As governor of the State of Colorado, I issued a proclamation declaring a day to be officially entered into the State historical records, as Matthew Jensen Day.”
Frémont put the paper down. “Does that sound like someone who would kill in cold blood?”
“No, sir, it doesn’t,” Kyle said. “That’s more like the person I saw at the site of the train wreck.”
“But Marshal Cummins believes him to be a murderer,” Frémont said.
“He either believes it, or has reason to want others to believe it,” Kyle said.
“Does Marshal Cummins have everything under control?”
“Yes,” Kyle said. “If you call having the entire town under his thumb as being ‘under control.’”
“Under his thumb?”
“Governor, Marshal Cummins has six deputies to help him keep control.”
“Isn’t that a little excessive?” Governor Frémont asked.
“Excessive? Yes, and much more than a little excessive,” Kyle said. “If I had my way, that town would be cleaned up and Cummins would be gone.”
“You do have your way,” Governor Frémont replied.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I am overturning the results of the trial,” Frémont said. “I am granting Matt Jensen a full and complete pardon. It would probably be better to have a new trial so he could be completely absolved—but in the meantime, the pardon will have to do. I also have something else I want you to look into.”
“What is that?”
Governor Frémont picked up a letter from his desk.
“This is a letter from a man named Ronald Jerome,” the governor said, handing it to Kyle. “He was my adjutant during the war, and he is a longtime friend. It seems his son disappeared in Purgatory.”
“Disappeared?”
“Yes. Apparently Jerome bought some property near Purgatory and his son, Cornelius, came out here to take possession of it. And while Cornelius posted a letter to his father every day of the trip, he did not do so on the day he was to have arrived in Purgatory. Would you look into that for me?”
“Yes, sir, I will.”
Frémont stroked his chin. “Based upon what you have just told me, and based upon the letter I received from Robert Dempster, I am now convinced that this man Cummins has no right to occupy the office of city marshal. Unfortunately, I have no authority to relieve him unless we can find him guilty of a felony. I’m going to give you that responsibility.”
“That is quite a responsibility,” Kyle said.
“I know that you can handle it. But first, I want you to find this man Matt Jensen, and inform him that he is no longer wanted for the murder of this man”—the governor checked a piece of paper—“Moe Gillis. I don’t want that hanging over his head much longer. When someone is wanted for murder, they are sometimes pressed into doing things they would not otherwise do. I think it is important that we notify him as quickly as we can.”
“I agree,” Kyle said. “I’m not exactly sure how we are going to do that, but I agree with you that it does need to be done.”
When Paco Bustamante rode into Choulic, he saw a small group of people standing in front of the hardware store. At first, he didn’t know what they were looking at, but then he saw a coffin, standing upright. Riding over toward it, he was startled to see that the coffin was occupied by a body.
The body was that of Emerson Bates.
There was a sign above the coffin.
This corpse was prepared by:
Ebeneezer Cartwright
SEE ME
for all your undertaking needs.
“I think it is disgusting to put a body on display like that just to advertise your work,” a woman in the crowd said.
“Well, from what I heard, his throat was cut and he looked pretty bad. I reckon ole Cartwright is some pleased with his work,” a man answered.
“Besides which, didn’t nobody know where Bates came from, so it ain’t like he’s goin’ to have kin to complain,” another said.
One of the other men laughed. “And the only friend he had rode out of town butt-naked.”
Paco hung back as the men in the group told and retold, with great relish, the story of Cletus Odom leaping through a window on the second floor, then, without a stitch of clothes, riding out of town.
“I never thought of Odom as bein’ someone who would run from anyone,” another said. “Who was he runnin’ from?”
“He was runnin’ from the same person who killed Bates. His name was Cavanaugh.”
“Oh, yeah, I know who you are talkin’ about. Fact of it is, Cavanaugh is still in town, stayin’ over to the Homestead Hotel. He’s been askin’ a lot of questions. He’s trying to find the ones who wrecked that train a couple of weeks ago. I think he’s a lawman or somethin’.”
“He says he ain’t no lawman. He says he just wants revenge against the ones who wrecked the train and killed all those people.”
“Revenge, huh?”
“Yeah, revenge. Leastwise, that’s what he says.”
“Revenge. Damn, I tell you the truth then. I don’t think I’d want to be one of the people he’s after then. When it is the law that’s after you, you can figure that most likely what will happen to you is you’ll get a trial and maybe go to jail. Even if you get hung, it’ll take a while for them to appeal and all that. But when someone is after revenge, then they don’t stop until they find you. And most likely when they find you, the only thing on their mind is killin’ you. If you ask me, Odom is makin’ a big mistake by runnin’.”
“What do you mean, he’s makin’ a big mistake? Didn’t you just say that the only thing a man out for revenge wants to do is kill you?”
“Yes, and the only way you are going to stop him is to kill him first.”
“Damn. Remind me never to piss someone off so much that he wants revenge.”
A few others laughed nervously.
“How does this fella—Cavanaugh is it? How does he know who he is lookin’ for?”
“Turns out he was on the train that was robbed and he saw the outlaws. Not only that, he even knows every one of them by name. According to him, Bates was one of the train robbers, Cletus Odom was another, along with a fella named Schuler. He also says there was a Mexican by the name of Paco.”
