Sally laughed. “Pearlie’s favorite task,” she said sarcastically.
“So, how is the law business going?” Smoke asked.
“Got a new dodger in yesterday,” Sheriff Carson said. “For a man named Bill Dinkins.”
“Bill Dinkins? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him.”
“He got his name known somewhat back in Kansas,” Sheriff Carson said. “Then when it got too hot for him there, he came here. Last month he and three others tried to hold up the bank in Buffalo.”
“Tried to? He didn’t succeed? What happened?”
“The whole town got down on ’em, that’s what happened. When they came out of the bank, they ran into a hornet’s nest. Half the town was armed and shootin’ at them, and they were shootin’ back. And here’s the thing. Dinkins run out on his men. He could have gone back, helped them get remounted, then ridden on out. The shootin’ wasn’t that accurate, for all that there was a lot of it. All three of his men were shot down in the street, though they went down game. Dinkins ran, and now there’s a nice reward out for him.”
“How much money did he get from the bank?”
Sheriff Carson chuckled. “That’s just it. He didn’t get one red cent. Six men dead, for nothin’.”
“Six men?”
“According to the witnesses—customers in the bank—Dinkins got mad when the teller refused to turn the money bag over to him, so he shot him. There were two more of the townspeople killed outside the bank, plus all three of Dinkins’ men. That made it a total of six.”
“How much is being offered for Dinkins?” Smoke asked.
“Right now, just five hundred dollars. Like I said, he didn’t get one red cent.”
“But he did kill the teller?”
“Yes. In cold blood.”
“Someone like that, the reward can only go up,” Smoke said.
“Yeah, I’m pretty much thinkin’ that myself,” Carson replied.
Smoke and Sally visited with their friends until noon. When Dr. Colton came in to have his lunch Louis insisted they all have lunch, on him.
“Not me,” Sheriff Carson said, holding up his hand. “The wife will be fixin’ a big lunch for me. She would be some disappointed if I didn’t come home for it.”
“You could eat just a little here,” Louis invited, “then go home for lunch.”
“Yeah, I guess I ...” Sheriff Carson shook his head. “No, I better not. But I thank you for the invite.”
“Tell us about New York, Sally,” Louis said after Sheriff Carson left. “It has been so long since I was there.”
“Oh, New York is wonderful. So many huge buildings, four, five, and six stories high, elevated trains whizzing all through the city, electric wires, telephone service. Surely, there is no place in the world like New York.”
“You talk almost as if you would rather you and Smoke lived there,” Dr. Colton said.
“Oh, no.” Sally put her hand on Smoke’s arm. “I am living exactly where I want to live. Remember, I came West of my own accord, and I have never regretted one moment of it.”
“She met with the president of the United States,” Smoke said proudly.
“The president? You met the president?”
“It isn’t that big of a deal,” Sally said. “He and my father were very good friends at one time.”
“What do you mean, that isn’t a very big deal? I think it is a huge deal,” Dr. Colton said.
Laramie, Wyoming
At the remark made by the young man, all conversation in the Rocky Mountain Beer Hall ceased.
Wesley Harley was an ugly man. He was bald, not because of age, but because some anomaly in his genetic makeup left him completely devoid of body hair—none on his head, no eyebrows or eyelashes, no mustache, and no hair on his arms, chest, or anywhere else. His face was narrow, and his skin was drawn so tight across his high cheekbones he looked almost like a skeleton.
He had been leaning against the bar, with both his hands wrapped around the beer in front of him. He turned toward the young man who had spoken to him.
“What did you say?”
“You heard what I said,” the young man, barely out of the teens, said. His words were loud and precisely spoken. “I said you murdered my pa, and I intend to see you brought to justice for it.”
“Do you now? And just how do you plan to do that?”
“By telling the law. I am going to the sheriff right now. I am going to tell him what you did, and I am going to tell him where to find you.”
“You don’t understand, do you, boy?” Harley said. “The sheriff knows where I am. Hell, all the sheriffs in the West know where I am. They just don’t want no part of me.”
