ever saw. Emerson had his gun drawed already, and he was comin’ back on the hammer when Smoke Jensen drawed his gun and shot him.”

  “You seen this, did you?” Pardeen asked.

  “Yeah, I seen it.”

  “He must be pretty fast.”

  “He is fast. He’s faster’n anyone I ever seen.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t care how fast he is. I’m goin’ to kill him.”

  Acting Sheriff Baker laughed so hard that he sprayed coffee. “You’re going to kill him? And how are you going to do that? Come sunrise, you’re goin’ to be hangin’ by your neck.” He put his fist by his neck, then make a rasping sound with his voice and tilted his head in a pantomime of hanging.

  “Give me your gun,” Pardeen said quietly.

  Nodding, Corbett drew his pistol and passed it through the bars to Pardeen.

  “Sheriff, you want to step over here for a moment?” Pardeen called.

  “What do you want?” the acting sheriff asked. Then, shocked at seeing a pistol in Pardeen’s hand, he threw up his arms. “No!” he shouted in fear.

  Without so much as another word, Pardeen shot the deputy.

  “When you get to hell, tell my brother hello for me,” Pardeen said.

  “Where are the keys?” Corbett asked.

  “They’re over there, hanging on a hook behind the desk,” Pardeen said, pointing.

  Corbett stepped quickly over to the hook, took down the keys, then returned to unlock the cell door. “I’ve got a couple of horses in the alley,” he said.

  “I appreciate you doin’ this for me.”

  “Well, your brother was my friend. I’d like to see the son of a bitch who killed him pay for it. And I figure you’re the one who can make him do it.”

  The two men stepped out into the alley, but instead of going toward the two horses that were tied off in back, Pardeen turned and started walking up the dark alley.

  “Hey, the horses is over here,” Corbett called.

  “I got somewhere else I’m goin’ to first,” Pardeen said with an impatient grunt.

  “Where you got to go that’s so important we can’t ride outta here while we have the chance?” Corbett asked.

  “The hotel.”

  “Why we goin’ to the hotel?”

  “You’ll see when I get there,” Pardeen replied. “That is, if you’re a’comin’ with me.”

  “Yeah,” Corbett answered. “Yeah, I’m comin’ with you.”

  The two men moved silently through the dark shadows of the alley until they reached the hotel. Slipping in through the front door, they could hear the snores of the night clerk who was on duty. Crossing the darkened lobby, Pardeen turned the registration book around so he could read the entries.

  “What are you lookin’ for?” Corbett whispered.

  “Ain’t lookin’. I found it,” Pardeen replied, also in a whisper. He reached over behind the sleeping clerk and took a key down from a board filled with keys. Re-crossing the lobby, Pardeen started up the stairs with Corbett, still unsure as to what they were doing, climbing the stairs behind him.

  Reaching the second floor, the two men stopped for just a moment. A couple of candles that were set in wall sconces lit the hallway in a flickering orange light. The snoring of the various residents could
be heard through the closed doors.

  “He’s down this way,” Pardeen hissed.

  “Who is?”

  “The judge.”

  “We’re lookin’ for a judge? Why?”

  “He’s the son of a bitch that sentenced me to hang,” Pardeen said. “I want to send a message to all the other judges so that if I ever get in this position again, they’ll think twice before trying to hang me.”

  They walked quietly down the carpeted hallway until they found the door Pardeen was looking for. Slowly, he unlocked the door, then pushed it open.

  The judge was snoring peacefully.

  Pardeen pulled his gun and pointed it toward the judge. Then, having second thoughts, he put the gun away.

  “You got a knife?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I got a knife,” Corbett answered.

  “Let me borrow it.”

  Corbett pulled his knife from its sheath and handed it to Pardeen. Pardeen raised the knife over the judge, paused for a moment, then pulled it back down.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Corbett hissed.

  “I want the son of a bitch to wake up long enough to know what’s happening to him, and and to see who is doing it.”

