Savagery of The Mountain Man

Chapter Twenty-two

Gilmore had three witnesses for the prosecution, all of whom worked for Pogue Quentin, and all of whom claimed that Pearlie started the fight by hitting Billy Ray over the head. Jerry Kelly claimed that when Billy Ray came in through the door carrying the shotgun, Pearlie shot at him first.

Murchison countered with half a dozen witnesses. Doc Patterson testified that it was Billy Ray who got angry first and drew his gun on Pearlie.

“Pearlie could have shot him right then if he had wanted to,” Doc said. “But instead of shooting him, he hit him over the head and took away his pistol.”

Deckert substantiated Doc’s account, then went on to say that Billy Ray had charged back into the saloon brandishing a shotgun.

“Billy Ray saw Pearlie standing at the bar and he just opened up on him without so much as a by-your-leave. I swear to you, I don’t know how Pearlie managed to escape getting killed,” Deckert said.

The testimonies of Evans, Lenny, and Mary Lou concurred with Deckert’s account. All said that Pearlie did not shoot back until it was obvious that Billy Ray was about to shoot the other barrel.

“And he wouldn’t have missed this time,” Lenny said.

Gilmore’s questioning of Doc, Deckert, Evans, and Lenny was perfunctory. It wasn’t until Mary Lou took the stand that his questions became more intense.

“Miss Culpepper, do you expect the court to believe that you were in the saloon at the time of the shooting?” Gilmore asked during his cross examination.

“Yes, I expect the court to believe I was there because I was,” Mary Lou replied.

“But you are a woman, Miss Culpepper. What on earth would you be doing in the saloon? The New York Saloon is not a place normally habituated by women, is it?”

“I was working in the saloon,” Mary Lou said. “I was serving drinks.”

“You were serving drinks?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What else did you do?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do understand.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Isn’t it true, Miss Culpepper, that you are a whore?”

“Objection, Your Honor, the question is irrelevant,” Murchison called out.

“Your Honor, goes to character,” Gilmore replied. “If this woman is a whore, then her entire character can be questioned. For example, can she be trusted to tell the truth?”

“Witness will answer the question.”

“Are you a whore?”

“Am I a whore?”

“That’s my question.”

Mary Lou stared directly into Gilmore’s eyes before she answered.

“No,” she said resolutely.

Gilmore had turned toward the jury, but hearing her answer, he spun back toward her. “You are under oath, Miss Culpepper. Now, I will ask you again. Are you a whore?”

“No.”

“Miss Culpepper,” Gilmore started, but he was interrupted by Murchison.

“Objection, Your Honor, question was asked and answered.”

“Sustained. Get on with your cross-examination, Counselor,” McCabe said.

“Miss Culpepper, there is a scar on your nose and though it has nearly cleared up, it is obvious that both of your eyes were recently blackened. How did you get those injuries?”

“Billy Ray hit me.”

“Why did he hit you?”

Mary Lou didn’t answer.

“Your Honor, please instruct the witness to respond.”

“Answer the question, Miss Culpepper,” McCabe said.

“He hit me because I wouldn’t go upstairs with him.”

“Did he have a reasonable expectation that you would go upstairs with him? My question is, did you sometimes go upstairs with others?”

“Sometimes I went upstairs with others,” Mary Lou replied.

“So you are a whore?”

“No, I am not a whore.”

“Objection, Your Honor, your ruling has already closed this line of questioning.”

“Sustained.”

Gilmore was obviously frustrated, but he went on. “You did not care much for Billy Ray Quentin, did you?”

“No. He was mean and brutal.”

“So, if someone killed Billy Ray, you wouldn’t mind seeing him get off, would you?”

“Objection, Your Honor.”

“Sustained.”

“No further questions, Your Honor.”

“Redirect?”

“Yes, your honor. Miss Culpepper, the prosecutor asked you several times if you are a whore. Now the operative word here is ‘are.’ Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you ever been a—I think the more genteel term is—‘soiled dove’?”

“I was, yes.”

“But no more?”

“No more.”

“What do you do now?”

“I work for Mrs. York.”

“Thank you. No further questions, Your Honor.”

Closing arguments were short. Murchison pointed out that Doc Patterson and Deckert concurred in their testimony as to how the fight started, with Billy Ray attempting to draw his gun on Pearlie. He also reminded the jury that Deckert, Evans, Lenny, and Mary Lou gave nearly identical accounts as to how Billy Ray came bursting back into the saloon, firing his shotgun without warning.

“The burden of proof is with the prosecution. That means that normally the guiding principle in a trial like this is that you cannot find a defendant guilty unless you are convinced, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he is guilty, and in his charge to the jury, the judge will, no doubt, so instruct you. But in this case, I believe that even if that standard were reversed, if the burden of proof, beyond a shadow of a doubt, was with the defense, you would still have no recourse but to find Pearlie innocent of this charge,” Murchison said in his closing.

