Bloodshed of the Mountain Man

by William W. ; Johnsto Johnstone

  Taylor went down, and Smoke climbed the ladder to the top. He wasn’t surprised when he saw Mitchell lying in a pool of his own blood, but he was surprised to see that Ben Pittman was also there and also dead. Taylor must have climbed up into the belfry and been waiting for them even before dawn.

  There had only been a few men in the initial foray into the town, and Smoke knew that it had to be a prelude of some sort. The real thrust had not yet occurred, and he looked around from the tower. That was when he saw a large body of men approaching from the south, the opposite side of town.

  “Hannibal, you think you are so smart? I read you like a book,” Smoke said aloud.

  Smoke began ringing the bell, which was the agreed upon signal.

  Pearlie, who was standing in the middle of the street, looked up at him, questioningly.

  “Men coming from the south!” Smoke shouted as he continued to jerk on the rope to ring the bell.

  At first a few of the townspeople thought that the bell referred to the men who had just left, but the ringing continued, and when Pearlie and Hardegree augmented the warning bell with their own shouts, they understood and everyone got off the street.

  Smoke wrapped his arms around either side of the ladder, then slid down to the bottom. He knew that they would be hitting the bank, and he yelled at Pearlie and Hardegree when he ran outside.

  “In the bank!”

  The two men nodded, then followed him into the bank where the teller and a customer were cowering.

  “Both of you, lie down behind the counter!” Smoke shouted. Then, remembering that before they had entered the bank at Laurette the outlaws had shot it up, he signaled to Pearlie and Hardegree, and they, too, lay down behind the counter.

  By now the riders were in town, and as was their custom, they were shooting at anything and everything. Smoke could only hope that the ringing bell and the shouted warnings had gotten everyone off the street.

  Suddenly a fusillade of bullets came crashing through the windows of the bank, as well as the frosted-glass panel that topped the counter. After a rather prolonged fusillade, the shooting stopped.

  “Is anyone hit?” Smoke asked, speaking just loudly enough for the others to hear him.

  No one was.

  Smoke pulled the hammer back on his pistol and waited.

  “Get ready,” he said.

  Pearlie and Hardegree followed suit, pulling the hammers back on their own pistols.

  The front door opened, and three men came running in.

  Smoke, Pearlie, and Hardegree stood up, shocking the three would-be robbers by their sudden appearance. They began firing, dropping all three of the Ghost Riders. Then Smoke, Pearlie, and Hardegree targeted the mounted Ghost Riders in front of the bank, shooting through the opening left by the broken front windows.

  “Let’s get out of here!” one of the mounted outlaws shouted, and the attackers left at a gallop.

  Smoke ran to the front door, but by now the gallopers were out of pistol range.

  He looked at the three men he had killed and recognized Carl Moss, the other man who was to have been hanged in Brown Spur.

  There were three others lying dead in front of the bank.

  With the outlaws gone and the town now silent, men and women began cautiously re-emerging. Hardegree made a quick check of his town, then came back to Smoke and Pearlie who were leaning against the hitchrail in front of the marshal’s office.

  “We turned ’em back ’n they didn’t get one penny from the bank. Not only that, they lost eight men,” Hardegree said.

  “Eight?” Smoke asked.

  “You killed the one in the bell tower, we killed the three who came into the bank, and then those three who were waiting in front of the bank. That’s seven, and Doug Miller killed one as they were ridin’ out of town.”

  “How many of our people did we lose?” Smoke asked.

  “Four of our people were killed,” Hardegree replied. “Ben Pittman and Jack Mitchell, who were the two watchmen, and Edith Warren and her son Kenny. They were shot when the first group rode in from the north.”

  “I’m sorry,” Smoke said.

  “Yeah, well, it could have been a lot worse,” Hardegree said.

  Ten Strike

  “What happened? What went wrong?” Rexwell asked. “I heard the bell ringing. Wasn’t Taylor supposed to keep that from happening?”

  “I imagine Taylor is dead,” Hannibal said.

