Bloodshed of the Mountain Man

Book 43: Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone, J.A. Johnstone

Genres: Action & Adventure; Historical Fiction; Westerns

Synopsis

Where there's fire, there's smoke.

Smoke Jensen has journeyed up to the Colorado Rockies to a sell a prized bull to a local rancher. Instead, the rancher and his wife have been mercilessly slaughtered by outlaws only moments before Smoke's arrival. In a hail of bullets, Smoke pulverizes two of the murderers and drags two others to the town of Brown Spur for justice. Come hanging day, the two killers are on the way to the gallows when a thundering gang of raiders crashes into town and rescues them from the jaws of death.

When the bloody onslaught is over, dead bodies litter the streets, and Smoke Jensen is a man on a mission. Calling themselves the Ghost Riders, a savage gang of outlaws has stealthily moved in from Wyoming Territory. Smoke now has a personal motive for going up against the Ghost Riders. No matter how many they are, no matter how many guns they have, he'll hunt them down - one killer at a time....

Release date: November 24, 2015

Publisher: Pinnacle Books

Print pages: 336

Sample

“Earl Ray has his cap set for Katie, the foreman’s daughter.”

“No, I don’t, Glenn, ’n you got no right talkin’ like that,” Earl Ray said. Earl Ray, Glenn, and Danny were riding night hawk, three-quarters of the way through a cattle drive, pushing five hundred head of beeves to the railhead at Coogan Switch. The cattle belonged to Ben Bartlett, owner of the Double B Ranch, and they had been on the drive for ten days.

“I agree with Earl Ray,” Danny said. “Why would he be goin’ after Kirkland’s daughter, when he could have the owner’s daughter?”

“Come on, Danny, Judy Bartlett ain’t no more’n fourteen. You think I’m a cradle robber?”

“Well, hell, Earl Ray, you just barely out of the cradle yourself,” Danny said, and the other two laughed.

There were eight men moving the herd, counting the cook and his helper. Earl Ray, who was sixteen, was the youngest of the crew, and this was his first cattle drive.

“Seems to me like we been on this drive forever,” Glenn said. “What is it now? Two weeks?”

“Ha!” Danny said. “You boys don’t know nothin’ ’bout trail drivin’. Why, when I was workin’ for the Hashknife, pushin’ cows from Texas all the way up into Dodge City, Kansas, we’d be out for two months. But boy, howdy, would we ever tie one on when we got to Dodge.”

“Tie one on?” Earl Ray said.

Danny and Glenn laughed.

“Boy, don’t you know nothin’?” Danny asked. “I mean get drunk, find yourself a good lookin’ bar girl to go upstairs with.”

“I ain’t never done none of that,” Earl Ray said.

“That’s all right, me ’n Glenn will get you good ’n broke in when we get to Coogan Switch.”

Some of the cattle started bawling.

“I wonder what set them cows off,” Glenn asked.

‘You think those are cattle bawling? Hell, that’s the cook’s girlfriend,” Danny said. “His real girlfriend.”

“Damn, she sounds just like a steer,” Glenn said.

“She looks like one too,” Danny said, and all three laughed.

“I’d better go see what’s got ’em all roused up,” Earl Ray said.

“You ain’t foolin’ us none, Earl Ray. You pro’bly got you some girlfriend hid out,” Danny said.

“No, I ain’t,” Earl Ray said as he rode off into the darkness.

“Maybe we should quit pickin’ on ’im,” Glenn said. “He’s a good kid.”

“True, but this is his first cattle drive, and we’ve all had to go through it. Next year we’ll have someone new, and Earl Ray will be leading the charge.”

“You got that right,” Glenn said.

“Hey!” The shout was high and shrill.

“What the hell was that?” Danny asked.

“It sounded like Earl Ray.”

The call was followed by the sound of gunfire, and Danny and Glenn could see muzzle flashes lighting up the night.

“Was that gunfire?”

They could hear thundering hoofbeats coming toward them. “Here comes Earl Ray,” Danny said.

The horse appeared out of the darkness, but to the surprise of both Danny and Glenn, the horse was without a rider.

