Ambush of the Mountain Man (11 page)

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Authors: William W. Johnstone

BOOK: Ambush of the Mountain Man
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S
IXTEEN
Sally woke up just as the sun was coming up and brightening the bedroom. She yawned and, as she did every morning, stuck out her right hand and felt around the bed for her husband. When she didn't feel Smoke next to her, she opened her eyes and rolled on her side. His side of the bed was smooth, and his pillow was unwrinkled.
She sat up straight, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. Evidently, he hadn't come to bed last night, because she'd never known him to get up early and make his side of the bed while she was still sleeping.
Something was wrong.
She jumped out of bed and got dressed. As she was heading for the door, she noticed that Smoke's hat and guns were hanging on the peg next to the front door. He would never have gone anywhere without them.
She crossed the porch and ran to the bunkhouse. She pounded on the door until Cal opened it, yawning widely. It was just about time for the cowboys to rise, but it was evident he hadn't had his morning coffee just yet.
“Oh, hi, Miss Sally,” he said, his voice still husky from sleep.
“Cal, have any of you seen Smoke this morning?”
“Uh, why, no, Miss Sally. We just got up an' ain't seen nobody yet.”
“Damn!” she said, thinking furiously. “Did you see or hear anything out of the ordinary last night?”
Cal shook his head, his expression changing to one of alarm at her questions.
Without saying anything else, she turned back toward the barn and took off at a dead run. She wanted to go and see if Smoke's horse was still there, though she knew he'd never have gotten on his horse and left without saying something to her, or at least grabbing his hat and guns from the cabin.
Cal glanced over his shoulder and called out, “Pearlie, somethin's wrong. Get on out here.” Then he took off at a run after Sally, tucking in his shirt on the go.
 
 
Twenty minutes later, the three of them sat at the kitchen table in the ranch house. Sally had put some coffee on to boil while she told them about Smoke's mysterious absence.
“And he didn't say nothin' ‘bout goin' nowheres when you went to bed last night?” Pearlie asked as she handed him a steaming cup.
She shrugged and shook her head. “No. He went out on the porch to have a cigar and a cup of coffee before he came to bed, and he said he'd see me in a while.”
“It ain't like Smoke to just take off without tellin' nobody,” Cal said, getting up from his chair. “Especially if there was trouble brewin'.”
He moved out onto the front porch and began to look around, even getting down on his knees to get a better look at the ground around the porch.
“Look here,” he said to Sally and Pearlie, who were standing behind him. He pointed to a half-smoked cigar lying on the ground next to the porch, and a cup that still held a third of a cup of cold coffee in it on the arm of a wooden chair.
“Looks like somethin' spooked him, or at least made him throw down his cigar and leave his coffee ‘fore he was through with either one,” Cal said.
“You see any tracks, Cal?” Pearlie asked, moving over to lean over his shoulder. Cal was smart and quick, but Pearlie was the more experienced tracker by far.
“Yeah. Most of ‘em head over toward the bunkhouse,” Cal replied, “but it looks like two sets go off down the road that'a way. And see, one set looks smaller, like it might'a been a woman, or maybe a boy.”
Pearlie bent down and gently fingered the tracks. “You're right, Cal, and these are from last night too.”
“How can you tell that?” Cal asked.
“Here, see how the other tracks are crusted over where they've been wet by dew that's dried a few times?”
When Cal nodded, Pearlie added, “Well, these here fresh tracks are still soft and damp, so they've only had the dew fall on them once and they haven't dried yet, so they must've been made last night.”
“Pearlie,” Sally said, reaching inside the door and pulling a gun from Smoke's holster, “follow the tracks and show us where they lead.”
Pearlie followed the tracks, walking bent over like an old man as the tracks led him down the road away from the Jensens' cabin. Finally, he stopped and pointed. “Look there, Miss Sally. Tracks of a buckboard right here where these two sets stop.”
“Shoot!” Sally said. “That's not much help. Everyone in the valley has a buckboard.”
“Yeah,” Cal added. “An' followin' those buckboard tracks once they get on the main road will be impossible.”
Pearlie, who was still staring at the tracks, shook his head. “Maybe, but these tracks show the iron on the wheels to be brand-new. Lookit how sharp the edges of the tracks are. They ain't worn at all.” He looked up at Sally and Cal, who weren't following him. “Don't you see?” he asked. “All we have to do it ask Jed the blacksmith who's had their wheels re-ironed lately and we'll know who was here.”
Sally grabbed Pearlie and hugged him, causing him to blush furiously. “Pearlie, you're a genius,” she said, and she turned and ran back toward the cabin.
 
