Betrayal of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

  “He’s got the money,” Fargo said. “It couldn’t be anywhere else. But even if he didn’t have it, we’d have to kill the son of a bitch before he killed us. Remember?”

  “Yeah,” Ford said. “I remember. All right, I’ll go over to the other side.”

  “Get a move on it. Looks like he’s comin’ along pretty steady,” Fargo ordered.

  Smoke had noticed the hoofprints shortly after he left Dorena. Because he had identified each set of prints from his original tracking, he recognized these prints as belonging to two of the bank robbers.

  Smoke was actually going to Bertrand to follow up on Dooley’s declaration that two of the robbers had gone there. He had not expected to cut the trail of two of the very people he had been tracking.

  Could these tracks belong to the Logan brothers? At first he thought they might. Dooley had told him they were in Bertrand, but clearly, these tracks were fresh. In fact, they were made within the last hour. If they belonged to the Logan brothers, what were they doing out here? Especially if they were holed up in Bertrand? These tracks didn’t seem to be going to Bertrand, or at least, if they were going there, they weren’t going by the most direct route.

  As a result of having come across the fresh hoofprints, Smoke’s journey to Bertrand changed from a normal ride to one of intense tracking. But within an hour after he first came across the trail, he realized, with some surprise, that they weren’t trying to cover their tracks. On the contrary, it was almost as if they were going out of their way to invite him to come after them.

  Why would they do that? he wondered.

  Then, as he contemplated the question, the answer came to him.

  They wanted him to find them, and they wanted him to find them so they could kill him. They must have been in Dorena while he was there. That meant that they probably knew that he killed Dooley. They probably also knew that he took Dooley’s share of the loot.

  Smoke saw that the trail was leading to a narrow draw just ahead of him. He had never been in this exact spot before, but he had been in dozens of places just like this, and he knew what to expect.

  He stopped at the mouth of the draw and took a drink from his canteen while he studied the twists and turns of the constricted canyon. If the two men he was following were going to set up an ambush, this would be the place for them to do it.

  Smoke pulled his long gun out of the saddle holster; then he started walking into the draw, leading his horse. Stormy’s hooves fell sharply on the stone floor and echoed loudly back from both sides of the narrow pass. The draw made a forty-five-degree turn to the left just in front of him, so he stopped. Right before he got to the turn, he slapped Stormy on the rump and sent him on through.

  Stormy galloped ahead, his hooves clattering loudly on the rocky floor of the canyon.

  “Ford, get ready!” Fargo shouted. “I can hear him a ’comin’!”

  “I see ’im!” Ford shouted back.

  The canyon exploded with the sound of gunfire as Ford and Fargo began shooting from opposite sides. Their bullets whizzed harmlessly over the empty saddle of the horse, raising sparks as they hit the rocky ground, then ricocheted off the opposite wall, echoing and reechoing in a cacophony of whines and shrieks.

  “Son of a bitch!” Ford shouted. “Did we get him? We must’ve got him! I don’t think I saw nobody on the horse!”

  “I don’t know,” Fargo replied. “I didn’t see him go down. Look on the ground. Do you see him anywhere?”

  “No,” Ford replied. “I don’t see him. Where is the son of a bitch?”

  From his position just around the corner from the turn, Smoke looked toward the sound of the voices, locating one of the two ambushers about a third of the way up the north wall of the canyon. The man was squeezed in between the wall itself and a rock outcropping that provided him with a natural cover.

  “Fargo, where is he?”

  The one who called out this time was not the one he had located, so looking on the opposite side of the draw, toward the sound of this voice, Smoke saw a shadow move.

  Smoke smiled. Now he had both of them located, and he not only knew where they were, he knew who they were. At least, he knew their first names.

  “Fargo? Ford?” he called. “I’m right here. If you’re looking for me, why don’t you two come on down?”

  “You know our names?” Ford called down to him. “Hey, Fargo, the son of a bitch knows our names! How does he know our names?”

  “Oh, I know all about you two boys,” Smoke called back. “I know that you robbed the bank back in Etna. I know that you killed the banker.”

