Shootout of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

  The girl smiled, then leaned over, putting her hands down on the table in such a way as to afford him a very generous view of the cleavage exposed by her low-cut dress.

  “Honey, as I am sure you can tell by the way that I am dressed, that’s what I do for a living,” she said, now completely back in character. “I am always friendly to handsome men.” She laughed, a self-deprecating laugh. “The truth is, they don’t even have to be handsome. All they need is money. It just works out nice when they are handsome, like you are.”

  “Then tell me, my new friend. Where can I find Minnie Smith?”

  The smile left the girl’s face, and she looked around the saloon anxiously before turning her attention back to Smoke.

  “What do you want with her?” she asked.

  “I received a message from her,” Smoke said without providing any more information.

  The girl gasped, then covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, my God, I didn’t think you would come. You are Buck West, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” Smoke answered. At the moment, he thought it would be easier to say that than to explain who he really was. “Am I correct in assuming that you are Minnie Smith?”

  “Yes, I’m Minnie Smith.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “All right. Buy me a drink, Mr. West,” she said. “That way I can sit and talk with you for a spell without anyone wondering what’s going on.”

  “I’d be glad to. And I’ll have a beer,” Smoke said. He took a dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to her.

  Minnie started to the bar to get the drinks, but on her way she stopped at one of the other tables and spoke to the two men who were there. Smoke saw her nod toward him then, and as she continued on toward the bar, the two men got up and, bringing their mugs with them, came over to Smoke’s table.

  “You would be Mr. West?” one of them asked.

  Smoke nodded, but did not speak.

  “May we join you?”

  “Yes, please do.” He would have said that he wanted no company, had he not seen Minnie talking to them. But he was certain that if she had spoken to them, then she had probably invited them to join in the conversation. And conversation was good, because he needed as much information as he could gather before he made his move. Whatever that move might turn out to be.

  The two men sat down as Minnie got a couple of beers at the bar.

  “I’m Doc Baker, this is Nate Nabors. He owns this saloon,” the older of the two men said.

  “Pleased to meet the both of you,” Smoke said. He wasn’t sure where this was going, so he was keeping his own comments to a minimum.

  “I hope you don’t mind, Mr. West. I told these two gentlemen that you were here,” Minnie said as she returned with the two beers and sat down as well. “They know all about the telegram I sent to you, and they know that you are one of Bobby Lee’s friends. They want to help you if they can.”

  “Help me with what?”

  “Whatever it is you plan to do, Mr. West,” Nabors said.

  “What makes you think I’m going to do anything?”

  Minnie had a confused and rather disappointed look on her face.

  “I don’t know, maybe I misunderstood,” she said. “I thought that being one of Bobby Lee’s friends you might—uh, well, that is, you did come in response to my telegram, didn’t you? The telegram I sent you?”

  “I did.”

  “And you are a friend of Bobby Lee’s?”

  “I am.”

  “Here is the thing, Mr. West. You are here, and we don’t believe you would have come if you didn’t plan to do something,” Doc Baker said.

  “And if you do have something planned, we want to help, because we don’t believe Bobby Lee is guilty,” Nabors added.

  “Are there many in town like you? By that I mean, people who don’t believe Bobby Lee is guilty,” Smoke asked. He thought of the old white-haired man he had spoken to in front of the drug store.

  The others exchanged glances for a moment. Then Doc Baker answered for all three of them.

  “A few more maybe, but I’m afraid there aren’t too many of us who feel this way,” he said. “The problem is, Bobby Lee was brought in by passengers who were on the train when it was held up and the express man murdered. That means he was obviously there.”

  “Did anyone testify that he saw Bobby Lee shoot the messenger?” Smoke asked.

  “No. Nobody testified to that, because nobody saw him do it,” Nabors answered. “And the reason nobody saw him shoot the messenger is because he didn’t do it.”

  “But Bobby Lee was there?”

  “Oh, yes, he was there.”

  Smoke nodded. “Yeah, I was afraid of that. If he was there, then he bears some of the guilt.”

  “Whose side are you on, Mr. West?” Minnie asked, surprised by the way the conversation was going.

