Shootout of the Mountain Man (23 page)

“I know you are nervous, and I don’t blame you. But don’t worry about it,” Nabors said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “There’s nobody in town who didn’t know about you and Bobby Lee, and they know he’s going to be hung on Friday, so nobody is going to hold it against you.”

“You mean he is scheduled to be hanged on Friday,” Minnie said.

“Yes, scheduled.”

“I’m hoping that Mr. Jensen will be able to change that,” Minnie said.

“Well, don’t get your hopes up too high,” Nabors warned. “I’m sure he means well, but to be honest, I don’t have any idea of what he could possibly do to get Bobby Lee out.”

“I know it seems impossible, but I have a feeling about this man Smoke Jensen. I have a very good feeling about him,” Minnie said.

“How is Janet doing?” Nabors asked, turning in his chair to look at the young woman who had been special friends with Andy Emerson. “It looks like she is doing all right.”

Janet was laughing and flirting with all the men.

“Not really,” Minnie said. “If you ask me, it looks like she’s trying just a little too hard.”

“Yeah, you may be right,” Nabors said. He nodded toward a group of cowboys who were standing at the end of the bar. “Those boys all rode with Andy, and they seem to be taking it all right,” he said. “They’ve been telling ‘remember when’ stories about him all night.”

Minnie smiled. “From what I knew of Andy Emerson, there are probably quite a few stories to be told.”

She and Nabors grew quiet so they could listen in to the latest story.

“Remember when Mr. Poindexter was going to sell that horse that Andy always rode?” one of the cowboys said. “Andy asked him not to do it, but Mr. Poindexter said he’d been offered a good deal by Mr. Norton, so he was going to do it. He asked Andy to take the horse over to Mr. Norton’s ranch and Andy did, but what he done was—”

“What he done was, he fed the horse soap so’s it would commence foamin’ at the mouth,” one of the other riders said, interrupting the first storyteller.

“And Mr. Norton said he didn’t want no horse with the hoof and mouth,” the third one said.

By now, all were laughing.

“And ole Andy, he had the horse all cleaned out when he come back. He told Mr. Poindexter that Mr. Norton accused him of tryin’ to sell off a sick horse,” the fourth said, concluding the story.

“Mr. Poindexter, he got all upset and wanted to go over and have a few words with Mr. Norton, tell him he didn’t take to being accused of trying to sell a sick horse.”

“But Andy stopped him, and said it was probably just Mr. Norton’s way of backin’ out of the deal.” Again, all laughed.

“Andy rode that horse the rest of his life,” one of the others said quietly, and the laughter stopped. “Mr. Poindexter, he sent me in today to tell Gene Crenshaw that he would take care of all the expenses of buryin’ Andy, and he told me to bring back the horse.”

“It is a good horse.”

“Yeah. And Andy was a good man.”

“Let’s have a drink to Andy.”

“Not just us, ever’body,” one of the others said, and he turned and called out loud. “Ladies and gents! Ladies and gents!” After the second shout, all conversation in the saloon stopped.

“What is it?” someone asked.

The Poindexter rider held up his mug of beer. “I’d like for ever’one to have a drink to Andy Emerson,” he said.

“I ain’t goin’ to drink to the son of a bitch,” someone said. “Hell, we just had a fight last week.”

“It was a fair fight, warn’t it?” one of the other patrons asked.

The protestor thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, it was a fair fight. All right, I’ll drink to him.”

All in the saloon held their drinks high.

“To Andy,” the Poindexter rider said.

“To Andy,” the others repeated, and all drank the toast.

At that exact moment behind the jail, Smoke was looking at his watch when he saw the minute hand click onto the number one. He held the candle flame to the intertwined fuses of the two sticks of dynamite. As the fuses started sputtering, he ran back to Bloomberg’s Mercantile, then stepped around the corner. He just made it around the corner when the dynamite exploded, the flash of the detonation momentarily lighting up the entire alley.

The alley was instantly filled with flying shards of brick and billowing smoke, even as the sound of the initial explosion echoed back and reechoed, from both the Shoshone and Toiyabe mountain ranges.

The patrons of the Gold Strike Saloon had just finished drinking their toast to Andy when they heard the explosion. It was so loud that it caused all the bottles behind the bar to clink together.

