Matt Jensen: The Last Mountain Man Purgatory

by William W. Johnstone

  The waiter delivered the pie and coffee, and then withdrew without a word.

  “It’s all right,” Dempster said, holding his response to Kyle until after the waiter left. “I can see why one might be curious.”

  Dempster added a copious amount of sugar and cream to his coffee, then stirred it with a spoon for a long moment, as if gathering his thoughts.

  “Back in Missouri, I was a circuit judge,” he said.

  “That’s quite an honorable position.”

  “Yes,” Dempster said. “Which makes the fact that I dishonored it even more reprehensible.”

  “You took a bribe?”

  “In a manner of speaking, I suppose you could say that,” Dempster said. “I was trying a murder case when some friends of the defendant informed me that if I did not find some way to free their friend, they would kill my family and me.”

  “And did you find some way to free the defendant?”

  “Yes, I did just as they asked.”

  “Well, if your family was in danger, I don’t know as too many people can blame you.”

  Dempster took a drink of his coffee. “Only it didn’t help,” he said quietly.

  “What?”

  “They killed my family anyway.”

  “Oh, damn,” Kyle said. “Damn, no wonder you—have problems.”

  “Problems with no solution,” Dempster said. “Drinking is no solution.”

  “You said that you haven’t had a drink in six days,” Kyle said. “That’s a long time between drinks for an alcoholic, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. I hope it goes much longer.”

  “What made you stop drinking?”

  “Matt Jensen,” Dempster answered.

  “Matt Jensen? Are you talking about the convicted murderer?”

  “Mr. Jensen is no more of a murderer than I am,” Dempster said. “His trial was a charade and the biggest miscarriage of justice I have ever seen.”

  “Was it a real trial? Did he have a judge, a lawyer, and a jury of his peers?” Kyle asked.

  “His defense attorney was an incompetent drunk, the judge was crooked, and the jury was fixed.”

  “That’s quite a charge,” Kyle said.

  “I suppose it is,” Dempster agreed. “But I would gladly make that same charge in an open courtroom. Assuming, of course, that the judge hearing the case would be someone other than Andrew Cummins,” he added.

  “Yes, I can see how you might be hesitant to make such a charge to the very man you are making the charge about. But let me ask you this. What makes you think this man, Jensen, is innocent? I was told by Marshal Cummins that there were eyewitnesses to the shooting who confirmed that he killed Deputy Gillis.”

  “There was only one eyewitness to the shooting, a young boy, and the story he told me exactly coincided with what Jensen said. Gillis drew first, but Jensen was much faster. He drew his own pistol and shot Gillis. Gillis’s pistol slipped back down into his holster. But it was not until he went into the saloon that anyone else saw him. That’s where he died.”

  “I believe you said you sent a letter to the governor?”

  “I did indeed,” Dempster said. “I asked the governor to stay the execution until another trial, a fair trial, could be arranged.”

  “As it turns out, your letter was unnecessary,” Kyle said. “It would seem that Jensen has arranged his own stay of execution. He escaped.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Dempster said. “I hope he gets clear out of Arizona. But I would also hope he could clear his name so this doesn’t hang over him for the rest of his life.”

  “Mr. Dempster, if what you tell me is true, then I must say that you have not painted a very good picture of your marshal,” Kyle said.

  “Our marshal is a despot,” Dempster said. “He rules this town as if it is his own personal fiefdom.”

  “Why does the town council allow such a thing?”

  “He has enough of his deputies placed on the council that he quite easily controls it. They pass any law he dictates and authorize any funding he requests. As a matter of fact, the council no longer even serves the town. They are here for one purpose, and one purpose only. They exist for the convenience of Marshal Andrew Cummins.”

  “Do the people of the town support Marshal Cummins?”

  “Support him?” Dempster replied. “No, they don’t support him, but most are too frightened to do anything about it. There are a few merchants who have been holding secret meetings, I understand, but whether or not they will be able to do anything, I don’t know.”

  “Have you met with them?”

  Dempster shook his head. “No,” he replied. “I have not earned their trust. But I hope to. Right now, the thing that is keeping me sober is my determination to see Marshal Cummins run out of office and justice done.”

