“Wait a minute, Smoke. I ain’t gonna sit out here cooling my heels while you fellers do all the work,” Monte said.
Louis pointed his cigar at Monte as if it were a gun. “You don’t have any choice, Monte. Slaughter’s sure to have given your description to his men. If they see you in town, they’ll know Smoke and whoever else has offered to ride with you is there, too.”
Smoke leaned toward Monte. “It’s the only chance we have of getting close enough to free Mary without Slaughter getting wind of our presence, Monte.”
“Hell, I know you’re right, Smoke. It just sticks in my craw having you fellers take risks for Mary and me.”
“That’s what friends are for,” Pearlie said from across the fire. “We all knew what we were gettin’ into when we offered to help out, Monte. Hell, you’d’ve done the same for any one of us.”
Monte nodded, accepting the wisdom of the plan Smoke laid out. “All right. I’ll set up a camp and when you locate this Muskrat Calhoon you can bring him there.”
Pearlie stood up and dusted off the seat of his pants.
“Where you goin’, Pearlie?” Cal asked.
“To see if there’s any of that apple pie left Miss Sally made,” he said.
Louis stared at him in wonder. “Smoke, if you ever run short of money, you can hire Pearlie out to the circus. He could be billed as the man with the bottomless stomach.”
* * *
Cal and Pearlie slowed their mounts to a walk as they entered the town of Jackson Hole. The light covering of snow on the ground from the last snowfall did little to make the town look any more inviting. The buildings were mostly made of the ponderosa pine logs that were so plentiful on the surrounding mountain slopes, and the streets were dirt and mud, with only a few boardwalks on the main street. Every other building seemed to be a saloon or gambling parlor, though there were several rather seedy boardinghouses and hotels for the mostly transient population.
“Jimminy,” Cal said, his eyes wide as he glanced from side to side, noticing the hard-looking men who lounged along the streets, most with bottles of whiskey in their hands even though it was barely past breakfast time. “I can sure see why they call this area Robber’s Roost.”
Pearlie nodded as he let his hand drift to his hip to loosen the hammer-thong on his Colt. “Yep. ’Bout the only citizens around here that don’t make their livin’ with a gun are the barkeeps and fallen doves in the whorehouses.”
As he spoke, a girl who looked to be no more than fifteen stumbled out of a doorway and grabbed a cowboy leaning against the wall by the shoulder. She wore a tawdry dress made of red silk with green overlay that was cut almost down to her navel. After a few moments talking to the gent, he grinned and followed her back through the doorway.
Cal shook his head. “Not much like Big Rock, is it, Pearlie?”
“Not enough so’s you can tell it, Cal.” He swiveled his head, glancing to both sides of the street. “You figger there’s any place we can rustle up some breakfast around here?”
Cal pursed his lips. After a moment, he pointed to the right side of the street. “There’s a sign over that boardinghouse sayin’ ‘Good Eats.’ I reckon that’s as good a place as any to look. We gotta find us a place to bed down anyway.”
They reined in before the building with the sign that read, “Aunt Bea’s Boardinghouse, Clean Sheets and Good Eats.”
When they entered they saw an entrance to the dining area off to the left. Pearlie removed his hat and made a beeline for the room, holding his nose in the air. “I smell bacon fryin’ an’ eggs cookin’, Cal, boy. Looks like we struck pay dirt.”
Cal just shook his head and followed his partner’s nose. Pearlie was like a bloodhound when it came to food, and could smell out vittles as well as a hound could track a rabbit.
They sat at a table near the window, where they could watch the comings and goings along the main street, and put their hats on a chair.
After a moment, a rotund woman wearing a flour-stained apron approached the table.
“Howdy, boys. What can I git ya?” she asked.
She had gray hair done up in a bun and a face full of wrinkles, showing she’d spent considerable time in the sun. Her eyes were sky-blue and seemed to twinkle with good nature.
Pearlie considered her question for a minute, then said, “I’d like four hens’ eggs, scrambled, a pound of bacon, not too crisp, and some flapjacks with syrup. And about a gallon of coffee,” he added.
“Are you Aunt Bea?” Cal asked.
