Honor of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

  That was too much for Murdock, coward though he was. He growled and slapped leather.

  Before his gun moved an inch, both Joey and Smoke had their Colts out and firing. One slug pierced the sheriff’s badge on his left breast and another punched a hole at the top of his nose between his eyes, exploding his head and showering the men behind him with blood and brains.

  The three deputies grabbed iron, a lifetime too late. Joey and Smoke both let go with both barrels of their scatterguns, firing left-handed, shooting fire and smoke and buckshot toward the men. Their bodies were shredded by the .38-caliber shot and thrown backward to land all tangled up, pieces of arms and legs and guts intermingled in one pile.

  When Smoke and Joey fired on Murdock, the seven men to the right all grabbed for their guns. Tolson leveled his Greener and took out two of them with a double-barreled blast that rocked windows for a city block. Cal’s and Pearlie’s fists were full of iron in an instant, and the two young men cocked and fired so fast, it sounded to onlookers as if a Gatling gun were exploding in one long staccato blast. Of the five remaining men, three managed to clear leather and get off some shots, their bullets pocking dirt and wooden posts behind Cal and Pearlie.

  Pearlie grunted once but kept firing. Cal emptied his right-hand Colt Navy and drew his other left-handed. He and the last standing deputy fired simultaneously. The deputy’s head rocked back, the top of his scalp blown off. Cal bent and spun around, a short cry escaping his lips before he hit the dirt.

  The street was heavy with the smell of gun smoke and blood and the excrement of dying men. Ears rang and gunshots still echoed between buildings for seconds after the last shot was fired.

  Smoke and Joey, untouched, looked to see how their compatriots were doing, Smoke moaning low under his breath when he saw Pearlie’s face covered with blood and Cal lying unmoving on the ground. Tolson was standing, eyes wide, breathing hard, not a mark on him.

  The entire episode had taken less than two minutes from start to finish, and had cost the lives of seven men and wounded four more, two of whom would later die from their wounds.

  Smoke bent over Cal while Joey turned Pearlie around to see where the blood was coming from. He removed Pearlie’s hat, and saw a neat groove down the side of his head, just above his ear, where a bullet had gouged his scalp. Joey pursed his lips as he removed his bandanna and placed it against the laceration. “Looks like you stood too close to Cal, Pearlie.”

  Pearlie grinned. “Yeah, how is . . .” His face dropped and he quickly knelt next to Smoke and grabbed Cal by the cheeks. “Cal, you little shit, don’t you die on me!”

  Smoke slipped his Bowie knife out and slit Cal’s shirt, peeling the blood-soaked fabric away from his chest. Just below his rib cage was a small, neat hole. Smoke rolled him over, and where the slug exited was a wound as big as a fist, oozing blood.

  Joey pushed Pearlie out of the way and bent to examine the wound. “I don’t see no guts nor smell any shit.” He raised his eyes to look at Smoke, who had tears coursing down his cheeks. “If the slug missed his bowels, he’s gonna be all right.” He looked up at Pearlie. “Git the doc over here pronto, boy, an’ maybe yore friend will live.”

  * * *

  While the undertaker was still picking up bodies off the street, Ben Tolson called an emergency meeting of the town council. Pearlie told Smoke and Joey to go on and attend the meeting, he would stay by Cal’s side while the doctor stitched up the hole in his back. When the doctor stuck the needle in, and Cal groaned in pain, Pearlie said, “It’s your own damn fault, Cal. If you didn’t have such an attraction for lead, you wouldn’t be lying here, moanin’ and groanin’.”

  Cal looked up through pain-clouded eyes and touched the bandage on Pearlie’s head. “You okay, partner?” he croaked through dry lips.

  Pearlie grinned. “Yeah, ’ceptin’ I wish the doc would hurry up and get you back together. I’m getting hungrier by the minute.”

  Cal’s lips curled in a small smile. “When he’s done, I’ll buy you some lunch, to make up fer bringing all those bullets our way.”

  Pearlie nodded. “You’re on, partner.”

  At the council meeting Tolson stood before the mayor and businessmen. “Now that Sam Murdock and his men are dead, I’ve got evidence they threatened a number of people before the last election.” He held up a stack of papers. “I have over a hundred signatures on this affidavit that men were told they’d be killed if they campaigned or voted for me.”

