Matt Jensen: The Last Mountain Man Purgatory #3

by Johnstone, William W.

  “Five dollars?” Matt replied, stunned by the amount. The purchase should have been little more than fifty cents. “That’s pretty high, isn’t it?”

  “You don’t have to buy here,” George said.

  Matt chuckled, then shook his head. He gave George a five-dollar bill. “You know what? You are what they call a sharp business man.”

  “I appreciate the compliment,” George said.

  Taking his purchase, Matt told both George and his wife good-bye, then went outside, swung back into the saddle, and rode away.

  “That was a handsome young man,” George’s wife said after Matt left.

  “I suppose so,” George said. “I sure wouldn’t want that fella mad at me, though.”

  “Why not?”

  “There was somethin’ about him, a hint of sulfur or somethin’, that tells me he is one dangerous man. And the way he was a’wearin’ that gun—he knows how to use it, I’m sure.”

  “Oh, pooh,” George’s wife said. “A nice, pretty man like that has probably never even shot a gun.”

  George was silent for a moment before he responded.

  “Yeah,” he said. “You might be right.”

  United States Marshal Ben Kyle sat at the desk in his office in Sentinel, drumming his fingers as he looked at the passenger list from the train wreck. By now, all the dead had been identified, as had all the injured. Some of the uninjured passengers had already continued their westbound journey, but he had managed to talk to each of them before they left. None of them recalled seeing a man brought on board in chains, and none recalled seeing anyone in chains leave the scene of the wreck.

  Sentinel had been the final destination for four of the passengers, and he had spoken to them as well, but none of them could recall seeing a man in chains. Or at least, if anyone saw him, they wouldn’t admit to it. Why was that? he wondered. Were they frightened? Had Jensen gotten to them, threatened them in any way?

  As Kyle continued to study the passenger list, he picked up his pencil and then drew a line under two names.

  Louise Dobbs

  Jerry Dobbs

  Marshal Kyle knew Louise and Jeremiah Dobbs. They owned a small ranch just outside of town. Mrs. Dobbs and her two children, Jerry and Suzie, had gone to Purgatory to visit her sister, and were returning when the train was wrecked. Purgatory was where Matt Jensen had boarded and Mrs. Dobbs had to have seen him.

  In fact, as he recalled the incident now, young Jerry had almost said something to him. When questioned, Jerry said that he hadn’t seen anything, but that was only after a stern glance from his mother.

  Kyle had seen the look Louise Dobbs gave her son then, but because her little girl had been killed, he had not wanted to bother her with questions, hoping that he would get the information he needed from one of the other passengers. Unfortunately, that had not worked out for him, and now it appeared as if Mrs. Dobbs would be his only source.

  Sighing, Kyle stood up. “Boomer?” he called to his deputy.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I’m going to ride out to the Dobbs ranch.”

  “You’re going to question Mrs. Dobbs, are you?”

  “Yes,” Kyle said. “But I swear, I’d rather be horsewhipped than bother that poor woman right now.”

  “I don’t blame you. Would you like for me to come with you?”

  “No, I appreciate the offer, but there’s no need for that. You just hold down the fort while I’m gone,” Kyle said as he reached for his hat.

  “Yes, sir, I’ll do that,” Boomer said. “Benjamin, why is it, do you suppose, that nobody wants to tell us anything about this Jensen fella? Do you think he has them all buffaloed?”

  “I don’t know, Boomer. I’ve been wondering about that myself,” Kyle said. “Maybe I can find out something from Mrs. Dobbs.”

  The Dobbs ranch was about five miles south of Sentinel, and when Marshal Kyle rode up to the house, he saw that there were at least half-a-dozen wagons and buckboards parked out in the yard, the teams still in harness and standing quietly. At first, he was surprised that there were so many people here. Then suddenly, he realized that he must have arrived around the time of the funeral. These were all friends, neighbors, and relatives, come to pay their respects to the Dobbses over the loss of their little girl. For a moment, he wished he hadn’t come to impose on them, and he was considering turning around when Jeremiah Dobbs stepped out onto the porch to greet him.