“It ain’t right,” the boy said. “You murdered my pa, and I ain’t goin’ to let you get away with it.”
“Well, now, since I done told you that the sheriff don’t want nothin’ to do with me, if you are lookin’ for justice, seems to me the only way you goin’ to get that justice is if you do it yourself. But before we get on with it, who is it I’m supposed to have kilt?”
“I don’t believe this. You mean you can’t even remember the name of someone you killed?”
“Sonny, I’ve kilt so many of ’em, they all sort of blend in. What was your pa’s name? And where is it I was supposed to have kilt him?”
“His name was Conyers. Enoch Conyers,” the boy said.
“Oh, yeah,” Harley said. “I remember him. He was cheatin’ at cards.”
“My pa never cheated at anything!” the boy said resolutely.
“Yeah, I recollect now. He wasn’t cheatin’. He accused me of cheatin’. I called him out on it.”
“And you killed him,” the boy said.
“You ought not to start somethin’ you can’t finish.” Harley chuckled, but it was a laugh without genuine mirth. “Sort of like what you’re doin’ now, ain’t it, boy? You’ve started somethin’ you can’t finish.”
The expression on the boy’s face changed from one of anger, to fear when he realized what he had gotten himself into. Then, even the fear gave way to resignation.
“Let’s do it, boy,” Harley said, his voice sounding almost bored.
With a defiant scream, the boy went for his gun. He had it but halfway out of the holster when Harley fired at him. The bullet hit the boy in the heart, killing him before he could even react to it.
Only one shot had been fired, and because Harley put his pistol back in his holster as quickly as he had taken it out, some in the saloon didn’t even know where the shot had come from.
The sheriff held an inquest that very afternoon, and because there were enough witnesses who saw what actually happened, no charges were filed.
CHAPTER FIVE
Elco, Colorado
Frank and Travis Slater had served six months in jail for burglary, and would have gone to prison for a year, if Chance Carter hadn’t paid for a good lawyer to plead their case.
“I think they’re basically good boys,” Carter told the judge when he was providing supporting testimony. “They just made a mistake is all, and I would hate to see their whole lives ruined because of it.”
The judge had taken Carter’s testimony to heart and had given lenient sentences to both of them. Now that they were out of jail they were working as hired hands for Carter. Carter’s wife had died ten years ago, and Chance had raised their daughter ever since. Carrie was fifteen years old and just blossoming into womanhood.
One morning she came out to the barn carrying a milk pail. She smiled at Travis, who at nineteen, was the younger of the two brothers. Frank was twenty-two.
“Good morning, Travis.” Carrie took the milking stool down from its hook.
“Pretty soon, you won’t be needin’ to milk that cow,” Travis said.
“What do you mean?”
“Why, the way you are tittyin’ up, you’ll be able to give milk yourself.” Travis laughed at his joke.
“That’s not a very nice thing to s
ay!” Carrie blushed at the comment.
“Sure it is,” Travis said. “You think Frank an’ me don’t see how you come around us all the time, showin’ off them titties of yours?”
“I do no such thing!” Carrie insisted. “And I don’t like the way you are talking to me.”
“Yeah you do. You like it a lot. Otherwise you wouldn’t be showin’ off like you are.”
“I’m not showing off.”
“You aren’t? Then what did you come out here for? Did you come out here just to put a burr under my saddle?” Travis walked over to her and put his hand on her shoulder. “Or did you come out here so I could make you a woman?”
“Make me a woman? What does that mean?” Carrie asked with another laugh. “I’m already a woman.”
“No, you ain’t.” Travis pulled her to him. “You ain’t a woman until you’ve had a man. Like me.” He pulled her to him and forced a kiss on her.
She fought against him. When he pulled his lips away, she shouted, “Pa! Pa!”
“Shut up! You want your pa to come runnin’ out here?” Travis slapped her hard, and blood came from her lips.
