Black Horse Creek (9781101607466)

by West, Charles G.

  After a short while he spotted a rider on the road coming from Black Horse Creek at a lively walk. Well, looks like they ain’t coming after me, he thought. Going to tell Daddy instead. He leaned forward, his eyes focused on an opening in the tree branches that would give him a window for a good look at the rider when he passed. Once the rider was opposite him, he was easily identified as Troy Blanchard. Right on schedule, Grayson thought, and got up to go saddle his horse. It was not yet dark enough to follow Troy too closely, so he was in no hurry. He knew where Troy was heading, anyway. His only purpose in lying in wait for him was to determine if the two Blanchard brothers were coming after him, or sending someone to warn Jacob. Now there were two new possibilities: Billy was holed up at his father’s ranch, or he was hiding out somewhere else. And if the latter was the case, there was a good chance that someone would be sent to warn him. This was the situation Grayson preferred, because he was not too keen on the idea of wading into Blanchard’s stronghold to serve arrest papers on Billy. The odds were against coming out alive. With that in mind, his plan was to find someplace where he could watch the comings and goings at the ranch house, and hope for an opportunity to catch Billy alone.

  Chapter 3

  The heavy gray brows that lay like small storm clouds over Jacob Blanchard’s deep-set eyes arched in an angry frown as he listened to Troy’s report. “Did this nosy stranger have a name?” the old man asked.

  “I think he said it was Grayson,” Troy answered.

  “Grayson!” Jacob responded heatedly, for he was familiar with the name. “He’s a damn bounty hunter, and a dangerous one. He’s come lookin’ for Billy. There ain’t no doubt about it. Where is he now? Still in town?”

  “I don’t know for sure,” Troy replied. “Roy Brown said he was askin’ how to get out here to the house, but I didn’t pass him on the way out from town. So maybe he just rode on to Dodge City like he told me and Slate.”

  “Not likely,” Jacob fumed. “He came to Black Horse Creek for a reason, and that reason is Billy.” He paused for a moment, thinking about what Troy had just said. “I wish to hell he would come out here. I’d be glad to talk to him, and he wouldn’t be botherin’ nobody else after that.”

  “Whaddaya reckon we oughta do, Pa?” Troy asked.

  Still fuming over the situation, one that he felt should not have gotten this far, he said, “You shoulda never let that bastard get outta your sight, and he shoulda had an accident on his way out here to my house. Damn bounty hunter. He used to be a deputy marshal, but he ain’t no more, so nobody would miss him, and they sure as hell wouldn’t care what happened to him. But that can’t be helped now, dammit. First thing is to ride up to the line camp and tell Billy to stay put and keep his eyes open. And tell him not to get any ideas about riding into town to raise hell. He’s been up at that line camp long enough to get rutty and itchin’ to go stir up some trouble. It don’t take but a few days for Billy.”

  “That’s the truth,” Troy said. “You want me to ride up there in the mornin’?”

  “I want you to ride up there tonight before he decides he’s gotta go let off some steam somewhere,” his father told him.

  “Damn, Pa,” Troy complained. “That shack’s a good eight miles. That’ll take me half the night, and I told Slate I’d sleep in the jail tonight so he could take a night off.”

  “What’s he need a night off for?” Jacob wanted to know.

  “So he can go see that little Mexican gal that works in the hotel,” Troy answered with a grin.

  “Hellfire,” Jacob responded in disgust, then had a change of heart. “All right, I’ll send Stump up there to tell Billy. Go on down to the bunkhouse and get him.”

  The stubby little man they called Stump made no complaint when Troy told him he was going to ride up to the northern boundary of Blanchard’s ranch that night. It was all the same to him, spend the night in the bunkhouse, or spend it on a mule, as long as he was able to fill his belly with a good meal—and he had already done that. Stump was not very bright. Some claimed he was kicked in the head by a horse when he was a boy, and that accounted for his preference for mules over horses. Others had it that he had been very ill with a high fever when still a baby, and it cooked half of his brain. Of the two explanations, the latter was probably closer to the truth. He was a cousin of Yancey Brooks, Jacob’s foreman, so that was the main reason he was on the payroll. He was not much of a cowhand, but he shone in doing odd chores around the ranch and the house, like the job he was given this night. Jacob knew he could be depended upon.

