Author: William W. Johnstone
Category: Western
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/william-w-johnstone/page,13,457792-torture_of_the_mountain_man.html
“Oh, thank God,” Marjane said with relief.
“Have you been able to raise a posse?” Tom asked.
Dalton shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
“I want him to ask Uncle Kirby to come help him,” Becca said.
“Yes, I think that would be a great idea,” Tom said, enthusiastically.
“Becca is telling us a story about him.”
“A story?” Tom asked.
“I’m telling Marjane how I’m related to him, and a little about him as well.”
“Go ahead, don’t let me interrupt you,” Tom said, stepping over to the coffee pot to pour himself a cup.
“I asked Mama what Uncle Kirby was like,” Rebecca said, continuing her narrative.
“That’s when she told me that he was a man of legendary accomplishments, and that books and even a play had been written about him.”
“I know about the books that have been written about him,” Dalton said, interrupting Becca’s account. “And I admit that if you can talk him into coming he would be a big, big help. But I have to confess that coming here wouldn’t be the smartest thing he had ever done. It might even be the dumbest thing he has ever done.”
Becca laughed. “No, he’s done something dumber. Mama told me a story about him that I’ve never told you. Mama said that Uncle Kirby did something way back before the war when they were both kids.
“They lived on a farm, and she and Uncle Kirby had the job of milking the cows. Well, the two cows were kept in the same stall, and one morning Uncle Kirby got it in mind to tie their tails together.”
“Wait a minute,” Dalton interrupted. “You can’t tie cows’ tails together.”
“Well of course, you can’t tie the tails themselves, but what Mama told me was that he took the hairy tufts at the end of their tails and tied them together. Then, when the cows were turned out into the pasture, one wanted to go one way, and the other wanted go in the opposite direction, so they pulled against each other, and the harder they pulled, the tighter the knot got in their tails.
“Well, those two cows just kept pulling, and bawling, and pulling and bawling, until finally Uncle Kirby’s pa . . .”
“Your grandpa,” Dalton said.
“Yes, funny, I hadn’t thought of it that way, but yes, he was. Anyway, Grandpa came out to see what they were bawling about. When he saw those two tails tied together he had conniptions. Uncle Kirby had tied so many of the hairs together that Grandpa couldn’t get them untied, so he finally gave up trying and just cut them apart. Then he asked Uncle Kirby what he knew about it.
“‘Well, Pa, the flies were real bad,” Uncle Kirby said,
“and those two cows were being tormented something awful by them, so they started sweeping their tails back and forth, trying to keep the flies away. Now I didn’t exactly see it happen, but if you were to ask me, I’d say that those cows tied their own tails together while they were trying to swish away those flies.”
Becca, Dalton, and Tom were laughing hard by the time she finished the story.
“Dalton,” Tom said. “If anyone can help you, Smoke can.”
“I agree. But I just don’t know if he will come.”
“He’ll come,” Tom said. “Smoke Jensen is as good a man as I’ve ever met in my life, and if he thinks someone in his family needs him, he will come.”
“That’s just it,” Dalton said. “I’m not really part of his family.”
“I’ll ask him myself,” Becca said.
“You’re the brother of his niece,” Tom added. “For someone like Smoke, that’s family enough.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“There’s the bank over there,” McCoy pointed out as the four men rode into the little town of Salcedo.
The bank was a rather flimsy looking building, thrown together from rip-sawed lumber and leaning so that it looked as if a good stiff wind would knock it over. Claymore chuckled when he saw it.
“Hell, we don’t have to rob this bank, boys. We can just kick it down,” he said.
“Let’s do it and be gone,” McCoy suggested.
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Lanagan said, holding up his hand. “Dingus, you remember what happened to us up in Pella, don’t you? How it was that the whole damn town turned out after us?”
“Yeah, I remember,” McCoy said.
“I don’t want that to happen here, so I tell you what we will do. First thing, before anyone sets one foot into the building, let’s take us a ride up and down the street, just to get our bearings.”