  “I’m just trying to find out as much as I can about what happened,” Smoke replied.

  “What happened is Frank Dodd and the others got away. Someone has to hang, so it’s going to be Bobby Lee,” Doc Baker said.

  “No!” Minnie said, biting her fist as tears sprung to her eyes. “He can’t hang.”

  “He sure as hell can,” Doc Baker said. “And if Mr. West here isn’t able to do anything about it, Bobby Lee damn well will hang.”

  “No!” Minnie said again. “No!”

  Minnie spoke so loudly that several others in the saloon looked over toward the table she was sharing with the three men, to see what was going on.

  “Shh, Minnie, there’s no need for everyone in town to know our business,” Doc Baker said.

  “You’re right, I’m sorry,” Minnie responded quietly and contritely.

  “Did Bobby Lee present any defense?” Smoke asked. “I mean, did he say why he was there?”

  “Yes,” Nabors replied. “He said he was a railroad detective and he had worked his way into the gang to find out about them.”

  “And he told the sheriff about the robbery,” Minnie added. “The sheriff and his deputies were supposed be waiting in the car when the robbers arrived. That way the sheriff could catch them in the act.”

  “What went wrong?” Smoke asked.

  “He trusted the sheriff. That’s what went wrong,” Minnie replied.

  “The sheriff wasn’t in the car,” Doc Baker added.

  “Did he say why he wasn’t in the car?”

  “He claims that he never got the letter, and that there was no such plan between him and Bobby Lee,” Nabors replied.

  “But there was a letter,” Minnie insisted.

  “How do you know?” Smoke asked.

  “Because he told me,” she replied. “In fact, he told all of us.” She made a circular motion with her hand, which included the other two.

  “He told all three of you about the plan?”

  “Yes,” Doc Baker answered. “He told us before the robbery ever happened what he was planning to do.”

  “Did you three testify to that in the trial?”

  “We tried to,” Minnie said. “But they wouldn’t let us testify. They said it was hearsay.”

  “They wouldn’t even swear us in as witnesses,” Doc Baker said.

  “Are you a special friend of Bobby Lee?” Smoke asked Minnie.

  “What do you mean by special friend?” Minnie replied.

  Smoke looked over toward the woman Minnie had identified as Janet Ferrell. Janet was still crying about the death of Andy Emerson.

  “I mean are you that kind of special friend?” he clarified.

  Minnie smiled sheepishly, then nodded. “I am as special a friend as a girl like me can be,” she answered. “What about you? How does he know you? He asked me to send the telegram to you, but he wasn’t sure it would even get through, and he wasn’t sure you would come even if it did. Evidently he hadn’t seen you in a while.”

  “That’s right. We haven’t seen each other in a very long time,” Smoke said, validating her observation. “And
the reason I know him is because I was once married to his sister. ”

  “Once married?” Minnie asked.

  “She’s dead,” Smoke said without further elaboration.

  “Oh, Mr. West, I’m sorry.”

  Suddenly, someone barged in through the batwing doors, hitting them so hard that the doors slammed noisily against the walls. Looking toward the disturbance, Smoke recognized Dawes, the man with whom he had had an altercation back at the barbershop.

  “There you are!” Dawes shouted angrily. “You’re the son of a bitch that hit me from behind!” He had a pistol in his hand and he pointed it toward Smoke, which meant he was also pointing toward the three who were sitting at the table with him.

  Reacting very quickly, Smoke turned the table over so that it was between Minnie, Doc Baker, Nabors, and Dawes. He did it just in the nick of time because Dawes fired, wildly as it turned out, his bullet taking a piece out of the top of the table.

  Remaining crouched over, Smoke moved quickly away from the table so as not to draw any more fire that could put the others in danger. When he reached the stove, he called out to Dawes.

  “I’m over here!”

  Dawes’ second shot hit the stovepipe, sending out a cloud of black dust, the residue from old fires.

  Startled by the unexpected shooting, everyone in the saloon was diving for cover. It was not until then that Smoke drew his own pistol. He shot back, hitting Dawes in the hand, causing him to drop his pistol.

