Brutal Night of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

  Willis frowned for a moment until he realized what Atwood was saying. Then he smiled broadly.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I can see that. I’m all for stayin’ alive.”

  “I thought you might understand,” Atwood replied with a condescending smile.

  * * *

  “You wanted to see us, boss?” Warren asked.

  “Yes. I understand you three men had an encounter with Smoke Jensen last night.”

  “Who told you that?” Clinton asked.

  “I have ways of keeping track of things that I need to know.”

  “Yeah, we did. Well, it was more Jensen’s wife than it was him.”

  “Yes, so I heard. She beat you to the draw.”

  Clinton held up his hand and shook his head. “Now she didn’t do no such thing. She already had her gun drawed when she started mouthing off at me.”

  “Would you be interested in a little revenge?”

  “Yeah,” Clinton said. “Yeah we would. Or at least, I would.”

  “Warren? Reed?”

  “She didn’t pull ’er gun on me or Reed,” Warren said.

  “So, you have no interest in revenge?”

  “Not particular,” Reed replied.

  “But, if it paid very well for you to help Clinton get his revenge, you might be more interested?”

  Warren and Reed glanced toward each other, then smiled.

  “Yeah,” Warren said. “I think we might be.”

  “I told you men when I hired you that from time to time I would ask you to take care of a specific job for me. This is such a time. You would be killing two birds with one stone, so to speak. You would be taking care of a job for me, and you would be helping Clinton get his revenge.”

  “You said something about payin’ really well?” Reed said.

  “I did indeed, and I will make good on that promise as soon as you handle the job I’m going to give you.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Warren asked.

  “I want you three men to kill Smoke Jensen.”

  “Smoke Jensen?” Reed asked, the tone of voice in his response showing his nervousness over the prospect.

  “Yes, the way I have it planned, you will be killing Jensen and his wife. It should be an easy enough job for you.”

  “Mr. Atwood, I don’t know what you know about this feller Jensen, but I’ve heard a lot about him,” Warren said. “And believe me, from all that I’ve heard, he ain’t all that easy to kill.”

  “His wife ain’t goin’ to be all that easy, neither,” Reed added, “most especial when you think back on how fast she got that gun out.”

  Atwood smiled. “Yes, well, what if I told you that you wouldn’t have to go up against either one of them? If you take this job, it will be as simple as shooting someone while they are lying in bed, in the middle of the night, sound asleep? Do you think you could handle the job then?”

  “Asleep? Where are we going to find them asleep?”

  “In their hotel room, tonight,” Atwood said.

  “How are we supposed to get to them if they’re in a hotel room?” Warren asked.

  “I will make all the arrangements you need. And I will pay each of you two hundred dollars apiece to do the job.”

  “Two hunnert dollars, ’n all we have to do is kill him while he’s asleep?” Clinton asked.

  “Not just him. You are going to have to kill both of them. Do you think you can handle that?”

  “What about the law?” Reed asked.

  “What law would that be?” Atwood replied. “I control the city council, the marshal, and the judge. You don’t have to worry about the law.”

  “Yeah, that’s right, you do, don’t you?” Reed said with a big smile.

  “Mr. Atwood, I can tell you right now, you ain’t goin’ to have to worry none about Smoke Jensen no more after tonight,” Warren said.

  Atwood gave the men twenty dollars apiece. “Here’s a little spending money for you while you’re waiting.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “I think Dolly really appreciated her birthday gift from Rusty,” Sally said.

  “Yes, I think so, too,” Smoke said. “I mean, the way she took on about it. Especially when I don’t think it was really all that expensive.”

  “Expensive? What does that have to do with it?” Sally asked.

  “Well, I was just talking about how much she seemed to appreciate it, way beyond what it was actually worth.”

  “Oh, Smoke, for heaven’s sake, just how obtuse are you, anyway?” Sally asked.

  “Obtuse? What are you talking about, obtuse?”

  “It isn’t how expensive it is . . . it’s that Rusty gave it to her.”

