“Bacon, what’s the matter with you?” Rufus called as he stepped outside into the chill air. Puzzled to find the dog standing like a sentry in the fading light with his hackles raised and his teeth bared, Rufus turned to see what had caused the dog’s aggressive behavior. “What is it, boy?” were the last words he spoke before he fell in the snow, rendered unconscious by a sharp blow from Wiley’s pistol across the back of his head.
Upon seeing his master assaulted, Bacon immediately launched his body in attack. Bacon was a sizable dog, and the force of his attack was enough to almost knock Wiley off his feet. Shocked and fearful for his safety, Wiley had no choice but to shoot the angry animal. His pistol shot cracked the frigid night air, ripping the silence of the growing darkness. Knowing he no longer enjoyed an element of surprise, Wiley frantically kicked the dog’s carcass aside and lunged toward the cabin door. Shoving the door open, he found himself staring at the barrel of Katie’s Colt Peacemaker. His reactions quick for a heavyset man, especially when looking down the business end of a pistol, Wiley dodged behind the doorjamb barely in time to avoid the bullet that sent splinters of wood flying by his face. “Goddamn!” he yelped and flattened himself against the outside wall of the cabin.
I forgot about that damn gun she wears, Wiley thought as he frantically pondered his next move. Rufus Colefield was lying motionless at his feet. I reckon I cracked his skull good and proper. He ain’t gonna cause no trouble. The thought crossed his mind that maybe he should just retreat, but he discarded the idea immediately. Fry was already bound to raise hell, so he might as well have his pleasure while he had the opportunity. Fry would get over it.
“Hold on there a minute, lady,” Wiley yelled. “There ain’t no call to take a shot at me.”
Katie answered immediately. “You stick your nose in that door again, and I’ll blow it off.”
“I just come to pay a friendly visit, and that fool dog come at me. I had to defend myself. All I wanna do is talk to you. Swear to God, that’s all.”
“Pa?” Katie called. “Are you all right?” There was no answer from Rufus.
“He’s all right,” Wiley answered. “Just bumped his head. I reckon he musta slipped on the ice. I was fixin’ to bring him in when you took a shot at me.” As he said it, he noticed some signs of movement from the fallen man. “Yeah, he’s all right, but he needs a little lookin’ after. Put that pistol down so’s I can bring him inside.” He was beginning to get edgy. It was taking too long, and he couldn’t be certain no one had heard the gunshots.
“Pa?” There was still no answer from her father. Uncertain about what had happened to him, knowing in her heart that Wiley had come to do them harm, Katie didn’t know what to do. What if Wiley wasn’t lying, and he really only wanted to bring her father inside so she could tend to him? He’s bluffing, she told herself. There’s only one reason he wants to come in here. Still, she couldn’t take the chance. “All right,” she finally consented, “bring him inside.”
Outside the door, a slow grin spread across Wiley’s face. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll bring him right in.” He looked down at Rufus, who was now struggling to get up on his hands and knees. Another sharp rap across the back of his head sent the wounded man back down on his face. “You might have to give me a hand. He might be hurt more than I figured.”
Anxious for her father yet unwilling to trust Wiley completely, Katie hesitated. She could not see the man through the doorway, nor could she see any sign of her father. With her pistol aimed at the open door, she said, “Step out where I can see you.”
Wiley moved closer to the doorway, hugging the wall of the cabin. “Lady,” he said, affecting an exaggerated hint of impatience, “I got my hands full right now trying to hold your pa up out of the snow.” He grunted as if straining. “Are you gonna help me with him? Or are you just gonna let him bleed to death?”
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Katie cried out, fearful now that her caution might be jeopardizing her father’s fate. Not willing to throw all caution to the wind, however, she moved very deliberately to the door, her pistol in front of her, cocked and ready. She inched her way slowly toward the open doorway, her every nerve on edge as she tensed herself to be ready for any sign of treachery. Squinting her eyes, straining to see into the darkness outside, she suddenly stepped out, her pistol before her. For one brief instant, she saw her father’s prone figure lying face down in the snow with no sign of Wiley near him. In that instant, she knew she had been tricked. Before she could turn, Wiley’s hand clamped down hard on her wrist, rendering it helpless to turn the pistol on him.