In his closing remarks, Gilmore again reminded the jury that Pearlie was a stranger, an itinerant wanderer who came into town and while there, for no reason other than his own innate evil, gunned down a local man.

“Billy Ray walked and talked with us, he laughed with us, he participated in the town’s celebration of the Fourth of July with us, he played cards with us. That in itself is enough to require that we demand justice be meted out to his murderer, but Billy Ray wasn’t just any local man. He was the son of the leading citizen of our town, a man to whom more than half of our citizens are beholden for their livelihood. And now, Billy Ray’s bones lie in the cemetery, at the edge of town.”

Gilmore pointed in the direction of the cemetery; then he put his hand to his ear. “Listen,” he said. “Listen closely, because if you do, you can hear in the very wind, the cry of the mournful soul of one of us—our friend—our brother, calling to us from his grave, demanding that we give him justice.”

The jury had only been out fourteen minutes when they came tramping back into the saloon turned courtroom and took their seats.

“Have you selected a foreman?” Judge McCabe asked.

“We have, Your Honor. My name is Greg Paul.”

“Mr. Paul, has the jury reached a verdict?”

“We have.”

“Would you publish the verdict, please?”

“We find the defendant, Pearlie, not guilty.”

“No!” Quentin shouted angrily. He stood up so quickly that the chair tumbled over behind him, and he pointed at Pearlie, who was already receiving a congratulatory hug from Sally.

“You son of a bitch, you’ll pay for this!”

Judge McCabe slammed his gavel down. “Marshal Dawson, escort that man out of this courtroom!” he demanded.

“Come on, Pogue,” Dawson said. “Let’s get out of here.”

Pogue glared a moment longer toward Pearlie and the others; then he, Marshal Dawson, and Snake Cates left the saloon.

The townspeople gathered around Pearlie, congratulating him, and several offered to buy him a drink as soon as the bar reopened.

“I just wish Mr. Brandon could have been here for this,” Lenny said.

“He was here,” Doc said. “At least his words were. Mr. Murchison, thanks for reading them. You read the words beautifully, and he would have been very proud.”

“Mrs. York,” Mary Lou said.

“Mary Lou, dear, please, call me Kathleen.”

“Kathleen, if you don’t mind, I think I would like to go over to the kitchen and make an apple pie. We can have it later in celebration.”

“Can you bake an apple pie?” Lenny asked. “That’s my favorite.”

Mary Lou smiled. “Mine, too,” she said. “It’s a recipe my mama taught me.”

“Well, of course you can, dear,” Kathleen said. “Do you need my help?”

For the next several minutes, Smoke, Sally, Pearlie, and the others engaged the townspeople in conversation. Many in the town had heard of Smoke, and they were taking this opportunity to get close to someone who was already famous.

“Mr. Jensen?” someone said.

Looking up, Smoke saw a big bearded man with a wandering eye.

“Yes?”

“I’m Cole Mathers,” the man said.

“What do you want, Mathers?” Doc asked in a tone of voice that wasn’t too friendly. “Mathers is Quentin’s foreman,” he said to the others.

“I ain’t his foreman anymore,” Cole said.

“Did he fire you?” Doc asked.

“No, sir, he didn’t fire me. I quit. I couldn’t go along with what he’s plannin’ now.”

“What is he planning now?”

“Well, for one thing, he’s got the whore,” Cole said.

“What?” Lenny asked.

“The whore,” Cole said. “He’s got her and he says he’s goin’ to kill her if Pearlie don’t come out and face his man, Snake Cates.”

“I need a gun,” Pearlie said.

“No, wait,” Smoke said. “We’ve just got you through one trial. There’s no sense in getting you mixed up in another one. I’ll go out.”

Mathers nodded. “That’s what Quentin figured you would do,” he said. “Truth is, I think he wants you dead as much or more than he wants Pearlie.”

“Where is Mary Lou?” Lenny asked.

“Deputy Wilson and a couple others are holdin’ her down at the Quentin’s Freight Warehouse.”

“Pearlie, you and Cal go down to the depot and get Mary Lou.”

“I’m going, too,” Lenny said.

“All right, you can go as well.”

“My pistol is down at the jailhouse,” Pearlie said.

“I’ve got one behind the bar you can use, Pearlie,” Evans said.

“Mr. Evans, I’ll borrow the shotgun if you don’t mind,” Lenny said.

“Hold on a minute,” another voice called and looking around, Smoke saw that Judge McCabe had been listening in on the conversation. “You men can’t go out there like this.”

“Judge, they have the girl,” Smoke said.

McCabe lifted his hand. “You can’t go out like this until I deputize you,” he said. “Raise your hands, all of you.”

Smoke, Pearlie, Cal, and Lennie lifted their hands.

