Brutal Night of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

  There were four others who had come into town with Pearlie, whose real name was Wes Wesley Fontaine. The other four ordered beer, but Wes ordered a glass of lemonade.

  “Ha, lemonade? You come into a man’s bar and order lemonade?” one of the saloon patrons taunted.

  “I like lemonade.”

  “That ain’t much of a man’s drink now, is it?”

  Wes, realizing that the man was trying to pick a fight, didn’t respond.

  “What’s a kid like you doin’ comin’ in here with the men? Ain’t they someplace you could go to be with the other children to drink lemonade?”

  “Why don’t you back off and leave him alone, mister? He ain’t botherin’ you none,” one of the other B Bar B riders said. “Wes is as good a worker as any rider we have.”

  “Yeah? Well tell me, has he been weaned yet? Or do you boys carry a sugar tit around for him?” the heckler taunted.

  “Here’s your lemonade, Wes.”

  “Thanks,” Wes said.

  “Tell me, kid, can you drink that without a nipple?”

  Wes set his lemonade down and turned toward the cowboy who was riding him.

  “What is your name, sir?”

  “Well now, this kid called me sir. Maybe does have some manners after all. Or, maybe he thinks that if he’s just real nice to me, I won’t turn him over my knees and give him a spanking.”

  “My name is Wes. Wes Fontaine. You haven’t told me your name, sir.”

  “His name is Miller,” one of the other B Bar B riders said. “Emmett Miller.”

  “Well, Miller,” Wes started.

  “That would be Mister Miller to you, you snot-nosed little brat,” Miller said, emphasizing the word “Mister.”

  “Mr. Miller, I’m going to ask you now, in the nicest possible way, to leave me alone.”

  Miller laughed. “You’re asking me in the nicest possible way, are you? And if I don’t leave you alone, what are you going to do?”

  “It may be that I have to kill you,” Wes replied in a quiet, matter-of-fact voice. “I don’t want to, but if you don’t leave me alone, it may come to that.”

  “What did you just say?” Miller shouted at him.

  “I said that if you don’t leave me alone, I’m going to kill you,” Wes repeated. “But, in the nicest possible way, of course,” he added with a sardonic grin.

  “By God! I don’t have to take that from no snot-nosed, big-mouthed kid!”

  “No, you don’t have to take it,” Wes said. “You don’t have to take it at all. All you have to do is shut up, go your way, and let me go mine. Then we can act as if none of this has even happened.”

  “No, by God, I ain’t goin’ my way!” Miller said, reaching for his gun even as he was shouting the words.

  What neither Miller, nor even any of the other B Bar B riders, realized was that Wes, knowing that he was younger than most of the others, had decided his best way of protecting himself would be with a gun. And because of that, he had been practicing with his draw for some time now. And though Miller started his draw first, Wes had his gun out and shooting before Miller was even able to bring his gun up to aim. Miller fell back on the saloon floor with a bullet in his chest.

  “Son of a bitch!” one of the B Bar B riders said. “Who knew the kid was that good?”

  Although he was good with a gun, this was the first time Wes had ever shot at another man, and now as he looked at the man he had just killed, lying on the floor, he felt a little nauseous.

  “Mr. Poppell, I think I would like to have a whiskey,” Wes said.

  “You ever had yourself ’ny whiskey before, Wes?” one of the other B Bar B riders asked.

  “No.”

  “Then take my word for it, you don’t want none now, neither. Wait till you get a mite older afore you start on somethin’ like that.”

  “Jimmy’s right,” one of the B Bar B riders said. “Folks that get started too early sometimes wind up as drunks, ’n you sure as hell don’t want nothin’ like that.”

  “I’ll give you a whiskey if that’s what you want, boy,” Poppell said. “But I think you should listen to your friends and stick to lemonade.”

  “All right,” Wes said. He picked up the lemonade Poppell had put in front of him earlier.

  “What the hell’s goin’ on in here? I just heard a gunshot!” someone said, pushing in through the batwing doors. He was wearing a badge.

  “Hello, Marshal Gibson, I was about to send for you,” Poppell said.

