Venom of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

  “Well then, what’s your complaint?”

  “It just don’t seem right, is all. Hey, I’ve got a idea. Why don’t we keep all the money for our ownself, ’n just ride outta here?”

  Beamus shook his head. “You ever hear tell of killin’ the golden goose?”

  “What golden goose?”

  “Never mind. The reason we ain’t goin’ to just keep the money ’n ride outta here, is on account of cause he’ll be comin’ up with a lot of other jobs for us, just like this. We can make a lot of money if we just stick with him.”

  “Someone’s a-comin’,” Quince called down to the two men.

  “All right. Let’s get ready for ’im,” Beamus ordered.

  * * *

  Smoke had been riding for a little over two hours. Behind him, like a line drawn down through the middle of the road, the darker color of hoof-churned earth stood out against the lighter, sunbaked ground. The way before him stretched out in motionless waves, one right after another. As each wave was crested, another was exposed and beyond that another still. The ride was a symphony of sound—the jangle of the horse’s bit and harness, the squeaking leather as he shifted his weight upon the saddle, and the dull thud of hoofbeats.

  Seven knew the way back home, and Smoke, who had had a long day, was so relaxed in the saddle that he was taking quick, short naps. The lack of attention to detail meant a man was able to leap out in front of him.

  “Stop right there, mister!” the man shouted. He held a double-barreled shotgun leveled at Smoke

  “Now, why do I get the idea you didn’t stop me to ask for directions?” Smoke asked.

  “Ha-ha. Did you hear that, Quince? Parker? We’ve got the drop on him, ’n he’s makin’ jokes.”

  The two other men walked out from behind an outcropping of rocks adjacent to the road. Neither of them had drawn their pistols, depending on the shotgun to be all the cover they needed.

  “Yeah, Beamus,” Quince said. “He’s just real funny.”

  “Get down off that horse,” Beamus ordered.

  Smoke could barely contain the smile as he slid out of the saddle. His chances against the three men were greatly improved by being dismounted.

  “Now, mister, if you want to live, you’ll hand over the money,” Beamus said.

  “What money?”

  “Don’t give us none o’ that,” Beamus said. “The twenty-five hunnert dollars in cash that you’re a-carryin’.”

  “How do you know I’m carrying exactly two thousand five hundred dollars? To know the specific amount requires previous knowledge.”

  “It don’t matter how we know. The point is you’re about to hand that money over to us.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that. If you know about the money, you also know that the money doesn’t belong to me.”

  “Well, hell. If it ain’t your money, then it ought not to bother you none to give it over to us,” Quince said.

  “Besides which, if you don’t give us the money we’ll just kill you and take it anyway,” Parker added.

  “Speaking of killing . . . isn’t it funny how people will wake up in the morning with no idea that they won’t be alive to see nightfall?” Smoke said.

  “Well, hell, mister, you can still be alive come nightfall. All you have to do is hand over the money like we told you to.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t talking about me not being alive,” Smoke said. “I was talking about the three of you. I’ll bet that when you three woke up this morning, you had no idea this would be the day you’d die.”

  “Are you crazy, mister? There’s three of us,” Parker said.

  “That’s all right. I’ve got three bullets.”

  “Damn, Beamus, shoot the son of a bitch!” Quince shouted as first he and then Parker sent their hands darting toward their pistols.

  Beamus put his thumb on the hammers of the shotgun, but before he could pull them back, Smoke drew and fired. His second shot and third shots were so close upon the heels of the first that it sounded as if only one shot had been fired. Quince and Parker had barely cleared their holsters and were already collapsing before Beamus hit the ground.

  Smoke checked the three men, ascertaining what he already knew . . . that they were dead. It took him but a few minutes to find the horses they had staked out. He didn’t know which horse belonged to whom, but under the circumstances, he didn’t think it mattered. He draped a body across each horse, then tying the reins of the two trailing horses to the saddle horn before them, he took the reins of the first horse and led them three miles until he reached the next town, Walden. He was acquainted with the sheriff there.