“What the hell was that?”

“Someone blasting in the mines?”

“No, it’s too late for that and that was too close.”

The loud, stomach-shaking boom not only alerted those in the saloon, but awakened the entire town. Even before Smoke reached the three-foot-wide hole that was blasted in the rear of the jailhouse, he could hear people beginning to call out in surprise and alarm.

“What happened?”

“Hello?”

“What’s going on?”

Smoke reached the hole quickly, then stuck his head in. A dim light still emanated from the hall lantern, though the smoke was so thick that it was difficult to see. He could hear coughing.

“Bobby Lee, are you all right?”

“Yes,” Bobby Lee replied, and Smoke was pleased to hear that the young man’s voice was just beside him. Bobby Lee emerged from the haze, and sticking out his hand, grabbed Smoke’s hand. “Help pull me through,” he said.

“Hey! What’s going on back here!” Deputy Jackson shouted, coming from the front.

The deputy saw Bobby Lee escaping through the hole and he pulled his gun and fired, but by that time Smoke had already jerked Bobby Lee through, and out into the alley, so the bullets slammed harmlessly into the part of the wall not destroyed by the dynamite blast.

“Hurry,” Smoke said. “Our horses are down here.”

“Our horses? You mean mine too?”

“Yours too.”

“Wow, my horse too. When you do things, you don’t go halfway, do you?”

“You remember Preacher, don’t you, Bobby Lee?”

“Yes, of course I remember Preacher. ”

“Preacher told me a long time ago, if you are going to do something, do it right the first time, because you may never get a second time.”

By now, the town was alive with sound, from barking dogs, to screeching cats, to men and women shouting and calling out to each other.

“Was that a bomb?”

“It sounded like a bomb.”

“What would a bomb be doing in Cloverdale?”

“The roundhouse? A boiler explosion maybe?”

Smoke and Bobby Lee climbed quickly into their saddles.

“This way,” Smoke said. He had already spotted the quickest and easiest way out of town. The best way was not back down the alley, which was the way he had come in, but by riding between two houses that backed onto the alley and fronted on Vaughan Lane. By going this way, they would quickly find themselves in the long, snaking ravine that he had seen earlier. The ravine would give them cover and concealment for at least a mile.

A man, wearing a sleeping gown, was standing on the front porch of one of the two houses as Smoke and Bobby Lee rode by.

“Here!” the man called out. “What has happened?”

“I’m not sure,” Smoke called back. “I think there may have been a boiler explosion down at the roundhouse.”

“A boiler explosion? That don’t make sense. What would they have steam up at this time of night for?” the man called back, though by the time the man finished his comment, his voice was behind them, because both Smoke and Bobby Lee had reached the ravine and were now bent low over their horses, riding hard.

Janet, who had been flirting with three men who were sharing a table, had joined the others in a toast to Andy. Minnie and Nabors had done the same thing, as had Doc Baker, who had playing chess. The piano player was turned around on the bench, with his back to the keyboard, when the explosion rolled through the saloon.

“Oh!” Janet shouted, startled so that she dropped her glass and put her hands over her ears.

“You think maybe it was the roundhouse?” someone asked.

Minnie and Nabors exchanged broad smiles, but said nothing. Looking toward Doc Baker, Minnie saw him glance back at her with the silent question in his eyes. She nodded, and he allowed only the barest suggestion of a smile to cross his lips, before returning to the game.

“Your move,” he said.

“Damn, Doc, didn’t you hear that?” Bryan Hughes asked. “Aren’t you a little concerned as to what that was? ”

“I’m more concerned about the fate of my bishop,” Doc said. “I’m sure someone will tell us soon enough. Like I said, it’s your move.”

The pharmacist smiled, and captured Doc’s bishop. “You had a right to be concerned,” he said.

“Damn, I should of kept my mouth shut. You didn’t even see that move until I called it to your attention.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Bryan said, chuckling, as he held up the small chess piece. “I have your bishop now.”

Sheriff Wallace was a single man, and he kept a room at Mrs. Kramer’s Boarding House. He had just fallen asleep when the sound of the explosion awakened him. He lay in his bed for a few minutes, listening to the startled reaction of the town and trying to figure out what it might have been, when there was a loud knock at his door.

“Who is it?” he called, reaching over to pull his pistol from the holster.