“Yeah, seein’ as what happened to you boys in Pella, I think that’s a good idea,” McCoy said.
“Joad, you take the left side. Count everybody you see carryin’ a gun. McCoy, you take the right. Me ’n Claymore will just ride on through, normal like, but we’ll sort of take a look around, too.”
As Joad and McCoy rode slowly down the street, making a thorough observation of everyone outside at the moment, Lanagan and McCoy rode on through at a normal pace.
“We shoulda done this in Pella before we hit the bank,” Claymore said.
“Yeah, well, we can’t go back ’n undo what we already done,” Lanagan said. “So we’ll just be extra careful this time.”
The two men rode the entire length of the town, then they turned their horses and waited for the reports from Joad and McCoy.
“I seen three that was wearin’ guns on my side ’o the street,” Joad said.
“I only seen one on my side,” McCoy added.
“Any of them look like they knew how to use them?” Lanagan asked.
“Hell, that old fart on my side looked like he didn’t even have the strength to pull his gun out of the holster, let alone use it,” McCoy said.
“What about the ones you saw, Joad?”
“I don’t see no problem,” Joad answered. “They didn’t any of ’em look like they knew much more’n which end of the gun the bullet come out.”
“Remember, when we come out of the bank we will huzzah the town, ’n that’ll more ’n likely send ever’ one a-scurryin’.” Lanagan smiled. “Well, then, boys, what do you say we go get us a little workin’ money? Joad, you stay outside with the horses.”
Lanagan, Claymore, and McCoy swung down from their horses and handed the reins over to Joad, who stayed mounted. He held the reins of all three horses with his left hand, while in his right he held his own reins, as well as his pistol, though he kept it low and out of sight.
As soon as Lanagan, Claymore and McCoy were inside, they pulled their pistols.
“This is a holdup!” Lanagan shouted. “You, teller, empty out your bank drawer and put all the money in a bag!”
Nervously, the teller began to comply, emptying his drawer in just a few seconds.
Lanagan took the sack, looked down inside, and smiled. “Well now, that looks pretty good. Now I want to see what you’ve got in the safe,” he demanded.
“You can take a look if you want,” the teller said, holding his hand out toward the open safe. “Only you won’t find any money there, because we bring it all outside during business hours.”
“You don’t say,” Lanagan replied with a little chuckle. “They don’t seem like such a good idea, what with bank robbers ’n the like.”
“We have never been robbed before,” the bank teller replied. “This is the first.”
“Let’s go, boys,” Lanagan said. “We’ve got what we come for.”
“Lanagan, look out!” McCoy shouted.
Looking toward the danger, Lanagan saw that one of the three customers in the bank was armed, and pointing his pistol at Lanagan. Both McCoy and Clayborn fired at the customer, just as he fired. The customer’s bullet hit an inkwell on one of the tables, sending up a spray of ink.
McCoy and Clayborn’s bullets found their mark, and the customer went down. Lanagan fired toward the teller’s window and his bullet shattered the shaded glass around the teller cage, though the teller had already ducked out of danger.
“Let’s get the hell out of here!” Lanagan shouted. The three men came running from the bank, with Lanagan holding onto the bag.
“Yahoo, boys, huzzah the town!” Lanagan shouted as he leaped into the saddle.
The four men galloped out of town shooting into the storefronts on either side of the street. No one was left outside, and no one returned fire as the four rode away.
* * *
From the Audubon Eagle:
Young Girl Killed in Bank Robbery
Clete Lanagan and three other outlaws struck the Bank of Salcedo in Clay County two days previous. As the robbery was being perpetrated, Rodney Gibson, a customer in the bank at the time, bravely attempted to foil their scheme, but in an exchange of gunfire, the brave young cowboy was killed.
As the robbers left town at a gallop, they engaged in the activity known as huzzahing, firing their guns indiscriminately. The balls from the pistol of one of the outlaws, thus energized, took effect with devastating results upon Kathleen Gray, an eight-year-old girl who was, at the time, with her mother in Annie’s Dress Emporium, trying on a dress that was to be her birthday present. It was then that a bullet smashed through the window, ending her brief life.
