Butchery of the Mountain Man

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Old Main Building

“Let’s see,” Professor Armbruster said. “Just to make certain that I have the time line straight, we are now up to 1870, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And where is Matt at this time?”

“Matt had left by then. Our paths continued to cross after he left and of course we remained friends. Actually we are still friends; he spent last Christmas with us at Sugarloaf. But, for the most part by then, Matt was on his own.”

“And, I believe, if I remember correctly, 1870 is when you met your wife.”

“It is when I met my first wife, Nicole.”

“As I intend to blend yours and John Jackson’s stories together, I wonder if you might share that with us now.”

Uncompahgre Plateau—Spring 1870

Shortly after Smoke returned from his almost year-long stay with John, he joined Preacher in pushing a herd of mustangs south. They had been on the drive for three days when Preacher stopped and held up his hand.

“What do you smell, boy?” he asked.

Smoke sniffed the wind. “I’m not sure,” he said. “It’s not new growth, I know that. It’s more like . . . well, I want to say smoke, but it isn’t exactly smoke. It’s something else.”

“It’s burnt hair,” Preacher said.

“Yes,” Smoke said, realizing that burnt hair is exactly what he was smelling. “That’s not good.”

“No, it ain’t,” Preacher said. “It ain’t good at all. It’s comin’ from that way.”

“You want me to ride over there and check it out?” Smoke asked.

“Not by yourself, I don’t. Ain’t no tellin’ what we’ll find over there. It might take the two of us to handle it.”

“What about the horses?”

“I’ve been here before, they’s a box canyon just ahead. We can put the critters in there, then block off the entrance. They’s water and grass in there too, so they ain’t likely to be tryin’ to get out.”

“All right,” Smoke agreed.

Putting the horses into the box canyon that Preacher spoke of, they blocked off the entrance, then rode over to investigate the smell. As they got closer, the smell became more cloying.

“What is that?” Smoke asked.

“It ain’t only the hair what was burnt, Smoke. It’s the flesh too.”

They followed their noses until they found a wagon that had been burned, but not entirely consumed. They also found the source of the burnt flesh odor, a man, suspended by his ankles from a tree, was hanging head down over a fire. His head, face, and shoulders were burned black. They found another man lying on the ground, his body mutilated, and a third man tied to the wheel of the wagon, also dead. All three men had been tortured.

“They died hard,” Preacher said.

Tied to the side of the wagon, and undamaged by the fire, was a shovel.

“I’ll get them buried,” Smoke said.

“No need in diggin’ more ’n one grave,” Preacher said. “They was either friends or family. They all died together, so they may as well lie together.”

Smoke dug only one grave, but he dug it large enough to bury all three men. Then he and Preacher covered the grave with rocks, to prevent wolves and coyotes from digging them up.

After they buried the dead, they took a closer look at the burned-out wagon, and that was when Smoke found a dress.

“Preacher, there were women with them. Or at least a woman.”

“Most likely the Injuns took ’er with ’em.”

“No, I don’t think so. Look.” Smoke pointed to a set of small footprints, shoes, not moccasins, leading away from the wagon.

“Praise be, maybe she got away. Let’s find her,” Preacher said.

It didn’t take long to find her; the tracks led right to some brush.

“Girl, come on out from there,” Preacher called. “You’re among friends now. You ain’t goin’ to be hurt.”

The young woman came out. She was an exceptionally pretty woman and Smoke was so struck with how beautiful she was that for a moment, he just stared at her.

“What’s your name?” Smoke asked.

“Nicole.”

“Pretty name.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Smoke. This is Preacher.”

“Smoke? Preacher? Are those real names?”

Smoke smiled. “My real name is Kirby Jensen. His real name is Art, but he doesn’t like to be called that. He only wants to be called Preacher.”

“Did you see my father, my two uncles?”

“Yes,” Smoke said, grimly.

“They are all dead, aren’t they?”

Smoke nodded, but said nothing.

“What about my aunt? Did you see her?”

“Looks like the savages took her,” Preacher said.