  Corbett nodded.

  Pardeen reached down to cover the judge’s mouth with his hand.

  “Wake up, you son of a bitch,” he said.

  The judge snorted in mid-snore, then opened his eyes. For just a moment there was confusion in his eyes, but when he recognized Pardeen, the confusion turned to fear, then terror. He tried to speak, but couldn’t because Pardeen’s hand was clamped down over his mouth.

  “Ha! Bet you never thought you’d see me again, did you?”

  The judge tried to speak again, but it came out as a squeak.

  “Oh, I guess you’re wonderin’ how I got here, huh? Well, I tell you, Judge. I just killed the deputy and broke jail, and now I’ve come to kill you. What was it you said in court? Something about finding a contrivance or means to suspend me from the ground long enough to break my neck?”

  Pardeen laughed a guttural laugh that was without humor.

  “Well, this here knife is all the contrivance I need, Judge.”

  Pardeen pulled his hand away from the judge’s mouth. The judge tried to sit up, but before he could, Pardeen brought his knife across the judge’s neck. The judge put his hands up to his throat, then, with a gurgling sound, fell back down onto the pillow. He flopped once or twice like a fish out of water, then lay still in a growing pool of blood.

  “Is he dead?” Corbett asked.

  “Yeah, he’s dead.”

  Corbett went over to the window and tried to raise it.

  “What are you doin’?”

  “Killin’ a judge like we done, maybe we ought to go out this way before somebody comes after us,” Corbett said.

  Pardeen laughed. “Who’s goin’ to come after us, Corbett? I killed the sheriff last week, the deputy and the judge tonight. They ain’t nobody left to come after us.”

  Corbett thought for a moment, then laughed out loud.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, there ain’t nobody left to come after us.”

  Chapter Ten

  Sugarloaf Ranch

  Smoke was surprised when he saw several head of cattle being pushed onto Sugarloaf. Riding out to see what was going on, he found a small, wiry young man, whistling and shouting as he drove the herd. He was riding one horse, and leading another.

  When the young man saw Smoke, he rode toward him, touching the brim of his hat as he reached him. The hat was oversized, with a particularly high crown, almost as if the boy was trying to use it to make up for his small stature.

  “You Smoke Jensen?” he asked.

  “I am.”

  The boy smiled and stuck out his hand. “Mr. Jensen, I heard you was plannin’ on makin’ a big cattle drive up north.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, these here is your cows that was way down on the south range. I reckon you would’a got around to ’em in time, but I thought I’d save you the trouble. The name’s Sanders. Jules Sanders. I come to join you on your drive, if you’ll have me.”

  “Jules, don’t get the wrong idea here, but how old are you?” Smoke asked.

  “Tell me how old you want me to be and I’ll accommodate you,” Jules said.

  Smoke chuckled. “That’s not what I asked,” he said. “I’ll be honest with you, you don’t look a day over fifteen.”

  Jules didn’t answer. “Where you want me to put these cows?”

  “You say you drove them up from the south range?” Smoke asked.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s twelve miles from here. You brought—how many are there?”

  “Sixty-three head,” Jules said.

  “You brought sixty-three head up from the south range all by yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  Smoke stroked his chin. “That’s a pretty good drive for someone to make all by themselves, no matter how old they might be. You knew we’d be coming down there to get them, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jules said. “I knew you’d be comin’ for ’em.”

  “Then why didn’t you just leave them there for us?”

  “I wanted to impress you,” Jules said.

  “Well, I must confess, you did do that.”

  “Mr. Jensen, I need the job,” Jules said.

  “Jules, this is going to be one difficult drive. It’s late in the year and we’ve got a long way to go. We’ll be gone for some time. How would your mom and dad feel about that?”

  “They’re the reason I need to do it,” Jules said. “My ma is bringin’ in washin’ and sech, all the while she’s doin’ for my dad. My dad is laid up with what the doc calls the cancer. I got to do somethin’ to help out, Mr. Jensen.”