  “Yeah, so are Moss, Sutton, Pearson, and Snake Eye Mason, Anderson, Cooper, and Evans,” Rexwell said. “Damn, in the last six weeks we’ve lost a total of twenty-three men, and even with the new recruits I brought, we’re still down to sixteen!”

  “You are right. We need reinforcements,” Hannibal said.

  “Three of the new replacements I just brought has been kilt already; so was the two you brought,” Rexwell said.

  “We will get more. There are many would willingly ride for me,” Hannibal said.

  “Yeah, well, not me. At least, I ain’t ridin’ with you no more,” Peters said. “Since I joined this group, you’ve gotten twenty-three men kilt, just like Rexwell is sayin’. I don’t intend to be number twenty-four.”

  When Peters turned to walk away, Hannibal shot him in the back.

  “Unfortunately, Mr. Peters just became number twenty-four,” Hannibal said to the others. “Clearly, he didn’t understand the concept. When you join the Ghost Riders, you will stay until we break up. So until that time it will be . . . what? What is our motto?”

  “One for all, and all for one!” the remaining men shouted.

  “Get this man buried,” Hannibal said, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

  As the men carried Peters’s body away, Rexwell came over to talk, quietly, with Hannibal.

  “We’re goin’ to have to do somethin’ pretty quick, I think,” Rexwell said. “If not, we’re likely to have a few more men walk away, ’n they won’t announce it like Peters done. They’ll just leave.”

  “I’ve been thinking about another job we can pull,” Hannibal said. “It is a job that promises more profit and less danger than anything else we’ve done before.”

  “That sounds good,” Rexwell said. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I’ll tell you when I’ve got it figured out.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Brimstone

  Smoke and Pearlie were having a beer with Marshal Hardegree and Mark Worley in Devil’s Den Saloon.

  “This operation was a total failure for Hannibal. And he has lost too many men,” Smoke said.

  “Do you think the Ghost Riders have been done in?” Worley asked.

  “I’m not ready to say that the outfit has been destroyed, but we have done a lot of damage to them, and I expect they are going to have to lick their wounds for a while before they venture out again,” Smoke said. “They’re not likely to hit Brimstone again.”

  “Thanks to you two,” Hardegree said.

  “Not just us, I’d say thanks to the entire town. The way you were organized gave them more than they could handle. Anyway, you don’t need us anymore.”

  “Where will you be going now?” Worley asked.

  “I haven’t given up on finding Hannibal, but while they are licking their wounds, I think Pearlie and I will go back to my ranch and see how our friend Cal is getting along.”

  “Smoke, I want to thank you for all you’ve done for Brimstone. If you two hadn’t stopped by when you did, we would have been another Laurette. We lost four of our citizens, but it could have been a lot worse.”

  Smoke drained the rest of his beer, then nodded at the two men who were sitting at the table with them. “Pearlie and I thank you for the beers,” he said.

  Sugarloaf Ranch

  Cal was sitting out on the front porch when he saw Smoke and Pearlie approaching.

  “Miz Sally!” he shouted.

  Sally came to the door. “What is it?”

  A big smile was spread across Cal’s face.
“Look.” He pointed toward the two riders who were coming up the road from the front gate.

  “Oh, it’s Smoke!” Sally said happily. She came out onto the front porch and stood at the steps, holding on to one of the supporting posts for the porch.

  The two riders rode on up to the house; then Smoke dismounted and handed the reins of Seven to Pearlie. Sally hurried down the steps and they kissed and embraced.

  “Hello, Cal,” Pearlie said. “Did you miss me?” he asked, teasingly.

  “Yeah, like you miss a toothache,” Cal replied, laughing.

  Pearlie rode toward the barn to take care of the two mounts.

  “Well, Cal, how are you getting along?” Smoke asked. “You look a lot better than you did when I left.”

  “What with all the huggin’ ’n kissin’ goin’ on, I wasn’t sure you’d even notice me out here,” Cal replied. “But as you can see, I’m comin’ along fine.”

  The front door opened, and Julia stepped out onto the porch.

  “Hello, Mr. Jensen.”

