Bloodshed of the Mountain Man Read online

  It was Advendingo’s plan to cut Jensen’s throat. He smiled as he thought of what a sight it would make in the morning when Jensen’s body was discovered lying in a pool of his own blood. He started toward the bed.

  Smoke heard nothing, but even in his sleep, he sensed a slight change in the air. His window was raised about six inches, and when the door was opened, the flow of air increased. It was that increase in the flow of air that awakened him.

  Smoke opened his eyes. That was when he saw the shadow pass in front of the window. Someone was in his room!

  Smoke rolled off the bed, just as the intruder made a slashing motion with his knife. Smoke heard the blade cut through cloth, and he reached out, quickly, to grab the wrist of the man who had attacked him.

  The man jerked his arm back, trying to free his knife hand, but Smoke didn’t let go. On his feet now, Smoke struggled with the intruder as they shuffled across the floor, knocking over the table. The glass lantern fell and broke on the floor. There was no flame, but the smell of kerosene assailed Smoke’s nostrils.

  They continued to struggle until they were next to the window. Then, the intruder made one mighty jerk to get free, and when he did, he lost his balance and fell backward through the window, the crash of glass drowned out by his scream as he tumbled out, falling headfirst. His scream stopped in midscreech.

  Smoke leaned out the window to look down, but it was too dark to see anything.

  “Smoke!” Pearlie shouted, running from his adjacent room into this one. Pearlie was in his long johns, with his gun in his hand.

  “I’m here,” Smoke said. “Watch your feet, there’s broken glass on the floor.”

  “What happened?”

  “I had an unwelcome visitor but he fell through the window. Let’s get dressed, I’m going to go down and see if he is still here.”

  Smoke dressed quickly, as Pearlie hurried back to his room to do the same. A moment later both men were dressed and walking down the lighted hall.

  Nobody in any of the other rooms showed any curiosity, either because they didn’t hear anything or perhaps they did hear something, but were afraid to investigate. As they walked through the lobby they noticed that the desk clerk was asleep. Smoke went over to pick up the kerosene lantern.

  Once outside, Smoke turned up the lantern so that it cast a golden bubble of light around them. Using the light, they walked in between the hotel and the leather goods store, which was next door. As they approached, the outer limit of the golden circle of light picked up a body, lying motionless. They walked all the way up to him, but it didn’t require much investigation to determine that he was dead.

  “Who was he? A burglar, do you think?” Pearlie asked.

  Smoke shook his head. “Not unless he planned to kill me first. He had a knife, and if I hadn’t moved when I did, he would have cut my throat.”

  “Hmm, so he intended to kill you?”

  “I would say so. Look at this.” Smoke pulled a red armband from the dead man’s pocket.

  “I’ll be damned.”

  “Let’s take him over to the marshal’s office.”

  Smoke and Pearlie made a rather macabre sight as they carried the dead body across the street in the middle of the night . . . Smoke at the man’s head and Pearlie at his feet.

  The door to the marshal’s office was locked.

  “What do we do with him now, Smoke?”

  “Let’s just put him down here, in front of the door,” Smoke said. “That way the marshal can’t possibly miss him. I’ll leave him a note that says it’s from us.”

  Marshal Hardegree came into the restaurant the next morning when Smoke and Pearlie were having their breakfast.

  “I found what you left for me,” he said. “And the note.”

  “Join us for breakfast?”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Hardegree said, joining them at the table.

  “Here’s something I didn’t leave with you.” Smoke pulled the red armband from his pocket.

  “Damn,” Hardegree said. “Another Ghost Rider?”

  “So it would appear,” Smoke said.

  “I don’t like it that there have been so many of them here. It makes me think you’re right. They really are planning something. Maybe like Laurette.”

  “We’ll be ready for them,” Smoke said.

  “What do you mean when you say that we will be ready for them? Unless you are volunteering to be my deputies.”

  “No need to deputize us,” Smoke said. “Pearlie and I are both Colorado Rangers on special assignment.”

  “You are a Colorado Ranger? I’ve heard of you, Smoke. Just about everyone in the state has heard of you, I expect. But in all the stories I’ve heard, I never knew that you were a Colorado Ranger.”

  “We have only recently been given the commission,” Smoke said. “And it is a dedicated commission, to be used only to find and deal with the Ghost Riders.”

  “Deal with? What do you mean, deal with?”

  “Deal with,” Smoke said without further amplification.

  “All right.” Hardegree knew that was all the explanation he was going to get from Smoke. “So, what do we do now?”

  “I want you to call a town meeting. Pick a place large enough that it can handle the most people. But post a guard outside, and let nobody in who you don’t know,” Smoke suggested.

  “Why keep anyone out just because we don’t know them?” Hardegree asked.

  “Because it might be someone from the Ghost Riders checking us out.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t think of that. The problem is, most of the Ghost Riders aren’t like the regular criminals we deal with. There are no wanted posters out on them . . . or if there are wanted posters, they aren’t linked with the Ghost Riders. I know the leader has written some letters to some of the newspapers and he signs them as Hannibal. But nobody knows if that is his first name or his last name.”

  “Or if it is his name at all,” Smoke said.