  Smoke was quiet for a moment, then he nodded. “All right, Jules. I reckon if you can bring this many head this far all by yourself, then you’re man enough to do the job.”

  A big smile spread across Jules’s face, and he stuck out his hand. “Thanks, Mr. Jensen,” he said. “I can’t tell you what this means to me.”

  Smoke shook Jules’s hand. “One thing, though, Jules.”

  “Yes, sir, anything.”

  “We’re sort of one big family here. I’m Smoke to all the men.”

  “Yes, sir, Mister—uh, Smoke,” Jules said. He looked back at the cattle he had brought up. “Uh, what do I do with these critters?”

  “Take ’em out to the north range, join them with the others you see there, then go on down to the house and see Sally.”

  “Sally?”

  “My wife,” Smoke said. “She’s taking care of the business end of this. She’ll make sure you’re on the payroll. Uh, by the way, could you use a little advance to send back to your folks?”

  Jules shook his head. “No, sir,” he said. “I appreciate the offer, I purely do. But I don’t want nothin’ till I’ve earned it.”

  Smoke smiled, and nodded. “You’re a good man, Jules,” he said. “I don’t care how old you are, you’re a good man.”

  “Thanks.”

  “When’s the last time you ate?”

  “I had me some jerky back this mornin’,” Jules said.

  “Well, I know you don’t want any money before you’ve earned it, but you wouldn’t mind eatin’ with us, would you?”

  The broad smile returned. “No, sir, I wouldn’t mind that,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind that none at all.”

  “When you get back to the house, tell Sally there’ll be one more for supper.”

  “Yes, sir!” Jules said. He turned to the cattle he had brought up. “Get along, cows. They’s grass for you and vittles for me.”

  Smoke watched Jules ride off, driving the cattle before him. He didn’t really need another man, but there was something about this young man that reminded him of Matt, and there was no way he was going to turn him down.

  Pearlie came riding up shortly after
Jules rode off.

  “Who was that?” Pearlie asked.

  “Our new man.”

  “I thought we had everyone we needed.”

  “There’s always room for one more,” Smoke said.

  Pearlie smiled. “Uh-huh,” he said. “And if you particular like a person, why, I reckon you’d make room for him even if there weren’t none.”

  “I made room for you once, didn’t I?” Smoke asked.

  Pearlie nodded. “Yes, sir, you done that all right,” Pearlie said. They were referring to the fact that Pearlie, who had once been hired as a gunman to run Smoke off his ranch, had wound up joining the same man he was supposed to kill.

  As a means of allowing everyone to get better acquainted with each other, Sally invited all the cowboys to have supper in the big house that night. She fixed roast beef, mashed potatoes with brown gravy, lima beans, and hot rolls.

  “Do you folks eat like this all the time?” Jules asked.

  “We sure do,” Pearlie said.

  “Ha!” Cal laughed. “Pearlie wishes we did.”

  “I figure that during the trail drive,” said Sally, “there are bound to be times when you boys are going to get pretty frustrated by pushing a bunch of cows. So, if they start giving you too much trouble, maybe you can take some solace in having eaten their cousin tonight.”

  The others laughed.

  “Say, Smoke, the county fair starts tomorrow,” Cal said. “You reckon we could all go in for a bit? I mean, especially as we are going to be on the trail drive for so long.”

  “I don’t see why not,” Smoke said.

  “You know what we ought to do? We ought to play a baseball game,” Jules said.

  “What?” Billy asked.

  “We ought to play a baseball game,” Jules said again. “We’ve got enough for a baseball team. There’s Pearlie, Cal, Andy, Dooley, Hank, LeRoy, Billy, Mike, and me. That’s nine people.”

  “What about Smoke?” Billy asked.

  “Smoke can be our manager.”

  “What’s a manager?”

  “A manager is someone who doesn’t play, but sort of bosses the ones that do.”