  “It looks like you’ve been taking pretty good care of your patient,” Smoke said.

  “She’s been taking real good care of me,” Cal said, looking up at Julia. Julia walked over and lay her hand on Cal’s shoulder. When she did, Cal reached up to take it.

  Smoke and Sally exchanged a knowing glance.

  “It would seem to me that things have been happening in my absence,” Smoke said.

  “Things? What things?” Cal asked.

  “Oh, just things,” Smoke said.

  “Maybe,” Cal said with a broad smile. “Say, Miz Sally, you know what I’m thinking might be something good to do?”

  “I’m not that good at reading most peoples’ minds,” Sally said. “But I would be willing to guess that what you are thinking about has something to do with food.”

  “Well, yeah it does. I mean, seein’ as Smoke ’n Pearlie are back, don’t you think maybe you ought to cook up somethin’ special for them? Maybe, somethin’ like steak and potatoes. And, you know how much Smoke likes apple pie. Why, heck, I’d even peel the apples for you.”

  “Would you now?”

  “Yes, ma’am, and seein’ as how I’m almost fully recovered now, I believe I could probably eat steak and baked potatoes and it wouldn’t hurt me at all.”

  “I imagine you could at that. It’s the apple pie you might have trouble with.”

  “What? Why, Miz Sally, you know I could eat apple pie with no problem at all.”

  Sally laughed. “Now that I think about it, I believe that you might be able to at that.”

  “Well, all right then,” Cal said. “I’ll go invite Pearlie.”

  “Should you be up and around?” Smoke asked.

  “Oh, heck yeah, I’ve been up and around all over the place, haven’t I?” Cal asked Sally and Julia.

  “We haven’t been able to keep him down,” Sally said.

  Cal found Pearlie giving Seven a rubdown when he reached the barn.

  “Miz Sally is cookin’ up a big supper for Smoke ’n you, to welcome you back home,” Cal said.

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me, I’m not cookin’ it. Miz Sally is.”

  “Yeah, but if I know you, you pro’bly talked her into it.”

  “Well, yeah, I did do that.”

  “And it is as much for you as it is for me.”

  Cal chuckled. “So what if it is? You’ll get to enjoy it too.”

  “That’s true.”

  “What was it like, Pearlie? Did you get them all?”

  Pearlie grinned at Cal across Seven’s back.

  “I won’t say that we got ’em all. But I will say that we got our fair share of them,” he said.

  “I wish I could have been with you.”

  “Really? You mean you’d rather have been riding all over the country with Smoke and me, than staying here with that pretty girl to look after you?”

  “She is pretty, isn’t she?”

  “You’ve noticed, have you? Well it’s good to see that you’re thinking straight again. When we left, I seem to recall that half the time you weren’t making any sense at all.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess I was a little dizzy for a while there. But my mind has all come back to me now.”

  “How are we supposed to know that? You’ve never had more than half a mind to begin with,” Pearlie teased.

  “You better get cleaned up before you come in. Lord, I’ve never known anyone to set such a store by bein’ clean as Julia and Sally when they’re together, like they are.”

  “Oh, Miz Sally, you don’t know how much I’ve missed this,” Pearlie said an hour later as he joined the other four around the dining room table. “There isn’t anyone in the world who can cook better than you.”

  “All it is, is steak and potatoes,” Sally said. “That’s not very hard to prepare.”

  “And the apple pie. Don’t forget the apple pie,” Cal said. “It’s been a month of Sundays since I had a good apple pie.”

  “Yeah, the apple pie,” Pearlie said. “But I don’t know what you are carryin’ on about, Cal. While Smoke ’n I were eating camp food and out of restaurants and saloons, you were back here all this time eating Miz Sally’s cooking.”

  “I’ll have you know I haven’t been eatin’ her cooking. Fact is, she’s been starvin’ me to death, and that’s the truth. Tell ’im, Miz Sally. Tell ’im how you were mostly starvin’ me to death, givin’ me only that hot water you called bouillon, ’til you finally took some pity on me and started feedin’ me a little.”

