Assault of the Mountain Man

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Sugarloaf Ranch

As the ramrod of Sugarloaf, Pearlie’s duties were greatly increased during Smoke’s absence. He had to supervise all the hands, including the extras who had been put on for the spring roundup. Cattle that had wandered away during the winter had to be found and brought back into the herd, and calves produced during that time had to be branded.

He was laying out the irons with the slash SJ brand, when Cal came into the barn with a worried look on his face.

“What is it, Cal?” Pearlie asked.

“She ain’t got up.”

“Who ain’t got up? What are you talkin’ about?”

“Miss Sally. She ain’t got up yet this mornin’.”

“Maybe she’s just tired and is sleepin’ in,” Pearlie suggested.

“No, it ain’t that,” Cal said. “It’s somethin’ bad. I just know it is.”

“What makes you think that?”

“’Cause, I stood outside her bedroom door and I called out to her. I called loud too, loud enough to wake her up if all she is doin’ is sleepin’. But she didn’t answer me. I’m worried, Pearlie. I’m awful worried.”

“All right. Let’s go see if we can wake her up.”

“Pearlie, you don’t think she’s dead, do you?” Cal asked anxiously as they walked quickly from the barn to the big house.

“No, she was feelin’ real good last night. You know that.”

“Yeah, and that’s what is got me worried. I mean, if she was feelin’ all that good last night, how come it is that she ain’t woke up yet this mornin’?”

“You worry too much,” Pearlie said.

The two men entered the big house, then walked down the hallway to the bedroom that Smoke and Sally shared. Pearlie knocked on the door.

“Miss Sally? Miss Sally, it’s Pearlie. It’s late mornin’, now. You want somethin’? Would you like for us to bring you a cup of coffee?”

The two men waited outside the door for Sally’s answer, but no answer was forthcoming.

“Miss Sally, are you all right?” Pearlie called. “Me ’n Cal is gettin’ a little worried here. I mean, not hearin’ nothin’ from you and all. Would make us feel a lot better if you would answer us.”

There was still no answer.

“Oh, she’s dead, Pearlie. She’s dead, I just know it,” Cal said. “We was left to look after her, and we didn’t do our job.”

Pearlie tried the door, and finding it unlocked, pushed it open.

“You ain’t goin’ into her bedroom, are you?” Cal asked, aghast at the idea.

“Why not?” Pearlie replied. “If she’s dead, it won’t matter none. And if she is alive, then somethin’ is obvious wrong and she needs us.”

“Yeah,” Cal answered. “Yeah, I guess you are right.”

The two walked into the bedroom. Sally was lying on her back, covered to her shoulders, with her head turned to one side on her pillow. Pearlie put his hand down in front of her nose. “She’s alive. I can feel her breathin’.”

“Miss Sally? Miss Sally, wake up,” Cal said. “You’re scarin’ us somethin’ fierce. Please wake up.”

Sally’s eyes opened, but there was a glazed look in them, as if she didn’t quite know where she was, or what was going on.

Pearlie touched her forehead, then jerked his hand back.

“What is it?” Cal asked.

“Her skin is hot.”

“She’s got a fever. I remember Doctor Gunther tellin’ us that if she got a fever, we was to come get him right away, ’cause that would mean somethin’ bad was happenin’.”

Pearlie turned away from the bed and started out of the bedroom.

“Where are you goin’?” Cal asked.

“I’m going after Dr. Colton. And I’m going to send a telegram to Smoke.”

“How do we even know where he is?”

“Before he left he made a list of what towns he was goin’ to, and when he would get there,” Pearlie said. “I’m goin’ to send the telegram to three towns, the one he was just at, the one he is supposed to be at now, and the next town on his list. He is sure to be in one of those three places.”

“What should I do?” Cal asked.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure what should be done. But I reckon that if you kept a dampened cloth on her forehead that might help some. And if it don’t help, it’s for sure goin’ to make her feel better, I would think.”

“Yeah, good idea. I’ll get a pan of water,” Cal said. “And I’ll be right here when you get back with the doctor.”

It took Pearlie less than half an hour to get to town from the ranch. He found Dr. Colton sitting around the cracker barrel in the general store, talking with half a dozen citizens of the town. Dr. Colton smiled when he looked up, but seeing the expression on Pearlie’s face, the smile left.

