Rampage of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

  “You heard what the man said, Sheriff,” Pardeen replied. “I didn’t have no choice. If I hadn’t killed him, he would’a killed me.”

  The sheriff shook his head. “I don’t know if I believe you or not,” he said.

  Pardeen smiled. “Oh, yeah, you believe me all right,” he said easily. “You believe me because you are afraid to go against me. Otherwise, you would have arrested me the moment I came into town.”

  “No, I—I couldn’t arrest you,” the sheriff said. “I’ve heard what you did back in Puxico, but I’ve received no paper on you and I’ve got no authority.”

  “Well, Sheriff, if you do get some paper on me and you want to come arrest me, you know where you can find me,” Pardeen taunted.

  “You just—you just watch your step around here,” the sheriff said, trying hard to keep his voice from breaking in fear. Turning, he walked out of the saloon, leaving Logan’s body dead on the floor behind him.

  Pardeen chuckled as the sheriff left; then, turning, he saw Trent Williams staring at him. He walked over to talk to him.

  “Logan didn’t really tell you he was going to kill me, did he?” Pardeen asked.

  “No.”

  “Then why did you say that?”

  Williams looked around the saloon to see if anyone was close enough to overhear their conversation. As everyone seemed to want to give Pardeen a very wide berth, there was nobody close by.

  “I spoke up for you because I want to hire your services,” Williams said.

  “I’m not interested,” Pardeen replied.

  Pardeen’s dismissive comment surprised Williams. “You’re not interested? Why not? You haven’t even heard what I want you to do.”

  “I know what you want me to do. You want me to kill someone. The answer is no. Kill him yourself,” Pardeen said.

  “You haven’t heard my offer.”

  “It would have to be a very good offer to get me to change my mind,” Pardeen said.

  “Is ten thousand dollars good enough?” Williams asked.

  “What?” Pardeen replied with a gasp. “Did you say ten thousand dollars?”

  “Yes.”

  A smile spread across Pardeen’s face, and this time the smile was genuine.

  “I’ll do it.”

  “You haven’t asked who it is I want you to kill.”

  “I don’t care who it is. For ten thousand dollars I’d kill my own grandma.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Sorento, Wyoming Territory

  The town was cold and dark when Williams, Pardeen, and Corbett arrived at around one in the morning. Tying their horses off behind the saloon, the three men moved up the alley toward the office of the Indian agency.

  They were startled by the screech of a cat that jumped down from a fence, then ran across the alley in front of them.

  The yap of a dog caused them to stop, then move into the shadows. The dog continued to bark.

  “Cody, hush up!” an irritated voice shouted.

  The dog continued to bark.

  “I said shut up!” the voice shouted again.

  The dog barked one more time, but this time its bark was interrupted by a yelp of pain.

  “Damnit, when I tell you to shut up, I mean shut up,” the voice said angrily.

  A baby began crying.

  The three men waited a moment longer; then when everything had calmed down, they resumed their cautious movement down the alley.

  “He lives in a small shack behind the agency,” Williams said.

  “What about the other man?” Pardeen asked. “The one who is the actual agent?”

  “Don’t worry about him. He lives in Laramie.”

  “I still don’t know how killin’ this man is going to get us any money.”

  “It’s simple,” Williams said. “Kirby Jensen—”

  “Smoke Jensen,” Pardeen said, interrupting.

  “All right, Smoke Jensen,” Williams continued. “He’s bringing in three thousand head of cattle. He will turn the cattle over to Malone in return for a receipt, which he can then redeem for cash from Abernathy. Only, he isn’t going to turn the cattle over to Malone, he’s going to turn them over to me.”

  “Because?” Pardeen asked.

  “Because he is going to think that I am Cephus Malone.”

  Reaching the little building behind the Indian agency, Williams tried the front door.

  “I’ll be damned,” he whispered. “It isn’t locked.”

  “Yeah, a lot of people don’t lock their doors in these little towns,” Pardeen replied, also in a whisper. “They figure they know everyone in town, so they figure they’re safe.”