“That’s what most folks call me, sonny boy, leastways round here.”
“I’ll have a couple of eggs and some bacon and flapjacks too,” Cal said.
Aunt Bea’s eyes narrowed as she studied Cal and Pearlie. “You boys don’t exactly look like the usual sort we get around here. You just passin’ through?”
Cal and Pearlie glanced at each other. They hadn’t had a chance yet to get their story straight about why they were in Jackson Hole.
Finally, Pearlie answered her. “Yes, ma’am. We’re just up from Texas way. Had a little trouble crost the border with the Mexican Federales and we figgered it’d be better for our health if’n we moseyed on up north for a spell.”
The light seemed to go out of her eyes. “Oh, outlaws, huh?”
Cal, noticing her disappointment, quickly said, “Oh, no, ma’am. Leastways, not here in the States. It’s just that the Rangers tend to take a dislike to anybody that causes trouble with the Mexican authorities, so we thought we’d leave Texas until they forgot about our . . . little problems.”
Aunt Bea nodded. “Well, I hope you don’t plan on stayin’ here too long, boys. Jackson Hole ain’t exactly a healthy place to hang around ’less you’re tougher ’n boot leather. Some of the men round here like to eat young fellers like you for breakfast, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Cal said, putting on his most innocent expression.
Aunt Bea dusted her hands on her apron, causing a cloud of flour dust to rise in the air. “Well, I’ll be seein’ to your food an’ I’ll have the boy bring you your coffee right out.”
After she left, Cal leaned across the table. “Why’d you tell her we was runnin’ from the law?”
Pearlie shrugged. “We got to fit in, Cal, boy. You can’t just come to a place full of footpads, thieves, and rustlers and pretend to be choirboys. It wouldn’t look right.”
Cal leaned back. “I guess you’re right, though I hate makin’ her think we ride the owl-hoot trail.”
Pearlie glanced at the kitchen door through which Bea had disappeared. “Unless I miss my guess, that lady likes to gossip, Cal, an’ it won’t hurt nothin’ to have her spread the word we’re on the run.”
While Pearlie was talking, Cal looked out the window and saw Louis Longmont dismounting in front of the boardinghouse. Cal nudged Pearlie’s shoulder and motioned at the window with his head.
Pearlie grinned and nodded, evidently glad to see a friendly face among the hard cases on the street.
Louis sauntered into the dining room, gave Cal and Pearlie a quick glance, but didn’t acknowledge them in any other way. He sat at a table across the room and leaned back in his chair, pulling out his trademark long black cheroot and lighting it.
Aunt Bea brought them a large coffeepot and two mugs, said their food would be ready shortly, then walked over to Louis’s table.
“Howdy, mister,” they heard her say. “I’m Aunt Bea. You want breakfast or lunch?”
“I believe I’ll have lunch, Aunt Bea. How about a steak, cooked just long enough to keep it on the plate, some fried potatoes, and some tinned peaches if you have any?”
Bea nodded. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
“Ah, a man with manners. Quite a rarity around here,” she said, as she walked back toward the kitchen.
A few minutes later a boy that looked to be no more than twelve or fourteen came out of the back room with two large platters in his arms. He plac
ed the plates in front of Cal and Pearlie and walked back to the kitchen.
Pearlie wasted no time. He put his head down and began to eat as if he were starving. Cal glanced over at Louis, smiled, and also began to eat.
Just as Louis was being served, several groups of men entered and the tables in the dining room began to fill up, it being close to the noon hour. Minutes later, Smoke walked in and took a table by himself, sitting as was his custom with his back to a wall where he could keep watch on the entrance to the room.
Soon all the tables in the room were filled. Pearlie, finally finished with his food, poured himself another cup of coffee and leaned back in his chair, building himself a cigarette. “Aunt Bea must do all right, from the looks of the crowd,” he said, handing Cal his fixin’s so he could make himself a cigarette also.
Just as Cal was lighting his cigarette, four men walked up to their table. The first one, a tall, skinny man with several days’ growth of whiskers on his face, a tied-down Colt on one hip, and a large Bowie knife in a scabbard on the other, leaned over and put both his hands on their table.