  The mayor banged his gavel, nodding his head. “I’ve heard the same thing,” he said. “In light of this new evidence, I make a motion that pending a new election next month, we ask Ben Tolson to once again assume the duties of sheriff of Pueblo.”

  The council members all shouted out aye. The mayor banged his gavel again. “Motion passes unanimously. Mr. Tolson, you are now sheriff of this city.”

  “Before I take the job,” Tolson said, “I want to make sure I have the complete support of the council and can do whatever I deem necessary to make this city safe for all citizens.”

  The mayor looked around, and the councilmen all nodded their heads. “That will not be a problem, sheriff,” he said.

  Ben stood and pinned on the star that Murdock had been wearing, the one with a bullet hole through the center, still covered with the dead man’s blood. “My first official act will be to appoint Smoke Jensen and Joey Wells as deputy sheriffs.”

  Smoke and Joey glanced at each other; this was news to them.

  “Then I’m going to post the town as a gun-free zone, all weapons to be checked upon entering the city limits. Next, I’m posting the town off limits to any employees of the Lazy M ranch, including Jacob Murdock.”

  One of the councilmen raised his hand. “Can we do that?”

  Tolson shrugged. “I’m the sheriff, I can do whatever I want.”

  Smoke stood up. “Ben, you’re right. You and the town can do whatever you want, but I don’t think Murdock is going to take this lying down.” He looked around the room, his expression serious. “Murdock has over thirty hard cases working for him. Know this, if you try to shut him out of town, he’s liable to fight. If the town isn’t ready to back Ben’s play, with your guns and perhaps your lives, you better let him know now.”

  Ben nodded. “Smoke’s right. As soon as I post the town, it’s gonna be like waving a red flag in front of a bull. We can expect trouble, and probably sooner rather than later.”

  The mayor stood. “I for one am tired of living under Murdock’s thumb. This was a decent, law-abiding town before he moved here and took over the Lazy M. I would like for it to be that way once again, and if it takes the blood of good men for that to happen, then so be it.”

  All the councilmen stood and clapped and cheered. The mayor said to Ben, “There is your answer, sheriff. Go and do what you think is necessary.”

  “I’ll post the town tonight, and I’d like you to call a town meeting first thing in the morning, Mr. Mayor. We’ll need to get the people ready for what is almost sure to happen next.”

  Chapter 11

  That night, over supper in the hotel dining room, Tolson met with Smoke and Joey. Cal and Pearlie were also present. Other than looking pale and drawn, and occasionally taking a nip from the bottle of laudanum the doctor had given him, Cal was doing okay.

  Tolson, between bites of steak, said, “All of my previous deputies have agreed to come back to work, and I’ve hired another five, who I know are handy with long guns. All together, that gives me fifteen men, counting you four.”

  Smoke nodded. “What are your plans for sealing up the town?”

  “I haven’t had time to give it much thought.”

  Smoke looked over at Joey. “Joey, you’ve had some experience in getting in and out of garrisons in the past. Any suggestions?”

  Joey nodded. “We need some warnin’ when Murdock’s men are comin’. I’d post a couple of sentries three or four miles out of town on the main roads from the Lazy M. I don’t
think Murdock will be expectin’ much resistance, so I doubt if he’ll go to the trouble of circling around and comin’ in on our back side.”

  Tolson nodded, and began to make some notes on a scratch pad with a pencil.

  “Second, I’d post a man at every entrance to the city, with a big fire bell, in case Murdock’s men git by the sentries for one reason or another.”

  “What about placement of men in the town?”

  “No question about it, the best place for your men with long guns and scatterguns is on the roofs. I’d have most of your men on both sides of the street, about every two or three buildings. They’d have a clear field of fire and they’d be hard to hit from horseback with pistols.”

  Tolson looked up from his pad. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, at the meeting in the mornin’ I’d tell all the womenfolk and kids to stay off the streets for the next couple of days. The way you’re puttin’ the pressure on and screwin’ it down tight, I don’t ’spect it’ll take Murdock long to make his play.”

  Smoke nodded. “That’s right. Without being able to buy supplies, he can’t afford to wait too long.”