  Williams started in, then stopped and stepped back out onto the porch.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t make any noise, and tell me when it’s done,” Williams said.

  Pardeen chuckled, then disappeared into the darkened interior of the little house. Williams and Corbett waited outside.

  “Who’s there? What is it?” a voice said from inside. “What are you doing in here?”

  That was as far as the voice got until it turned into a muffled squealing sound.

  A moment later, Pardeen came back outside. “It’s done,” he said.

  “Are you sure he’s dead?” Williams asked.

  “Oh, yeah, he’s dead,” Pardeen said. “I cut his throat from ear to ear.”

  “Lock the door,” Williams said. “By the time anyone discovers him it will be too late.”

  Smoke’s riders didn’t see the town until they reached the top of a long, sloping ridgeline. Jules was riding point, so he was the first to see Sorento, which was no more than a small group of buildings clustered around a railroad depot.

  “Yahoo!” Jules shouted, taking off his hat and waving it over his head. Turning his horse, he galloped back to the others.

  “We’re here!” he shouted happily. “It’s just over the hill! We’re here, we’re here, we’re here!”

  It had been twenty-eight days since Smoke and his outfit had left Sugarloaf. Twenty-eight days of drought, stampede, blizzard, and attacks from Indians and cattle rustlers. They had come through, though not without its cost. Four good men lay dead on the trail behind them.

  Because they would be spending this night in town, Sally had not gone ahead of them this morning as she normally did. On this, the last day of the drive, she kept the wagon alongside the herd.

  Smoke stopped them when they reached the crest of the hill. They sat there for a moment, looking down at the little town below them.

  “It sure don’t look like much,” Pearlie said. “Comin’ all this way only to see a town that ain’t even as big as Big Rock seems sort of…” He struggled for a word. “Sort of…”

  “Anticlimactic,” Sally suggested.

  “Yeah, that,” Pearlie said, though he had no idea what the word meant.

  “Well, we didn’t come here to visit the town,” Smoke said. “We came here to sell our cattle. And if we can do that, then it doesn’t matter what size the town is.”

  “You got that right,” Cal said. “But the question now is, did we make it in time? Are we the first ones here?”

  “We’re the first ones here,” Sally said.

  “How do you know?”

  “Look at the feeder lots,” Sally said. “There aren’t more than a couple of dozen cattle down there.”

  “Could be they already been delivered to the Indians,” Billy said.

  “No,” Sally said. “If there had been that many cattle in the pens, we would still be able to smell it. We’re the first.”

  “So, what do we do now, Smoke?” Billy asked.

  “We’ll keep the herd here while I go into town and contact Mr. Malone,” Smoke answered. “Then, soon as I make the arrangements, I’ll pay you boys off, then make arrangements for you and the horses to go back by train.”

  “Whooee,” Jules said. “Think about that, boys. We’ll be goin’ home on the tr
ain. I ain’t never been on no train before. I wonder what that’ll be like.”

  “Why, shoot, it won’t be like nothin’,” Cal said. “You just sit there on the train and ride along with it, that’s all.”

  “Sally, you want to come into town with me?” Smoke asked.

  “Not yet,” Sally said. “Since we won’t be taking the wagon back, I’ll need to spend some time packing the things that we will be shipping back home. But I tell you what, find us a hotel room while you are in town, would you? I wouldn’t mind spending this night in a real bed.”

  “Yeah, I could go along with that myself,” Smoke said. He swung into his saddle and looked back at the others. “I can’t tell you how proud I am of you,” he said. “Not many men could do what you just did, driving three thousand head of cattle five hundred miles in the wintertime.”

  “The reason not many men could do it is because there ain’t that many dumb enough to try,” Billy replied, and the others laughed.

  “I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” Smoke said as he turned toward the town.

  A small bell was suspended from the door so that it jingled as Smoke stepped into the Indian agency office.

  “I’ll be with you in just a moment,” someone called from the back.