 
By the time they got to Big Rock, it was almost nine o'clock in the morning, and they rode directly to Jed Blankenship's blacksmith shop.
“Oh, no,” Sally said when she dismounted and walked up to the door. There was a sign on it that was too small for the boys to read from their horses.
“What's it say, Miss Sally?” Cal asked.
“Jed's not here. He's gone to Silver City to help his brother who broke his leg. He won't be back for at least a week.”
“You want me to hightail it over to Silver City and see what he has to say?” Pearlie asked.
Sally thought about it for a moment. “No, it'll probably be quicker just to divide up the ranches around town and all of us ride around asking whose buckboard it might be.”
“Maybe it's something simple, like one of your neighbors came by last night askin' Smoke for help,” Cal observed.
Sally shook her head. “No. If that were the case, Smoke would still have had time to either wake me up or to get his hat and guns from the rack next to the door. You know he never leaves the house without them.”
Both Cal and Pearlie nodded. “That's right, Miss Sally. An' if'n one of the neighbors needed Smoke's help, he would've asked either you or Cal or me to come along,” Pearlie said.
“Yes, so I suspect Smoke is in some kind of trouble, and it's up to us to figure out who took him and then to make sure we get him back.”
“You know, it might be kind'a dangerous for you to go ridin' up to the ranches askin' ‘bout where Smoke is,” Pearlie advised. “If'n they took him an' you show up, you're liable to get shot.”
Sally smiled grimly and patted the snub-nosed .36-caliber Smith and Wesson revolver on her hip. “It won't be dangerous for me, boys. It'll be dangerous for whoever took Smoke.”
“Speakin' of that,” Cal said, “why don't we ask Monte and Louis to help us look for him? That'd sure cut down the time it's gonna take to find that buckboard.”
“Hell, they might even know whose it is,” Pearlie added.
“Good idea, Cal. Let's ride on over to Longmont's and see who's in there.”
 
