War of the Mountain Man

18

Judge Garrison read the signed statement from Smith.

“Will that hold up in a court of law, Judge?” Smoke asked.

“It will in my court,” the judge said with a smile. “Besides, both you and Deputy Dagonne heard one man confess. Don’t worry, Smoke. Just remember the name of the town the jury is going to be picked from.”

Both men shared a laugh at that. Smoke said, “Any further word about Max Huggins’s background?”

“Yes, but unfortunately, we can’t use any of it. Some of the parties involved are still too frightened to testify. Others have moved away or died. While the authorities east of here know Max is guilty, they can’t prove it.”

Smoke thought about that for a moment. “But Max doesn’t have to know that, Judge.”

The judge looked puzzled for a moment, then smiled. “Of course, you’re quite right.”

“Let me think about how we can use that information, Judge. We’ve got Max bumping from side to side now, let’s see if we can keep him that way.”

“Good idea. I have trial scheduled to start Thursday for those who tried to shoot up the town. I want extra security, Smoke.”

“You’ve got it, Judge. How about Melvin Malone’s case?”

“His is the first one I try. This is ... unusual for a judge, Smoke. But I want to ask your opinion. I can put him in jail. I can put him to doing community work ... public service work it’s now being called. But putting him to work cleaning the streets is only going to anger him further. Jail? Probably do the same thing. Or I can fine him. What do you think?”

Smoke rolled a cigarette and lit up. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders. “The boy wants to kill me so bad now it’s like a fire inside him....”

“Is he that good?” the judge interrupted.

“I doubt it. He makes the mistake that so many would-be gunhandlers make: He hurried his first shot. I was born blessed with excellent eye and hand coordination, Judge. I was born ambidextrous.” He smiled. “Sally taught me that word, by the way. The speed came with years of practice. I still practice. But I think the thing that keeps me ative—or has kept me alive all these years—is that I’m not afraid when the moment comes. I’m confident without being overly so. As to your original question ... fine him and let him walk for all I care.”

The judge nodded. “It might buy us more time, if you know what I mean.”

“I do. Kill Melvin now, and Red is very likely to blow wide open. The town is growing stronger every day. In another two weeks, it would take an army to overrun it.”

“That’s correct. And we owe it all to you.”

Smoke waved that away. “I just propped you people up, that’s all. Gave you all a little talking to and jerked you around and around. You all did the rest.”

The judge grinned and rubbed the side of his face. “I never thought I’d see the day when I appreciated a slapping around, but I do, boy, I do.”

“See you around, Judge.”

Smoke stepped out of the judge’s chambers and walked the streets of town. People waved and called his name as he passed. No doubt about it, Smoke thought. These folks are going to fight for their town. And they’re probably going to have it to do ... very soon.

He walked back to the jail and stepped inside. Murtaugh started cussing him as soon as he heard the jingle of Smoke’s spurs. “You’ll never hold me in this cracker box, Jensen. Soon as I can get my hands on a gun, you’re dead, hotshot. You’re dead, and that’s a promise.”

Smoke did not reply.

“I know a lot of things you don’t, Jensen,” Murtaugh kept flapping his mouth. “A whole lot of things.”

Smoke waited.

Murtaugh laughed from his cell. “Have your trials, Jensen. Let that lard-butted judge bang his gavel and hand down his pronouncements. It ain’t gonna make a bit of difference in the long run.”

Murtaugh lay down on his bunk and shut his mouth.

Smoke got up and closed the door to the cell block.

“Have the others had anything to say?” he asked Sal.

“They’ve all been boastin’ about us not keepin’ them for very long. I been doin’ some thinkin’ about that. I think someone’s gonna spring them after they’ve been sentenced.”

“From the jail, you think?” Smoke asked.

Sal shook his head. “I don’t know. I’d guess so. Max or Red ain’t gonna take a chance of bustin’ them away from the prison wagon when they come to haul them off to the territorial prison. That’d bring too much heat on Max, and he don’t want that. So, yeah. I’d say they’ll make their try just after these hard cases are sentenced.”

“We have until Thursday to make some plans. The judge has requested extra security, so he thinks something is in the works, too.”

Pete Akins hitched at his gunbelt. “Max could have at least seventy-five men ready to ride in ten minutes. He could pull fifty more in here in two ... three days. The folks in this town are good people, and I mean that; I never did none of them no harm and they know it. They’ve accepted me. But they aint gunhands, Smoke. If you’know what I mean.”

Smoke knew what he meant. Most of the men were good shots with a rifle. But few of them had ever killed a man close up. They had fought in the war; but that was, for the most part, a very impersonal thing.

Smoke tossed the question out, “How many men does Red Malone have on the payroll?”

“Thirty,” Jim answered it. “He pays them all fightin’ wages. And there ain’t no backup in none of them. They ride for the brand and that’s it.”

“So we’re conceivably looking at anywhere from a hundred to a hundred and fifty men.”

“Or more,” Pete added.

