Brutal Night of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

  Lomax planned to turn the body over to the marshal, or the sheriff, whoever the local law was in Wild Horse, then he figured on going on to Etholen to find out whatever he needed to know about Fontaine.

  “Pearlie,” he said. “I reckon that’s the name you go by. Is that the name you want on your tombstone?”

  Lomax giggled at his question, then he swung into the saddle.

  “Hey, Bodine,” he called back to the body behind him. “You ever been to Wild Horse before? It’d be kind of funny, don’t you think, if you ain’t never been there before? Funny, I mean, ’cause you’re likely goin’ to wind up gettin’ buried there instead of Marfa, ’n that’s where you’ll be for all eternity.

  “’Course, when you stop to think about it, I reckon you wasn’t all that different from me. I mean, I was born just outside Dayton, Ohio, but I ain’t been back in Ohio for more’n twenty years now, ’n I don’t reckon I’ll ever go back. I don’t know where I’ll wind up planted, but more’n likely it’ll be someplace just like you, someplace I ain’t never been to before.”

  Wild Horse

  “Which one of you’s the marshal?” Lomax asked when he stepped into the marshal’s office where two men were engaged in conversation.

  “I’m Marshal Wallace,” the larger of the two men said, looking toward Lomax. “What do you want?”

  “Marshal, my name is Lomax.”

  “Lomax?” the marshal asked, the expression on his face becoming more animated. “Would that be Dingus Lomax?”

  “Yeah. Look, I got Mort Bodine outside, ’n ole’ Mort has a fifteen-hunnert-dollar reward on ’im.”

  “And you’re wantin’ me to put him in my jail?”

  Lomax laughed, a dry, high-pitched cackle. “You can put ’im in jail if you want to, onliest thing is, he’s liable to start stinkin’ in another day or two.”

  “What do you mean, he’s liable to start stinkin’?”

  “That’s what happens to a dead body iffen you let it lie around long enough. When I told you I had Mort Bodine outside, I didn’t tell you he was belly-down on his horse.”

  “I don’t understand,” the marshal said. “If he’s already dead, what did you bring ’im to me for?”

  “Damn, how long you been a marshal?” Lomax asked.

  “What difference does it make how long I’ve been a marshal?” Wallace replied, clearly agitated by Lomax’s question.

  “The thing is, you can’t have been one for too long, or you’d know what this is all about. You see, what you have to do is send a telegram back to the Pecos City marshal, ’n tell ’im that you are a lawman, and say that Bodine is dead, and I’m the one that kilt ’im.”

  “Lomax, I wouldn’t know Mort Bodine from Mrs. Smith’s housecat. How am I supposed to be able to say he’s dead?”

  “Maybe, for two hundred and fifty dollars, you might remember that you saw him somewhere before.”

  “But I ain’t never . . .”

  “Sure we did, Harold, me ’n you seen ’im back in Van Horn oncet, don’t you remember?” his deputy asked.

  “No, I don’t recall that we . . .”

  “You said to me, ‘Carl, I do believe that feller over there is worth a hunnert ’n twenty-five dollars to each of us,’” Carl said very pointedly.

  Wallace’s frown deepened for just a moment, then he realized what his deputy was saying, and a broad smile spread across his face.

  “Yes!” he said. “Yes, I do remember that now. Them was my exact words! Come on, Mr. Lomax, let’s get a look at this dead prisoner of yours, so I can send word back to Pecos County that this Bodine feller has done been caught.”

  Lomax’s smile was without mirth. “Well now,” he said. “I’d say you two is pretty smart law officers. Yes, sir, real smart.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Etholen

  “I wonder if Katie’s got any champagne in her place,” Pearlie said as he, Smoke, and Sally rode back into town.

  “Champagne?” Sally asked.

  “Sure. Isn’t that what you drink when you want to celebrate something? I’m that relieved that this has finally been cleared up after all these years that I plan to celebrate with champagne, and I want you all, and Cal, Katie, and Rusty to celebrate with me.”

  “That’s a bit extravagant,” Sally said. “But, under the circumstance, I think it may be appropriate.”

  They tied up in front of the Pretty Girl and Happy Cowboy Saloon, then, Pearlie let out a shout as soon as they stepped inside.