  “Marshal Kyle,” he said. “How nice of you to come to Suzie’s funeral. My wife and I never expected anything like this. You honor us. Please, get down and come in.”

  Dobbs thought this was a sympathy visit, and Kyle saw no reason, at this point, to disabuse him of that idea. He swung down from his horse, then wrapped the reins around a hitching post.

  “How are you doing, Jeremiah?” Kyle asked in as solicitous a voice as he could muster.

  “I’m doing as well as can be expected, I suppose,” Jeremiah said, “having lost my little girl. It’s Louise I’m worried about. She’s takin’ this real hard, she keeps blamin’ herself.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Kyle said. “Why would she blame herself?”

  “That’s what I keep tellin’ her,” Jeremiah said. “But she says if she just hadn’t gone to see her sister when she did, or, if she had taken better care of Suzie while they were on the train, maybe Suzie would still be with us.”

  “None of that has anything to do with the wreck, or with Suzie getting killed,” Kyle said. “I know she’s upset, but as soon as she realizes that there was nothing she could have done to prevent it, I expect she’ll come around.”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  Kyle followed Jeremiah into the house. There were at least two dozen people gathered in the parlor, sitting, standing, talking in low, soothing tones. There were a few people down at the end of the large room who appeared to be looking down at something, and as Kyle studied them more closely he realized, with a start, that they were staring at the body of the little girl.

  “Would you like to see her?” Jeremiah asked. “Mr. Albriton fixed her up just real nice. She looks just like she’s sleeping.”

  “I—” Kyle began, and then he stopped. He was about to tell Jeremiah that he would just as soon not look at the little girl, but he knew that the viewing of his daughter’s remains was very important to Jeremiah.

  “Yes, I would be very honored to look at her,” Kyle said.

  Jeremiah led Kyle through the room toward the open coffin. Nearly everyone in the room recognized him, and they spoke to him as he passed by. In some cases, Kyle gave single syllable answers; in others, he just nodded.

  The coffin was child-sized. The lid was open and Suzie could be seen lying in the coffin, her head slightly elevated by a white pillow. She was wearing a pink dress with white lace, and her hands, crossed in front of her, grasped a single yellow rose. Her blond hair cascaded over her shoulders in ringlets of curls. The pallor of death had been pushed back by the artful application of paint and powder.

  “Doesn’t she look just like a little angel?” one of the women standing over the coffin asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Kyle said. “She does indeed.”

  “Folks, if you’ll all find a place to sit, we’ll commence the funeral now,” a man in black said. Kyle recognized him as the Reverend E. D. Owen, pastor of the Sentinel Holiness Church.

  For a moment, Kyle just stood there, but Jeremiah called to him and offered him a chair. Clearing his throat, Kyle took the seat and looked around the room at the others. The men, women, and children who had come to Suzie’s funeral were all dressed in their Sunday best. Kyle, who was wearing his normal work clothes of denim trousers and a white, collarless shirt, felt a little embarrassed by his dress, though neither Jeremiah nor anyone else, by word or deed, added to his discomfort.

  Reverend Owen stood in front of Suzie’s coffin, waiting until everyone was settled before he began to speak.

  “My brothers and sisters
,” he began. “We are gathered here to pay our final respects, and to commit to the Lord’s keeping the soul of this wonderful child, Suzie Dobbs.

  “It is a sad thing when we lose a loved one, and that sadness is particularly bitter when the loved one is a child. Such a loss might cause many to question their faith, to be angry with God for allowing such a terrible thing to happen.

  “But I say to you, my brothers and sisters, do not be angry, nor saddened by the loss of this child, for remember, Suzie, like all of us, belongs to God. He loaned her to us for just a little while, before taking her back into His glory. Our time in this life is measured, the years known but to God. But our time in the hereafter is without measure, for we will all meet again in the eternal glory that awaits us all.

