Assault of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

  Smoke started toward the barn. “Pearlie, fill my canteen, bring me my pistol and my other hat,” he called back over his shoulder.

  “We’re goin’ over there?”

  “Not we, I. I’m going,” Smoke said. “We’re still in the middle of a roundup. I need you to stay here and watch after things.”

  “Smoke, come on. I can’t just sit here, wonderin’ what’s goin’ on,” Pearlie insisted.

  “You aren’t going to have to wonder. I’ll keep you posted. I’ll send you a telegram every day.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise. Now get my gear together while I’m saddling my horse. Oh, and give Kyle a dollar.”

  “Wait there, Kyle,” Pearlie said as he hurried into the house to respond to Smoke’s requests.

  “I will, thank you,” Kyle said. “I’m awful sorry I’m the one had to bring this message.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Gothic

  It took Smoke just over two hours to make the ride, which was about as fast as he could go without crippling his horse. As he rode into the town, he saw a man’s body in an open coffin, standing up in front of the feed and seed store. A sign was propped against him.

  KILLED IN A BANK ROBBERY

  Do you know this man?

  So, there was a bank robbery. That has to be how Sally was hurt. But how did she get involved ?

  “Smoke!” a familiar voice shouted.

  Looking toward the hardware store, Smoke saw Cal come running toward him.

  “I knew you would come!” Cal said. “I’ve been keepin’ an eye out for you ever since I sent the telegram.”

  “How is she?” Smoke asked.

  “It ain’t good.”

  “Damn it, Cal, is she alive?” he literally shouted.

  “Oh, yes, yes, she’s alive. I’m sorry, didn’t mean to scare you none.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s over here.” Cal pointed toward the hardware store.

  “She’s in a hardware store?”

  “What? Oh, no, no, I mean, she’s in the doctor’s office. His office is just over the hardware store. You get to it by goin’ up those steps on the side of the building there. He’s at ...”

  Cal didn’t finish his sentence, because Smoke slapped his legs against the side of his horse, galloping the final fifty yards. Swinging down from his horse he made a quick tie of the reins to the hitching post, then clambered up the external stairway, taking the steps two at a time. When he reached the little stoop up top, he jerked the door open, then pushed inside without knocking. He saw Sally on the table, and the doctor and Tamara Gooding standing alongside, looking down at her.

  “Hey! What do you mean barging in here like this?” Dr. Gunther scolded.

  “He’s Sally’s husband,” Tamara said quickly.

  “I’m Smoke Jensen. Sorry about breaking in like that.”

  “No, no, that’s quite all right, Mr. Jensen,” Dr. Gunther said. “I’m sorry I spoke so harshly.”

  “How is she?”

  “I won’t lie to you, Mr. Jensen. She was shot through the lower abdomen, and the wound is quite serious.”

  “Is the bullet still inside?”

  “No, I got it out. As far as I can tell, it did not hit any of her vitals.”

  “Can I talk to her?”

  “She has been in and out of consciousness ever since she was shot,” Dr. Gunther said. “Even when she is conscious, she isn’t very communicative. I’m sorry.”

  “Doctor, give it to me straight. Is she going to live?”

  “I wish I could tell you with one hundred percent assurance that she is going to live. Unfortunately, I can’t promise you that. After I removed the bullet, I irrigated the abdomen with a saline solution until all the effluent was clear, then I made generous use of an antiseptic, in this case, iodine. If I were making a bet, I would say her chances are better than fifty-fifty that she is going to live.”

  “Fifty-fifty? You can’t do any better than that?” Smoke asked.

  “I’m sorry. I want to give you and Mrs. Jensen hope. I believe hope is an important part of the healing process. But I don’t want to give you false hope.”

  “How many people have you seen who are gut-shot, and survive?” Smoke asked.

  “Quite a few. Those that die, generally do so because of pathogenic infection, or a condition of shock.”

  “She’s a fighter, Smoke. You know that better than anyone,” Cal said. “I’m bettin’ that if there is any chance at all, Miss Sally is going to come through this.”

