Mathers nodded. “That’s what Quentin figured you would do,” he said. “Truth is, I think he wants you dead as much or more than he wants Pearlie.”
“Where is Mary Lou?” Lenny asked.
“Deputy Wilson and a couple others are holdin’ her down at the Quentin’s Freight Warehouse.”
“Pearlie, you and Cal go down to the depot and get Mary Lou.”
“I’m going, too,” Lenny said.
“All right, you can go as well.”
“My pistol is down at the jailhouse,” Pearlie said.
“I’ve got one behind the bar you can use, Pearlie,” Evans said.
“Mr. Evans, I’ll borrow the shotgun if you don’t mind,” Lenny said.
“Hold on a minute,” another voice called and looking around, Smoke saw that Judge McCabe had been listening in on the conversation. “You men can’t go out there like this.”
“Judge, they have the girl,” Smoke said.
McCabe lifted his hand. “You can’t go out like this until I deputize you,” he said. “Raise your hands, all of you.”
Smoke, Pearlie, Cal, and Lennie lifted their hands.
“By the power vested in me by the state of Colorado, I hereby vacate the law-enforcement responsibilities of Dawson and Wilson, and grant temporary deputy status to each of you.”
Smoke smiled. “Thanks, Judge,” he said. “And here, I thought you were called the Hanging Judge.”
“I will hang them if they are guilty and need hanging,” McCabe said.
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Smoke said.
“Mr. Jensen,” Mathers called as they were starting toward the door. Smoke turned back toward him. “I just thought you ought to know. If Cates doesn’t kill you, Quentin and Dawson plan to do it themselves.”
“Thanks,” Smoke said.
The street was empty when Smoke stepped out onto the boardwalk in front of the New York Saloon. The street was empty, but it wasn’t unobserved, because word had already spread throughout the town that there was going to be a showdown between two of the fastest guns in the West.
Smoke eased his pistol from his holster, turned the cylinder to check the loads, then slipped his pistol back into the holster. He stepped out into the street and started walking toward Cates.
“Is Quentin paying you for this, Cates?” Smoke asked.
Cates’s tongue flicked out of his mouth a couple of times before he answered.
“Yeah,” Cates hissed. His lips spread into what might have been a smile. “Quentin paid me to kill the newspaper man, too. Don’t you be tellin’ him now, but this killin’ I would have done for free.”
“Really? And why is that?”
“You got ’ny idea how much money I’m goin’ to be able to charge for my services once I kill the great Smoke Jensen?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Smoke said.
Cates tongue flicked out a couple more times. “What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?”
“It doesn’t matter, because you aren’t going to get off this street alive.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he said. “You’re a lot bigger target than I am.” Again, he smiled.
“My target will be the same size, no matter how big you are.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, Cates, that I’m going to shoot you right between the eyes,” Smoke said, his voice as calm as if he had just ordered a cup of coffee.
Suddenly, Cates went for his gun, but Smoke was ready for him, and his own pistol was out and booming before Cates could even bring his gun level. A black hole appeared between Cates’s eyes and he fell backward, sending up a puff of dust as he hit the street. His arms flopped out to either side, the unfired gun dangling from a crooked, but stilled, finger. It had all happened so quickly that many of those who had been watching through windows, or from around corners of the buildings, missed it.
Smoke stood there for a moment longer, the gun still in his hand, smoke curling up from the end of the barrel. He looked at Cates’s still form, lying on the dirt street. Already, flies from a nearby horse apple were drawn to the bloody hole between his open, but sightless, obsidian eyes.
“Shoot him! Shoot the son of a bitch!” Quentin shouted.
The voice came from the hayloft of the livery and when Smoke looked up, he saw the flash of two guns being fired. The bullets hit the ground close by, then ricocheted away with a loud whine. Smoke fired back, shooting twice into the dark maw of the hayloft. He ran to the water trough nearest the livery, and dived behind it as Quentin and Dawson fired again. Both bullets hit the trough with a loud thock.
Smoke left his position behind the water trough, and ran toward the door of the livery. He could hear the water gurgling through the bullet holes behind him. When he reached the big, open, double doors of the livery, he ran on through to the inside.
“Where’d he go? Dawson, do you see him? Where did the son of a bitch go?”
“He come through the doors,” Dawson replied. “He’s in here somewhere. Keep your eyes peeled.”
Smoke fired again into the hayloft, and the barn rang with the sound of his shot.
“He’s inside,” Quentin shouted. “He’s right below us!”
“Quentin, Cates told me you paid him to kill Elmer Brandon. That makes you as guilty of murder as he was, and I’m putting you under arrest,” Smoke called up.
“Ha!” Dawson said. “You are putting someone under arrest? Maybe you forgot, Jensen, but I’m the law here.”
“Not anymore, you aren’t,” Smoke replied. “Judge McCabe just removed you and Wilson from office and made me the law. Come to think of it, Dawson, I’m putting you under arrest, too.”
Dawson’s laugh was forced. “You ain’t arrestin’ nobody,” he said.
“Dawson!” Quentin called again. “Who are you talking to? Do you see him?”
“No,” Dawson answered.