  “Oh,” Smoke replied, then it dawned on him what Sally was actually saying, and he smiled. “Oh,” he repeated, mouthing the word this time in a way that showed he really did understand it.

  “I’m glad I don’t have to explain in minute detail. It renews my faith in you,” Sally said.

  “I like it that Pearlie has been able to reestablish a relationship with his sister,” Smoke said.

  “Not only his sister but finding a nephew that he never knew he had,” Sally said.

  The conversation was taking place in their hotel room. It was too early for bed, so Smoke and Sally were sitting in the two chairs furnished by the room, with a table lantern lighting the distance between them.

  “Do Kate and Rusty remind you of Janey and Rebecca?” Sally asked.

  Janey was Smoke’s sister, and Rebecca was the niece he never knew he had until he discovered her one Christmas.1

  “Well, Pearlie finding Rusty does remind me of my finding Rebecca, I suppose,” Smoke said. “But if you remember, Janey and I had managed to make contact from time to time before she died, and the contacts weren’t always that pleasant.”

  “I liked Janey,” Sally said. “I think that if the situation had been different, the two of you would have gotten along well.”2

  “Maybe,” Smoke admitted.

  “Smoke, do you think Atwood is ever going to leave Kate alone?”

  “If you mean do I think he will have a change of mind, no, he won’t. But it isn’t just Kate. He dominates the entire town.”

  “What do you think is going to happen?”

  “I think Atwood is going to push this town too far,” Smoke said. “And when he does, the town is going to fight back.”

  “Will the town win?”

  “Yes,” Smoke answered.

  A soft breeze came up, lifting the muslin curtains away from the open window.

  “Uhmm, the breeze feels good,” Sally said.

  “Yes, I’ll sleep well tonight,” Smoke said.

  Sally chuckled. “What do you mean, you’ll sleep well tonight? Smoke Jensen, you sleep well every night. Why, you can sleep outside in the rain. I know that, because I have seen you do it.”

  “Maybe, but some nights are better than others. Put out the lantern and let’s go to bed.”

  * * *

  Cal also had a room in the hotel, but Pearlie did not. Kate had an apartment at the back of the Pretty Girl and Happy Cowboy Saloon, and she invited Pearlie to stay in the spare bedroom. On the one hand, Pearlie felt, somewhat, as if he had abandoned Smoke, Sally, and Cal. But on the other hand, he felt good at being able to reestablish a connection with his long estranged sister.

  Smoke and Sally might have turned in for the night, but Cal was still at the saloon visiting with Pearlie, Rusty, Dolly, Linda Sue, and Peggy Ann. Linda Sue and Peggy Ann, like Dolly, were part of the Pretty Girls that gave the saloon its name. At the moment, all six were sharing a single table.

  “Seems like Smoke and Sally are turnin’ in earlier ’n earlier now,” Cal said. “They must be getting old.”

  “Ha!” Pearlie said. “I’d like to see you say that to Miz Sally’s face.”

  “Well, I don’t mean old, old,” Cal said. “I just mean older than me.”

  “Honey, seems to me like alm
ost ever’one is older than you,” Peggy Ann said.

  “Darlin’, don’t let these boyish good looks fool you,” Cal said. “I’ve been rode hard and put away wet more than a few times.”

  Peggy Ann laughed. “I’m just foolin’ you, honey. I’m sure you’ve had more than your share of experiences. But, you do have boyish good looks, and that I appreciate.” Her words were teasing as she traced her fingers along his cheek.

  “Well I’ll be damn, Cal, who would have thought it? Peggy Ann just made you blush,” Pearlie said with a little laugh.

  “No, she didn’t.”

  “Yeah, she did,” Rusty said.

  “Now quit it! I’m not blushing!” Cal insisted.

  “Ya’ll quit picking on him now,” Peggy Ann said.

  “Ahh, I’m not picking on him,” Pearlie said. “Cal was just being modest when he said he had been ridden hard and put away wet. He could say more than that. Besides, he’s my closest friend and he’s saved my bacon more than once.”

  “I thought Mr. Jensen was your closest friend,” Rusty said.

