Violence of the Mountain Man Read online

  “Oh, heavens, no, Mrs. Jensen,” Montgomery said. “As I told you, Byron is a friend of mine. I want to see him succeed. Besides, I know we will do more business together.”

  “Would you like a piece of cheese on top of the pie?” Sally asked.

  “Oh,” Montgomery said, his eyes rolling up in bliss. “You are an angel.”

  That night, as Smoke lay in bed with his hands laced behind his head, he was looking at Sally. Sally was sitting at the dresser, brushing her hair, the action lighted by a single candle. Just outside the window, rustling aspen leaves caught the moon and sent slivers of silver through the night. Some of the moonlight spilled in through the window, and it glowed silver in the folds of Sally’s silken nightgown.

  “I’ll ride down to Frisco sometime next week and see this man Davencourt,” Smoke said. “If he is needing beef the way Montgomery says he is, then he’ll probably take at least fifteen hundred head.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t have let all the cowboys go just yet,” Sally said as she continued to brush her hair.

  “We had to let them go now,” Smoke replied. “Most of them already have other jobs lined up that they need to get to. If they didn’t get there in time, they’d lose out. Why do you think we shouldn’t have let them go?”

  “If we do sell some cattle to Byron Davencourt—”

  “It’s not if, it’s when,” Smoke said. “We will sell him fifteen hundred head. I’ve no doubt about that.”

  “All right, let’s say we do sell him fifteen hundred head. So, the next question is, how are we going to get them over to Frisco?” Sally asked.

  “Up to fifteen hundred head is no problem,” Smoke said. “Pearlie, Cal, and I can take them over.”

  “Are you sure? Sally asked. “Maybe you ought to take Juan and Carlos with you.”

  “No need to take Juan and Carlos away from their families. I’m sure Pearlie, Cal, and I can do it,” Smoke replied. “Now, I have a question.”

  Sally turned toward him and as she did so, the silk nightgown clung to her figure, beautifully displaying every curve.

  “What is your question?”

  “Do you really want to talk business now? Or would you rather—” He left the question unfinished.

  “Would I rather what?” Sally asked. But her flirtatious smile told Smoke that she knew exactly what he was talking about.

  Returning her smile, Smoke folded the bedsheet back in invitation. “Would you rather—not talk?” he asked.

  Sally leaned over the dresser, blew out the candle, then crossed the room to crawl into bed with her husband.

  “Does this answer your question?” she asked.

  Chapter Three

  Colorado State Prison, Canon City, Colorado

  Reece Van Arndt, prison inmate number 2551, stood in the chamber just outside the warden’s office. Half an hour earlier, Van Arndt had taken off his black-and-white-striped prison uniform and was now wearing an ill-fitting, dark blue suit. The suit looked even darker when contrasted with Van Arndt’s alabaster complexion, for Van Arndt was an albino.

  “Prisoner Van Arndt,” the guard on duty said.

  “I ain’t a prisoner no more,” Van Arndt said. “I get out today.”

  “Van Arndt, you are a prisoner until you step outside to the other side of the penitentiary gate,” the guard said. “And we don’t have to let you do that until midnight tonight, so I’d watch my step iffen I was you.”

  Van Arndt glared at the guard, but didn’t say anything.

  “Go on into the office. Warden Parker will see you now,” the guard said.

  Van Arndt nodded, then stepped up to the door that led into the warden’s office. He put his hand on the doorknob.

  “Knock, damn you!” the guard said sternly.

  Van Arndt knocked.

  “Come in.”

  Van Arndt walked into the warden’s office, then stopped at the line on the floor beyond which no inmate was ever to pass. Parker was sitting behind his desk, and he leaned forward as Van Arndt came in.

  “Well, Van Arndt, you are leaving us today. I didn’t think you would make it. I thought you would do something dumb enough to get your sentence extended—or else, I thought someone might kill you. And to be honest, I was sort of hopin’ for the latter.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Warden,” Van Arndt said.

  “Yes, well, I don’t plan to be disappointed for long. If you aren’t killed within the next six months, you’ll be back,” the warden said. “And the next time you come back, I have no doubt but that you will be staying with us for the rest of your miserable life.”

