Matt Jensen: The Last Mountain Man Purgatory

by William W. Johnstone

  “Hello, Ben, Boomer,” Doc Presnell said, greeting his two friends as they came toward him. Doc had a black eye and a cut on his face. Otherwise, he appeared to be all right, though there was blood on his hands and clothes. It didn’t take but a moment to see that it wasn’t Doc’s blood—it was blood from the many injured passengers he had been working with.

  “What happened, Doc?” Boomer asked.

  “I’ll be damned if I know,” Doc replied. “One minute I was enjoying my dinner in the dining car. The next thing I know we ran off the track. Since that time, it’s been all chaos.”

  “The prisoner!” Kyle said.

  “What prisoner?” Doc asked.

  “According to a telegram I received, this train was supposed to be carrying a prisoner,” Kyle said. “I’d better check on him.”

  “Boomer, can you give me a hand here?” Doc asked.

  “Sure, Doc, I’ll do what I can,” Boomer said.

  Leaving Doc and Boomer, Kyle started looking through the gathering of shocked, frightened, and injured people until he saw someone wearing the blue jacket and hat of a railroad conductor.

  “You the conductor on this train?” Kyle asked.

  “Look, mister, I don’t know any more about what caused the train wreck than you do,” the conductor answered defensively.

  “No, no, it’s not about the train wreck,” Kyle said quickly, holding up his hands to calm the conductor.

  “Then, what is it about?”

  “I understand you had a prisoner on this train, someone who was being taken to Yuma prison,” Kyle said. It was a statement, not a question.

  “You’re talking about the murderer we picked up in Purgatory?”

  “Yes. Where is he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Have you seen him since the train wreck?”

  “I didn’t see him before the wreck.”

  “You didn’t see him when they put him on the train?”

  “No. I was told he would be in the express car,” the conductor said. “But I didn’t see them put him on. As far as I know, Lon Kingsley is the only one who saw him.”

  “Lon Kingsley?”

  “The express man,” the conductor said.

  “Can you point him out to me?”

  “I can point him out, all right, but it won’t do you any good to talk to him.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s dead. Him and the deputy that was ridin’ in the car with him. We found ’em both dead in the express car.”

  “What about the prisoner? Did you find him dead, too?”

  “No, the only two people we pulled from the express car was Kingsley and the deputy,” the conductor said. “They’re both lyin’ over there if you want to see them.”

  “Like you said, they’re both dead, so it won’t do me any good to see them, but I am going to take another look inside the express car.”

  Walking back toward some of the railroad officials who’d arrived with the rescue train, Kyle borrowed a lantern, crawled upon the side of the express car that was facing up, then let himself down through the open door into the car. It had not burned, but it had turned over onto its side so it was badly damaged. He moved around inside the car, having to be very careful to pick his way about, since what had been the left wall was now the floor.

  “Hello?” a voice called from the open door. “Anyone in here?”

  “Yes, I’m here,” Kyle answered.

  The person who called started to climb down into the car.

  “No need to come in here, the car is empty,” Kyle said.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m United States Marshal Ben Kyle. And you are?”

  “I’m Hodge Deckert with the United Bank Exchange,” Deckert said. “We are responsible for transferring large amounts of money between banks, and we had a shipment on this train. I’ve come to retrieve the money.”

  “Good luck,” Kyle said.

  “Good luck? What an odd thing to say,” Deckert replied as he started looking. “Oh, oh,” he said after a moment. “This isn’t good.”

  “What isn’t good?”

  Deckert held up a small piece of paper. “Here is the transfer document,” he said. “This was in the bag with the money.”

  “Maybe it just fell out in the wreck,” Kyle suggested.

  “No,” Deckert said, looking around. “I don’t see the bag, and if the transfer slip just fell out in the wreck, some of the money would be here as well.” Deckert sighed. “The money is gone.”

  “How much money are we talking about?” Kyle asked.

  “Twenty thousand dollars.”

  “That’s a lot of money.”

  “Yes, sir, it is. And it was on this train, which means one of these passengers had to have come in here and took it.”

  “Maybe,” Kyle answered.

  “What do you mean maybe? Who else could have done it?”

  “The train was also transporting a deputy and his prisoner,” Kyle said. “Both were riding in the express car. Right now, the prisoner seems to be missing.”

  “A deputy and his prisoner were riding in the express car? There should be only one person in this car—and that would be Mr. Kingsley, the express agent.”

  “I guess the railroad made an exception in this case,” Kyle said.

  “This is unconscionable,” Deckert said. “My company shall certainly send a strongly worded message to the railroad for this breach of security.”

  Finding no one in the car, Kyle decided to have a look at all the bodies to see if there might be one in chains. He had the conductor point out Kingsley and Hayes. That was when he saw the small bullet hole in Hayes’s forehead.

  “I’ll be damn,” Kyle said.

  “What is it?” the conductor asked.

  “The deputy,” Kyle replied. “He’s been shot. I guess that solves the mystery as to who took the money.”

  The officials who were running the rescue operation broke the passengers down into three groups. Those who were not injured, or were only slightly injured, were allowed to board the train on their own. Those who were seriously injured were put into a car that was being converted into a hospital, while the last car was serving as a morgue-on-wheels.

