Assault of the Mountain Man

it was safe for Simpson to come see his mother, she would hang a pair of red long johns on the clothesline as a signal.

For the last three days Taggart had stationed himself just outside the Simpson house. This morning he watched as the old woman came out, looked around, then pinned a pair of red long johns onto the clothesline.

Taggart lay down on a flat rock, five hundred yards from the house and waited until late afternoon, before someone came riding up. The old woman come out onto the porch, holding her arms out wide in welcome.

Taggart squeezed the trigger.

The bullet hit Simpson in the side of the head, and even from so far away Taggart could see the spray of blood and brain matter exploding from Simpson’s head.

Simpson’s mother began screaming hysterically, and was still screaming when Taggart rode down to pick up Simpson’s body and drape it over his own horse.

“You killed my boy! You killed my boy!” she shouted at him.

Taggart didn’t bother to answer her.

Five minutes later he rode away, leading Simpson’s horse, over which the body lay. Half an hour later he saw another wanted poster.

$5,000

SMOKE JENSEN

WANTED

FOR MURDER

$5,000 REWARD

to be paid by

Sheriff of La Plata County

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

On the road to Suttle

Shortly after the coach got underway, Calhoun pulled his pistol and spun the cylinder to make certain it was fully loaded.

“Sir, I wish you would be a bit more judicious in the handling of that firearm,” Mrs. Gray said.

“Madam, if we are attacked by road agents, you will be thanking me for this gun,” Calhoun said.

“Road agents?” Mary asked. “Are we likely to be attacked by road agents?”

“I think not, miss,” Dr. Potter said. “I’ve made this trip several times and there has never been any problem.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself, frightening the child,” Mrs. Gray said.

“Didn’t mean to frighten you none, miss,” Calhoun said. “I apologize.”

Mary grinned back at him. “It’s all right. I shouldn’t be such a fraidy cat.”

Stage, as in stagecoach, was actually a term that expressed distance. Way stops and swing stops were “staged” along the route approximately every fifteen miles. Swing stops consisted of nothing but a stable and small shack for the hostler who would have a fresh team ready upon the arrival of the coach. The team could be changed in about ten minutes, then the coach would be on its way. Way stops not only provided for a change of horses, but the passengers could take their meals, and even spend the night if they were on a trip that required such a thing. Although there would be no overnight stays on this trip of eight hours, there would be a noon meal at the way station that was halfway between the two towns.

Some four hours later, they heard the driver blowing upon his horn, a signal to the way station that they were arriving. Most of the time the signal was sent so a new team could be assembled, and the coach would require less than ten minutes to proceed on with fresh steeds. But this would be a stop for lunch, so it signaled the way station proprietors of the eminent arrival so they could make all accommodations ready for the travelers.

When the coach came to rest just in front of the way station, McVey called down to his passengers. “Folks! We will be here for one half hour and one half hour only. I suggest you eat quickly then take care of anything that needs took care of.”

The door was opened from the outside by Don Pratt who, with his wife, Marian ran the way station. “Oh, my, did you folks choose a good day to travel,” he said. “My wife made three apple pies this mornin’. But I suggest you eat quick, before McVey sees them. I’ve known that man a long time, and Lord does he like to eat.”

The passengers enjoyed their meal, and laughed at the good-natured jibes tossed back and forth between the Pratts and the driver and shotgun guard. Less than thirty minutes after they arrived, McVey stood and hitched up his trousers. “Miz Pratt, I tell you, if you don’t stop feedin’ me so well here, I’m not goin’ to be able to get into my britches much longer. There ain’t no restaurant anywhere that sets a better table than you do.”

Marian Pratt blushed at the compliment.

“All right, folks, let’s go,” McVey called to his passengers. “We got a long way to go and I aim to be there before sundown.”

The passengers, thanking Mrs. Pratt for her hospitality, filed out of the way station and climbed back into the coach, connected now to a fresh team.

As the trip progressed, the passengers conversed, sharing not only their names and background, but the purpose of their journey. Mary Dawson was going to Suttle to spend some time with her grandmother and grandfather. Mrs. Gray and Mrs. Johnson were both from Suttle. They were members of the Colorado Ladies’ League, and were returning home after a most productive and successful meeting in Escalante. Dr. Potter was from Escalante, but he was going to Suttle to visit with a friend, another doctor, who wanted to discuss a patient with him. Calhoun had come to Escalante to make arrangements with the railroad for a cattle shipment. Evans planned to show a sample of his wares—cooking utensils—to housewives in Suttle.

The coach had been underway for some six hours. The passengers, having recently partaken of a rather large meal at the way station, and having exhausted nearly all subjects of conversation, were quiet. All but Mary and Dr. Potter were asleep, and the lulling sway of the coach, the sound of the hooves, and the whirling wheels were lulling her to sleep as well. To keep herself awake, Mary thought of her grandmother, always so appreciative of gifts. Mary