Assault of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

  “You don’t hardly never see nobody ridin’ the rails that ain’t got some money,” Zeke said. “So don’t go gettin’ on your high horse with us.”

  “Well, just how much money do you have?” Frank asked.

  “Seein’ as I’m just learnin’ you boys about the life, what with you just startin’ out an’ all, why, I ain’t goin’ take no offense to that question you just asked me. But the truth is, that ain’t a question you ever want to ask anyone. How much money a man has is his own business.”

  “Yeah, I see,” Frank said. “Sorry I asked.”

  “That’s all right. Like I told you, you two boys is new, and you don’t know no better, so I ain’t takin’ no offense.”

  The train leveled out and slowed down. Zeke got up and walked over to stand in the open door of the freight for a moment, then he came back. “Gilman is comin’ up.”

  “What’s in Gilman?” Frank asked.

  “It’s a new town. It has a store, a stamping mill, a café.”

  “Does it have a saloon?” Travis asked.

  “I expect it does. I ain’t never been in it though. Most of the time when we want somethin’ to drink, we’ll just buy a bottle. Right, Mickey?”

  “Yeah. We don’t go into saloons ’cause we ain’t exactly what you call, social.”

  “Will you be gettin’ off here?”

  “No, we ain’t got no reason to get off yet.” Zeke came back to the front of the car, then sat down against the wall. Frank got up and walked over to the open door to look outside. The train had slowed considerably.

  “You ever jumped off a train while it was movin’?” Frank asked.

  “Yes, but you wouldn’t want to do it if it was movin’ any faster ’n this,” Zeke said.

  “How do you do it?”

  “It’s easy. You just jump far enough out to make certain you don’t fall back under the wheels.”

  “And when you jump, you’re goin’ to tumble some,” Mickey added. “So what you want to do is make sure you’re facin’ toward the front. Otherwise you could tumble backward and break your neck.”

  “Come here, Travis, have a look,” Frank said.

  Travis got up from his place by the front wall and walked to the door.

  “How much money you think they got on ’em now?” Frank asked Travis, speaking just loudly enough for Travis to hear him.

  “I don’t know. Twenty, thirty dollars maybe.”

  “That’s good enough.” Pulling his pistol, Frank held it down by his side and slightly behind him as he walked back to the front of the car.

  “So what did you boys decide?” Zeke asked. “You goin’ to jump out of the car?” He and Mickey laughed.

  “After,” Frank said.

  “After what?”

  “After this.” Frank raised the pistol and fired twice at point blank range. He hit Zeke and Mickey in the forehead, killing them instantly. Travis came up behind him.

  “Why did you do that? We coulda just held ’em up.”

  “They knew who we were,” Frank replied. “This way, they aren’t likely to even be discovered for two or three days, if that. Hell, this car might wind up in San Francisco before anyone discovers them. By then we’ll be so far away there won’t be any way at all anyone can ever put together the fact that we was the ones who done it. You search Mickey. I’ll search Zeke.”

  “Damn!” Travis held something up. “I bet there’s over a hunnert dollars here!”

  “Yeah!” Frank said with equal excitement. “There’s at least that much here. Who would have thought that?”

  “Come on,” Travis said. “We’d better get off now.”

  Stepping into the open door of the freight car, the two men leaped clear of the roadbed. The jump caused them to tumble forward, in keeping with Mickey’s instructions. By the time they picked themselves up, the lighted caboose of the train was rocking past them. The two men watched the car grow smaller in the distance until all they could see was the glowing red lamp that was hanging from a hook on the end of the caboose.

  “What do we do now?” Travis asked.

  “We follow the tracks to town.”

  “It’s the middle of the night. There ain’t goin’ to be nothin’ open in the middle of the night.”

  “We don’t want anything to be open,” Frank said. “When you’re stealin’ horses, it’s best that ever’one be asleep.”

  Travis laughed. “Yeah.”

  With only moonlight to guide them, they walked along the track, following the softly gleaming rails for a mile until they reached the town. Gilman was perched on the side of a mountain, the private homes and commercial buildings clinging to the side like sprouting bushes. Taking advantage of what level land there was, two streets formed a V with the point pointing toward the east.

