Brutal Night of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

  The woman behind the counter was a very attractive redhead, who looked to be in her late thirties.

  “Hello, Sue Ellen,” Sally said.

  “Hello, Sally,” the woman replied. “It was so good to see you and Kate in here the other day. I’m glad she has been set free.”

  “I think everyone is.”

  “Well, almost everyone, if you know what I mean,” Sue Ellen replied.

  “Any table?” Smoke asked Sue Ellen.

  “Yes, sir, you all just find an open table and seat yourselves,” the woman said. “I’ll be right with you. I hope you enjoy the food.”

  “Believe me, he will enjoy it, I guarantee,” Sally said.

  * * *

  The Bull and Heifer Saloon was a block and a half away from the Pretty Girl and Happy Cowboy Saloon, on the corner of Cavender and Martin Streets. Bull Blackwell, owner of the Bull and Heifer, wasn’t exactly in direct competition with Kate Abernathy, because there was a vast difference in their establishments.

  The Pretty Girl and Happy Cowboy Saloon featured blended whiskeys and fine wines, and was a genteel enough place that women could visit without danger to their reputation. The Bull and Heifer, on the other hand, used only the cheapest whiskey and beer . . . and no wines at all. The Bull and Heifer did serve a purpose though . . . it served a clientele who either couldn’t afford the Pretty Girl and Happy Cowboy, or preferred a somewhat more coarse atmosphere when they were drinking.

  The Bull and Heifer also offered something else that the Pretty Girl and Happy Cowboy Saloon did not. For a price, the girls at the Bull and Heifer would take a customer upstairs to their room, whereas the girls at the Pretty Girl and Happy Cowboy Saloon offered nothing but drinks and friendly smiles.

  Cain Conroy, after arriving in Etholen this morning, had just taken advantage of the services offered by Lucy, one of the accommodating young women of the Bull and Heifer. At the moment, Lucy was sitting up in bed, covered to the waist only by the bed sheet. She was topless and smoking a cigarette she had just rolled for herself. Conroy was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling on his boots.

  “You know, honey, if you would like to spend the night with me, tonight, I’ll give you a special deal since we’ve already had one visit today,” Lucy said. “That is, if you can do it twice in one day,” she added with a suggestive smile.

  “I more’n likely won’t be here tonight,” Conroy said. “I got me some business to take care of in this town, ’n once I do that, I’ll be leavin’.”

  “Oh? What kind of business are you in, honey?”

  Conroy chuckled. “You might say I’m in the arrangin’ business, seein’ as someone arranges for me to do somethin’, ’n then I do it. This here job involves a fella by the name of Smoke Jensen. Do you know him?”

  “Smoke Jensen? Yes, he’s only just come to Etholen, but he’s already made a name for himself. Why, he’s killed two people, did you know that?”

  “Two people? I heard that he kilt Lucien Critchlow. Who else has he kilt?”

  “He killed Rufus Pardeen. Pardeen worked for Atwood.”

  “Do you know how I can find him?”

  “He hangs out most of the time over at the Pretty Girl,” Lucy said.

  “Pretty girl?”

  “It’s the name of a saloon,” Lucy said. “They call it the Pretty Girl and Happy Cowboy, but if you ask me, the girls that works there ain’t no prettier than the ones that works here. And we’re a lot more friendly, if you know what I mean,” she added with a seductive smile.

  * * *

  Booker had seen Conroy go upstairs with Lucy, so he just stayed at the corner of the bar, nursing his beer and keeping his eyes on the stairs, waiting for the gunman to come back down. He wasn’t up there for more than fifteen minutes, and Booker smiled. He knew Lucy, and he knew that she prided herself on how short she could make the visits with her clients. He watched as Conroy stepped up to the bar to order a drink.

  “You got ’ny idea where I might find Smoke Jensen?” Booker heard Conroy say.

  “I just seen him ’n his wife goin’ into the Palace Café,” one of the saloon patrons said.

  “Where’s that at?”

  “It’s just sort of catty-cornered across the street from the Model Barbershop.”

  “Can you see the Palace Café from the barbershop?”

  “Well, yeah, I mean, it bein’ just across the street ’n all.”

  “Thanks.”

