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Terror of the Mountain Man

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

Southwest, Missouri—1882

"We're getting pretty close now," Smoke said.

Smoke and Sally had been two days on the train since leaving Sugarloaf Ranch at Big Rock, Colorado, and he was sitting in the window seat, looking out.

"Do you see anything you recognize?" Sally asked.

"Yeah," Smoke replied. "I have been right here, on this creek, before."

"You sure it was this creek?" Sally teased. "We've seen at least a dozen or more creeks, streams, and rivers since we came into Missouri. Are you sure it's this creek?"

"I'm sure," Smoke said, as he recalled the last time he had been at this same spot.

Smoke could feel his stomach shaking from the shock waves of the explosion. The underpinnings of the trestle were carried away by the planted charges, but the superstructure remained intact for several more seconds, stretching across the creek with no visible means of support, as if defying the laws of gravity. Then, slowly, the tracks began to sag and the ties started snapping, popping with a series of loud reports, like pistol shots, until finally, with a resounding crash and a splash of water, the whole bridge collapsed into the creek.

"Now, that's the way to do it, boys," Asa Briggs said with a broad, happy smile. "The Yankees won't be movin' troops over this railroad for a while."

It was just over twenty years ago when that trestle had been destroyed, one of the casualties of war. However, as the train passed over the creek on a rebuilt trestle, Smoke could remember the event as if it had been yesterday.

Smoke was in Missouri for the first time since he and his father had left back in 1865. He and his father had left together, and now they were returning together. Smoke had exhumed his father's grave, and Emmett Jensen's remains were in a beautiful ebony and silver coffin in the baggage car ahead. Smoke was bringing him home, to Missouri, to be buried next to his mother.

"It's just something I want to do," he had told Sally when he came up with the idea.

"Then we shall do it."

"We?"

"Yes, we. I want to see where you were born, Smoke, and where you grew up."

"I didn't grow up there that much. I left home when I was still no more than a boy."

Sally chuckled, and ran her hand through his hair. "What makes you think you're grown up now?" she asked.

"Why would I want to grow up?" Smoke teased. "The only thing that happens when you grow up is you get old."

The conductor came through the car then and stopping at the seat occupied by Smoke and Sally, leaned over to speak quietly.

"There is a table available in the dining car now, Mr. Jensen. I've asked them to hold it for you."

"Thank you," Smoke said, and he and Sally got up to walk back to the diner. They were met by a smiling porter, who escorted them to a table which was covered with white linen cloth and decorated by a vase of flowers. The menu displayed fare as varied as that found in the finest restaurants in the country. Darkness fell outside, a single candle lighting the distance between the couple.

Sally reached across the table to lay her hand on Smoke's hand.

"I'm glad you've decided to do this," she said. "I know that you have spoken about how you had to bury your mother."

"In a feeding trough," Smoke said in shame and embarrassment. "I had to bury her in a feeding trough. But she'll have a fine coffin now. I should have done this long ago, Sally. I should have moved Pa back to Missouri and put them down next to each other, years ago."

"It's never too late," Sally said.

"I guess not," Smoke said. "It isn't as if they are aware that they had to wait so long."

After dinner they returned to the car, now brightly lit by the gimbal-mounted lamps between the windows.

Sally began reading, while Smoke sat in musing silence, the darkness outside limiting his view to that of the golden squares of light which, projected through the windows, were sliding by at almost thirty miles an hour along the gravel ballast beside the tracks.

Suddenly the train braked sharply, eventually grounding to a shuddering, screeching, banging halt.

Curious as to why the train stopped so suddenly, Smoke looked out the window to see what he could determine. Because of the dark, he saw nothing.

"What is going on? Why have we stopped?" someone asked.

"I nearly broke my neck! The railroad is certainly going to hear from me!" another complained.

"Smoke, what is it?"

"I don't know," Smoke said. "Could be a break in the track. Could even be a train robbery."

"Surely not?"

"Why not? We're in Missouri, after all. And this is where Jesse James sort of perfected the operation."

"But Jesse James is dead."

"So I've heard," Smoke said. He pulled his pistol from his holster, then let it rest on his knee, covered by his hat.

No sooner had Smoke done that than a man burst into the car from the front. He wore a bandana tied across the bottom half of his face, and he held a pistol which he pointed toward the passengers on the car. "Everyone stay in their seats!" the armed man shouted.

"Smoke!" Sally said.

"Ever'body get their money out. We're goin' to have us a collection, you know, like what happens in a church?" The gunman laughed. "You just do what I tell you to do, and there won't nobody get hurt," the gunman shouted.

"Except you," Smoke replied.

"What did you say?"

"You will be hurt, if you don't step off this train now, and go on your way," Smoke said calmly.