  “One other thing. I’d hold off posting the town against firearms until this is over. I’d warn every citizen to carry a shotgun or a pistol, even those that don’t know how to use ’em. If there’s enough lead flying around, some of it’s bound to hit somebody, hopefully Murdock and his men.”

  Tolson looked up, his eyes worried. “This could turn out to be a bloodbath, couldn’t it?”

  Joey shrugged. “It’s your town, you got to decide if it’s worth fightin’ for or not.”

  One of Tolson’s deputies came running in the hotel dining room. “Hey, boss. Jacob Murdock and some of his men are riding into town.”

  Tolson stood, put his hat on, and pulled it down tight. He grinned. “Time to let Murdock know who’s running the show now.”

  The group went outside to stand in the twilight in front of the hotel. Murdock reined in his horse and sat looking down at Tolson and the men behind him.

  “I hear Jensen and Wells gunned down my brother in cold blood.” His eyes flicked over Smoke and Joey, who stared back at him. Then he noticed the star on Tolson’s chest. “You the sheriff now, Tolson?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, what are you going to do about it?”

  Tolson shrugged. “Nothing. It was a fair fight, and your brother drew first.”

  “I just saw his body. His pistol was still in leather.”

  “I said he drew first, I didn’t say he drew fastest. He made his play and got killed for it. That’s all there is to say on the matter.”

  “That’s not all I got to say on it!”

  Joey stepped forward, his hands hanging near his pistols. “I shot your cowardly brother right between the eyes, Murdock. If you”—he cut his eyes to Vasquez and Garcia, whose face was still heavily bandaged, sitting on their horses behind Murdock—“or anyone else has anything to say about it, I’m ready.”

  Vasquez muttered, “Let me kill this gabacho, Mr. Murdock.”

  Murdock held up his hand. “Not now, Emilio. They got us outnumbered.” He tipped his hat at Tolson. “You win for now, Tolson. I’m going to pick up my brother’s body and take it out to the ranch, but I’ll be back tomorrow with more men.”

  “You better come prepared to fight, Murdock. I’m posting Pueblo off limits to you and your men. The only way you’ll get into town is to blast your way in.”

  “That the way you want it, Tolson?”

  He shrugged. “That’s the way it is, Murdock. Now, get your brother and get your trash out of my town.”

  Before he rode off, Murdock growled, “I’m gonna tree this town, Tolson, and you with it.”

  * * *

  The town meeting the next morning went as expected. Smoke stood up to address the citizens. “People of Pueblo, it is time for you to take a stand against the tyranny of Jacob Murdock. He and his men are planning to try and take your town away from you, and force you to live under his thumb. Let me say this, nobody has ever treed a western town, nobody. Nearly every man in this town is a combat veteran of some war, whether it was against Indians, outlaws, the Union Blue or the Rebel Gray. Back in September of seventy-six, Jesse James and his outlaw gang tried to collar Northfield, Minnesota. They were shot to rags by the townspeople.” He looked out over the crowd. “Your sheriff and I expect no less of you.”

  The crowd cheered and waved shotguns and rifles in the air, and showed they were solidly behind Tolson and his plan to rid the area of Murdock and his gang. Sentries were posted on roads leading to town and at each entrance to the city, with fire bells nearby, as Joey had suggested. Men with rifles and shotguns were on roofs, ready for whatever Murdock had planned.

  * * *

  At the same time as the town meeting was going on, Jacob Murdock was standing on his porch, over forty hard-case gunnies on their mounts in front of him.

  “Men, I intend to tree Pueblo and kill those bastards Wells, Jensen, and Tolson. If you men do that for me, there’ll be an extra month’s pay in your packet.”

  As the men cheered and waved their guns in the air, he held up his hand for silence. “And to the man who puts a bullet in any of the three I mentioned, it’s an extra thousand dollars.”

  The gun hawks cheered and yelled again. Murdock shouted, “Now, are we ready to ride?”

  “Yes,” they shouted.

  “Then shag your mounts, boys, ’cause there’s money to be made in Pueblo today!”

  The crowd of gunmen whirled their horses and galloped off toward Pueblo in a cloud of dust, not one of them thinking for a minute that most of them wouldn’t be coming back.