  “That is an honorable goal,” Kyle said.

  Dempster ate the last bite of pie, then smacked his lips appreciatively. “You know, coming off a three-year drunk, I had forgotten all the good things about life, such as cherry pie. I thank you.”

  “It was my pleasure,” Kyle replied.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Bob Dempster who showed up at the meeting held at Joel Montgomery’s bank did not look like the Dempster everyone thought they knew. Dempster had taken a bath, gotten a haircut and shave, and was wearing a very nice suit. He arrived at the meeting with Marshal Kyle, Mrs. Dawkins, and her son, Timmy.

  “It’s good of you to come, Mr. Dempster,” Montgomery said.

  “I thank you very much for allowing me to come,” Dempster replied. “I am well aware of the fact that I have not conducted myself in any way that would inspire confidence.”

  “I believe everyone deserves a second chance,” Montgomery said. “Marshal, Mrs. Dawkins, Timmy, it’s good to have you as well. Please, come into the conference room and have a seat. The meeting is about to get started.”

  Dempster, Kyle, Mrs. Dawkins, and Timmy followed Montgomery to the back of the bank, where Montgomery opened a door to show them into the back room.

  “Do you think it will be safe here?” Mrs. Dawkins asked.

  “We’ve got the marshal with us,” Dempster said. “How much safer do you want it?”

  “The marshal isn’t always going to be here,” Mrs. Dawkins pointed out. “And after he leaves, Marshal Cummins will still be here.”

  “It’s safe,” Montgomery said. “We’ve had several meetings here without any problem. I often have to work late, so people are used to seeing a light in here. Besides, at this time of night, the marshal and his deputies are over at the Pair O Dice, drinking.”

  “That’s not all they do over there,” Goff said with a ribald chuckle.

  “Amon, we have a woman and a child with us,” Montgomery chastised.

  “Sorry, ma’am, didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” Goff said.

  “I’ve taken no offense, Mr. Goff,” Mrs. Dawkins said. “I want to do what is best for the town, but I’m sure you can understand that my primary concern is for the safety of my son.”

  “Yes, ma’am, that’s our concern as well,” Montgomery said. “And on behalf of the Citizens’ Betterment Committee, I want to thank you and your son, and tell you that we understand the danger, and appreciate your courage in coming to the meeting.”

  “Citizens’ Betterment Committee,” Mrs. Dawkins said. She smiled, and nodded her head. “Yes, I like that.”

  “All right, if everyone will take their seats, we’ll get started now,” Montgomery said.

  Goff, Goodman, Taylor, and Bascomb, who were, in addition to Montgomery, members of the Citizens’ Betterment Committee, took their seats around the table. Dempster, Kyle, Mrs. Dawkins, and Timmy joined them.

  “Timmy, my wife made some cookies if you’d like one,” Taylor said, offering a plate of cookies to Timmy.

  “Gee, thanks,” Timmy said, taking three of them.

  “Timmy, he said one,” Mrs. Dawkins said.

  “That’s all right, Mrs. D
awkins, he can have as many as he wants,” Taylor said. Then, seeing the expression on the woman’s face, he amended his comment. “Although you are right. Too many wouldn’t be good for him.”

  Timmy put two of the cookies back.

  “Gentlemen,” Montgomery said. “I called this meeting after Marshal Kyle and Mr. Dempster came to visit me. As you know, Marshal Cummins recently conducted a court trial, if you can call it that, in which he found a man guilty and sentenced him to hang. In order to give some semblance of legality to it, he had the man sent to Yuma Prison, where the hanging was to be carried out. As you also know, Robert Demptster acted as defense counsel for the accused. He came to me with an interesting account of that trial, and I invited him to share the information with the rest of us. Mr. Dempster, the floor is yours, sir.”

  “Thank you,” Dempster said. He cleared his throat, then stood up to speak to the others.

  “Mr. Montgomery is correct when he says I acted as defense counsel for the accused. In this case acted is the operative word, for the truth is, I was far too drunk to provide an adequate defense for anyone.