“If you gents are through eatin’, why don’t you get your asses away from my table and let me an’ my friends sit down?”
Pearlie glanced up at him through the smoke from the butt in the corner of his mouth, a mannerism he’d copied from his idol, Joey Wells. “Take it easy, pardner,” he drawled, making no move to get up. “We’ll leave when we’re good and ready, an’ not a minute sooner.”
“You gonna let a pup like that sass you, Billy?” the man behind him said with a chuckle.
Billy backed away from the table and squared off, letting his hand dangle near the butt of his pistol. “Hell, no, I’m not,” he growled. “Now, you young’uns can either get up of your own accord, or I’m gonna have to make you.”
The three men with Billy spread out next to him, grim expressions on their faces.
“Hold on there, Billy Baxter!” Aunt Bea called from the kitchen door. She was holding a long-barreled Greener shotgun cradled in her arms. “I don’t want no trouble in my place, you hear me, you hooligan?”
Before Billy could answer, Pearlie got to his feet. “Don’t you worry none, Aunt Bea,” he said, his eyes never leaving Baxter. “This cabron sounds like all talk to me, an’ even if he does have the guts to go for that smoke wagon on his hip, he won’t even clear leather ’fore I put his lights out.”
Cal got to his feet and unhooked the leather hammer-thong on his Colt. “Four to two, Pearlie. Looks even enough for me,” he whispered in a gravelly voice, his eyes on the men behind Baxter.
Louis, concerned about the turn of events, cut his eyes over to Smoke, who was sitting smiling and watching. Smoke winked at Louis, indicating he shouldn’t worry.
Nevertheless, Louis leaned back and straightened out his right leg, resting his hand next to his pistol just in case.
Baxter’s eyes shifted from Pearlie to Cal, seeing no back-up in either man. Sweat popped out on his forehead, though the room was cool. He licked suddenly dry lips, unsure of what his next move should be. The man next to him moved over a little, evidently trying to get out of the line of fire.
Suddenly, Baxter’s hand grabbed for his gun butt. Before he could get his pistol halfway out of his holster, Pearlie had drawn and slammed the barrel of his Colt on top of Baxter’s head, poleaxing him and dropping him to the floor. Only a shade slower, both Cal’s pistols were out with hammers cocked and pointed at the remaining men, who were standing there with mouths open and eyes wide.
“Jesus God Awmighty,” one of them croaked, holding his hands out away from his pistols, “that boy’s faster’n a snake.”
Pearlie slowly turned to the other men. “You gents better drag your friend outta here, ’fore he bleeds all over Aunt Bea’s floor.”
Aunt Bea rushed over to stare down at Baxter. She looked up. “Damn right! Drag his sorry ass outta here and don’t none of you bother to try an’ eat here again, you hear me?”
Pearlie picked up his hat and gave a slight bow to Aunt Bea. “Sorry for the trouble, ma’am. I hope I didn’t make too much of a mess.”
She smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “A little blood on the floor is better’n hair on the wall, sonny. It’s not the first an’ it won’t be the last blood spilt in this town neither.”
“Any chance of us gettin’ a room for the night, ma’am?” Cal asked, holstering his pistol as Baxter’s friends picked him up and carried him from the room.
“Sure, boys. Be a welcome change to have guests who don’t shoot off their guns first chance they git. Come on over to the front and I’ll give you a key.”
10
Later that afternoon, after Smoke and Louis had also gotten rooms at Aunt Bea’s Boardinghouse, the four men met in Smoke’s room.
Louis looked at Pearlie. “Pearlie, you just about gave me a heart seizure when you braced that cowboy and his friends.”
Pearlie grinned. “Oh, I wasn’t worried, Louis. After all, Cal and me had you and Smoke to back our play.”
Smoke chuckled. “Obviously, you didn’t need us, Pearlie. You boys handled it just right. By now, everyone in town has heard about your little set-to with Baxter.”
Cal frowned. “You don’t think they’ll be laying for us when we leave, do you, Smoke?”
