Savagery of The Mountain Man

Chapter Seven

Colorado Springs

Although the train ran through the night, it had neither Pullman cars nor pull-down berths; therefore, Smoke and Sally had to sleep as well as they could on the seats. Smoke, who could sleep almost anywhere, had a much easier time of it than Sally, who sat by the window, staring out into the darkness for most of the trip. After leaving Big Rock, they had to change trains in Como, then again in Denver, both changes made in the middle of the night. It was harder in Como, because they had to wait for one hour in the small depot with only hard, wooden, and backless benches to accommodate them.

The depot in Denver was much larger, and would have been considerably more accommodating if they had had to wait, but the train for Colorado Springs was on an adjacent track, already taking on passengers, even as they were arriving.

Sally finally fell asleep on this, the last leg of their trip, but it was more because of exhaustion than anything else. She woke up just as they were coming into Colorado Springs, and was surprised to see that it was now light outside.

“Ahh, good, you are awake, I see,” Smoke said.

“Barely,” Sally mumbled.

“If you want, I can just leave you on the train. Whenever you finally wake up, you can take the next train back,” Smoke teased.

“Ohh,” Sally groaned. “I don’t want to see another train, ever.”

“That’s interesting. You plan for us to walk back, do you?”

The couplings began rattling and the brakes squealing as the train slowed on its approach to the station.

“What do we do first?” Sally said. “And I truly hope it is find a hotel.”

“That’s what I plan to do, then I’ll look up Tom Murchison,” Smoke said.

“Who is Tom Murchison?”

“He is a lawyer here. Jim Robison recommended him to me. In fact, I would be surprised if Jim hadn’t contacted him already.”

Jim Robison was a lawyer back in Big Rock who was not only a friend, but who’d done some work for Smoke.

“Well, if Jim recommends him, that is good enough for me,” Sally said.

Finally, the train jerked to a halt and the other passengers in the car started securing their things, preparatory to exiting.

“Oh, what a handsome-looking train station,” Sally said as she and Smoke stepped down from the train.

The building that had caught Sally’s attention was the Denver and Rio Grande Depot. Built of brick, it was one of the more impressive-looking buildings in town. The depot had a red-tiled roof with dormers and a cupola on top from which the yardmaster could observe train traffic on the eight sets of tracks that made up the marshaling area.

Sally saw him first, a young man standing on the platform, holding up a sign.

SMOKE JENSEN

“Smoke, look over there,” Sally said, pointing the young man out to her husband. “Oh, I hope that isn’t Mr. Murchison. He is so young.”

“Lawyers aren’t born old, you know,” Smoke replied. “They are all young at some point.”

“I suppose so. But I do prefer a little seasoning.”

“Let’s go meet him,” Smoke said, leading Sally in the direction of the young man. “I’m Smoke Jensen,” Smoke said when they reached him.

“Mr. Jensen, my name is Roy Clinton.”

“Good,” Sally said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, I thought you were Mr. Murchison.”

“No, ma’am. Mr. Murchison asked me to pick you up and take you to the hotel. He has already secured a room for you, and he said he would join you for breakfast.”

“Oh, I’m too tired for breakfast,” Sally said.

“You may as well eat,” Smoke said. “Besides, a good breakfast will refresh you.”

“How far is the hotel?” Sally asked.

“Your room is at the Homestead Hotel. It’s a nice place, and it’s close by,” Roy said. “Do you have luggage?”

“Yes, it’s on the luggage car.”

“That’s the surrey over there. Why don’t you go climb aboard? I’ll make arrangements to have your luggage sent directly to your hotel room.”

“All right, thanks,” Smoke said.

Smoke was carrying a small grip with him, and he and Sally walked over to the surrey and climbed in. As they waited in the surrey, Smoke watched Roy speak to one of the railroad officials and give him some money.

“He seems like a nice young man,” Sally said.

“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself now?”

“Why should I be ashamed?”

“For saying you are glad it wasn’t Murchison.”

“No. I’m still glad he isn’t Mr. Murchison.”

Roy came back to the surrey.

“All taken care of,” he said as he climbed into the surrey, then picked up the reins.

“Are you a lawyer in Tom Murchison’s office?” Smoke said.

“Yes and no,” Roy replied. “I’m reading for the law, but I am not yet a practicing attorney. I’m apprenticed to Mr. Murchison.”

“Well, you seem quite efficient, so I’m sure you will make a very good lawyer,” Sally said.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Roy replied, beaming at the compliment.

Smoke and Sally checked into the hotel, then went up to their room.

“Oh, look, a bed,” Sally said. “Couldn’t we just send our regrets and meet Mr. Murchison for lunch?”

“I tell you what. You go ahead and take a nap,” Smoke said. “I’ll meet Mr. Murchison for breakfast.”

