“Mrs. Condon, it’s me, Smoke Jensen.” Smoke took her hand.
“You are too late,” she said, barely able to get the words out. “Tell Ned I love him.”
Smoke glanced over toward Ned and saw him on his knees, his hands tied to the pump, his back raw with whip welts. There was a bullet hole in the back of his head.
“I will,” Smoke said. “I’ll tell him.”
Molly took one last, labored breath; then she died.
Smoke put his pistol away, then walked up to the two men who were holding their hands in the air.
“It wasn’t us who done this!” one of them said. “It was them two what done it! Fowler ’n Hill.” He pointed to two of the three dead outlaws. “We told ’em there warn’t no need to be shootin’ these folks.”
“That one was on top of the windmill,” Smoke said, pointing to one of them. “How could he have done this?”
“Yeah, well, what I meant was, it was them two. The ones that run off, they was beatin’ on ’em too, and—” That was as far as he got, before Smoke dropped him with a hard right hook.
“Hey, we’ve give up, you can’t—” the other outlaw started to say, but his comment was stopped in midsentence because Smoke dropped him as well.
“Yes, I can,” Smoke said. “Maybe I’m not supposed to, but that sure doesn’t mean that I can’t.”
“What do we do now, Smoke?” Cal asked.
“Keep these two covered,” Smoke said. “I’m going to get Ned and his wife into the house and in their bed. That’s where they will be when the undertaker finds them.”
“What do you think we should do with these three?” Cal asked, pointing to the dead outlaws.
“I’m tempted to throw them in the pen and let the hogs eat them,” Smoke said. “But the sheriff may want to see them.”
Smoke carried Molly in first, cradling her in his arms. As he carried her, he couldn’t help but recall her laughter over the table when he had shared supper with them. He thought too of the songs she had sung in a clear, sweet voice.
A moment later he deposited Ned on the bed with Molly.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get here an hour earlier,” he said, as he looked down at the two.
The two outlaws were just coming to, when Smoke came back outside. “What are you goin’ to do with us?” one of them asked.
“If I did what I want to do, I’d hang both of you from the barn rafters,” Smoke said.
“No, don’t! You got no right doin’ somethin’ like that!”
“What’s your name?” Smoke asked.
“Taylor.”
Smoke looked at the other man.
“Moss,” he said.
“Cal, you keep Moss there covered, while I take care of Taylor. If Moss makes one move, shoot him.”
“Nothing would please me more,” Cal said.
“I ain’t goin’ to move! I ain’t goin’ to do nothin’!” Moss said.
“Smoke, there’s Prince Dandy,” Cal said, pointing to the bull they had been bringing to the ranch. “What shall we do with him?”
“We’ll take him back,” Smoke said. “The sale was never completed.”
When Smoke had both prisoners bound, he put a loop around the neck of each of them.
“Oh, Lord, he’s goin’ to do it!” Moss said. “He’s goin’ to hang both of us.”
“You lead Prince Dandy, I’ll take care of these two,” Smoke said, mounting Seven as he held on to the two ropes that were looped around the necks of Taylor and Moss.
“Hey, leadin’ us like this is dangerous,” Moss said. “What if one of us was to trip? We could break a neck?”
“Yeah, you could, couldn’t you?” Smoke said.
It was five miles from Wiregrass Ranch into the town of Brown Spur, and when Smoke and Cal rode into town they made a sight so unusual that by the time they were halfway through the town, there were fifty or more people following them. Smoke was leading Taylor and Moss, who were walking behind him, their arms securely bound down by their sides and with ropes around their necks. The two prisoners were wearing red armbands. Cal was leading a bull that even the uninitiated could tell was a magnificent animal. What no one could figure out was the connection between the bull and the two bound men, and Smoke heard that question being asked more than once.
By the time they arrived at the jail, word of the strange parade had already reached Sheriff Brown, and he was standing out front to greet them.
“I take it these two men are for me?” the sheriff asked.
“They are,” Smoke said, dismounting.
“What did they do?”
“They killed Ned and Molly Condon.”
“Oh, my God! Ned and Molly were killed?” someone gasped.
The news spread like wildfire through the crowd, repeated in tones of sadness, which quickly became sounds of anger.
“Let’s hang the sons of bitches!” someone shouted.
“Yeah, they already got ropes around their necks,” another said.
“We’d better get ’em inside before these people decide to take matters into their own hands,” Sheriff Brown said. “Where are the Condons now?”
“They are out at the ranch,” Smoke said. “I carried them inside and lay them on their bed. When you send the undertaker out there, he’ll find three more bodies—friends of these two.”
Ten Strike Mine
When Hannibal and Rexwell rode up alone, some of the others, seeing only two remaining of the seven who had ridden out, came over to them.
“Where are the others?” Peters asked. “Are they comin’ along?”
“Fowler, Hill, ’n Newell was kilt, ’n they captured Taylor ’n Moss,” Rexwell said.
“They’ll more ’n likely hang ’em,” someone said.
“You ever seen anyone get hung?” Rexwell asked.
“No.”
“I have, ’n it ain’t purty. Sometimes their eyes bulge out, ’n sometimes they swallow their tongue. They would of been a lot better off iffen they had got shot.”