The identity of the leader of the outlaws was confirmed when one of the outlaws yelled out his name, in giving alarm to the planned action of Mr. Gibson. Our readers will no doubt remember that it was Clete Lanagan and others who robbed the Bank of Pella.
This robbery netted the villainous gang three thousand and seventeen dollars, said amount to represent the total assets of the bank.
Lanagan, Claymore, and McCoy were celebrating the success of the bank robbery by passing around a bottle of whiskey they had recently purchased. They had also bought the newspaper, by which Joad learned of the death of the little girl.
Joad did not feel like celebrating.
Big Rock, Colorado
Unaware of the bank robbery down in Texas, and having just picked up the mail, Cal tied his horse off in front of the Longmont Saloon.
“Hello, Cal,” Louis Longmont greeted. “Are you alone, or did Smoke and Pearlie come into town with you?”
“They’re back at the ranch,” Cal said. “I just came in town for the mail.”
“Really? Well, I hate to tell you this, Cal, but this is a saloon. You’ll find the post office over on Center Street,” Louis teased.
“Funny thing,” Cal said. “The postmaster said something almost just like that, when I tried to order a beer at the post office.”
Louis laughed. “It’s good for you to drop by. If you don’t mind the company, I’ll grab a beer as well, and join you at your table,” he said, and a moment later Louis came over to the table with a beer mug in each hand.
“By the way, when you go back out to the ranch, you tell Smoke that the Holy Spirit Episcopal Church was just real thankful that he donated the reward money for Poke Gilley and Frank Ethan for use in their orphanage. That seven hundred and fifty dollars was enough to buy a new set of clothes for every boy and girl in the orphanage, with quite a bit left over.”
“I know Smoke was real glad to do it,” Cal said.
“The irony is that Gilley and Ethan were two of the most no-account outlaws you can imagine, and they finally did something good,” Louis said. “They got themselves killed, so that a number of children, living in an orphanage, could have a better life.”
“Yes, it’s good that something positive came out of it.”
“So tell me, what’s going on out at the ranch?” Louis asked, as he took a sip of his beer.
Cal chuckled. “Today they’re bucking steers out of mudholes. I didn’t mind coming into town for the mail, I can tell you that for sure.”
* * *
Out at Sugarloaf ranch, Smoke was mounted on his horse, Seven, looking at a steer that was struggling to get free. The animal had gotten bogged down in a mudhole that was so deep that it came halfway up to the steer’s shoulders.
“There’s no way he’s going to get out of there by himself,” Smoke said to Pearlie, as his foreman came riding up alongside.
“I know, that’s why I’ve got Kenny and Lon coming,” Pearlie said.
Turning in his saddle, Smoke saw his two riders approaching.
“Lordy, Lordy, look at him,” Kenny said. “How in the world did he ever get himself in that fix?”
“How he got in isn’t important,” Smoke said. “What is important is getting him out.” Smoke chuckled. “I take it you two men can handle that.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Jensen, you ain’t goin’ to have to draw us no pictures,” Lon said.
“Ha! That’s good,” Pearlie said, “’cause if you had to depend on a picture Smoke drew, you wouldn’t know whether to pick your nose or scratch your ass. I’ve seen him try to draw, and he couldn’t draw a circle if his life depended on it. He’s sure no Mona Lisa.”
Smoke chuckled. “I would hope not,” he said. “Mona Lisa is the painting, not the painter. The artist was Leonardo da Vinci.”
“Really?” Pearlie asked, confused by the response.
“Really.”
“How come you know stuff like that?”
“’Cause he’s a lot smarter ’n you,” Lon said, with a laugh.
“Come on, Lon, we ain’t goin’ to get him out just sittin’ here a-lookin’ at ’im,” Kenny said.
The two Sugarloaf hands climbed down into the mud alongside the steer, then managed to get a couple of ropes around him, just behind its front legs. Pearlie took one of the ropes and Smoke the other, then they wrapped the rope around their saddle horns.
