Matt Jensen: The Last Mountain Man Purgatory

by William W. Johnstone

  “Does it look like him?”

  “Yeah,” Cummins said. “It looks just like him. What do you think, boys?” he asked.

  All the deputies commented in the affirmative.

  “Duke, get the marshal a chair,” Cummins ordered. “Crack, you get some of these posters passed out.”

  The two deputies got up to comply with the marshal’s order, Crack taking the dodgers with him, and Duke bringing over a chair for the U.S. marshal. Kyle sat at the table with the others.

  “Tell me, Marshal, what brings you to Purgatory?” Marshal Cummins asked. “You could’ve just sent these posters.”

  “I brought Deputy Hayes’ body back,” Kyle said.

  “You brought his body back? Why in the hell did you do that?”

  “He was your deputy, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I figured this was the place for him. We have enough bodies over in Sentinel now, what with the train wreck.”

  “Yeah, I reckon you would at that,” Cummins said. “So, you say you brought Hayes back. Where is he?”

  “He is in your office,” Kyle answered.

  “In my office? Damn, why did you take him there? What the hell am I supposed to do with the son of a bitch?”

  “Well, this is just a guess, mind you, but it’s been my experience that it is generally customary to bury bodies,” Kyle replied.

  “Well, yeah, sure, but families do that, don’t they?”

  “Does Hayes have a family here?”

  “No,” Cummins said. “Fact is, I don’t even know where his family is.”

  “I think Hayes was from somewhere in Texas,” one of the deputies said.

  “He was from somewhere in Texas? That’s not very helpful. Texas is a big state,” Kyle said.

  “Yeah, I know it is. But that’s all he ever told me. He just said that he was from somewhere in Texas.”

  “I think he got in trouble with the law back there,” one of the other deputies said.

  “He was in trouble with the law, but you hired him as a lawman?” Kyle asked.

  “He was a good deputy,” Cummins said. “And when someone comes out here, I believe in givin’ them a fresh start.”

  “Then it seems to me that the least you can do is give him a decent burial,” Kyle said.

  Cummins stroked his chin for a moment, then he nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I reckon I can do that.”

  “Tell me something about Jensen,” Kyle said.

  “Tell you about Jensen?”

  “Yes, what kind of man is he?”

  “He’s a cold-blooded murderer, that’s what kind of man he is,” Cummins said.

  “That’s funny, because from everything I’ve been able to find out about him, he just doesn’t fit the picture of a cold-blooded murderer. What was he like before the murder?”

  “Don’t nobody know,” Cummins said. “He just come into town and shot Deputy Gillis without so much as a fare-thee-well. Nobody had ever seen him before that.”

  “You mean the day he arrived is the day he shot Gillis?”

  “Not the day he arrived, the moment he arrived.”

  “Did he know Gillis from before?”

  “Not that I know of,” Cummins said.

  “Did Gillis give him any call to shoot him?”

  “No,” Cummins said. “All Gillis done was try and collect the tax from him.”

  Kyle looked confused. “What tax? I thought you said he had just come into town?”

  “That’s true, he had just come into town. But there’s a five-dollar visitors tax for ever’one who comes into town. ’Cept you, of course, you bein’ the law and all.”

  “So, what you are saying is, Gillis tried to collect the visitors tax and Jensen didn’t want to pay it, so he shot him down in cold blood.”

  “Yeah, that’s what we’re sayin’.”

  “Were there any witnesses?”

  “We all saw it,” Cummins said.

  “Yeah, ever’one of us, plus a bunch of the folks that was in the saloon that day,” one of the other deputies said. “They seen it, too.”

  “And you are?” Kyle asked.

  “Duke. The name is Duke.”

  “So, it happened here in the saloon?”

  “Same as. It was out front.”

  “No,” Kyle said. “Out front is not the same as happening inside. Were any of you out front when it happened?”

  “Yeah,” Cummins answered. “Jackson was out front. He saw it.”

  “Who is Jackson?”

  “I am,” one of the deputies said.

  “And you saw it?”