“They aren’t going to hang,” Hannibal said.
“I don’t know, Hannibal,” Rexwell said. “I mean we kilt that man and woman, ’n Taylor ’n Moss was captured right there with ’em. I don’t know how they’re not goin’ to be hung.”
“They will not hang,” Hannibal repeated.
Sugarloaf Ranch
Cal was rubbing down Prince Dandy when Sally came out to the stall.
“Cal? Are you all right?” Sally asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Cal said, answering quietly.
“I’m worried about you. Ever since you and Smoke came back home you’ve not been yourself.”
“No, ma’am, I guess maybe I haven’t,” Cal admitted. “It’s just that, I can’t get that picture out of my mind, Miz Sally. I mean, Miz Condon lyin’ there, shot ’n half naked. And Mr. Condon was tied to the pump, ’n you could see how they had beat on ’im. I just don’t know what kind of people can do somethin’ like that.”
Sally put her hand on Cal’s shoulder. “Cal, you’ve seen your share of bad things in your life. You know that there are some people who are evil beyond all comprehension.”
“I know. But I just can’t get it out of my mind, is all.”
Sally embraced him. “That’s because you are a good person. I knew that the first time I ever met you.”
“Ha!” Cal said, smiling for the first time. “I sure don’t know how you could have known that then. I mean, considerin’ how it was that you and I met.”
“You and I, and not me and you. That’s very good, Cal, I’m proud of you,” Sally said. “And I was right. You are a good person.”
“Yes, ma’am, I reckon I am. But that’s because of you ’n Smoke.”
“No, a good person is good from within. We recognized it, Cal, we didn’t cause it.”
“The trial is tomorrow,” Smoke said at the dinner table that night. “Cal and I will have to go back over to Brown Spur to testify.”
&n
bsp; “Yes, I was sure you would,” Sally said.
“I don’t mind. Sally, I wish you could have met the Condons. They were really good people; I can see how everyone there thought so much of them. Justice needs to be done.”
“Yes, and I think for Cal, especially,” Sally said.
“For Cal?”
Sally told Smoke about her conversation with their young hand, earlier today. “Maybe, when he sees justice done, it will help him get over this. This has had quite an effect on him.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“I’m sure he will. But Smoke, we’ve always known that Cal is different from Pearlie. Cal is, and always has been, a very sensitive young man.”
Brown Spur
The cowboy, who had told Elegant Sue that his name was John, got up from bed and began dressing. It was over very quickly, they had come to her room upstairs at Bagby’s no more than ten minutes ago.
“You’re a sweet kid,” John said in a low, gravely voice.
“Thank you,” Elegant Sue responded quietly.
John had already put one boot on, but he paused before putting on the other and looked back at Elegant Sue, who, though naked, had the bed sheet pulled up to her shoulders.
“No, I mean really. I’ve been with a lot of whores, ’n some of ’em is just really hard, you know what I mean? Oh, it ain’t always in what they say. But you can see it in their faces ’n their eyes. Especially in their eyes. Sometimes they look at you, but you get the feelin’ they ain’t really lookin’ at you. You know what I mean?”
Elegant Sue didn’t answer and wasn’t even sure that he expected an answer.
“I don’t feel that way about you. I know you can see me. But, and I don’t know why, there’s a sadness in your eyes. Even downstairs, when you’re laughin’ ’n drinkin’ with us, your eyes ain’t laughin’. They’re sad.”
John pulled on his boots, then stood up and tucked his shirttail into his jeans.
“Bye, Elegant Sue. It was nice,” he said.
“Good-bye, John.”
John closed the door behind him, and Elegant Sue lay in bed for a long moment after he left.
“Sweetheart, are you going to lie in bed all morning? You have to get up and get ready for school.”
Elegant Sue could hear her mother’s voice as clearly as if she were in the next room.
Tears came to her eyes. What would her mother think if she realized what her daughter had become?
Elegant Sue threw aside the sheet, got out of bed, and padded, barefoot and naked, over to the dresser where sat a porcelain vase and basin. After attending to her toilet she got dressed, then put water in her eyes to wash away the tears.
The men who came to Bagby’s didn’t want the bar girls to look sad. They wanted smiles and flirtations. And even after Annie’s funeral, attended only by the other girls from the saloon, they had to come back and greet the patrons with smiles.
Elegant Sue started down the stairs and was greeted with a loud burst of laughter from one of the men, followed by Lilly’s laughter.
“Elegant Sue, there you are!” Lilly said. “You need to come listen to some of these stories Jimmy is telling. They are really funny.”
Elegant Sue put on a smile and walked over to join the others.
CHAPTER SIX
Brown Spur courthouse
“Oyez, oyez, oyez, this court will now come to order, the Honorable Judge Andrew Dixon presiding,” the court bailiff shouted. “All rise.”
“You may be seated,” the judge said when he took his seat at the bench.
Judge Dixon picked up a pair of wire-rim glasses from the bench before him and slipped them on very carefully, hooking them on one ear at a time. For a long moment, he studied the document before him as if just now learning what the trial was to be, though so heinous had been the crime and so widespread the publicity, that he well knew.
