Read A Rocky Mountain Christmas Online
Authors: William W. Johnstone
A Rocky Mountain Christmas (5 page)
Greenhorn, Colorado—November 22
Luke shipped 500 head of Hereford cattle by rail to Greenhorn, paying five dollars per head to get them there. The railroad had off-loaded the cattle into a holding pen where they would keep them without charge for one day. If he made the sale, Heckemeyer and Sons would move the cattle from the pen.
“I tried to get you forty-two fifty, but the best offer I’ve been able to come up with, is forty dollars a head,” Heckemeyer said. “That would be twenty thousand dollars for all five hundred head.”
“Great,” Luke said. “I was prepared to sell for thirty-five dollars a head. The five-dollar increase paid for shipping them over here.”
“Well, then,” Heckemeyer said with a broad smile. “We will both be happy, and you will be sure to tell others of the wonderful service provided you by Heckemeyer and Sons.”
“Yes sir. I’ll be glad to do that, Mr. Heckemeyer.”
Luke signed the bill of sale, then left the office. Twenty thousand dollars was the most money he’d ever had, and he went on a short shopping spree, buying a new shirt, a pair of boots, and a rain slicker. After that he stopped by the saloon to have a celebratory drink before heading back to Two Crowns.
“Did you get your cows sold?” the bartender asked as he poured a shot of whiskey into Luke’s glass.
“I did indeed. And a good price I got for them too,” Luke replied. “Set the bar up for one round. This has been a most productive and profitable trip for me.”
“One free drink to everyone,” the bartender called. “Compliments of this gentleman.”
With shouts of thanks, the other patrons in the saloon rushed to the bar as Luke saluted them with a raised glass.
In another part of the same saloon two men exchanged glances, then left the saloon.
“You think he’ll have the money with him?”
“He just bought drinks all around, didn’t he? Where else would the money be, if not on him?”
“Yeah, you’re right. Where else would it be?”
“So, what do we do, now?”
“Let’s get our horses. We’ll watch the front of the saloon, and when he leaves, we’ll follow.”
Half an hour later, after exchanging good-byes with the new friends he had made, Luke left the saloon, mounted his horse, and started home.
“Tell me, Harry,” he said, patting his horse on the neck. “How does it feel to be ridden by a rich man?”
Harry whickered and nodded his head.
Luke laughed. “All right, Harry, all right. I’m not really what you would call rich. But I’ll have you know I am carrying more money than I have ever held in my hands in my entire life.”
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“Here he comes,” muttered one of the two men waiting for Luke.
“Let’s go,” the other instructed.
“Shouldn’t we wait until he passes, then follow?”
“No, we’ll ride ahead of him. That way he won’t suspect anything, and we can set up and wait for him.”
Shortly after leaving town, Luke noticed the two horsemen on the road ahead of him. Acutely aware of his environment because of the money he was carrying, he decided not to overtake them, but to keep them in sight. That worked well for the first fifteen minutes, and when he reached the top of the next rise he expected to see them still on the road just ahead.
They weren’t there, and despite a very careful perusal, they were nowhere to be seen. Where did they go? There were no buildings to have entered nor crossroads to have taken, so what happened to them? He found it rather troubling that he could no longer see them.
Pulling his pistol, Luke checked the loads in the cylinder chambers, and satisfying himself that he was ready for any contingency, returned the gun to the holster. Shifting his eyes back and forth from one side of the trail to the other he rode ahead. Suddenly, through a break in the trees, he caught a glimpse of two mounted men waiting just off the side of the road. Drawing his pistol again, he cocked it and held it straight down by his side. Thus armed and alert, he continued forward.
When the two riders thrust themselves in the road in front of him, Luke was ready for them. Both men were wearing hoods over their faces, only their eyes visible through the eyeholes.
“Throw down your money!” one shouted.
“The hell I will!” Luke called back, bringing up his arm and firing in the same motion.
A little puff of dust flew up from the man where the bullet hit. A red spot appeared there as well, and the man who had challenged him fell from his horse.
The other rider, suddenly realizing he no longer had a two-to-one advantage, jerked his horse around and dug in the spurs.