“You are a dear,” Sally said, kissing Smoke.

When Smoke went downstairs to the dining room, he was met by the maître d’.

“I’m to meet Mr. Murchison for breakfast,” Smoke said. “I’ve never met him, so I don’t know what he looks like. When he comes in, I would appreciate it if you would send him over to my table.”

“He is already here, sir,” the maître d’ replied. “Follow me, please. I’ll take you to him.”

Tom Murchison was rather short, with thinning hair that had once been red, blue eyes enlarged by his glasses, and a spray of freckles. He stood as Smoke approached.

“Mr. Jensen,” Murchison said. “I have heard so much about you. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you,” Smoke said, taking a seat that put his back to the wall and allowed him to have a view of the room and the door.

“I was led to believe that Mrs. Jensen was with you. Will she be joining us?”

“No, not right away. Later perhaps.”

“Very good. Oh, I’ve researched the bull that is being auctioned. Prince Henry’s sire is Gold Nugget, and his dam is Gladys of Farleigh, both of whom have won awards in cattle shows. Prince Henry has already proven himself to be a good breeder, and his progeny are all well framed, heavy muscled, moderate at birth, but with a tremendous growth curve, correct off their feet and legs, and with great eye appeal.”

“So he is what they claim him to be?”

“Yes, every bit of it. He will be a prize for whoever gets him.”

“Do you have any idea how many people will be coming to the auction?” Smoke asked.

“About a hundred, I think.”

“Whoa! A hundred?” Smoke asked in surprise.

“Yes, there is to be a dinner tonight for all who will be at the auction tomorrow.”

“Will they all be bidding on Prince Henry?” Smoke asked.

“Very few will actually bid on Prince Henry. I mean when you think about it, he’s the crème de la crème of the auction and he is probably out of the price range of all but a few. But there will be several other bulls and cows in the auction, and that is what is attracting most of the others who will attend.”

A waiter brought their breakfast then, and it wasn’t until he left the table that Smoke resumed his questioning.

“About how many do you think will be bidding on Prince Henry?” he asked.

Murchison chuckled. “I thought you might ask that,” he said, “so I made some inquiries.” He pulled a piece of paper from his inside jacket pocket and began to read.

“It looks like there will only be about four serious bidders. Miller Smith owns Sky Meadow Ranch. He will be bidding. Smith is pretty stout and will be able to take the bidding up for quite a way. Tucker Phillips, of Backtrail Ranch, will also be bidding. But Phillips only manages Backtrail, he doesn’t actually own it. The owner lives in England, and I’m sure that means Phillips probably has a limit as to how much he can spend.”

Smoke laughed. “We all have a limit as to how much we can spend,” he said.

“Yes, but Mr. Phillips’ limit will be absolute. There will be one other serious bidder there, and he may be the one who will be your biggest competition. His name is Pogue Quentin.”

“Pogue Quentin? I don’t think I know him.”

“He owns the Tumbling Q down at Santa Clara,” Dan said. “From what I can determine, he moved there from Texas about ten years ago. Now he is the biggest rancher in Huereano County.”

“That’s a pretty short time to become such a big rancher. He must have come well heeled.”

“From what I understand, he did arrive with a considerable amount of money and was able to buy some land when it was at a depressed value,” Murchison said. “He’s recently enlarged his holdings by incorporating neighboring ranches, though I don’t know how he did it.”

“Let’s discuss the bull,” Smoke said. “Where is Prince Henry now? Will it be possible for me to see him?”

“Yes. He’s down at the auction barn. They are keeping him in a private stall, separated from the others. By all means, go down and take a look.”

Smoke waited until Sally had finished her nap so she could accompany him when he went down to the sale barn to see Prince Henry.

There were several cows in pens waiting to be sold, but Prince Henry was all alone in a clean and roomy stall. He was eating when Smoke and Sally stepped up to the pen to have a look at him. Prince Henry looked over toward them with only mild interest, then returned to the task at hand—eating.

“Oh,” Sally said. “Isn’t he beautiful?”

“Careful, don’t be too loud with your compliments,” Smoke said. “He’s got a big enough head already.”

Sally laughed. “What do you mean, he has a big enough head?”

“Look at him,” Smoke said. “He knows he is the center of attention. Why, he is positively arrogant.”

“That’s all right, Prince Henry,” Sally said. “You are smart, and you are beautiful. Be arrogant all you want.”

“You are impressed with him, are you?”

“Oh, Smoke, we have to buy him,” Sally said. “We simply must.”

“Ha! And you are the one who was telling me I had to stay within a spending limit.”

“Well, don’t go overboard. But I do want him.”

“I tell you, it’s him,” Stu Sinclair said to his two brothers.