Finally he put the paper down and glanced over toward the prosecutor’s table.
“Mr. Fenton, you are handling prosecution?”
“I am, Your Honor.”
He looked toward the defense table. “And you are from Denver, I believe?”
“Yes, Your Honor, Theodore Dawes.”
“You aren’t a public defender?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Pro bono?”
“Your Honor, as my clients are not destitute, I have been hired by them to act as their defense counsel. My credentials have been submitted to the court.”
“Yes, I have seen them,” Judge Dixon said. He turned his attention back to Arnold Fenton. “Mr. Prosecutor, make your case.”
“Your Honor, the prosecution calls Mr. Kirby Jensen to the stand.”
Smoke was sworn in.
“Mr. Jensen, are you known by any other name than Kirby?”
“Most people call me Smoke,” Smoke replied.
There were a few reactions from the court when they heard the name. Not many had connected Kirby Jensen with Smoke Jensen, even those who had witnessed the swiftness of his draw when he had killed Lou Reece.
“Would you please tell the court what happened on the fifth of this month?”
Smoke told how he and Cal were delivering a bull to Ned Condon when they heard a woman scream, followed by gunshots. He told how Ned had been beaten before he was shot in the back of the head, and how Molly, who had been partially stripped, died shortly after he and Cal arrived.
“Thank you, I have no further questions. Your witness, Mr. Dawes.”
“Mr. Jensen, did you actually see either Mr. Taylor or Mr. Moss fire the fatal shots?” defense counsel asked.
“No. Both had been shot before we arrived.”
“Then you can’t say, with certainty, that my clients are the ones who killed them, can you?”
“I don’t care whether they did it or not,” Smoke said.
Dawes, thinking he had scored a point, turned toward the jury to measure their reaction, but when he heard Smoke’s unexpected response he turned quickly back toward Smoke.
“What do you mean, you don’t care?”
“Taylor and Moss and at least five more were there. As far as I’m concerned, all seven of them killed Ned and Molly Condon. I killed two and Cal killed one. We captured these two, and I fully expect the state to hang them.”
“That means you are prejudging them, Mr. Jensen.”
“You’re damn right I am. And if I had had even the slightest thought that they wouldn’t be hanged, I would have killed them myself. And if the state doesn’t hang them, I will kill them.”
There was another audible gasp in the audience at Smoke’s words.
“Your Honor, I object!” the defense counsel said.
“Sustained. Court reporter will strike Mr. Jensen’s last four words,” the judge said. “Mr. Jensen,” the judge said, admonishing Smoke. “What you have just done constitutes a threat to murder. I caution you, sir, to measure your words and respond with restraint.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“I have no further questions of this witness, Your Honor,” Dawes said, putting as much contempt in his voice as he could.
Cal’s testimony was identical to Smoke’s, and Dawes waived his cross-examination.
Sheriff Brown was next on the stand, testifying about the fact that they were Ghost Riders.
“Even if you don’t find them guilty of this killin’, there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that they’re guilty of at least a dozen more,” the sheriff said.
After the prosecutor finished his presentation, it was time for the defense attorney to make his case for his clients.
Taylor and Moss both testified in their own behalf, both of them claiming that it was Eli Newell, one of the men killed by Smoke and Cal, who had actually shot Ned and Molly Condon.
“We didn’t neither one of us have nothin’ to do with it,” Taylor said.
“The reason we didn’t run away like the other three done, was ’cause we figured we should stay and tell the law
who it was that actual done the killin’,” Moss added during his time on the witness stand. “Neither one of us thought that killin’ them two nice people was right, and we figured it was our duty to hang around and see to it that justice was done for them poor folks.”
“I have no further questions, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Prosecutor, cross?”
“No, Your Honor. I’ve heard enough of their lies.”
In his final statement to the jury, the defense attorney reiterated the fact that neither Kirby Jensen, nor Cal Wood had been an actual witness to the murder of the two victims. “This is a fact that was admitted by both of them. Both witnesses testified that when they arrived, Fowler, Newell, and Hill were dead . . . by their hands, I hasten to add, and that my clients surrendered to them without putting up a fight.
“You cannot find my clients guilty of murder if you have no eyewitnesses to the crime.”
The defense attorney sat back down, amidst the smug smiles of both Taylor and Moss.
“Mr. Prosecutor, your closing?” Judge Dixon said.
When the prosecutor approached the jury, he had in his hand a rather large, red book. He opened the book to a page marker and, without a word of introduction, began to read.
“An accessory is a person who assists in the commission of a crime, such as murder, but who is not actually a principal in said murder. In this case, there is no distinction between the crime as committed by the principal, and in support of the actus reus, which is the role of one who is the accessory.”
He closed the book. “What that means, gentlemen of the jury, is that under the law of man and morality, these two men,” he pointed to Taylor and Moss, “are guilty of the murder of Ned and Molly Condon just because they were there. It doesn’t matter one whit whether or not they are the ones who pulled the trigger.
“And I ask you to find them guilty and to recommend that they both receive the death penalty.”
Bloodshed of the Mountain Man Page 4