  “Weren’t us that killed the banker,” Ford called back. “It was Ebenezer Dooley and Curt and Trace Logan that done that. We was across the street from the bank.”

  “Ford, will you shut the hell up?” Fargo called across the canyon.

  “Dooley cheated the rest of you, didn’t he?” Smoke called. “There was ten thousand dollars taken from the bank, but he kept half of it.”

  “How do you know he kept half the money?” Fargo called down to him.

  “Well, now, how do you think I know, Fargo?”

  “You took it, didn’t you? You’ve got the money with you right now.”

  “That’s right,” Smoke said.

  “You son of a bitch!” Fargo said. “By rights, that’s our money.”

  Smoke laughed. “It’s not your money. It belongs to anyone who can hold onto it. And right now I’m holding onto it. You know what I’m going to do now?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m going to take your money,” Smoke said.

  “The hell you are,” Fargo replied. “You might’a noticed, mister, they’s two of us and they’s only one of you.”

  All the while Smoke was keeping Fargo engaged in conversation, he was studying the rock face of the wall just behind the outlaw. Then he began firing. His rifle boomed loudly, the thunder of the detonating cartridges picking up resonance through the canyon and doubling and redoubling in intensity. Smoke wasn’t even trying to aim at Fargo, but was, instead, taking advantage of the position in which his would-be assailant had placed himself.

  Smoke fired several rounds, knowing that the bullets were splattering against the rock wall behind his target, fragmenting into deadly missiles.

  “Ouch! You son of a bitch, quit it! Quit your shootin’ like that!” Fargo shouted.

  As Smoke figured it would, the ricocheting bullets made Fargo’s position untenable and Fargo, screaming in anger, stepped from behind the rock. He raised his rifle to shoot at Smoke, but Smoke fired first.

  Fargo dropped his rifle and grabbed his chest. He stood there for a moment, then pitched forward, falling at least fifty feet to the rocky bottom of the canyon.

  “Fargo?” Ford shouted. “Fargo?”

  “He’s dead, Ford,” Smoke shouted. “It’s just you and me now.”

  Smoke watched the spot where he knew Ford was hiding, hoping to see him, but Ford didn’t show himself. Smoke took a couple of shots, thinking it might force him out as it did Fargo, but he neither saw nor heard anything except the dying echoes of his own gunshots.

  “Ford? Ford, are you up there?”

  Then, unexpectedly, Smoke heard the sound of hoofbeats.

  Damn! he thought. He should have realized that they would have their horses on the other side. Ford had slipped away.

  Smoke started to step around the turn, then halted. Ford could have sent his empty horse galloping up the trail, just to fool him.

  He looked cautiously around the corner, then saw that his caution, though prudent, was not necessary. Ford was galloping away.

  Smoke also saw Stormy standing quietly at the far end of the draw. He whistled and Stormy ducked his head, then came trotting back up the draw toward him.

  A second horse joined Stormy, and Smoke realized that it must be Fargo’s horse.

  In a saddlebag on Fargo’s horse, Smoke found a packet of bills bundled up in a paper wrapper. T
he name of the bank was printed on the wrapper, along with the notation that the wrapper held one thousand dollars.

  The bills were so loosely packed within the wrapper that Smoke knew there was considerably less than one thousand dollars, which, he knew, had been Fargo’s share of the take.

  Smoke put the roll in his saddlebag where he was keeping the money he had taken from Dooley. After that, he led the horse over to Fargo’s body.

  “Sorry to have to do this to you, horse,” Smoke said as he lifted Fargo up and draped him over the saddle. “I know this is none of your doing, but we can’t just leave him out here.”

  Marshal Turnball, with his chair tipped back and his feet propped up on the railing, was ensconced in his usual place in front of Dunnigan’s Store. He was rolling a cigarette and paying particular attention to the task at hand when he felt Billy Frakes’s hand on his shoulder.

  “That’s one of ’em,” Billy said.

  “What?”

  “That’s one of the bank robbers,” Billy said excitedly. “He was one of the fellers that was in front of Sikes Leather Goods lookin’ at the boots when the bank was robbed.”