“How do you know it’s him?” Emil replied.

“The son of a bitch hit me right in the face. Do you think I can’t remember someone who hit me right in the face?”

Emil, Stu, and Jason Sinclair were sitting at a table at the Bucket of Blood Saloon. Out of curiosity, Stu had gone down to the auction barn, but returned to tell the others that he had seen Smoke Jensen.

“What would Smoke Jensen be doing here?” Jason asked.

“How the hell do I know?” Stu replied. “All I know is I saw him.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Believe him,” a new voice said. “Smoke Jensen is here.”

The three brothers looked up at the new voice, irritated that a stranger was interrupting their conversation. Then, Emil recognized him.

“You!” he said. “You are the one who—”

Pogue Quentin held up his hand to stop Emil in mid-sentence. “Do you want to stand up and shout to the whole world that you once robbed a train?” he asked quietly.

“Won’t bother us none,” Jason said. “We done served our time for it.”

“And was damn near hung ’cause you kilt the express-man,” Stu added.

“I appreciate you boys staying quiet about that.”

“Hell, we didn’t have no choice,” Jason said. “If we had know’d who you really was, we would have told ’em and maybe got some time off. But we never actually know’d your name, other than Joe.”

“And that ain’t your real name, is it?” Emil asked.

“No. My real name is Pogue Quentin.”

“Pogue Quentin? Damn, I’ve heard of that name. You’re a rich man now, ain’t you?”

Quentin nodded. “I am a rich man, yes,” he said.

“Damn, that ain’t right. I mean, here, the four of us robbed a train, but we went to jail and you got rich.”

“We all took the same risk,” Quentin said. “The only difference is, you got caught and I didn’t.”

“Yeah? Well, I’ll bet there’s a reward out for you,” Stu said. “What would keep us from just turning you in to the sheriff for that reward?”

Quentin laughed.

“You think it’s funny, do you?” Stu challenged.

“Emil, you seem to have more sense than the other two,” Quentin said. “Tell him why that is a dumb idea. You do know, don’t you?”

Emil nodded. “Yeah, I know. For one thing, you have become a very rich and very powerful man in this state. It would be our word, three former convicts, against yours. And nobody would take our word against yours.”

“You have a price on your head, don’t you?” Quentin said. “Trying to rob a store, were you?” He shook his head and made a clucking sound. “You boys have come a long way down from the last time I saw you.”

“Yeah, well, we ain’t rich like you,” Stu said. “We needed the money, which is why I think we should turn you in. There’s bound to be a reward on you, and the sheriff might believe us.”

Quentin laughed.

“You think that’s funny, do you?”

“I think it is stupid. I can give you three reasons why trying to tell the sheriff about me would not be a good idea.”

“And what are those reasons?” Emil asked.

“Number one, you have a price on your head, which makes going to the sheriff and calling attention to yourselves pretty stupid.

“However, and this is number two, you wouldn’t have to worry about winding up in jail, because if you do go to the sheriff, even though he wouldn’t believe you, I would have you killed.”

“What do you mean you would have us killed?” Stu asked. “There is only one of you, there are three of us.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t do it myself,” Quentin replied. “I said I would have you killed. As we have discussed, I am a very wealthy man. I will simply hire someone to do it.”

“You said there were three reasons,” Emil said. “What is the third reason?”

“The third reason is you will miss out on the opportunity to make some money.”

“How much money?”

“That depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“On how much money Smoke Jensen brought with him. And since he plans to participate in the big cattle auction tomorrow, I suspect he has brought quite a bit with him.”

“What’s that got to do with us?” Jason asked.

“If you play your cards right, that could be your money,” Quentin replied.

“How much money are we talking about?” Stu asked.

“I heard that bull they’re sellin’ might bring in five hundred dollars or more,” Emil said.

“Five hundred dollars for one bull? I don’t believe it,” Stu said.

“Believe it,” Quentin said.

“So what if he does have five hundred dollars? You still ain’t said what that has to do with us,” Jason said.

“I don’t want Smoke to take part in the auction tomorrow. I’m willing to give you boys a hundred dollars apiece to see to it that he doesn’t. And consider this. In addition to the three hundred dollars I’ll give you, you can also have whatever money you find on him.”

“Find on him?” Stu asked. “What do you mean, find on him?”

“I’ll let you figure that out,” Quentin said.

“Find on him,” Emil repeated. He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I know what you are saying.” He chuckled. “Yeah, find on him. I like that.”

Quentin removed a twenty-dollar bill from his billfold and put it on the table in front of the three brothers. “Here,” he said. “Drink, eat, buy yourself a woman, but don’t go anywhere and don’t do anything until you hear from me again.”

“How long will that be?” Emil asked.

“As long as it takes.”