  Marshal Gibson had a bad reputation; some said he had been a cattle rustler before coming here. Others said that he had sold his gun to the highest bidder. Pinning on the badge had not made an honest man of him, because it was well known that he was selling protection to the honest businesses and taking a cut from the dishonest businesses. He stared down at Miller’s body.

  “Someone want to tell me what happened?” Gibson asked.

  “Miller got hisself kilt,” someone said.

  “Hell, I can see that. What I want to know is, who done it?”

  “I did,” Wes said. He didn’t look at the marshal. Instead, he stared into his glass of lemonade.

  Gibson laughed out loud. “Are you kidding me? I’m askin’ a serious question here. Now, who was it that kilt Miller?”

  Wes turned toward the marshal. “I told you, Marshal, I killed him.”

  “The kid’s tellin’ you the truth,” one of the other saloon patrons said.

  “But he didn’t have no choice, Marshal,” the bartender put in quickly. “Miller kept ridin’ the kid, for no good reason. Finally, the kid stood up to him, ’n when he did, Miller drawed on ’im.”

  “Are you tellin’ me that Miller drawed first, but the kid kilt ’im anyway?”

  “Yeah,” Poppell said.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “That’s right, Marshal. Ever’thing Poppell is tellin’ you is right,” another patron said, and every one of the B Bar B riders said the same thing.

  “So you kilt ’im, did you?” the marshal said, finally coming to the understanding that Miller had drawn first.

  “Yes, sir. I didn’t want to kill ’im, but he didn’t leave me any choice.”

  “Get out of my county, kid,” the marshal said.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. I said get out of my county.”

  “But I live here. Where would I go?”

  “I don’t give a damn where you go, just as long as you leave.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because the last thing I need is some young punk who thinks he’s a gunfighter.”

  “You heard everyone, Marshal. I didn’t start this fight, Miller did. Anyhow I don’t want to leave. Like I said, I live here, and I have a good job and good friends.”

  “You don’t understand, do you, kid? I don’t really give a damn whether you want to leave or not. I’m orderin’ you to leave, and you ain’t got no choice.”

  “Yes, sir, I do have the choice of leavin’ ’cause the truth is, you’ve got no right to force me. I’m tellin’ you right now, I don’t have any intention of leavin’. So if you want to arrest me, why you just go right ahead. I’ll come peacefully, then I’ll take my chances with a trial.”

  “There ain’t goin’ to be no trial. With all these people testifyin’ for you, you’d more’n likely get off, then you’d still be in my county, and I don’t plan on that happenin’. So I’m going to tell you one more time, to get out of my county.”

  Wes shook his head. “I ain’t goin’.”

  “You got no choice, boy. You either get out of my county now, or get ready to die.”

  “Wait a minute. You’re plannin’ to draw on me? Why? I haven’t done anything wrong. You heard everyone in here tell you that I was in the right.”

  An evil smile spread across the marshal’s face. “Boy, I don’t know if it’s your brain or your ears that ain’t workin’. I told you to get out, ’n you’re either goin’ to do that, or I’m g
oin’ to kill you right here, ’n right now.”

  At those words, everyone in the saloon stepped out of the way to give the two room. They hadn’t done so with the first shooting, because it had happened too quickly, and by the time they realized there was going to be a shooting, it was too late. Not so now, as a shooting seemed inevitable.

  “Marshal, I ain’t leavin’,” Wes said. “So if you’re plannin’ on shootin’ me, I reckon you better just go ahead and try.”

  “You think you can beat me, do you?” the marshal asked.

  “I reckon I can,” Wes said. “I sure didn’t plan on it goin’ this far, but yeah, if it comes down to it, I can beat you.”

  With a triumphant smile, the marshal’s hand dipped toward his pistol, but before he could clear leather, Wes had already drawn and fired. The marshal, with a surprised look on his face, went down.

  Sugarloaf Ranch, the present

  Pearlie stopped his story there and was quiet for a long moment, realizing that Sally, Cal, and Rusty were hanging on every word. Smoke was listening quietly as well, though he already knew the story.