  “I haven’t been starving him to death, but I have been watching what he eats,” Sally said.

  “Which has been practically nothin’ at all,” Cal insisted.

  “Must we talk about what a Simon Legree I’ve been?” Sally asked.

  “You’re right, ’n I’m sorry,” Cal said. “I know that you ’n Julia have been taking real good care of me. I just wish I hadn’t been shot, so I could have gone with Smoke and Pearlie.”

  “We’ve practically cleaned the Ghost Riders out,” Pearlie said. “I think it’ll be a while before Hannibal decides to hit another town.”

  “Who?” Julia asked.

  “The guy who is leading the Ghost Riders,” Pearlie said. “No, he commands the Ghost Riders. At least, that’s how he has signed all the letters he has written to the editors of the newspapers. ‘I am Hannibal, Commandant of the Ghost Riders,’ he says.”

  “Hannibal,” Julia said in a weak voice. She got a faraway look in her eyes.

  “Well, you do have to give him credit,” Smoke said. “He does operate the Ghost Riders as if they are a military unit.”

  “What does that mean?” Sally asked.

  “I’ll tell you what Louis Longmont thinks. He thinks our man, Hannibal, might be someone who wanted to be an army officer but never got the chance. He thinks he’s frustrated, and he calls himself Hannibal as a way of building himself up.”

  “Who is Hannibal?” Cal asked. “Does anyone know?”

  “That would be Hannibal Barca,” Julia said. “Hannibal was a Punic Carthaginian military commander and the greatest military commander in history.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what Louis said,” Smoke said. “I’m impressed, Julia. Of course, nobody knows what this man, Hannibal’s real name is.”

  “I know,” Julia said, quietly. “I didn’t know before, but I know now.”

  “You know his name?” Pearlie asked.

  “Yes, I’m sorry to say. I know his name.”

  “Who is it?” Smoke asked.

  “His real name is Enid Prescott.”

  “Enid Prescott?” Cal said. “Julia, isn’t he—”

  “He is my husband, yes.”

  LETTER TO THE EDITOR

  Dear Editor:

  I suffered my first military defeat last week, but what great commander hasn’t suffered at least one defeat? What is important, is the ability to learn from that defeat and put those l
essons learned into another operation. The great warrior Sun Tzu has penned many precepts, which the wise commander will follow. One such quote reads: “Engage people with what they expect; it is what they are able to discern and confirms their projections. It settles them into predictable patterns of response, occupying their minds while you wait for the extraordinary moment—that which they cannot anticipate.”

  This will be the guideline for my next military operation.

  I am Hannibal,

  Commandant of the Ghost Riders.

  “What I don’t understand,” Louis Longmont said, “is why the editors are even bothering to put that son of a bitch’s self-aggrandizing letters in their newspapers in the first place. They are just playing up to his sense of self-importance.”

  “Evidently people are reading his letters,” Monte said. “I’ve even heard that there are some people around the state who regard him as some sort of hero.”

  “Surely not,” Gillespie said. “Who would regard a killer as a hero?”

  “Jesse James, Billy the Kid, Clay Allison,” Monte said.

  “It has been my observation that one can never go wrong in believing in the worst in people,” Louis said.

  “Smoke, you’ve been closer to this than any of us,” Monte said. “But you’ve not commented.”

  The four men were sitting around a table in Longmont’s.

  “I came home too soon,” Smoke said. “I should have stayed out until the job was done.”

  “Is it true that you have killed twenty-three of Hannibal’s men?” Gillespie asked.

  “He has lost twenty-three men. I’ve killed some of them,” Smoke said. Smoke had actually killed sixteen of the twenty-three who had been killed, but he didn’t give any specific numbers.

  “But he has lost twenty-three?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good Lord, how many men does he have, anyway?”

  “I don’t know,” Smoke said. “The last I saw of him, there were close to twenty.”

  “Do you have any idea where he will strike next?” Monte asked.

  “No, I wish I did. I had advance information about Brimstone, so we were able to meet him there and whittle him down some. But as to where he will go next, your opinion would be as good as mine.”