  Jacob stood beside Stump’s stirrup while he gave him instructions. “You remember what you gotta tell Billy, now, don’tcha?” Stump repeated Jacob’s message, word for word. “All right,” Jacob said, “you’d best get started.” Stump started to turn his mule toward the gate, but Jacob stopped him for one last reminder. “And, Stump, you make sure you tell Billy that I said he don’t wanna mess with this damn Grayson. It’s best to stay holed up in that cabin.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Blanchard,” Stump replied and started for the gate.

  “He’ll take all night to get up there on that damn slow-walkin’ mule,” Troy commented as he prepared to step up in the saddle. “I’d best get on back to town. Slate’s probably already gettin’ itchy.”

  “You keep your eyes open,” his father reminded him. “That damn Grayson might still be hangin’ around town.” He grabbed Troy’s elbow to make sure his son understood his instructions. “And, Troy, if he does show his face in my town again, I want him to have an accident. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir, I understand.”

  * * *

  Grayson got to his feet when he saw two riders leaving the ranch house at almost the same time. Standing close beside a tree trunk in the faint evening light, he could see clearly enough to recognize the figure of Troy Blanchard as he turned his horse back toward town. That was enough for Grayson to turn his attention to the other rider, mounted on a mule, and heading in the opposite direction. Knowing this was the man most likely to lead him to Billy, he watched for only a few moments more before walking back to his horse and climbing in the saddle. “Let’s go, boy, we gotta go to work.”

  As he expected, the pace was leisurely and he let Stump get out about a quarter of a mile ahead of him in the fading light. As darkness came on, Grayson closed up the gap between them to keep the mule and rider in sight. They continued on until a half-moon climbed up from the horizon behind Grayson’s right shoulder, causing him to rein his horse back again in case Stump decided to watch the trail behind him. On they rode through the night until the moon had traveled across the sky to a position above a line of hills to the west. Weary from spending so many hours in the saddle since the day before, Grayson began to wonder if the stubby man on the mule was going to stop before they rode all the way to Canada. Suddenly, he had to rein his horse back hard when he realized that the mule had stopped before crossing what appeared to be a creek.

  Stump let the mule drink; then, instead of crossing over, he turned the mule to follow the creek back to the west. Grayson nudged the gray to tighten the gap between him and the mule, and when he reached the creek, he was able to see a rough shack by the edge of the water, about fifty yards from where he now sat his horse. He dismounted at once, for fear of casting an obvious image in the pre-dawn light. Reprimanding himself for almost riding right up Stump’s back, he looked hurriedly around for a place to hide his horses and himself before it got any lighter. The best he could find were some scraggly trees along the banks of the creek with patches of berry bushes in between, but it appeared to be sufficient—as long as no one in the shack was concentrating on it. By the time he had his horses safely hidden, he could hear the mule rider hailing the cabin.

  “Hey-oh, Billy!” Stump called several times. “Billy, it’s me, Stump,” he called again. “You in there? You awake?”

  “
Well, I am now, you damn fool.” A shadow separated from the back corner of the rough cabin and walked to meet the man still aboard the mule. There was not enough light to determine the man’s features, and he had nothing on but his long johns. He was wary, as evidenced by the fact that he had gone out the back window of the shack when called out, his pistol in his hand. Grayson moved along the bank of the creek, getting closer to the cabin, close enough to better hear the conversation between the two men.

  “Stump,” Billy blurted, “what in the hell are you doin’ up here?”

  “Mr. Blanchard sent me to warn you. There’s a bounty hunter in town lookin’ for you, and your daddy said to tell you not to leave this camp,” Stump reported dutifully. “He said this feller’s as dangerous as a rattlesnake, and you’d best stay hid till he’s gone somewhere else.”

