Mark of the Hunter

by Charles G. West

  Dewey waited a few moments for more, but when it appeared there were no details to follow, he shrugged and said, “I reckon I’m askin’ a lot of questions that ain’t none of my business. I better shut up and let you eat.”

  Not wishing to seem unfriendly, Cord said, “Nothin’ to tell, just some tomfoolery kids get into.” He finished up his supper and had another cup of coffee before paying Maggie for the meal. Satisfied that he had gotten his money’s worth, he headed back to the stable to sleep. Dewey came by later to tell him to put the bar on the inside of the door, and to close the padlock on the outside if he should happen to leave before he came back in the morning.

  • • •

  Cord was saddled up and leading the bay out of the stable when Gillespie showed up the next morning. “Mornin’,” Dewey greeted him. “If you’re thinkin’ ’bout gettin’ some breakfast, Maggie will be open in about thirty minutes.”

  “Thanks just the same,” Cord replied, “but I reckon I’ll be on my way. I’ll stop to eat somethin’ when I rest my horses.”

  “Well, good luck to ya,” Dewey said. “Maybe you’ll get back this way again sometime.”

  “Maybe so,” Cord said as he stepped up in the saddle, turned the bay back toward the wagon track by the creek, and started out again for Cheyenne.

  Like on the morning before, there was a heavy frost on the rough road along Lodgepole Creek and a chilly wind sweeping across the prairie, unimpeded by the occasional bluffs of limestone. He pulled the collar of his heavy jacket up close around his neck, even as the sun reflected from the silvery whiteness of the frost-covered prairie caused him to squint. The big bay horse maintained a steady pace, seemingly unconcerned with the cold while his breath formed miniature clouds of white vapor around his muzzle. Thinking primarily about his packhorse, he decided not to push on too far before stopping to let it rest. After a ride of about three hours, the sun climbed high enough to take a little of the chill from the air, so Cord began to look for the best place to stop. He finally settled on a long grove of trees that formed a belt along the creek, thinking there would be wood there for a fire.

  The sorrel was not carrying much of a load, because Cord had few possessions and not a great lot of supplies, but he took the packs off anyway. After pulling his saddle off the bay, he let the horses drink before building his fire and charging up his coffeepot. In a short amount of time, he was warming his insides with the fresh, hot coffee and chewing on a stick of antelope jerky.

  By nature a man very much aware of his surroundings when away from other people, Cord felt the soft current of the creek and the slight rustle of cottonwood leaves overhead. He sat real still, absorbing the quiet that suddenly shrouded the creek bank when the breeze stopped for a few moments. There was something else he sensed, something that was not part of the creek or the trees, and he slowly pulled his rifle up to lie across his legs when he heard the bay whinny. Without moving, he spoke. “You gonna hang back there in the trees, or you gonna come on in by the fire?”

  “I’m comin’ in,” a voice called from behind him. “Don’t shoot. I ain’t got no gun.”

  “Come on, then,” Cord said, and turned to face the direction from which the voice had emanated. Although there was no outward sign, he was somewhat startled by the response because he had been going on nothing more than the sense of a presence. In a moment, a man came from behind a large cottonwood. On foot, and true to his word, without weapons of any kind, his visitor came eagerly toward the fire. Haggard and limping, he moved up beside the flame and reached for its warmth. “You look like you could use some coffee,” Cord said. He dumped the last little bit from his cup, refilled it with fresh, and handed it to the eagerly awaiting man.

  “Lord bless you, friend,” the man croaked as he took the cup. After taking a few gulps of the hot liquid as fast as his lips would permit, he paused to look at his Samaritan. “How’d you know I was back there watchin’ you? You must have eyes in the back of your head.”

  Instead of answering the question, one he had no explanation for, anyway, he made a statement. “You’d be Bill Dooley, I reckon.”