“It’s me, Sheriff. Deputy Jackson,” a voice called from the other side of the door.

“Jackson, what are you doing here?” Wallace scolded. “You know better than to leave your post. I told you, anyone who has the night duty is not to leave the jail as long as we have a prisoner.”

“Yes, sir, well that’s just it, Sheriff,” Jackson called back.

“What’s just it?”

“We don’t have us no prisoner,” Jackson said. “Bobby Lee Cabot got away.”

Getting out of bed, Wallace padded quickly barefooted over to the door to jerk it open.

“How did he get away?” Wallace asked angrily.

“Maybe you heard that loud boom a while ago,” Jackson suggested.

“I heard it. What about it?”

“It seems like somebody blow’d a hole in the back wall of the jail.”

“It
seems
like somebody blew a hole in the back wall? Or somebody
did
blow a hole in the back wall. Try and make sense when you talk to me.”

“Yes, sir, well, I say it seems like somebody did ‘cause somebody actual did blow a hole in the back wall,” Jackson said, his convoluted explanation not much clearer than his original comment.

“Go get Harley,” Wallace ordered. “Then get our horses saddled. We’re goin’ after him.”

“Tonight? In the dark?” Jackson replied, surprised by the pronouncement.

“Yes, tonight in the dark. He escaped in the dark, didn’t he?”

“Yes, sir. But which way will we go? How are going to catch him in the dark?”

“Will you get Harley and get our horses saddled like I told you to?” Wallace said in exasperation as he began to pull on his pants.

“Yes, sir, I’ll get Harley.”

“Did you hear? The prisoner escaped! Bobby Lee Cabot got away! “ someone yelled as they ran into the saloon, hitting the batwing doors so hard that they slapped back against the walls of the saloon.

“How did he get away?” one of saloon customers asked.

“Somebody set dynamite to the back wall and blew it plumb out!”

“Who done it?”

“Damn if I know,” the bearer of the news replied. Turning, he left the saloon and started running down the boardwalk, the sounds of his footfalls receding in the distance.

“Jailbreak!” he was shouting into the night. “Bobby Lee Cabot broke out of jail!”

Nabors looked across the table to Minnie.

“Did you know that he was going to blow up the jail?”

“I was confident that he was going to get Bobby Lee out of jail. I didn’t know exactly how he would do it.”

Nabors chuckled. “You have to say this about him. When he sets out to help someone, he doesn’t mess around, does he?”

“Who are you talking about?” Paul, the bartender, asked, coming over to join them then, not having heard the initial exchange between the two of them.

“The sheriff is goin’ to come around asking a lot questions,” Nabors said. “You are probably better off if you don’t have any answers.”

“Do you have answers?” Paul asked.

“I don’t have any answers,” Nabors said. “I have lots of ideas, but I don’t have any answers.”

Doc Baker came over to join them then.

“I thought you were playing chess,” Nabors said.

“I was, but Bryan cheats.” Doc Baker didn’t mean the charge seriously, and nobody took it so.

“I don’t need to cheat to beat you,” Bryan called back in good-natured banter.

“Did I hear that fella say a moment ago that the back wall of the jail had been blown out?”

“That’s right,” Nabors said.

“Do you think it might have been—”

“That’s right,” Nabors said again, interrupting him with a broad smiled. “There’s no doubt in my mind who it was.”

“Well, what do you know?”

Riding hard through the night, Smoke and Bobby Lee reached Lost Creek in the Sinkarata Valley at about four o’clock in the morning. They slept lightly through the rest of the night, then awakened just before dawn. Now, in the east, Smoke could see the long slab of the Shoshone Mountains outlined against the red-gold sky of sunrise. The De Satoya mountain range lay to the west.

They had made their camp under on a bench of rock overhanging the narrow stream, under a stand of great pines. Grasshoppers flitted about, and several yellow butterflies hovered over the water. A pair of eagles circled high overhead, while, somewhat lower, a much more active peregrine falcon snatched a fleeing grouse.

Smoke walked over to the edge of the creek, then lay on his stomach on a flat rock. Reaching down into the clear water and using his cupped hands, he scooped the water up, then splashed it on his face, finding the cold water invigorating.

“I want to thank you for answering my telegram,” Bobby Lee said.