Strike of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

“Yes, he bought Long Trek. And since he bought Long Trek he has bought four more spreads.”

  “What’s he tryin’ to do, own the whole valley?”

  Smoke nodded. “Apparently, that is exactly what he has in mind.”

  Garneau didn’t know who the two men with Jensen were. He thought perhaps they were men the rancher had hired as personal bodyguards. How good would bodyguards be if a concerted effort was made to kill somebody? Garneau didn’t know, but he was fully committed to that effort.

  Templeton had said Smoke Jensen would have to be killed for the Frenchman to accomplish his objective. But that was just one reason to kill him. Garneau wanted him dead simply because he didn’t like the man.

  He wondered how Templeton was doing in his task of recruiting Jeremiah Priest.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  When Deekus Templeton stepped off the train in Palmilla, New Mexico Territory, he headed for the nearest saloon. It had been his experience a person could find out more by visiting a saloon than he could by reading a month’s worth of local newspapers.

  “A beer,” he ordered. When it was delivered, he paid for it with a dollar bill.

  “Beer only costs a nickel,” the bartender said. “Ain’t you got no change?”

  “If I get the right information, I don’t need any change,” Templeton said.

  The bartender squinted his eyes. “What kind of information?”

  “I’m looking for a man named Jeremiah Priest.”

  The bartender opened the cash drawer, pulled out ninety-five cents, and slid it across the bar. “I’ve never heard of him.”

  “Sure you have. He killed a man in this town. It was in the paper.”

  “I never read the paper,” the bartender said. “And if you want to stay alive, you won’t be readin’ it, either. Jeremiah Priest ain’t the kind of man you want to be askin’ questions about.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t know him.”

  “Mister, finish your beer and go somewhere else to ask your questions.”

  “You’ve got the wrong idea,” Templeton said. “Priest is a friend of mine. I’m just trying to find him, that’s all.”

  “Well, try somewhere else.”

  Templeton finished his beer, then took the bartender’s advice. He visited another saloon, and was in the third saloon when he finally found someone who would talk to him. Templeton offered him two dollars if the man would tell him where he could find Priest.

  “What do you want with him?” asked the man who identified himself as Dagan.

  “What I want with him is my business,” Templeton replied. “Like I said, if you can tell me where he is, I’ll give you two dollars.”

  “The reason I asked,” Dagan said, “is ’cause if you’re plannin’ on goin’ up against him, you’re goin’ to get yourself kilt and I won’t get my money. You give me the two dollars now, and I’ll tell you where to find him.”

  “All right,” Templeton said. “Here’s the two dollars.”

  Dagan took the two bills, examined them for a moment, then slipped them in his pocket. “You see that fella back in the corner. The one with two women?”

  “Yes, what about him? Does he know where to find Priest?”

  “Ha. Mister, you don’t know it, but you are lookin’ at Priest.”

  “Wait a minute. Are you telling me that little runt of a man is Jeremiah Priest? There must be some mistake. The Priest I’m looking for is a . . .” he hesitated before saying the word killer.

  “If you’re lookin’ for the man who kilt Coleman Wesley, that there is him,” Dagan said. “And if you think there ain’t nothin’ to that little fella, well that’s what Wesley thought. Don’t let the way he looks fool you.”

  “Thanks.” Templeton started toward the table, then stepped over to the bar. “What are Priest and the two women drinking?”

  “Mr. Priest don’t drink nothin’ but beer. The women drink their special whiskey.”

  Templeton knew he meant the women were drinking tea. They had to. They drank with men all day long. If they were actually drinking whiskey, they would be passed out drunk by midday. “Let me have a beer and two of their drinks.”

  “If you’re wantin’ Mr. Priest’s autograph, he don’t give it,” the bartender said.

  “I’m not after his autograph.”

  The bartender poured the drinks and Templeton took them to the corner of the room where Priest sat. He put the women’s drinks down on a separate table, then laid a five-dollar bill alongside each glass. “If you ladies would have drinks here, and give me a moment with Mr. Priest, I would appreciate it. I’ll only be a moment and you can come right back.”

