Savagery of The Mountain Man

Chapter Eighteen

Smoke, Sally, Cal, and Lenny had a one-hour layover in Denver where they were to change trains. As they waited in the depot, Smoke walked over to a window under a sign that read WESTERN UNION. Not seeing anyone when he looked through the vertical bars, he slapped the palm of his hand on the little desk bell. The ring reverberated through the room.

At the back of the room the door opened, and someone stuck his head in. He was wearing a billed cap with the words WESTERN UNION written on the front, and looking toward the window, he saw Smoke.

“Yes, sir,” he called to Smoke. “Do you wish to send a telegram?”

“No. I hope I have one here waiting for me,” Smoke replied. “Would you check your ‘will call’ box?”

“I’ll do that. And you would be?”

“Jensen. Smoke Jensen.”

The telegrapher smiled. “Ah, yes, indeed, Mr. Jensen, you do have a telegram waiting for you,” he said. “I recall getting it last night.”

Walking back over to the table on which the telegraph instrument sat, the Western Union clerk rifled through a pile of papers and envelopes before coming up with one. He checked the name on the outside, then brought the envelope back up to the front window and passed it through the opening it to Smoke.

“What do I owe you?” Smoke asked.

“Not a thing, sir. It has already been paid for,” the telegrapher replied.

“For your trouble,” Smoke said, handing the telegrapher a quarter.

“Why, thank you, sir,” the telegrapher replied.

This was a response to the telegram Sally had sent before they left Big Rock. In the telegram, he had not only asked Murchison to represent Pearlie, he had also asked Murchison to respond by telegram to the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad depot in Denver, with instructions to the telegraph office to hold the telegram in the “will call” box.

Smoke took the envelope back over to where Sally and the others were waiting.

“What does he say?” Sally asked.

“I don’t know, I haven’t read it yet.”

“Smoke, what if he won’t do it? What will we do?”

“If Murchison can’t, or won’t, we’ll just have to find a lawyer who will do it,” Smoke replied.

Smoke opened the envelope, removed the telegram, read it, smiled, then handed it to Sally.

FOR WHATEVER VALUE YOU PLACE UPON

MY ABILITY TO HELP I HEREBY PLACE MY

HUMBLE SKILLS IN YOUR SERVICE STOP

I WILL MEET YOU AT THE DEPOT IN

COLORADO SPRINGS STOP

It was eight o’clock in the morning when the train approached the outer environs of Colorado Springs. Sally was looking through the window as they passed through a residential area, and she smiled when she saw a young boy and girl who had come down from their house to stand beside the track and wave at the passengers on the arriving train.

Sally waved back.

The train passed through the residential section, then a section of warehouses and businesses, then the rail yard itself, before finally coming to a stop at the depot.

“Do you see him?” she asked.

“Yes, there he is,” Smoke said, pointing to the lawyer, who was standing on the platform. His suitcase was sitting on the ground beside him.

“It looks like he is ready to go,” Sally said. “He has his suitcase.”

The conductor passed through the car, calling out. “Colorado Springs, folks. This is Colorado Springs. For those of you going on through, we’ll be here for half an hour. Colorado Springs.”

“I’ll go out and get him,” Smoke said.

“If the train is going to be here for half an hour, why don’t we all go out?” Sally suggested. “We can stretch our legs, and get a breath of fresh air. After a night of trying to sleep on those hard seats, it will feel good.”

“Cal, Lenny, you two want to stretch your legs a bit?” Smoke asked.

The two young men agreed, so all four got up and started toward the end of the car. Smoke glanced through the windows as they walked toward the exit, and he could see Murchison, anxiously watching each of the detraining passengers. Murchison saw Smoke and Sally as soon as they stepped down from the train, and he smiled at them as he waited for them to approach him.

“Hello, Tom,” Smoke said, extending his hand in greeting to the lawyer who had worked with him during the recent auction. “I want to thank you for answering my telegram,” Smoke said.

“I am glad to do it,” Murchison replied. “And as I said in my telegram—did you get my telegram by the way?”

“Yes, I picked it up in Denver.”

“Good. As I said in my telegram, I am willing to do anything you want. But listen, Smoke, are you sure you want me for this? I’m not sure I’m the best one for the job. After all, this is a criminal case.”

“Pearlie ain’t no criminal,” Cal said quickly.

“This is Pearlie’s friend, Cal,” Smoke said. He smiled. “Of course, he is our friend, too.”