Luke holstered his pistol and snaked his rifle from the saddle sheath. Jacking a round into the chamber, he raised the rifle to his shoulder and took very careful aim, but couldn’t bring himself to shoot a man in the back. Carefully, he eased the hammer back down and lowered the rifle as he watched the rider flee.
Dismounting, Luke walked over to the man he had shot and saw that he was dead. The man’s fate neither surprised nor bothered him. It had been a head-to-head confrontation, and the robber knew the chances he took when he set out. Luke pulled the hood off and tossed it to one side as he studied the man’s face without recognition.
The road agent’s horse had not run off, so, with some effort, Luke put the dead man belly down over the saddle. He thought about going back to Greenhorn, but he was almost as close to Pueblo, so he decided to take him there.
Riding up to the sheriff’s office in Pueblo half an hour later, he was greeted by Deputy Sheriff Proxmire, who met him out in front of the office. “Who have you got there, Luke?”
“To tell you the truth, Deputy, I don’t know who this man is,” Luke answered. “But this fella and another man tried to rob me.”
“Tried to rob you, you say?”
“Yes, I saw them ahead of me, saw them hiding behind some trees, so I got a little suspicious. I pulled my gun out and when they ordered me to give them my money, I shot one of them. This one.” Luke nodded toward the body draped over the horse he was leading.
“What about the other man?”
“When I shot this fella, the other one turned and rode off. I could have shot him, too, but I don’t have the stomach to shoot someone in the back. Anyway, I thought I may as well bring this one to you.”
Proxmire turned toward the office and called, “Sheriff Ferrell, you want to come out now?”
The door to the sheriff’s office opened behind Proxmire and another man stepped out. Luke was surprised. He believed it was the man who had gotten away. He was also surprised to see the man was wearing a star on his vest. There had been no star during the ambush.
“Deputy, I’m not sure, but I think this may have been the other man.” Luke pointed toward the man behind Deputy Sheriff Proxmire.
“By other man, you mean he was with the man you shot?” Proxmire asked.
“Yes. He had his face covered with a hood, so I can’t be positive, but he was about this size and was wearing the same kind of clothes. Only he wasn’t packing a star when I saw him last.”
“You say they were both wearing hoods?”
“Yes.”
“What about the hood that was on this fella?” Deputy Proxmire asked. “Have you got it with you?”
“No, I just tossed it aside.”
“What about you, Sheriff? Is this the man you encountered on the road?”
“It is, indeed. And you heard him, Sheriff. He just confessed to murdering Deputy Gates.”
“What?” Luke replied loudly. “What are you talking about? I didn’t murder anyone!”
“Did you, or did you not, shoot down my deputy?”
“Who are you?” Luke asked.
“I’m Sheriff Dewey Ferrell.”
“Did you shoot his deputy, Luke?” Proxmire asked.
Luke pointed to the body that was still draped across the horse behind him. “If that man is this man’s deputy, then yes, I shot him. But it was in self-defense. Whether this man is a sheriff or not, he and the man I shot tried to hold me up.”
“We did no such thing,” Sheriff Ferrell argued. “We were merely trying to stop him, so we could ask him a few questions. That’s when he surprised the two of us by shooting.”
“Deputy, I don’t know what’s going on here, but what happened is nothing like this man is saying. Both men were wearing hoods over their faces, and they demanded that I give them my money. You don’t mask yourself with a hood if all you want to do is ask a few questions, do you?”
“You say we were wearing hoods, but you can’t show the hood my deputy was wearing,” Sheriff Ferrell pointed out.
“If the man you say tried to rob you was masked, how do you know this is the same man?” Proxmire pointed to the sheriff.
“He just said that he was.”
“I’m going to have to take your gun and hold you in jail until this is all worked out,” Proxmire said.
“Deputy, I’m telling you these two men tried to rob me.”
“Why would they try to rob you, Luke? Do you carry so much money around all the time that someone would want to rob you?”
“I am now. I’m carrying almost twenty thousand dollars from the sale of my cattle. You can check with Heckemeyer and Sons over in Greenhorn. They will verify that I’m telling the truth.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt but that you sold some cows,” Proxmire said. “But that’s not the question. The question is, did the sheriff and his deputy stop you to ask a few questions as he says or did he and his deputy actually try to rob you?”
