Shootout of the Mountain Man (19 page)

“You won’t have any more trouble with her, Sheriff,” Nabors said.

“Yeah, well, like I say, you just damn well better keep her under control,” the sheriff said.

There was a long moment of silence after the sheriff left. Then a couple of the other saloon girls went over to comfort Janet and general conversation in the saloon resumed.

“It looks bad for Bobby Lee, doesn’t it?” Doc Baker asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Smoke agreed.

“So, what you are saying is, there is no way we can stop the hanging this Friday?” Minnie asked.

“No, I didn’t say that. He’s not going to hang this Friday,” Smoke said.

“But you said that it looks bad for him.”

“I can stop the hanging.”

“How?”

“If he’s not in jail, they can’t hang him. And I intend to get him out of jail,” Smoke said. “But that isn’t enough. We are also going to have to prove his innocence. If we don’t do that, he’ll just be an escaped prisoner with wanted posters plastered in just about every state and territory west of the Mississippi.”

“Do you think you can prove his innocence?” Doc Baker asked.

“Let me ask you this,” Smoke replied. “Do you believe he is innocent?”

“Yes, of course I do. Don’t you believe he is innocent?” Doc Baker replied.

“I don’t know, it’s been a long time since I last saw Bobby Lee,” Smoke said. “But it doesn’t matter to me whether he is innocent or not. I don’t intend to let him hang.”

“If he is innocent, and I believe with all my heart that he is, will you be able to prove it?” Minnie asked.

“Yes. If he is innocent, I will prove it.”

“How?”

“We’ll start by finding the man who actually did kill the express messenger,” Smoke said.

“That would be Frank Dodd,” Nabors said.

“Yes.”

“That’s quite an order,” Doc Baker said. “There is a rather significant reward out for him, and people have been after him for at least three years now.”

“And they say he got over five thousand dollars from that last robbery. With that much money, there’s no tellin’ where he is by now.”

“We’ll find him,” Smoke said.

“You said you were going to get Bobby Lee out of jail,” Doc Baker said.

“That’s right.”

“How are you going to do that?”

Smoke shook his head. “If you know beforehand how I’m going to do it, then you would be a co-conspirator. It’s better that you don’t know. All I can say is, when it happens, you’ll know.”

Back in Desolation, everyone was still talking and laughing about the bluff Emmett Clark had run on Jules Stillwater. There was some concern as to how Stillwater would handle it, but most thought he would do nothing more than sulk around for a few days.

But Stillwater had something else in mind, and the first indication Emmett Clark had of Stillwater’s sudden intrusion into the saloon was when a bullet from Stillwater’s gun smashed the glass that was sitting on the table between Clark and Cindy. Glass and whiskey flew from the impact of the bullet. Even before the second bullet plowed into the table, Clark leaped up from his chair, but to his shocked surprise, the back of the chair caught the handle of his pistol and jerked it out of his holster. He was now unarmed!

“You son of a bitch!” Stillwater shouted. “Cindy is my woman! You stay the hell away from her!”

“Jules! Have you gone crazy?” Cindy shouted. “I’m anyone’s woman who will buy me a drink! You know that!”

Stillwater fired again as Clark dashed across the saloon toward the bar. The bullet crashed into the mirror behind the bar, bringing it crashing down in great jagged shards of glass.

With angry shouts and screams of terror, every customer in the saloon, men and women alike, hurried to get out of the way of the mad gunman’s wild shooting.

Stillwater’s third shot was fired as Clark rolled across the bar and onto the floor behind. Clark lay on the floor for a moment, breathing a sigh of relief that Stillwater had missed. Then, even as he spied the double-barreled ten-gauge shotgun the bartender kept behind the bar, he heard a low, evil laughter. Clark reached over and pulled the shotgun toward him, cocking both barrels.

“You think you can hide behind the bar? “ Stillwater said.

Looking toward the sound of the voice, Clark saw that Stillwater had come to the open end of the bar and was now looking down at Clark, an evil smile displaying his pleasure at now having the advantage. “You took the wrong man’s woman, you snot-nosed kid.”

Stillwater was holding a smoking pistol, which Clark knew held three more shots. Stillwater smiled triumphantly. Then he saw the shotgun in Clark’s hands and the smile of triumph changed quickly to an expression of horror. He tried to pull back the hammer of his pistol, but it was too late. Clark pulled both triggers.