  “You give that kind of enouragin’ talk to ever’ prisoner that leaves this place?” Van Arndt asked.

  “Not all of them,” the warden replied. “Just the no accounts like you.”

  Van Arndt shook his head. “Well, I hate to disappoint you, but you have seen the last of Reece Van Arndt. I ain’t never comin’ back to this hellhole.”

  “So you say, Van Arndt, so you say,” the warden said. He sighed, then shoved an envelope across the desk. “This is yours,” he said. “According to Colorado state law, I am required to give you a train ticket to wherever you want to go in the state. You said you wanted to go to Fairplay, so you got a ticket to there. I must say, though, pickin’ a place by the name of Fairplay for someone like you seems a little strange. You’ll find five dollars in there as well, which is also required by state law.”

  “Five dollars?” he said. “I’ve busted rocks and sweated in this hellhole for three years, and all I get from it is five dollars?”

  “Five dollars,” the warden repeated. “Don’t spend it all in one place,” he added, laughing derisively.

  Van Arndt picked up the envelope.

  “Smitty!” the warden called.

  The guard stuck his head into the warden’s office. “Yes, sir?”

  “Get this maggot-looking bastard out of my sight,” the warden said.

  “Let’s go, you,” the guard said.

  Van Arndt shifted positions in the hard seat of the day coach, then looked through the window at the wide-open spaces outside. No more than one hundred yards away he saw a couple of coyotes running parallel with the track, actually outpacing the train. Finally it grew dark outside and, passing through the car, the conductor began lighting kerosene lanterns, including the one just over Van Arndt. Van Arndt reached up and turned it off.

  “Thank you, sir, that was very kind of you,” the man in the seat across from Van Arndt said.

  “What?”

  “You saw that I was trying to sleep, so you put out the lantern so as not to keep me awake.”

  “Yeah,” Van Arndt said. He had actually put it out just to keep people from looking toward him and his chalk-white skin.

  The man stretched, then sat up and yawned. “But I can’t sleep none anyway.” He chuckled. “Don’t know why I can’t sleep. I stayed up pret’ nigh all night last night celebratin’ my good fortune.”

  “Your good fortune?”

  “Well, it might not be a fortune to most folks, but four hundred fifty dollars is a fortune to me.”

  Van Arndt had just been tolerating the man; now he began listening with interest.

  “Oh, I would say that four hundred fifty dollars is a lot of money to just about anyone,” Van Arndt said. “What did you do? Get lucky at cards?”

  “Oh, no, sir, my wife, Suzie, there is no way she would put up with my playin’ cards. There was a time when I gambled, but no more.” He stuck his hand out. “Gibbs is the name, Donnie G. Gibbs.”

  “Eddie Mason,” Van Arndt said, taking Gibbs’s hand and lying about his own name. “So, how did you come by so much money?”

  “Well, sir, I’ll tell you. Me and Suzie, we got us this real small little place just outside Como, you see. And for the last three years, Suzie and me have survived just mostly by raisin’ our own vegetables, sellin’ eggs, and the such. But all along what we been doin’ is, we’ve also been ra
isin’ a few head of cows until we built us up to around thirty head or so. Then last week what I done is, I cut me out fifteen head of cows and drove them down to Frisco where I sold ’em to a fella there for thirty dollars a head.” Donnie stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out a roll of money. “Here it is,” he said. He chuckled. “Just in case you ain’t never seen that much money at one time.”

  Van Arndt smiled. “That is a good-looking wad of money, I have to admit.”

  “If you think that’s a lot of money, you should see what they have on deposit in the bank in Frisco. Why, I’ll bet they have over one hundred thousand dollars there.”

  “A hundred thousand dollars? That’s a lot of money for a small-town bank, ain’t it? Why is it that they have so much money, do you reckon?”

  “They got all that money because there’s a cattleman there, a fella by the name of Byron Davencourt, and he is buying up all the beef he can,” Gibbs said. “He only bought fifteen head from me, but I reckon he’ll be buyin’ three thousand head or so before he’s all finished and done.”

