Terror of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

  Those who had been watching him, now cheered and applauded, and Cal took off his hat, waved it at the crowed, and made the horse rear up on its hind legs.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cal dismounted, patted the horse on the neck, gave him another carrot . . . then swung into the saddle again. He rode over to the fence where his audience had been standing, though some of them, including Katrina, were actually sitting on the top rail of the fence.

  “Anybody else want to ride him now?” Cal said. “He’s calm, he won’t try and throw you.”

  “I’ll ride him,” Katrina offered.

  “Honey, no,” Hazel Byrd said. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “Do you ride at all, Miss Byrd?” Cal asked.

  “Yes, I ride.”

  “Then, come ahead.”

  “Honey, are you sure you want to do this?” Hazel asked.

  “Mrs. Byrd, it’ll be all right,” Cal promised.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m certain.”

  Katrina climbed down from the fence and walked out to Cal and the horse.

  “Give him a little pet on the neck,” Cal said.

  “Cal?” Smoke said, walking out to them. “Let Katrina ride double with you for a moment, then you can dismount and leave her in the saddle.”

  “Yes, that might be the best way to do it. Do you mind riding double with me, Miss Byrd?”

  Katrina smiled. “Well, if we are going to ride double, don’t you think you should call me Katrina?”

  “All right, Katrina,” Cal replied with a big smile. “I’ll get on first, then bring you up in front of me.”

  With both Katrina and Cal in the saddle, they rode around the corral a couple of times, then Cal dismounted by shoving himself off over the haunch of the horse, leaving Katrina alone. She rode around several times, putting the animal through its turns, smiling, and petting it. She rode up to where her mother and father were sitting. Chairs had been brought out for them, and she stopped the horse, which obeyed her directions instantly.

  “Papa, I don’t want you to put this horse into the remuda. Sundance is going to be my personal horse.”

  “Sundance?”

  “Yes, can’t you see how the sun is dancing off his skin? Isn’t he beautiful?”

  Tom Byrd chuckled. “All right, Katrina. Sundance is your horse.”

  “You know what I think, Cal?” Pearlie asked later that day. “I think Miss Byrd has eyes for you.”

  “Ah, she was just happy to get the horse, is all.”

  “No, sir. You’re the only one she’s lookin’ at.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Yes, I really think so. And it didn’t start just because of the horse. I saw the way the two of you were lookin’ at each other across the table that first day we got here.”

  “Well, we were just . . . looking.”

  “Uh-huh. But I don’t blame you. I mean, I’m not sure whether or not you’ve noticed, but she isn’t all that bad-lookin’.”

  “Not bad-looking? Pearlie, what are you talking about? Why, she’s about the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my entire life!”

  Pearlie chuckled. “So you have noticed,” he said.

  San Vicente

  Back in town, Rick Isback stepped down from the train and stood on the depot platform for just a moment or two, looking around. There appeared to be only three streets to the town, all three running perpendicular to, and not parallel with, the railroad track. The center street appeared to be the only one with business establishments, the other two were residential.

  From here, Isback could take in the entire town, able to see to its very limits. It had been several years since he left New York, but there was still a part of him that experienced shock when he encountered a place as small as San Vicente. Since coming west, though, he had known many towns like this: isolated, inbred, and stagnant.

  As he was waiting for the luggage to be off-loaded, he stepped into the depot office and walked up to the ticket counter.

  “Yes, sir, can I help you?”

  “I’ve just arrived in town and I wonder if I might prevail upon you for a little information.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll be glad to, if I can.”

  “First, I would like your recommendation on where I might find lodging.”

  “Well, sir, that depends on how long you are plannin’ on staying,” the ticket agent replied. “If you’re just goin’ to be here for a day or two, I’d suggest the Marshal House Hotel.”

  “And if I’m going to stay longer?”