  “We all saw it, in a manner of speaking,” Cummins said, answering for Jackson. “We heard the shot, then we seen Gillis come in here with a hole in his chest. He took about two or three steps, then he fell dead on the floor. Right after that, Jensen come in behind him, and he was still holdin’ the gun in his hand.”

  “And the gun was still smokin’,” one of the other deputies said.

  “What about Gillis’s gun?”

  Cummins smiled broadly. “I was hopin’ you’d ask me that,” he said. “Gillis’s gun was still in his holster. He hadn’t even drawn it.”

  “Jackson, tell me exactly what you saw,” Kyle asked.

  “It’s like they said. We heard the shot, then we seen Gillis come into the saloon with a bullet hole in his chest.”

  “What do you mean you heard the shot? I thought you said you saw it.”

  “Yeah, uh—yeah, I did see it.”

  “You said, and I quote, ‘Then we seen Gillis come into the saloon.’ How could you see him come into the saloon if you were out front?”

  “I didn’t say he was out front, Marshal,” Cummins said, speaking quickly. “I said he saw it. Jackson was standing over there in the window, looking outside.”

  “Yeah,” Jackson said. “I was standin’ over there by the window, lookin’ outside.”

  Kyle stroked his chin for a moment. “I have to agree that your account does sound pretty damming,” Kyle said.

  “I thought you’d see it our way, once you knew the whole story,” Cummins said.

  “Yes, well, like I said, the picture folks painted of Jensen after the train wreck just didn’t quite fit with what happened here. But then, the evidence is pretty strong that he did shoot Hayes after the train wreck.”

  “I don’t doubt that he did that,” Cummins said. “I mean, we already know he was a killer, but he was in chains, and he didn’t have a gun, so the truth is, I’m wonderin’ how he did it.”

  “Hayes had a gun, didn’t he?” Kyle asked.

  “Yes.”

  “We didn’t find a gun with Hayes,” Kyle said. “So I figure that the train wreck must’ve knocked Hayes out, and that’s when Jensen got the keys, unlocked his shackles, then took the deputy’s pistol. After that, he needed to keep Hayes from coming to and identifying him, so he shot deputy with his own gun.”

  “Damn, that was a brand-new gun, too,” Duke said. “I was with him when he bought it off the gun salesman that come through here. A Smith and Wesson .44. Yes, sir, Hayes set some store in that gun.”

  “Did you say it was a .44?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s funny.”

  “What’s funny?”

  Kyle reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a bullet. He showed it to the others. “This is the bullet that killed Hayes,” he said. “I had the undertaker extract it for me.”

  “So?”

  “This is a .36 caliber.”

  “You sure that’s a .36 caliber?” Cummins asked. “Sometimes a bullet will get all bent out of shape when it’s been fired. I’ve seen it a lot of times, and I know you have, too.”

  “Does this bullet look all out of shape to you?” Kyle asked.

  Cummins shook his head. “No, it don’t. But that don’t mean nothin’. Jensen must’ve had a pistol hid on him somewhere.”

  “Are you telling me that you arr
ested him, tried him, found him guilty, and sentenced him, but in all that time you never bothered to search him for a pistol?”

  “Well, it might have been one of them derringers,” Duke said. “They’re little and you can hide them real good.”

  “The only derringers I know are .41 caliber,” Kyle said.

  “Yeah, well, it don’t make no difference whether Jensen kilt Hayes or not. We know he kilt Gillis, and that’s what he was bein’ sent to Yuma for.”

  “That’s true,” Kyle agreed. “No matter what happened with Hayes, it doesn’t let Mr. Jensen off the hook. He still stands convicted for killing Deputy Gillis. But it does make my job of finding out what actually happened to Hayes and the money from the train robbery a little more difficult.”

  “Money?” Cummins said. “What money from the train robbery?”

  “The train was carrying a money shipment of twenty thousand dollars,” Kyle said. “That money is gone, Jensen is gone. It stands to reason that he took it.”

  Cummins whistled. “Twenty thousand dollars. Damn, what I couldn’t do with that money.”