"Mister, are you crazy? You do see that I'm holdin' a gun here, don't you?"

"In fact, I do see it," Smoke said. "But it isn't going to do you any good. Now put the gun away and leave the train."

"Yeah? An' if I don't?"

"I'll kill you," Smoke said.

"Abner, I think maybe you'd better get in here," the gunman called.

Another gunman stepped in, to join the first. "What do you need?" he asked. "What's going on?"

"You see that feller down there, about halfway on the right?" The gunman chuckled. "He just told me that if I don't get off the train now, he's goin' to kill me."

Smoke continued to sit quietly in his seat, fixing an unblinking stare on the two men who were standing at the front of the car.

"Is that right, mister? Is that what you said?"

"That's what I said."

"Lady, maybe you'd better find somewhere else in this car to sit," Abner said to Sally.

"Why?" Sally asked.

"Why? 'Cause we're about to shoot that fella you're sittin' beside, 'n' it would be a downright shame if you was to get hit when we start shootin'."

"He's my husband, and I have no intention of moving. Besides, you won't be shooting."

"We're not foolin', lady. Do you think we won't shoot?"

"Oh, I think you'll make the attempt, but your effort will be unsuccessful."

Sally's cool, and unflappable comments, spoken without the slightest indication of fear, or even anxiousness, shocked the other passengers in the car, and had a very unnerving effect on the two men.

"What the hell, let's just shoot both of them," Abner said. He and the other gunman, who had been addressed as James, both raised their guns to fire, pulling the hammers back as they did so.

Two shots rang out, but the shots didn't come from the train robbers' guns. Instead they came from Smoke, who had lifted his pistol from his lap and fired twice before either of the outlaws could get even one shot off.

During the gunfire, women screamed and men shouted. As the car filled with the gun smoke of the two discharges, Smoke jumped up and ran out through the back door of the car. Leaping from the steps down to the ground, he fell and rolled away from the train, out into the darkness.

"Abner! James! What's goin' on in there?" someone called. "What's all the shootin'?"

In the dim light that spilled through the car windows, Smoke saw the gunman who was yelling at the others. As he ran through the little golden patches of light cast by the windows of the cars, it had the effect of a lantern blinking on and off so that first he was in shadow, then brightly illuminated ... then shadow ... then illuminated. Smoke waited.

"Hold it right there!" Smoke shouted. "I've got you covered. Put down your gun and throw up your hands."

"The hell you do," the gunman shouted. Realizing that he was illuminated by light shining from the train car, he moved out into the shadow to fire at Smoke, or at least, where he thought Smoke might be.

Smoke used the flame pattern to return fire. He heard the gunman let out a little yell, and he knew he had hit him. He got up, then ran quickly through the dark toward him, his gun at the ready.

His caution wasn't necessary. The man was lying on the ground, dead.

The immediate danger seemed to be over, and as far as he knew, the three men he shot had been the only ones involved.

After another moment the conductor left the train and was soon joined by a few of the braver passengers. By now even the engineer, fireman, and the messenger had come down and the train crew and passengers stood around the body that lay belly-down alongside the train.

"There are two more dead inside, besides this one out here. Any others that you know of?" the conductor asked the engineer.

"No," the engineer replied. "They was only three of 'em what stopped me, 'n' if you say they's two more of 'em inside, well, that would be all of 'em."

"Did they get anything?" one of the passengers asked the messenger, who had come down from the express car.

"No, they didn't get that far. The shooting started before I opened the door, and the next thing you know, they were gone."

"Who was it that done all the shootin'?" the engineer asked.

"It was him," one of the passengers said accusingly, pointing at Smoke. "And, if you ask me, it was damn foolish of him to do it too. They was women and children in that car, 'n' with all the bullets flyin' around, why it's a wonder there wasn't some of 'em hit."

"There were only two bullets," Smoke said. "And they weren't flying around. They hit exactly what they were supposed to hit."

"Why did you start shooting?" the conductor asked.

"Because they were about to shoot me," Smoke answered.

"So you say. I'm not so sure about that," the conductor said.

"Well, I'm sure, because I saw it," one of the other passengers said. "The two brigands in the car pointed their pistols at this gentleman, and announced quite clearly for all concerned, that it was their intention to shoot not only him, but his wife as well."

"Judge Clayborne. Were you in the car where the shooting took place?" one of the other passengers asked.

"I was."

"What the hell, Eugene," the messenger said to the conductor. "As far as I'm concerned, this man may have saved a few lives, besides which, the robbers didn't get one penny of money. Mister," he said looking directly at Smoke, "I, for one, thank you."

Smoke nodded, but didn't say anything.

"Why'd you stop, Lyman?" the conductor asked. "None of this would've happened if you hadn't stopped."