  “Do you understand what I’m saying?” Pearlie asked. “Within ten minutes’ time I had killed two men, and one of the two men I killed was a lawman.”

  “I knew about the story because Mom heard it,” Rusty said. “You left right after that, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, I left right after that. I didn’t have two dimes to rub together, but the other men took up a collection, and even the bartender and the soiled doves added to it. I left town with forty dollars, which, at the time, was the most money I had ever held in my hand at one time.”

  “You were older than fifteen when you came here,” Sally said.

  “Yes, well, I . . . uh . . . didn’t come here right away,” Pearlie said. “I wandered around for a while, and I did some things that I’d just as soon not talk about, things that I’m not very proud of.”

  “Mom has been wanting to write to you, to tell you that there was nobody looking for you anymore,” Rusty said. “She was upset with herself for not coming to see you when you were at the Byrd Ranch. So after you left, she found out where you lived and was planning on maybe coming to see you sometime. That is, before this happened.”

  “Before what happened?” Pearlie asked.

  Rusty took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then let it out in an audible sigh. “Well, like you, Uncle Wes, I killed someone. And, like you, it wasn’t something I set out to do, it was self-defense.”

  Rusty explained how a man named Silas Atwood controlled most of El Paso County, and how he was now trying to take over the town of Etholen as well. He told of his encounter with Jeb Calley, and the subsequent jailbreak.

  “Was anyone killed during the jailbreak?” Smoke asked.

  “No, sir, there wasn’t even anyone hurt. You see, they came by in the middle of the night and Calhoun, he’s the deputy that was supposed to be watching me, was passed out drunk. All they had to do was take the cell keys down from where they were hanging on a nail alongside the calendar. They opened the cell door and let me out, just slick as a whistle.”

  Pearlie nodded. “It’s good to have friends,” he said.

  “Yes, sir, friends, and relatives.”

  “By relatives, you mean me, don’t you?” Pearlie asked.

  “Yes, sir, I do mean relatives, and since you’re the only relative that I have, I mean you. Uncle Wes, Mom is in jail now.”

  “Katie is in jail?” Pearlie asked, the expression on his face showing his shock at the pronouncement. “Why on earth is Katie in jail?”

  “Atwood blames her for helping me escape.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t worry too much about her,” Smoke said. “It’ll be hard for him to make the case that she helped you escape.”

  Rusty shook his head. “You don’t understand how crooked a judge Boykin really is. Mom has already been tried and found guilty of accessory to murder, and helping a condemned murderer to escape. Judge Boykin says he will keep her in jail for thirty days, though he also says he will set her free if I come back and turn myself in.”

  “Well, then all you have to do is stay away for thirty days, and they’ll let her loose,” Sally suggested with a bright smile.

  “No, ma’am, it isn’t like that. It isn’t at all like that. What Atwood plans to do is hold her for thirty days, then hang her.”

  “Why, that is outrageous!”

  “You said Atwood was going to hold her for thirty days,” Smoke said. “Don’t you mean this judge . . . Boykin that you’re talking about, is the one who is going to hold her?”

  “Boykin does exactly what Atwood tells him to do,” Rusty said.

  “What makes this Atwood person think he can get away with something like that?” Sally asked.

  “He don’t just think he can get away with it, Miz Sally, he knows he can get away with it. It’s like I said, Atwood controls all of El Paso County, and a lot of Reeves and Presidio Counties as well. To be honest, I doubt if Atwood even wants me to come back. Because if they really do hang Mom, then he’ll be able to buy up the saloon at a public auction.”

  “How many days has Katie been in jail, so far?” Pearlie asked.

  “She’s been in jail for over a week now, maybe even a few days longer. As soon as I found out about it, I took a train and came up here to see you.”

  “That means we’ve only got three weeks left,” Smoke said.

  “We?” Rusty asked.

  “Of course, we,” Smoke replied. “You did come up here to ask for Pearlie’s help, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, sir, but I didn’t figure anyone other than Uncle Wes would get involved.”

  “Rusty, here is something you are going to learn about us,” Cal said. “If one of us is involved, all of us are involved.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  After a two-day trip down from Big Rock, the train rolled into the station in Gomez, Texas, where they were told that the train would have a half-hour wait.