“Cal, the fact that someone’s case is a criminal case doesn’t necessarily mean the person being tried is a criminal,” Murchison explained. “It is just a means of differentiating civil from criminal court proceedings. But I’m sure you know that under our system of jurisprudence, the accused is presumed to be innocent.”

“Innocent, yeah, that’s what Pearlie is all right,” Cal said.

“Why do you seem so hesitant, Tom?” Smoke asked.

“Because I am not what you would call a criminal lawyer.”

“Have you ever tried a criminal case?”

“Yes, of course I have, but it has been a long time since I did so,” Murchison replied. “I just wanted you to be aware of that so that, if you want to, you would have time to find another lawyer.”

“Are you willing to take the case?” Smoke asked.

“Am I willing? Well, yes, I’m more than willing. To be honest, I must say that I find the idea of trying such a case again intriguing. But the fact that I consider you a friend, and this case involves a friend of yours, does make it a bit intimidating.”

“Let me put it another way,” Smoke said. “If Pearlie is innocent, and I take Lenny’s word that he is, do you feel confident that you can do a good job for him?”

“Lenny’s word?”

“This is Lenny,” Smoke said, indicating the young man, who had initially hung back. “Lenny was there when it happened, and he saw everything. He is going to be your star witness,” Smoke said.

Murchison nodded. “Well, it helps to have a witness,” he said. “But to answer your question, yes, I am confident I can do a good job for him.”

“You are going to get him off?” Cal asked.

“I certainly intend to make every effort to get him off,” Murchison replied He turned his attention toward Lenny. “Tell me, Lenny, how did you happen to see this? Were you with Pearlie when this happened?”

“No, sir, I wasn’t exactly what you would call with him,” Lenny replied. “To be honest, I didn’t even know who he was then. I just happened to be in the saloon when it happened, and I saw it all.”

“You don’t know Pearlie?”

“No, sir. Well, I know him now, because I talked to him after they put him in jail. But I didn’t know him before all this happened.”

“Is that a problem, Mr. Murchison?” Cal asked. “I mean, is it a problem that Lenny didn’t know Pearlie?”

“No,” Murchison replied. “Quite the contrary, it is good. The fact that they didn’t know each other before will give more weight to Lenny’s statement. If they had known each other, the prosecutor could taint Lenny’s testimony by suggesting that it was being given to help his friend.”

They talked a bit longer; then the conductor stepped down from the train.

“Board!” he shouted loudly, and after a wave toward the front of the train, the engineer blew his whistle twice.

Murchison reached for his suitcase, but Lenny hurried over to pick it up. “I’ll carry this for you, sir.”

“Why, thank you, Lenny.”

Smoke and the others reboarded train, then returned to their original seats. Smoke and Sally sat facing forward, while Murchison and Lenny sat in the rear-facing seat across from them. Cal found an empty seat just on the opposite side of the aisle from Smoke and Sally.

As they started rolling out of the station, the conductor came through the car punching tickets. Murchison waited until the train was well under way before he turned to Lenny.

“Now, Lenny, as best as you can remember, I want you to tell me exactly what you saw,” Murchison said.

“I saw Billy Ray Quentin come busting in to the saloon with a shotgun. He shot at Pearlie, and even though Pearlie managed to jump to one side just before Billy Ray fired, he got hit by some of the shotgun pellets anyway.”

“Pearlie got hit? You didn’t tell us that,” Sally said, clearly disturbed by the news.

“Oh, there ain’t really nothin’ to worry about on that score, ma’am,” Lenny said. “He wasn’t hurt hardly none at all. Doc Urban, he’s a friend of mine, well, actually he’s a friend of my ma’s, he took the shot out and fixed Pearlie up real good.”

“So, Pearlie saw Billy Ray coming after him with the shotgun, and managed to jump out of the way in time to avoid getting killed. Is that what you are saying?” Murchison asked.

“Yes, sir. But Billy Ray, he raised up his shotgun and was about shoot again. That’s when Pearlie shot him.”

“As you can see, Tom, it sounds like a clear case of self-defense,” Smoke said.

Murchison chuckled. “If there is one thing I’ve learned in all the years I have been a lawyer, Smoke, it is that there is no such thing as a clear case of anything.”

“Well, you know what I mean,” Smoke said.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I don’t mean to be too hard on you,” Murchison said. “I’m just trying to fill you in on some facts. Where did this take place?”

“In the New York.”

“What? In New York?”

“The New York is a saloon in Santa Clara,” Lenny said. “I play the piano there.”

“Why, Lenny, do you play the piano?” Sally asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How wonderful! I love music. I shall look forward to hearing you play.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’d like to play for you sometime.”