  Billy released the hammer on his .44 Smith & Wesson revolver and put it back in the holster on the belt he was carrying in his hand. “Is that a fact?” he asked, while thinking that his father had been right about sending him up to the line camp. It irritated him sometimes that his father was always right. “You know what I do with rattlesnakes, Stump? I skin ’em and eat ’em—the same as I do with deputy marshals.”

  Stump was immediately concerned, afraid he had not delivered Jacob Blanchard’s message as instructed to do. “Your daddy don’t want you to tangle with this feller. He told me to tell you that.”

  “All right, you told me, but I’ll do what I damn-well please, and it riles me to have a stinkin’ bounty hunter think he can come after me.”

  “Ah, Billy,” Stump moaned, “don’t go doin’ nothin’ your daddy don’t want you to.”

  Knowing the main thing that was worrying the simpleminded cousin of his father’s foreman was the fear that he had failed to deliver the message as instructed, Billy changed the subject. “You might as well get down off that mule and we’ll see ’bout some breakfast. You bring any grub with you?”

  Stump slid off his mule. “No, they didn’t tell me to.”

  “They didn’t, huh,” Billy replied sarcastically. “If they didn’t tell you to take a shit, I reckon you’d just hold it till you blew up.” Stump, obviously confused by the comment, did not reply. “Well, get some of that wood on the pile yonder and build up that fire.” He pointed toward the ashes of a fire beside the shack where most of the cooking was done. When the weather dictated it, the little stove inside was used to do the job. “I’ve still got plenty of bacon and coffee. We’ll have us a little breakfast.” He started to go inside the cabin, but paused when an idea struck him. “I’m gettin’ damn sick and tired of bacon and beans. Tell you what, before you start back to the house, you can help me do a little butcherin’. Pa told me to round up strays up here. Well, I rounded a few of ’em up before I said to hell with it. We’ll cut out a nice young calf and eat some beef for a change.” Stump didn’t have to say anything. Billy knew what the simple man was thinking. “Don’t worry about it, Stump. I’m the one callin’ the shots. Pa don’t ever have to know about it.”

  “If you say so, Billy.” The idea of some fresh roasted beef appealed to him.

  For the man hiding in the clump of berry bushes, Billy’s decision was good news, because it meant the young outlaw did not plan to go anywhere that day. Having had no sleep during the night just passing, Grayson saw an opportunity to catch some while Billy and Stump were slaughtering one of Jacob Blanchard’s cattle. His horses could use the rest as well. He would wait to make his move on Billy later in the day after he and Stump had filled their bellies. The task at hand now was to find a place to hide, for with the rapidly approaching morning light, it would soon be fairly easy to spot a man trying to hide in a bunch of serviceberry bushes. So as quietly as he could manage, he backed slowly away.

  He led his horses back for about fifty yards before stepping up in the saddle and continuing for another quarter of a mile when he felt it safe to leave the cover of the creek. The vantage point he sought was the hill behind the shack, which would give him the best view of the cabin as well as the small corral on one side. Because of the open prairie, it would be necessary to make a wide circle to come up from behind the ridge. He decided to rest his horses and himself right where he was, by the creek, where the horses could drink and graze. There was plenty of time, for he was confident that Billy wasn’t going anywhere, at least until after the butchering and the feast. He was not sure what complications Stump might cause, so he preferred to deal with Billy alone. By waiting to arrest Billy, he hoped that Stump would be on his way back home, none the wiser, and no one would know that Billy had been captured before he was halfway across The Nations.

  * * *

  It was past noon when he awoke, at once concerned that he had slept longer than he had planned. He hurriedly climbed the bank of the creek to look back toward the line shack, and was relieved to see a thin brown string of smoke wafting up in that direction. Admonishing himself for his carelessness, he saddled the gray, loaded his packhorse, and started out on a wide circle to eventually come up behind the low ridge backing the shack. Within half an hour, he was in a position above the rough building, his horses tied in the brush below him. Damn, he thought, for the first thing he noticed were the two horses and one mule in the tiny corral, which meant that Stump was still there. At least Billy’s Appaloosa, and the blue roan that had belonged to Tom Malone, were there. That was the main thing that concerned him, since he had allowed himself to oversleep.