  “No hurry,” Smoke answered. “It’s taken me a month to get here. I can wait a few more minutes, I reckon.”

  The man laughed as he came out front. “May I help you?”

  “My name is Smoke Jensen,” Smoke said. “Are you are Cephus Malone?”

  “I am indeed, sir. Cephus Malone at your service.”

  “Then you are the man I’m looking for. I’m here to sell my cattle. That is, assuming I am the first.”

  “You are the first.”

  “Then, I take it that you are still interested in buying.” Smoke chuckled. “Otherwise, I’ve had a hell of a long drive for nothing.”

  “Oh, yes, I am quite willing to buy your herd. As soon as you put your cows in the holding pens, I will issue you a receipt for payment. Then, all you have to do is send the receipt to Washington and they’ll send you a bank draft for the amount.”

  “I have to send the receipt to Washington for payment? I thought all I had to do was present the receipt to Mr. Abernathy.”

  “No, no, Abernathy need not get involved. I’m the only one you will have to deal with. That is, except for the Indian Bureau in Washington.”

  “Yes, in Washington,” Smoke repeated. It was obvious by the tone of his voice that he was not too thrilled with the idea of having to wait for payment.

  “I can see that it is making you a little nervous to have to wait for your money. But if you can’t depend on the United States government, who can you depend on?”

  “I guess you’re right,” Smoke said. “All right, I’ll go bring in the herd. I have them just outside town.”

  “Good, good. Believe me, Mr. Jensen, there are going to be a lot of happy Indians when these cattle are delivered.”

  “I hope so,” Smoke said. “A happy Indian is a peaceful Indian.”

  The man chuckled. “That’s true, Mr. Jensen,” he said. “Yes, sir, truer words were never spoken. I like that. I may use that the next time I talk to the bureaucrats in Washington. A happy Indian is a peaceful Indian.”

  “You will want the cattle delivered to the holding pens, I suppose?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right,” Smoke said as he started toward the door.

  “Wait, Mr. Jensen, don’t you want the receipt?”

  Smoke stopped. “Don’t you want to count them first?”

  “Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. I guess I was getting a little ahead of myself, wasn’t I? Please, by all means, bring the cattle in. I’ll count them, then I’ll issue the receipt.”

  Smoke nodded, then left.

  Pardeen came out of the back room then. “So that was the great Smoke Jensen,” he said.

  “That is how he identified himself,” Williams, who had been posing as Cephus Malone, said. “I have no way of knowing for sure, since I’ve never met the man. But I have no reason to doubt that he is who he says he is, especially as he has delivered the herd.”

  “Not yet he ain’t delivered it,” Pardeen said.

  “Oh, he’s delivered it all right,” Williams insisted. “He just hasn’t put them in the feeder pens for us.”

  “Yeah, well, you’d better keep an eye on that one,” Pardeen said. “He’s as slick as they come.”

  “No,” Williams replied. “It isn’t my job to keep an eye on him. That’s your job.”

  “Oh, you don’t worry about that,” Pardeen said. “I have something special in mind for him just as soon as all this is over.”

  The town of Sorento existed for the sole purpose of providing a railhead to ship out cattle for the neighboring ranches. Because of that, the facilities at the depot were equal to those of cities much bigger.

  Included in the facilities were two very large feeder lots, and Smoke used both of them. While Cal, Billy, Mike, and Jules pushed the cows into the two large pens, Pearlie and Smoke sat on the top rail of the pens, counting them. Smoke had one pen and Pearlie the other. They counted the cows by the simple method of making a knot in a string of rawhide for every fifty cows that passed through the gate. This controlled counting method allowed them to arrive at a much more accurate number than the hasty count that had been taken in the field after the attempted rustling.

  “I make if thirteen hundred and forty-two, Pearlie said.

  “I’ve got fourteen hundred and eleven,” Smoke said.

  “That’s twenty-seven hundred and fifty three,” Pearlie said. He shook his head. “I didn’t think we had lost that many.”