"Didn't have no choice," the engineer replied. "They put a barricade across the tracks." Lyman glanced toward a couple of the stronger-looking passengers. "Fact is, we can't move from this very spot till the track has been cleared. You two men want to bear a hand in gettin' the barricade moved?"

"Sure thing," one of the two answered, and both passengers went to the front of the train with the engineer and fireman, to begin clearing the cut timber from the track.

When Smoke returned to the train car the response toward him was measured.

"What a strange reaction these people are having," Sally said. "Don't they know you just saved their lives?"

"I wouldn't take it that far," Smoke said. "Besides, I fear that most of them think I endangered their lives by doing what I did."

"Nonsense," Sally said. "I'll soon set them straight on that."

Smoke reached out to put his hand on Sally's arm. "I'd rather you not do that," he said. "I would like for my return to Missouri to be as quiet as possible."

Despite the situation, Sally laughed out loud. When she did so, several others in the car stared at her accusingly.

"As quiet as possible," she said. "You just stopped a robbery in progress by shooting three of the robbers. Don't you think it's a little late to 'enter Missouri quietly'?"

Smoke chuckled as well.

"If you put it like that, I suppose you are right."

"If I put it like that? How else am I going to put it?"

It took less than fifteen minutes to get the track cleared, then, with a series of jolts that eventually smoothed out, the train started up again.

About half an hour later the train began to slow, and Smoke pulled the curtain open to look outside. He saw a small house slide by, a dim, golden glow shining through the windows.

When the train came to a complete stop, Smoke and Sally stepped out onto the brick platform at the Galena Depot and looked around.

Behind them the train was temporarily at rest from its long run, but it wasn't quiet. Because the engineer kept the steam up, the valve continued to open and close in great, heaving sighs. Overheated wheel bearings and gearboxes popped and snapped as its tortured metal cooled. On the platform all around him, there was a discordant chorus of squeals, laughter, shouts, and animated conversation as people were getting on and off the train.

When Smoke looked toward the rear of the train he saw that the three bodies had been taken down from the last car and were being laid out side by side at the far end of the platform. Already the curious were beginning to gather around them.

Smoke had brought his and Sally's horses all the way from Big Rock, and he and Sally walked toward the attached stock car, away from those who were congregated around the men he had shot. They waited there as the horses were led down the board incline that had been lifted to the door of the car for that express purpose. The horses recognized them, and nodded and whickered in appreciation and relief that they had been reunited.

"Good-looking animals," one of the employees said.

"Thanks. Is Grant's stable still open?"

"Grant? Where you been, mister? Emil Grant died ten years ago. It ain't Grant's no more. It was bought out by Dave Kern."

"Davey Kern?" Smoke smiled. He remembered Kern from when they were in school together. "Well, that'll be just fine. I'll be glad to leave my horses with him. Will there be someone there now?"

"I expect there will be. He keeps someone on duty there all night long."

"Is the stable still in the same place, up on the corner of Maple and Fourth?"

"Still there." The depot man looked at Smoke more closely. "You from here, mister? 'Cause if you are, I don't recollect you."

"You wouldn't likely," Smoke said. "I was just a boy when I left and that was a long time ago."

As they were speaking, Smoke saw his father's coffin being removed from the baggage car and placed, carefully, on one of the iron-wheeled carts. He handed the reins of his horse to Sally and walked over to it.

"This belong to you?" the baggage master asked as Smoke approached.

"Yes."

"It isn't empty, is it?"

"No, it contains the remains of my father. I've brought him here to be buried."

"What do you want done with it for now?"

"Can you keep it here, until I can make arrangements for it?"

"I reckon I can, but it'll cost you a quarter a night for me to put it up here."

Smoke gave him a dollar. "I should have all the arrangements made by the time this is worked off."

The baggage master took the money, nodded, then motioned for one of the other men to move it into the depot baggage-storage area.

After making arrangements for his father's coffin to be safely stored until he was ready for it, Smoke walked down to the far end of the station platform where the bodies of the men he had shot had been laid out as if on display. Each one had his arms folded across his chest. The eyes were open on two of them, the third had only one eye open, the other having been destroyed by the entry of the bullet.

There were two men standing there, looking down at the bodies. One was the well-dressed passenger from the train, the one the conductor had referred to as "judge." The other man, who hadn't been a passenger, was also wearing a suit, and was smoking a cigar. A star, attached to the lapel of his suit jacket, identified him as the sheriff.

"This is the man who did it, Sheriff," the judge said.

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Excerpted from Terror of the Mountain Man by William W. Johnstone, J. A. Johnstone. Copyright © 2014 J. A. Johnstone. Excerpted by permission of KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP..
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