  Smoke had not heard Cal come up behind him, but he wasn’t surprised to see his young friend, at hand. Smoke nodded his head. “You’ve got that right, Cal. If ever there was a fighter, it would be Sally.”

  Smoke turned back toward Dr. Gunther. “So, what do we do now? Can I take her home? I’ll hire the finest coach I can find.”

  “No, no, not yet,” Dr. Gunther insisted. “Mrs. McKenzie has agreed to let your wife stay with her until it is safe enough for her to travel. In the meantime, she will be much better off here.”

  Smoke turned to Tamara. “Thank you for agreeing to look after her.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly, Smoke. Sally is a very dear friend. Of course I will look after her. Oh, just a minute, I have something for you.”

  Tamara walked over to her handbag, opened it, and took out a packet of money. “This is the two thousand dollars Sally was going to invest in my restaurant.”

  “You still plan to build the restaurant, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then keep the money. That is why Sally came over here in the first place.”

  “I know, and I feel so guilty about that. If she hadn’t come over to see me, she wouldn’t have been in the bank to get shot.”

  Smoke took Tamara’s hand in his. “These things happen. Don’t blame yourself. You had nothing to do with what happened.”

  “I tell myself that,” Tamara replied. “But I’m having a hard time convincing myself.”

  “Put it out of your mind.” Smoke sighed. “If I’m going to stay here for a while, I need to find a place to spend the night here in town.”

  “I’m stayin’ over to the hotel,” Cal said. “Come on with me. I know there are some empty rooms there.”

  “I don’t want to leave.”

  “Trust me, Mr. Jensen. Right now, she doesn’t even know you are here,” Dr. Gunther said. “You will do neither yourself nor her any good by staying here. When she comes to, and if she is communicative, I will come get you.”

  “By the way, Doc,” Cal said. “You don’t need to worry none about the outlaw that got shot. He’s dead. They’ve got him propped up in a coffin down at the feed store.”

  “I’m sorry to say I had forgotten all about him,” Dr. Gunther said. “Was he killed instantly?”

  “He probably was,” Cal said. “But the truth is, I would’ve told you that anyway just to make sure you was taking care of Miss Sally.”

  “I would not have abandoned Mrs. Jensen to tend to the outlaw,” Dr. Gunther said. “But I am a doctor, and honor bound to treat everyone, even those who we might consider undesirable.”

  “Yes, sir, I understand,” Cal said. “But when I shot the son of a bitch, I hit him right in the back of the head. Not that I am that good of a shot, mind you. It just so happens, that is where I hit him.”

  “As I say, I am a doctor. But I also have a strong sense of justice. Those people killed three of our citizens and wounded Mrs. Jensen. I feel no sense of remorse that one of the outlaws was killed in the process.”

  Purple Peak

  Twenty miles west by northwest of Gothic, Dinkins and the others stopped in the shadow of Purple Peak Mountain, which was significant. When they rode out of Gothic, they were going east, then rode in a great circle. It was late afternoon by the time they actually reached the mountain.

  “Parnell, climb up a ways and make certain there ain’t no one a’ followin’ us,”
Dinkins said. “If you don’t see anyone, we’ll stay here for the night.”

  “We got ’ny thing to eat?” Travis asked. “I’m hungry.”

  “Got some bacon and hard tack,” Dinkins said. “And coffee.”

  “Ain’t all that much of a meal, but it’s better ’n nothin’,” Travis said.

  Parnell climbed about three hundred feet up the side of the mountain and looked back along the trail over which they had just come, then came back down to report to the others. “I could see ten miles or more back. And I didn’t see nobody.”

  “Like as not there won’t be nobody comin’ after us,” Dinkins said. “I’m pretty sure we kilt the sheriff as we was leavin’ town, so there wouldn’t be nobody to organize a posse.”

  “Yeah, and even iffen they did put one together, like as not they’d be lookin’ for us goin’ east,” Travis said.

  “Anybody see what happened to Putnam?” Parnell asked.

  “He was ridin’ alongside me,” Frank said. “One minute he was there ’n the next minute he wasn’t. I reckon he got shot.”

  “You and him was pards, wasn’t you?” Travis asked Parnell.