  “Into God’s gracious mercy and protection we commit this child. The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious unto you. The Lord lift up his countenance upon you, and give you peace, both now and evermore. Amen.”

  Suzie was buried in a family plot out behind the house, alongside the graves of Jeremiah’s mother and father and that of a stillborn infant. Afterward, all returned to the house, where a meal was served from dishes prepared by the friends, neighbors, and relatives.

  Louise Dobbs was sitting on the far side of the room. Jerry was on the floor beside his mother, and Louise’s left hand was resting on Jerry’s shoulder. In her right hand was a tightly gripped, wadded handkerchief, the handkerchief wet with her tears. Occasionally, someone would stop by the chair to say a word or two to her; then they would go on, leaving her to herself.

  Kyle hated to use this time to question her, but he had ridden this far and he was here, so he might as well get it done. He drew a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and then walked over to see her.

  “Mrs. Dobbs,” Kyle said when he stepped up to the chair. “May I offer you my most sincere sympathy?”

  “Thank you,” Louise said.

  “I—uh, wonder if I could ask you a few questions?”

  “What about?”

  “About the train wreck,” Kyle said.

  “I don’t know anything about it,” Louise answered. “One minute, we were riding along normally, and the next moment, the car was bumping all over the place. Then it went off the track and turned over. I don’t remember much after that.”

  “Yes, ma’am, well, that’s not exactly what I want to talk about.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “I’m trying to find the man who caused all this. He killed the deputy from Purgatory. Then I’m sure that, somehow, he caused the wreck so he could steal the money and get away in all the panic and confusion. I think that man’s name is Matt Jensen, and he got on the train in Purgatory, the same time you did. I’m hoping you might have seen him.”

  “He didn’t cause the train wreck,” Louise said. “And I don’t believe he killed the deputy or stole the money.”

  Louise’s answer surprised Kyle. He had thought, at best, that she might claim to have seen him, but be able to offer little information. But her answer not only indicated that she had seen him, it also meant that she had interacted with him in some way.

  “Mrs. Dobbs, excuse me, but what do you mean? I am confused as to why you would say such a thing. Do you know this man?”

  “No.”

  “Then, how can you be so sure that he didn’t cause the wreck, kill the deputy, and steal the money?”

  “Because he saved my life,” Louise replied. “And he also saved the lives of several others on the train. If he had done all those things you said he did, I do not believe he would have stayed around to help the others. Do you believe that he would?”

  “I don’t know,” Kyle said. “There’s no telling how some people are going to react to certain things. He may have just done that to throw people off.”

  “No, that wouldn’t be necessary. In fact, Jerry and I are the only ones who could have recognized him, so he had no reason to throw people off. I knew who he was the moment he showed up in the car where I was pinned under the seat. He had been in chains when he got on the train, but somehow he got out of them. And I’ll you the truth, Marshal, I was very glad to see him because, as I say, he saved my life.”

  “Let’s say that you are right, let us say that he did save your life—”

  “There is no ‘let us say’ to it,” Louise said, interrupting Kyle. “He did save my life.”

  “All right, he did save your life. If that is the case, then don’t you think that might cause you to have a loyalty to him? A loyalty that is misplaced? Especially if he was the cause of the accident in the first place?”

  “How could he have caused the accident?” Louise asked. “You said yourself that he was in chains.”

  “But, by your own admission, he wasn’t in chains when you saw him, was he?”

  “No.”

  “Could you describe him for me?”

  “I don’t think I can,” Louise said.

  “You don’t think you can, or you don’t think you will?”

  Louise didn’t answer.

  “Mrs. Dobbs, please,” Kyle said.

  “You can say anything you want, Marshal. You are not going to make me believe that this man, Matt Jensen, did all the terrible things you said he did. Like I told you, he worked harder than anyone to pull people out of the wreckage. Then he helped Dr. Presnell tend to the injured. As a matter of fact, I doubt that he was even guilty of whatever crime put him in chains in the first place.”