  “Yahoo! Katie! Did you get my telegram?” Pearlie asked as he, Smoke, and Sally pushed through the batwing doors.

  “Yes!” Katie said happily. “You’re a free man!”

  Kate, with her arms spread, and a wide smile on her face, hurried over to Pearlie to give him a hug.

  “There’s not one thing out of my past that’s hanging over me now. Katie, I plan to buy a couple of bottles of champagne so we can celebrate.”

  “Mr. Peterson, how many bottles of champagne do we have?” Kate asked.

  Peterson looked under the bar. “Six,” he said.

  “Open them up, Mr. Peterson. Open every bottle and serve it to anyone who wants it, until it’s all gone.”

  “Champagne?” Cletus said. “Damn! I ain’t never tasted any champagne in my whole life.”

  “Well, you’re about to now,” Rusty said with a happy laugh.

  Over the next few minutes, corks popped loudly, glasses were filled with the bubbly beverage, and the patrons, Dolly, and the other Pretty Girls joined Pearlie in celebrating the outcome of Pearlie’s trial.

  “Oh! This tickles my nose!” Dolly said, giggling as she took the first drink.

  “Sure, champagne always does that,” Rusty said.

  “Ha! You talk like you’ve drunk a lot of champagne,” Cletus said.

  “I’ve drunk it, before.”

  “Well, I’ve got two reasons to celebrate,” Dolly said.

  “What two reasons?” Rusty asked.

  “One, because your uncle Pearlie got everything from his past taken care of, and one because it is my birthday.”

  “Today is your birthday?”

  “Actually, tomorrow is my birthday,” Dolly said.

  “Well, happy birthday, tomorrow,” Rusty said, lifting his glass. “How old will you be?”

  “Rusty!” Sally scolded. “That’s not something you ever ask a lady. Not even someone as young as Dolly.”

  Dolly laughed. “She’s right, you know. But I’ll tell you. I’ll be nineteen tomorrow.”

  “Good, I’m a year older than you are,” Rusty said.

  “Why do you say good?”

  “Because it’s just good, that’s all.”

  “Rusty?” Sally said. “I wonder if you would do me a huge favor and play Beethoven’s Sonata Number Fourteen?”

  “Oh, yes, please do!” Dolly said. “That’s one of my favorites.”

  “Why, Dolly, I didn’t know you liked classical music,” Sally said.

  “I didn’t used to like it. Well, I can’t say I didn’t used to like it . . . it’s just that I never actually heard any of it until I heard the kind of music Rusty plays. Now, I love classical music, and I could sit here and listen to it all day.”

  “Then, why don’t you come over here and sit beside me?” Sally invited. “We can enjoy it together.”

  “Oh, yes,” Dolly said. “That would be wonderful. Thank you!”

  The celebration stilled, and the patrons of the saloon grew quiet, as Rusty approached the grand piano. Before he sat down, he addressed the saloon patrons.

  “The piece I’m about to play, Beethoven’s Sonata Number Fourteen, is sometimes known as Moonlight Sonata. Beethoven composed it and dedicated it to the Countess Giulietta Guicciardi, a pupil of Beethoven. He was in love with her, you see, and he proposed to her shortly after playing the piece in public for the first time. She loved him as well, but she was forbidden by her parents to marry him, so, sadly, the marriage never h
appened.

  “Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata,” Rusty concluded, then he held his hands over the keyboard for just a moment before he started to play.

  The opening notes were haunting, the melody almost a whisper. The music filled the saloon and caressed the collective soul of the patrons. If there was anyone left in Etholen who was unaware of Rusty’s talent, it took but a few bars of music to convince even the most skeptical that they weren’t hearing a mere saloon piano player, they were listening to a concert pianist of great expertise. As Rusty’s fingers caressed the piano keyboard, he created magic. It was as if, through his skill, he had actually been able to resurrect the great composer.

  When Rusty finished, the applause was spontaneous, genuine, and sustained, from the Pretty Girls, who were also Dolly’s friends, to the men who punched cows or drove freight wagons or worked for the railroad. Those who had never even heard of Beethoven were applauding as enthusiastically as Sally, Kate, and Dolly.

  “Oh, Rusty, that was so pretty that it made me cry,” Dolly said when Rusty came back over to her.