  Conroy tossed the whiskey down, then left the saloon. He didn’t notice Booker, who had been eyeing him from the other end of the bar. If he had noticed him, he wouldn’t have paid any attention to him. He had never met Booker, and had no idea that Booker worked for the same man who had just hired him.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “Haircut, sir?” the barber asked when Conroy stepped into his shop.

  “Yeah. Which chair gives me the best view of the Palace Café?”

  “You can see it well from here,” the barber said, pointing to the chair. “Are you planning to eat there? It’s a fine restaurant. But so is Dumplin’s.”

  “Do you know Smoke Jensen?”

  “Well, I can’t say as I actually know him,” the barber replied. “But I must say that since he has come to town, he has certainly made himself known.” The sign behind the barber chair read EARL COOK, and after Conroy got into his chair, Cook put the cape around him.

  “Would you know this Jensen feller if you seen ’im?” Conroy asked.

  “Oh, yes.”

  “I’m told he’s takin’ his dinner in the Palace Café today.”

  “Indeed he is, sir. I saw him and his wife going into the place a few minutes ago. She’s such a pretty thing. It almost makes you wonder how somebody like Smoke Jensen could get himself such a pretty wife.”

  “What do you mean, somebody like Smoke Jensen?”

  “Well, maybe you don’t know that much about him. But since he came to town, he’s already let people know he was here. First thing he did was he got Miss Kate out of jail.”

  Cook began cutting Conroy’s hair.

  “Who is Miss Kate?”

  “Oh, she owns the Pretty Girl and Happy Cowboy Saloon. It’s quite a fine establishment, I go in there myself, from time to time. Anyhow, there was some trouble there, her son killed one of Mr. Atwood’s men, then he wound up being tried and sentenced to hang. But he escaped, and when he did, why Atwood got Miss Kate put in jail.”

  “Atwood did?”

  “Yes, well, it was the judge who actually did it, but ever’body knows that Atwood controls the marshal and the judge in this town. Anyway, Smoke Jensen got Miss Kate out of jail, then he shot and killed Lucien Critchlow. I reckon you’ve heard of Critchlow, haven’t you?”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard of ’im.”

  “They say that Critchlow is the fastest gun in Texas; only, he wasn’t fast enough. I can see now why they’ve written so many dime novels about Smoke Jensen. I bought one.”

  Cook put down the scissors and picked up a book. “I don’t know how true this story is, but it’s mighty exciting reading, I can tell you that, for sure,” he said, showing the book to Conroy.

  Smoke Jensen, King of the Western Range

  “If you’ve never read anything about him, you should,” Cook said.

  “They ain’t come back out yet, have they?”

  “I don’t think so. At least, I haven’t seen them come back out. Anyway, I don’t think they have been in there long enough to have actually eaten a meal.”

  “I’ve got some business with him, but I don’t want to disturb him while he’s eatin’.”

  “Yes, I think you are right to let the man eat in peace. You say you have business with him. Do you know Mr. Jensen?”

  “No, I ain’t never seen him before. If he comes out while I’m here in the chair, point him out to me, would you?”

  “Why yes, I’d be glad to,” Cook replied. Having put the book down, he was once more employing the scissors, and Conroy
could hear them clicking beside his ear.

  Conroy sat in the chair, then, under cover of the barber’s cape, he pulled his pistol from his holster and held it in his lap.

  “In the book I’m reading, it seems that Smoke Jensen is tracking down a young lady who was kidnapped by . . .”

  “I don’t like talkin’ while I’m gettin’ a haircut,” Conroy said gruffly.

  “Very good, sir. I shall be as silent as the sphinx.”

  Conroy had no idea what a sphinx was, or why it might be silent, but he was grateful that the barber had shut up.

  “You sure he ain’t come out yet?” Conroy asked after a few minutes.

  “Oh, yes, sir, I’m quite sure.”

  * * *

  Booker left the Bull and Heifer shortly after Conroy did, and now he was sitting on a bench in front of the Buckner-Ragsdale Emporium, keeping an eye on both the Model Barbershop and the Palace Café. While in the saloon, he had heard Conroy ask about Smoke Jensen, so he had a pretty good idea about what Conroy had in mind. If there was going to be a shoot-out between Conroy and Jensen, he would have a front-row seat.