  Matt walked with Louise Dobbs as she and her son, Jerry, went to board the first car. Then one of the officials saw that the little girl Mrs. Dobbs was carrying was dead. He reached for her.

  “I’ll take care of her for you, ma’am,” he said.

  Louise jerked the little girl back and glared angrily at the railroad official. “No, she stays with me.”

  “She can’t stay will you, madam.”

  “But she must!” Louise insisted. “Suzie would be terrified if she is separated from me!”

  “Madam, your little girl is dead,” one of the railroad officials said. “It will not matter to her whether she is with you or not.”

  “It matters to the lady,” Matt said. “Let the girl stay with her, it can’t hurt anything.”

  “Who are you?” the official asked.

  “It doesn’t matter who I am. I’m someone who knows right from wrong,” Matt answered. “Let the girl stay with her mother.”

  “This is not railroad policy,” the official said.

  “How about train wrecks?” Matt asked. “Are train wrecks railroad policy?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Maybe not, but you had one, didn’t you?”

  “Sir, I fail to see how that is relevant.”

  “Here is what’s relevant. The mother wants to keep her little girl with her,” Matt said.

  “What’s going on here?” Kyle asked, coming up on the conversation. Then, seeing the woman holding the little girl, he took off his hat. He knew the woman, knew that she and her husband lived on a small ranch just outside Sentinel.

  “Why, Mrs. Dobbs,” he said. “I didn’t know you were on—” It was not until that moment that he saw that the little girl was dead. He stopped in mid-s
entence and paused for a moment before he resumed speaking. “Oh, no, not your little girl,” he said solicitously. “Mrs. Dobbs, I’m so sorry.”

  “I want to keep her with me,” Mrs. Dobbs said. “But he says that I can’t.”

  “As I tried to explain to the lady, we have a car reserved for the deceased. The little girl must go in there.”

  “No!” Louise said, holding her baby even more tightly.

  “I think you can make an exception in this case,” Kyle said.

  “You may be a United States marshal, but I am an agent for the Southern Pacific Railroad,” the man said haughtily. “And I will inform you, Marshal, that in terms of railroad policy, I am the one who makes the decisions.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “You are under arrest,” Kyle said.

  “What?” the railroad agent gasped. “Under arrest for what?”

  “For manslaughter,” Kyle said. “By maintaining an unsafe railroad, you caused the death of this little girl.”

  “Are you insane? I had nothing to do with that!”

  “You said you represent the railroad, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I hold the railroad responsible for the death of this little girl, as well as the deaths of the others who were killed. And as you are a representative of the railroad, I am putting you under arrest. Boomer, put cuffs on him.”

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute!” the railroad agent said. “Isn’t there some way we can work this out?”

  “There may be,” Kyle said. “Do you have any suggestions?”

  The railroad agent sighed. “Suppose I let the little girl stay with her mother.”

  “Then I suppose we could work something out so that you wouldn’t be under arrest,” Kyle said.

  “That’s not right, Marshal. That is pure coercion.”

  “Really?” Kyle said. “I don’t look at it that way. I look at it as common sense.”

  “Very well,” he said. “The woman can keep the girl.”

  The railroad agent’s acquiescence was met with words of approval from the other passengers nearby.

  Noticing that several of the other passengers had gathered around, Kyle took the opportunity to address them.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention for a moment? I would like to ask for your assistance. I am United States Marshal Ben Kyle. We had word that this train was transporting a prisoner—a convicted murderer—to Yuma Territorial Prison for hanging. He was riding in the express car.”

  “Are you sayin’ he ain’t in there now?” one of the passengers asked.

  Marshal Kyle nodded his head. “That’s what I’m saying. He’s gone, and the deputy who had him in custody is dead. I believe the prisoner killed the deputy who was transporting him.”

  “What makes you think the prisoner killed the deputy?” the passenger asked. “A lot of folks got killed in this wreck.”

  “Yes,” Kyle said. “But how many of them were shot between the eyes?”

  “You say the deputy was shot between the eyes?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re right. That could only mean that he was killed of a pure purpose,” the passenger said.

  “What does this fella look like?” another passenger asked.

  “I don’t know,” Kyle replied. “We didn’t get a description of him, just his name. His name is Matt Jensen and he would’ve been in chains when he got on the train.”

  Matt glanced at the passengers. Of those who had boarded at Purgatory, only Jerry and his mother had survived. That meant they were the only ones who could identify him. He saw Jerry staring back at him.

  “Marshal?” Jerry said.

  Jerry’s mother shushed him, then put her arm around him and pulled him to her.

  “Yes, son, what is it?” Kyle asked.

  Jerry looked up at his mother, and she shook her head no. It was then obvious to Matt that she was not going to give him away.

  “I didn’t see anything like that,” Jerry said.

  “What about the rest of you?” Kyle said to the others. “Are you telling me that not one of you saw a prisoner being put on board when the train was in Purgatory?”

  The uninjured passengers looked at each other and shrugged, but no one spoke up.