“They tried to rob me.”
“Look at it this way, Luke. Right now it’s just your word against Sheriff Ferrell’s word, and seeing as he is an officer of the law, his word carries a bit more weight. But perhaps you can convince a jury to believe you.”
“A jury? Look here, are you actually telling me this is going to court?”
“It is,” Proxmire said.
Luke looked at Ferrell. “Will he be in court?”
“I’ll be there,” Ferrell answered. “I intend to see justice done for the killing of my deputy.”
“All right,” Luke said. “I won’t argue with you, Proxmire. If you’ll let me put this money in the bank, I’ll come quietly and I’ll stand trial.”
“Good idea,” Proxmire said.
Judge Amon Briggs sat back in the chair in his chambers and put his hands together, fingertip to fingertip. He was listening to Sheriff Ferrell.
“Luke can make a lot of trouble for us if we don’t take care of this situation.”
“What do you mean trouble for us?” Judge Briggs growled. “I didn’t attempt to hold him up.”
“Did you, or did you not, give Gates and me the information about him going to sell his cows? And were you, or were you not, going to be in for a third of the take? And that isn’t the only deal we’ve been in. You got your share from the coach holdup two months ago, too, as I am sure you well remember.”
Briggs held his hand out to quiet Ferrell. “All right, all right. There’s no need to say anything else. The walls have ears. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”
“You’d better take care of it,” Ferrell pressed. “Otherwise we’ll both be in trouble.”
Pueblo—December 5
Luke’s trial was going to be held in the local courthouse with Judge Amon Briggs presiding. He was in his chambers meeting with the prosecutor. “I want him tried for first-degree murder.”
“Your honor, I don’t think I can make the case for first-degree murder,” Lloyd Gilmore said. “I mean, even if what the sheriff says is true, if all he and his deputy were doing was confronting him for questioning, it still wouldn’t be premeditated murder.”
“It doesn’t have to be premeditated,” Briggs said. “He was resisting arrest, and that is a felony. Any death that occurs during the commission of a felony is automatically first-degree murder.”
“According to Sheriff Ferrell’s own testimony, he wasn’t making an arrest, he merely wanted to question him. That’s not resisting arrest. A good lawyer could say that Luke thought he was being held up, and Tom Murchison is a good lawyer.”
“You’re the prosecutor. It’s your job to make hard cases against good lawyers,” Judge Briggs answered.
“All right, I’ll try. But I don’t think I’ll be able to convince the jury.”
As Prosecutor Gilmore and Judge Briggs were discussing the case, Tom Murchison arrived at the jail to meet with Luke Shardeen.
“You’ve got ten minutes,” Deputy Proxmire said, escorting the attorney to Luke’s cell.
“You are wrong, Deputy,” Murchison declared as he entered the cell. “Mr. Shardeen is my client, and I will visit with him for as long as it takes.”
“Yes, well, uh . . .” Proxmire knew he had no response to that, so he shrugged his shoulders and shut the cell door. “Just call out when your visit is finished.” He turned and walked back to the front of the jail.
Tom Murchison was the lawyer who had handled the estate of Luke’s uncle Frank. Since Luke’s arrival in Pueblo, he and Murchison had become good friends. Compared to Luke, Murchison was relatively short, standing five feet nine inches tall. He wore a red bow tie, and held an unlit cigar at a jaunty angle in his mouth.
He sat down on the other bunk in Luke’s cell. “Tell me what happened.”
Luke told of selling the cows in Greenhorn, then seeing the two men waiting in ambush for him on the trail back to Pueblo. He told how they braced him with drawn guns and demanded that he give them his money.
“I’ll do what I can for you, Luke,” Murchison said. “The truth is, we are playing against a stacked deck. Judge Briggs seems to have an unusual connection to Sheriff Ferrell. But you have never been in trouble since you have been here, you have made a lot of friends, and I have an affidavit showing where you sold your cattle for twenty thousand dollars.
“So, while our case will be difficult because the deck is stacked against us, theirs will be equally difficult because they have no motive.”
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