“What the hell? Did he get throwed?” Danny asked.

“Are you kiddin’? He’s the best rider in the whole outfit.”

The cattle had been still, but they started moving.

“Damn! What’s going on here?” Glenn shouted.

Then, appearing out of the darkness behind Earl Ray’s riderless horse, were six more riders galloping toward Glenn and Danny.

“What—” Glenn started to say, but that was as far as he got. All six riders opened fire, and both cowboys were shot from their saddles.

Earl Ray lay on the ground in the darkness, listening to gunfire and the shouts of the other cowboys.

“They’re all dead, boys!” someone said. “Let’s get these beeves out of here.”

The young cowboy heard the sound of cattle being moved away; then a quiet settled in. He waited until he was sure the rustlers were gone before he called out.

“Danny? Glenn? Mr. Kirkland?”

There was no response.

He lay there for the rest of the night, fighting the pain of the bullet hole in his shoulder. When dawn finally broke, he could see that all the cattle were gone. The chuck wagon and hoodlum wagons were gone as well, but the bodies of the cook and his helper were lying on the ground, as were Danny, Glenn, the foreman, Mr. Kirkland, and the remaining two cowboys. Earl Ray was the only one left alive.

He saw Kirkland’s horse standing over his owner’s body, and he went over to retrieve it. It was hard, with his shoulder wound, to get the animal saddled, but he was able to do so.

It would be a long, troubled ride back to the ranch.

Coogan Switch, Colorado

Coogan Switch was named after John Coogan who, when the spur railroad was first built, lived in the switch house to change the tracks as needed. A small town had built up around the switch, and now it was the railhead to which ranchers from as far away as a hundred miles brought their herds. Cattle brokers made their headquarters there, buying cattle and then arranging to ship them back to the processing plants in Kansas City and Chicago.

Merlin Lewis was one such broker, and he was there when a herd of five hundred cattle arrived, complete with drovers and chuck and hoodlum wagons.

“Hold ’em up here, boys!” the trail boss, a tall, blond man shouted to the others.

“Whose cows are these?” Lewis asked.

“They’re from the Double B Ranch,” the trail boss told him.

“Oh, yes, Mr. Bartlett,” Lewis said. “What’s he doin’ sendin’ so many drovers with such a small herd?”

“We’re breakin’ in a bunch of new boys.”

“Yes, well, I guess this is as good a way as any to do it. I believe we had agreed upon a price of forty-five dollars a head.”

“I thought it was fifty dollars a head.”

“No, sir, forty-five dollars a head; you can take my offer or try and find another broker. But I’m telling you now, there are three of us here at the railhead, and we have all agreed upon the price. Not a one of us will be paying more than forty-five dollars a head.”

“Mr. Bartlett isn’t going to like it, but I don’t guess I have much of a choice. All right, we’ll take forty-five dollars a head.”

“You have five hundred head, I believe?” Lewis asked.

“Five hundred and three, actually.”

“Well, you can take three head back with you. Five hundred was what we agreed upon.”

“Mr. Lewis, you drive a hard bargain.”

“I represent McGill Meat Packing Company, and I have their interests to look out for,” Lewis said.

“All right, you can have the extra three, it’s not worth the effort to take them back.”

Lewis smiled. “I thought you might see it my way.”

Two hours later, thirty men were gathered just outside town. Behind them, the chuck wagon and the hoodlum wagon were burning. Twenty-eight of the men were wearing red armbands. One was wearing an orange armband, and the tall, blond man was wearing a blue armband.

The man with the blue armband was talking to the others.

“Men, this operation was conducted with military precision, and I’m very proud of you. There is not one regiment in the entire United States Army that could have pulled off this operation any better than you did.

“But, a better measure of your success than mere praise is money. Right, men?”

“Yes, sir!” the men shouted.

“I am pleased to report that your share for this job comes to six hundred and forty dollars apiece.”

The men cheered, then gathered around to receive their pay.

Twenty miles northwest of Coogan Switch, buzzards were swarming around the bodies of seven of the cowboys who had started the drive for the Double B Ranch.

