William Johnstone - Butchery of the Mountain Man

“This here’s a Injun girl,” one of the men said. “Far as I know, the war was fought so’s black folks wouldn’t be slaves no more. It didn’t have nothin’ to do with Injuns.”

“It most indubitably did,” John said. “Nobody can be bought or sold as slaves anymore.”

“Don’t matter now, nohow. Cooper’s dead; that means the girl is free.”

“Yeah, she’s free, but where does she go?”

“That’s her problem.”

“Do you speak English?” John asked the girl.

“Je ne parle pas anglais, mais je peux parler français,” the girl said.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak French well enough to understand what you said.”

“She said she doesn’t speak English, but she can speak French,” a man said. The man who spoke was speaking with a French accent.

“What is your name, sir?” John asked.

“Mouchette. Jean Mouchette,” the man replied.

“Monsieur Mouchette, will you translate for me?”

“ Oui . What do you want to say?”

“Tell her she is free. She can go wherever she wants to go now.”

Mouchette translated John’s words.

“ Quel est le nom de cet homme?” the Indian girl asked.

“She wants to know your name.”

“It’s Jackson. John Jackson.” John said the words very slowly and very distinctly.

“Je veux aller avec John Jackson,” the girl said.

Mouchette laughed. “I don’t know how you’re going to take this,” he said.

“What did she say?”

“She says she wants to go with you.”

“Go with me? Go where with me?”

Mouchette asked the question.

“Je veux être sa femme, que j’étais la femme de Cooper.”

Mouchette shook his head as he looked at John. “She says she wants to be your wife, as she was the wife of Cooper.”

“I, no, that’s impossible,” John said. “Tell her no.”

“Wait a minute, Mouchette,” Smoke said. “Let me talk to my friend here for a moment before you say anything else.”

“All right,” Mouchette said. “Talk away.”

“John, you might want to think about this before you just dismiss it out of hand.”

“Smoke, do you expect me to marry this girl?” John asked.

“No, and I don’t think she expects it either. In the first place, when she said ‘wife,’ I don’t think she actually meant it in that way. You know damn well she wasn’t Cooper’s wife. I think she just wants to come with you, that’s all.”

“That’s all? If you ask me, that’s asking quite a bit.”

“Look at it this way. If she was sold by her father, or her tribe, she can’t go back to them. She can’t go into some town and live with white people, and she can’t survive on her own. It’s easy to see why she wants to come with you. If she is left on her own, she’ll more than likely be dead within a month. And in a way, you are responsible for her.”

“How am I responsible for her?”

“You killed Cooper. And regardless of how he treated her, she is still alive because of him. And now she will live, or die, because of you.”

John let out a big sigh of frustration.

“What am I going to do with her?” he asked.

Smoke smiled. “Whatever you want to do with her, I’m thinking.”

John looked at the woman who had been following the conversation with great intensity.

“Damnit,” John said, though he spoke the word quietly. “Damnit,” he said again. Then, “Mouchette?”

“Oui, monsieur?”

“Ask the girl her name.”

“Quel est votre nom ?”

“ Hanhepiwi. Cela signifie ‘clair de lune.’”

“Her name is Hanhepiwi .”

“I heard her say ‘Claire.’”

“ Hanhepiwi means clair de lune , or, in English, the clear moon.”

John looked her and smiled. “Tell her, her name is Claire. And, yes, she can come with me.”

Mouchette translated, and Claire smiled, then looked down at the floor.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Old Main Building

“That is a most amazing story,” Professor Armbruster said. “And did he take her with him?”

“Oh, yes,” Smoke said.

“Professor, it’s four o’clock,” the young man who had been handling the recording said.

“Very well, Wes, we’ll call it quits for today,” Professor Armbruster said. He smiled at Smoke. “You’ve spoken about all the saloons you have visited; how would you like to visit one of ours?”

“One of your saloons?” Smoke replied with a puzzled look on his face. “Professor, have you forgotten prohibition?”

“Oh, my, indeed, there is that pesky little problem, isn’t there?” Professor Armbruster answered with a conspiratorial smile on his face.

“But, if you will come with me, I believe I know a place where people wink at prohibition. In fact, you might say they ignore it altogether.”

“Would this be one of those speakeasies I’ve heard about?” Smoke asked.

“Indeed, it might be,” Professor Armbruster replied. “As you know, Colorado went dry January of 1916, but thanks to Clyde Smaldone and dozens of others like him, we have never been totally dry. In fact, we got a four-year head start on the rest of the country in learning how to beat the system. I know that Louis Longmont is a long-time friend of yours. How is he dealing with it?”

“Louis is a wealthy man,” Smoke said. “He closed his business down and is totally retired.” Smoke smiled. “He does, however, have a private reserve of, as he likes to call it, fine liquors, which he shares with his friends from time to time.”

“I tell you what. If you would like to drive me to the establishment, I’ll show you where it is. I’ll get a ride home.”

“Are you sure? I can bring you back.”

“No need.”

Professor Armbruster followed Smoke out to his car.

“Duesenberg, nice car,” he said.

“Thanks. What do you think of the Jordan Playboy?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The Jordan Playboy. Apparently it is a sports car, and my wife would like one. I believe she’s going through a second childhood.”

Professor Armbruster laughed. “Wouldn’t you rather have her young and vibrant, than an old fuddy-duddy?”

“I suppose you have a point there,” Smoke said.

Smoke parked in an empty lot on High Street in what looked like an industrial section of the town. He followed Professor Armbruster across the road to a two-story brick building which had all its windows boarded over. There was nothing outside the unmarked building to indicate that it was anything other than a deserted building. There was a wooden door with a small window which, like the large ones, was boarded over.

Professor Armbruster knocked on the door, and when the little window opened, he passed a dollar bill and a card through the door. A moment later, the door opened.

“Good evening, Professor,” the doorman said.

“Hello, Marty. Good crowd tonight?”

“If you ask me, the whole student body is here,” Marty said. He looked, suspiciously, at Smoke.

“It’s all right, Marty, this gentleman is my guest,” Professor Armbruster said.

Marty stepped aside to let them in.

Inside was a large room, tall and majestic with beautifully molded ceilings. The bar itself was worn, and could have been taken directly from any of several hundred saloons Smoke had visited over his lifetime. Conflicting with the bar were booths that looked brand new, running around the outer edge of a large, open space. The open space was a dance floor, the dancers being painted by hundreds of glowing dots reflecting from a rotating mirrored ball that was hanging down from the ceiling.