  “I suppose that, by definition, you can have only one ‘closest’ friend,” Pearlie said. “But in this case, the dictionary be damned, I have two closest friends.”

  “Me, too,” Cal said.

  “How long have you two been cowboyin’ for Mr. Jensen?” Linda Sue asked.

  “We don’t cowboy for him,” Pearlie said.

  “What? But I thought you did.”

  “We are full-time riders for the brand,” Pearlie explained.

  “Isn’t that the same thing as cowboying for him?”

  Cal shook his head. “Most cowboys are temporary hands. Pearlie and I are not only full-time . . . you might say that we are partners with him.”

  “Partners? You mean, you and Pearlie own part of the ranch?”

  Pearlie laughed. “No, we can’t say that. But Cal and I have about a thousand head of livestock that we run on the ranch, along with Smoke’s cattle. And he and I also have land claims that run adjacent to the Sugarloaf, and since they are without fences, you can’t really tell where Smoke’s property ends and ours begins.”

  The six visited for a while longer, then the three girls, declaring that they had to “earn their pay,” excused themselves and began moving through the saloon, visiting, smiling, talking, and laughing with the other patrons.

  “I know you two think it’s prob’ly wrong for me to like a girl like Dolly,” Rusty said. “But no matter what it looks like, she’s not a whore. All she does is be nice to people.”

  “Rusty, there is no need for you to apologize for anything. I once had a, uh, friend like Dolly. Her real name was Julia McKnight, but her working name was Elegant Sue.”

  “Her working name? You mean she was like Dolly?”

  “Yeah, only more so,” Cal said.

  “By more so you mean . . . ?”

  “She really was a whore when I first met her.”

  “When you found that out, is that when you . . . what I mean, you said you once had a friend like Dolly. I take that to mean that you don’t have her anymore.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “What happened?”

  Cal was silent for a long moment before he answered. “She was killed,” he said, the words barely audible.

  “She was a sweet girl, Cal,” Pearlie said, reaching over to put his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

  “Oh! Cal, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean . . .”

  “No apology needed,” Cal replied. Then he let a smile replace the melancholy expression on his face. “Well, gents, I think I’ll get on back to the hotel,” he said. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

  * * *

  When Warren, Clinton, and Reed rode into Etholen that night, they stopped at the Bull and Heifer Saloon. They were met by one of the girls as soon as they stepped inside. The girl, who was known at Cactus Jenny, may have been attractive at one time, but the dissipation of her profession had hardened her features.

  “Well, how are you boys tonight?” she said, flashing a smile. The smile disclosed a two-tooth gap, the result of a drunken cowboy. “Which one of you are going to buy me a drink?”

  “Why do I have to buy you a drink?” Warren asked. “Seein’ as how last time I was here you told me how much you love me.”

  “Honey, I love all the boys,” Cactus Jenny said. “That is, I love ’em as long as they’ve got the money.”

  “Tonight, I got the money,” Warren said.

  Cactus Jenny smiled again.

  “Don’t smile so much,” Warren said. “You can see where you ain’t got teeth, ’n that ain’t purty.”

  The smile left her face, replaced with a hurt look. “You say you’ve got money?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well then, let’s just go upstairs.” Cactus Jenny’s invitation was even more business-like than usual.

  Clinton and Reed watched Warren and the girl go up the stairs, then they turned toward the bartender and ordered a couple of beers.

  “How long you reckon he’ll be up there?” Clinton asked.

  “About two or three minutes,” Reed replied, and they both laughed.

  “Atwood said he’d give us two hunnert dollars apiece,” Clinton said. “You ever had two hunnert dollars before?”

  “Not all at one time,” Reed admitted.

  “I ain’t never had that much money, neither. What are you goin’ to do with your money?”

  “First we got to earn it.”

  “Hell, how hard can that be? I mean he’ll be asleep, so it ain’t like we’re goin’ to be a’ callin’ ’im out, or anything,” Clinton said. “Besides which, if that bitch is lyin’ there alongside ’im, I’m goin’ to take particular pleasure in shootin’ her.”