  A single rider leading three horses, each containing a body thrown across the saddle, attracted a lot of attention. Though the townspeople didn’t follow him down the street, the boardwalks on each side of Main Street quickly filled with the morbidly curious.

  Smoke stopped and called out to one of the men, “Where’s the undertaker?”

  “He’s on this street down at the corner of Fifth ’n Main. He’s got his place in the back of the Adam’s Feed ’n Seed store.”

  “Thanks. Would you mind stopping at the sheriff’s office and asking him to come down?”

  “You want the sheriff?” the man asked, surprised by the request.

  For a moment, Smoke wondered why there was such a tone of surprise in the man’s response, then he realized that the man might think he had murdered the three men.

  “Yes, tell Sheriff Rand that Smoke Jensen would like to see him down at the mortuary.”

  That seemed to assuage the man’s concern, and with a nod, he hurried to his task.

  * * *

  “Yeah, I know all three of these boys,” Sheriff Rand said a few minutes later after he had examined the bodies. “They’ve been hopping back and forth across the Wyoming and Colorado line for the last five years, causin’ trouble in both places.”

  “I’m transporting twenty-five hundred dollars in cash,” Smoke said, “and these three knew the exact amount I was carrying.”

  “Well now, how would they know that?” the sheriff asked.

  “That’s a very good question,” Smoke replied. “Just how did they know not only that I was carrying money, but the exact amount I was carrying?”

  “Someone had to tell them,” the sheriff said. “Who knew about it?”

  “I don’t know. The people in the bank at Douglas. Maybe someone who just happened to be in the bank when Mr. Harris got the money. Could be some of the hands who worked on Cross Trail knew about it,” Smoke said.

  “Yes, well, thanks to you, the money is still there. By the way, I think there’s a couple hundred dollars reward on each of these boys.”

  “Collect the reward and give it to the county,” Smoke said.

  “That’s real generous of you, Smoke. The county appreciates that.”

  “You can do the same thing with their horses.”

  “All three of the horses is more ’n likely stoled,” the sheriff said, “but if we don’t find the owners, we’ll do just that.”

  With the sheriff informed and the bodies taken care of, Smoke left the mortuary and walked out to Seven.

  “What about Pearlie and Cal?” Sheriff Rand asked. “Those two boys stayin’ out of trouble?”

  “About the only trouble they ever get into is with Sally,” Smoke replied with a little laugh, “and almost all of it starts and ends in her kitchen.”

  “Ha!” Sheriff Rand replied. “I’ll bet it doesn’t take much for her to whip them into shape, either, does it.”

  “Not much,” Smoke agreed.

  “Yes well, I’m glad you stopped by. Just between us, I’m glad you put those three ne’er-do-wells out of business.”

  Smoke swung into the saddle. Lifting his hand, he turned Seven back into the street and continued his ride south.

  Cheyenne, Wyoming

  Everything had gone wrong when Chubb Slago, Lute Cruthis, Boots Zimmerman, and two others had attempted a bank
robbery in Hutchinson County, Texas, a month ago. Right from the very beginning the would-be bank robbery had turned into a shoot-out. It began in the bank when the teller with more courage than sense produced a gun and began shooting. His act got him killed, but it also kept the robbers from getting any money. The shooting had alerted the rest of the town, and when the unsuccessful robbers left the bank, it seemed that everyone in Windom had a gun of some sort—pistol, rifle, or shotgun.

  The five riders rode through the gauntlet of fire, losing two of their number.

  Cruthis, Slago, and Zimmerman left Texas. One month and two small robberies later, they found themselves in Cheyenne, Wyoming, with very little money and no prospects, having escaped the Texas authorities. Boots had gone into the post office to see if they were on any wanted posters in Wyoming—they weren’t—and he discovered the flyer from Mule Gap looking for deputies.

  “Are you out of your mind?” Cruthis asked. “We run from deputies, not to them.”

  “Wait, Cruthis,” Slago said. “Boots may have a good idea here.”