  “Marshal Cummins knew this, and counted upon this when he selected me as attorney for the defense.

  “I’m not going to go through a litany of all the errors in this trial that could cause a reversal of the outcome—though they are legion. I will tell you, however, that any fair judge would at the least call this a mistrial, and in all probability completely reverse the decision and declare Matt Jensen innocent.”

  “Mr. Dempster, may I ask a question?” Goff asked, holding up his hand.

  “Certainly, Mr. Goff.”

  “I know that you, being a lawyer and all, are probably concerned about all the technical things of the trial, whether he got a good defense, whether the trial was held too fast, that sort of thing. But shouldn’t the bottom line be whether or not he is guilty? I mean, if he killed Moe Gillis in cold blood, then that’s murder and it seems to me like it shouldn’t make all that difference how the trial was conducted. The man committed murder, and he should pay for it.”

  “That’s just it,” Dempster said. “I don’t think the man did commit murder.”

  “How can you say that?” Goff asked. “My brother-in-law was in the saloon that day, and he tells me that he saw Gillis come staggering in through the door, already gut-shot, with his pistol in his holster. Then, a second or two later, this fella Jensen come in behind him, holding a gun in his hand. And that gun, my brother-in-law says, was still smoking.”

  “There was only one eyewitness to the actual event,” Dempster said. “And he tells a different story.”

  “What about Jackson?” Goodman asked. “I hear Jackson was standin’ in front of the saloon, and he seen the whole thing.”

  Dempster shook his head. “Jackson did not see it.”

  “He claims that he did.”

  “Gentlemen, I was present when I heard Marshal Cummins order Jackson to make that claim.”

  “Wait a minute, hold it. Are you saying that the marshal told Jackson to lie?” Taylor asked.

  Goff laughed. “My oh my, who could possibly believe that our marshal would ask someone to lie for him.”

  The others laughed as well.

  “You said there was an eyewitness,” Goff said.

  “Yes.”

  “Who was it?”

  “It was young Timmy Dawkins,” Dempster said.

  “A kid? You’re saying the only eyewitness was a kid?”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “Come on, who’s going to believe a kid? And how did he happen to see it in the first place?”

  “Timmy, you want to answer that?” Dempster asked.

  “I was in the dress shop with Mama,” Timmy said. “It’s right across the street from where it happened. I was looking through the window and saw it all.”

  “All right,” Goodman said. “Maybe the kid did see it. But like Goff said, who is going to believe a kid? Even if Timmy thinks he is telling the truth, kids don’t always see things the way they actually are.”

  “Timmy happens to be a remarkably observant young man,” Dempster said.

  “Observant? What do you mean, remarkably observant?”

  “Test him.”

  “What do you mean, test him?”

  “Ask him something to test his observation skills.”

  “All right,” Goodman said. “Timmy, there is a calendar in this room. Without looking at it, tell me about the picture.”

  “It is a picture of a train at night,” Timmy said. “The train’s headlight is on, and some of the car windows are lit, but not all of them. And there is a coyote on a cliff, looking down at the train.”

  Goodman smiled. “Yes. That’s very good.”

  “Timmy, am I wearing a ring?” Goff asked.

  “No, sir, you aren’t. But Mr. Montgomery is,” Timmy answered. “It has a red stone.”

  Montgomery’s hands were under the table, and with a smile, he raised them to show a ring with a red stone.

  “All right,” Goodman said. “I think we can all agree that Timmy is a very observant and very bright young man.”

  “Good,” Dempster said. He looked over at Timmy. “Tell us exactly what you saw on the day of the shooting,” he said.

  “I saw Mr. Jensen come riding into town,” Timmy said. “Of course, I didn’t know who he was then. But I saw that he was riding a very pretty sorrel horse. He got off the horse, hung a wet hat onto the saddle—”

  “Wait a minute, a wet hat? How could his hat be wet? It wasn’t raining that day,” Goff said.

  “I wondered about that as well,” Dempster said. “But it turns out that as Jensen rode into town, he stopped at Mrs. Poindexter’s place. She was pumping water into a bucket. He finished filling the bucket for her. Then he pumped water into his hat and gave it to his horse.”