“Well, now,” Wiley gloated, grinning from ear to ear. He jerked her all the way outside and slammed her hard up against the wall of the cabin. “I believe you’da really used that pistol on me. Wouldn’t you, missy?” He dodged the knee that she aimed at his crotch and beat her wrist against the wall until she was forced to release the pistol.
Still defiant, though helpless against his superior strength, she spat in his face as he leaned in close to her. “Yes, I’d use it on you, you slimy dog,” she hissed and continued to struggle to get free.
“Goddamn you!” he swore. Then, almost immediately, the grin reappeared, and he pressed against her, wiping the spittle from his face on her breast. “You’re a little hellcat, ain’t you? That’s gonna make it even better. I like it best when they struggle a little bit—but not too much, or I might have to knock you in the head, too.”
The horror of what was happening swept over her like a frigid wave, freezing her thoughts inside her brain. She found herself helpless to resist as she fought in vain to keep Wiley from forcing her to the ground. As he gradually pulled her down, his foul breath bathed her face with the stench of rotting teeth and strong tobacco. She could not bear for this to happen—would not let it happen. But her defiance was suddenly lost in the face of her helplessness, and, without realizing the depth of her despair, she heard herself cry, “Please . . . please, don’t.”
Her cries only served to intensify his lust, and, with one final thrust of effort, he wrestled her to the ground, pinning her flat with his body. “I knew you’d be sayin’ please before I was through,” he mocked.
“Get your filthy body off of her,” a voice demanded behind him, and he turned to see Rufus Colefield struggling in an effort to get to his feet.
“Old man,” Wiley warned, “you want some more trouble?” He snatched his knife from his belt and pressed it against Katie’s throat. “If you don’t drag your ass away from here, I swear I’ll open her gizzard right now.”
Rufus staggered drunkenly when he finally managed to get to his feet, a trickle of blood seeping down the back of his neck to soak his shirt collar. Still, he was determined to come to the aid of his daughter. The sight of Wiley’s knife pressing against Katie’s throat was enough to give him pause, but he was bound to defend his daughter. He was not going to run this time. “Turn her loose, or, so help me, I’ll kill you,” he threatened.
The feeble threat made Wiley laugh. “I might just give you that chance, old man.”
“Pa, don’t,” Katie gasped. She knew why her father was determined to make a fight of it even though he didn’t stand a chance against the solid bulk of Wiley Johnson. It was to make up for the Ute raid when he had failed to show the courage to fight. “Do like he says, Pa,” she calmly urged. Resigned to her fate now, she was no longer terrified.
“You better do like she says,” Wiley warned, watching Rufus as he fought to stay on his feet. Following the line of Rufus’s gaze, Wiley smiled when he saw Katie’s pistol lying near the wall of the cabin. “Maybe you wanna make a try for that pistol layin’ there.” Keeping his knife tight against her throat, he suddenly sat up and pulled his own pistol from his belt with his other hand. Katie tried to escape, but his weight, settled firmly upon her hips, kept her pinned to the ground. His lust intensified by the prospect of killing the old man, he forced her back down with the knife, pressing hard enough to draw blood. “Now
, now, sweetheart, you and me ain’t even started yet.” Katie was helpless. The beast was crazed by his desire to spill blood. His eyes were glazed, his nostrils flared, and tiny rivulets of drool ran down into his filthy beard.
Turning his attention back to Rufus, he taunted, “All right, old man, let’s see just how quick you are.” He cocked the hammer back on his pistol. “Bein’ a sportin’ man, I’m gonna give you a chance to grab that there pistol. You can go for it, or stand there and let me shoot you down where you stand—your choice. Whaddaya say, old man?”
“Leave him alone,” Katie pleaded. “You’ve got me. That’s all you came for, ain’t it? Let him go.”