  The two women smiled broadly at the unexpected largesse.

  One of the bar girls patted Priest’s hand. “Honey, we’ll be back as soon as this gentleman is finished.”

  “Yeah? Well, he may be finished a hell of a lot sooner than he thinks.” Priest turned to Templeton. “What do you mean, running my ladies off?”

  “I didn’t run them off. They’ll be right back. I just need a moment of your time.” Templeton put one hundred dollars on the table in front of Priest.

  “You’re not plannin’ on buyin’ me with a hunnert dollars, are you?” Priest asked.

  “Not at all,” Templeton said. “For that money, all I want is a few moments of your time.”

  Priest picked up the money and put it in his pocket. “All right, you got a couple minutes. For what?”

  “I want to make you a business proposition.”

  “What kind of business proposition?”

  “Your kind of business.”

  Big Rock

  Pearlie and Cal had gotten back just in time for the monthly dance at the Dunn Hotel. Neither man had a particular woman friend. Cal explained as they finished up the day’s work, “This way we get to dance with all the ladies, and nobody gets their feelings hurt because we aren’t dancin’ with them.”

  By evening, the entire town was aware of the impending dance. A platform, built just for the occasion, had been brought out of storage and placed in the front of the ballroom for the musicians and they could be heard all along Front Street. The floor was cleared of all tables and chairs, and the room gaily decorated with bunting and flowers. Children began to gather around the glowing, yellow windows on the ground floor of the hotel and peered inside.

  Buggies, spring wagons, buckboards, and horses began arriving from out in the county, and soon every hitching rail on Front Street, and even down Sikes Street all the way to Center Street, were full. Men and women who lived in the town walked along the boardwalks toward the hotel, the women in colorful ginghams, the men in clean, blue denims and brightly decorated vests.

  As always, there were more men than women at the dance, but most of the ladies, even those who were married, made themselves available so everyone could have a good time.

  “Pearlie, Cal! Where have you boys been?” Hoyt Miller asked as the two cowhands entered the hotel.

  Pearlie told him about the abattoir in Denver. “What about you, Elmer, and Andy? What have you been doing since Mr. Munger died?”

  “You mean you haven’t heard? A man named Colonel Garneau bought the Long Trek, and we’re still workin’ there.”

  “What about Homer Nance? He still the foreman there?” Cal asked.

  Miller looked down. “No, he got fired.”

  “Fired? What for? Nance was one of the best foremen in all of Eagle county,” Cal said.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. Don’t nobody know for sure why he got fired. There’s some strange things goin’ on at Long Trek.”

  Somebody called to Miller and, excusing himself, he left.

  Another young man approached them. “Are you Cal and Pearlie?”

  “Yes,” Pearlie answered.

  The young man extended his hand. “Smoke told me about you two. He thinks very highly of you. I’m Malcolm Puddle.”

  “Oh, yes,” Pearlie replied with a smil
e. “You’re Mr. Puddle’s nephew. You own Carro de Bancada now, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, it’s good to meet you, Mr. Puddle.”

  Malcolm shook his head. “Mr. Puddle was my uncle. I’m Malcolm.”

  “Then it’s good to meet you, Malcolm,” Pearlie said.

  As the ballroom continued to fill, the excitement grew. A very pretty young woman came up to Malcolm. “I see you came to the dance.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Malcolm replied. “Oh, uh, Lucy Woodward, this is Pearlie and Cal.” Malcolm looked a little embarrassed. “I didn’t find out which one of you is Pearlie and which is Cal.”

  “This is Pearlie and this is Cal,” Lucy said, identifying them.

  “Oh.” Malcolm laughed. “Here I was going to introduce you, and you wound up introducing me.”

  “Dancers, form your squares!” the caller shouted through his megaphone.

  “Who’s that callin’?” Pearlie asked. “How come Sheriff Carson ain’t callin’?”