  “Pearlie, when you consider everything that we went through, I’m very pleasantly surprise we didn’t lose more,” Smoke said.

  “Yeah, I guess you are right,” Pearlie said. He smiled. “But I reckon it’s enough to make the drive worth it, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, yes, it’s more than worth it,” Smoke agreed. “Especially considering that we might have as bad a winter as we did before.”

  “Here comes our man,” Smoke said when he saw Trent Williams, the man he thought was Cephus Malone, coming toward him. Williams was carrying two pieces of paper.

  “Well, you got them all counted, I see,” Williams said.

  “Twenty-seven hundred and fifty-three,” Smoke said.

  “Two thousand, seven hundred, and fifty-three,” Williams repeated. “All right, all I need you to do is sign this bill of sale over to me, and I’ll give you your receipt.”

  Smoke nodded, then signed the bill of sale.

  Williams handed him a receipt. “Send this in to Washington, friend, and you’ll be a rich man,” he said. “And may I say that it was a pleasure doing business with you?”

  “Thank you,” Smoke replied. “Now, I want to treat my cowboys to the best dinner in town. Where do you recommend I take them?”

  “Oh, well, I wouldn’t presume to recommend one place over another,” Williams said. “But knowing cowboys, I imagine anyplace that would let them in would be a welcome change to men who are used to nothing but whorehouses and saloons.”

  Smoke glared at Williams. “I don’t think of my cowboys in that way, mister,” he said. “I consider them to be good men. In fact, I would go so far as to say that I consider them to be among the finest men I have ever met.”

  Williams cleared his throat. “Well—uh—certainly I meant no disrespect to either you or your men,” he said.

  Sally came up to Smoke as Williams was walking away.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” Smoke replied. He held up the receipt. “We have the receipt, but I’ll tell you the truth, Sally, if it weren’t for the money, that’s a fella I’d just as soon avoid.”

  Sally smiled. “Well, after this, we can avoid him,” she said.

  As it turned out, the hotel had a banquet room and Smoke rente
d it for the evening. He ordered a dinner to be prepared for his men, and all showed up, freshly scrubbed and wearing their best clothes.

  As the wine was poured, Smoke lifted his glass to propose a toast.

  “Sally, men,” he said. “I would like to drink a toast to ones who didn’t make it here with us but who, by their effort and their sacrifice, enabled us to make it. Here’s to Dooley, Andy, Hank, and LeRoy.”

  “Hear, hear,” Pearlie said, and all of them drank.

  “And I’d like to propose a toast to the man who led us,” Billy said.

  “And to the woman who led him,” Cal added, eliciting laughter as he held his glass toward Sally.

  Again they drank a toast. Then waiters began bringing in the food.

  “Oh, that looks good,” Billy said as a plate was put before him.

  “I heard that you men just brought a herd of cattle up,” the headwaiter said. “I suppose after eating bad food on the trail, anything would look good to you.”

  Jules started to say something, but Billy held up his hand to stop him.

  “Mister, I said this food looks good. I didn’t say nothin’ about how we ate on the trail ’cause the truth is, there ain’t nothin’ this here café can serve that will come close to bein’ as good.”

  “Trail food?” the headwaiter asked incredulously. “I hardly think so.”

  “Mister, Miz Sally cooked all our food on the trail,” Mike said. “And if you make another remark about how it wasn’t no good, why I reckon I’ll just have to box your ears for you.”

  “Mike!” Sally said.

  “Miz Sally, I’m just takin’ up for you is all,” Mike said.

  Despite herself, Sally couldn’t help but laugh at her young “protector.”

  “Well, I thank you very much. But boxing this gentleman’s ears is no way to do it.”

  “Madam,” the headwaiter said. “Believe me, I meant no disrespect.”

  “And no disrespect was taken,” Sally replied graciously.

  “Say, Smoke, what time does the train leave tomorrow?” Billy asked.

  “Around nine o’clock, I think,” Smoke said. “I’ll find out for sure right after breakfast tomorrow when I get the tickets.”