The roar of the two shells discharging at the same time sounded like a cannon, compared to the pop of the pistol shots. The twin loads of ten-gauge double-aught buckshot opened up Stillwater’s chest and he fell back through the window, crashing onto the porch in front of the saloon.

Clark put the gun down, then lay still on his back for a long moment, relieved that he was still alive. Gun smoke was swirling about, now permeating the room with its nostril-burning, acrid smell. Finally, he stood up, and walked over to the window to look through the smashed glass of the front window.

“What happened?” someone shouted from the street.

“What was that?” another called.

The shouts were all coming from outside, as nobody in the saloon had yet recovered from the shock of what they had just witnessed.

Stillwater had one foot up on the windowsill, the other had somehow folded up underneath him in a way that would have been impossible if he were still alive. His chest had been carved open by the heavy load of buckshot.

“Damn, I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that,” someone said, and looking around, Clark saw that the others were beginning to reemerge. Walking back over to the table, Clark picked up his pistol, which was still lying on the floor.

“Cindy?” Clark called out as he put the pistol back in his holster. “Cindy, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” a woman’s voice replied. Like the others, Cindy had regained her feet and was now walking toward Clark.

“What was this all about?” Clark said. “Why did he come after me like that?”

Cindy shook her head. “I don’t know why,” she answered. “I mean, he always hung around me anytime him and his friends were here, but there was never no words spoke or nothin’ to make him think we was anything but just friends. I mean, he know’d what I done for a livin'.”

“Who the hell just killed Stillwater?” a gruff voice asked, and looking toward the door, Clark saw Frank Dodd coming in. Almost imperceptibly, Clark moved his hand closer to his pistol, not knowing how Dodd was going to react to losing one of his men.

“I killed him,” Clark said.

“Stillwater’s the one that started it. He come in here a’ blazin’ away,” one of the other men said.

Dodd walked over to the shattered window to look out at the body. Stillwater’s eyes were open and opaque, his mouth was set in a sneer.

“You carry a shotgun, do you?” Dodd asked.

Clark shook his head. “Not normally. But I just happened to have one handy when I needed it.” he said.

Suddenly, and inexplicably, Dodd laughed out loud. “You just had one handy, did you?”

“Yeah.”

“Stillwater needed killin', Frank,” Conklin said. “Hell, the way that dumb sumbitch was blastin’ away, he could of kilt any of us.”

“That’s the truth,” one of the others said.

Dodd stroked his chin and nodded as he stood there, looking down at Stillwater’s body.

“The only thing is, that makes four good men I’ve lost in the last week,” Dodd said.

Suddenly, Emmett Clark saw this as his opportunity to join Dodd’s gang.

“You lost four men,” Clark said. “But you didn’t lose four good men. Not if Stillwater was any indication.”

“I suppose you think you are better than they were?” Dodd asked, showing a little irritation as Clark’s comment.

“Hell, yes, I’m better,” Clark said. “I’m better than all four of them combined. ”

“What do you think, Conklin?” Dodd said. “Sounds to me like this boy is applyin’ for a job.”

“Sounds like that to me too,” Conklin said.

“What about it, boy? You want to ride with me?”

“Yeah, I do,” Clark said. “If truth be told, that’s why I came here in the first place.”

“What do you say, Conklin? Is he as good as Stillwater was?”

“Look at it this way, Frank. Stillwater and this boy had a face-to-face showdown, and the boy won.”

“All right, boy, you can ride with us,” Dodd said.

Clark held up his hand. “Not so fast.”

“What do you mean, not so fast? I thought you wanted to ride with me.

“I do, but not if you are going to keep calling me boy,” Clark said.

Dodd laughed out loud. “So, you don’t want to be called boy, do you?”

“My name is Clark. Emmett Clark.”

Dodd nodded, and laughed again. “All right, Mr. Emmett Clark, I reckon anyone who can come out on top of a fight with Stillwater has earned the right to be called by his name.”

“In that case, Mr. Dodd, I’d be just real happy to ride with you.”