  “Then you might want to try one of the boardin’-houses. Their rooms is nice, and your meals comes with your fee. Mrs. Pauline Foley runs the nicest one in town. That is, if you go by the eatin’, ’cause folks say that her food is the best.”

  “What about the hotel? Does it have a dining room?”

  “Yes, sir, it has a fine dinin’ room. And we also got us a real good restaurant besides the one that’s at the Marshal House. That would be the War Drum.”

  “Thank you,” Isback said. “You’ve been most helpful.”

  “If you just come in on the train that’s standin’ here in the station, ’n’ if you had any luggage with you, it’ll more ’n likely be off-loaded by now,” the ticket agent said.

  “Again, I thank you, sir.”

  Stepping back outside, Isback picked up his leather case, then walked a short way down the center street to the hotel. At this point he wasn’t sure how long he would be here, so he decided that staying in the hotel would be the easiest.

  Isback walked past the buildings, subconsciously enumerating them as he passed. There was a rooming house, a livery, a smithy’s, and a general store that said DRUGS, MEATS, GOODS on its high, false front. There was the War Drum Restaurant the clerk had told him about, and of course the ubiquitous saloon . . . this one called the Lone Star Saloon.

  Across the street from the saloon was the jail. A few buildings away a door slammed while, just ahead of him, someone closed the upstairs window of the hotel. A sign on the apothecary creaked in the wind and flies buzzed loudly around the piles of horse manure that lay in the street.

  Isback walked into the hotel and set his bag down in front of the check-in desk.

  “I would like a room,” he said.

  “Yes, sir. Would you prefer to be upstairs, or down?”

  “Upstairs, overlooking the street, if you don’t mind.”

  “We’ve only got one upstairs room available that overlooks the street. It is our special room, and it is the most expensive room in the hotel. It will cost you a quarter a night more than any of the other rooms.”

  “Is it a nice room?”

  “Yes, sir, you won’t find a nicer room between here and Houston. Why just a few days ago Smoke Jensen ’n’ his wife stayed in that room, and Mr. Jensen told me hisself, personal, that it was as fine a room as he’s ever stayed in. And, I reckon you’ve heard of Smoke Jensen, haven’t you?”

  “Indeed, I have heard of him,” Isback said. “I heard that he was in San Vicente, but you say he isn’t staying here at the hotel anymore. Has he gone back to Colorado?”

  “Oh, no, sir, he is still in town. Well, I say he is in town, but right now he is staying with Mr. Byrd out at his ranch, The Wide Loop. He recently delivered several horses, you see, and he is remaining with them until they are all broken.”

  “Does he ever come into town?” Isback asked as he wrote his name in the register.

  “Yes, from time to time, he does. He has dined with us. And, I believe he has also dined at the War Drum, though why he would want to eat there, instead of with us, I don’t know. How long will you be with us, Mr.”—the clerk looked at the name—“Isback.”

  “I’m not sure,” Isback replied. “Suppose we just take it one day at a time. And I will take the special room.”

  “Very good, sir,” the hotel clerk said with a broad smile. “That will be one dollar per night.”

&
nbsp; Isback looked up. “That must be some special room,” he said. “I can get a very good room in Denver, Cheyenne, or even San Francisco for that much money.”

  “Yes, sir, but they must compete with other hotels. You may have noticed that we are the only hotel in town.”

  “Yes, I noticed,” Isback said.

  After checking into his room, Isback left the hotel and walked down to the Lone Star Saloon. It wasn’t quite dinnertime, so it was a little early for the saloon to be at its peak. It was about one-third full. The scarred piano sat, unused, in the back of the room. There were two saloon girls working the customers, but they were occupied by a table full of men.

  “A whiskey,” Isback ordered, sliding a piece of silver across the bar. The man behind the bar poured the whiskey, slid the glass across to him, and picked up the money.

  With the drink in his hand, Isback turned his back to the bar and looked out over the saloon. Noticing him then, one of the two girls pulled herself away from the table and sidled up to the bar. She had bleached hair, was heavily painted, and had very tired eyes.