“Pa!” she screamed again, but that was as far as she got before Travis, acting spontaneously, picked up the hammer he had been using to adjust the iron wheel rim, and hit her hard. She went down without a sound.
“Get up,” Travis said. “Get up and don’t be screamin’ no more.”
“She ain’t goin’ to be gettin’ up,” Frank said. He had been out in the corral, but was drawn back to the barn by the young girl’s scream.
“Yeah she is. Get up,” Travis said again.
“Travis, take a look at her. Take a good, close look at her.”
Travis looked down at the young girl and saw that her eyes and mouth were open, but she was totally still. There was a very dark bruise on the side of her head where he had hit her with the hammer.
“Oh damn! Oh damn, oh damn, oh damn! Frank, I’ve kilt her! What am I goin’ to do? I didn’t mean to kill her. I was just tryin’ to get her to shut up.”
“Carrie!” a man’s voice shouted. “What is it? What are you calling me for?”
Chance Carter, a man in his early forties, stepped into the barn and saw the body of his daughter lying on the ground. He saw Travis and Frank looking down at her.
“My God! What happened?” Chance asked in agonized shock.
“She—uh, I didn’t mean—uh, I didn’t think I hit her that hard,” Travis said.
“You did this? You did this?” Chance asked.
“I was just funnin’ with her,” Travis said weakly. “Then she started screamin’ and I wanted her to stop.”
“You murderer!” Chance turned and started back toward the house.
“Mr. Carter, listen to me!” Travis called after him. “I didn’t mean to kill her! I just wanted her to stop yelling is all! It was an accident!”
Without any reply, Chance ran into the house.
“What’s he goin’ to do, Frank?”
“I figure he’s goin’ after a gun. And I figure he’s goin’ to come back out and commence shootin’.”
Frank took the hammer from Travis’s hand, then hurried up to the big house. He stood alongside the door, with his back up against the wall, and waited until Chance Carter came back outside.
“You son of a bitch, you killed my daughter,” Carter shouted, starting toward the barn with a double barrel shotgun in his hand.
So intent was Carter on extracting retribution from Travis, he didn’t see Frank step out behind him. Frank brought the hammer down hard, and Chance dropped to the ground.
Frank got down on his knees beside the rancher and hit him again and again with the hammer. He didn’t stop until blood, bone, and brain matter was pouring out of the wound.
“I think you can quit now, Frank,” Travis said.
Frank stood up and looked at the bloody end of the hammer. “Yeah.”
“What do we do now?”
“We get our guns and get out of here,” Frank said.
“How we goin’ to get out of here? The only horses Mr. Carter’s got is team horses. He ain’t got no saddles.”
In the distance they heard the whistle of a train.
“We’ll take the train,” Frank said.
“Like as not, it’s a freight train this time of day,” Travis said.
“All the better,” Frank replied.
Poncha Pass, Colorado
The freight cars bumped and rattled through the night, the thunder echoing back from Poncha Pass. On the 2-4-2 locomotive the steam gushed from the drive cylinder like cannon fire as it labored mightily to negotiate the grade. But five cars back, Frank and Travis Slater, who had hopped onto the freight when they fled the Carter ranch, could hear nothing of the engine.
The car had been empty when the two brothers jumped onto the train, but just before nightfall, two other men climbed into the car.
“You think the brakeman saw us?” one of the two men asked.
“Nah. Anyway, I think it’s Doodle. He’s a good one. He don’t ever throw you off,” the other said.
In the dim light, the two new men saw Frank and Travis sitting in the forward part of the empty car, their backs braced against the front wall so no matter how much the train lurched and jerked, they were able to keep from being tossed about.
“Hello, boys,” one of the newcomers said with a friendly greeting. “Been on the train long, have you?”
“Not too long,” Frank answered.
“My name’s Zeke, my partner here is Mickey. We know most of the riders, but I don’t think we’ve ever run across you two before.”
“No, this is our first time.” Frank pointedly did not give their names.
