Mark of the Hunter

by Charles G. West

  “Well, like I said, it was a long time ago when I saw him,” Cord said. “I reckon I just don’t remember that well.”

  “How is your pa?” Nate asked. “Ain’t nobody heard much about him. Levi said he went to farmin’ over in Kansas.”

  “He’s still there,” Cord said. “He ain’t likely to leave. I’ll bet ol’ Levi is gettin’ kinda gray around the muzzle, just like my pa.”

  “Yeah, a little,” Nate said, “mostly in his beard, though.” Ready to talk about more important things, he abruptly left the subject of Levi Creed. “You fellers bring any coffee or sugar with you? We’re about outta what we brung with us.”

  “No sugar,” Cord said, his mind already occupied with thoughts of taking leave of Rat’s Nest, now that he knew where Levi was heading, the horse he rode, and a general notion that his mother’s murderer hadn’t changed a great deal. “We’ve got a little coffee and some sowbelly, and a good bit of smoked deer meat.”

  “We’ve got plenty of venison,” Skully remarked. “Nate shot a doe and butchered it yesterday. I’d sure love to have some coffee to go with it. We figured one of us was gonna have to go down the mountain to that tradin’ post this side of Fort Collins, but if you’ve got some to spare, we can wait a day or two longer.”

  “I reckon I can spare enough to last you a couple of days,” Cord said.

  “Much obliged,” Nate said. “You know, you and Bill mighta come along at just the right time. Me and Skully have been talkin’ about that little bank over in Fort Collins. We could handle it, just the two of us, but if you boys want a piece of it, it might make the job a whole lot easier.” It was obvious that his offer was directed at Cord. “Big ol’ strong buck like you oughta come in handy.” He grinned at Dooley, teasing, “Might even find some use for an old cuss like you.”

  “Huh,” Dooley snorted. “I ain’t that much older’n you or Skully, but I reckon I could handle my end of it, if I was wantin’ to. But I’m old enough to know I ain’t as fast as I used to be, so my days of robbin’ banks in the middle of town and gettin’ shot at by everybody on the street are over.” He nodded toward Cord. “Cord here is his own man. He might wanna join in the fun.”

  “Reckon not,” Cord said. “I’m leavin’ in the mornin’.”

  His remark surprised Dooley and caused him to cast a questioning gaze in Cord’s direction. When Cord offered nothing more, Dooley asked, “Where you in such a hurry to get to?”

  “I’m thinkin’ about headin’ out to Cheyenne, maybe follow the stagecoach road up to Fort Laramie and the Black Hills.” Dooley continued to favor him with the look of surprise, so Cord reminded him that he had been on his way to Cheyenne when the two of them first met.

  “Matter of fact, you were,” Dooley replied. “I recollect now.” He was disappointed to hear that the quiet young man had no plans to linger in the Rat’s Nest. “Well, hell,” he finally said after a pause in the conversation, “let’s take care of the horses and help Nate and Skully eat up some of their deer meat.” He had known the young man for only a few days, but he sensed that something had occurred to make him suddenly in a hurry to move on. He had given no indication of that hurry before they arrived at the hideout.

  • • •

  After the horses were taken care of, Cord and Dooley took their gear inside the cabin that Skully and Nate were using since there was already a fire built in that one. Cord would have left his supply of meat out in the lean-to at the back of the small corral, but Nate advised him to store it inside the other cabin, because of the likely visit of a nighttime critter. “There’s plenty of coons and wildcats about these woods, and once in a while a bear,” he warned.

  This captured Cord’s attention. “What about the horses?” he asked.

  “Our horses ain’t ever been bothered,” Skully replied. “’Specially with four horses in there, a bear most likely wouldn’t bother ’em.” Cord took his word for it, but he almost decided to sleep near his horse anyway. He was not that far from the memory of the time when he didn’t have a good horse.

  There was plenty of room inside the cabin, even though it was small, for the only furniture was a table and four chairs. There were no beds, none of the cabins’ many guests over the years having had the inclination to build any. It was just as easy to spread one’s blankets on the dirt floor near the fireplace.

  After a supper of fresh venison, roasted on a spit in the fireplace, the four men sat close by the fire, finishing the coffee Cord had provided. “You must not have anybody lookin’ for you right now,” Skully commented to Cord.

  Dooley answered for him. “No, I’m the one had an army patrol on my tail. Cord just came along for the ride.”

  “I don’t know as how I’d be headin’ up in the Black Hills this time of year,” Nate remarked. “Too damn cold. I told Levi the same thing.”

  “It ain’t gonna be no colder than where you’re settin’ right now,” Dooley reminded him.

  “That’s true,” Nate responded. “But I’m holed up in a warm cabin with plenty of firewood and plenty of game.”

  “We’d better get on down in the valley and pick up some more supplies before winter really decides to set in,” Skully remarked, also thinking about the approaching winter. “I don’t wanna get caught up here snowed in because we didn’t get down in time.”

