Assault of the Mountain Man

“Thank you,” Mary replied. “Grandma will wash it. Poor Mrs. Gray and Mrs. Johnson. They were so excited about the meeting they attended in Escalante. They were going to tell their friends all about it.” Tears began to slide down Mary’s cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m crying like a baby.”

“No you aren’t, child,” Dr. Potter said reassuringly. “You are crying like a compassionate woman.”

“If you folks are ready, we’ll get underway,” McVey said, the tone of his voice much more gentle than it had been at the start of their journey.

Suttle, Colorado

The first thing the people noticed about the arrival of the coach was that McVey did not come galloping in as he normally did. Then someone saw the bodies lying on top of the coach, as well as bullet holes in the sides. “Hey, look at the coach!”

“What happened?”

“I bet they was held up!”

The forward progress of the coach down Center Street was so slow the citizens of the town who were curious and aggressive enough to do so, were able to keep pace with it.

“What happened?” someone called.

“Was you held up?” another asked.

McVey made no reply. He continued to stare straight ahead, concentrating on driving the team as resolutely as he could. Finally he pulled to a stop in front of the Dunn Hotel, which also served as the stagecoach office for Suttle. The crowd that had followed him drew up there as well, so by the time McVey set his brake there were close to a hundred people gathered around the coach.

Caleb Stallings, the station manager, stepped onto the front porch. When he saw the blood, the bodies, and the holes in the side of the coach, he got a horrified expression on his face. “Stan, my God!” he called up to the driver. “What happened ?”

“We was waylaid,” McVey said. He stood, then pointed his hand toward the top of the coach. “These folks was all kilt, I’m afraid.”

“Good Lord, Stan, are you the only one left alive?”

The door to the coach opened then, and Dr. Potter stepped down. He reached back into the coach to help Mary down.

“Mary!” an older woman called and broke from the crowd rushing toward Mary, who met her halfway. The two women embraced, weeping as they did so.

“Juanita?” a gray haired old man said, his voice cracking. “Where is Juanita Gray, my wife?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gray,” Dr. Potter said. “Mrs. Gray and her friend, Mrs. Johnson, were both killed. So were Mr. Calhoun and Mr. Evans.”

“Pop!” a young boy of about sixteen called. “No! I came to town to get him! What will I tell Ma?”

As news spread through the town, bringing realization that five people had been killed, three of whom were from Suttle, anger and sorrow became pervasive.

There were resolute shouts to form a posse to go after the perpetrators, but nothing progressed beyond the shouts. The real finality of the event occurred when Gene Welch, the undertaker, arrived at the scene, not with a hearse, but with an open wagon large enough to accommodate all five bodies.

“Would someone give me a hand, please?” he asked, and a dozen or more willing souls stepped up to help pass the bodies down from the top of the coach.

Harold Denman, editor of the Suttle Sentinal didn’t even bother to write out the story first. He composed the story as he set the type, which was not that difficult a job for him. He had grown up in a print shop, and had been setting type for as long as he could remember. Because of that he was able to read the type in reverse as easily as he could read it forward.

Inking the platen, Denman brought down the press to make the first impression. Then he pulled the first page of the press and looked at the story he had written, putting it out as a special edition.

Coach Holdup Between Escalante and Suttle

FIVE ARE MURDERED IN COLD BLOOD

In a most dastardly fashion, Bill Dinkins and his gang of murderers and thieves lay in wait at Purple Peak Pass on Friday of the week previous. When the driver, Stan McVey, reached the top of the grade, he stopped, as all good drivers do, to give his team an opportunity to catch their breath.

It was there, according to Mr. McVey, that four masked men showed themselves. Without so much as one word, they began shooting, the balls taking fatal effect not only on Mr. Evans and Mr. Calhoun, but also on Mrs. Gray and Mrs. Johnson, they being passengers. Burt Conway, the messenger, was also killed. The robbers relieved the coach of its money pouch, containing five thousand dollars.

Miss Dawson, who survived the attack, told Sheriff Jones she overheard one of the men say the name Bill Dinkins. It is this comment, uttered by one of the perpetrators of the evil deed, which has enabled the sheriff to declare it to be the work of the Dinkins gang.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Delta, Colorado

There was nothing specific about the little town that caused Smoke to go there. It was just one of the many fly-blown towns he hadn’t checked out before. It was one week after he left Sugarloaf, this time convinced that Sally was fully on the mend. He had spent the last six nights out on the trail, so the thought of a bed and bath was all the incentive he needed, whether Dinkins was there or not.

After making certain that Seven was stabled and fed at Fadley’s Corral, he checked in to the Central House