“Paco?” another said, and he laughed. “The fourth train robber was a Mexican by the name of Paco? Well, that should narrow it down to about a thousand Mexicans.”
The others laughed as well.
Paco remounted, then rode back out of town. He had planned to meet Odom and Bates here, but with Bates dead and Odom running, there was no reason for him to remain. Paco’s first thought was to just keep riding, but he stopped and thought about what the man back in town had said about revenge. They never give up until they find the ones they are looking for. And in this case, Cavanaugh knew them by name.
Paco had no choice. He had to kill Cavanaugh before Cavanaugh killed him. He dismounted, found a spot of shade, and waited for nightfall.
Matt had no idea what awakened him. It may have been a type of kinesthetic reflex born from years of living on the edge. He rolled off the bed just as a gun boomed in the doorway of his room. The bullet slammed into the headboard of the bed where, but a second earlier, Matt had been sleeping.
At the same time Matt rolled off the bed, he grabbed the pistol from under his pillow. Now the advantage was his. The man who had attempted to kill him was temporarily blinded by the muzzle flash of his own shot, and he could see nothing in the darkness of Matt’s room. That same muzzle flash, however, had illuminated the assailant for Matt, and he quickly aimed his pistol at the dark hulk in the doorway, closed his eyes against his own muzzle flash, and squeezed the trigger. The gun bucked in his hand as the roar filled the room. Matt heard a groaning sound, then the heavy thump of a falling body.
“What is it? What’s happening?” a voice called. All up and down the hallway of the hotel, doors opened as patrons, dressed in nig
htgowns and pajamas, peered out of their rooms in curiosity. Slipping on his trousers, but naked from the waist up, Matt stepped out into the hallway, then looked down at the the man he had just killed. The body was illuminated by the soft glow of a wall-mounted kerosene lantern. It was the same Mexican he had seen on the train during the robbery.
“You again?” someone said. “You’ve already killed one man in this town. How many are you plannin’ on killin’?”
Matt glared at the questioner, but he didn’t answer him.
“Who is this man?” another asked, pointing to the body on the floor. “He’s not a guest of the hotel, is he?”
“You think any Mexicans would stay here?”
“Has anyone ever seen him before?”
“His name is Paco,” Matt said.
“Why did you kill him?”
“Because he was trying to kill me,” Matt answered. “And that seemed like the practical thing to do.”
“Why was he trying to kill you?”
“Because he knew I was going to kill him, if I found him,” Matt said easily.
“Mister, that don’t make any sense a’tall.”
“It does to me.”
“What are you going to do about him now?” one of the others asked.
“Nothing,” Matt said. “I don’t need to do anything about him now. He’s dead.”
“Well, good Lord, man, you don’t plan to just leave him layin’ out here in the hall, do you?”
“If you want him out of here, take him out of here,” Matt said.
“The hell you say. I didn’t kill him.”
“He’s got a point there, mister,” one of the others said. “You killed him. The least you can do is get rid of him.”
“All right,” Matt said. Leaning down, he picked Paco up and threw his body over his shoulder.
“Now you are being sensible,” the complainer said.
Without another word, Matt walked to the rear end of the hall where he raised the window that opened out onto the alley.
“Hey! What are you…?”
That was as far as the questioning hotel patron got, because without any further hesitation, Matt pushed Paco’s body through the window. It fell with a crash to the alley below. That done, he lowered the window, then, brushing his hands as if having just completed an onerous task, returned to his own room.
“That should take care of it,” Matt said. “Sleep well, everyone.”
Chapter Twenty
Matt was eating breakfast at the Choulic Café when a woman came in. Looking around for a moment, she saw Matt and came directly to his table.
“Mr. Cavanaugh?”
This was the same soiled dove that had been in bed with Bates when Matt and Bates had had their encounter. By now, Matt had been in town long enough, and had spent enough time in the saloon, to know her by name.
Matt stood up. “Hello, Jennie,” he said.
“Oh, my,” Jennie said, flustered by that gentlemanly act. “You don’t have to stand for me.”
“You are a woman,” Matt replied. “I treat all women with courtesy.”
“Oh, I, uh—I appreciate it,” Jennie said.
“Have you had your breakfast?”
“I’m not much of a breakfast person,” Jennie replied.
“You could join me for coffee, couldn’t you?”
“I don’t know,” Jennie said, looking around. “Mr. Appleby doesn’t like for people like me—uh, you know, women who are on the line—to come in here.”
“Nonsense, you are my guest,” Matt said. He held a chair out for Jennie, then moved around the table to retake his own seat. He was fully aware of some of the glances he was receiving from many of the other diners, but he paid no attention to them.
“What brings you to my table, Jennie?” Matt asked. “Although I’m enjoying the company, I have the feeling that you didn’t stop by just to be sociable.”
“I hear that you are looking for Moses Schuler,” Jennie said.
“Yes,” Matt said. “Do you know him? You must know him if you know his full name. I don’t believe I’ve mentioned his first name since I arrived in Choulic.”