  When Turnball looked in the direction Billy Frakes had pointed, he saw four people coming toward him. There were four people, but only three horses. The woman, whom he recognized as Sally Jensen, was riding double with Cal, the younger and smaller of the two men who had come to Etna to see about her husband.

  The fourth person, the one Frakes had pointed out, was riding alone. He also had a rope looped around his neck, and riding next to him, holding onto the other end of the rope, was Pearlie.

  “Damn,” Turnball said with a long-suffering sigh. “I thought they had left town.”

  Turnball tipped his chair forward and stood up.

  “Maybe they come back to bring the bank robber,” Frakes said.

  “You’re sure that fella with them is one of the bank robbers?”

  “I was standin’ not more’n twenty feet from him when it all happened,” Frakes said. “And I got a good look at him ’cause he wasn’t wearin’ no mask like the ones that went into the bank. But he was waitin’ outside and, when the robbers rode out of town, all of ’em shootin’ and such, he was ridin’ along with ’em, shootin’ his gun and screamin’ like a wild Indian.”

  The riders, seeing Turnball standing on the porch in front of Dunnigan’s Store, headed his way.

  “Mrs. Jensen,” Turnball said politely, touching the brim of his hat. “Gents,” he said to the others.

  “Marshal,” Sally replied.

  “Who have you got here?” Turnball asked.

  “This man’s name is Buford Yancey,” Sally said.

  “Yancey has something to tell you,” Sally said.

  “Arrest this woman, Marshal,” Yancey said. He held up his little finger, which was covered by a bandage. The bandage was reddish brown with dried blood. “She shot my finger off.”

  “You’re lucky she didn’t shoot something else off,” Pearlie said. “Now tell the marshal what you told us.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Yancey said. “I ain’t got nothin’ to say.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Pearlie asked as he gave a hard jerk on the rope.

  “Easy there,” Yancey said fearfully. “You could break my neck, messin’ around like that.”

  “Get down off my horse, Yancey,” Cal said.

  Scowling, Yancey got down.

  “You’re goin’ to tell the marshal what you told us, or I aim to drag you from one end of this street to the other,” Pearlie said, backing his horse up and putting some pressure on Yancey’s neck.

  “All right, all right,” Yancey said. “I’ll talk to him.”

  “You was one of them, wasn’t you?” Frakes said. “You was one of the bank robbers. I seen you.”

  Yancey looked over at Sally. “I don’t reckon I need to say much,” he said. “The boy here’s done said it for me.”

  “He hasn’t said it all,” Sally said.

  “You got more to say, Yancey?” Turnball asked.

  “I wasn’t one of ’em what went inside,” Yancey said. “Like the boy here said, he seen me standin’ in front of the store across the street from the bank. I didn’t go inside.”

  “What about the others? The ones who did stay inside? Who was they?” Turnball asked.

  Yancey thought for a moment, then he nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Hell, yeah, you want to know who they was, I’ll tell you. Ain’t no need in coverin’ up for them. Them sons of bitches stole my share of the money, and you better believe I don’t intend to go to jail while they’re wanderin’ around free.”

  “First, Mr. Yancey, tell them who was not with you,” Sally demanded.

  “Who was not with me?” Yancey replied, a little confused by Sally’s remark. Then, realizing what she was saying, he nodded. “Oh, yeah, I know what you mean. You’re talkin’ about Jensen,” Yancey said. Yancey looked back at the marshal. “Jensen wasn’t with us. He wasn’t no part of the robbin’ of the bank.”

  “What do you mean he wasn’t with you? I saw him,” Turnball said. “We all saw him. Nobody is likely to miss that shirt he was wearing.”

  “Yeah, that was Dooley’s idea,” Yancey said. “We put Curt Logan’s shirt on him. Then we dropped a couple of them paper things that was wrapped around the money by him. We seen you and the posse when you found him. You took the bait like a rat takin’ cheese.” Yancey laughed. “Dooley’s an evil son of a bitch, but he sure is smart.”

  “Dooley,” Turnball said. “Would that be Ebenezer Dooley?”