“What is it, Pearlie? What is wrong?”

“It’s Miss Sally, Dr. Colton. She’s took much worse. You got to come quick.”

Dr. Colton got up so fast his chair tipped over behind him, the commotion causing others in the store to look over to see what was going on.

“I’ll be there as quickly as I can get my medical bag, and my surrey hitched up.”

“You get your bag and whatever else you need,” Pearlie said. “I’ll hook up your surrey. Then I’m goin’ to have to send a telegram to Smoke.”

Parlin

It was just after lunch when Smoke went into the saloon.

“I see you are back,” the bartender said when Smoke stepped up to the bar. “I reckon the beer you got here last night didn’t kill you.”

“I reckon not,” Smoke said.

“You want another one?”

“Yes, please.” Smoke put a coin on the bar as the bartender turned to draw a draft for him.

There were very few customers in the saloon at that hour, but Barlow and Slim were sitting at a table in the far back corner of the saloon, waiting for the opportunity to put their plan in motion. When Smoke came into the saloon, Barlow reached over to touch Slim on the shoulder. “That’s him.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. You see anyone else that big around here?”

“All right. How are we going to do this?”

“Just like we talked about it last night,” Barlow said. “You go up there and brace him. While you’re callin’ him out, he won’t be payin’ no attention to me. I’ll shoot him when he starts to draw on you.”

“Why am I the one who has to brace him?” Slim asked. “This is your idea. Why don’t you do it?”

“I’m a better shot than you are, that’s why. Iffen I was to be the one to brace him, you might miss. Then where would we be?”

“They say he’s awful fast. What if you don’t get your gun out in time?”

“My gun is already goin’ to be out,” Barlow said. “You want your share of the thousand dollars or not?”

“Why don’t we just wait outside, say, behind a buildin’ or somethin’, and shoot him when he walks by?”

“If we do somethin’ like that, we could get hung for murder. But this way we can pass it off as a fight.”

Slim had a glass of whiskey in front of him, and he tossed it down, then reached over for Barlow’s whiskey, and drank it down as well.

“Are you ready now?” Barlow asked.

“Yeah.” Slim took a deep breath, stood up, then walked up to the bar, standing at the opposite end from Smoke. Smoke was leaning forward with both arms on the bar, his hands wrapped around a beer mug.

“Hey, you!” Slim called out. “Smoke Jensen! That is your name, ain’t it? Smoke Jensen?”

Like many men who live on the edge, Smoke had developed an awareness of danger that could not be explained by any of the other senses. He had felt, rather than heard, the two men talking about him, and he knew they were going to try to kill him. He just didn’t know when, where, or how. Now it was playing out.

Smoke turned toward Slim. “Mister, you think you’re going to collect that thousand dollar reward that Dinkins has out on me?” Smoke asked the question as calmly as if he were inquiring as to the time.

That frightened Slim the most—the quiet and completely unruffled demeanor of the man.

“I-I don’t know what you are talking about,” Slim said.

“Oh, sure you do,” Smoke said. “Bill Dinkins, the man who shot my wife and has murdered at least six people in the last month, has put out a one thousand dollar reward to anyone who would kill me. And here you are, about to make a grab for that money. That’s right, isn’t it?”

Slim licked his lips, but didn’t say anthing.

“How is this supposed to work?” Smoke asked. “Are you supposed to get my attention while your friend over there at the table shoots me?”

“Barlow, he knows!” Slim shouted.

“Slim, you fool! Shut up!” Barlow shouted, firing at Smoke even as he was shouting at Slim.

Smoke’s sense of awareness kicked in, and he stepped back just before Barlow fired. The bullet from Barlow’s pistol slammed into the bar right where Smoke had been but a second earlier.

He returned fire, his bullet catching the would-be assailant in his throat, knocking him onto the table behind him. The table turned over, dumping Barlow to the floor. Unaware of that, Smoke had already turned his attention back to Slim.

Slim fired at Smoke, his bullet crashing into the beer mug Smoke had just put down. Smoke returned fire and Slim dropped his pistol, then clasped his hand over his wound. The blood pooled up behind his hand, then spilled over as his eyes rolled up in his head and he fell.