  There was a disapproving expression on Kyle’s face as he looked at Cummins.

  “What are you lookin’ at?” Cummins asked.

  “What do you mean, what you couldn’t do with that money?” Kyle asked. “That’s a strange thing for a law enforcement officer to say.”

  “Hell, it ain’t like I was thinkin’ on stealin’ it,” Cummins defended. “I was just commentin’ on how nice it would be to have that much money. Don’t you agree?”

  “It isn’t something I let myself think about,” Kyle replied.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Marshal? Marshal Cummins?”

  The lawmen looked around to see Joe Claibie standing by the bar. He was holding one of the wanted dodgers.

  “Yeah, Claibie, what is it?” Cummins asked.

  Claibie held up one of the wanted flyers that Kyle had brought with him. “Crack give me this here dodger a couple minutes ago.”

  “Yes, I told him to hand some of them out.”

  “Well, the thing is, him givin’ me this flyer and all makes me think I know who it was now that stole your horse.”

  “Stole my horse?” Cummins said in an agitated voice. “What do you mean? When was my horse stole?”

  “Not the horse you ride,” Claibie said. “I’m talkin’ about the sorrel you was goin’ to sell. You mind that sorrel?”

  “Yes, of course I remember it.”

  “Well, sir, I’m right sure that I know who stole it. It was this here same fella that you got on the wanted poster here.”

  Claibie showed the marshal the woodcut picture on the flyer.

  “Matt Jensen? Are you tellin’ us that Matt Jensen is the one stole that horse?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m tellin’ you.”

  “You’re out of your mind. Jensen is long gone from here.”

  “He ain’t that long gone,” Claibie said. “He was here just a couple of days ago.”

  “Are you talkin’ about before Gillis was kilt?” Jackson asked.

  Claibie shook his head. “No, sir, I’m talkin’ after that. Fact is, I’m talkin’ about after the train wreck, too, ’cause what he done was, he brung in a string of horses from Sentinel.”

  “I don’t understand,” Cummins said. “Why would he bring in a string of horses?”

  “He done that because we had had to put on extra coaches ’cause of the train wreck.”

  “So what you are saying is, after Matt Jensen escaped, he took a job with the stage line, then came back to the same place where he was convicted for murder?” Cummins asked. “Either you are out of your mind, or he is.”

  “If this here fella in the picture is Matt Jensen, then yes, sir, that’s exactly what I’m sayin’,” Claibie said.

  “All right, suppose it is. Suppose he did bring a string of horses into town. What does that have to do with my horse? What makes you think he’s the one that stole it?” Cummins asked.

  “Because after he brung them horses in, we started talking about horses and such. I mean, him not havin’ one, you see. He rode in here on one of the horses that belongs to the stage line. He said he was lookin’ for a horse, so I told him about the sorrel you had for sale and he seemed real interested. I figured maybe he would buy it, and maybe if he done that, why, you’d give me a little somethin’ for steerin’ him to you. Of course, after seein’ his picture on this poster, I know why he was interested. And of course, that bein’ his horse you had, why, he wouldn’t have no trouble ridin’ it or nothin’.”

  “It wasn’t his horse!” Cummins said angrily. “That horse was contraband. I confiscated it legal and proper after the trial.”

  “Excuse me, Marshal, but when you do that, aren’t you supposed to hold an auction, with all the proceeds to go to the city?” Kyle asked.

  “I did hold an auction,” Cummins said. “And I bought and paid for it, with my own money. That money did go to the city.”

  “When did you see Jensen?” Kyle asked.

  “Two days ago,” Claibie answered.

  Kyle looked at Cummins. “And when was your horse stolen?”

  “Two days ago,” Cummins admitted.

  “Then I’d say that Claibie is right. Jensen is the one who took it.”

  “Claibie, if you saw him, why the hell didn’t you report him to someone?” Cummins asked.

  “How was I to know who he was, Marshal? He never told me his name or nothin’. And I hadn’t never seen him.”

  “You didn’t see him at the trial?” Kyle asked.