“By the power vested in me by the state of Colorado, I hereby vacate the law-enforcement responsibilities of Dawson and Wilson, and grant temporary deputy status to each of you.”

Smoke smiled. “Thanks, Judge,” he said. “And here, I thought you were called the Hanging Judge.”

“I will hang them if they are guilty and need hanging,” McCabe said.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Smoke said.

“Mr. Jensen,” Mathers called as they were starting toward the door. Smoke turned back toward him. “I just thought you ought to know. If Cates doesn’t kill you, Quentin and Dawson plan to do it themselves.”

“Thanks,” Smoke said.

The street was empty when Smoke stepped out onto the boardwalk in front of the New York Saloon. The street was empty, but it wasn’t unobserved, because word had already spread throughout the town that there was going to be a showdown between two of the fastest guns in the West.

Smoke eased his pistol from his holster, turned the cylinder to check the loads, then slipped his pistol back into the holster. He stepped out into the street and started walking toward Cates.

“Is Quentin paying you for this, Cates?” Smoke asked.

Cates’s tongue flicked out of his mouth a couple of times before he answered.

“Yeah,” Cates hissed. His lips spread into what might have been a smile. “Quentin paid me to kill the newspaper man, too. Don’t you be tellin’ him now, but this killin’ I would have done for free.”

“Really? And why is that?”

“You got ’ny idea how much money I’m goin’ to be able to charge for my services once I kill the great Smoke Jensen?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Smoke said.

Cates tongue flicked out a couple more times. “What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?”

“It doesn’t matter, because you aren’t going to get off this street alive.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he said. “You’re a lot bigger target than I am.” Again, he smiled.

“My target will be the same size, no matter how big you are.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, Cates, that I’m going to shoot you right between the eyes,” Smoke said, his voice as calm as if he had just ordered a cup of coffee.

Suddenly, Cates went for his gun, but Smoke was ready for him, and his own pistol was out and booming before Cates could even bring his gun level. A black hole appeared between Cates’s eyes and he fell backward, sending up a puff of dust as he hit the street. His arms flopped out to either side, the unfired gun dangling from a crooked, but stilled, finger. It had all happened so quickly that many of those who had been watching through windows, or from around corners of the buildings, missed it.

Smoke stood there for a moment longer, the gun still in his hand, smoke curling up from the end of the barrel. He looked at Cates’s still form, lying on the dirt street. Already, flies from a nearby horse apple were drawn to the bloody hole between his open, but sightless, obsidian eyes.

“Shoot him! Shoot the son of a bitch!” Quentin shouted.

The voice came from the hayloft of the livery and when Smoke looked up, he saw the flash of two guns being fired. The bullets hit the ground close by, then ricocheted away with a loud whine. Smoke fired back, shooting twice into the dark maw of the hayloft. He ran to the water trough nearest the livery, and dived behind it as Quentin and Dawson fired again. Both bullets hit the trough with a loud thock.

Smoke left his position behind the water trough, and ran toward the door of the livery. He could hear the water gurgling through the bullet holes behind him. When he reached the big, open, double doors of the livery, he ran on through to the inside.

“Where’d he go? Dawson, do you see him? Where did the son of a bitch go?”

“He come through the doors,” Dawson replied. “He’s in here somewhere. Keep your eyes peeled.”

Smoke fired again into the hayloft, and the barn rang with the sound of his shot.

“He’s inside,” Quentin shouted. “He’s right below us!”

“Quentin, Cates told me you paid him to kill Elmer Brandon. That makes you as guilty of murder as he was, and I’m putting you under arrest,” Smoke called up.

“Ha!” Dawson said. “You are putting someone under arrest? Maybe you forgot, Jensen, but I’m the law here.”

“Not anymore, you aren’t,” Smoke replied. “Judge McCabe just removed you and Wilson from office and made me the law. Come to think of it, Dawson, I’m putting you under arrest, too.”

Dawson’s laugh was forced. “You ain’t arrestin’ nobody,” he said.

“Dawson!” Quentin called again. “Who are you talking to? Do you see him?”

“No,” Dawson answered.

With his pistol pointed up toward the loft above him, Smoke moved quietly through the barn itself, looking up at the hayloft just overhead. Suddenly, he felt little pieces of hay falling on him and he stopped, because he realized that someone had to be right over him. Then he heard it, a quiet shuffling of feet. Smoke fired twice, straight up. Then he heard a groan and a loud thump.

“Dawson! Dawson, are you hit?” Quentin called.

Smoke realized then that he had expended every shot, so he opened the gate and started poking the empty shell casings from the cylinder chambers of his pistol.

“Well, now, look here,” a calm voice said. Smoke glanced over to his left to see Quentin standing in the open, on the edge of the loft. He was holding a pistol pointed at Smoke, and from this range, it would be very hard for him to miss.