  “The band brought their own caller,” Lucy answered, as she held her arm out toward Malcolm, who took it.

  Pearlie and Cal joined the cowboys advancing toward the unattached girls, and when a couple girls accepted their invitation to dance, they made up the final two sets for Malcolm and Lucy’s square.

  The music started and the caller began to shout, dancing around on the platform as he called, bowing and whirling as if he had a girl and was in one of the squares himself. The dancers moved and swirled to his commands.

  Lucy danced with Pearlie and Cal during the evening, but most of the time she danced with Malcolm. It was apparent to all who paid any attention that there was a growing attraction between them.

  “Folks, me ’n the band is goin’ to take us about a fifteen minute break,” the caller shouted through the megaphone. “So why don’t you just visit with one another or enjoy some of that fine punch the ladies put together for us tonight?”

  “And that the cowboys have improved!” someone shouted from the floor and everyone laughed. All were aware of the “doctoring” the cowboys had done by adding whiskey to the fruit drink.

  It was then two new men came in. Unlike everyone else at the dance, they were wearing guns.

  “Who are those two?” Pearlie asked as he stood with a group of cowboys. “And what are they doing wearing guns at a dance?”

  “You don’t want to mess with them two boys, Pearlie,” Miller said. “That’s Manning and Gilchrist. They are part of Colonel Garneau’s army.”

  “Colonel Garneau’s army? What do you mean, army?”

  “I mean army,” Miller said. “Colonel Garneau has done recruited him a bunch of gunmen, and he’s trainin’ ’em all like an army.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. He says it’s because of cattle rustlin’, but I’ll be honest with you, Pearlie, I ain’t aware of any rustlin’ goin’ on at all.”

  Across the room, Lucy and Malcolm were enjoying some of the nondoctored punch.

  “Malcolm, my mother asked me to invite you to dinner tomorrow. Do you like chicken and dumplings?”

  “I don’t know that I’ve ever had chicken and dumplings.”

  “You haven’t? Why, how can you have never had chicken and dumplings?”

  Malcolm laughed. “I’m from New York. It’s just not something I’ve ever eaten.”

  “I think you will love it. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t. Will you come?”

  “Lucy, I would come if your mother was serving nothing but cauliflower. And I really don’t like cauliflower.”

  Lucy laughed.

  “Hey, you pretty thing,” someone said. “My name’s Earl Manning and this here fella is Billy Gilchrist. What is your name?”

  “As you can see, I’m talking to this gentleman,” Lucy replied. “It is very rude of you to interrupt.”

  “Gentleman? Are you talking about this little pipsqueak?”

  “Malcolm, it’s a little close in here,” Lucy said. “Do you suppose we could go outside for a little air?”

  “Yes, of course.” Malcolm offered his arm to Lucy and they started toward the door.

  Manning stepped in front of them. “I tell you what, honey. Why don’t I just take care of this little feller for you, then it’ll just be me ’n you?”

  From where he stood, Pearlie watched. “Uh-oh. It looks like our new friend is in trouble.”

  Pearlie and Cal started toward the couple just as Manning grabbed Malcolm by the shoulder and spun him around. The armed man made a sweeping swing with his fist, but Malcolm ducked under it easily and landed a right uppercut on the point of Manning’s chin, knocking him down.

  “Damn you!” Gilchrist said, stepping in from Malcolm’s side and sending a straight jab toward his head.

  The young rancher leaned back and watched the punch slip by him without effect. Dancing back, he answered with a hard left to Gilchrist’s stomach, doubling him over. Malcolm followed that with a right cross to the jaw, and Gilchrist went down to join Manning.

  “We’d better get their guns,” Pearlie said, reaching to pull Manning’s gun from its holster. “I don’t expect they’re goin’ to be any too happy when they come to.”

  Following Pearlie’s example, Cal took Gilchrist’s gun.

  The excitement had gathered a crowd. Malcolm, embarrassed by the scene, apologized. “I’m sorry folks. It wasn’t my intention to create a disturbance.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, mister. Most of us seen what happened,” one in the crowd said.

