Bloody Trail of the Mountain Man

Book 47: Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone, J.A. Johnstone

Genres: Action & Adventure; Historical Fiction; Westerns

Synopsis

Johnstone Country. Mountain Man Justice. If there’s one thing Smoke Jensen hates, it’s a man who fights dirty. And no one fights dirtier than a politician. Especially a lying, cheating, no-good grifter like Senator Rex Underhill. Luckily, with another election coming up, this senatorial snake in the grass has some serious competition: Smoke’s old friend, Sheriff Monte Carson. Carson’s an honest man, and he’s got Smoke’s full support. But Underhill’s got support, too: a squad of hired guns ready to hit the campaign trail—and stain it red with blood . . . Swapping bullets for ballots, Underhill’s henchman make it all too clear that Sheriff Carson is not just a candidate on the rise, he’s a target on the run. But with Smoke’s grassroots support—and lightning-fast trigger—he manages to stay alive in the race. That is, until Carson’s righteous campaign takes a near-fatal turn when the Senator Underhill tricks his opponents, traps them in a mine, and literally buries the sheriff’s political ambitions. When the going gets tough, Smoke gets even. When this game turns deadly, it’s winner kills all . . . Live Free. Read Hard.

Release date: November 26, 2019

Publisher: Pinnacle Books

Print pages: 303

Sample

Big Rock, Colorado

It had rained earlier in the day, and though the rain had stopped, the sky still hung heavy with clouds, as if heaven itself was in mourning. Phil Clinton, editor of the Big Rock Journal, made the observation that this was the largest number of citizens ever to turn out for a funeral in Big Rock, Colorado. The Garden of Memories cemetery was so full that the mourners spilled out of the grounds and onto Center and Ranney streets. The service had been held in the First Baptist Church, which shared the cemetery with St. Paul’s Episcopal. And because of Sheriff Monte Carson’s popularity, memorial rites were held in St. Paul’s even as the funeral was being conducted in the Big Rock Baptist Church.

Father Pyron stood with the mourners, but it was the Reverend E. D. Owen who was conducting the burial service. Monte Carson, dressed in black, and with his head bowed, stood alongside the coffin of Ina Claire, his wife of the last fifteen years.

Sheriff Carson had invited Smoke and Sally Jensen, Pearlie Fontaine, and Cal Wood, all of whom were also wearing black, to stand with him next to the open grave. That was because the four represented the closest thing Monte had to a family.

It was quiet and still and Reverend Owen stood there for just a moment as if gathering his thoughts. In the distance a crow cawed, and closer yet, a mockingbird trilled.

The pastor began to speak.

“We have gathered here to praise God and to bear witness to our faith as we celebrate the life of Ina Claire Carson. We come together in grief, acknowledging our human loss. May God grant us grace, that in pain we may find comfort, in sorrow, hope, and in death, resurrection.

“Monte, we say to you in the midst of your sorrow and loss that we are grateful that your love for Ina Claire was such that we are all able to share in her quiet gentleness and firm resolve to live her life for you, and others. We take joy and relief in knowing that her suffering has ended, and now into the everlasting arms of an all-merciful God, we commit the soul of our beloved Ina Claire. Amen.”

Reverend Owen nodded, and six of the leading citizens of Big Rock: Louis Longmont, Tim Murchison, Ed McKnight, Elmer Keaton, Mike Kennedy, and Joel Montgomery, using ropes, lowered Ina Claire into the grave. When the coffin reached the bottom, the ropes were withdrawn, then the six men stepped away. Reverend Owen nodded toward Monte, who stepped up to the open grave and dropped a handful of dirt, which, in the silence, could be heard falling upon the coffin.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in the sure and certain hope of eternal life,” Reverend Owen said.

When Reverend Owen turned and walked away from the graveside, Sally stepped up to embrace Monte.

“We will miss her so,” Sally said.

“Thank you, Sally,” Monte replied, his voice thick with sorrow.

The funeral reception was held in the ballroom of the Dunn Hotel. Ina Claire had been an orphan and was without any family. She had been married and divorced before she met Monte, but her former husband had died several years ago. The funeral reception was organized by Sally and some of the other ladies in town.

“It’s too bad none of Sheriff Carson’s family could have been here,” Mrs. Carmichael said.