Back in Clovedale, Smoke decided to take a walking tour of the town, figuring that if he was going to break Bobby Lee out of jail, it would be to his advantage to have a feel of the place. Fremont Street was the main street of town, running north and south on the east side of and parallel to the railroad. West of the railroad, and running parallel to it, was the Reese River, a rocky stream that was so narrow and shallow that no bridge was required for a horse or wagon, and only a couple of boards were in place for foot traffic. The river was bordered on both sides by aspen and cottonwood trees. First Street crossed Fremont, the railroad, and the Reese River at a right angle, just south of the depot between the train station and the roundhouse. The railroad divided First Street into West First and East First. The houses and business establishments along West First were all Chinese.

Second Street was also divided into West and East Second, and West Second Street was primarily Mexican. Americans made up the entire population east of the railroad, along Fremont, as well as up and down East First and East Second Streets.

An alley that ran behind all the businesses separated Fremont Street from Vaughan Lane which ran behind, and parallel to Freemont. There were no businesses on Vaughan Lane, just private residences.

Smoke walked up Fremont from First to Second Streets, then east on Second Street to the alley. He came back down the alley to First Street, then went back up Vaughan Lane to Second Street again. Looking east beyond Vaughan Lane, he saw a long snaking ravine that ran toward the Toiyabe Mountain Range.

Although there were ranches around Cloverdale, the most important industry to the town were the nearby mines. To that end, there were several business in town that provided material and equipment for mining. Smoke went into one of the mining stores to make a purchase. Leaving with his acquisition securely wrapped in paper, he returned to the Depot Hotel, then took it upstairs to his room.

“I see that you have taken advantage of some of our stores and shops,” the hotel clerk said when he saw Smoke going up the stairs carrying his package.

“Yes, I found a bargain,” Smoke called back. He wondered what the clerk would think if he knew what was really in the package.

When Smoke stepped into the jail a few minutes later he saw Sheriff Wallace sitting at his desk while one of his deputies was over by the stove, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“Well now, Harley, lookie here,” the sheriff said as Smoke stepped inside. “This is the fella I was tellin’ you about, the one that shot the gun out of Dawes’ hand.”

Deputy Harley Beard looked up from the coffeepot. “Is that true? Did you really intend to shoot the gun out of Dawes’ hand? Or is that just the way it happened?”

“Both,” Smoke answered.

“What do you mean, both?”

“I intended to shoot the gun out of his hand, and that’s the way it happened.”

Harley laughed.

“What can I do for you, Jensen?” Sheriff Wallace asked.

“I’d like to see the prisoner you are planning on hanging,” Smoke said.

Wallace shook his head. “Ain’t no need for you to do that. You want to see him, you can see him Friday mornin', same as ever’ one else.”

“I need to see him now,” Smoke said. “That is, if the reward is going to be paid.”

“What reward are you talking about?” Wallace asked.

Smoke pulled an envelope from his pocket. Inside the envelope was the document he had asked Curly Latham to print for him.

$5,000.00 REWARD

Bobby Lee Cabot

D
EAD OR
A
LIVE

Contact: Sheriff Monte Carson
Big Rock, Colorado

“I’m talking about this reward,” Smoke said, showing the document to Sheriff Wallace. “If I wait until Friday, it’ll be too late to collect.”

Wallace chuckled. “Seems to me that’s your worry, not mine. Why should I care whether or not you collect a reward?”

“You don’t understand, Sheriff,” Smoke said. “I can’t collect the reward anyway.” Smoke showed Wallace the deputy sheriff’s badge he was carrying. “In Colorado, law officers can’t accept a reward. You are the one who will be missing out on the reward.”

“What do you mean? You just said that law officers can’t collect a reward.”

“Colorado law officers can’t collect a reward. But you aren’t a Colorado law officer. You are a sheriff in Nevada.”

“Hmm,” Wallace said, stroking his chin. “You may have a point there.”

“Sheriff, what about them three passengers that actually brought him in?” Harley asked.

“What about ‘em?” Wallace asked.

“Ain’t they the ones that should be gettin’ the reward if there is one?”

“Harley, have you ever heard the sayin', ‘Possession is nine tenths of the law'?”

“No. What’s that mean?”

“That means Bobby Lee Cabot is a prisoner in my jail and them passengers ain’t got nothin’ to do with it. Ain’t that the way you look at it, Jensen?”