Ten miles beyond that, Earl Ray Dunnigan struggled to stay in the saddle as he made his way back to the Double B Ranch.

He thought about Mrs. Kirkland and her daughter, Katie. He dreaded being the one who would have to tell them that Mr. Kirkland had been killed.

Denver, Colorado, six months later

Having bought HRH Charles, a prize bull, and a registered heifer, Lady Bridgett, two years earlier, Smoke Jensen, Pearlie, and Cal—his two top men who were also his best friends—were looking at the first mature issue of the two registered animals. The bull’s name was Prince Dandy, and Smoke had entered him in a livestock show in Denver. So protective of Prince Dandy were they, that Smoke had arranged for a private car to transport the bull from Big Rock to Denver.

“You think Prince Dandy has a chance to win?” Pearlie asked.

“Of course he does,” Cal replied. “There’s not a finer bull in the entire state than Prince Dandy. No, and not in the whole country, either.”

“You sure? You mean you don’t think there might be a better bull in Wyoming or Texas or Rhode Island?”

“Rhode Island? What do they know about cows in Rhode Island? I mean, surrounded by water ’n all, they more ’n likely don’t even have cows there, except maybe a few milk cows.”

Pearlie laughed. “What makes you think Rhode Island is surrounded by water?”

“Because it’s an island, and ever’one knows that islands are surrounded by water. That’s what an island is.”

“Smoke, how is it that we have someone this dumb workin’ for us?” Pearlie asked with a laugh.

“Rhode Island is a state, it isn’t actually an island,” Smoke said.

“Well that doesn’t make any sense,” Cal said.

“Maybe not, but that’s what it is.”

At the moment, the three men were overseeing the unloading of Prince Dandy from his private car, the car having been shunted aside to be used again for the return trip to Big Rock. From the railroad depot, Prince Dandy would be transported in the back of a cattle wagon to the arena where all the animals were to be judged.

“Hey, Smoke, when it comes time to lead Prince Dandy around the show ring, I’m the one that should do it,” Cal said.

“You are the one who should do it?” Pearlie asked.

“Well, yeah, I mean, it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know. What makes it so obvious?”

“Well think about it. This is all new to Prince Dandy, ’n you know he’s got to be nervous. He knows me ’n he likes me a lot, so I think with me bein’ the one that’s leadin’ ’im around the ring, well it’ll make him feel a lot better. Besides, you don’t want him all mopey come the judgin’ now, do you?”

Smoke chuckled. “No, I sure don’t want him all mopey.”

“Hey, Cal, if Prince Dandy doesn’t win first prize, maybe you will,” Pearlie joked.

“Well, if it’s for being good lookin’, I’d sure come closer than you,” Cal shot back.

When Prince Dandy was loaded into the wagon, Cal got into the back with him.

“Don’t be nervous now,” he said, speaking softly to the bull. “This is goin’ to be your chance to shine.”

“You think Prince Dandy thinks Cal is his mama?” Smoke teased.

“I don’t know about Prince Dandy, but Cal sure thinks so,” Pearlie replied with a laugh.

Once they reached the show arena, Smoke registered their entry; then they were assigned a holding pen. As they left the bull in the holding pen, Smoke saw Benjamin Bartlett. Bartlett too was showing a prize bull.

“How are you doing, Ben? A better question, how are your people doing, after that terrible event of having your men killed and your beeves stolen?”

“I can replace the cows,” Bartlett said. “It’s the lives of seven good men that grieves me.”

“I know what you mean. You had one man who lived, I understand?”

“Yes. Earl Ray Dunnigan. He was shot in the shoulder, but is fully recovered now. He’s a good kid, but he took this really hard.”

“Did he see any of the men who did it?”

“Not so he could identify them by sight. He said it was just too dark. The son of a bitch that did this wrote a letter to the editor bragging about it. Can you believe that? The rustlers call themselves Ghost Riders.”

“I’ve never heard of them,” Smoke said.