  “Shhh!” Reed said. “You want the whole world to know our business? Anyhow, from all I’ve heard about Smoke Jensen, this ain’t the kind of job we want to mess up on. I know that I sure as hell don’t want him comin’ after me.”

  “How many men do you reckon Smoke Jensen has kilt?”

  “I don’t know. Twenty, thirty . . . maybe a lot more’n that,” Reed replied.

  “If he really has kilt that many, how come he ain’t never been put in prison?”

  “On account of folks say that ever’one he’s kilt was tryin’ to kill him.”

  “Like us, you mean?” Clinton asked.

  “Yeah, like us. Well, no, not really like us. They say that he’s some kind of a hero, on account of the way he is. They’ve actual writ books about him, did you know that?”

  “No they ain’t, you’re just spoofin’ me. They ain’t writ no books about him.”

  “Yes, they have. I’ve seen them.”

  “Wow! You think we’ll be famous after we kill ’im?”

  “We plan on killin’ the son of a bitch while he’s a’ sleepin’, don’t we? How’s that goin’ to make us famous? Besides which, when you kill someone like that, you don’t particular want no one to know that you was the one to do it,” Clinton said.

  “Yeah, I reckon that’s right. And I don’t care how good he is with a gun, there ain’t nobody that can shoot in their sleep.”

  “Shh,” Clinton said. “Bartender’s comin’ back this way again.”

  “You gents ’bout ready for a refill?” the bartender asked.

  “We’ll tell you when we’re ready,” Clinton said. “Don’t be botherin’ us none.”

  “I’m just trying to be helpful.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t be.”

  Chagrined, the bartender walked away.

  “How much longer you think Warren’s goin’ to be?” Reed asked.

  “I don’t know he . . . wait, here he comes now,” Clinton answered.

  Warren joined the other two at the bar.

  “Damn, Muley, you smell like a whore,” Reed said.

  “Yeah, well I just been with a whore, so what the hell am I s’posed to smell like, roses? Anyhow, that’s better ’n smellin’ lik
e horse shit, which is what you two smell like,” Warren replied with a broad smile.

  “How was she?” Clinton asked.

  “How was she? Hell, why don’t you find out for yourself? It don’t cost but two dollars.”

  “No, thanks. I’ll wait till we do this job ’n get the money Atwood’s promised us, then I’m goin’ to go down to the Pretty Girl ’n get me one of the women that works down there,” Clinton said.

  “Them women don’t do nothin’ but sit with you while you drink,” Reed reminded them. “They ain’t actual whores, ’n they won’t none of ’em let you take ’em to bed. Don’t you ’member, they was all in the Palace Café?”

  “Yeah, I remember, and I also remember how snooty all of ’em was actin’. But I reckon if I offered one of ’em enough money, she’d go to bed with me, all right.”

  “Ha! As ugly as you are, it’ll take a lot of money,” Reed teased.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The three men moved from the bar to one of the tables where, for the next hour or so they “spent” the money they were going to get from Atwood.

  “I’m goin’ to New York,” Reed said.

  “What are you goin’ there for?” Warren asked.

  “You ever been around any of them Eastern dudes?” Reed replied. “Hell, you can push ’em around like babies. I figure if I go to New York ’n I’ve got a little money, it won’t be no time a-tall till I got me a gang put together, ’n I can take anythin’ I want.”

  “It’ll take a lot more money than a couple hundred dollars if you’re plannin’ on goin’ to New York.”

  “Well, who knows, I might just pick me up a little more money on the way,” Reed said.

  “I’m goin’ to China,” Clinton said. “I used to live in San Francisco, ’n near ’bout all them Chinese women is purty. Just think how many Chinese women there is in China.”

  “What time is it?” Warren asked.

  Clinton pointed to the clock on the wall behind the bar. “Accordin’ to that, it’s near onto midnight,” he said.

  “You think the son of a bitch is asleep yet?” Reed asked.

  “I reckon he is,” Warren replied. He loosed the pistol in his holster. “What do you say we go get this job done?”

  Draining what remained of their beers, the three men left the saloon.