  It was about two in the morning, so there was not one soul awake in the town, and the only sound that could be heard was the rustle of the wind through the limbs of the aspen trees. From the far end of town, they heard a dog barking, and Frank and Travis stopped in their tracks.

  “I hope that dog is tied up,” Travis said.

  “I expect he is.” Frank pointed. “Look over there. Do you see what I see?”

  Travis looked in the direction indicated. “All I see is a lean-to.”

  “With a couple horses,” Frank replied.

  “I don’t see no—” Travis stopped in mid-sentence when he saw something move in the shadows of the lean-to. “Oh, wait, yeah, I see ’em.”

  Moving silently through the night, the two brothers reached the lean-to where they found two horses tied to a rail, and two saddles conveniently stored on a shelf to one side. They saddled the horses, then led them out into the open, keeping a close eye on the nearby house. Travis started to mount.

  “Not yet,” Frank said. “Let’s walk them all the way out of town first. It’s quieter that way.”

  “Yeah,” Travis said. “Yeah, good idea.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Sugarloaf Ranch

  There had been a time in Smoke’s past when he had sold all his cattle and switched over to raising horses. That had worked well for a while, because the U.S. Cavalry had provided a willing market for his stock. But with the increasing demand for beef in the East, Smoke was once more raising cattle. His ranch was the biggest in Colorado, on par with some of the largest ranches in Texas.

  Although many ranchers were using Mr. Joseph Glidden’s invention as a means of keeping their herds corralled, Smoke did not believe in barbed wire, or “bobbed wahr” as Pearlie, Cal, and most of his hands called it, so he let his animals run free upon the range. That freedom gave them a lot of room to roam. Sugarloaf consisted of fifty thousand acres of titled land, with an additional one hundred thousand acres of adjacent, free range land. There was ample water and grass, and ultimately the herd was fenced in by nature, with the Elk Mountain Range to the north and Grand Mesa to the west.

  With over fifteen thousand head of cattle scattered over one hundred and fifty thousand acres, rounding them up would be quite an undertaking. In fact, it was a job much too large for his full-time hands. Several additional hands had been hired for the roundup, and the operation was well underway.

  The first thing was to find all the cattle carrying the Sugarloaf brand and move them into a herd. In addition, the cowboys would also have to bring in the unbranded calves that belonged to Sugarloaf. It was fairly easy to identify the calves that belonged to Sugarloaf, not only because much of the land was part of the Sugarloaf spread, but also because the newly born and unbranded calves tended to stay with their mothers—and their mothers were branded.

  Gradually the far ranging cattle were brought in, and the herd grew in size. Not more than two or three riders at a time would work the assembled cattle. Too many riders cutting in and out of the herd would get the stock to milling around nervously, making them difficult to work with.

  Smoke was sitting in his saddle with one leg curled across the saddle horn. He to
ok the makings from his shirt pocket and rolled a cigarette, then using his thumbnail, snapped a match to light and held the flame to the end. He waved the match out, flipping it aside just as Pearlie came riding up.

  “What did we do, give the heifers some wine, and play a little music for them?” Pearlie asked.

  “What are you talking about?” Smoke blew out a stream of smoke as he asked the question.

  “We got more calves this year than ever before,” Pearlie said. “Our bulls must have been quite the ladies’ men.”

  Smoke chuckled. “I guess that explains why I saw one of them with an ascot and a monocle.”

  Pearlie laughed. “How many head are we going to take to market this year?”

  “I told the railroad people we would need at least a hundred cars.”

  “Four thousand head at forty dollars a head,” Pearlie said. “That would be ...”

  “A hundred and sixty thousand dollars,” Smoke said.

  “Wow! Damn, Smoke, you must be about the richest man in Colorado.”

  “I am. But it doesn’t have anything to do with money.”

  Pearlie looked confused. “I don’t understand.”

