Ambush of the Mountain Man

TEN

Carl Jacoby, who was watching the doorway to Longmont’s Saloon from an alley down the street, was astonished when Dan Macklin walked hurriedly out of the batwings, jumped on his horse, and hightailed it around the far corner onto a back street leading to their hotel. His back was stiff and he didn’t even glance behind him as he rode away like his pants were on fire.

Carl had been expecting some fireworks from Macklin, but he hadn’t heard any gunshots and there didn’t seem to be a crowd forming or anyone coming out of the door looking for Macklin. Couldn’t have been much of a gunfight with this little a reaction.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered to himself as he turned and walked quickly up the alley toward the hotel’s back entrance, hoping to find Macklin and find out what had gone on in the saloon. He could tell something had happened from the way Macklin looked as he rode down the street, but he couldn’t imagine what it could be.

When he got to the rear of the hotel, he saw Macklin’s horse tied to a hitching rail there and the back door partially open.

He went inside, and stopped as he passed the doorway to the hotel bar when he saw Macklin standing at the bar with a bottle of whiskey in front of him and a glass to his lips.

Jacoby moved next to him at the bar, noticing his face was flushed and he was covered with sweat. His hand holding the glass was shaking so much that Jacoby was afraid Macklin would spill it all over himself if he tried to drink from it.

Without speaking, Jacoby took the whiskey bottle, poured himself a small drink, and stood there as he sipped, waiting for Macklin to speak and wondering just what the hell had happened to shake his friend up so.

After a moment, and after he’d slugged down another drink, without spilling too much, Macklin turned toward Jacoby and leaned his elbow on the bar. “Carl, you were right ‘bout Jensen.” He shook his head. “I ain’t seen nothin’ like it in all my born days.”

“What happened in there, Mac?” Jacoby asked, wondering how Macklin had been able to see Jensen’s draw since he hadn’t heard any gunfire.

Macklin poured himself another drink, but this time he sipped it instead of swallowing it down in one gulp. “I think the man must have eyes in the back of his head. I followed him and his friends into the saloon, and I took up a station at the bar and commenced to drink me a beer while I kept a look on him out of the corner of my eye. He must’ve noticed me watchin’ him or something, ‘cause he come over to the bar where I was standin’ and he braced me.”

“What do you mean?”

“He asked me what was it I wanted. When I didn’t exactly answer his question and I accidentally let my right hand move toward my gun, he drew his pistol.”

Jacoby let his lips curl in a small smile, knowing what was coming next. “Pretty fast, huh?”

“Fast ain’t exactly the word I’d use, Carl. More like lightning, I think. One second I was looking in his eyes, as cold and black as a snake’s, an’ the next second his hand was full of iron and I was staring down the barrel of a Colt—and the thing is, I didn’t even see his hand move.” He took another sip of whiskey, his hand more stable now.

“You know how when you’re facing somebody an’ they’re fixin’ to draw, you can usually see a twitch of their arm muscle or a shift in their eyes ‘fore they hook and draw?” he asked, his face pale.

Jacoby nodded. He knew what Mac meant. There was almost always some telltale sign before a man committed himself in a gunfight. Knowing this and recognizing it was what gave professional gunfighters the edge in such contests.

“Well,” Macklin continued, “there was nothing about Jensen that even hinted he was going for his gun. One minute he’s looking me in the eye, just talking as natural as you please, and the next he’s somehow got a gun in his hand stuck against my chest and his eyes are hard and black as flint.”

Jacoby’s eyes narrowed. “And he didn’t threaten you or hit you or anything like that after he drew his pistol and had the drop on you?”

Macklin shrugged, dropping his gaze to stare into his whiskey. “Who needs to threaten when you can draw a six-killer like that?”

“But Mac,” Jacoby said earnestly, “can’t you see what I’ve been trying to tell you? Jensen ain’t no cold-blooded killer. He had the drop on you in front of his friends. If he was a showboat or looking to impress ‘em, he could’ve pistol-whipped you or even shot you down. Hell, this is his town. No one would’ve blamed him. But he didn’t.”

Macklin’s expression became thoughtful. “No, he didn’t, an’ you’re right. There wasn’t nothin’ I could do to stop him from doing whatever he wanted to.”

Jacoby turned back to the bar and downed the rest of the whiskey in his glass. “Maybe we’d better try and talk some sense into Sarah, or at least get her to hold off until we can figure out what we got to do.”

Macklin smirked and drained his glass in one long swallow. “Hell, there ain’t no need in worryin’ ourselves over that, Carl, my friend. Old Man MacDougal wants Jensen dead, an’ so does his daughter Sarah. As far as them two are concerned, once they’ve made up their minds on something, it’s as good as gold.”

“But maybe we can convince them they’re wrong about him,” Jacoby argued.

Macklin laughed. “You ever try to tell Sarah anything she didn’t want to hear, boy?”

Jacoby nodded. “Yeah, I see what you mean. She is a mite stubborn at times.”

“No, Carl. A mule is a “mite’ stubborn. Sarah is full-on-all-the-time stubborn.”

“So, what are we gonna do?”

Macklin sighed. “I guess we got to do like you say and at least try to make her see reason.” He chuckled. “Hell, worst she can do is chew our ears off.”

“Maybe if we get her to hold off for a while and to watch how Jensen operates around town. Maybe she’ll start to see that he ain’t exactly the monster she thinks he is.”