“He doesn’t have any family,” Mrs. Owen said. “That’s why Ina Claire’s death is so sad. It has left him all alone.”

“But I hear she was suffering terribly with something they call the cancer over the last month,” Mrs. Carmichael said.

“Yes, she was. And now, mercifully, her suffering is over. In a way, Monte’s suffering is over as well, as he suffered with her.”

Smoke and Pearlie had been standing with Monte, but because Smoke thought that their standing together might prevent others from coming up to offer the sheriff their condolences, he put his hand on Monte’s shoulder and squeezed.

“In case you need us for anything, Monte, we’ll be right over here,” Smoke said.

Monte nodded as Smoke and Pearlie walked away.

Smoke had poured himself a cup of coffee and was perusing a table strewn with various pastries when Phil Clinton, the editor of the local paper, stepped over to speak to him.

“You and the sheriff seem to be close friends,” Clinton said.

“We are.”

“You two have been friends for as long as I have been here. I’m curious. How did you two meet?”

Smoke chuckled as he chose a cinnamon bun. “He was hired to kill me,” Smoke said, easily.

“What?” Clinton gasped.

“Once, there was a fella in these parts by the name of Tilden Franklin. He was a man of some importance who had plans to take over the county and he planned on using Pearlie and Monte Carson to help him.

“Then, when I came along and started my ranch, Franklin figured I was in the way. He told Monte and Pearlie that he wanted me killed. Neither one of them would go along with that, and the result was a battle between a lot of Franklin’s men, Monte, Pearlie, and me.

“When it was over I offered Monte the job of sheriff here in Big Rock, hired Pearlie on as foreman of Sugarloaf, and those two, onetime enemies, have been my best friends ever since.”

Smoke waited until he saw Monte and Sally standing together, then he walked over to join them.

“How are you holding up?”

“I’ve already been through this once before, Smoke, when I lost my first wife. It isn’t fair that I would have to go through it again.”

“I can’t argue with that, Monte.”

“I know everyone is saying that Ina Claire is in a better place,” Monte said. “And I know that she is, especially since she was in so much pain toward the end. The laudanum helped with the pain, but to be honest, it sort of took her away from me even before she died, if you know what I mean.”

“I know,” Smoke said. “And, Monte, I can fully relate to the pain you’re going through now.”

“Yes, you lost a wife and a child.”

Smoke nodded. “Nicole and Arthur. Murdered.” For just a moment the hurt Smoke was sharing with Monte became his own, as he recalled returning home to find his family dead. Smoke went on the blood trail, tracking down and killing the men who had so destroyed his life.

After that, Smoke didn’t think he would ever be able to love again. But he met a beautiful and spirited young schoolteacher who changed his mind.

“I got over it once before,” Monte said. “I can get over it this time as well.”

“You will get over it, but don’t force the memories of Ina Claire away too quickly,” Sally said. Sally had been standing with the two men, listening to their conversation. “I know that there is a place in Smoke’s heart where Nicole still lives. I’m not jealous of that, I love him for it, because it tells me how deeply Smoke can love. In fact, even though I never met Nicole, I can’t help but think of her as my sister.”

“It’s funny you would say that, because Ina Claire once said that she thought of Rosemary as a sister. But you don’t have to worry that I’ll ever forget her,” Monte said. He smiled. “I believe, with all my heart, that the thunderstorm we had earlier this morning was just her talking to me. Lord, that woman did love thunderstorms for some ungodly reason.”

Sally laughed. “I remember that a thunderstorm came up during yours and Ina Claire’s wedding reception. We had it out at Sugarloaf and I told her I was sorry that the reception might be spoiled by the storm, but she said, ‘No, I love it! It’s just God applauding the fact that Monte and I were married.’ For a long time I thought she had just said that so I wouldn’t feel bad about the storm.”

Monte chuckled as well. “No, she actually believed that. She told me the same thing.”

Sally embraced Monte. “Anytime you feel the need for company, you are always welcome at Sugarloaf.”

“Thank you, Sally. With friends like Smoke, you, Pearlie, and Cal, I’ll get through this.”

The obituary in the Big Rock Journal the next day was accorded the honor of appearing on the front page of the paper.

