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 that dumb!”
“Don’t bet on it. Did he really have them horses loaded with gold?”
“Said he did.”
“Outlaws workin’ the high country; he’ll be lucky if he makes it to Big Rock.”
“Bountiful,” Paul said, sitting his horse in front of the Morrow cabin. “I’ve come for you.”
Bountiful blinked her baby blues. “You’ve…come for me?”
“Yes. Now get your things. I’m a rich man, Bountiful. We can have a beautiful life together. I’ll buy you everything you ever dreamed of.”
“Paul, everything I have ever dreamed of is right here.” She waved her hand. “What you see is what I want. I have it all.”
“But…I don’t understand, Bountiful. The way you looked at me…I mean…I was sure about your feelings.”
It had been that way all her life; men were constantly misreading her. Mistaking friendliness for passion. It was very difficult for a beautiful woman to have men friends.
“Paul, I like you. You’re a good man. And I’m happy that you found gold. I hope it brings you a lot of happiness. And you’ll find a nice lady. I just know it. Now you’d better leave.”
Smoke and Ralph rode into the yard. Sally stepped out of the cabin where she had been helping Bountiful make curtains.
“Hello, Paul,” Ralph said. “How have you been?”
“Very well, thank you, Ralph. I’ve come for your wife.”
Ralph blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
Bountiful looked at Sally and shook her head. Sally knew the story; Bountiful had told her that Paul was infatuated with her.
“Leave, Paul,” Sally told the man. “You’ve got everything all mixed up in your mind. It isn’t the way you think it is.”
“Is too!”
“Now Paul,” Ralph said soothingly. “You don’t want to make trouble for us. Why don’t you just leave?”
Paul shook his head and dismounted. With a knife, he cut open one saddlebag, the yellow dust pouring out onto the ground.
“See, Bountiful?” Paul cried. “See? It’s all for you. I did it for you. You can have it all.”
“I don’t want it, Paul,” Bountiful said softly. “It’s yours. You keep it.”
Paul stood like a big, dumb ox, slowly shaking his head. It was all so confusing. He had thought he had it all worked out in his mind, but something was wrong.
Then he thought he knew what would bring Bountiful to him. “I know,” he said. “You’re afraid to leave because of Tilden Franklin. I can fix that for you, Bountiful. I really can.”
“What do you mean, Paul?” Smoke asked.
Paul turned mean eyes toward Smoke. “You stay out of this. You’re one of the reasons Bountiful won’t go with me.”
Smoke blinked. “Huh?”
“I can use a gun too,” Paul said, once more looking at Bountiful. “I’ll show you. I’ll show you all.”
Smoke looked at Paul’s pistol. It was in a flap-type holster, the flap secured. Smoke figured he could punch Paul out before any real damage was done—if he went for his gun.
“I’ll come back a hero, Bountiful,” Paul said. “I’ll be the hero of the valley, Bountiful.” He cut the saddlebags loose and let them fall to the ground. He tossed the reins of the packhorses to the ground. “You keep this for me, Bountiful. Play with it. It’s not as pretty as you. But it’s pretty. I’ll be back, Bountiful. You go on and pack your things. Wait for me.”
Paul swung awkwardly into the saddle and rode off.
“Paul is not very bright,” Ralph said. “What in the world do you suppose he’s going to do?”
No one would even venture a guess.
Smoke squatted down and fingered the dust and the nuggets. He looked at them closely. Then he stood up with a sad smile on his face.