  Manning was the first one to come to, and he leaped to his feet with an angry shout. “I’m goin’ to blow your head off!” He reached for his pistol, only to find his holster empty. “What the hell?”

  “Are you looking for this?” Pearlie asked, showing Manning his pistol.

  “What are you doin’ with my gun?”

  “Right now, I’m holding it on you. And I’m going to keep it on you until Sheriff Carson gets here.”

  “I’m here, Pearlie,” Sheriff Carson said. “Mr. Miller came for me.”

  The sheriff pulled Gilchrist up from the floor and turned to Manning. “Come on, boys. I think you two need to spend the night in the jail.”

  Hamburg, Germany

  While in Geneva, Inspector Laurent had learned that Mouchette had exchanged nearly all the stolen francs for U.S. dollars and he was certain the man was going to America. But some of the stolen money had been exchanged for German marks. Putting two and two together, Laurent had come to the conclusion Mouchette had probably left from Hamburg.

  He walked into the port authority office on the Elbe River and introduced himself to the director, then told him who he was looking for.

  “Nein, no passenger named Mouchette has departed from this port, Herr Inspector.”

  “What about a man named Antoine Dubois?”

  “No, nobody named Antoine Dubois.”

  “Have any Frenchmen departed from this port in the last six months?”

  “I must examine all the records. I am afraid that will take a few days,” the director replied.

  “Please do so, Monsieur Director,” Laurent said. “It is very important we find this man. He may also have passed himself off as Belgian or Swiss.”

  “I will do what I can, Herr Inspector.”

  “Merci.”

  Two days later Laurent was called back to the director’s office where he received a stack of papers listing the names of all French, Swiss, and Belgian passengers. He thanked the port director profusely for the information.

  Laurent took the papers back to France so he could investigate all five hundred names.

  Long Trek

  “I will do it for ten thousand dollars,” Priest said. “But I want five thousand dollars up front.”

  “Why should I do that?” Garneau asked. “What if I pay you five thousand dollars, and Jensen kills you? I’ll be out five thousand dollars, and Jensen will still be a
problem.”

  “That’s a chance we are both taking,” Priest said. “All you stand to lose is money. I would be losing my life. But you won’t lose any money, and I won’t lose my life. I will kill Jensen.”

  “Are you really that good?”

  “I’m really that good.”

  “I would like to see some sort of demonstration.”

  “What do you want me to do? Shoot at a target?”

  “No. Target shooting is for children. I would like to see a demonstration as to how you act in a kill or be killed situation.”

  “How are you going to see that?”

  “I will arrange it, if you are willing to participate.”

  “How are you going to arrange it?”

  “Oh, it’s quite simple, really. Over the last few months, I have collected some of the most skilled gunmen in the West. I will offer a thousand dollars to any of them who can kill you in a fair fight.”

  “Wait a minute. Are you saying you are going to pay someone to kill me?”

  “Yes. That is, I’m going to pay someone to try to kill you. Does that prospect frighten you?”

  “No.”

  “Very good. Monsieur Templeton, would you visit with some of our . . . soldiers . . . make the offer, and see if anyone is willing to accept the challenge?”

  “All right.” Templeton left the house to carry out Garneau’s instructions.

  “Are you serious, Garneau? You want me to kill one of your own men, just so you can test me?”

  “I’m quite serious,” Garneau replied. “Unless, of course, you find it . . . distasteful.”

  “Distasteful? No, I don’t find it distasteful. A little weird, maybe. But not distasteful. But I do have a condition.”

  “And what would that condition be?”

  “If I kill the man who decides to take the challenge, I want the thousand dollars you are promising him.”

  “But of course. You will get ten thousand dollars if you kill Jensen.”

  Priest shook his head. “No, you don’t understand. I want the thousand dollars you are promising the other man, in addition to the ten thousand dollars. And I want it paid the moment I kill him.”