  The conversation went on into the evening as the three outlaws reminisced about the glory days gone by when they rode with Sam Bass and the others, and complained about the restrictions put upon them by advancing years. Dooley participated equally in recalling holdups that were successful and some that were not, all the while noticing a hint of impatience on his young friend’s part. He decided for sure that Cord might have been sired by Ned Malone, but he was not carved out of the same block of wood. So when Cord got to his feet and announced that he had to empty some of the coffee he had been drinking, Dooley said he had a call, too, and walked out the door behind him. “You two been ridin’ together too long,” Nate chided as they closed the door behind them.

  Walking to the corner of the cabin, Cord turned to look out toward the valley below as he tended to the business of emptying his bladder. It was a dark, moonless night with millions of stars filling the sky above him. A few yards away, Dooley assumed the same posture, and after a few moments, commented, “There ain’t no better feelin’ of freedom than to stand at the top of the world and piss like a natural man.” When Cord only grunted in response, he continued. “I already know you good enough to tell when there’s somethin’ eatin’ away at you, and I’ve been thinkin’ about it. And seems to me it’s got somethin’ to do with Levi Creed. Now before you tell me to go to hell and mind my own business, I just wanna warn you that, if you’re goin’ after Levi, you need to know that there ain’t ever been born a meaner snake than that man. Your pa was the only man I know who would ride with him when it was just the two of ’em, and the rest of the gang wasn’t with ’em. Hell, I never would.”

  “What makes you think I’m goin’ after Levi?” Cord asked.

  “Well, then, tell me you ain’t,” Dooley challenged at once. “I see you get all drawed up anytime somebody mentions Levi. Listen, what I’m sayin’ is you’re gonna need some help if you’ve got anything on your mind about settling anything with that man, whatever it is. And I reckon I can help.”

  “What are you sayin’—you wanna go with me?” Nature’s call completed, Cord turned to question him. “Why in hell would you wanna go with me?”

  “’Cause I know a lot more about the man than you do—where he’s likely to show up for one thing. There are some places up there between Custer City and Deadwood where a man on the run can hole up. I know where they are, ’cause we used ’em when I was ridin’ with Sam and some of the other boys a few years back. If Levi’s holin’ up in one of those hideouts, you might be too old to do anythin’ by the time you found him.”

 
“I ain’t said anything about lookin’ for Levi Creed,” Cord insisted. “You’re puttin’ two and two together and comin’ up with five.”

  “I’ll admit you ain’t knowed me long enough to tell the difference,” Dooley said, “but I ain’t as dumb as I look. One thing I know for sure, you don’t add up to be no outlaw. I’ve been a thief and a robber long enough to recognize an honest man when I see one, and I’ll bet you ain’t ever stole nothin’ in your life. I’m not even sure you’re Ned Malone’s son.” He paused to observe the young man’s reaction to his comments. “I ain’t gonna say nothin’ to them fellers inside, so you might as well tell me why you’re dead set on trackin’ Levi Creed.”

  Cord was at a loss as to how to respond to Dooley’s accurate assessment of his character. He was not of the opinion that he needed any help to accomplish what he had set out to do. But if the odd little man was truthful about what he knew in regards to Levi’s likely haunts, he might help him find him quicker. He decided it was useless to try to maintain the image that he was one of them, at least with Dooley. “Well, the part about bein’ Ned Malone’s son is true. He was my pa, and he was a no-good son of a bitch at that.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Dooley commented quickly, encouraging Cord to continue.

  “Levi Creed murdered my mother and father seven years ago, and that’s why I wanna find him.”

  “Seven years ago,” Dooley echoed. “So Ned didn’t go to farmin’ like Levi said, and you waited this long to go after him.” He took a look at the formidable young man standing before him, gaining a new sense of respect for Cord’s patience and wisdom. Instead of flying off the handle at age twelve, when he had little chance against a hardened killer like Levi, the boy was smart enough to wait until he was more likely to gain his vengeance. “That scar across your forehead, Levi give it to ya?”

  “He did,” Cord replied, “set the house on fire and left us all for dead. His mistake was he didn’t hit me as hard as he thought.”

  Dooley shook his head slowly as he recalled the man he once rode with. “I ain’t surprised none. That sounds like ol’ Levi, all right.” He thought about it for a few moments longer until Cord started to turn back toward the cabin. “Lemme help you, son. It’d be better’n you goin’ after him alone.”

  “It ain’t your concern,” Cord insisted, baffled as to why Dooley wanted to get involved in something that might cost him his life.

  “I ain’t got nothin’ better to do right now,” Dooley said with a shrug. “Besides, you need somebody like me to help you—unless you’ve got a whole lot of money—which you said you ain’t. What are you figurin’ on doin’ when your supplies run out, or you use up your ammunition for that Winchester—you bein’ an honest citizen and all? You’re gonna need a scavenger to come up with that stuff, and you’re lookin’ at one of the best.”