 
Sally sent Pearlie to the sheriff's office while she and Cal walked directly to Longmont's Saloon. As much a café as a drinking and gambling establishment, the place was half-full of patrons eating one of Chef Andre's magnificent breakfasts.
Louis was, as usual, sitting at his private table drinking strong coffee and smoking a thin, black cheroot. When he saw Sally and Cal, he immediately put the cigar out and got to his feet, motioning them over to his table.
He gave a very slight bow. “Good morning, Sally, Cal.”
He pulled a chair out and as Sally took a seat, he asked, “Will Smoke be joining us this morning?”
She shook her head, and he noticed her eyes were wet with unshed tears. “No, Louis, but Pearlie will be here shortly with Sheriff Carson.”
Louis sat down, glancing at Cal for some clue as to what was going on.
“Smoke seems to have disappeared sometime last night, Louis,” Cal said.
Louis held up four fingers to the young black waiter without taking his eyes off Sally. “Do you have any idea what happened?” he asked while the waiter put four coffee mugs on the table and began to pour them all coffee.
She shook her head. “No. Everything was normal when I went to bed last night. Smoke said he was going to have a cigar and a cup of coffee on the porch and he would be right in.” She took a moment to wipe daintily at her eyes with a handkerchief, and then she continued. “I fell asleep, and woke up this morning and he was nowhere to be found.”
Just then Monte Carson, sheriff of Big Rock, joined them along with Pearlie.
“Pearlie's told me the gist of things, Sally,” he said. “Are you sure Smoke didn't leave of his own accord, maybe ‘cause this woman or boy came by needin' help?”
She shook her head. “No, Monte. His guns and his hat were still on the peg next to the door.”
Monte glanced at Louis. They both knew Smoke would no more leave his house without his hat and guns than he would walk down Main Street naked. There were just too many men roaming around the country who'd like nothing better than to catch Smoke Jensen unarmed and defenseless.
Monte nodded. “You're right, Sally. I'm sure foul play's involved here.”
“Sheriff, we found some tracks of a buckboard with new iron rims on the wheels. The tracks make it look like Smoke went off in the buckboard,” Pearlie said.
“New rims, huh?” Monte said, stroking his jaw before picking up his mug and drinking some coffee. “Guess I'd better go on over to Jed's and see who's had new rims put on lately.”
“Won't do, Monte,” Cal said. “We've been there. Jed's out of town for a few days on over to Silver City.”
“He at his brother's place?” Monte asked.
When Sally and the boys nodded, Monte got to his feet. “I'll go by the telegraph office and send a wire to the sheriff there askin' him to take a ride out to Jed's brother's place and see if he can find out what we need to know.”
Louis nodded. “Meanwhile, we can split up and ride out to some of the nearby ranches and take a look at their wagons.”
Monte scratched his jaw again. “I don't know if that's such a good idea, Louis,” he said in his slow drawl. “If'n Smoke was took against his will, whoever took him ain't gonna welcome any questions with open arms.”
Louis frowned. “You're right, Monte. We'd need to go in posse strength at least since we don't know how many men we're dealing with here.”
Monte took his ever-present pipe out of his shirt pocket and began filling it with sweet-smelling tobacco from a leather pouch. “Why don't you all just sit here and have some breakfast? It shouldn't take more'n a couple of hours to get an answer from the sheriff over at Silver City. Then we can all go together to find out just what's goin' on.”
Sally looked up at him. “I don't know if I can just sit here without doing something, Monte, not while Smoke is in danger.”
Monte patted her shoulder as clouds of blue smoke whirled from his pipe. “I know it's tough, Sally, but you won't be doing him any good if you go out and get caught by the same people.”
“You're correct, Monte. I'm being foolish.”
“No, you're not,” Louis said, waving his hand at the waiter to come and take their orders. “You're just being a wife who's worried about her man. Nothing wrong with that.”
“You know, Sheriff,” Pearlie said, scratching his head. “I just don't hardly think it's anybody from around here took Smoke. Hell, ever'body that lives within fifty miles of Big Rock is good friends with Smoke and Sally.”
Monte nodded. “You're probably right, Pearlie. But there ain't been no suspicious strangers hanging around town for the past couple of weeks, and we got to start looking somewhere.”
Sally nodded. “You're right, Monte. Why don't you go on over to the telegraph office while we have some breakfast?”
S
EVENTEEN
As they rode down the trail toward Pueblo and home, Sarah MacDougal struggled with her conscience. The more she was around Smoke Jensen, the less he seemed like a crazed gunfighter out to kill anyone who got in his way and the more he seemed like an honest, decent human being.
She thought back to when Sheriff Tupper had come to give her and her father the news of Johnny's death. As she went over what he'd said on that visit, she realized that she and her father hadn't really heard what he was trying to say.
He'd tried to tell them, in his own mealymouthed way, that it was Johnny's fault he'd been shot. Of course, neither she nor her father had been willing to listen to that explanation, not when their kin was lying dead in the back of Tupper's wagon, his teeth knocked out and his body full of a stranger's lead.
“Missy,” Cletus called from the seat of the buckboard alongside her.
“Yes?”
“I think it's time we took a noonin' an' rested our mounts. We keep goin' at this pace, we're gonna lose a couple of ‘em ‘fore too long.” He grinned. “An' I don't hanker to carry none of these boys on my back.”
“All right,” she agreed, pointing to a copse of trees off to the right about a hundred yards ahead. “Pull over there and we'll fix up some grub for the men and give the horses some grain and water.”
She glanced down sideways at Smoke, who was riding in the back of the wagon. “Jensen, don't you go getting any ideas about trying to make a break for it. My father wants you brought back alive, but he won't quibble if you're killed trying to escape.”
Smoke shrugged. “This is your party, Sarah. I'm just along for the ride.” He gingerly felt the large knot on the back of his head. “Besides, if I tried to run right now, I think my head would fall off.”
“You keep thinking like that and you may just survive this trip,” she said, blushing a little at his mention of the damage she'd done to his head.
He glanced up at her and smiled, no fear at all evident in his eyes. “What about the homecoming?” he asked. “Will I survive that too?”
Sarah's face flushed even more, and she spurred her horse on up ahead to tell the men to ready the camp without trying to give him an answer.
 