“You’re out of bullets, aren’t you, you son of a bitch.” He voice was confident, almost triumphant.

Smoke heard the pistol shot, then saw the expression on Quentin’s face change from triumph, to shock, then to pain. Quentin dropped his pistol, grabbed the hole in his chest, then pitched forward, turning over once on the way down to land on his back.

Looking toward the open doors, Smoke saw Sally standing there, holding a smoking pistol.

“What took you so long?” Smoke asked.

Sally smiled. “You know how we women are, Smoke. I didn’t want to come outside until I knew my hair looked all right.”

Smoke chuckled. “Your hair is beautiful,” he said.

When Smoke and Sally went back out into the street, they saw Cal running toward them.

“Where’s Pearlie?” Smoke asked.

“He and Lenny are down there at the freight warehouse. They have Wilson and a couple of cowboys from the Tumbling Q holed up inside with Mary Lou.”

“Is Mary Lou all right?” Sally asked anxiously.

“Yes, ma’am, I think she is. It’s just that they say that if we try and come in after ’em, they’ll kill her.”

“Let’s go get her out,” Smoke said.

By now, nearly the entire town was out in the street, many of them gathered around Snake Cates’s body, others beginning to come into the livery to see the bodies there.

When Smoke, Sally, and Cal walked down to the other end of town to the warehouse, most of the town followed, until there was a crowd gathered just outside the warehouse.

“Wilson,” Smoke called into the warehouse.

“What do you want?” Wilson called back, his voice muffled.

“Do you have Mary Lou in there?”

“Yeah, we’ve got her.”

“Why?” Smoke asked.

“What? What do you mean, why?”

“I mean, what good is it going to do you?” Smoke asked. “Quentin is dead. Dawson is dead. Cates is dead. That leaves you boys all by yourselves. You’ve got two choices now. Let the girl go and live—or keep her and die.”

“I don’t believe they are dead,” Wilson said.

“Take a look out here. Do you see all these people? You think they would be standing out here in the street if Quentin or Dawson or Cates were still alive?”

“Kelly, Reeves, Jensen is telling the truth. Quentin is dead,” Cole Mathers shouted. He was standing out in the street with others from the town.

“Cole, what are you doing here?” Wilson asked.

“Trying to talk some sense into you,” Cole replied.

“Son of a bitch, Wilson, look out there!” another voice from inside called out. “What are we holdin’ this girl for now? Quentin’s dead. Who is it we are workin’ for? I’m goin’ out.”

“No, you ain’t, Reeves. You’re stayin’ right here with Kelly an’ me.”

“If you stay, you’ll be stayin’ by yourself,” Kelly said. “I don’t plan on gettin’ killed for Quentin, especially when Quentin is dead his ownself.”

“That leaves just you, Wilson,” Smoke said. “Make up your mind. You can die or you can live.”

There was a long moment of silence from inside the warehouse. Then, Mary Lou appeared in the door.

“Mary Lou!” Lenny shouted.

Mary Lou ran toward him and they kissed and embraced.

“We’re comin’ out now,” Wilson said.

A moment later all three came out, holding their hands in the air.

One year later

Sugarloaf Ranch

“All right, Juan, hold her, here she comes!” Smoke shouted to his old Mexican hand. Juan was helping a cow give birth.

The heifer bawled, and shuddered; then the calf popped out.

“Look there, it’s a male!” Cal said.

Sally came into the barn then and stood for a moment looking at Smoke, Pearlie, and Cal as they looked down at the new calf. Juan started cleaning it up.

“Un fino niño ternero, señor,” Juan said. “A fine boy calf.”

“What do you think, Miss Sally?” Pearlie asked excitedly. “This is number twenty-one from Prince Henry.”

“Look over there at Prince Henry,” Sally said. “He knows this is his calf and he is strutting around just as proud as a peacock.”

Cal laughed. “Miss Sally, do you remember when Smoke said that all we needed from Prince Henry was that he have an eye for the ladies?”

“I remember,” Sally said. “But it turns out, Prince Henry isn’t the only one with an eye for the ladies.”

“What do you mean?”

Smiling, Sally held up a letter. “When I went in to town today, I picked up our mail. We got a letter from Lenny. He and Mary Lou have just had a baby.”

“Oh, wow, that’s great!” Pearlie said.

“What did they name it?” Cal asked.

“Elmer Brandon York,” Sally said. “They named it after the newspaper editor.”

“They couldn’t have chosen a better name,” Smoke said.

“Just think of Lenny with a young’un of his own,” Cal said.

The calf, clean now, got up on wobbly feet, then walked over to nudge up against Cal.

“Look at the way that calf is taking to Cal,” Pearlie said. “Looks to me like Lenny isn’t the only one with a young’un of his own.”

The others laughed.