  “Are you in any danger of being recognized here?” Pearlie asked his nephew.

  Rusty shook his head. “I hardly think that anyone would know me here. Only way I could get recognized would be if I happened to run into someone from Etholen who was visiting, or if someone had come to Etholen and heard me play the piano.”

  “Play the piano?” Sally asked, perking up at that information.

  “Yes, I play the piano in Mom’s saloon. Anyway, I’ve never been here before, so I’m reasonably sure I won’t be recognized by anyone.”

  “That’s good to know. How are you fixed for money?” Pearlie asked his nephew.

  “Oh, don’t you worry about that, I’m in good shape,” Rusty replied. “Mom and I have more’n five thousand dollars in the Etholen Bank.”

  “No, you don’t,” Smoke said.

  “What do you mean, we don’t? We sure do have money in that bank.”

  “Oh, you may have money there, all right,” Smoke agreed. “But you aren’t going to be able to get to it until this is all cleared up.”

  “How much do you have on you, right now?” Pearlie asked.

  “About twelve dollars,” Rusty said. “I had a hundred dollars when I left town, but I’ve used most of it up.”

  “Here’s another hundred dollars,” Pearlie said, pulling the money from his billfold and giving it to Rusty. “We’ve been talking it over and we’ve decided it would be better for you to stay here until we get this all settled.”

  “What do you mean you want me to stay here? That’s my mom in jail in Etholen, and they’re planning on hanging her if I don’t show up.”

  “Yes, and if you show up now, they’ll hang you and your mother, which means I’ll be losing a sister I just found, and a nephew I never knew I had,” Pearlie said. “And I’m not willing to do that, so I want you to listen to what I’m telling you. You are going to stay here, in Gomez, until we send for you.”

  Rusty shook his head. “No, I don’t think you unders
tand. Witherspoon is the marshal, and he’s only got one deputy. But the real power, I told you, is Silas Atwood. Atwood has a whole bunch of hired guns working for him. That’s how he keeps control of everything. You’ll be badly outnumbered if you go in there, with just the three of you.”

  “Four of us,” Sally said.

  “Four of you? But, you’re a woman.”

  Pearlie chuckled. “Damn, Miz Sally. Did you know you were a woman?”

  Sally smiled. “I’ve been told that.”

  Smoke chuckled. “Rusty, don’t you worry about Sally being a woman. That’s never stopped her before.”

  Sally put her hand on Rusty’s shoulder. “I know it’s going to be hard on you, honey, but I’ve been around these three for a long time and I learned, a long time ago, to have faith in them. They will get things taken care of, and we will send for you.”

  “All right,” Rusty agreed. “I’ll wait here, but I’m going to be on pins and needles until I hear from you.”

  “I plan to visit Kate as soon as I arrive,” Sally said. “I’ll let her know that you are all right.”

  “Good, that’ll take some of the worry away,” Rusty said.

  Sally smiled. “I expect she’ll be surprised by a visit from a stranger.”

  “Oh, she knows who you are, Miz Sally. Don’t forget, she’d been makin’ plans to come up ’n see Uncle Wes ever since you all took them horses down to the Byrd Ranch. And she is the one that got word to me that I should come up and get Uncle Wes.”

  “Good, then I shouldn’t have any trouble getting in to see her.”

  “Unless Marshal Witherspoon stops you,” Rusty said. “You be careful of him. He’s about the biggest crook there is.”

  “We’ll be careful,” Sally promised.

  * * *

  During the two-hour trip from Gomez to Etholen, Smoke, Sally, Pearlie, and Cal came up with a plan. Execution of the plan, however, would depend upon Kate’s approval.

  “What if Kate doesn’t believe I’m who I say I am?” Sally said. “What if she thinks I don’t even know Pearlie, that I’m working for Atwood?”

  “Tell her that one night she and I went over to Mr. Rowe’s farm and stole a watermelon,” Pearlie said. “Then, Mr. Rowe came out of his house and shot at us with a shotgun, and I put myself in front of her, to protect her, so that I was the one who got hit.”