“All right!” Pearlie said. “You boys push, and we’ll pull.”
The two horses strained against the ropes, while the two cowboys in the mud with the animal pushed. After a few minutes of pushing and pulling, a very muddy steer emerged. Cal hopped down and loosened the ropes, then the steer, aware now that it was free, trotted off.
“Kenny, Lou, don’t you boys be late for supper,” Pearlie said.
“Hey, wait, you aren’t goin’ to leave us stuck in this here mudhole, are you?” Kenny called. “We can’t get out of here by ourselves!”
“Well, we would throw these ropes out to you two, but they are muddy, and you would get it on you,” Pearlie said.
“Are you crazy?” Lou shouted. “We’re already covered with mud!”
“Yeah, I guess you are,” Pearlie said. He laughed. “You two are taking being teased far too seriously.”
Smoke and Pearlie threw out their ropes and Kenny and Lou grabbed the end and held on. A moment later two very muddy cowboys emerged from the bog.
“You boys might want to wash off in the creek before you come back in,” Smoke suggested. “Then you can take the rest of the day off.”
“Yes, sir, thank you,” Kenny said, answering for both of them.
The creek was Rock Creek, a year-round tributary from Grand River, which also ran through Sugarloaf. It was these two dependable sources of water that made Smoke’s ranch one of the most productive ranches in Colorado.
* * *
When Smoke and Pearlie stepped into the house, half an hour later, Sally was sitting in the keeping room reading a newspaper. She looked up and smiled as they came in.
“How many cows did you rescue?” she asked.
“Just one, today. Cal isn’t back from town yet?”
“Not yet.”
“He’s drinking beer at Longmont’s, Smoke, you know that,” Pearlie offered.
“Well, don’t you, when you go in for mail?”
“How else do you think I know what he’s doing?” Pearlie responded with a little laugh.
“Have you found anything interesting to read?” Smoke asked, nodding toward the newspaper in Sally’s hand.
“I have indeed,” Sally replied. “Did you know that they have just finished constructing a building in Chic
ago that is ten stories high? It’s what they call a skyscraper.”
“A skyscraper?” Pearlie asked. “Now, isn’t that a funny name?”
“Well, if it is ten stories high, I expect it does scrape the sky,” Smoke said. “But who would need a building so tall?”
“It’s the Home Insurance Company building,” Sally said. “It’s so tall that if you’re standing on the ground, looking up, you can’t see the top of the building.”
“What? Really?” Pearlie said. “You mean it’s higher than a mountain? Oh, wait, you was just funnin’ me, weren’t you?”
Sally sighed. “I may have been having some fun at your expense, Pearlie, but I was not ‘funnin’ you.’”
“You’ll never quit being a schoolteacher, will you, Sally?” Smoke asked. “How long has it been since you last taught a class?”
“It has been quite a while. But you know what they say,” Sally replied. “Once a teacher, always a teacher.”
“That ain’t nothin’ I never heard nobody say,” Pearlie said.
“What? Pearlie, you clean up that statement! You know better than that!” Sally said.
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Jensen. I was merely having a bit of fun with you. Of course I know better than that. What I should have said was ‘That is not a saying with which I am familiar.’”
Sally laughed, and applauded. “Very good, Pearlie, very good indeed. And now it would appear that you were having a bit of fun at my expense.”
At that moment Cal came into the house carrying a small cloth bag.
“See there, Smoke, and you said he would be passed out drunk on Front Street,” Pearlie teased. “Not Cal, I said. Not our Cal.”
“Smoke, did you . . .” but even before he got his question asked, Pearlie was already laughing.
“You were teasing me.”
“Yeah, I was.”
“That’s not very nice of you, Pearlie,” Sally said.
“I know, but he’s just so easy to tease,” Pearlie said.
“That’s because Cal is an exceptionally honest man, and not subject to pulling hurtful jokes on others,” Smoke said, butting into the conversation. “Let me see the mail,” he added, holding his hand out toward the young man.