  “What do you mean? You don’t think it’s his name?” Hardegree asked.

  “I have a friend who has a pretty good theory about his name. He thinks this man, whoever he is, is a frustrated, would-be army officer and he has taken his name from a famous general in the past.”

  “Yeah,” Hardegree said. “Now that you point that out, it all makes sense.”

  Ten Strike

  “Advendingo didn’t come back,” Rexwell said.

  “Then that means he was discovered and is now either dead or is in jail,” Hannibal said.

  “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking too.”

  “I hope he is dead,” Hannibal said.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because if he is alive and in jail, our entire operation could be compromised.”

  “Could be what?”

  “They might learn from him where we are headquartered.”

  “Oh, uh, yeah.”

  “We have to find out whether he is dead or in jail.”

  “Are we going to break him out of jail?”

  “If we can, we will. If we can’t break him out of jail, then we need to kill him.”

  “Are you serious? You want to kill him?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about one for all, and all for one?” Rexwell asked.

  “In this case, it would be one for all,” Hannibal replied. “Advendingo’s life will be forfeited for the good of all.”

  “Yeah,” Rexwell said. “Yeah, I see what you mean.”

  “We must send someone into Brimstone to find out whether or not Advendingo is still alive. And to find out what’s going on in that town.”

  “What about Smith?” Rexwell suggested.

  “No, he failed on his first mission into Brimstone. Bring Pugh to me.”

  Five minutes later, a thin man with a handlebar moustache and a pockmarked face stood in front of Hannibal.

  “Do you understand what I want you to do, Pugh?”

  “Yes, sir, you want me to find out
what happened to Advendingo.”

  “And if he is alive and in jail, I want you to kill him.”

  “How will I do that?”

  “Damn, Pugh, are you telling me you don’t know how to kill someone?” Rexwell asked.

  “Well, yeah, I know how to kill someone. But what I mean is, I can’t just walk into the jail and kill ’im in front of everyone. Not without I get myself kilt too.”

  “There is more than likely a back window to the jail,” Hannibal said. “Go into the alley behind the jail and call his name. Advendingo will trust you because he has no reason to expect you are there to kill him. When he comes to the window, shoot him.”

  “All right,” Pugh said, hesitantly.

  “I know it sounds harsh. But it is for the good of the whole. And if you do this, I will give you Advendingo’s share of the next job.”

  A huge smile spread across Pugh’s face. “Well, hell, why didn’t you say that in the first place? I’ll be glad to kill the son of a bitch for you.”

  “While you are in town, take a look around and see if there is anything we need to know before we undertake our mission.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Brimstone

  Marshal Hardegree, Smoke, and Pearlie went down to the church that stood in the middle of town.

  “Pastor Owen, are you in here?” Hardegree called as they stepped through the arched, front doors.

  A middle-aged, gray-haired man stepped out of a room at the front of the church.

  “I’m here, Marshal,” he said, wiping his glasses as he came toward them. “I was just working on Sunday’s sermon.”

  “Pastor, do you think you could get over two hundred people in here?” Hardegree asked.

  A wide smile spread across Pastor Owen’s face. “Oh, my, that has long been my dream. Yes, I’m sure I could. And I know exactly what sermon I would preach on such—”

  “Not for a church service, Pastor,” Hardegree said, holding up his hand.

  Owen got a confused look on his face. “Then, I don’t understand. Why else would there be two hundred people in my church?”

  “We want to hold a town meeting,” Hardegree said. “A very important town meeting, one that might save many lives. And this church is the only place I know that could hold that many people. That is, if you will agree to let us use it.”

  “Well, yes, of course I will, if you are serious about the meeting saving lives.”

  “Good, I’m going to try and round up as many as I can by ten o’clock. But, and this is the important thing, I don’t want to let anyone in the church who isn’t a resident of Brimstone.”

  “Oh, but Marshal, the church is open to all of God’s children,” Pastor Owen replied.

  “Not for this meeting. The only God’s children who will be allowed in are the ones who live here. Like I said, Pastor, it is a matter of public safety.”

  “Well, all right,” Owen said. “I don’t like turning anyone away from God’s house but if that is the way it has to be, I’ll go along with it.”

  “Good,” Hardegree said. “Now, when people start coming, I want you to stand out front and turn away anyone who isn’t a resident.”

  “Oh, I’m afraid I don’t know every resident,” Pastor Owen said. “If they aren’t a member of my church, I wouldn’t know them.”

  “You won’t have to do it by yourself. I’ll be out there with you and so will Mark Worley.”

  “Mark Worley? But, Marshal, he is a purveyor of spirits.”

  “He’s the bartender at Devil’s Den, yes. But he knows a lot of people in this town, and I figure that between the three of us, we can determine who is and who isn’t a resident.”

  “There are more than two hundred people in town, and I truly don’t think we could accommodate everyone,” Pastor Owen said.

  “No, I don’t think so either. But if we get enough people in here, they can carry the word to everyone else. I’m pretty sure everyone in town will know what we have planned before it is all over.”