“You say the New York is a saloon,” Murchison said, continuing his questioning. “Did the shooting take place inside the saloon?”

“Yes.”

“How many others were in the saloon at the time?”

“I’m not sure exactly,” Lenny replied. “I’d say about twenty.”

“Twenty people saw the shooting?”

“Yes, sir.”

Murchison turned toward Smoke, with a big smile spreading across his face. “Maybe I was wrong,” he said. “With twenty eyewitnesses, this very well could be a clear-cut case.”

“There won’t none of the others testify,” Lenny said.

“I won’t be able to get anyone else to testify? Why not?”

“Like I said, the name of the man that got killed was Billy Ray Quentin. He is—that is, he was—Pogue Quentin’s son, and I don’t reckon there are many people in town who would be willing to go up against Pogue Quentin.”

“I have met Pogue Quentin,” Murchison said. “And I find it hard to believe that someone like Pogue Quentin would actually have that many friends down in Santa Clara.”

Lenny choked back a chuckle. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, Mr. Murchison. It’s not because they are his friends that they won’t testify,” he said. “It’s because they are afraid of him.”

Murchison nodded. “Yes, I must say, that sounds more like the Pogue Quentin I met. He struck me then as someone who would attempt to get his way by intimidation.”

“Intimidation—does that mean scarin’ people?” Lenny asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, he doesn’t scare me. I will testify.”

“Are you the only one?”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure you can get Mary Lou Culpepper to testify, but I don’t know whether the jury will pay much attention to her.”

“Why is that?”

“Because, like me, she works in the saloon.”

“Exactly what kind of work does she do in the saloon? Is she a—”

“She’s a whore, if that’s what you are asking,” Lenny said, answering the question before Murchison had completed asking it. “But she’s a good, honest woman.”

Murchison shook his head. “It doesn’t really make that much difference how good and honest a woman she is,” he said. “I’m afraid you are right. The very fact that she is a whore will, more than likely, cause the jury to give little weight to her testimony. We are going to have to find someone else.”

Lenny shook his head. “There isn’t anyone else.”

Murchison stroked his chin, then, with a sigh, leaned back in his seat. “I should have stuck with my first premise. I’ve been around long enough to know that, no matter what you might think, there really is no such thing as a clear-cut case.”

Santa Clara

Deputy Wilson looked up from his desk as the four men and one woman came through the front door of the jail.

“Here, what’s goin’ on here?” he asked. “You can’t come bargin’ in like this! What do you think you are doin’?”

“Pearlie!” Cal shouted, seeing his friend in the cell at the back of the jail.

“Cal, Smoke, Sally, I knew you would come!” Pearlie said.

“You can thank Lenny here, he’s the one that told us,” Cal said.

“I do thank you, Lenny. I haven’t known you long, but you are a true friend.”

“I told you, you can’t be in here,” Wilson said. “They’s only certain times you can visit a prisoner, and this here ain’t one of those times.”

“You are wrong, Deputy,” Murchison said. “As this young man’s lawyer, I can visit him anytime I want in order to establish his defense.”

“All right, maybe you can, but who are all these people? They can’t be here,” Wilson insisted.

“You are wrong about that as well,” Murchison said. “They are all helping me construct a case for the defense.”

Wilson was clearly agitated, and obviously unsure as to what everyone’s rights were. Finally, he acquiesced, then returned to his desk and sat down. “All right,” he said. “Go ahead and have your visit. But I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

As soon as they reached the cell in the back, Sally stuck her hand through the bars and ran her fingers over the entry wound scars that were left on Pearlie’s cheek by the shot. “Oh, Pearlie,” she said. “Lenny told us you had been shot. Do the wounds hurt?” she asked.

“To tell the truth, I didn’t even feel ’em when they first hit me. But after a while, they commenced to sting-in’ a bit. Now, though, they don’t hurt none at all.”

“How did you wind up here in Santa Clara, of all places?” Smoke asked.

“Well, sir, I was comin’ back home, is what I was doin’,” Pearlie said. “I was comin’ back to my old job. That is, if you would have been willin’ to take me back.”

“Of course we would take you back,” Sally said. “We would have taken you back five minutes after you left.”

“Yes, ma’am, well, five minutes after I left, I almost turned around and come back,” Pearlie said. He was silent for a moment before speaking again. “It would have been better if I had done that. ’Cause if I had, I wouldn’t be in all this trouble now.”

“Don’t worry about it, Pearlie,” Smoke said. “We’ll get you out of here, I promise.”