  “I never know’d him till I met him in prison,” Parnell said. “But we was pards in there, as much as you can be pards in prison.”

  “How much money did we get?” Frank asked.

  “I don’t know,” Dinkins said. “Whatever it is, we would’ve got a lot more if we had been able to get into the safe.”

  “You reckon they was tellin’ the truth?” Travis asked. “You reckon there really is such a thing as a time lock? I ain’t never heard of such a thing before.”

  “I heard folks talkin’ about it in prison,” Parnell said. “But this here is the first time I ever run into one.”

  As the others were discussing the time lock, Dinkins emptied the bag of cash they had managed to get from the cashier’s drawer.

  “How much?” Frank asked.

  “Two hundred and eleven dollars,” Dinkins said. He gave fifty dollars to the other three, and kept sixty one dollars for himself.

  “That ain’t much for what we went through,” Travis said. “Hell, me ’n Frank got damn near that much money just robbin’ a store.”

  “We didn’t go through nothin’,” Dinkins said. “Except for Putnam, who was kilt, there wasn’t none of us hit, and there ain’t nobody chasin’ us.”

  Travis started gathering some firewood, and a few minutes later they had a fire going. They fried bacon, then cooked four pieces of hard tack in the bacon grease. They also made a pot of coffee.

  “So what do we do next?” Parnell asked.

  “I know what I’m goin’ to do next,” Frank said. “I think me ’n Travis will find us another store. There ain’t as many shootin’ at you when you rob a store, as there is when you rob a bank. And you wind up with damn near as much money.”

  “I didn’t know this bank had a time lock,” Dinkins said. “I’ll make sure with the next one.”

  “The next one?” Frank asked. “You plannin’ on robbin’ another bank?”

  “Why not? We’ve got our gang together, don’t we?”

  “Yeah, but we lost one.”

  “We’ll get another man.”

  “Where?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve already asked him to join us.”

  “Do you know him? Can we trust him?” Parnell asked.

  “And can he hold up his end?” Travis asked.

  “Yeah,” Dinkins answered. “I know him, we can trust him, and he can hold up his end.”

  Parnell stretched and yawned. “I don’t know about you fellas, but I aim to get me a little shut-eye.”

  Parnell got the saddle blanket from under his saddle, spread it out, then lay down using his saddle as a pillow. He covered himself with the coat he had been issued by the prison.

  “Hey, Dinkins. Next time we steal a horse, what do you say we steal one that already has a bedroll?”

  The others laughed at Parnell’s observation, then, like Parnell, they bedded down for the night.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Gothic

  Smoke remained in the doctor’s office for the rest of the day, hoping Sally would regain consciousness. She did wake up a few times, but was so groggy she was incommunicative, just as Dr. Gunther said she would be.

  Finally, as darkness fell, Smoke checked in at the Silver Lode Hotel, then went to the Silver Nugget Saloon. He and Cal took a beer to a table in the back. There was a buzz of excitement and anger in the saloon. Friends of the three men who were killed were airing their anger and their sympathy for the widows of Mr. Flowers, the banker, Mr. Deckert, the owner of the tobacco store who had tried, with a shotgun, to stop the outlaws, and Sheriff Tyson.

  “What about the lady that was shot?” one of the men asked. “Has anyone heard how she is doin’?”

  Cal started to answer, but Smoke put his hand out on Cal’s arm. “I don’t want to visit with anyone,” he said quietly.

  “I hear she’s still alive,” someone else said. “She’s up in the doc’s office now.”

  “I hope she pulls through all right. I mean it’s bad enough to kill the three men. But it just ain’t right to shoot a woman. No matter how you look at it.”

  “You know about Nicole, don’t you?” Smoke continued in a quiet voice.

  “Yes, I know about her. She was your first wife, and I know she was murdered.”

  “I cannot let that happen again, Cal. God help me, it just can’t happen again.”

  Cal had never seen Smoke this distraught. The thought of this strong man, the strongest man he had ever known, the man he respected and admired more than any other, being in such a state of despair, frightened him. He put his hand on Smoke’s shoulder.