“I still think we’re whistlin’ in our hats, but like you say, it won’t hurt to try and talk some reason into her, though the words reason and woman don’t ordinarily belong together.”

Macklin headed on over to the café while Carl walked to the general store down the street. Once inside, he caught Sarah’s eye, mouthed the words “Sunset Café,” and then left, hoping she’d understand that he needed to talk to her.

Sarah waited until Carl had been gone for a few minutes and then she went over to Peg Jackson, who was stocking a shelf in the rear of the store.

“Peg,” she said, “I’m going to go over to the Sunset Café and get some coffee. I’m a little sleepy today and I need something to pick me up. Would you like for me to bring you back a cup?”

“That would be delightful, Sarah, and could you also get me a piece of one of those sweet cakes they make so well over there?”

“Certainly,” Sarah said, and she took off her apron and walked down the block and around the corner to the café.

Carl and Dan were sitting in a corner booth toward the back away from any windows. Macklin didn’t want to be seen with Sarah now that he’d managed to arouse Jensen’s suspicions.

Sarah joined them at the table after making sure that no one she knew was in the place. After the waitress had taken their orders and placed coffee for all of them on the table, Sarah spoke. “Now, what’s so all-fired important that you wanted to meet here in the middle of the day where everyone in town can see us together?”

Jacoby sat back, waiting for Macklin to speak. “Well, I had a talk with Jensen today,” Macklin said.

“You what?” she exclaimed, almost yelling. When several patrons turned to glance at her, she sat back and tried to calm herself down. “What did you do, Mac?” she asked in a calmer tone of voice, but it was clear she was still furious.

“Don’t get upset, Sarah,” Macklin said, shushing her as he looked around to make sure no one was watching them any longer. “I didn’t tell him anything I just wanted to get a feeling for the feller, that’s all.”

Sarah’s face was flushed with anger. “And did you, Mac?” she asked in a lower voice this time. “Did you get a feeling for the man who killed my brother?”

Macklin glanced at Jacoby, who nodded, and then he leaned forward, speaking earnestly. “Yes, I think I did, Sarah, an’ I don’t think he did what everybody in Pueblo thinks he did.”

She sat back, a look of astonishment on her face. “You don’t think he shot Johnny down?”

Macklin also sat back, trying to think how he could convince her of what he felt was the truth. “Oh, I think he probably shot Johnny,” he said. “But I don’t think it was in cold blood or that he ambushed him. Jensen is too fast to have to do that. In fact, he’s plenty fast enough to have killed Johnny and all the others in a fair fight.”

Her mouth fell open in astonishment. “And just how did you determine this, Mac?” she asked sarcastically. “Did you walk up to him and say, “By the way, Mr. Jensen, I’d sure like to see how fast you are on the draw. Could you oblige me and show me your moves?’”

Macklin flushed in embarrassment. He wasn’t used to anyone talking to him like this, especially not young women who were still wet behind the ears. “No, Sarah, I didn’t do that. I just prodded him a little until he drew on me. That’s when I saw how fast he was, and believe me, it was plenty fast.”

Sarah looked around, shaking her head. “I don’t believe this,” she muttered, as if to herself. Then she looked up and stared into Macklin’s eyes. “Let me remind you of something you’ve evidently forgotten, Mac. You work for my dad, and he sent you here for one reason, and that is to kill Smoke Jensen or to guard my back while I do it. Isn’t that right?”

Macklin nodded reluctantly. “Yes, but I think Angus and you are both wrong about what happened that day. And if Jensen killed Johnny in a fair fight, which Johnny probably started, then I don’t think Jensen should be killed for it.”

Sarah slowly sipped her coffee, her eyes burning into Macklin’s. After a moment, she turned her gaze to Jacoby.

“Is this how you feel also, Carl?”

Jacoby nodded. “Yes, it is, Sarah. We’ve both looked into this before you got here, and everyone in this town thinks Jensen is straight as an arrow. They don’t have one bad thing to say about him, and no one in this town would ever believe he’s a backshooter or ambusher.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what I think,” she said, her voice low and hard. “I think you’re both full of . . . well, hot air.”

Jacoby reached his hand across the table and tried to put it on hers. “We just don’t want you going off half-cocked, Sarah, and either killing an innocent man or getting yourself shot up.”

Sarah moved her hand away from Jacoby’s, her lips tight. “This is going to take some thinking about,” she said. “I’ll send a wire to my dad and see what he thinks about all this. I may have to ask him to send me some more help, men who know their place and are loyal to him.”

“Be careful what you say in a telegram,” Macklin warned. “Remember, everyone in this town knows Smoke Jensen.”

“Don’t you worry about that, Mac. You got other things to be worried about, like what my daddy’s going to say when I tell him you’ve gone over to the other side.”

“Aw, Sarah,” he said, but she held up her hand.

“Now, get out of here, the both of you. I’ve got some thinking to do.”

After they left, she called the waitress over and ordered two pieces of the sweet cakes. One for Peg and one for her.

While she waited for her order, she sat there thinking on how she could word a telegram so her daddy would know what was going on without letting the telegrapher know what she was doing.

As she sat there, she wondered just what it was about Smoke Jensen that enabled him to fool so many people into thinking he was a good man. It never crossed her mind that perhaps they were right about him and that she and her father were wrong.