  The smile left Yancey’s face. “Yeah, Ebenezer Dooley. He was the one behind it all, and he’s the one that stole from me. I tell you true, I hope you catch him.”

  “We don’t have to catch him,” Turnball said. “He’s dead.”

  “He’s dead? The hell you say,” Yancey said.

  “It came in by telegram,” Turnball said. “He was shot by a man named Kirby.”

  “Kirby?” Sally said.

  “That’s the name that was on the telegram,” Turnball said. “Seems that Dooley shot the deputy sheriff over in Dorena, and this fella Kirby shot Dooley.”

  “This man Kirby,” Sally said. “Is he another deputy, or something?”

  “Not unless it’s someone they’ve put on recently,” Turnball said. “I’ve never heard of him.”

  “I see.”

  “Come on, Yancey,” Turnball said. “Oh, and Mrs. Jensen, you might want to come down to the jail with me.”

  “Why?” Sally asked.

  Turnball chuckled. “Don’t worry, I ain’t arrestin’ you or nothin’. But I’ve got a feelin’ that there’s a reward out on Yancey. I thought you might be interested in it if there was.”

  “You thought right, Marshal. I would be very interested in it,” Sally said.

  Deputy Pike was standing by the stove, pouring himself a cup of coffee, when he heard the door open.

  “You want some coff . . . ,” Pike began, speaking before he turned around. He stopped in mid-sentence when saw that Turnball had a prisoner. “Who is this?” he asked.

  “This is one of the bank robbers,” Turnball said. “Put him in jail.”

  “Yes, sir!” Pike said. “Come on, you, we’ve got just the place for you.” Grabbing the key from a wall hook, Pike took the prisoner back to the cell, opened the door, and pushed him in. “Where’d you catch ’im?” Pike asked as he closed the door.

  “I didn’t catch him,” Turnball answered. “She did.”

  “What?” Pike asked. Turning back again, he saw Jensen’s wife and the two men who were traveling with her. “You!” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  “Why, Mr. Pike,” Sally said. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

  “I’d be happy if I never saw you again,” Pike said.

  Turnball chuckled. “Don’t worry. I won’t let her throw you in jail again.”

  “She tricked me,” Pike s
aid.

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” Turnball said. He began going through several circulars. Then finding what he was looking for, he held it up for Sally. “I was right. Mr. Yancey is worth five hundred dollars.”

  “You said somethin’ about the town offerin’ two hundred and fifty dollars as well?” Pearlie said.

  “I did say that, didn’t I? Mrs. Jensen, it looks like you’ll be getting out of here with seven hundred and fifty dollars. That ought to make you feel a little better about us.”

  “I’ll feel much better when you send out telegrams informing everyone that my husband is no longer wanted for bank robbery and murder.”

  “Yes, ma’am, all the lines are open now, so I’ll do that right away,” he said.

  “Do you think there was a reward for Ebenezer Dooley?”

  “I’m sure there was.”

  “Good.”

  “Why do you say good? He’s already been killed.”

  “I said good because I’m sure Smoke is the one who killed him.”

  Turnball shook his head. “No, ma’am. I told you, it was somebody named Kirby.” Then he stopped. “Wait a minute. Your husband’s name is Kirby, isn’t it? Kirby Jensen.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you really think it was him?”

  “If Smoke was found guilty for something he didn’t do, I’ve no doubt but that he is hunting down the bank robbers right now in order to clear his name.”

  “Well, I tell you what, Mrs. Jensen. If your husband is the one who took care of Dooley, and he can have the sheriff of Dorena vouch for him, we’ll be sending on another two hundred fifty dollars reward on him as well.”

  “Thank you,” Sally said. “When will I get the reward due me?”

  “I’ll get a telegram off to Denver today. I figure by tomorrow we’ll have authorization back. You should get all your money then.”

  “Hey, Marshal, if you’re through talkin’ about how much money you’re goin’ to give this woman for shootin’ my little finger off, maybe you’ll get the doctor to come take a look at it,” Yancey called from his cell.

  “Looks to me like Mrs. Jensen did a pretty good job of doctorin’,” Turnball said.