  With a cry of pain, Dawes grabbed his hand. Then, shouting out a loud string of curses and his face contorted in rage, he bent over to retrieve his pistol. Smoke fired again, this time hitting the pistol and sending it sliding across the floor.

  Dawes started toward it.

  “I could have killed you either time, Dawes!” Smoke shouted. “If you touch that gun again, I will kill you. Is that what you want?”

  Dawes stopped, then turned back toward Smoke, glaring at him, but saying nothing.

  By now, with the shooting stopped, the others in the saloon, some of whom had imitated Minnie, Doc Baker, and Nabors by getting behind overturned tables, began to stand up.

  “You were lucky,” Dawes said.

  “Didn’t look like luck to me,” Doc Baker said. “Looked to me like he was being generous. Come over here and let me look at that hand.”

  “It ain’t nothin',” Dawes said.

  “Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t,” Doc Baker said. “On the other hand, it could fester and you’d wind up losin’ your hand. Or worse. Now get over here and let me look at it, like I said.”

  Dawes walked over to Doc Baker, holding out his bleeding hand.

  “Get me a bottle of whiskey, Minnie,” Doc Baker ordered, and within a moment she was back with a bottle. The doctor pulled the cork with his teeth, then poured a generous amount of the whiskey over the wound.

  “Ooww, that hurts,” Dawes complained.

  “Good,” Doc Baker said. “It serves you right for doing such a dumb thing. What brought all this on anyway.”

  Dawes pointed to Smoke. “He hit me from behind for no reason at all.”

  “Now, Dawes, I just met this man a few moments ago and I already don’t believe he would have hit you from behind. And I don’t believe he would hit you for no reason,” Doc Baker said.

  “I didn’t hit you from behind, Dawes. I tapped you on the shoulder. You turned around and then I hit you.”

  “Well, why did you hit me?”

  “Because you were about to bring a chair crashing down on the Chinaman’s head, that’s why.”

  “That’s no reason. The Chinaman deserved it. That Celestial stole five dollars from me,” Dawes said angrily.

  “And you were going to kill him over five dollars?”

  “What if I had killed him? Hell, he ain’t nothin’ but a Chinaman anyway,” Dawes said, as if that explained everything.

  By now, Minnie had torn off part of her underskirt, and Doc Baker used it to wrap a bandage around Dawes’ hand.

  “Go home, Dawes. Go home before you get yourself into more trouble,” Doc Baker said.

  Dawes nodded, then started over to pick up his gun.

  “I’ll thank you to leave the gun here,” Smoke said. He emphasized his comment by waving his gun, indicating that Dawes should stay away.

  “Mister, that gun cost me fifteen dollars. There ain’t no way I am goin’ to just leave it here.”

  “You are going to leave it until tomorrow,” Smoke insisted. “I’m sure the gentleman behind the bar will hold it for you until then.”

  “How can I trust him?”

  “I give you my word, Dawes, that your gun will be here tomorrow,” Nabors said. “That’s right, isn’t it, Paul?” he called out, looking toward the bartender.

  Paul, the bartender, was as awed by what he had seen as any of the others. He nodded, but said nothing.

  “Yeah, well, it better be,” Dawes said. “'Cause if it ain’t…” He paused, then, with an angry glare, Dawes left the saloon with his gun still lying on the floor behind him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  With the departure of Dawes, the excitement was over, and everyone in the saloon started talking at the same time, trying to fix in their minds the memory of what they had just seen. The result was a cacophony of excited shouts and conversation.

  Smoke walked over to Dawes’s pistol, which still lay where it had wound up after being pushed across the floor by Smoke’s second shot. Picking it up, he saw that, because of the strike of his bullet, it would need a new handle grip. He gave it to the barkeep. After that, he returned to the table, which had already been righted again, thanks to the efforts of Doc Baker and Nate Nabors.

  “Looks like we are going to need new drinks,” Doc Baker said.

  “Yeah, it looks like it,” Nabors said. “Get us another round, would you, Minnie?” Nabors asked. “And tell Paul they are on me.”