  “Sure you do. I’m the richest man in Colorado because I have Sally as my wife, and you, Cal, Monte, Louis, and all my other friends.” Smoke took in the vista with a sweep of his arm. “I wouldn’t trade this place for all the money in the U.S. Treasury.”

  “Hey, when we goin’ to eat?” Cal rode up to join them. “How come the chuck wagon ain’t here yet?”

  “Sally’s fixing our meal today,” Smoke said. “You know how she likes to take a little extra time with her cooking.”

  Cal smiled, and rubbed his belly. “If Sally is cooking the meal, it’s worth a little delay.”

  “It won’t be a long delay,” Smoke said. “There she comes now.”

  The three men looked back toward the big house and saw the chuck wagon coming toward them through the emerald green fields. As it got closer, they could hear the sound of pots and pans banging about inside the wagon.

  Smoke rode out to meet her, while Pearlie started toward the cowboys who were working the herd, calling them in for the meal. Sally had gone all out with a large rump of roast beef, boiled potatoes, freshly baked bread, and apple pies.

  “What are you doing, Sally?” Smoke asked when the men, smelling the delicious aromas, eagerly lined up for their meal. “Don’t give them this, you’ll spoil them. They’ll think they have to eat like this every day. Give them some beans.”

  A few of the men groaned.

  Sally reached back into the chuck wagon and picked up a can of beans. She tossed it to Smoke. “If you want beans you eat beans. But I’m doing the cooking today and I cooked a roast beef. This is what I’m serving.”

  The men looked anxiously toward Smoke. When they saw Pearlie and Cal, and even Smoke, smiling, they realized he was merely joking with them, and they laughed, then took their meal and ate with great enjoyment.

  Smoke and Sally sat on the ground, leaning back against the wheel of the chuck wagon.

  “I’m going into Gothic tomorrow,” she said. “I wrote to Tamara and told her I would be there. I’ll probably stay for a week or so, while she is getting her new restaurant set up.”

  “All right,” Smoke said.

  “I hope you don’t mind, I’m taking Cal with me. He can come in handy when we start moving in the stoves, tables, and such.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” Smoke said. “As a matter of fact, I think that is probably a pretty good idea.”

  One of the cowboys walked up to them then, and he was rubbing his stomach. “Mr. Jensen, all the other boys has asked me to speak for ’em. We was wonderin’, I mean, seein’ as how good we was fed ’n all, well, it’s made us all mighty sleepy. We was wonderin’ if maybe we couldn’t just take the rest of the day off and nap.”

  “What?” Smoke stood up quickly.

  The cowboy laughed, then all the others laughed as well.

  “You deserved that, Smoke,” Pearlie said, joining in the laughter. “I mean after tellin’ them they couldn’t have this meal Miss Sally cooked.”

  Smoke laughed with them, then held up his hands. “All right, boys, we’re even.”

  “Come on, boys, we’re burnin’ daylight!” Pearlie shouted. “Let’s get to work!”

  Toombs Trading Post was ten miles from the nearest town, surviving despite its isolation. It was located on the banks of the Grand River, which was the source of the Colorado River. Its location assured that many travelers came by. Seeing a store, hotel, restaurant, and saloon in the middle of nowhere made it a popular stop.

  Its remote location also meant it was a long way from a sheriff’s protection, and that was the reason the Slater brothers, Frank and Travis, chose to rob it. Standing in the store, with the bottom half of their faces covered by bandannas, they held their guns on Eli and Marcie Toombs, the proprietors. Also present in the store was Clem Perkins, an old man who had been in Colorado for over fifty years, one of the early mountain men.

  Eli Toombs took all the cash from his cash drawer and dropped it in the cloth bag Travis handed him. He didn’t resist. The two brothers had threatened to kill his wife if he did.

  “I thank you very much for that contribution, Mr. Toombs.” Travis took the bag of money, then looked over toward the old mountain man. “What have you got that we might want?”

  “I ain’t got a damn thing, sonny,” the mountain man replied with a dismissive slur.

  “Maybe I should just see about that.” Travis reached toward Clem Perkins. The old mountain man grabbed his hand, raised it to his mouth, and bit the end of his finger off.