  “I’d like to know what would be so good about being a deputy city marshal,” Cruthis said.

  “Well for one thing, if any paper ever showed up with our names on it, it would be kinda good to be able to get to it first and get rid of it, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” Cruthis smiled. “Yeah! That would be damn good.”

  “And it says well paying and other rewards,” Slago said. “I don’t know what it means by well paid, and I don’t know what other rewards it is talking about, but no matter what it is, you have to admit that it is better than we’ve got now.”

  “Hey Boots, how do you think I’d look with a star?” Cruthis asked.

  Zimmerman laughed. “I think you’d look damn fine.”

  Mule Gap

  Clem Bates, Dan Cooper, Henry Barnes, and Slim Gibson were standing around in various poses in Marshal Bodine’s office. Duly Plappert, whom Bodine had made his chief deputy, was sitting at the only other desk in the room. Chubb Slago, Lute Cruthis, and Boots Zimmerman were there as well, and so was Angus Delmer. They were watching Bodine swear in Boney Walls, the tenth and last deputy that Bodine intended to hire.

  “All right, gentlemen, our little constabulary is complete,” Bodine said, addressing the others. “From now on you will begin earning the generous stipend that is being offered for services rendered, so it is time you begin rendering said services.”

  “What the hell did he just say?” Zimmerman asked Slago.

  “I’m not sure, but I think he said it was time we started working.”

  From that point forward, the deputies became a ubiquitous presence in Mule Gap. They patrolled the streets, strictly enforcing draconian laws against being drunk, being disorderly, spitting, tossing away a cigar butt, and anything else a deputy decided should be enforced. Each infraction of the laws, even if it was against a law no one had heard of, resulted in fines. In addition, every business in town saw additional taxes applied.

  “I lived through reconstruction,” said Albert Kirkland, who owned the gun shop. “And I swear, this is just as bad.”

  “Well, they have to police the entire county,” Bud Coleman said. He owned the wagon freighting service. “And seeing as my wagons are out there, I don’t mind tellin’ you that I appreciate having that protection.”

  “Then why aren’t they out there policing?” another asked.

  “And while they’re at it, they might also try and find some of them kids that have been took,” still another added.

  “You’re talking about the Blackwell boy and the Coy girl, are you?” Kirkland asked.

  “My drivers tell me there’s at least three more missing,” Coleman said. “A couple boys from Warm Springs ’n another girl.”

  “I thought they was let go.”

  “No, that was an earlier group they had. Their folks paid the ransom on them, ’n they was sent home.”

  “Hell, couldn’t they tell the law where they was bein’ held?”

  “They did, but when Bodine sent a couple of his deputies out there to check up on ’em, they said there warn’t nobody there.”

  “I’m surprised he even let the deputies go check it out,” Kirkland said. “Seems to me like all he has them doin’ is collecting money.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Wiregrass

  Sam Condon had invited Smoke and Sally to dinner as sort of a repayment for Smoke having brought him the twenty-five hundred dollars that was the down payment on the bull, Yankee Star.

  “Do you want another piece of pie, Mrs. Jensen? I’ll get it for you,” Thad offered.

  “Thank you, Thad, but I think I’ll pass this time,” Sally said.

  “You sure you don’t want another piece? I’ll be glad to get it.”

  “Thad, Mrs. Jensen said no,” Sara Sue said to her son.

  Sam chuckled. “Thad is just trying to wrangle a second piece of pie for himself.”

  “Well, he didn’t ask me,” Smoke said. “I’ll take another piece as long as it is very small.”

  A wide smile spread across Thad’s face. “I’ll get it!” he said, standing up from the table. He returned a moment later with a small piece of pie for Smoke, and a much larger piece for himself.

  “Thad,” Sara Sue scolded.

  “Well, Ma, you always tell me I should be polite, and it wouldn’t be polite for Mr. Jensen to have to take seconds all by himself, would it? And he said he only wanted a small piece.”

  Sam laughed. “He’s got you there, Sara Sue.”

  “Sally, is it true that you are going to New York?” Sara Sue asked.