Smoke shook his head. “I doubt it. Things like that must go on every day here in Jackson Hole. By tomorrow, it’ll be old news.”
Louis grinned. “Except I’ll wager no one attempts to rush you from your table before you’re ready again.”
“Cal,” Smoke said, “I’d like you and Pearlie to head on over to Schultz’s General Store this afternoon and let it be known that you’re looking for Muskrat Calhoon. Bear Tooth said that’s where he usually gets his supplies for the winter and I need to know if he’s still in town or has already headed up into the high lonesome.”
“Yes, sir,” Cal said.
“Louis and I will visit a few of the saloons and gambling houses to see what we can find out about Big Jim Slaughter. We’ll see if we can get a handle on just how many men he has up at the hole-in-the-wall with him.”
“Anything else you want us to do?” Pearlie asked.
“Yeah. Start buying up ammunition and gunpowder and dynamite while you’re there. Not too much at one time, and try to spread out your purchases among several different places. We don’t want anyone to think we’re going to war.”
* * *
Just after supper, Louis joined a table of men playing poker at a place called The Dog Hole Saloon and Gaming Room. He slipped his coat off and played wearing only his vest, with his sleeves rolled up. He’d found that when he won large sums of money, as he usually did, it eased competitors’ minds to see that he had nothing up his sleeves. Of course, he had no need to cheat. Possessed of a remarkable memory and intelligence and a deep knowledge of the odds of drawing certain hands, he rarely lost, especially when playing cowboys who were usually both drunk and stupid.
After a couple of hours, one of the men at the table threw down his hand in disgust. “Boys, that about finishes me for the night. I’m busted.”
“Perhaps you can get an advance from your boss and rejoin us later,” Louis said as he raked in yet another pot.
The cowboy shook his head. “What boss? I ain’t exactly workin’ at the present time.”
“Oh?” Louis said. He flipped a twenty-dollar gold piece across the table. “Then take this,” he said. “I make it a practice never to take a man’s food money from him.”
The man picked up the gold piece. “Thanks, mister.”
“Perhaps you could seek employment with Jim Slaughter.”
When the table got quiet, Louis looked around innocently. “Didn’t I hear someone saying a gentleman named Slaughter was hiring men?”
The other men at the table seemed to relax slightly, as if the mention of Slaughter’s name was risky, even in a town as hard as Jackson Hole.
“Just where’d you
hear that, mister?” a man in a fur-lined deerskin coat across the table asked.
Louis shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. I believe a couple of gentlemen were discussing it at a roulette table earlier in the evening.”
The man next to Louis leaned over and whispered, “It ain’t exactly healthy to go around talkin’ ’bout Slaughter’s business hereabouts, Mr. Longmont. Word is he don’t take kindly to anybody bein’ too nosy ’bout his affairs, if you get my drift.”
Louis smiled and put his finger to his lips. “Oh, of course. Then mum’s the word regarding this Mr. Slaughter, whoever he might be.”
“Besides,” another man at the table, who was drunk, said, “I heard he’s got all the men he needs. Must have over thirty men up there at . . .”
“Shut your mouth, Kyle!” the man in the deerskin coat shouted. “You talk too much an’ you’re liable to have somebody cut your tongue out for you.”
Kyle looked at the man through bleary, bloodshot eyes. “Go to hell, Davis. Just ’cause you work for Big Jim don’t give you the right to tell ever’body else in town what they can say.”
“Ante up, gentlemen,” Louis called, throwing a coin into the middle of the table to change the subject. “I believe it’s my deal.”
Davis looked pointedly at the stack of money in front of Louis. “And as for you, Mr. Fancy Tinhorn Gambler, make sure you deal off the top of the deck this time. I’m gettin’ awfully tired of you winnin’ all the pots.”
Louis stared at Davis and put the cards down, pushing his chair back from the table. “Then perhaps you should make an effort to learn how to play poker, Mr. Davis, if you’re tired of losing. Drawing to an inside straight like you did the last hand is a fool’s play.”
Davis jumped up from his seat. “A fool, am I?” he shouted, bringing a sudden hush to the room.
Heart of the Mountain Man Page 7