 
While Cletus oversaw the cooking of fatback and beans and the heating of coffee, Sarah walked over to stand next to Smoke, who was sitting with his back to a tree while two men held pistols on him from a short distance away.
“You understand why I'm doing this, don't you, Mr. Jensen?” she asked.
He glanced up at her. “Of course I do, Sarah. You've lost a brother, and your father has lost a son. Neither one of you wants to admit to yourselves that it might have been your fault for not making him grow up better, so you're planning on taking it out on me.” He smiled, though there was no mockery in his expression. “It's simple when you think about it. I'm to be a scapegoat for your dad's failure as a parent and your failure as a sister.”
She flushed, angered by the way he was continually turning things around and trying to shift the blame to anyone but himself. “That's not true. I'm taking you back because you must be punished for what you did.”
“Punished for defending myself?” he asked, the grin still on his face. “For doing what the law should have done a long time ago when your brother killed his first man?”
“Oh, you're just impossible,” Sarah said, stamping her foot and walking quickly over to stand next to Cletus at the campfire.
“It's not easy being judge, jury, and executioner, Sarah,” Smoke called to her back. “I don't think you're going to like the job much.”
Cletus glanced up at her as he poured her a cup of coffee and handed it to her, noticing the redness of her eyes and her hunched-over shoulders and stiff neck. “He getting your goat, Missy?” he asked gently.
“Yes,” she said, taking the cup and blowing on it to cool it down enough to drink. “He twists everything around so you'd think he should get a medal for shooting Johnny, instead of . . . ” She paused, not wanting to put into words what was waiting for Smoke at her father's ranch.
“Instead of being killed in cold blood by your daddy or you?” Cletus asked, getting to his feet.
“I didn't say that!”
He shook his head. “No, but you know that's what's gonna happen, don't you?” he asked. “You're not fooling yourself into thinking anything different, are you?”
She hung her head. “I . . . I guess I know what's going to happen,” she finally answered, her voice low.
“Good,” he said. “'Cause if you're gonna do this, you better be able to live with it, or it'll eat you alive. You'd better figure you're right and it needs doin'. Otherwise, well, otherwise maybe you ought to ride on ahead and let me take him the rest of the way.”
“Don't treat me like a baby, Clete.”
“I'm not, Missy. But I can see by lookin' in your eyes you got some doubts ‘bout all this.” He sighed as he drank his coffee. “I've known men out on the trail did something that got one of their friends killed. Most of ‘em knew it comes with the job of cowboying, but a few never got over it. Their lives were plumb ruined by one little mistake that could've happened to anybody.” He stared hard at her. “I don't want that to happen to you, Missy.”
“Yes, I do have some doubts, Clete,” she admitted. “What if what he says happened is the true story? What if he had no choice but to shoot Johnny in self-defense?”
Cletus shrugged. “What really happened don't make no never mind to me,” he said. “I take my orders from your daddy, an' he said to bring this man to him. Far as what happens then, it ain't no concern of mine.”
“So, you won't feel responsible when Daddy shoots this man you're taking to him?”
Cletus looked surprised. “Responsible? Hell, no, not unless I pull the trigger myself.”
“And would you do that, if my father told you to?” she asked, peering at him over the rim of her mug as she drank.
He looked down at his feet. “I don't know, Missy, I just don't know.”
“I'm ashamed of us both, Clete. You for not being man enough to take responsibility for what you're doing, and me for not finding out the truth about what happened before taking Jensen prisoner.”
 