  * * *

  By noon the city resembled a ghost town, with no one on the streets other than Tolson and his men. Businesses were locked and barricaded, owners sitting vigil with weapons ready.

  At each entrance to the city limits, two wagons were lashed together with ropes, ready to be pulled across to block the streets after the outlaws were within the town. The killers would be able to ride in, but getting out alive was going to be next to impossible.

  It was one-thirty in the afternoon when a sentry from the north side of town came galloping down the street in a cloud of dust, firing his pistol. He shouted, “They’re comin’, they’re comin’!”

  Smoke, Joey, Cal, and Pearlie joined Tolson on the street. “How many?” Tolson yelled.

  “Looks like over thirty men, all wearing bandannas over their faces, and they’re all carryin’ rifles and shotguns, loaded for bear!”

  “Get to your places, men,” Tolson shouted, earing back the hammers on his Greener and taking his place in a doorway.

  Smoke and Joey went to the opposite side of the street and crouched down behind water barrels stacked there for that purpose. Cal and Pearlie jumped into the back of a buckboard and lay flat, peeking over the sides.

  Cal said, “You sure you want in this wagon with me?” He fingered the large bandage on his side. “You know how I attract bullets.”

  Pearlie snorted, “Somebody’s got to be here to plug the holes in your hide so you won’t bleed to death. Might as well be me.” When Cal grinned, Pearlie added, “Besides, if I let you get kilt, Miss Sally’d probably never make me bear sign again.”

  Within five minutes the bandits arrived, shooting wildly in every direction, yelling and screaming in Spanish and Apache dialects as they rode down the main street, sending dust and gun smoke billowing around them.

  As soon as they were inside the city limits, wagons at either end were pulled across streets behind and before them, trapping the killers between them.

  Smoke and Joey stood, ignoring the buzzing and whining of slugs passing all around them, and began to fire into the crowd of riders with deadly accuracy. Smoke’s first bullet took a man in the face, blowing half his head away, catapulting him beneath the hooves of his fellow riders.

  Joey’s first shot took a man’s hat off
; his second punched a hole in his chest and blew out his spine, killing him instantly.

  Tolson stepped out of his doorway and let loose with both barrels, knocking two men from their saddles and spewing blood and guts into the air. In the next instant, a slug slapped into his left shoulder, spinning him around and back through the door.

  Cal and Pearlie were firing rapidly, gun barrels glowing a dull red, spitting gun smoke and flames. A huge man, his bandanna barley covering the bandages on his face, rode at the wagon containing Cal and Pearlie, screaming and firing his pistol into the wood of the buckboard.

  One of his slugs ricocheted off the wood and sliced through Cal’s left earlobe, taking it off clean. As Cal ducked and grabbed at his head, Pearlie cursed and rose up, taking careful aim as the bandido charged. He squeezed his trigger and put a bullet in the man’s throat, snapping his head back and knocking him from his horse to bounce and roll in the dirt.

  Men on the rooftops stood and began to pour a withering blanket of fire into the raiders, decimating their ranks.

  Michael Thomas, manager of a general store, aimed over the balustrade and fired twice, knocking two outlaws from their saddles before a slug blew his jaw away, killing him instantly.

  Jesse Monroe, gun shop owner, stood calmly, firing from his shop’s door, his wife and teenage son reloading for him. He took out six men, then a chest wound drove him to the ground. Two bandits jumped from their horses and ran into the door, to be blown to hell by Mrs. Monroe with her husband’s Greener. She screamed furiously, stepped outside, and began to fire a pistol, hitting nothing but scaring the hell out of several riders.

  Sammy Layton, a pimply-faced sixteen-year-old livery boy, fired a Winchester .22 pop gun from the hayloft of his father’s establishment, stinging and wounding several men, until a bullet tore a chunk out of his side. He was thrown back into the hay, where he vomited once, then rolled back over, picked up his rifle, and continued to fire, blood streaming from his wound.

  Twin teenagers, Missy and Bobby Johanson, fired pistols from the open window of their mother’s dress shop. A Mescalero Apache jumped from his horse and ran screaming into the room. Mrs. Johanson, her own pistol empty, grabbed a nearby parasol and stabbed the Indian in the gut, running the pointed end of the umbrella through the savage to protrude from his back. He stood there, a look of complete surprise on his face, until he died.