  “Dolly is right,” Sally said. “I’ve heard Ricardo Castro and J. E. Goodson in concert, and neither of them have anything on you.”

  Rusty beamed at the compliment. “I’ve heard both of them play as well,” he said. “And while I can’t agree that I play as well as they . . . I certainly do appreciate you saying so.”

  “Well, this has been a most enjoyable celebration,” Sally said. “But, Smoke, if you don’t mind, I’d like to clean up before dinner tonight, so I’m going back to the hotel.”

  “I’ve got a little trail dust I’d like to get off as well, so I’ll join you,” Smoke said.

  When they returned to the hotel, they made arrangements to have a tub and hot water brought up to their room.

  “You can go first,” Smoke said, once the tub was filled with hot water.

  “That’s nice of you to let me have the clean water,” Sally said.

  Smoke chuckled. “Letting you have the clean water has nothing to do with it. I just want to see you naked.”

  “Smoke!” Sally said, dipping her hand down into the water and splashing some of it on him. “You’re awful!” She laughed. “I have to admit, though, that I’m flattered you would still say something like that.”

  “Tell me, do you think Rusty has ever watched Dolly take a bath?” Smoke said.

  “I don’t know,” Sally replied. She giggled. “But I’ll bet he would like to.”

  “Ha! Now who is being awful?”

  * * *

  Blanton wasted no time declaring Pearlie’s innocence in the Etholen Standard.

  WESLEY FONTAINE FOUND INNOCENT

  Why, readers may ask, does this paper print an article declaring the innocence of this man Wesley Fontaine? Recently questionable wanted posters have been freshly printed, and circulated, offering a reward of twenty-five hundred dollars, dead or alive, for Mr. Fontaine. I say questionable, because the event for which the reward was being offered happened many years ago in another county.

  Upon learning of the existence of these posters, Mr. Fontaine presented himself before a valid court, requested, and was granted a trial. The result of that trial was absolution of any guilt implied by the reward circulars. As publisher of this newspaper, I feel it is my obligation to make certain that everyone knows the reward is no longer valid, and if you see one of these dodgers still posted, you should, as a matter of civic duty, destroy it, in order to prevent what could become a tragic mistake.

  Mr. Fontaine, who is better known by the sobriquet “Pearlie” is the brother of Mrs. Kate Abernathy. Kate Abernathy is not only one of our town’s most successful business leaders, she is also generous of spirit and resources. It was she, you might remember, who organized and was the major contributor to a special fund last year that made Christmas an enjoyable event for the less fortunate of our community.

  Pearlie arrived in town along with Mr. and Mrs. Smoke Jensen in order to have overturned the unjust conviction of Rusty Abernathy and to free, from illegal incarceration, Pearlie’s sister, the above mentioned Kate Abernathy.

  Shortly after Smoke and Sally left, Willis came into the saloon, and he saw everyone laughing and toasting each other. Seeing the marshal, the mood changed quickly.

  “Is there something we can help you with, Marshal?” Kate asked.

  Willis pointed to the glasses several were holding. “What’s that stuff you’re all drinkin’?” he asked.

  “It’s champagne. We’re celebrating my trial, Marshal,” Pearlie said. “You may not have gotten the word yet, but I was tried and found innocent of all charges. So that reward poster that Witherspoon had put out is worthless.”

  “Yeah,” Willis said. “I got a telegram tellin’ me that.” He looked over toward Kate.

  “Have a glass with us, Marshal. Help us celebrate,” Kate invited.

  “A beer’s fine,” Willis replied with a growl.

  As the others continued to celebrate, Willis stood alone at the bar, finished his beer, then left.

  “You know what, Pearlie? I don’t think the new marshal was all that interested in celebrating you being found innocent of all those old charges,” Cal said.

  “It didn’t appear like he was, did it?” Pearlie replied with a chuckle.

  “Hey, Cal,” Rusty said a moment later when Dolly returned to work. “Dolly’s birthday is tomorrow. Did you know that?”

  “No, I didn’t know.”