“Really? I wish I could be that sure about it. Perhaps you didn’t see the scaffold they are building,” Pearlie said.

“I saw it. It’s practically in the center of town. You can’t miss it.”

“I don’t figure they would waste their time buildin’ somethin’ like that if they didn’t have no intention of usin’ it.”

“They can have all the intention of using it they want,” Smoke said. “I’m telling you right now, that scaffold is not going to be used. At least, not for your necktie party.”

Pearlie smiled. “I figured if I could just get you here in time, ever’thing would all work out,” he said.

“This is Tom Murchison,” Smoke said. “He’s going to be your lawyer.”

“Well, now, my own lawyer,” Pearlie said. “How about that? That makes me feel like a big shot.”

“When is the trial?” Murchison asked.

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Impossible,” Murchison said. “I can’t possibly prepare a defense by tomorrow.”

“You damn well better,” Deputy Wilson said, overhearing the conversation. “Judge McCabe will be comin’ in tonight, and he don’t like waitin’ around.” Wilson laughed. “Yes, sir, we’ll have your friend tried, convicted, and hung by sundown tomorrow.”

“You had better hope he isn’t found guilty,” Smoke said.

“What do you mean I had better hope he isn’t found guilty? Hell, I want the son of a bitch to be found guilty. I like hangin’s, and I can’t think of anything I’d rather see than your friend here dancin’ from the end of a rope.”

“If it happens, you won’t see it,” Smoke said.

“The hell I won’t. I’ll be a’ standin’ right there in the front row,” Wilson said.

“You won’t be standing anywhere,” Smoke said.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because if Pearlie is found guilty, I’ll kill you.”

“What?” Wilson gasped. “Did you just threaten me?”

“That was not a threat,” Smoke said. “That was a promise.”

“Deputy, by law, we are entitled to a private visit with my client,” Murchison said. “Would you please excuse us?”

“What?”

“Go away,” Smoke said. He pointed to the desk. “Go over there and sit down and let us conduct our business.”

“Look here, I’m the law,” Wilson said. “You can’t talk to me like that.”

“Smoke, let’s don’t wait,” Cal said. “Let me kill him now.”

“I—uh—you are going to hear about this!” Wilson said, sputtering. But faced with a concerted glare from both Smoke and Cal, he returned meekly to his desk.

Not until he was out of earshot did they resume their visit with Pearlie.

“Pearlie, have you been eating all right?” Sally asked.

“Yes, ma’am!” Pearlie said. “You can’t believe how good I’ve been eating!”

“Really? The jail feeds you that well?” Sally asked, surprised by Pearlie’s response.

“Oh, no, ma’am, the jail don’t have nothin’ to do with it,” Pearlie said.

Sally winced at the grammar, but said nothing.

“No, ma’am. The reason I’m eatin’ good is because of Lenny’s ma, Mrs. York. Mrs. York, and Lenny’s friend, Mary Lou. Both of them have been bringin’ me food for near’bout ever’ meal. Good food, too. Smoke, have you met Mrs. York yet?”

“Not yet,” Smoke answered.

“We’re goin’ over there from here, and I’m going to introduce them then,” Lenny said. “We thought you might be worryin’ about whether or not we would get here in time, so we came here first.”

“You damn near didn’t get here in time,” Pearlie said. “One more day and I would’a been a goner.”

“Don’t lose faith, Pearlie,” Sally said. “We will get you out of here.”

Pearlie flashed a big smile. “Oh, I ain’t worried about it now,” he said. “I got no doubt but what this will all be behind me soon. Though I confess that bein’ able to see that scaffold, just by lookin’ out the window, was a bit, well, let’s just say it was puttin’ me off a mite.”

When Smoke, Sally, Cal, Murchison, and Lenny left the jail, they went directly to Kathleen’s Kitchen and Boarding House, where the young man’s mother greeted her son with a welcoming hug.

“Ma, I want you to meet these folks,” Lenny said. “They are all Pearlie’s friends. This here is Mr. and Mrs. Jensen. And this is Mr. Murchison. He’s the lawyer who is going to get Pearlie out of jail.”

“How nice to meet you,” Kathleen said. “I can see how Pearlie would have a lot of friends. In the short time I’ve known him, I’ve found him to be one of the nicest and most gracious young men I’ve ever met.”

“Thank you, we think so as well,” Sally said.

“I told you you would like him, Ma,” Lenny said.