Zeke chuckled. “Don’t want to tell me your name, huh? Well, no matter. Sometimes when folks is down on their luck, they don’t like to give away their names. That’s fine with Mickey and me.”
“How many times have you hopped a train on this line?” Frank asked.
“I’d say twenty, maybe thirty times, wouldn’t you, Mickey?”
“Thirty times for sure. You might recall, one time we done it two times in the same week.”
“Yeah, I do recall. So this is your first time, is it?” Zeke asked.
“Yes,” Travis answered.
“Well, there’s some things you need to know. If you’ll listen to me, I’ll be learnin’ you some of them things.”
“We’re listenin’,” Frank said.
“The first thing is, you got to know what kind of car to hop, and you got to know how far it’s goin’,” Zeke said. “I mind the time Jimmy Peal ... You remember him, don’t you, Mickey?”
“I remember him well. He was a big man, maybe six feet four inches tall, or so,” Mickey said.
“Yes, that’s the one I’m talkin’ about,” Zeke said. “Well, sir, Jimmy Peal once hopped onto a car and the door got shut on him so’s he couldn’t get out. The car went all the way to New Orleans, it did, and when they opened it up down there, well, they found Jimmy Peal dead. He’d done starved to death.”
“He died of thirst,” Mickey corrected. “As big a man as he was, it would’ve took him a long time to starve to death. But it don’t take hardly no time at all for a man to die if he don’t have no water.”
“We’re sure goin’ slow now,” Travis said. “Why, I could walk faster than this.”
“That’s ’cause we climbin’ up Poncha Pass,” Zeke explained. “But we are near ’bout to the top now. You wait till we get over the top, then you’ll see.”
“I’ll see what?”
“You’ll see us speed up. The train will be goin’ lickity split an’ I wager you’ll be a’ wantin’ to grab ahold of somethin’ so as to be able to hang on.”
The train reached the top of the pass, then started down, gathering speed as the peaks lurched behind them in an increasingly faster rush.
“How fast you think we’re a’ goin’ anyway?” Frank asked.
/> “Goin’ downhill like this? I’d say thirty-five, forty miles an hour. Maybe even faster,” Zeke said.
“Damn, I ain’t never gone this fast before,” Frank said.
“So, this is the first time you two boys ever jumped a freight, is it?” Mickey asked.
“Yeah, that’s what I said,” Travis answered.
“What did you jump it for?”
“What?”
“Well, I mean, you boys don’t exactly have the looks of a rail bum.”
“We jumped it for the same reason as you did,” Frank said. “We needed to get somewhere, and we didn’t have no horses.”
Zeke laughed. “See, now that’s the difference between you two, ’n me ’n Mickey here. You said you need to get somewhere.”
Frank looked confused. “Yeah, so, what’s different? We’re on this train just like you are.”
“No, you ain’t. It ain’ nothin’ like Mickey ’n me,” Zeke said. “That’s the whole point. You said you are needin’ to get somewhere. Me and Mickey, we don’t need to get nowhere, on account of because we are already here.”
“What do you mean, you are already here?” Travis asked. “You are on a train, goin’ somewhere.”
“See, that’s where you don’ understand men like Mickey ’n me. We ain’t goin’ nowhere. We are already here,” Zeke said.
“We’ll ride this train for a while, then we’ll ride another train, and after that, why, we’ll hop on another train and ride it,” Mickey said. “We ain’t goin’ nowhere in particular, which means we are already here.”
“How do you eat?” Frank asked.
“Just like anyone else. With our mouths,” Zeke replied, laughing at his joke.
“No, I mean if you are on the train all the time, how do you get food? You don’t have any money,” Frank said. “What do you do? Beg people for food?”
“Who says we don’t have any money?” Zeke replied. “We may be gentlemen of the rails, but we aren’t beggars.”
“We just got through workin’ for a couple weeks makin’ bricks,” Mickey said. “We got enough money to feed us for a month or so. Then when we run out of money, why, we’ll find us some other place to work.”
Assault of the Mountain Man Page 4