  Dooley immediately tensed, certain that he had picked a lawman from which to seek help. “I reckon there ain’t no use to run for it now,” he said, discouraged, and eyeing the Winchester still lying across Cord’s thighs. “I’m ’bout run out, anyway.” He reached out eagerly to accept the piece of jerky Cord offered. “I’da got away from them damn soldiers if they hadn’t shot my horse—and hell, it was the army’s horse at that. I rode the poor ol’ horse with a bullet wound in his rump till he give out and left me on foot. I doubled back on them soldiers and headed the other way. I saw ’em when they rode past me. I coulda throwed a rock and hit one of ’em, but they just kept on chargin’ up the road, just like ol’ Custer at Little Big Horn.” He threw up his arm in a “what the hell?” gesture. “I shoulda knowed a marshal would be smart enough to know I’d double back. How’d you know I’d strike the creek about here?”

  Cord was amazed by the man’s tendency to ramble on. The words fell out of his mouth like spent cartridges from a Gatling gun. When he paused to take a gulp of coffee, Cord answered his question. “I didn’t,” he said. “I ain’t a lawman.”

  “You ain’t?” Dooley blurted, barely able to believe it. Relieved for a second, he frowned when it occurred to him. “You a bounty hunter? They already got a reward posted for me?”

  “I ain’t a bounty hunter,” Cord replied calmly.

  Confused, Dooley couldn’t talk for a moment. “Well, what the hell . . . ? You ain’t?” Unsure now what Cord intended to do with him, he asked, “What are you fixin’ to do?”

  “I’m fixin’ to saddle my horse and get on my way to Cheyenne,” he stated matter-of-factly.

  “You ain’t got no idea about takin’ me back to Fort Sidney?” Dooley could not believe the stoic stranger’s indifference.

  “I could do that, if that’s what you want me to do,” Cord answered.

  “No, hell no!” Dooley was quick to respond. “Why do you think I’m runnin’ around on this prairie on foot? That’s the last place I wanna go.”

  “What did they arrest you for?”

  “They said horse stealin’,” Dooley replied. “But I tried to tell ’em I wasn’t fixin’ to steal a horse. I just wanted to swap a couple of tired horses for some fresh ones, you know, even swap.” He couldn’t help grinning. “I just didn’t have the tired horses with me at the time they caught me, but I was goin’ to get ’em. I told ’em so.”

  “Is that a fact?” Cord responded with an undisguised tone of skepticism. Dooley detected it, but made no attempt to protest. Instead, he shrugged and favored Cord with a sheepish grin, still waiting to see what his fate was to be at the hands of his benefactor. “Now that you’ve gotten away from the soldiers, what are you plannin’ to do? Where are you goin’?”

  “I need to get someplace where I know I’ll be safe to lay low for a while,” Dooley said. “I know the place, if I can just get there before another patrol runs up on me.”

  “Well, I don’t like to leave a man on foot,” Cord said, “even a damn horse thief. I’m headin’ toward Cheyenne, and you can ride my packhorse if you’re headin’ that way, too. She ain’t much of a horse, but she’ll beat walkin’.”

  “Why, that’s mighty neighborly of you, young feller. I’ll sure as hell take you up on that and give you my thanks to boot.” His smile spread all the way across his whiskered face. “What is your name, if you don’t mind me askin’?”

  “Cord Malone,” he replied as he slipped the Winchester back in the saddle sling.

  “Malone,” Dooley repeated. “I used to ride with a feller named Malone. That was a few years back, when I wasn’t so down on my luck. Ned Malone was his name, and he was a hell-raiser. There ain’t no joke about that—don’t s’pose you’re any kin?”

  “He’s my
pa,” Cord replied.

  “Well, I’ll be kiss a pig! You don’t mean it! You’re ol’ Ned Malone’s boy? I ain’t heard nothin’ about Ned for years. Some of the others from the old bunch are showin’ up ever’ once in a while. We figured Ned decided it was time to retire and just found him a hole somewhere to hide—maybe that little farm he had near that little town in Kansas.”

  “Moore’s Creek,” Cord supplied, content to let Dooley ramble on.

  “Yeah, Moore’s Creek,” Dooley continued. “Fact is, I recollect Levi Creed said your pa had gone back to that farm. I expect Levi’s the last one of the old gang to see Ned. Him and Ned was pretty good friends, but I reckon you’d know that. How is your pa? Is he still at that farm in Moore’s Creek?”

  Cord did not flinch when Levi’s name was mentioned. He decided to play along with Dooley’s apparent assumption that the son of an outlaw was an outlaw, too. He hoped there was a chance to gain some clue as to Levi’s whereabouts. “He’s still there,” he said, answering Dooley’s question.