  Just before ten o’clock, Pearlie climbed up into the church bell tower, which was the highest point in town. From here, he could see at least a mile beyond the outer limits of the town in all directions. He was there to see if a large body of riders approached the town.

  By ten o’clock, a huge crowd was gathered in front of the church.

  “Hey, Stan, this ain’t some trick to get me into a church, is it?” one man called out. “I mean, we ain’t goin’ to have to listen to a sermon or anything, are we?”

  “No,” Hardegree replied. “Mark Worley is here too, but we won’t be serving liquor, either.”

  Finally everyone was in the church and they were about to close the doors when one more man came up. He was a thin man with a handlebar moustache and a pockmarked face. Mark Worley stuck out his hand to stop him.

  “Pastor, do you know this man?” Worley asked. “’Cause I don’t know ’im.”

  “No, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him before,” the pastor said.

  At that moment Smoke and the marshal came out of the church. “We’re about to get started,” Hardegree said.

  “Do you know this man, Marshal?” Worley asked, pointing to the pockmarked man.

  Hardegree looked toward the man, then shook his head. “I can’t say as I do.”

  “Move on, then,” Worley said. “This meeting is only for townspeople.”

  “I just happened to be here in town, ’n I want to see what this meeting is all about,” the man said. “If it’s a public meeting, you got no right to keep me out.”

  “Marshal, check his pockets,” Smoke said. “See if he has a red armband. If he doesn’t, you can let him in.”

  “Hold on here! You ain’t got no right to be goin’ through my pockets,” the man said.

  “That’s true,” Hardegree replied. “But you can’t come in unless we check your pockets.”

  Hardegree started toward him, but the man pushed him away, then started for his gun.

  “No! Don’t do that!” Smoke shouted.

  Despite Smoke’s warning, the man continued to draw and he had his gun in his hand before Smoke drew and fired. Smoke’s bullet struck home, and the man fell backward.

  “Heavens!” Pastor Owen shouted.

  “He had no choice, Pastor,” Hardegree said. “This man would have killed one of us.”

  “I have seen men and women pass peacefully to their Maker, but I have never seen anyone killed before.”

  Hearing the gunshot, a few of the people started to come back outside.

  “Go on back in, folks,” Hardegree said, holding his hands out to stop them. “It’s all over.”

  “What’s goin’ on, Marshal?” one of the men said. “What was the shootin’?” He saw the body then. “Damn, is that man dead?”

  “I’m sure he is,” Hardegree said.

  “Why was he killed? ’N what’s this meetin’ about?”

  “Please, Mr. Phillips, go on back in and get everyone settled down. We’ll be in there in just a minute, and we’ll tell you what this is all about.”

  “All right, but you’d better have some answers for us, and they better be good answers,” Phillips said as he turned and went back into the church.

  Hardegree shut the door behind him.

  “Marshal, check that man’s pockets,” Smoke said.

  Hardegree knelt beside the man and searched through his pockets. He pulled out a red armband.

  “You were right,” Hardegree said, holding up the band.

  “I thought he might be one of them.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I just had a feeling.”

  “We had better go in, they’re getting a little restless,” Hardegree said.

  “Do you intend to leave this poor soul’s body lying here?” Owen asked.

  “The pastor’s right,” Smoke said. “We should at least pull him around the corner so the people won’t have to look at him when they come out.”

  H
ardegree nodded and he and Worley moved the man’s body to the side of the church, out of sight of the people when they left.

  When the three of them went inside a few minutes later, the church was buzzing with agitated conversation.

  “What is it?”

  “Why did you call us all here?”

  “And why was that man killed? In front of a church of all places?”

  “There needs to be a good reason for killing anyone, anywhere, but in front of a church?” one of the women asked.

  Hardegree walked up to the front of the church and held up his arms, calling for quiet. Finally the conversation halted.

  “I want to show you something,” he said, and reaching into his pocket he pulled out four pieces of red cloth.

  “Marshal, what are you doin’ with those armbands?” someone asked.

  “In the last two days there have been four men killed in this town, all four of whom, including the man who was just killed a few moments ago, had these red armbands in their pockets.”

  “They wasn’t kilt just ’cause they had them red armbands, was they?”

  “No. All four of the killings were cases of justifiable homicide. They were killed in self-defense. I don’t know how many of you are aware of it, but Ghost Riders wear these red bands around their arms. It is the way they are able to identify each other when they’re making a raid. I’m sure you have all heard of the Ghost Riders, haven’t you?”

  “Ain’t they the group that robbed the bank in Laurette ’n kilt all them people?” someone asked.

  “Yes, they are the ones.”

  “What were four Ghost Riders doing in our town?” another asked.

  “I’m going to let Ranger Smoke Jensen speak to you about that, and I expect he can handle your questions better than I can.”

  At the name Smoke Jensen, there was a murmur of excitement throughout the church. Everyone had heard of Smoke Jensen, but there weren’t that many who knew that he was in town. And until this very moment, no one but Marshal Hardegree knew that he was a Colorado Ranger.

  “You ask what four Ghost Riders were doing in Brimstone,” Smoke said. “I think they were here to scout out the town and the bank. I believe it is their intention to rob the bank, and they wanted to see what sort of protection the town has.”