“Well, whoever they are, they’re an evil bunch of bastards,” Bartlett said. “That’s what Earl Ray said. And apparently, according to Sheriff Dennis, who has heard of them, that’s the way they operate.”

“Which bull is yours, Ben?” Smoke asked.

“High Dollar,” Ben said. “Yours?”

“Prince Dandy.”

The two men wished each other good luck, then started into the stands to await the judging. As they walked by the refreshment stand, they were assailed by a sweet-smelling aroma.

“Save me a seat, Smoke,” Pearlie said. “I smell crullers. You want me to get one for you?”

“No thanks, I’m fine,” Smoke said.

Smoke took his seat, and a few moments later Pearlie appeared eating one cruller and carrying another.

“I told you I didn’t need one.”

“I got two for me,” Pearlie said. “By the way, they’re about to bring out the bulls for judging.”

The gate at the far end of the arena opened, and the bulls, each of them led by a handler, paraded around the arena. A crew of judges stood in the middle of the arena watching them walk by; then the handlers stopped and turned the animals to face the spectators. At that maneuver, the judges, each carrying a tablet and pencil, went by each bull and, after examining them closely, made notations on the tablet. Then the judges met in the middle of the arena to make a decision.

“Prince Dandy is goin’ to win,” Pearlie said.

“What makes you think so?”

“Well, you can see for yourself, Smoke, he’s clearly the best lookin’ bull out there.”

“You sound like Cal.”

As it turned out, Pearlie was right. Prince Dandy was awarded the honor of champion bull and High Dollar came in second.

“Miz Sally is goin’ to be real proud of Prince Dandy,” Cal said.

“Well, I’m proud of the money he’s going to make when I sell him,” Smoke said.

“Sell him?”

“Yes, sell him. The whole reason for buying HRH Charles and Lady Bridgett in the first place was to produce offspring I could sell.”

“Well, yeah, I knew that,” Cal said. “But I thought that maybe, now that Prince Dandy has been judged best of show . . . I mean, he really is a champion bull now, I thought you might change your mind.”

“Cal, we came to this show hoping Prince Dandy would win so his value would increase. And I figure it just went up by about a thousand dollars.”

“Yeah,” Cal said. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Anyway . . . HRH and Lady can always have another calf,” he said with a smile. “And maybe he’ll win too.”

Five miles south of Brown Spur, Colorado

Four men, all wearing red armbands, were waiting just off the road at the top of a long grade. The stagecoach between Big Rock and Brown Spur would have to stop when it reached this point in order to give the horses a chance to recover their breath after the long, hard climb.

“Ha!” one of the men said. “Look at that, Taylor. I just pissed that grasshopper off that weed.”

“You piss everyone off, Moss,” Taylor said, and the other two men laughed. “Fowler, do you see anything yet?”

“Yeah, it just come around the curve down there,” Fowler replied. Fowler was standing up on a rock precipice, the vantage affording him a good view of the road from the curve at the bottom and all the way up the hill.

“I hope Reece is right,” Newell said. “I hope this coach is carrying money. I would hate to think we waited out here half a day for nothin’.”

“According to Reece, it’s s’posed to be carryin’ fifteen hundred dollars. If the money ain’t there, Hannibal will deal with ’im,” Taylor said.

By now the four men could hear the sound of the stage, the driver’s whistles, the snap of his whip, and the squeak and rattle of the coach as the horses labored to pull it up the long grade.

“Get ready,” Taylor said. “Don’t nobody show yourself ’til the coach comes to a stop ’n all the passengers get out to take a piss, or whatever it is they’re goin’ to do. Then we’ll shoot the shotgun guard. That’ll get their attention.”

It took another couple of minutes before the coach reached the top of the hill.

“Whoa!” the driver shouted, pulling back on the reins. The team stopped, one of the horses whickered, and another stomped his right foreleg. The driver set the brake on the coach.

“All right, folks,” the driver called back. “We’re goin’ to be here about ten minutes to let the horses take a blow. You may as well take a break. If you’ve got a need for the necessary, ladies to the left side of the road and gents to the right.”