Rufus just stood there, trying to make a decision that might mean the end of his life. Wiley, thoroughly enjoying the old man’s dilemma, continued to toy with his victims. “You’re right, honey, your little tail is what I came for. But this old man ain’t got sense enough to die. I stove his head in pretty good, and here he is tryin’ to ruin our little party. When we git to goin’ hot and heavy, I don’t wanna have to worry about him sneakin’ up behind me. What about it, old man? You gonna try for that pistol or just stand there and take it like a coward?”
Katie was horrified. She realized then that Wiley intended to kill them both whether her father backed down or not. His plans stretched far beyond his lustful desires. He had no intention of leaving witnesses after his needs had been satisfied. Seeing her father literally quaking as he made up his mind to act, she was suddenly overcome with a feeling of compassion for him, and she knew she must somehow do something to save him. In a move of desperation, she tried to grab Wiley’s gun barrel. Alert for a move on her part, Wiley responded to Katie’s attempt with a shallow gash across her throat, causing her to fall back in pain.
Rufus panicked, infuriated by the sight of the blood running down his daughter’s throat. Before there was time to consider the consequences, he lunged for the pistol next to the cabin wall. Lost in the sound of Katie’s scream and the discharge of his pistol, Wiley’s shocked grunt of pain went unnoticed. Feeling Wiley’s knife drop from his hand, falling to the ground beside her shoulder, Katie was locked in a chaotic moment of confusion. Looking frantically for her father, she was shocked to see him unhurt, crawling for the pistol she had dropped. Looking up then, she realized what had happened to cause Wiley’s shot to miss. No longer concerned with her or her father, Wiley was clutching at his throat and the arrow that protruded from both sides. Luke! She knew at once.
Though still pinned to the ground by the bulky Wiley as he sat straddling her hips, she could see that the outlaw had no thoughts beyond his own agony. His pistol and knife lay forgotten where he had dropped them, and he clawed desperately at the cruel wooden shaft that pierced his throat, reducing his attempts to yell to a bloody gurgle as he choked on his own blood.
In a matter of seconds, Luke suddenly appeared. Running up to the heavy man, he aimed a kick at Wiley’s shoulder, but Wiley’s bulk was too much to knock over with one kick from the slender youth. It took the efforts of Luke and Katie, he shoving and she straining, to finally roll the desperate man away.
Wiley fell to the ground, rolling in agony, each turn jarring the arrow and causing him to blubber nonsensical syllables as the blood began to strangle him. Concerned for Katie, Luke rushed to help her, leaving the mortally wounded man to writhe in pain.
“I’m all right,” she assured him when his face registered concern at the blood covering her throat. “See about Pa,” she said. At that moment, they were both startled by the explosion of a gunshot directly behind them. Turning at once toward the source, they saw Rufus Colefield seated with his back against the cabin wall and Katie’s pistol in his hand. Immediately turning to look back at Wiley, they discovered him sitting upright on the ground, vainly reaching for his pistol, which lay only inches from his fingertips. There was a small black hole in his coat just above his belly button.
Moving quickly, Luke kicked the gun away from the outlaw’s outstretched hand and stood back to watch him die. But the big man refused to die. Unable to speak, he cursed them with bloody growls as he painfully tried to push himself to his feet. Katie and Luke looked at each other in alarm. Then Katie went to her father’s side and took the pistol from his hand. He simply sat there dazed as she fired two more shots into Wiley’s body, aiming at his chest. He sat down again, heavily, his eyes glazed like those of a butchered cow. Then he tried to get up again.
“Die, damn you!” she screamed in frustration, firing once more before her pistol misfired. Throwing it aside, she looked all about her in the snow until she spotted Wiley’s knife. But before she could pick it up, Luke snatched up Wiley’s pistol and fired a bullet into the huge man’s brain. Like a wounded buffalo, Wiley finally keeled over onto his side, blubbering once with his final breath.
Exhausted from their efforts, Luke and Katie stared blankly at each other for a long moment before Katie was calm enough to think about her father. “Help me get him in the house,” she said to Luke.