  “Yes. Andrew and Rosanna MacCallister have a new play in New York, and they sent me an invitation.”

  “Andrew and Rosanna MacCallister? Why, they are famous,” Sara Sue said. “They personally sent you an invitation? Do you know them?”

  “It is more a case of me knowing their brother, Falcon MacCallister. He is a very good friend of ours,” Sally said. “I met Rosanna and Andrew through him. I must say that for all their fame and success, they are exceptionally nice people.”

  “Will you be going as well, Smoke?” Sam asked.

  “No. Sally has an old college friend that she wants to visit as well, and that’s an opportunity I can afford to miss.”

  The others laughed at his emphasis on the word opportunity.

  “Cal is going with me,” Sally said.

  “Cal Wood?” Sara Sue asked. “Isn’t he one of your hired hands?”

  “I suppose you could say that,” Sally said, “though he is much more than a hired hand.”

  Smoke chuckled. “We’ve practically adopted him . . . ever since he tried to rob Sally at gunpoint.”

  “What?” Sara Sue gasped.

  “He was very young and very desperate,” Sally said. “I knew then that he had no real intention of hurting me. I brought him home, gave him his first good meal in no telling how long, then talked Smoke into hiring him.”

  “He and Pearlie are more like a part of our family than hired hands,” Smoke said.

  “I can believe that,” Sam said. “I’ve seen the way you are when you’re together. It’s not like they’re hired hands at all. Don’t get me wrong, they respect you, but it is more like you’re family.”

  “Is Pearlie going to New York, as well?” Sara Sue asked.

  “No. Pearlie has been there before, but Cal has never seen New York, and I would like to broaden his experience at least once.”

  “Sounds to me like that young man was dealt four aces when he ran into you two,” Sam said.

  “I expect he was.” Smoke reached over, took Sally’s hand, and smiled at her. “But then, I can say that as well, because I was dealt the same hand when I ran into Sally.”

  They continued their visit after dinner, going into the parlor to listen to music on the Symphonion disc player, and enjoying three-dimensional photographs of the wonders of the world on the stereopticon. By the time they were
finished with their visit, it had grown dark.

  “Oh my, look at the time,” Sally said. “We didn’t intend to impose upon your hospitality for so long.”

  “Nonsense, it was no imposition at all,” Sara Sue replied. “We have greatly enjoyed your company.”

  “Thad, go outside and light the lanterns on the surrey for them so they can see to drive home,” Sam directed.

  “All right, Pa,” Thad said, eager to help.

  “Thad is a fine young man,” Smoke said after Thad left. “I can see where he is such a help to you in running your operation here.”

  “Yes, he is.” Sam chuckled. “But I’m glad you waited until he was out of the house before you said that. He has a big enough head as it is.”

  Smoke laughed.

  “I’ll tell you this—he has taken to Fire the way you have to Seven,” Sam said. “He and that horse are as close as any boy would be with a dog.”

  “A good horse is like that,” Smoke replied.

  “I can’t tell you how appreciative we are for that gift, and as far as Thad is concerned, you’ve made a friend for life.”

  “A good investment, I would say.”

  When Smoke and Sally went out to the surrey, both running lanterns were lit and the polished mirror behind the flames cast twin beams of light that joined a few feet in front of them to light their way.

  “Thank you, Thad,” Smoke said as he helped Sally in, then climbed up behind her. “Sam, Sara Sue, it was a wonderful evening, and we thank you for the invitation.”

  “It was great having you. Sally, do have a safe and most enjoyable trip,” Sara Sue said.

  With waves of good-bye, Smoke snapped the reins, and the team started out for the six-mile trip back to the Sugarloaf.

  “I didn’t know Cal had agreed to go with you,” Smoke said as the surrey moved swiftly down the road.

  “He hasn’t yet, but the only reason he hasn’t is because he thinks it wouldn’t be fair to Pearlie for him to go and Pearlie to stay behind.”

  “I’m pretty sure Pearlie doesn’t want to go.”