  * * *

  Because Conroy had told the barber that he didn’t want to talk, the only sound that could be heard in the barbershop at the moment was the click and snap of the scissors as Earl Cook worked. Then, Conroy broke the silence.

  “You be sure and keep an eye open and let me know soon as you see Jensen.”

  “Yes, sir, I will,” Cook said.

  The sound of clicking scissors continued for another minute, then Cook stopped.

  “Oh, there he is now, him and his wife,” the barber said, interrupting Conroy’s comment. “They’re just now comin’ out. She’s such a pretty thing, don’t you think?”

  Even as the barber was talking, Conroy leaped up from the chair and rushed through the door.

  “Sir, I’m not finished, you . . .” At that moment the barber saw Conroy raising his pistol to point at an unsuspecting Smoke who was looking toward Sally.

  “Mr. Jensen! Look out!” the barber shouted at the top of his voice.

  Smoke’s reaction was instantaneous. With his left hand he pushed Sally down. He didn’t have to push her all the way down; she was smart and reflexive, and she went all the way down and then rolled out of the way without any further effort.

  Conroy fired, and Smoke felt the concussion of the bullet as it fried the air just past his ear and slammed into the door frame just behind him.

  Conroy didn’t even realize he had missed, because even as his bullet was burying itself in the door frame, Smoke had already drawn and fired, his bullet plunging into Conroy’s heart. Conroy fell facedown in the middle of the street, the barber’s cape spread out on the ground under him. His right arm was outstretched and his hand still wrapped around the gun.

  The shooting, happening as it did right in the middle of town, began to draw a crowd as people came out of the Pretty Girl and Happy Cowboy Saloon, the Bull and Heifer Saloon, Palace Café, Dereck’s Gun Shop, the Buckner-Ragsdale Emporium, as well as the feed and seed store.

  Smoke leaned down to help Sally back to her feet.

  “Are you all right?” he asked anxiously.

  “Yes. I must say, though, that this was certainly not how I intended to break in the new dress I just bought.”

  “What happened here?” Marshal Witherspoon asked, hurrying up to Smoke.

  “That fella over there took a shot at my wife,” Smoke said.

  “You say he shot at your wife?” Witherspoon asked.

  “Well, it might have been at me, but Sally was standing right next to me, and I have to tell you that did get me some riled.”

  “What’s that he’s lying on?”

  “It’s a barber’s cape, Marshal,” Earl Cook said, arriving at that point. “He was getting a haircut, and he asked me to point Mr. Jensen out to him. Mr. Jensen, I’m so sorry. He said he had some business to do with you. I had no idea he intended to shoot you.”

  “No need for you to apologize,” Smoke replied. “Your shout for sure saved one of our lives, either my wife or me.”

  “Jensen, this is the third man you have killed in my town in less than a week,” Witherspoon said.

  “This is the third man who has tried to kill me,” Smoke replied.

  “Do you know him?” Witherspoon asked.

  “To be honest I didn’t get that good of a look at him,” Smoke said. “Let me see if I know him.”

  Smoke and the marshal walked across the thirty yards that separated them from the body, but, by now, they had to pick their way through the crowd that had gathered. Marshal Witherspoon turned him over so he could be seen.

  “Do you know him?” the marshal asked.

  Smoke shook his head. “I’ve never seen him before.”

  “His name is Cain Conroy,” Booker said. By now several of the citizens of the town had collected around the body, and Booker was one of them.

  “You ever heard of ’im?” Witherspoon asked Smoke.

  Smoke shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not. The name doesn’t mean anything to me.”

  “Well, your name must’ve meant something to him,” Witherspoon said. “That is, if you’re tellin’ the truth, ’n he shot at you first.”

  “Mr. Jensen is telling the truth,” the barber said. He pointed to Conroy’s body. “This gentleman was getting a haircut, and he asked me to point out Mr. Jensen when I saw him. When I saw Mr. and Mrs. Jensen come out of the café I mentioned it, and, without so much as a fare-thee-well, he leaped up from the chair with his gun in his hand. I had no idea that he had such a thing in mind.”