  “I didn’t know nothin’ ’bout the trial. By the time I heard about Gillis gettin’ hisself kilt and all, why, this here fella had already been tried and was on the train to Yuma to get hisself hung.”

  Kyle looked at Cummins. “Are you telling me that the killing and the trial happened on the same day?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Judge Craig allowed that?”

  “Judge Craig didn’t have nothin’ to do with it,” Cummins said. “I held the trial my ownself.”

  “You held the trial?”

  “In addition to bein’ the city marshal, I’m also an associate circuit court judge,” Cummins said. “It was all legal and proper.”

  “It was awfully fast, wasn’t it?”

  “We had to do it fast, Marshal,” Cummins answered. “Deputy Gillis was just a real popular man. He was well liked by everyone, and there were folks around here wantin’ to string Jensen up that very day. Only way I could keep order was to have a real fast trial.”

  “The only way you could keep order?” Kyle questioned. “My God, man, you’ve got six deputies for a town that has a population of less than three hundred people. Do you expect me to believe that you couldn’t keep order?”

  “Like I said, Deputy Gillis was a very popular man,” Cummins repeated. “And feelin’s was runnin’ real high then. I done what I thought was right.”

  “You did what you thought was right? Or you did what you wanted to do?” Kyle asked.

  Cummins smiled. “Why, Marshal, wouldn’t that be the same thing?” he asked.

  “Would you like dessert, Marshal? We have a wonderful cherry pie.”

  Kyle, who had eaten a late dinner in the City Pig Café, looked up at the waiter. “Cherry pie, you say?”

  “Yes, sir, just baked today.”

  “Well, now, I suppose a piece of cherry pie would be good. And another cup of coffee, if you don’t mind.”

  “I’ll bring it right out,” the waiter promised.

  As the waiter walked away, Kyle saw someone approaching his table. The man had unkempt silver hair and clothes that were disheveled, absolute indications that he was down on his luck. Kyle was sure the man was coming to ask him for enough money to buy a drink, and anxious to get rid of him, he reached into his pocket for a nickel. He held the coin out toward the man as he reached the table.

  “Here you go, friend,�
� he said. “Have a drink on me.”

  “Thank you, but no,” the man replied. “I’ve been six days without a drink, and I hope never to take another.”

  “You don’t say,” Kyle said, surprised by the man’s pronouncement. “Well, then, what can I do for you?”

  “Did the governor send you?” the man asked. “Are you here in response to my letter?”

  “No,” Kyle said, shaking his head. “I don’t know anything about a letter.”

  “Oh,” the man said, obviously disappointed. “You are a U.S. marshal, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was sure you had come in response to my letter.”

  “What letter would that be?”

  “You are a U.S. marshal?”

  “Yes. I’m Marshal Ben Kyle.”

  “Marshal Kyle, my name is Robert Dempster. I am an attorney.”

  “An attorney?” Kyle asked, obviously surprised by the man’s announcement. Then, realizing how that must’ve sounded, he apologized. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound—”

  “That’s all right,” Dempster said quickly. “There is no need to apologize. I realize that I make less than a sterling impression. I wonder, Marshal, if I might have a few words with you?”

  At that moment the waiter brought the pie and coffee.

  “Won’t you join me, Mr. Dempster?” Kyle asked. “Waiter, bring another piece of pie and a cup of coffee.”

  “There’s no need for you to—” Dempster began.

  “Please, join me,” Kyle said.

  “All right,” Dempster agreed. “I don’t mind if I do.”

  “Another slice of pie and another cup of coffee,” Kyle said again.

  “Are you sure it’s coffee you want?” the waiter asked, looking at Dempster with obvious disdain.

  “I believe I said coffee,” Kyle said, his voice showing his irritation with the waiter’s rudeness.

  “Yes, sir, right away,” the waiter responded.

  “I’m sorry for that man’s insolence,” Kyle said.

  “Don’t blame him,” Dempster replied. “I’ve brought this on myself.”

  “You say you are a lawyer?”

  “Yes.”

  “What—uh—what brought on this—this present condition? Wait, never mind it’s none of my business. You don’t have to answer that.”