  “My, you are quite a handsome gentleman,” the girl said. “Would you buy a girl a drink?”

  “Go peddle your wares somewhere else, miss, I’m not interested,” Isback said.

  For just a second the girl looked hurt by his response, but she had been in the business long enough to shake it off, so with a practiced smile, she turned away from him.

  “Too bad,” she said. “I can be very good company.”

  “When I am visiting with someone, I like to engage in intelligent conversation,” Isback said.

  The girl turned back. “Oh, and what do you consider intelligent conversation?”

  “Read any good books lately?”

  The girl smiled. “I read a lot. That’s all I do in my off time.”

  “What have you read?”

  “A Tale of Two Cities.”

  “How do I know you aren’t just saying that?”

  “‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair,’” she said.

  “I’m impressed. What’s your name?”

  “Ida Rose.”

  Do you have a room, Ida Rose?”

  The girl smiled. “I do.”

  Half an hour later, Ida Rose lay naked in her bed, whimpering quietly. She had bruises on both her breasts.

  “You hurt me,” she said. “You had no right to do that.”

  “In your profession, you can’t tell me you’ve never encountered anyone who got a little carried away.”

  “You got more than a little carried away. You hurt me, and you hurt me bad.”

  “Here,” Isback said, taking out a ten-dollar bill. “Maybe this will make the hurt go away.”

  Ida Rose’s eyes grew wide as she clutched the bill. “You . . . you won’t take it back, will you?”

  “No. You earned it.”

  “Thank you! Oh, thank you!”

  Isback started toward the door but before he reached it, he stopped and turned to look back at the bruised woman on the bed, still clutching the ten-dollar bill.

  “Ida Rose, if I ever hear that you have told anyone what happened here tonight, I will be very displeased. And I don’t think you want me to be displeased, do you?”

  There was a smile on Isback’s face, but there was absolutely no mirth in the smile.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Nuevo Pacifico

  “Please, Coronel. I do not want my rooster to fight yours.”

  “Your rooster is named Rey de Gallos is he not? You think he is King of the Roosters?” Keno asked.

  “The name means nothing, Coronel.”

  “Do not be such the coward, Lozano. Do you think your rooster is a coward? Or do you think he will fight?”

  “He will fight, Coronel, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  “Coronel Keno, Rey de Gallos had been in ten fights and he has won every one. I fear that if my rooster defeats your rooster, you will be most angry. I am but a poor peasant, you are an important man. It is not good for me to have someone as important as you to be angry.”

  “You need not worry about that, Señor Lozano,” Keno said. “Your rooster will not defeat my bird. Anastasio Bustamante cannot be beaten.”

  “Very well, Coronel,” Lozano said. “I will allow my rooster to fight yours.”

  Word had spread that Rey de Gallos, a rooster that everyone knew, would be fighting, the cock of Coronel Keno. Many gathered for the fight, and those in the crowd were split as to their loyalties. The soldiers under Keno were making wagers on Keno’s bird, Anastasio Bustamante. The people of the village were betting on Rey de Gallos, and even those who had placed no wager were secretly wanting Lozano’s rooster to win, because his bird represented them. They believed that if Rey de Gallos could win, it would be a symbol of justice against this evil man.

  “Lozano, you are our champion!” someone called out. “Your rooster fights for all of us.”

  “Have you bet money on him?” Lozano asked.

  “Sí. I have bet twenty pesos.”

  “And I have bet one hundred pesos,” another said.

  There were more wagers placed, then Keno held his rooster up. “This is Anastasio Bustamante. He is named after one of Mexico’s fiercest warriors, and he has the same fighting spirit as El Presidente Bustamante. Watch, as he will fight, and kill the puny bird that Lozano calls King of the Roosters!”