  “Booker, how come it is that you know him?” Marshal Witherspoon asked.

  “I can’t say as I actual know him,” Booker replied. “It’s more like I know of him. Anyhow, I seen ’im oncet when I was over in Eagle Springs, and then I seen ’im a while ago over in the Bull and Heifer.”

  “That’s right,” someone else said. “He was in the Bull and Heifer a few minutes ago, ’cause I seen ’im, too. ’Course, I didn’t know who he was, then.”

  Atwood hadn’t told Booker what he was supposed to be looking out for, but he did tell him that when it happened, he would know. Well, now he knew.

  * * *

  “So, Smoke Jensen shot Cain Conroy, did he?” Deputy Calhoun said with a little chuckle back at the marshal’s office. “It looks to me like he’s goin’ to be a pretty hard man for Atwood to kill.”

  “What do you mean for Atwood to kill?” Witherspoon asked.

  “Well come on, Marshal. Atwood is the one who wanted us to see if we could find a wanted poster on Jensen. We found one, I mean it was so old that I knowed soon as we found it that it warn’t no good anymore. But we found it, ’n the next thing there was a new, fresh poster printed up, and since then there’s been two gunmen who come after him, Critchlow and Conroy. You don’t think they just took it on their own to try ’n kill Jensen, do you? Like I said before, Atwood had to be behind them. Leastwise, that’s what I think.”

  “You know what I think?” Witherspoon replied.

  “What?”

  “I think there are some things you’d be better off just keeping your nose out of it.”

  “Well, yeah, I’ll do that, Marshal. I was just talkin’ is all.”

  “You talk too much. I’ve got something I have to check on. If Welch comes to ask you about Conroy’s body, tell ’im he can have ’im, I don’t need to do any investigatin’.”

  “All right,” Calhoun said. “More’n likely there’ll be money in Conroy’s pockets, too, so I don’t figure the county’s goin’ to have to pay for this one, neither.”

  Eagle Shire Ranch

  “You came back pretty quickly,” Atwood said when Booker returned to the Eagle Shire.

  “Yes, sir, but there warn’t no need to stay around no longer,” Booker said.

  “Good, good!” Atwood rubbed his hands together in satisfaction and smiled broadly. “That means Con
roy did the job and will be back soon.”

  “No, sir, he won’t be back soon. Fac’ is, he won’t be back at all,” Booker said. “Conroy got hisself kilt.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, sir. Turns out Conroy tried to kill Jensen; onliest thing is, Jensen wound up killin’ Conroy.”

  “Damn!” Atwood said, striking his fist angrily into the palm of his hand. “Damn!”

  “That was what you sent him to do, warn’t it?” Booker asked. “You wanted him to kill Smoke Jensen?”

  “Booker, do you like your job here?” Atwood asked in a sharp and challenging tone of voice.

  “Well, yes, sir, I like my job here. I like it a lot.”

  “Then don’t ask so damn many questions.”

  “No, sir, I won’t ask no more,” Booker replied.

  While the two men were talking, Marshal Witherspoon rode up.

  “Booker, find something to do,” Atwood ordered. “The marshal and I need to talk.”

  “Yes, sir,” Booker said.

  Atwood waited until Witherspoon dismounted.

  “Marshal,” he said by way of greeting.

  “I thought you might like to know that . . .”

  “Jensen killed Conroy,” Atwood said, interrupting him.

  “Yeah.”

  “Maybe we’re concentrating on the wrong person,” Atwood suggested.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been doing some checking on my own,” Atwood said. “It turns out there was also a reward offered for Kate’s brother, Wes Fontaine. The reason he left Texas some time ago, it was because he had just killed a marshal. He’s wanted for murder.”

  “It must have been a long time ago, ’cause I’ve been marshalin’ for fifteen years, and I never even heard of him until he ’n the others come into town,” Witherspoon said.

  Atwood showed the wanted poster to Witherspoon and, like the original one for Smoke, this flyer was browned, with curling edges.

  “That looks as old as the one for Jensen,” Witherspoon said.

  “It doesn’t matter how long ago it was. It was for murder, and there’s no statute of limitations to murder. Better yet, it’s from Texas.”