  “Ahhh!” Travis screamed in pain. He shot the old man and, even after he fell, continued to shoot him until the hammer fell repeatedly on empty chambers.

  “Let’s go!” Frank shouted. “Let’s get out of here!”

  Grabbing a shirt that was for sale on one of the tables, Travis wrapped it around the end of his finger to staunch the flow of blood.

  Taking advantage of the distraction, Toombs grabbed a shotgun from under the counter, but Frank saw him and before Toombs could bring his weapon to bear, Frank shot him.

  When Mrs. Toombs, who was screaming in anger and fear, grabbed the gun from her husband’s dead hands, Frank shot her as well.

  A moment later they rode away from the store with a bag that contained forty-nine dollars and fifty-seven cents. Behind them lay the gruesome remains of their visit, the bodies of Mr. and Mrs. Toombs, and that of one of Colorado’s earliest pioneers.

  Risco, Colorado

  Risco was a scattering of fly-blown, crumbling adobe buildings laid out around a dusty plaza. What made the town attractive to people like Bill Dinkins, John Putnam, and Cole Parnell was its reputation as a “Robbers’ Roost,” or “Outlaw Haven.”

  The town was neither incorporated, nor listed on any map. It had no city government of any kind, including no mayor, constable, marshal, or sheriff. Visitations by law officers were strongly discouraged and there was a place in the town cemetery prominently marked LAWMAN’S PLOT. Two deputy sheriffs, one deputy U.S. marshal, and a private detective, all unwelcome visitors to the town, lay buried there.

  Dinkins, Putnam, and Parnell were in the Purgatory Saloon. The three horses they had stolen from the Cañon City Livery were tied up out front. Because of the lawlessness of the town, they had absolutely no concern about riding stolen horses. It was certain nobody in town was going to challenge them over it.

  Parnell recognized Frank and Travis Slater when they came in. “Well, well,” he said quietly. “Last time I saw them two boys, we was in jail together back in Elco. I went to prison from there, never did find out what happened to them.”

  “What was they in jail for?” Dinkins asked.

  “Stealin’, as I recollect,” Parnell said.

  “We need a couple more men to make sure we pull off the job I have in mind. Do you think they would be th
e men for it?”

  “Don’t know whether they would be or not. Don’t know ’em that well. But if I was just guessin’, I would say they would be all right.”

  “Why don’t you go and invite them over?” Dinkins suggested.

  “All right.” Parnell finished his drink, then walked to the two bothers. “Frank and Travis Slater.”

  Both men whirled toward him with their hands covering the butts of their guns.

  “Hold it, hold it!” Parnell held out his hands, palms open. “You ain’t goin’ to throw down on an old pard, are you?”

  “Parnell?” Frank asked. “I thought you was in prison.”

  “I was,” Parnell answered. “But I got let out. I guess you boys was let out too, seein’ as the last time I seen the two of you, you was in jail.” Smiling, he extended his hand, and each shook it. “Come on over. I’ve got some fellas I’d like for you to meet,” he invited.

  Frank and Travis followed Parnell over to the table where Dinkins and Putnam were sitting.

  “Bill, Johnny, these two boys is old friends of mine,” Parnell said. “Like I told you, we was in jail together back in Elco.”

  “Pull up a chair and join us,” Dinkins invited.

  The two brothers sat down.

  “Before I go any further, I need to ask a question. Which side of the law are you boys on?” Dinkins asked. “What I mean is, are there any wanted posters out on you?”

  “There ain’t no dodgers out on us, ’cause we ain’t done nothin’ to be wanted for,” Travis said quickly.

  “Well then, in that case, you probably wouldn’t be interested in my proposal,” Dinkins said. “Because what I have to suggest will put you on the wrong side of the law for sure. So, if you’ve got enough money that you ain’t interested, well, go on back up to the bar and finish your drink.”

  “Wait a minute,” Frank said. “What is it that you have to suggest?”

  “Nothing that would interest you two, I’m sure,” Dinkins said. “I mean, bein’ as you ain’t never done nothin’ to be wanted for.”