With his pistol pointed up toward the loft above him, Smoke moved quietly through the barn itself, looking up at the hayloft just overhead. Suddenly, he felt little pieces of hay falling on him and he stopped, because he realized that someone had to be right over him. Then he heard it, a quiet shuffling of feet. Smoke fired twice, straight up. Then he heard a groan and a loud thump.
“Dawson! Dawson, are you hit?” Quentin called.
Smoke realized then that he had expended every shot, so he opened the gate and started poking the empty shell casings from the cylinder chambers of his pistol.
“Well, now, look here,” a calm voice said. Smoke glanced over to his left to see Quentin standing in the open, on the edge of the loft. He was holding a pistol pointed at Smoke, and from this range, it would be very hard for him to miss.
“You’re out of bullets, aren’t you, you son of a bitch.” He voice was confident, almost triumphant.
Smoke heard the pistol shot, then saw the expression on Quentin’s face change from triumph, to shock, then to pain. Quentin dropped his pistol, grabbed the hole in his chest, then pitched forward, turning over once on the way down to land on his back.
Looking toward the open doors, Smoke saw Sally standing there, holding a smoking pistol.
“What took you so long?” Smoke asked.
Sally smiled. “You know how we women are, Smoke. I didn’t want to come outside until I knew my hair looked all right.”
Smoke chuckled. “Your hair is beautiful,” he said.
When Smoke and Sally went back out into the street, they saw Cal running toward them.
“Where’s Pearlie?” Smoke asked.
“He and Lenny are down there at the freight warehouse. They have Wilson and a couple of cowboys from the Tumbling Q holed up inside with Mary Lou.”
“Is Mary Lou all right?” Sally asked anxiously.
“Yes, ma’am, I think she is. It’s just that they say that if we try and come in after ’em, they’ll kill her.”
“Let’s go get her out,” Smoke said.
By now
, nearly the entire town was out in the street, many of them gathered around Snake Cates’s body, others beginning to come into the livery to see the bodies there.
When Smoke, Sally, and Cal walked down to the other end of town to the warehouse, most of the town followed, until there was a crowd gathered just outside the warehouse.
“Wilson,” Smoke called into the warehouse.
“What do you want?” Wilson called back, his voice muffled.
“Do you have Mary Lou in there?”
“Yeah, we’ve got her.”
“Why?” Smoke asked.
“What? What do you mean, why?”
“I mean, what good is it going to do you?” Smoke asked. “Quentin is dead. Dawson is dead. Cates is dead. That leaves you boys all by yourselves. You’ve got two choices now. Let the girl go and live—or keep her and die.”
“I don’t believe they are dead,” Wilson said.
“Take a look out here. Do you see all these people? You think they would be standing out here in the street if Quentin or Dawson or Cates were still alive?”
“Kelly, Reeves, Jensen is telling the truth. Quentin is dead,” Cole Mathers shouted. He was standing out in the street with others from the town.
“Cole, what are you doing here?” Wilson asked.
“Trying to talk some sense into you,” Cole replied.
“Son of a bitch, Wilson, look out there!” another voice from inside called out. “What are we holdin’ this girl for now? Quentin’s dead. Who is it we are workin’ for? I’m goin’ out.”
“No, you ain’t, Reeves. You’re stayin’ right here with Kelly an’ me.”
“If you stay, you’ll be stayin’ by yourself,” Kelly said. “I don’t plan on gettin’ killed for Quentin, especially when Quentin is dead his ownself.”
“That leaves just you, Wilson,” Smoke said. “Make up your mind. You can die or you can live.”
There was a long moment of silence from inside the warehouse. Then, Mary Lou appeared in the door.
“Mary Lou!” Lenny shouted.
Mary Lou ran toward him and they kissed and embraced.
“We’re comin’ out now,” Wilson said.
A moment later all three came out, holding their hands in the air.
One year later
Sugarloaf Ranch
“All right, Juan, hold her, here she comes!” Smoke shouted to his old Mexican hand. Juan was helping a cow give birth.
The heifer bawled, and shuddered; then the calf popped out.
“Look there, it’s a male!” Cal said.
Sally came into the barn then and stood for a moment looking at Smoke, Pearlie, and Cal as they looked down at the new calf. Juan started cleaning it up.
“Un fino niño ternero, señor,” Juan said. “A fine boy calf.”
“What do you think, Miss Sally?” Pearlie asked excitedly. “This is number twenty-one from Prince Henry.”
“Look over there at Prince Henry,” Sally said. “He knows this is his calf and he is strutting around just as proud as a peacock.”
Cal laughed. “Miss Sally, do you remember when Smoke said that all we needed from Prince Henry was that he have an eye for the ladies?”
“I remember,” Sally said. “But it turns out, Prince Henry isn’t the only one with an eye for the ladies.”
“What do you mean?”
Smiling, Sally held up a letter. “When I went in to town today, I picked up our mail. We got a letter from Lenny. He and Mary Lou have just had a baby.”
“Oh, wow, that’s great!” Pearlie said.
“What did they name it?” Cal asked.
“Elmer Brandon York,” Sally said. “They named it after the newspaper editor.”