  “First-degree murder,” Kyle said. “He was tried and convicted, and was on his way to Yuma to be hanged, until he got away.”

  “Well, all I can say is, I’m glad he got away.”

  “I see,” Kyle said. He sighed. “Again, Mrs. Dobbs, my condolences for your loss.” He turned and walked away.

  Unwittingly, Louise Dobbs had given him more information than she realized. She had told him that the man he had looked for had worked with Dr. Presnell. All he had to do now was talk to the doc.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When Odom and Bates left Quigotoa, Paco and Schuler stayed behind. Schuler stayed because he had gotten drunk the night before and was still passed out drunk the next morning. Paco stayed to, in his words, “look after Schuler.”

  “Señor,” Paco said, shaking Schuler awake. “Señor, wake up.”

  “What?” Schuler mumbled. “What is it? What do you want?”

  “Wake up, Señor,” Paco said.

  Sitting up, Schuler rubbed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, then looked around.

  “Paco, what are you doing here?”

  “I have come to wake you up, Señor Schuler.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you are in the room of my sister,” Paco said, only sister came out as seester. “My sister is a puta. She needs the room now.”

  “What time is it?” Schuler’s eyes seemed to be floating in their sockets, and it was obvious he was having a hard time focusing.

  “It is seven o’clock, I think.”

  “Damn. I need a drink.”

  Paco handed Schuler a bottle of tequila, and Schuler turned the bottle up to his lips, then took several swallows before lowering it. The drink had the effect of waking him up, and the eyes that couldn’t focus but a moment earlier now stared pointedly at Paco.

  “Paco,” he said, as if just seeing him for the first time. “What are you doing here?”

  “My sister needs this room now,” Paco said.

  “Hey!” a voice shouted from the hallway outside the room. “If you ain’t got a whore in there with you, get the hell out!”

  “All right, all right,” Schuler called back. “I’m coming.”

  There was no need for Schuler to get dressed, because he was wearing the same clothes he’d had on when he went to bed the night before. For that matter, he was wearing the same clothes he’d worn last week, and the week before that.

  Schuler got to his feet rather unsteadily, sta
bilized himself for a moment by holding on to the bedpost, then, summoning as much dignity as he could, took two steps across the little room and opened the door.

  There was an Anglo cowboy standing in the hall, with his arm draped around Rosita’s neck. His hand was cupped around one of Rosita’s breasts.

  “What the hell were you doing in there anyway, you goddamn drunk?” the cowboy asked Schuler. “You ain’t had a woman in so long, you wouldn’t even know what a naked woman looks like.”

  “I’m sorry,” Schuler said.

  “Yeah, well, sorry doesn’t get it,” the angry cowboy said. “Just get the hell out of the way and let a man get his business done.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry,” Schuler repeated.

  Schuler followed Paco to the head of the stairs, then stopped for a moment in order to steady himself before he tackled the task of going down the narrow, steep flight of stairs. By holding on to the banister, he managed to negotiate them; then, standing on the main floor, he looked around the saloon for the others.

  “Do you want breakfast, Señor?” Paco asked.

  “Breakfast? No,” Schuler answered, the expression on his face reflecting his nausea over the thought of breakfast. “Where are Odom and Bates?” he asked.

  “Odom said we are to meet him and Bates in Puxico.”

  “We are to meet them in Puxico? Why?”

  “We will divide the money there.”

  “I don’t understand. Didn’t we divide the money last night?”

  “Sí, we divided the money last night. But then we gave the money back to Señor Odom.”

  “We did?” Schuler replied.

  “Sí.”

  “Why did we do that?”

  “Señor Odom said it would be better if we went to Puxico before we divided the money. Do you not remember this, amigo? We talked about it, and we all agreed.”

  “No, I—I don’t remember,” Schuler said. His confusion was very evident now. “I don’t think I would agree to such a thing. I don’t want to go to Puxico.”

  “That’s because you were drunk, Señor,” Paco said.

  Schuler ran his hand through his thinning, white hair. “All right,” he said. “Are you coming?”