Smoke stood his ground, holding a smoking pistol as he looked around the room. He didn’t think there was any more danger, but he wasn’t prepared to turn his back on it, just yet. There were only four other people in the saloon, three men and one bar girl. The men’s faces all reflected surprise and even a little excitement over what they had just witnessed. The woman’s face showed surprise and fear.

Smoke put the pistol away just as he heard the fall of running footsteps outside. A man wearing a badge burst into the saloon. “Someone want to tell me what happened here?”

“These two men tried to kill me,” Smoke said. “They shot first and missed. I shot back and didn’t miss.”

“So, you are telling me that two of them shot first, but you still managed to kill them?”

“He’s tellin’ it true, Deputy Burns,” the bartender said.

“Absolutely true,” one of the other men said.

“You others agree?”

“Deputy, Mr. Barlow started shooting first. For no reason at all that I could see,” the bar girl said. “Then Mr. Jensen shot back, and it was while Mr. Jensen was shooting at Mr. Barlow, that Slim started shooting. So Mr. Jensen turned around and shot him too.”

“Jensen?” the deputy asked. “Are you Smoke Jensen?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Jensen, the telegrapher is looking for you. He stopped by the marshal’s office about ten minutes ago, askin’ if we knew where you were.”

Smoke didn’t even bother to answer the deputy. He took off on a dead run toward the railroad depot.

“Don’t worry none about this!” the deputy called to him. “Ain’t goin’ to be no charges!”

Smoke did not stop running when he went inside the depot. He ran through the waiting room, and to the back corner where there was a Western Union sign.

“My, you seem to be in quite a hurry,” the telegrapher said. “Is what you have to say that important ?”

“I’m Smoke Jensen. Do you have a telegram for me?”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Jensen. Just a moment.” The telegrapher leafed through some of the messages he had on the counter in front of him, then came up with what he was looking for. “Here it is.”

SMOKE CAN YOU COME HOME QUICK MISS SALLY IS TOOK SOME WORSE

PEARLIE

“Any reply, Mr. Jensen?” the telegrapher asked.

Hastily, Smoke wrote out an answer, then left it and the money on the counter in front of the telegrapher. He didn’t bother to wait for his change.

I AM COMING NOW

Luckily, both Parlin and Big Rock were on the railroad, which meant Smoke could be back home much faster than if he returned by horseback. But the next train wasn’t due for four more hours, then it would be three hours on the train until he reached Big Rock.

Pittsburg

The printer took the first impression off his press and looked at it.

WANTED

FOR MURDER

SMOKE JENSEN

$5,000 REWARD

DEAD OR ALIVE

to be paid by

Sheriff of La Plata County

“You sure I’m not going to get into trouble for this?” the printer asked.

“Get in trouble for what?” Dinkins replied.

“You know for what. I don’t believe for one minute that Smoke Jensen is wanted for murder.”

“What difference does it make to you whether he is wanted or not? How much would you normally get for printing five hundred of these things?”

“Five dollars,” the printer admitted.

“I’m giving you one hundred dollars,” Dinkins said. “Seems to me like anyone getting one hundred dollars for a five-dollar job would not be all that anxious to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“What are you going to do with these posters?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Dinkins answered.

“Just don’t tell anyone where you got them,” the printer said as he accepted five twenty-dollar bills.

With the five hundred wanted posters in hand, Dinkins rode back out of town where the others were camping. He had not told them why he was going into town so they were curious when he returned.

“We’ve got some work to do,” Dinkins said as he opened the package containing the posters. He pulled one out and held it up to show to the others. “We are going to plaster these posters all over the place.”

“Whoa, we can’t pay no five thousand dollars just to have Jensen kilt,” Travis Slater said. “I thought you said we was only goin’ to pay one thousand dollars.”

“Yeah, but that’s before I got the idea of having the state pay for it,” Dinkins replied.

“What do you mean? Is Jensen wanted for murder?”

“Not as far as I know,” Dinkins said.

“But that’s what this poster says.”

Dinkins chuckled. “Yeah, don’t it?”

“But if he ain’t wanted for murder, and somebody kills him and brings him in, there won’t be no money paid at all.”

“There you go, Travis. You’re smarter than I thought you were,” Dinkins said.

“Ha! Good idea, Little Brother,” Harley said. “There are bounty hunters all over the state who will shoot first, and ask questions second.”

“Let’s get these things posted,” Dinkins said, dividing them up and passing them out to the others.