  “Yeah, she just told me. I’d like to buy her a birthday present. Would you come with me to help me pick something out for her?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  * * *

  When Cal and Rusty left the saloon, they had to wait for a rider to pass before they could cross the street. The rider was Dingus Lomax who had just arrived in town twelve hundred and fifty dollars wealthier than he was when he woke up this morning. He hadn’t actually been paid the reward yet, but he was told that the money would be waiting for him in the Bank of Wild Horse within three days. He decided that, while waiting on that money, he might as well investigate the twenty-five hundred dollars that was being offered for Fontaine, and for that, he had to come to Etholen.

  If he could find Fontaine, that would make today the best payday he had ever had. And he decided that the best place to start would be with Marshal Witherspoon, since his name was on the dodger. Tying up in front of the city marshal’s office, he stepped inside.

  “You Marshal Witherspoon?” Lomax asked.

  “Witherspoon is dead. I’m the marshal now,” Willis said. “Who’s askin’?”

  “Lomax is the name.” Lomax took the reward poster from his shirt pocket. “Tell me, Marshal, what do you know about this man, Fontaine? It says that Witherspoon is the one that’s a’ wantin’ ’im. Bein’ as you’re the new marshal, are you a’ wantin’ ’im, too? Or has somebody done brung ’im in?”

  “There ain’t nobody brung ’im in yet, but . . .”

  Willis was about to tell Lomax that the reward posters were being withdrawn, but he changed his mind. He knew that Atwood wanted Pearlie taken care of... so why not let Lomax do it?

  Glancing down toward his desk, Willis saw the newspaper article proclaiming Pearlie’s innocence, and he turned the paper over so that the story wasn’t visible.

  “But what?” Lomax asked.

  “But there don’t nobody need to bring ’im in ’cause he’s here, in town, now,” Willis said.

  “He’s here? You mean, you got ’im in jail?”

  “No, he ain’t in jail.”

  “Well, if he’s in town, ’n he ain’t in jail, how come it is that you ain’t arrested him?”

  “I was fixin’ to go over ’n arrest ’im, but the onliest thing is, bein’ as I’m the law, I can’t collect on the reward. So I was thinkin’ . . .”

  “I know what you was thinkin’,” Lomax said. “You was thinkin’ that if you let me bring ’im in, that maybe I’d give you some of the reward money.�
�

  “Yeah, that’s what I was thinkin’ all right.”

  “Only thing is, if you know anything about me, you know I don’t bring ’em in alive.”

  “Oh?”

  “This here poster says dead or alive, don’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “That means that when I bring ’em in, he’ll be dead.”

  Willis nodded. “Yes, well, like you said, the reward is for dead or alive.”

  “Where is he?”

  “If I tell you where to find ’im, I’ll be expectin’ some of the money.”

  “I’ll give you two hunnert and fifty dollars.”

  “Uh-uh. Fontaine is worth twenty-five hunnert dollars. I want five hunnert.”

  Willis knew that there was no reward being offered, but he carried out the charade because he wanted Lomax to think that the poster was valid. That way Lomax would kill Fontaine. And because Atwood wanted Fontaine taken care of, Willis was reasonably sure that after he explained how it was all set up, the rancher would be generous to him, if not to Lomax.

  “How ’bout if I give you three hunnert dollars?” Lomax asked. He smiled. “And all you have to do to earn that is sit here ’n wait for me to kill ’im for you.”

  “All right. He’s in the Pretty Girl and Happy Cowboy Saloon,” Willis said.

  “What’s he look like?”

  “He’s wearing a low-crown black hat with a silver band around it. ’N he’s got on a yeller shirt.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  When he went into the Pretty Girl and Happy Cowboy Saloon a few minutes later, Lomax saw the man Willis had described. He was fairly tall, but then to Lomax, who was only five feet four inches, everyone was tall. The man Lomax saw was also wearing a yellow shirt, and though he wasn’t the only one in the saloon with a yellow shirt, he was the only one with a yellow shirt and a black, low-crowned hat with a silver hatband.

  “Yes, sir, what can I get for you?” the bartender asked, stepping down to greet Lomax as he stepped up to the bar.

  “Whiskey,” Lomax replied. He thought about asking the bartender if the man at the other end of the bar was Pearlie Fontaine, and he knew that someone with less experience would probably do just that. But he also knew if he did ask, it would draw attention to him, and, in his business, that wasn’t something you wanted to do.