 
After they'd eaten and fed the horses, Cletus called three men over to him. “Bob, you and Billy and Juan head on back down our back trail. Take your rifles and plenty of ammunition along with you. Anybody comes up the trail looks like they following us, you slow ‘em down.”
“What if'n it's a big posse, Clete?” Bob Bartlett asked.
Cletus looked around at the rising ground on either side of the trail. “There's plenty of places along here where you boys can get the high ground, Bob. You do that and you ought'a be able to hold the trail against a dozen men or more if'n you have to.”
“You want we should kill them, Jefe?” Juan Gomez asked, grinning like that was something he wouldn't mind doing at all.
Cletus shook his head. “Not unless you absolutely have to, boys. Just shoot close enough to make them think twice about following us. I don't want to start a war here by killin' some lawmen and deputies, not unless there's no other way.”
“But Boss,” Billy Free said, “if there is no other way, then what should we do?”
Cletus shrugged. “Try for the horses first, the men last, but keep them off our backs until we get to the ranch. Understand?”
 
 
Several hours later, longer than the “couple of hours” Monte had promised, Jimmy from the telegraph office came running into Longmont's, where the group was gathered impatiently waiting for word from the blacksmith.
They'd all drunk so much coffee they felt as if they were floating, and even Andre's sumptuous breakfasts hadn't done much to cheer them up.
Jimmy handed the wire to the sheriff, who thanked him and slowly unfolded the yellow foolscap paper. He snorted when he read it, and got to his feet.
“Damn, I should'a knowed as much,” he said, a wry look on his face.
“What does it say, Monte?” Sally asked, also getting to her feet.
“Jed says the only new rim he's put on in the last month was for the livery rental wagon.”
Louis snapped his fingers. “Of course. We should have known that Pearlie was right and that no one who lived around here would be a party to any action against Smoke. It had to be an outsider.”
“But Monte,” Sally asked, a puzzled look on her face. “Why would someone be so dumb as to come into town and rent a wagon to kidnap someone as well known as Smoke is?” She shook her head. “That would leave a trail pointing straight back to them as soon as we talked to the livery agent.”
“Sally,” Monte said, “when you've been a sheriff as long as I have, you'll soon learn that most men who ride the owlhoot trail are as dumb as a post.” He chuckled as he settled his hat on his head. “Hell, if'n they was smart, they'd get a job as sheriff like me an' get rich.”
They all laughed nervously as they hurried down the street toward the livery stable.
 
 
Fred Morgan shook his head when they asked him who had recently rented his wagon with the new iron rim on the wheels. “Can't rightly say, Sheriff,” he drawled in his backwoods accent, a long piece of straw hanging from the corner of his mouth that bobbed up and down as he chewed the wad of tobacco stuck in his cheek.
Monte sighed. Sometimes, talking to Fred was like pulling teeth. It took a lot of effort, and the results were usually less than satisfying. “Why not, Fred?” he asked, trying to be patient.
Fred shrugged. “Why, 'cause nobody
rented
the buckboard, Sheriff. They stole it night 'fore last.”
Monte cocked his head and put his hands on his hips. “You mean someone took the wagon without paying you for it?”
“That's right.”
“Well, why in hell didn't you report it to me?” Monte asked, getting red in the face.
Morgan held up his hands to calm the sheriff. “'Cause it happens all the time, Sheriff. Lots of times folks will find they need a wagon in the middle of the night 'cause theirs broke down, so instead of waking me up, they just take one of mine. Heck-fire, they always bring 'em back in a day or two.”
Monte smirked. “I think this time your wagon is gone for good, Fred.”
“But who round here'd do something mean like that?” Fred asked in a whining voice.
“They probably weren't from around here, Mr. Morgan,” Sally said, her voice sad.
As they walked slowly back to Longmont's, she asked, “Monte, what do you think we ought to do now? That wagon with the new rim was our only clue as to who may have taken Smoke.”

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