  “All right, folks, let’s get on the train now,” the railroad official said. “We have to get out of here so we can bring up the wrecker engine to start cleaning this mess up and getting the track open again.”

  “Young man,” someone said to Matt, and looking around, he saw that he had been addressed by the doctor. “I noticed you while we were rounding up all the injured. You seemed to know what you were doing. I wonder if you would ride in the car of the injured with me?”

  At first Matt was going to refuse, but then he decided that riding in the car with the severely injured might actually be the best thing for him. The marshal would, no doubt, be questioning everyone in the other cars.

  “Yes, of course,” he said. “I would be glad to.”

  By the time the train reached Sentinel, three more of the injured had died, including the first man Matt had pulled from the wreckage. The three deaths weren’t due to inadequate care, but happened because the victims had been so severely injured that even had they been in a hospital with the best of treatment, they would not have survived.

  Matt found himself in a somewhat unique position now. Although he had a rather substantial bank account back in Colorado, there was absolutely no way he could access it from here. To do so would require him to write a draft, and while an exchange of telegrams between the banks could validate the check, it would also expose him as Matt Jensen, a wanted man.

  Once he stepped down from the train in Sentinel, though, he saw what might be a partial solution to his problem. Some officials of the railroad had set up a table inside the depot building and there, they were giving twenty dollars to each of the passengers, explaining that it was a compensation for what they had been through.

  Every cent Matt had had been taken from him when he was arrested back in Purgatory. For him the twenty dollars seemed like a godsend, but when he stepped up to the table, he was told that he would have to show his ticket to collect the money.

  Matt made a show of patting himself down, then he said, “I must’ve lost the ticket back at the site of the train wreck.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but without the ticket, we have no way of knowing you really were there,” the train official said. “I hope you understand. If we didn’t do that, then just anyone could come in here and claim they were on the train.”

  “This man was on the train, and I will vouch for him,” Doc said. “Without him, I fear many more would have died than did.”

  The railroad official ran his hand through his hair, then sighed. “All right, Doc, if you say he was on the train, I’ll take your word for it.” The man gave Matt a twenty-dollar bill. “On behalf of the railroad, I wish to extend my apologies for the ordeal,” he said in what had become a rote statement.

  “Thanks,” Matt replied. He turned to the doctor. “And thank you,” he added.

  “No, young man. On behalf of the passengers, I thank you.” The doctor extended his hand. “You know, I never got your name. I’m Dr. Presnell.”

  “The name is Cavanaugh, Martin Cavanaugh,” Matt said.

  “It’s good to meet you, Mr. Cavanaugh. If you are ever in this part of the country again, please look me up. I would love to buy you dinner sometime.”

  “Thank you,” Matt said.

  Leaving the depot, Matt started up the street toward the saloon. In a small town like Sentinel, the saloon would not only offer Matt the opportunity for a cool beer—he had worked up quite a thirst today—he might also get a line on the people who had caused the train wreck in the first place. It was not that he expected anyone here to have any additional information on the train wreck, but someone might have heard of the man named Odom. And though Matt wasn’t a l
awman, he had made himself a vow while holding the little girl’s body in his arms. That vow was that he would go after Odom and the others who had caused this.

  When Matt told Dr. Presnell that his name was Martin Cavanaugh, it had not been a complete lie. Martin Cavanaugh was the name of Matt’s father. After his parents were murdered by a ruthless gang of outlaws, young Matt Cavanaugh wound up in an orphanage. Conditions in the orphanage were as brutal as any delinquent detention home, and unwilling to take it anymore, Matt ran away. He would have died, had Smoke Jensen not found him shivering in a snow-bank in the mountains. Smoke took him to his cabin and nursed him back to health.

  It had been Smoke’s intention to keep the boy around only until he had recovered, but Matt wound up staying with Smoke until he reached manhood. During the time Matt lived with Smoke, he became Smoke’s student, learning everything from Smoke that Smoke had learned from his own mentor, a mountain man known as Preacher, many years earlier. Matt learned how to use a knife or a gun to defend himself; he learned how to survive in the wilderness, and how to track man or beast. But the most important lesson Matt learned was how to be a man of honor.

  When Matt reached the age of eighteen, he felt that the time was right to go out on his own. Smoke did not have the slightest hesitancy over sending him out, because Matt had become one of the most capable young men Smoke had ever seen.

  But just before Matt left, he surprised Smoke by asking permission to take Smoke’s last name as his own. Smoke was not only honored by the request, he was touched, and to this day there was a bond between them that was as close as any familial bond could be.

  Matt could take back the Cavanaugh name to provide himself with some cover until he could clear himself, and that didn’t bother him. What did bother him was the fact that he might have brought dishonor to the Jensen name—it mattered not that he was an innocent man, wrongly charged. The unpleasant fact was that not only was he considered an escaped murderer, he was also now being accused of robbing the train and killing Deputy Hayes.

  The Ox Bow Saloon was filled with patrons when Matt stepped inside. Nearly all were talking about the train wreck, and not only about the train wreck, but also about Matt.

  “Yes, sir, Marshal Kyle said this here Jensen fella not only kilt the deputy, but he stole the money that was being transferred. Twenty thousand dollars it was.”