“What will they do to her?”

“Depends a lot on her. Was she a looker?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Was she a handsome woman?”

“She was beautiful,” Nicole answered.

Preacher shrugged. “Then they’ll probably keep her.”

He didn’t tell the young woman her aunt may have been, by now, raped repeatedly and then tortured to death.

“They’ll work her hard, beat her some, but she’ll most probably be all right. Some buck with no squaw will bed her down. Then again, they might trade her off for a horse or rifle.”

“Or they might kill her?” she asked.

“Yep.”

“You don’t believe I’ll ever see her again, do you?”

“No, darlin’, it just ain’t likely,” Preacher said.

Nicole put her face in her hands and began to weep. “I don’t know what to do. I have a brother somewhere, but I don’t know where he is. I don’t have anyone else.”

Smoke put his arms around her. “Yes, you do, Nicole. You have us,” he said.¹

Smoke, Preacher, and Nicole built a cabin and shortly after the cabin was built, Preacher rode on, leaving Smoke and Nicole alone. Preacher didn’t return that winter of 1870–71, then one day Nicole came to Smoke.

“We have to get married, Smoke,” she said.

“We’re going to get married. But didn’t we say we wanted to wait until Preacher got back?”

“Have you considered the idea that he might not come back?”

“I don’t like to think about it.”

“How old is he?”

“In his seventies, I think. He’s never really told me. I know he’s too old to be spendin’ another winter alone.”

“Smoke, Preacher has spent a long, exciting, and very fruitful life. He wouldn’t want to die in bed, would he? He would want to leave this life the way he has lived it, in the wilderness. And do you think he would really want you to be worrying about him?”

Smoke smiled. “You’re right, Nicole, as usual.”

“So, you don’t think we have to wait for Preacher for us to get married? The reason I ask is, I’m pretty sure we’re going to have a baby.”

“What? No, Nicole, we can’t! We’re more than a hundred miles from the nearest doctor.”

“There is nothing to having a baby, Smoke. That is a natural process that’s been going on since the beginning of time. Besides, I went to nursing school. It’s just that I want the baby to have a legal name. I want to be married. So, where can we go?”

“We’re too far from Big Rock, wouldn’t want you traveling that far. But Preacher told me there was a little settlement of Mormons just west of here, over in Utah Territory. We could go there.”

It was still cool when they left the valley, heading for Utah.

“Smoke, do you think we’ll see any Indians?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been this way before, I’ve never been in Utah. I reckon we’ll just have to find out together.”

On the fifth day of their travel they reached the settlement Preacher had spoken of, but all they found were half a dozen rotting and collapsing cabins. They found no sign of life.

“Preacher said there was a going settlement here back in ’55. I wonder where everyone went?”

They saw an overgrown cemetery and going over to check it, saw a handful of rotting grave markers. The latest date they could find was fourteen years ago.

“Must’ve been some disease come to kill most of ’em off,” Smoke suggested. “And the ones that didn’t die, left.”

They went back to explore the buildings, and finding a nail, Smoke built a fire, heated the nail, then with a hammer flattened the nail, then curled it into a crude ring. When the ring cooled, he showed it to Nicole. “Not much of a ring, I’m afraid.”

“I would rather have this than a band of gold,” Nicole said.

Smoke slipped it onto Nicole’s third finger of her left hand.

“Nicole, I love you. And with this ring, I declare you to be my wife.”

“And I declare you to be my husband,” Nicole said.

They kissed.

Old Main Building

“That’s when I learned that I had warrants out on me, and that there were bounty hunters on my trail, particularly Potter, Stratton, and Richards.”

“I don’t want to bring up unpleasant memories,” Professor Armbruster said. “But weren’t those men involved in Nicole’s murder?”

Smoke’s mouth tightened, and he nodded. “Yes,” he said. “But you’re getting a little ahead of the story.”

“Sorry.”

“That’s all right. It’s just that I haven’t told this story, I haven’t even thought about it, in many, many years. I think it might be good to get it all out of my system now. It started with Preacher.”