  “A hundred thousand dollars in the bank of Frisco,” Van Arndt said. “That would sure be some sight to see.”

  “Ha, I reckon it would,” Gibbs said. “Not that nobody is goin’ to ever get a chance to look at it, though. I expect they’ll keep it locked up good and safe.”

  Gibbs looked more closely at Van Arndt. “Say, Mr. Mason, I don’t mean no insult or nothin’, but why is it you’re so pale? Are you sick?”

  “I’m what you call an albino,” Van Arndt said. “My skin doesn’t produce any color. There are a lot of colored people who are albinos, and they are as white as any white man.”

  “You don’t say? Are you a colored man or a white man?” Gibbs asked.

  “I’m a white man,” Van Arndt answered.

  “Well, I’ll be. I ain’t never seen anything like that,” Gibbs said. “Like I say, I don’t mean to be insultin’ or nothin’. I hope you ain’t takin’ offense.”

  “No offense taken,” Van Arndt said.

  The conductor came through the car again. “Folks, the next stop is Grant. We’ll be there about twenty minutes, just long enough for you to get yourselves some supper. Grant, next stop,” he said again as he moved through the car and out onto the vestibule, heading for the next car.

  “Would you care to have supper with me?” Van Arndt said.

  “Why, I would be pleased to,” Gibbs said. “Hardest thing about travelin’ alone is havin’ to eat alone. But when you are lucky to find someone that’s good company, such as I’ve just done, why, sittin’ down to a meal with such a person can be a pure pleasure.”

  After a supper of ham and fried potatoes, Van Arndt and Gibbs walked out of the depot café and stood for a moment on the darkened patterned-brick platform. The train that had brought them to Grant was sitting on the track, puffing as it vented steam from the pressure the fireman was maintaining.

  “Do you think there is any depot café anywhere in the country that serves anything other than ham and fried potatoes?” Gibbs asked with a little laugh.

  “That seems to be the standard fare all right,” Van Arndt answered. The truth was, Van Arndt was just agreeing with Gibbs, because he had not ridden on enough trains to be able to comment.

  “I have to admit that it wasn’t bad eatin’, though it could have been that I was just hungry,” Gibbs said.

  “Yeah, I suppose, but—” Van Arndt paused in mid-sentence. “Damn, look at that!” he said excitedly, pointing toward the front of the engine.

  “Look at what?”

  “I think I saw, no, I know I saw a little child crawling across the track in front of the engine.”

  “What? Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive. It was a little girl. She must have gotten away from her mother.”

  “Good heavens, she’s got no business crawling around on the track!” Gibbs said. “What if she is under the train when it starts? There’s no way the engineer could possibly see her. Good Lord, she could be run over and killed.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I think, too. Come on,” Van Arndt said, starting toward the front of the train. “Let’s see if we can find her.”

  “Yes, by all means, let’s do!” Gibbs agreed.

  The two men hurried toward the front of the train, then around to the other side.

  “Where is she?” Gibbs asked. “I don’t see her!” “I don’t see her either. Maybe she’s under the train.”

  “Oh, heavens, I certainly hope not,” Gibbs said.

  “We’d better look. I’ll look under the tender, you look under the express car,” Van Arndt suggested.

  Van Arndt leaned over to look under the tender while Gibbs headed for the next car behind. Once Gibbs passed Van Arndt, Van Arndt stood up, pulled his knife, then moved quickly until he was standing right behind Gibbs.

  Sensing Van Arndt’s presence, Gibbs turned around. “What is it? Did you see her under the—unhh!”

  Van Arndt, holding the blade sideways and palm up in his hand, plunged the knife into Gibb’s left side, aiming for the heart. Gibbs grunted in pain as the blade slipped easily in between his fourth and fifth ribs. His eyes grew large, and he looked at Van Arndt with an expression of confusion on his face and in his eyes.

  “Mason! What—what are you—?”

  That was as far as Gibbs got before his eyes closed and he fell off the knife. Quickly, Van Arndt took Gibbs’s money before pushing him under the car. Then he walked back around to the depot platform, and was standing there when the other passengers came out of the café and boarded the train.