“Yes, I know him,” Jennie said. “I know him very well.” She paused for a moment. “Moses killed my husband,” she added.
“Your husband?”
Jennie nodded, and Matt saw that her eyes had welled with tears.
“Yes, Mr. Cavanaugh, my husband,” Jennie said. “I wasn’t born a whore.”
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to imply that you were.”
“I know, I know. I guess, when I think about it, I’m just a little sensitive,” Jennie said. “Carl and I had been married for a little over a year. His parents didn’t approve of the marriage. After all, Carl was an educated man, a mining engineer, and he met me when I was working as a maid for his family. But Carl didn’t care what they thought—he loved me and I loved him, so we were married, and we left Louisville to come out West. Carl had taken a position with the Cross Point Mine.”
“Oh, I see,” Matt said. “Earlier, when you said Schuler killed your husband, you were talking about the cave-in at the Cross Point Mine, weren’t you? The one Schuler caused.”
“Yes,” Jennie said. She looked surprised. “You know about that?”
“I’ve heard about it.”
“It was an accident,” Jennie said. “I don’t really blame Moses, but he blames himself. That’s why he turned into an alcoholic.”
“Did you know Schuler before the accident?”
“I knew him very well. I told you that Carl’s family was opposed to our getting married. But that’s only true about his mother and father. His brother was very supportive—something that Carl and I both appreciated.”
“His brother?
“Yes, Mr. Cavanaugh. Moses Schuler was Carl Schuler’s brother. My brother-in-law,” Jennie said simply.
“I see.”
“No, I’m not sure you do see,” Jennie said. “I do want to help you find him because I believe he is on the path to self-destruction and needs to be stopped. But before I tell you where to look, I need to ask what you are going to do with him when you do find him?”
“If you are worried about that, don’t tell me where he is,” Matt said, his reply surprising Jennie. “Because whatever I do will be between him and me. I don’t want you saddled with any kind of a guilty conscience.”
“I have to know, Mr. Cavanaugh, was he one of the people who robbed the train?”
“Yes.”
“You aren’t the law, and you aren’t a bounty hunter. Why are you after these men?”
“Because of Suzie Dobbs.”
“Suzie Dobbs?” Jennie asked. Then, in a sudden insight, she took in a quick, audible breath. “Was she killed in the train wreck?”
“Yes.”
“Who was she? Your wife? Your fiancée. Your girlfriend?”
“No, she was a little four-year-old girl,” Matt answered. He described how he had pulled her from the wreck, dead with a stake driven through her heart.
“Oh,” Jennie said. “Oh, that’s awful.”
“I then made a vow to myself to find justice for her.”
“I’ll tell you the truth, Mr. Cavanaugh. I know that Moses has done some things he shouldn’t have done since he started drinking. And I’m sure some of it is against the law. Moses is no angel, that’s for sure. But I cannot believe that he would have anything to do with killing that little girl.”
Matt remembered Schuler’s reaction when the train robbers were in the express car. He alone had expressed some remorse and concern over what they had done.
“Of course, I haven’t seen Moses in quite a while. It could be that, him being a drunk and all, that he might—well, I suppose if he needed a drink bad enough, you could talk him into about anything.”
“Do you know where he is?” Matt asked.
Jennie was quiet for a long moment, as if struggling with her soul.
“Jennie, he alon
e expressed surprise and remorse at the outcome of the train wreck. I won’t kill him unless he tries to kill me,” Matt said. “Right now, the one I am really after is Cletus Odom. I’m just hoping that Schuler can help me find him.”
“You might try Quigotoa,” Jennie said.
“Quigotoa?”
“It’s a small town just a little north of here. That’s where Moses hangs out most of the time.”
“Does he live there?” Matt asked.
“Does he live there?” Jennie nodded her head. “I suppose you could say that he lives there. But a more accurate answer would be to say that the only reason he is there is because the folks in Quigotoa are willin’ to put up with him.”
It was now two weeks since Dempster had had a drink, and though it was still hard to abstain, it seemed to him to be getting a little easier. The cravings still occurred, but they were more isolated and did not occupy every waking moment as they once had. He was also taking more pride in his personal appearance, and had just taken a bath, shaved, and put on another clean suit, shirt, and tie. Now it was time for another haircut, so he walked down the street to Tony’s Tonsorial Treatments.
Nobody recognized him when he stepped into the barbershop.
“Yes, sir, friend, are you needing a haircut?” Tony asked. The barber had one customer in his chair, and there were two more waiting. “There are two more ahead of you, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all, Tony,” Dempster answered.
Although nobody had recognized Dempster on sight, they all recognized his voice.
“Dempster? Is that you?” one of the waiting customers asked.
“In the flesh,” Dempster replied.
“It is you. Who would’ve thought it?”
“I hope you don’t mind if I join you.”
“No, not at all, not at all. Have a seat,” one of the men said in invitation.
Dempster took off his hat and hung it on the rack. As he did so, he happened to glance through the window, and that was when he saw Cletus Odom riding into town.
“I’ll be damn,” Dempster said. “What is he doing here?”
“Who? What are you talking about?”
Matt Jensen: The Last Mountain Man Purgatory #3 Page 20