Smoke paced the office in silence, deep in thought. Finally, he stopped and faced his deputies. “He’s got to try to destroy the town. That’s his only option. Killing me alone won’t stop the movement now. He can’t let Sally’s people start up this proposed bank. That would bring the state and, in some cases, the federal government into it ... if anything were to happen to it.”

“Maybe there’s another way to look at that, Smoke,” Sal pointed out. “Maybe Max wants the bank to start up. Rob the bank, destroy the town, and haul his ashes out of the area and start up somewheres else. You can bet that he has someone in this town feedin’ him information.”

“Who?” Jim asked.

Sal shook his head. “That I don’t know. It could be anybody. The swamper over at the saloon. The bartender, a store clerk ... anybody who’s hard up for money.”

“Hell, that could be any one of a hundred people,” Pete said. “Lemme tell you about Max. He’s sneaky. He has one ear to the ground all the time. He hears about somebody seein’ somebody else’s wife, he holds that over their head. He finds out about somebody bein’ wanted, say, back in Ohio, he uses that for leverage. Max can be smooth. He might have loaned someone in this town money when he first come here. Money’s tight right now. M aybe they couldn’t repay him like they said they would. Man, he could have half-a-dozen people in this town feedin’ him information.”

Smoke turned and looked out the window. It might be Jerry at the saddle shop. Lucy at the hotel. The boy down at the stable. One of the farmers scattered around this end of the county. One of Joe Walsh’s hands. Then it came to Smoke; but he kept his suspicions to himself, hoping they would not prove true.

He left the office and walked over to the hotel. He sat with Sally for a long time in their suite, talking, exchanging ideas. At first she tought his suspicions to be perfectly horrible. Then, gradually, she began to agree. When Smoke left, both he and Sally wore long faces.

Smoke walked the streets, looking hard into the face of every man and women he passed. Had to be, he thought. I didn’t see it at first because I wasn’t looking for it. But as he spoke and waved to another citizen, heading out of town, the family resemblance was just too strong to ignore.

There it was, staring him right in the face and saying good morning to him.

“You have to be joking!” Judge Garrison said, recoiling back in his chair.

“No. I’m ninety-nine percent certain. It has to be, Judge. Look at the person.”

The judge drummed his fingertips on his desk. He shook his head and sighed. “Now that you mention it, I can see it. My God. I would have never put it together. It was all a sham on this person’s part.”

“It had to be, Judge. Looking back, it all went down too smoothly, with no arguments.”

“And you propose to do what about it at this time?”

“I don’t know. From all I’ve learned by association, this individual does not appear to be a bad person. Rather likable, actually. Let’s just sit on this for the time being, Judge. See what develops.”

“Just between us?”

“You, me, and Sally are the only three in town who know or who suspect.”

“You think it’s just this one person?”

Smoke sighed. “I hope so. But how can we be sure?”

“We can’t.”

Smoke stood up and put on his hat. He told the judge about Sal’s suspicions as to when an attack to free the prisoners might take place.

The judge nodded his head in agreement. “I think he’s right. They wouldn’t want to attack the prisoner wagon from the territorial prison; that might bring the state militia down on their heads. They’ll strike here, Smoke. Bet on it. We’ll just have to be ready for it.”

“We’ll be ready,” Smoke assured him. “I’m going to deputize all of Joe Walsh’s hands and Brown and Gatewood and the other farmers in that area just in case Max tries a diversion to pull me out of town.”

“That’s a good idea. If trouble comes—and it would be a diversion—north of town, Brown and his friends could then legally handle it. Same with trouble south of town. I’ll draw up papers making them full deputies. That will make it official and part of the record.”

“The trial going to be in the new civic building?”

“Yes. I expect a large crowd to attend. Oh, by the way, the Marblys’ dog had puppies about six weeks ago. Mrs. Marbly said to tell you to stop by and pick one out for Lisa Turner.”

“I’ll do that right now. See you, Judge.”

Marbly grinned at Smoke. “I’m afraid they’re mutts, Marshal. But they sure are cute. Come on, I’ll show them to you.”

“Mutts is right,” Smoke said, squatting down by the squirming, yelping litter. “That one,” he said, pointing. “The one with the patch around his eye.”

“Her eye,” Mrs. Marbly corrected.

“Whatever. I like that one.”

“Lisa will love it. Tell Mrs. Turner she’s paper-trained and completely weaned.”

“Victoria will love that, I’m sure.” Smoke picked up the puppy, who promptly peed all down his shirt from excitement and then licked his face to apologize, and carried the squirming mass of energy over to Dr. Turner’s house.

Lisa was so happy she cried—she named the pup Patches—and ran out in the backyard to play.

Since it was not proper for a man to be alone in a house with a married woman, Vicky invited Smoke to take coffee with her on the front porch.

“I love everything about this town, Smoke,” she said after the coffee was poured. “The people are so friendly and they accepted us immediately.”

“Yes. They’re good people. Where is Robert?”