Although the atmosphere in Longmont’s Saloon was never boisterous, it was generally happy and upbeat. Not so today, as even the patrons who had not attended the funeral on the day before, were quiet and respectful. That was because Monte was in the saloon, as were Smoke and Pearlie. Louis Longmont, who owned the saloon, had just read the obituary.

“This is a very nice article about Ina Claire,” Louis said. “You and she have been such a wonderful part of our community. I know it will be hard for you, but I also know that you will carry on, providing the steadying influence that will keep Big Rock the fine town it is.”

“I have no doubt about it,” Mark Worley said. For some time Worley had been Monte’s deputy, but six months ago the town of Wheeler was in need of a city marshal, and they sent a delegation to talk to Monte about Mark. Monte gave him the glowing recommendation that got him hired. So far, Monte had not taken on a new deputy. Mark had come to town for the funeral and had stayed an extra day.

“How are you liking it over in Wheeler?” Pearlie asked.

“It’s been great,” Mark replied. “Oh, I miss all my friends over here, but I’ve made new friends, and I really like being in charge. Not that I minded deputing for Monte, you understand, but it is good to be the top dog.”

Pearlie laughed. “Yeah, well, just don’t let it go to your head. You always did think a lot of yourself.”

Pearlie was teasing. Actually, he and Mark were good friends.

“I should get another deputy, I suppose,” Monte said. “But to be honest, searching for another deputy hasn’t been the most important thing in my mind for the last few months.”

“Take your time in looking for one,” Smoke said. “It isn’t like you can’t make an instant deputy if there is a sudden need for one.”

Monte nodded. “Yeah, that’s the way I see it. You, Pearlie, and Cal have helped me out more than once. And I appreciate that, because it means I can afford to be choosy.”

“Speaking of deputies, and sheriffs, and all that, I’d better get back to Wheeler and my never-ending battle of fighting crime and/or evil,” Mark said with a laugh.

“Thanks for coming over, Mark. I appreciate that,” Monte said.

“Smoke, we should get going, too,” Pearlie said. “We’ve got a lot of calves we have to gather.”

For a while Sugarloaf had abandoned cattle and raised horses only. But when Smoke’s friend Duff MacCallister introduced him to Black Angus cattle, Smoke had gone back into the cattle business. Angus were a little more difficult to raise than longhorns, but they were many times more profitable.

“What did you say?” Smoke asked.

“I said we needed to get back to the ranch. We have work to do.”

Smoke looked at the others and smiled. “Would you listen to this man, telling me we have work to do?”

“Pearlie, maybe you don’t understand, you are the foreman of Sugarloaf, but I am the owner. Do I need to tell you who is in charge?”

Although Smoke spoke the words harshly, he ended his sentence with a laugh to show that he was teasing.

“We need to get back to the ranch, we have work to do,” Smoke added.

“The boss man is right,” Pearlie said to the others. “We need to go.”

Shortly after Mark, Smoke, and Pearlie left, Monte told Louis good-bye, and walked down to his office. There was nobody in jail at the moment, and because he was without a deputy, he was all alone.

He was unable to hold back the tears.

Capitol Hill, Denver, Colorado

State Senator Rex Underhill’s house sat but a few blocks from where the new capitol building was to be built. His Victorian house was large with wings and bay windows and gingerbread decorating features. He built the eight-bedroom house in the most elegant part of Denver merely for show. It was a gaudy display of ostentation, especially since, except for his servants, he lived alone in the house.

After Senator Underhill finished reading the obituary of Ina Claire Carson in the Denver newspaper, he laid it beside his now-empty breakfast plate.

He thought of the names he had just read; Monte Carson, Smoke Jensen, Pearlie Fontaine, Cal Woods. It was too bad that the obituary was not for one of them. It would be even better, if it could be for all of them.

“Another cup of coffee, Señor Underhill?” The question snapped Underhill out of his reverie.

“Frederica, I have told you to call me Senator Underhill.”

“Sí, señor, uh, sí, Senator. Sometimes I forget,” Frederica said.

“You are forgetting too many times, and if you don’t start remembering, I’ll let you and Ramon go and hire some new domestics, perhaps Americans who understand the language so I won’t have to keep repeating things.”

“I will not forget again, Señor Senator.”

Frederica was a plump woman whose dark hair was now liberally laced with gray. Her husband, Ramon, took care of the lawn, and his hair was all white.

“Are you going to stand there gabbing, or are you going to pour me another cup of coffee?” Underhill asked.