  Minnie nodded, then started toward the bar to carry out the order.

  For the moment, Smoke said nothing. He continued to look toward the batwing doors, just to make certain that Dawes didn’t suddenly burst back in with a second gun.

  “Don’t worry about Dawes comin’ back,” Nabors said, noticing the attention Smoke was giving the door. “I’ve known him a long time and, believe me, he’s too much of a coward to ever try anything against you again.”

  Minnie returned with new beers for Smoke, Doc Baker, and Nabors. “Now, where were we before all the excitement began?” she asked.

  “Mr. West had just told us that he was Bobby Lee’s brother-in-law,” Nabors said.

  “And you said she died?” Minnie asked.

  “Yes,” Smoke replied. “Actually, she was killed, along with my son.”

  “Oh. I’m so sorry,” Minnie said, reaching out to put her hand on his.

  “Did the law ever catch the person who did it?” Doc Baker asked.

  “It wasn’t a person, it was three persons. And the law didn’t catch them. I did.”

  “You caught them? You mean, by yourself?” Minnie asked.

  “Yes.”

  “With the shooting exhibition you put on here today, I would almost imagine that the odds were on your side, despite the fact that were three of them. I have never seen shooting like that,” Doc Baker said. “How come I’ve never heard of you, Mr. West?”

  Smoke took a swallow of his beer, then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth before he spoke again.

  “Well, maybe it’s because my name isn’t Buck West.”

  “What? I don’t understand, if you aren’t Buck West, how did you get the telegram?” Minnie asked.

  “It is a name that I used once in my past. I believe Bobby Lee used it as sort of a code when he sent the telegram. He knew that I would respond to that name and I suppose he also knew that if he used it, I would realize that the telegram was authentic.”

  “What is your real name?” Doc Baker asked.

  “Jensen. Kirby Jensen, but mo
st folks call me Smoke.”

  Nate Nabors had just started to take a drink when he heard Smoke give his real name, and he jerked the mug back down so quickly that he spilled some of his beer.

  “You are Smoke Jensen?”

  “Yes.”

  Smiling broadly, Nabors extended his hand across the table. “Well, Mr. Jensen, let me tell you it is an honor to meet you. And knowing that you are here, I feel better about this situation already.”

  “Thank you and it is Smoke, not Mr. Jensen,” Smoke replied, taking Nabors’s hand.

  “Excuse my ignorance here, but is Smoke Jensen a name I should know?” Doc Baker asked.

  “You would know it if you ever read anything but those damn medical journals,” Nabors replied. “Smoke Jensen is just about the most famous gunman—uh, make that, best-known gunfighter—I mean, well, I don’t know what I mean. I know that he isn’t a gunfighter who goes around looking for trouble, but he is the kind of man folks turn to when they are in trouble.”

  Doc Baker nodded. “Mr. Jensen, I’m not one who appreciates guns. I’ve had to pull out too many bullets from people who were too dumb to reason anything out and wound up letting their guns talk for them. But if you are here to help Bobby Lee, then I say, welcome to Cloverdale.”

  “How?” Minnie asked.

  “How what?” Smoke asked, confused by Minnie’s truncated question.

  “How are you going to help him?”

  Smoke drummed his fingers on the table for a moment before he answered.

  “Well, now, to tell you the truth, Minnie, I haven’t quite got that figured out yet.”

  “When you figure it out, if there is anything I can do to help, please let me know.”

  “I will. And thanks.”

  “No. Thank you for responding to the telegram.”

  There is no way I wasn’t going to respond,” Smoke said. “Like I told you, Bobby Lee is family. ”

  Approximately sixty miles north of Cloverdale, in the small town of Desolation, Emmett Clark was sitting in on a poker game at the New Promise Saloon.

  “Deal them,” Clark said.

  One of the other players was Jules Stillwater, and at this precise moment, he was extremely agitated. The cause of Stillwater’s agitation was the attention Cindy was paying to Emmett Clark. She was watching the game from her position behind Clark, and her hand was resting lightly on Clark’s shoulder.