  “I swear,” Dooley exclaimed in wonder for the coincidence. “If this ain’t somethin’—me hightailin’ it for my life, and runnin’ into Ned Malone’s son. And Ned Malone gone to farmin’.” He shook his head, chuckling at the picture. “But not you, huh, boy? Looks like you ain’t no more for farmin’ than I am. You’re more suited to the high life like me and your daddy was before we got too damn old.” Then an idea struck him. “You said you was headin’ to Cheyenne. You got some particular reason for goin’ to Cheyenne?”

  “Nope, just thought I’d see what was what,” Cord replied.

  “Well, if you’re lookin’ to get in with some boys that are still livin’ the easy life, where there ain’t no mules or plows, then you need to go where I’m headin’.”

  “Where’s that?” Cord asked, thinking that he might have stumbled onto a road that would lead him to Levi Creed.

  “Rat’s Nest on the Cache la Poudre,” Dooley announced grandly. He waited for Cord’s reaction, but when there was nothing more than a blank stare on the face of the young man, he asked, “Didn’t your pa ever tell you about Rat’s Nest?” Cord shook his head, so Dooley went on. “Rat’s Nest is a couple of log cabins back up in the mountains where more’n a few outlaws has hid out when the law got too hot on their heels. Your pa’s been there many a time. Levi Creed, Sam Bass, Joel Collins, Jim Murphy, Jim Berry, and a lot of the old gang that me and your pa rode with—they all used Rat’s Nest. It ain’t easy to find, and the Cache la Poudre is a pretty rough river to go up.” Seeing a definite spark of interest in Cord’s eyes, he continued. “Whaddaya say? Wanna go there with me?”

  “Might as well,” Cord answered in as indifferent a tone as he could manage. Inside, he could feel an increase in his heartbeat for what might result in a face-to-face meeting with Levi Creed.

  “Hot damn!” Dooley exclaimed. “Now you’re talkin’. We’ll lay up in the mountains for a spell and maybe you can catch on with some of the younger fellers that are workin’ the stage road from Cheyenne to the Black Hills.”

  “Fine,” Cord said. “Where is this place?”

  “From where we are here, I’d say it’s about three and a half days south and west.” He laughed. “It was gonna be a helluva lot farther on foot. It was a lucky day when I ran into you.”

  Yes, sir, Cord thought, it was a lucky day, all right.

  Chapter 6

  Thinking it best to leave the well-traveled trail along Lodgepole Creek, because of the high probability of encountering an army patrol, they set out to the south into Colorado Territory. This route would take them south of Cheyenne and any Wyoming lawmen on the lookout for the escaped prisoner. With Dooley as guide, since he assured Cord that he knew the country like the back of his hand, they continued on that course until striking Two Mile Creek. “We’ll head straight west from here in the mornin’,” Dooley said as they set up camp by the creek.

  After a supper made from the meager supplies Cord was carrying, the two new partners sat by the fire to finish the last of the coffee. “About that sorrel I’m ridin’,” Dooley said. “Is that mare somethin’ special to you? I mean, is that the first horse your pa gave you, or somethin’, so you wanna keep her for sentimental reasons?”

  Cord snorted a laugh. “Not hardly. She was about the only thing I could afford at the time I bought her. When I got the bay, I decided to keep the mare for a packhorse, since I didn’t have one.”

  “So you wouldn’t mind tradin’ her for a little younger one. Is that so?”

  “I reckon.”

  “Good,” Dooley said. “’Cause I was worryin’ that I might end up totin’ her before we get to Rat’s Nest. It just so happens there’s a place between here and Crow Creek where you can get a fair trade for that horse.” He grinned and gave Cord a wink of his eye. “You know what I mean? I’ve done business there before.”

  Cord nodded. He knew what Dooley meant. Helluva note, he thought. I’m fixing to become a horse thief. He wasn’t crazy about the idea, but he couldn’t very well refuse to do it, if he expected Dooley to lead him to Levi Creed. He turned his coffee cup sideways and stared at it as he dumped the dregs from it, as if looking up a stream running dry. Two people on his scant supplies were going to use them up pretty quickly. “We might need to hunt somethin’ to eat before long,” he commented. “I’ve seen plenty of sign of deer or antelope.”

