packed up, and pulled out. The rip-roaring boom town was not yet busted, but a hole had been pierced in the balloon.
Those who elected to stay until the very end of the vein had been found were slowly shifting their trading to the new town of Big Rock. But since the Mayor of Big Rock, Wilbur Mason, refused to allow gaming and hurdy-gurdy girls in, the town of Fontana soon became known as the pleasure palace of the high country.
But that was both a blessing and a curse for Sheriff Monte Carson and his three remaining deputies. A curse because it kept them on the run at all hours; a blessing because it kept them all in steady work, and doubly so for Monte, because it gave him a new direction in life to pursue. One that he found, much to his surprise, he enjoyed very much.
Louis had, of course, noticed the change in Monte, and in his quiet way tried to help the man, as did Judge Proctor, Louis helping the man with his reading and Proctor loaning him books on the law.
And Tilden Franklin maintained a very low profile, as did most of his gunslicks. Tilden wanted the area to settle down, stop attracting the governor’s attention. More importantly, he wanted that damned hard-eyed U.S. marshal to stay out of the high country.
But both Tilden and Smoke knew that the undeclared war in the high country was not over, that the uneasy truce was apt to break apart at any time. And when it did, the high lonesome was going to run red with blood.
Someone was going to come out on top, and Tilden was making plans for that someone to be named Tilden Franklin. And he had not given up on his plans to possess Sally Jensen. Not at all. They had just been shelved for a time. But not forgotten.
The festering blot on the face of the high country began to leak its corruption when Paul Jackson rode into Fontana after a lonely six weeks in the mountains. Paul had heard talk of the new town of Big Rock, but had never seen it. He had heard talk of Fontana slowly dying, but had given it little thought. Paul had been busy digging gold. Lots of gold. More gold than even he had ever imagined he would ever find. His saddlebags were stuffed with the precious dust. His packhorses were loaded down.
He rode slowly into Fontana and could not believe his eyes. He had remembered a town, just six weeks past, full of people.
Place looked dead.
No, he corrected that. Just dying.
And where had the good people gone? Place looked to be full of whores and gamblers and pimps and ne’er- do-wells.
Made Paul feel kind of uncomfortable.
He reined up in front of the bank. But the damn bank was closed. He saw a deputy and hailed him.
Stonewall ambled over. “Something wrong, Paul?”
“Where’s the bank?”
“Ain’t got no bank no more, Paul,” the deputy informed him. “It shut down when the gold began to peter out.”
Paul, not a bright person to begin with, had to think about that for a minute or so.
“The gold is petering out?”
Now Stonewall never figured himself to be no genius, but even he was a shining light compared to this yoyo sitting his horse in front of the empty bank building.
“Yeah, Paul. The vein is about gone. If you got gold, we can store it at the jail until you can figure out what to do with it.”
“I plan on taking my woman and my gold out of here,” Paul said. “We are going to San Francisco and becoming man and wife.”
“Your…woman?”
“Yes. I should like to see Bountiful now. So if you’ll excuse me…”
“The minister’s wife…Bountiful?” Stonewall asked.
“Yes.”
“Paul…they don’t live here in Fontana no more. The preacher quit his church and took to farmin’. He bought hisself some land up near the Sugarloaf. He preaches ever’ Sunday morning at the new church up in Big Rock.”
“Bountiful?”
Stonewall was rapidly losing patience with this big dumbbell. “Why, hell, man! She’s with her husband.”
“Not when she sees me,” Paul said, then swung his horses and rode slowly out of town, toward the high lonesome and the town of Big Rock.
And Bountiful.
“What the hell was all that about?” Monte asked, walking up to his deputy.
Stonewall took off his hat and scratched his head. “Sheriff, I don’t rightly know. That Paul Jackson never was too bright, but I think the time up in the mountains has flipped him over the edge.”
He told Monte the gist of the conversation.
“Strange,” Monte agreed. “But Paul is gonna be in for a surprise if he tries to mess with Ralph’s wife. That preacher’ll whip his butt up one mountain and down the other.”
“Surely Paul ain’t
“Don’t bet on it. Did he really have them horses loaded with gold?”
“Said he did.”