  “I’ll be damn. Then it checks out,” Goff said. “Oh, beg pardon for the cuss word, Mrs. Dawkins.”

  “That’s quite all right,” Mrs. Dawkins said.

  “Go on with your account, Timmy,” Dempster said.

  “Yes, sir,” Timmy said. “Well, after he hung the wet hat on the saddle, he tied his horse to the hitching rail in front of the saloon. Then Deputy Gillis stepped out onto the front porch. They talked for a moment, but I couldn’t hear what they were talking about. Then, Deputy Gillis reached for his gun. Mr. Jensen went for his gun, too, and he drew his faster than Deputy Gillis. He shot Deputy Gillis—and the deputy dropped his pistol back into his holster, then turned and walked back into the saloon. Mr. Jensen followed him into the saloon, and that was all I saw.”

  “Thank you, Timmy,” Dempster said. He looked at the others. “You may be interested to know that this is the very same story Jensen told during that debacle of a trial.”

  Montgomery drummed his hands on the table. “All right, suppose this is true,” he said. “At this point, what can we do about it?”

  “We can remove the marshal,” Dempster said.

  “How?”

  “If you will back me up with a bill of particulars, I will go to the governor’s office,” Kyle said.

  “Will the governor listen to us?” Taylor asked.

  “I think he will,” Kyle said. He glanced over at Dempster. “Mr. Dempster has started the ball rolling with a letter he sent to the governor. I’ll follow up on it.”

  “You can count on us, Marshal,” Montgomery said.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kyle was sitting in the governor’s outer office. He was holding his white hat in his lap, and he glanced down toward his boots, which gleamed in a high gloss, polished just for this occasion.

  At the back of the room was a door, and in the transom window over the door were the words GOVERNOR’S OFFICE. The door opened, and an aide to the governor came out.

  “Governor Frémont will see you now, Marshal Kyle,” the aide said.

  “Thank you,” Kyle said.

  The door to the governo
r’s office was open and, looking in, Kyle saw John C. Frémont standing with his back to the door, studying a map that was hung on the wall. The map was very large, and included all the states and territories west of the Mississippi River. It appeared that Frémont had not seen Kyle, so the marshal cleared his throat and tapped lightly on the door frame.

  “Why does everyone clear their throat to announce their presence?” the governor asked without turning around. “Why not just call out, ‘Hey, you?’”

  “Hey, you,” Kyle said, and the governor’s resultant laughter was genuine. The tension was eased as the governor turned to face Kyle.

  “So, Marshal, you are here to talk about the town of Purgatory?” Governor Frémont asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Kyle replied.

  “Do you know the town?”

  “I just came from Purgatory,” Kyle said.

  “That’s not what I asked. I asked if you know the town.”

  Kyle nodded. “I think I do,” he said. “It was more than just a casual visit. I met with some of the town’s most influential people.”

  “Robert Dempster?”

  “Yes, sir, I met with Dempster.”

  “He’s a drunk, isn’t he?”

  “Do you know Mr. Dempster?”

  “I know him by reputation only,” Governor Frémont said. “From what I understand, he was once a very fine jurist.”

  “Yes, sir, that is my understanding as well,” Kyle said.

  “And now he is a drunk.”

  “I think it might be better to say that now he is a reformed drunk,” Kyle said. “When I met him he was sober, and he stayed sober for the entire time I was there.”

  “I see,” Frémont said. “Well, I’m glad to hear that.” He stroked his chin, then picked something up from his desk. “He wrote me a letter, you know.”

  “Yes, sir, so he said.”

  “It was about the trial of Matt Jensen,” the governor continued.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What do you know about the trial?” Governor Frémont asked.

  “Only what I learned while I was there,” Kyle replied. “And from what I have learned, the trial was a gross miscarriage of justice. In fact, the word justice can hardly be applied. Cummins was both the arresting officer and, in the case of the trial, the judge. And the shooting, trial, and conviction all happened within less than an hour. I don’t see how a trial like that could possibly be fair. The only thing that kept it from being a lynching was the fact that they were sending Jensen to Yuma to be hanged.”