“So you did,” Kathleen agreed. She smiled at Cal. “And you must be Cal,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am, I am,” Cal replied, confused at hearing her call his name. “How come you to know that? Lenny didn’t say my name.”

“He didn’t have to. Pearlie has spoken well of you. He considers you his special friend,” Kathleen said. She pointed to the low-crowned black hat Cal was wearing. “And he told me all about your silver hatband.”

Cal took his hat off and fingered the silver band. “Yes, ma’am, well, I loaned it to him is what I done, ’cause I know’d he would bring it back to me and that way, he wouldn’t stay gone forever. Course, I didn’t count on him windin’ up in jail or nothin’.”

“Ma, none of us have eaten yet, and we are very hungry,” Lenny said.

“Oh, forgive me for not asking you earlier. Please, please, sit down and I’ll have your lunch out here right away.”

“I want to thank you, Mrs. York, for taking such good care of Pearlie,” Sally said.

“Please, call me Kathleen.”

“Only if you call me Sally. Pearlie told us about the food you have been taking to him. From the way he described it, I am very much looking forward to the meal.”

“I hope you aren’t disappointed.”

“I’m sure we won’t be.”

“Did you make chicken and dumplin’s today?” Lenny asked.

“Yes, we did.”

“I figured you would, this being Wednesday. You always make chicken and dumplin’s on—” Lenny paused in mid-sentence, then said, “We?”

“What?”

“You said, yes, we did,” Lenny said. “What do you mean, we?”

“I’ve hired some help.”

“Really? Well, I’m real glad you did that. You work too hard. You don’t need to work as hard as you do.”

Kathleen smiled as she went into the kitchen. A moment later, she came out carrying a tray filled with plates. Behind her, also carrying a tray, was Mary Lou Culpepper.

“Mary Lou!” Lenny said, standing up quickly. “You’re workin’ here now?”

Smiling, Mary Lou nodded. “Your ma hired me,” she said.

“How—uh—how is it going?”

Kathleen put her arm around Mary Lou’s shoulders. “It’s going really well,” she said. “Mary Lou and I are getting along just famously, aren’t we, dear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mary Lou said.

“Kathleen, I see that this is a boardinghouse as well as a restaurant,” Sally said. “Is it for longtime borders only? Should we go to the hotel?”

“You don’t want to go to the hotel,” Kathleen said. “That is, unless you want to do business with Pogue Quentin. He owns the hotel. You can stay right here. I have two very nice rooms, one for you and Mr. Jensen, and one for Cal and Mr. Murchison. That is, if the two of you don’t mind sharing a room,” she added, looking toward Cal and Murchison. “And we have a very nice drawing room where you can relax,” she added.

“I don’t mind sharing a room if Cal doesn’t,” Murchison said.

After supper, Kathleen showed them to their rooms. As they passed through the drawing room, Sally saw an upright piano, similar to many of the instruments she had seen in private homes, schools, churches, and even saloons throughout the West. The only difference was this piano was obviously loved and very well cared for, because it was in much better condition than almost any other piano she had seen since she left New Hampshire. She walked over to it, then ran her hand across the smooth, polished surface.

“Oh, what a beautiful piano,” she said.

“You should hear Lenny play it,” Kathleen said, proudly. “It has a beautiful tone.

“Lenny, I would love to hear you play something. Would you play for us?” Sally asked.

“Oh, Mrs. Jensen, you don’t want to hear a saloon piano player,” Lenny said.

“No, and I don’t want to hear a saloon piano player either,” Kathleen said.

Sally looked at Kathleen in surprise, but before she could say anything, Kathleen continued.

“What I want to hear, and what I am sure these fine people would like to hear, is a pianist, not a saloon piano player. Play something, Lenny. Play something beautiful,” Kathleen said.

“You mean concert music?” Lenny asked.

“I mean something beautiful,” Kathleen said.

“All right,” Lenny said. He sat down, opened the lid over the keyboard, and for a few seconds, did nothing. Then the melodic phrasing of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata no. 14 poured forth from the piano, filling the parlor with its repeating theme and beautiful melody. This was not “Buffalo Gals,” or “Cowboy Joe,” or one of the other songs so often heard in saloons. This was something one might hear on the stage in New York, Boston, London, or Paris.

Lenny played through to the finale. Then he let his arms drop to his side as the last melodic notes hung in the air. Looking up, he saw tears in Mary Lou’s eyes.

“Mary Lou, what is it?” Lenny asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Mary Lou answered. “I’ve only heard you play in the saloon—I had no idea you could play like this. I’ve never heard such music. I never knew anything could be so beautiful.”