  Van Arndt didn’t reboard. Instead, he remained on the platform until the train started to leave; then he hurried into the depot. He saw a man behind the counter. The man was wearing a billed cap with a shield that read: STATIONMASTER.

  “Are you the stationmaster?” Van Arndt asked.

  “That’s what it says on my hat,” the man said, pointing to the shield. “The name is Travelsted. What can I do for you?”

  “Mr. Travelsted, you’d better come quick!” Van Arndt said. “I think the train just ran over someone as it was leaving the station.”

  “What?” the stationmaster gasped. “What are you talking about? What do you mean you think the train ran over someone?”

  “It was a fella named Gibbs,” Van Arndt said. “I’m pretty sure he must’ve got run over.”

  “You are just pretty sure? Good Lord, man, that’s not something that you can just casually speculate about. What makes you think this man—Gibbs, did you call him?”

  “Yes, Donnie Gibbs.”

  “What makes you think the train ran over Gibbs? Did you see it happen?”

  “No, I didn’t exactly see it. But I’m pretty sure it happened.”

  “Are you and Gibbs friends?”

  “Not in particular,” Van Arndt said. “The thing is, we met on the train, and we come in here to take our supper together. Then, after supper, we was standin’ out here on the depot platform waitin’ to get back on the train. That’s when Gibbs said he seen a baby crawling on the track. I have to tell you, Mr. Travelsted, I looked, but I didn’t see nothin’. I told him I didn’t see nothin’, but he was bound and determined to go rescue the baby, so round the train he went. I waited for him, but he didn’t come back. Then, when the train pulled away, I thought maybe he’d be standin’ on the other side, but he wasn’t.”

  “Are you sure he didn’t come back? Don’t you think it could be that he got on the train without you seein’ him?”

  “I suppose that could be so,” Van Arndt said. “But I have to tell you, I was watchin’ pretty close and I sure didn’t see him come back. I hate to say it, Mr. Travelsted, but I got me this awful feelin’ that somehow poor ole’ Gibbs fell on the track and got hisself runned over.”

  Travelsted sighed. “Well, I reckon we’d better check,” the stationmaster said. “Sanchez?”

  An elderly Mexican was moving luggage around and h
e looked up. “Sí?”

  “Get Chavez and you two come with me.”

  “Chavez, Señor Travelsted quiere que nosotros vayamos con él,” Sanchez called out in Spanish.

  Van Arndt went out with Travelsted and the two Mexican employees.

  “Where’d you see him last?” Travelsted asked.

  “Let me see,” Van Arndt said, scratching his chin. “I believe the engine was sittin’ right about there,” he said, pointing to a place on the track. “And ole Gibbs, after he seen the little girl, or else thought he seen the little girl, went around in front of the engine. So I reckon right about there is where I seen him last.”

  “The track is too dark to see from here. Let me get a lantern and we’ll take a closer look,” Travelsted said.

  “A lantern I brought, Señor Travelsted,” Sanchez said.

  “Walk up there ahead of us, Sanchez, and hold the lantern down low so we can get a good look at the track,” Travelsted ordered, stepping down from the platform and walking up the ties between the twin rails.

  Sanchez went a few feet up the track, then summoned Chavez over and gave him the lantern. Chavez went on ahead for a few feet. Then he stopped dead in his track.

  “Madre de Dios, Sanchez, es un hombre muerto,” Chevez said with a gasp. “El tren mutiló su cadaver!”

  “What did he say?” Travelsted asked.

  “He has found a man’s body, but it has been mutilated by the train,” Sanchez translated.

  Van Arndt, Travelsted, and Sanchez moved up to stand by Chavez, who was holding the lantern in a way to illuminate what was left of the body. The body had been completely split into two halves, from head to crotch, with half lying on one side of the track and half on the other. Blood and intestines were everywhere, as well as brain matter from the severed head.

  Whereas Chevez and Sanchez stared at the remains in morbid fascination, Travelsted turned away, then began to throw up.

  “My God,” Travelsted said. “This is awful.” He looked at Van Arndt. “What did you say your friend’s name was?”