Three men and two women got out of the coach. Apparently none of them had a need to do anything, because all five of them just stood by the right, rear wheel. A few of them stretched to work out the kinks from sitting so long in one place.

“Now!” Taylor shouted. He and the three men with him jumped out from behind a rock, with their guns drawn.

“What the hell!” the guard shouted, as he reached for the shotgun that was standing in the corner of the driver’s boot.

Four shots rang out, and the guard fell back onto the seat.

One of the passengers drew his gun, and Taylor turned on him. The passenger was shot down before his pistol was able to clear leather.

The other passengers put their hands in the air.

“That’s more like it,” Taylor said. “Now, you, driver, throw down that strongbox.”

“What makes you think there’s any money in it?” the driver replied.

“Driver, the only reason you’re still alive is because I don’t want to go to the trouble of climbing up there to get the box myself. Now, I ain’t a goin’ to tell you again. Throw it down!”

The driver did as he was told. Taylor shot the lock off the box, opened it, then took out three bound packets of bills.

“Well, it seems our information was right, after all,” he said, showing it to the others with a big smile.

“Can we go now?” the driver asked.

“Yeah,” Taylor replied. The passenger he had shot was lying facedown on the road, groaning. “You folks get back into the coach and take him with you,” he said, pointing to the wounded man.

The passengers reboarded, and the driver, after getting the go-ahead from Taylor, snapped his whip and called out to the team. Although they hadn’t been given the ten minutes of rest time required by the stage-line, they moved forward in a brisk trot.

Half an hour later, Smoke stopped on a ridge just above the road leading into Brown Spur and took a drink of water as he glanced back toward the arriving stagecoach. Then, corking the canteen, he slapped his legs against the side of his horse and sloped on down the long ridge.

Upon being told that Ned Condon, a man who had a ranch just outside Brown Spur, might be interested in buying his prize bull, Smoke had ridden over today to see if he could close the deal. But after he arrived in town, Smoke stopped first at the saloon, deciding that what he needed after the long ride over from Sugarloaf was a cool beer. As he tied Seven off at the hitchrail out front, the stagecoach he had seen earlier came rolling into town. It was moving at a fairly rapid clip, and its driver was calling out loudly enough to be heard even over the sound of the horses’ hooves and rolling wheels.

“We’ve been robbed! Stagecoach was held up! We need the doc!”

The coach stopped in front of the depot at the far end of the street, and several people, responding to the driver’s shout, crowded around it. Smoke wanted the beer, but he figured it could wait for a bit. He was curious about the stagecoach robbery so he walked down to join the others.

“Hey, Lou, where’s Toby?” someone asked. “What happened to your shotgun guard?”

“Toby was kilt, he was gut-shot. So was one of our passengers. We need a doctor.”

“No need for the doctor now,” a man called from inside the coach. “Mr. Thomas is dead.”

“Who done it?” someone asked. Smoke saw that the questioner was wearing a star.

“It was Ghost Riders, Sheriff Brown.”

“Ghost Riders? How many of ’em was it?”

“They was only four,” the driver said. By now he had climbed down from the driver’s box.

The star-packer shook his head. “If there was only four of ’em, it wasn’t the Ghost Riders. There’s more than two dozen of them.”

“They was all wearin’ red armbands,” the driver said.

“They were? Damn, it might have been them, then. Or, it might have been a bunch of outlaws that wanted to make you think they were Ghost Riders.”

“How much did they get?” one of the other men standing around the stage asked.

“I don’t know. They got the strong box, but I don’t have no idee how much was in it.”

“Fifteen hundred dollars,” another man said. While all the other men were wearing denim trousers and cotton shirts, the man who responded was wearing a three-piece suit. “It was a money transfer coming to my bank. What I don’t understand, though, is how they knew about it.”

“One of the outlaws said, ‘our information was right.’ They knew that the money was there,” the driver said.

“Information?” the banker asked. “Where did they get the information? Did they mention any names?”

“No, sir. All they said was, the information is correct.”

“As soon as you’re finished here, Lou, I’d like for you and the pass. . .