“On a call out in the country. He left early this morning and said he wouldn’t be back until late. He wanted to check on the families who were burned out.”

“Anything serious?”

Vicky laughed. “Not really. One of the kids came down with chicken pock and gave it to all the other kids who hadn’t as yet had it. A lot of them are having an itching good time.”

Smoke grimaced, remembering his own bout with chicken pock as a boy back in Missouri.

“Are you expecting trouble when the trial starts, Smoke?”

“I won’t lie to you, yes, I am. Either during the trial or just after the sentencing. Security will be tight. Are you planning on attending?”

“I ... don’t know. I doubt it. I don’t want Lisa to have to hear all that—there will probably be some pretty rough language at times—and if I went, I’d have to leave her alone, and I won’t do that.”

“I think that’s wise. Sally isn’t going to attend either. I’ll ask her if she’ll come over and stay with you. If there is trouble, Sally—as you’ve seen in the shooting classes—can handle a six-shooter with either hand. And won’t hesitate to use one.”

Victoria shook her head. “Sally certainly has changed since our days back at school.”

“Out here, Vicky, one must change. Believe me when I say that the West will be wild for many years to come. People out here resist change; they fight it. It’s the sheer vastness of the West that makes laws so difficult to enforce. Here it is 1883, and there are still many areas that remain largely unexplored. Millions of acres for outlaws to run into and hide. Oh, it’s getting smaller with each year that passes. Law enforcement people are being linked by telegraph and train, but the gun still remains the great settler of troubles.”

“When will you hang your guns up, Smoke?”

“When a full year passes and no one comes after me looking for a reputation. When newspapers and magazines and books no longer carry my name.”

Victoria smiled. “What you’re saying is, you will never hang them up.”

“I’m afraid that’s true.”

“Would you like to hang them up?”

“Very much so.” He looked at her and smiled. “For one thing, they’re heavy.”

She laughed aloud at that, then sobered. “What value do you place on human life, Smoke?”

“The highest value I can accord it, Vicky ... for those who respect the rights of others; for those who can follow even the simplest rules of society. I don’t prejudge on the basis of what a person has contributed to our society, but whether a person has taken away from it. None of us are obligated to create fine art or music, or invent things that better mankind. We’re not obligated to do anything to improve society. What we are obligated to do is not take away from it.” He waved one big hand. “There is an entire subculture out there with only lawlessness on their minds. To hurt, to steal, to kill, to maim, to destroy. They don’t give a damn for your rights, or my rights, or Lisa’s rights to live life and enjoy it in relative safety and comfort. They want what they want and to hell with anything else. They spit in the face of law and order and decency. If those types of people get in my way, I’ll kill them.”

Although the day was not cool, Victoria shivered. It did not escape the attention of Smoke.

“You think I’m half savage, don’t you, Vicky?” he asked.

“I don’t know what my thoughts are about you,” she replied honestly. “You bring Lisa a little puppy and then talk about killing human beings. You are a philosopher and yet you’ve killed at least a hundred men. Probably twice that number. You respect law and order, and yet carry the name of gunfighter. I think you are a walking contradiction, Smoke Jensen.”

He smiled. “I’ve been called that, too, Vicky.”

“What are you, Smoke Jensen? The Robin Hood of the West?”

“I don’t know whether I’m that or that fellow who went around sticking his lance into windmills.”

“Don Quixote. No, I don’t think you and Don Quixote have much in common. You get quite a lot accomplished ... in your own rough way.”

“It’s a rough world, Vicky. There is a saying out here: A man saddles his own horse and kills his own snakes. Now, only a few species of snakes are harmful, and a rattlesnake will usually leave you alone if you don’t mess with it. But these two-legged snakes we have surrounding us right now are the vicious kind. They are capable of thinking, know right from wrong, but still want to strike out and sink their fangs into anyone who gets in their way or tries to block their lawless behavior. They have had their chance to live decently. They looked at a decent way of life and chose to ignore it. And they’ve made that choice dozens of times. Nobody forced them into a life of crime. They chose it willingly. As far as I am concerned, that means they gave up any right to demand compassion when they’re caught. If they face me, they are going to get a bullet.”

“The West frightens me, Smoke. I like the people in this town. But even they carry guns.”

“Then go back east, Vicky. Go back where you have a uniformed police officer on every street corner and it’s getting to be when a criminal is caught, the punishment is light or nothing at all.”

“But they’re human beings, Smoke!”

“They’re garbage, Vicky. Rabies-carrying rats whose diseased fleas are hopping onto everyone who gets close to them.”

Smoke stopped talking as a tall stranger on a painted pony rode slowly into town. The stranger cut his eyes to Smoke, sitting on the porch, and smiled.

Smoke stood up. “Time to go to work, Vicky. Max is pulling in the heavyweights now.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s Dek Phillips. A hired gun from down Texas way originally.”

“Why is he here?”

Smoke stepped off the porch. “To kill me.”