  Keno and Lozano held the roosters out so that they were teasing each other, then they dropped them on the ground. The roosters immediately attacked with flapping wings, beak thrusts, and slashing talons. Feathers flew, then blood, until finally, Anastasio Bustamante lay dying on the ground.

  “What was wrong with the coronel’s rooster?” one of the soldiers asked. “I’ve never seen him act like that. He had no fight in him.”

  “You did something to my rooster!” Keno charged, angrily.

  “Coronel, how could I do something?” Lozano replied. “I have not been around your rooster.”

  Keno drew his pistol, and the villagers reacted in fear, thinking he was going to shoot Lozano. Instead, Keno walked over to Lozano’s rooster, who had been slightly wounded, and was now sitting, exhausted, on the ground.

  Keno aimed at the bird, and pulled the trigger. Rey de Gallos fell over, and flopped on the ground for a full minute before it grew still.

  “All wagers made on this rooster are forfeited,” he said.

  The soldiers of Keno’s army, all of whom had bet on his bird, now gave a cheer.

  “Sontino!” Keno said.

  “Sí, Coronel?”

  Keno pointed to the bird he had just killed. “Take the bird to Manuel. Tell him I will have stewed chicken for my supper.”

  A wide smile spread across Sontino’s face.

  “Sí, Coronel.”

  Keno and the soldiers walked away, leaving Lozano and the villagers standing behind, angry and shocked over what they had just witnessed. Most had won money in the wagers they had placed, and they weren’t going to collect what was rightly owed to them, as they heard Keno say that their bets had been forfeited. They lost all the money they had wagered.

  They knew, also, that there was nothing they could do about it, and they all left the piazza in frustrated anger.

  Only Lozano and Keno’s dead bird remained behind. Lozano walked over to pick up Anastasio Bustamante, who was now lying still, in death.

  “If the coronel can eat my rooster, I can eat his,” Lozano said, quietly. The rooster would feed him tonight, but it was little compensation for the rooster he had lost.

  The Wide Loop

  By the end of the first week of breaking horses, Cal got the nerve to ask Katrina if she would like to go into town to have supper with him, and she accepted
.

  “Thing is, I don’t know the town, so you’re goin’ to have to pick out the best place for us to go.”

  “I know just the place,” Katrina said.

  Tom Byrd made his surrey available that night, and Cal took Katrina to the War Drum.

  “How did you meet Mr. Jensen?” Katrina asked as she and Cal sat across the table from each other, a candle lighting the distance between them.

  “I never met Mr. Jensen,” Cal replied. “He was dead before I ever run into Smoke.”

  “Dead?”

  “Oh, wait, Smoke is who you meant, ain’t it? Uh, I mean, isn’t it? I was thinkin’ maybe you meant Smoke’s pa. The way I met Smoke was, I tried to rob Miz Sally.”

  “What?” Katrina asked, shocked by the response. “Are you serious?”

  “I’m very serious. That’s exactly what happened. I wasn’t nothin’ more ’n a boy then, on my own, and it had been a while since I’d found any work, and two or three days since I had had anything to eat. I figured maybe I could hold somebody up, just for enough money to get somethin’ to eat, and I picked Miz Sally ’cause she was a woman and I figured it would be easy and there wouldn’t be as much a chance of anyone gettin’ hurt. But when I tried to hold her up, why, she got the drop on me.”

  “That must have been very frightening for you.”

  “I guess it was at first, only, instead of takin’ me down to the sheriff ’n’ turnin’ me in like she coulda done, she took me home with her, fed me, and give me some better clothes to wear. Then, when Smoke come home, she made him give me a job, and I’ve been workin’ for ’em ever since.”

  Katrina reached across the table to put her hand on Cal’s arm. “That is a wonderful story,” she said. “Why, if you hadn’t run into her, you could have wound up taking the outlaw trail and by now the chances are you would either be dead, or in prison somewhere.”

  “That’s true,” Cal agreed. “That’s why I’ll always be loyal to both of ’em, ’cause I figure they most likely saved my life.”