  “Smoke, I probably wouldn’t even be alive if it hadn’t been for Miss Sally. You know that better than anybody. Here I was, a dumb kid, and I actually tried to hold her up. Instead of shooting me, like she could have, or turning me over to the law, like she should have, she took me out to Sugarloaf, fed me the first good meal I had eaten in weeks, then offered me a home. I’m telling you, right now, that I know, as sure as God made little green apples, that Miss Sally is going to pull through this. I know she is.”

  Smoke looked into the earnest and determined face of his young cowboy, then managed a smile. “I know it too, Cal.”

  Cal nodded, pleased that his declaration seemed to have made some inroad into Smoke’s melancholy.

  “Tell me about the people who did this,” Smoke said.

  “Well sir, like you seen, one of ’em is dead,” Cal said. “I shot him as they was riding out of town. I fired a second time, but they was too far away, and to tell the truth, I was damn lucky to hit the first one.”

  “Do we know who they are?”

  “Mr. Martin, the bank teller, and Mrs. McKenzie, heard some of the names as they was talking to each other. The leader was someone named Dinkins. There was also someone named Parnell. That’s all we know.”

  “Hey!” a man said loudly, just coming into the saloon and addressing all therein. “We just found out who the dead bank robber is!”

  “Who?” half a dozen voices called.

  “His name is John Putnam. He just got out of prison no more than a month ago,” the man with the news said.

  “How do you know this, Chris?”

  “Sheriff Carson come into town and he recognized him,” Chris said.

  Smoke and Cal looked at each other.

  “Monte is here?” Smoke asked.

  “I guess so, from the way that fella was talkin’,” Cal said. “But I ain’t seen him yet.”

  “Let’s see if we can find him,” Smoke suggested.

  “Where do you think he might be?”

  “My guess would be the sheriff’s office. Seeing as the local sheriff was one of the ones killed, I expect Monte has set up a temporary office there.”

  The two men left the saloon, then walked down the street, dark except f
or the little squares of dim yellow light spilling through the windows of the occupied buildings. When they reached the sheriff’s office, they saw a black bow on the door of the office, put there in memory of the slain Sheriff Tyson. When they went inside they saw Sheriff Carson standing behind a desk, looking at an array of wanted posters which were spread out before him. Standing beside Sheriff Carson was the man who had been deputy to Tyson.

  “Hello, Monte,” Smoke said as he and Cal stepped into the room.

  Sheriff Carson looked up. “How is Sally?”

  Smoke shook his head. “Not good, but she is still alive, and fighting it.”

  “Do you know Thad Malcolm? He was Sheriff Tyson’s deputy. Thad, this is Smoke Jensen.”

  Malcolm extended his hand. “We’ve never met, but I’ve heard a lot about you. All good,” he added hastily. Then the smile left his face. “I’m awful sorry about your wife, Mr. Jensen. I sure hope she pulls through all right.”

  “Thank you, Deputy Malcolm.”

  “Smoke, I’ve identified three of the people who did this.” Sheriff Carson pointed to the posters on his desk. “John Putnam. He’s the one that you killed, Cal.” Carson pointed to one of the other posters. “This is Cole Parnell. Putnam and Parnell were serving time together in the state prison at Cañon City. They were both released last month.”

  Sheriff Carson picked up another wanted poster, and showed it to Smoke. “This august gentlemen, and believe me, I use that term in the most contemptuous way, is one William Dinkins. According to Mr. Martin and Mrs. McKenzie, Dinkins is the one who killed Mr. Flowers and shot Sally. But, shooting unarmed people in a bank isn’t something new to him. Two months ago, he killed a teller in a botched bank holdup in Buffalo. Last year, Dinkins led a gang of outlaws who robbed the Tucumcari, New Mexico, bank and he shot a twelve-year-old boy who was holding his hands in the air. He is a real prince of a fellow,” Sheriff Carson added sarcastically.

  “I’m going to get him, Monte,” Smoke said. “He shot my wife, and whether Sally lives or dies, I’m going to get Dinkins.”

  A young man stepped into the sheriff’s office. “Excuse me, Sheriff. Do you know where I might find Mr. Smoke Jensen?”