Tending to her father’s wounds before she permitted Luke to clean the knife wound on her neck, Katie heated some water over the fireplace to soak the matted blood from Rufus’s hair. Luke watched in silence, moving occasionally to the door to look at the dark, lifeless mound that was Wiley’s body. The man had been so hard to kill that Luke halfway expected the body to move. He had not hesitated to release the arrow that was still lodged in Wiley’s throat—the man had been about to shoot Rufus—yet he could not explain the feeling that had now come over him. Somehow he knew that his life would never be the same. He could no longer say he had never killed a man. As a child, raised by his Shoshoni mother, he had seen violence in his young life. And like all Shoshoni boys, he dreamed of becoming a great warrior. But his boyhood dreams had all been in imagined scenes of battle against the Sioux or Cheyenne. This killing of Wiley had been desperate and personal. He would always remember this feeling.
It was almost an hour before Rufus seemed to regain his faculties and was able to sit up in a chair. “How do you feel?” Katie asked, watching her father closely. She had feared that Wiley’s blows might have left him permanently addlebrained.
“Well,” he sighed, “I reckon I’ll live, but I ain’t never had a headache like this before.”
“I was afraid he killed you.”
“I reckon I got a pretty hard head,” he replied, wincing as he tried to smile. Then his face was serious for a moment. “I was trying to save you, honey.”
She smiled. “I know you were, Papa. You did a brave thing, and no telling what might have happened if you hadn’t shot him. I’m proud of you.”
He smiled then, knowing that he had stood up in the face of disaster and done what any man of courage would have done. “I’m feelin’ kinda dizzy. I think maybe I’d best lay down for a little while.”
Katie knew it was time to confront the problem that loomed before them. If it was discovered that they had killed a member of the militia, they would be severely dealt with—no matter that it had been a case of self-defense. “We’ve got to get that body away from here before his friends find out he’s missing,” Katie said. “That so-called captain ain’t going to take the killing of one of his men lightly.”
Leaving her father in the cabin to rest, Katie began to rake new snow over some of the bloodstains before the cabin door while Luke went to find Wiley’s horse. When he returned, Katie was waiting for his help in removing the body. “I hope the two of us can get him up on that horse,” she said. “He’s as big as a mountain.” As she had predicted, it was with a great deal of difficulty that the task was done. When the huge man’s corpse was finally draped across the saddle, Katie shook her head and breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’d best cut my arrow out of his neck,” Luke said.
“No, leave it. They’ll know he was here as soon as that other man gets back. Maybe they’ll think this one was killed by Indians on his way back.”
“What if they think Chief
Washakie’s warriors did this?” Luke asked. “I don’t want to cause trouble for my people.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Katie replied. “I don’t think Simon Fry and his handful of scoundrels want to go after a village as big as Washakie’s.” She smiled slyly. “Besides, he’s been trying to tell everybody in the valley that the Shoshonis have been raiding. This might make him believe his own lies.”
“Maybe I oughta scalp him, then.”
Though usually never squeamish about such things, Katie made a face. “Maybe. But wait till I go in the house.”
After completing the grisly ritual, Luke led Wiley’s horse back down the wagon trace toward the northern end of the valley. He left the horse, with the corpse draped across the saddle, in a thicket of young pines. When the sun came up in the morning, he would ride his horse around the old wagon bed, leaving plenty of tracks. No use, he figured, in leaving only the tracks of the two intruders, in case someone tried to piece the puzzle together. Maybe Fry’s men would not know that Wiley had actually approached the cabin after the other man rode away.
Katie was waiting for him when he returned. “Luke, I can’t ask you to stay here any longer. There’s gonna be hell to pay for this. That murdering bunch is gonna come down on us hard. They’re not gonna rest before they’ve killed us all.”
Luke looked unblinking into Katie’s eyes, steellike determination in his gaze. “I’m not gonna leave you to fight Fry by yourself,” he stated.
“Listen to me, Luke,” she insisted. “I want you to leave this place as soon as it’s daylight. Go to your mother’s people. You’ll be safe there. You’ve got all your life ahead of you. You’ll die for sure if you stay here.”
“What you say is probably true. Why don’t you go to Washakie’s camp with me?”
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