“Coffee, sí,” Frederica said as she poured a dark, aromatic stream of liquid into the cup.

Senator Underhill eased his harsh admonition with a smile. “What would I do if I let you go, Frederica? Where else would I find someone who could make coffee as good as yours?”

“Sí, Señor Senator, nowhere else will you find coffee this good,” Frederica said with a relieved smile.

Underhill took his coffee out onto the front porch and sat in a rocking chair to watch the vehicles roll by. Here, in Capitol Hill, nearly all the vehicles were elegant coaches, fine carriages, or attractive surreys, for only the wealthy lived in this part of town.

Rex Underhill hadn’t always been wealthy. His father had been a sharecropper barely scratching out a living in Arkansas, and even that was gone after the war. When Underhill left home nobody tried to talk him into staying, because his departure just meant one less mouth to feed.

Underhill survived by a few nighttime burglaries here and there, then he graduated to armed robberies. He robbed a stagecoach in Kansas, killing the driver, shotgun guard, and single passenger. Because he left not a single witness, he was never regarded as a suspect for the crime. He got twelve thousand dollars from that holdup, and he moved on to Colorado, where he became the secret partner of a couple of men—Deekus Templeton and Lucien Garneau—in a scheme to take over most of the ranch land in Eagle County. It was a plan that, on the surface, had failed, miserably.

Underhill glanced at the paper again. He had read the obituary because it was about the wife of Monte Carson. Carson was the sheriff of Eagle County. Eagle County was also the locale of the Sugarloaf Ranch and Smoke Jensen. Smoke Jensen was the biggest reason for the failure of the grand plan to own all of Eagle County.

Underhill was fortunate, however. The principals in the attempt to take over Eagle County were all killed. Underhill survived the plan because nobody knew that he had been involved. Also, he had not only been Deekus Templeton’s and Lucien Garneau’s secret partner, he had also been their banker, providing some operating funds in the beginning, but holding on to the money from a couple of bank robberies that neither Templeton nor Garneau could afford to deposit in a bank. When the two men died, Underhill profited from their deaths, immediately becoming over forty thousand dollars richer.

That was the money he had used to begin his political campaign. He was a state senator now, an office that put him in a position to take advantage of the many opportunities for enrichment that came his way.

Lately, Rex Underhill had been contemplating another political move, one that would greatly increase his chances to capitalize on his political position. He sold influence now as a state solon. How much more valuable would be the influence of a United States senator?

Rock Creek, near Big Rock

Just under one hundred miles west of where Rex Underhill was having his breakfast, six men were staring into a campfire, having just finished their own. They were camped on Rock Creek at the foot of Red and White Butte, about five miles north of Big Rock.

A little earlier that morning the leader of the group, Myron Petro, had proposed a job he thought they should do.

“It’ll be like takin’ money from a baby,” Myron said. The men to whom he was pitching his idea were his brother Frank, Muley Dobbs, Ethan Reese, Wally Peach, and Leo Beajuex. All of the men were experienced outlaws except for Beajuex, who was the youngest of the lot.

“I don’t know how you ever got the idea that robbin’ a bank in Big Rock is goin’ to be easy,” Wally Peach said. “There ain’t no way it’s goin’ to be easy on account of Monte Carson is the sheriff there, ’n he sure ain’t easy. Hell, he’s one of the toughest sheriffs there is anywhere.”

Myron grinned. “Sheriff Carson ain’t goin’ to be no problem at all ’cause, case you don’t known nothin’ about it, his wife just died. That means he’s so all broke up about it that he can’t hardly do his job no more.”

“I ain’t never seen this Sheriff Carson feller but I’ve sure heard of ’im,” Muley Dobbs said. “’N what I’ve heard is the same thing what Wally just said. Sheriff Carson’s s’posed to be one tough son of a bitch. So, how is it that you know his wife died?”

“I heard talk of it yesterday when I was in Red Cliff.”

“Yeah, well, I wish they was some way we could be sure,” Muley said.

“All right, s’pose you ’n Beajuex go into town ’n have a look around?” Myron suggested. “You could maybe scout the bank whilst you was there, too.”

“Nah, don’t send the kid,” Frank said. “He wouldn’t have no idea what the hell he would be lookin’ for. I’ll go.”