  “Antelope,” Dooley said. “There’s plenty of ’em in these parts. We’ll take us a day to go huntin’, but it’d be best after we leave Crow Creek, if that’s all right with you.”

  “Crow Creek,” Cord asked, “how far is that?”

  “Well, we could make it in a day,” Dooley answered. “But we need to hold up for a little bit before we get to Crow Creek so I can trade horses.”

  “We’ll be gettin’ pretty low on somethin’ to eat by then,” Cord speculated, “but I guess we won’t starve if we go easy on the little bit of sowbelly I’ve got left.”

  Dooley cocked his head to the side and affected a sly grin. “Course, if you’re partial to beef, we could get some of that, too, before we get to Crow Creek.”

  Cattle rustling, too, Cord immediately thought. He quickly replied, “To tell you the truth, I’m partial to some fresh venison, but I like beef as well as the next man. The trouble is, I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave a trail across the prairie, from a slaughtered steer to a stolen horse. We might find ourselves with a sheriff’s posse on our tail. Besides, if you’re gonna steal a horse, I don’t think we wanna stick around long enough to butcher a steer.”

  “You may be right,” Dooley conceded. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  It was decided then. They would get an early start in the morning and continue on toward the west.

  • • •

  Late in the afternoon, they found a herd of cattle southeast of Cheyenne where it appeared a crew of cowhands had moved them to new grazing near a small stream, and were in the process of settling them down for the night. Cord and Dooley gave them plenty of room as they circled, looking for the horses. They found them on the western side of the cattle herd. It was a small herd of maybe forty horses, under the care of a single wrangler. “Don’t look like no trouble a’tall,” Dooley said. “We’ll just wait till dark, then walk right in and pick us out a new horse.” With little cover for concealment close up, they withdrew to wait it out by the side of the small stream, far enough away to prevent Cord’s horses from greeting the ranch horses with an inquisitive whinny.

  “I expect I’ll just stick with the one I’m ridin’,” Cord said. “I doubt I’d find one I like any better.”

  “All right,” Dooley said, apparently with no reason to suspect Cord’s choice was due to a sense of honesty when it came to another man’s property. “It’ll be dark enough in a little while to ride old Grandma here right into the middle of that herd and slip h
er bridle on another’n—if that wrangler ever goes to get him some coffee or somethin’. He won’t even know what happened till mornin’—if he figures it out then.” He chuckled, amused by the picture forming in his mind. “By the time they figure out they got a new mare, me and you’ll be huntin’ antelope on the other side of Crow Creek.” He sat back down on the creek bank beside Cord. “I swear, it’s times like these that I wish I hadn’t got so damn old. Back when me and your pa and the other boys was ridin’ together, we’da rode in there and run off with the whole herd, and woe be the poor cowhand that tried to stop us.” He paused before adding, “Damn, those were good days.” He said no more then, left alone with memories made sweeter with the passage of time, blaming age for the moisture in his eyes, his emotion unseen by the young man sitting next to him.

  Chilled by the evening air, for they could not take a chance on building a fire, the two horse thieves waited for the night to darken. “We’d best get at it,” Dooley finally announced. “It looks to me like there’s gonna be a moon tonight, and we’d best get our business done before she comes up.” So, walking and leading the horses, they made their way back up the wide draw where the remuda was gathered. When Dooley deemed it close enough, they stopped to watch the herd for a few minutes. “Yonder he goes!” he whispered. “Just like I told you, he’s gone to get hisself some coffee or somethin’ to eat.” Cord nodded. The man charged with watching the horses did, in fact, get on his horse and ride off toward the main cattle herd. Dooley turned quickly to Cord and whispered, “You change your mind about another horse?” When Cord said no, Dooley jumped on the mare’s back and headed toward the horses.

  • • •

  “I believe I picked a good’un,” Dooley boasted, “even if I do say so, myself. The only thing better woulda been if he had a saddle on him. I ain’t all that partial to ridin’ bareback. Got too comfortable settin’ in a saddle over the years, I reckon.”