  Moving along the ridge, he made his way to a point where he could see the fire and the two men. Some several dozen yards below him, Billy sat eating a chunk of roasted beef while Stump was tending a haunch on a spit that he had fashioned from a green willow limb. Grayson could smell the aroma of the roasting beef as it drifted up from below. It reminded him that he had had nothing but cold jerky. Sitting in the coals on one side of the fire was a coffeepot, which added to his envy and made him resolve to share in the feast. It didn’t appear that Stump was going to depart anytime soon. Grayson decided he might as well make his move and deal with the two of them, still with no idea if Stump was going to fight or run.

  Looking about him, he decided his best approach to the party was by way of a shallow gully that ran down the ridge to a point behind the cabin. He estimated it to be no more than a dozen yards behind the man lolling with his back up against the shack, eating his fill of fresh meat. Grayson carefully looked the situation over. Billy was still wearing nothing but his long underwear; his gun belt was hanging on the corner of the open cabin door, perhaps ten or twelve feet from him. Shifting his gaze back to Stump, he was satisfied to see that the simple man tending the meat was also without a sidearm. His pistol and belt were lying on his saddle, which had been dropped beside the corral. With his rifle in hand, and a couple of coils of rope on his shoulder, Grayson crawled over into the gully and started working his way slowly down it, taking care not to disturb the loose rocks along the sides.

  “I swear that sure beats the hell outta salt pork,” Billy exclaimed as he set his plate down on the ground beside him. “I’ve had a hankerin’ for some fresh beef ever since I got up here. I was thinkin’ about butcherin’ one of them cows, but I’m glad you came along to do it for me. I couldn’ta done it as good as you.”

  Dumb enough to believe he was receiving an honest compliment, Stump broke out a wide grin, and turned to show it to Billy. His face froze and he stopped dead still, causing Billy to ask him if he’d seen a ghost. Stump didn’t answer, but pointed to the corner of the shack behind Billy with the fork he had been tending the meat with. Still puzzled by Stump’s strange behavior, Billy turned to see what Stump was pointing to. His reactions were swift as he rolled immediately away from the shack, but his pistol was too far away, and the grim stranger’s reflexes were just as quick as his. Firing and cocking in rapid succession, Grayson sent two shots ripping into the dirt inches before Billy’s boots, causing him to j
ump back to avoid being hit. “The next one’s goin’ in the side of your head,” he warned, stopping Billy dead in his tracks with only the scowl on his face with which to defend himself. Glancing quickly back at Stump, who had not moved from the paralyzed crouch at his first sight of the somber avenger, Grayson said, “Sit down right there and don’t move till I tell you to.” The confused man did as he was told.

  Unable to hold his tongue or his temper for very long, Billy snarled in defiance. “Are you Grayson?” he demanded.

  “I’m Grayson,” he answered calmly.

  “You’re makin’ one helluva mistake,” Billy blurted, his anger barely under control. “You might as well take that rifle and shoot yourself in the head with it, because you’ll never live to collect any reward for takin’ me in.”

  “I reckon you’re the one that made the mistake when you killed that deputy back at Ed Lenta’s place on the Canadian,” Grayson said.

  “You ain’t no lawman,” Billy exclaimed. “You’re a damn egg-suckin’ bounty hunter. You can’t arrest me.”

  “As a matter of fact, I can,” Grayson said. “I just happen to have papers that say I can, but it doesn’t really make any difference. I’m takin’ you back to Fort Smith so you can get a proper hangin’, papers or not. The only thing you have to decide is how you’re gonna travel—sittin’ in the saddle or lying across it—’cause it’s all the same to me.”

  Desperate now, Billy yelled at Stump. “Help me, Stump! He can’t take both of us if we jump on him at the same time.” Stump, his eyes wide with uncertainty, looked back and forth from Billy to the man with the rifle.

  “That’s bad advice, Stump,” Grayson told him. “He’s lookin’ to get you shot and hopin’ he has enough time to get to his gun while I’m doin’ it. You just use your brains and sit right where you are. I didn’t come after you. Billy’s the one done the killin’. I got no reason to do you any harm unless you force me to.”