“All right, tomorrow you ’n Muley go into Big Rock, have a look around town, then come back ’n tell me what you’ve found out. We’ll hit the bank day after tomorrow.”

That night, as the six men bedded down around the dying campfire that had cooked their supper, they talked excitedly about the money they would soon have.

Leo Beajuex listened, but didn’t join the conversation. He had never done anything like this before and he was very apprehensive about it. He wasn’t going to run out on them—these men were the closest thing to a family he had. He had met them six months earlier, when he was supporting himself as a cowboy on the Bar S Ranch down in Bexar County, Texas.

Actually, saying that he was a cowboy would be a considerable overstatement of his real position. Ron Stacy, owner of the Bar S was a tyrannical boss, especially to someone who was a menial laborer, as Leo was. Whereas the cowboys got thirty dollars a month and found, Leo was paid fifteen dollars. He got the worst jobs on the ranch, and Stacy wasn’t averse to physical abuse.

It all came to a head one day when Stacy took a leather strap to Leo because he hadn’t cleaned a stall. As it turned out, he had cleaned it, the mess was from a horse that had just been moved into the stall.

Deciding that he had had enough, it was Leo’s plan to steal a couple of cows and sell them for just enough money to help him get away. However, while he was in the act of cutting them out, he saw the Petro brothers and the other three men doing the same thing but on a larger scale.

“Boy, if you got ’ny idea of tellin’ anyone what we’re a-doin’ here, we’ll shoot you dead,” Myron Petro warned.

“Why would I want to tell anyone?” Leo replied. “I’d rather join you.”

They rustled forty-nine cows and sold them for twenty-five dollars apiece. That gave them a little over two hundred dollars each, which, for Leo, was more than a year’s wages.

There had been a few other, small jobs. They got a hundred and fifty dollars from a stagecoach holdup, and eight hundred dollars from some stolen mules.

So far, at least since Leo had been with them, there had been no shooting. But when the subject came up this afternoon, Frank said that if they had to, they would kill anyone in the bank, as well as anyone on the street who tried to stop them.

Although Leo had come close, he had never killed anyone, and he hoped that nobody would be killed as a result of the job they were planning now.

As the campfire burned down, a little bubble of gas, trapped in one of the burning pieces of wood, made a loud pop and emitted a little flurry of sparks. Leo watched the golden specks as they rode the rising shaft of heated air into the night sky, there to join with the wide spread of stars.

He wondered what would happen in two more days.

Big Rock

The next day Frank Petro and Muley Dobbs rode into town. Even at an easy pace, the ride into town took less than an hour.

“Lookee there,” Frank said, pointing to some of the shops and businesses they were passing. “All them buildings has black ribbons on ’em, so that means for sure that somebody died.”

“Yeah, but it don’t mean for sure that it was the sheriff’s wife what died, without we hear someone say it,” Muley said. “’N the best place to hear it said is in a saloon, just like this one.”

They were just passing the saloon as Muley pointed it out.

“Longmont’s,” Frank said, reading the sign. “I don’t know, it looks a bit fancy for the likes of us.”

“The fancier it is, the easier it is to find out information. Besides I’m a mite thirsty, aren’t you?”

“A beer would be good,” Frank agreed.

“And maybe a couple hands of poker,” Muley added.

“No, I don’t know, Muley, I’ve seen you play poker before. More times than not, somethin’ gets your dander up, then you go off half-cocked ’n wind up in trouble. We most especial don’t want no trouble today, that’s for damn sure.”

“You don’t worry none ’bout me playin’ poker. That’s a good place to find things out. You just stand up there at the bar, drink your beer, ’n keep your eyes ’n ears open,” Muley said. “If you hear somethin’ that don’t sound right, let me know.”

The two men stepped inside, then looked around.

“Whooee, I sure ain’t never seen no saloon this fancy before,” Frank said.

The long bar that ran down the left side of the saloon was more than just gleaming mahogany. The front of the bar was intricately carved to show a bas-relief of cowboys herding cattle. The hanging overhead lights weren’t wagon wheels and coal oil lanterns as was often the case, but cut crystal chandeliers.

“There’s a card game,” Muley said, pointing to a table where a game was in progress.

“Muley, be careful. Don’t go gettin’ yourself into no trouble,” Frank cautioned.

With a nod as his only . . .