“They couldn’t have chosen a better name,” Smoke said.
“Just think of Lenny with a young’un of his own,” Cal said.
The calf, clean now, got up on wobbly feet, then walked over to nudge up against Cal.
“Look at the way that calf is taking to Cal,” Pearlie said. “Looks to me like Lenny isn’t the only one with a young’un of his own.”
The others laughed.
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MATT JENSEN, THE LAST MOUNTAIN MAN:
SNAKE RIVER SLAUGHTER
by William W. Johnstone
with J. A. Johnstone
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Chapter One
Sweetwater County, Wyoming
The Baker brothers, Harry and Arnold, were outside by the barn when they saw Jules Pratt and his wife come out of the house. Scott and Lucy McDonald walked out onto the porch to tell the Pratts good-bye.
“You have been most generous,” Jules said as he climbed up into the surrey. “Speaking on behalf of the laity of the church, I can tell you that every time we hear the beautiful music of the new organ, we will be thinking of and thanking you.”
“It was our pleasure,” Scott said. “The church means a great deal to us, more than we can say. And we are more than happy to do anything we can to help out.”
“We’ll see you Sunday,” Jules said, slapping the reins against the back of the team.
Lucy McDonald went back into the house, but before Scott went back inside, he looked over toward the barn at two brothers.
“How are you two boys comin’ on the wagon?” Scott called toward them.
“We’re workin’ on it,” Harry called back.
“I’m goin’ to be needin’ it pretty soon now, so you let me know if you run into any trouble with it,” McDonald replied, just as he went back inside.
Harry and Arnold Baker were not permanent employees of the MacDonalds. They had been hired the day before for the specific purpose of making repairs to the freight wagon.
“Did you see that money box?” Harry asked.
“You mean when he give that other fella a donation for the organ? Yeah, I seen it,” Arnold replied.
“There has to be two, maybe three hunnert dollars in that box,” Harry said.
“How long would it take us to make that kind of money?” Arnold asked.
“Hell, it would take the better part of a year for us to make that much money, even if we was to put our earnings together,” Harry said.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Arnold said. “Harry, you want to know what I’m thinkin’?”
“If you’re thinkin’ the same thing I’m thinkin’, I know what it is,” Harry replied.
“Let’s go in there and get that money.”
“He ain’t goin’ to give up and just give it to us,” Harry said.
“He will if we threaten to kill ’im.”
Harry shook his head. “Just threatenin’ him ain’t goin’ enough,” he said. “We’re goin’ to have to do it. Otherwise, he’ll set the sheriff on us.”
“What about the others? His wife and kids?”
“You want the two boys to grow up and come after us?”
“No, I guess not.”
“If we are goin’ to do this thing, Arnold, there’s only one way to do it,” Harry insisted.
“All right. Let’s do it.”
Pulling their guns and checking their loads, the two brothers put their pistols back in their holsters, then crossed the distance between the barn and the house. They pushed the door open and went inside without so much as a warning knock.
“Oh!” Lucy said, startled by the sudden appearance of the two men in the kitchen.
“Get your husband,” Arnold said, his voice little more than a growl.
Lucy left the kitchen, then returned a moment later with Scott. Scott wasn’t wearing his gun, which was going to make this even easier than they had planned.
“Lucy said you two boys just walked into the house without so much as a fare-thee-well,” Scott said, his voice reflecting his irritation. “You know better than to do that. What do you want?”
“The money,” Harry said.
Harry shook his head. “No, not ten dollars,” he said. “All of it.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Harry drew his pistol, and when he did, Arnold drew his as well.
“The money box,” Harry said. “Get it down. We want all the money.”
“Scott!” Lucy said in a choked voice.
“It’s all right, Lucy, we are goin’ to give them what they ask for. Then they’ll go away and leave us alone. Get the box down and hand it to them.”
“You’re a smart man, McDonald,” Arnold said.
“You’ll never get away with stealing our money,” Lucy said as she retrieved the box from the top of the cupboard, then handed it over to Harry.
“Oh, yeah, we’re goin’ to get away with it,” Harry said as he took the money from the box. Folding the money over, he stuck it in his pocket. Then, without another word, he pulled the trigger. Lucy got a surprised look on her face as the bullet buried into her chest, but she went down, dead before she hit the floor.
“You son of a bitch!” Scott shouted as he leaped toward Harry.
Harry was surprised by the quickness and the furiousness of the attack. He was knocked down by Scott, but he managed to hold onto his gun and even as he was under Scott on the floor, he stuck the barrel of gun into Scott’s stomach and pulled the trigger.
“Get him off of me!” Harry shouted. “Get him off of me.”
“Mama, Papa, what is it?” a young voice called, and the two children came running into the kitchen. Arnold shot both of them, then rolled Scott off Harry and helped his brother back on his feet.
“Are you all right?” Arnold asked.
“Yeah,” Harry answered. “I’ve got the money. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
The next day
Matt Jensen dismounted in front of the Gold Strike Saloon. Brushing some of the trail dust away, he tied his horse off at the hitching rail, then began looking at the other horses that were there, lifting the left hind foot of each animal in turn.
Savagery of The Mountain Man Page 24