  It suddenly struck Dooley why he wanted to ride with the young man. It would give him a reason to feel alive again. He had been reluctant to admit to himself that his best days were over. Men like Skully and Nate might offer a chance to provide an extra gun on one bank robbery attempt, but they were really more interested in Cord. As soon as Cord had turned down the offer, there was no more effort on their part to enlist Dooley. Before that, he had almost decided he was at the end of the line while trying to escape the cavalry patrol. And he would not have offered much resistance had Cord decided to turn him in to the army. On foot, with no weapon or ammunition, no supplies, not even a sack of tobacco to roll a smoke, a return to a prison cell had not looked so bad. Now the thought of riding off to the Black Hills with a new partner gave him hope that there might be some good years left in him. Aside from that, he really liked the young man. Able and strong, Cord seemed to possess the one quality lacking in partners he had ridden with in the past: honesty. “Whaddaya say, partner?” Dooley asked, his hand extended.

  Not really sure how he felt about the proposition, Cord hesitated for a moment. Bill Dooley was a horse thief and a stagecoach road agent, albeit a semiretired one, and certainly not the kind of partner he would have considered. In fact, he had never considered taking on a partner of any kind. But Dooley was easy to get along with, and as he insisted, he might be of help with his special qualifications. He had ridden with Sam Bass when Bass’s gang of road agents was making a living holding up stagecoaches and freight wagons on the Cheyenne to Deadwood road. He was probably right when he claimed to know every hideout the outlaws used. “What the hell . . . ?” he finally decided, and shook Dooley’s hand.

  It was done then, the partnership formed between the tall young man and the stumpy little man with a bald spot on the back of his head, and a shaggy gray beard—an alliance formed to deliver cruel justice to one Levi Creed.

  Chapter 7

  The new partnership rode out of the Rat’s Nest after breakfast the next morning. Nate and Skully followed them down the series of game trails to the valley below, where they bade them farewell and headed toward Fort Collins to get supplies for the coming winter. Cord and Dooley turned their horses north, toward Cheyenne with Dooley acting as guide, since he was well familiar with the territory. They could have made it to Cheyenne in one long day’s ride, had they not waited until after breakfast to leave the mountain. Since they had, Dooley figured they would make camp eight or ten miles south of the town. It made little difference, since their scant financial holdings prohibited them from patronizing any of Cheyenne’s hotels. Wearing heavy jackets and bandannas tied over their ears, they left the banks of the Cache la Poudre, prepared for a long, cold day in the saddle. “I’m damn shore gonna look for me some more clothes when we hit Cheyenne,” Dooley declared, “an extra shirt and pair of socks, anyway. When I left those soldier boys back at Fort Sidney, I didn’t have time to pack my bags.” He chuckled at his comment. “I reckon I was lucky I had my coat on when I ran.” Cord didn’t bother to ask him what he intended to use for money.

  After camping for the night by a small stream south of Cheyenne, they were in the saddle again early the next morning. At Dooley’s request, they entered the town on the east side. The army’s Fort D. A. Russell was located three miles west of Cheyenne, and Dooley wasn’t comfortable in passing close by. There was always the possibility, he said, that word of his escape from the Nebraska fort had been telegraphed to other forts nearby. “I’d be surprised,” Cord told him, “since you were runnin’ on foot the last time they saw you.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Dooley said. “But I reckon they’d really love to get their hands on me again ’cause I rode with the Bass gang.”

  “Maybe so,” Cord allowed, even though he seriously doubted that the army held Dooley to be important enough to spend much manpower on. He imag- ined they would be content just knowing Dooley had fled the territory. Nevertheless, they rode a few miles out of their way to circle in from the east side, arriving before noon.

  Cheyenne was much bigger than Cord had expected, with many stores and shops, one saloon after another, and a few buildings two stories high, among them the Union Pacific Hotel next to the depot, and Dyer’s Hotel on Eddy Street. Riding farther into town, they approached a three-story building that Dooley identified as the Inter-Ocean Hotel. The size of the town caused Cord to experience a feeling of discouragement, for it seemed unlikely they could pick up a trace of one man passing through.

  “The thing is,” Dooley assured him, “there ain’t but a couple of places where Levi was liable to go—Frenchy’s Saloon was where he always went when we was in town. They didn’t ask no questions at Frenchy’s, and they didn’t give no information to the sheriff. Besides, that street’s where most of the red lanterns are hangin’ by the door.” Cord responded with a questioning look, so Dooley explained. “Whores. That’s where the whores live. When you see a door with a red lantern hangin’ beside it, that means there’s a friendly lady there that’s ready to offer you some comfort.”

  “Oh,” Cord repli
ed, looking astonished.

  Dooley studied his young partner’s face intently. “You ain’t never been off the farm before, have you?” He marveled that a man nineteen years of age had not known what a red-light district was. “I might have a bigger job on my hands than just bein’ a guide,” he commented with a chuckle.

  “You just help me find Levi Creed,” Cord said. “I don’t need you to teach me anything else.” He had no time, and little money, to waste on Cheyenne’s places of physical gratification. He was hoping that Levi might have decided to linger in town to partake of them, however.

  The statement brought another chuckle from Dooley. “All right, partner. Best place to start is Frenchy’s. If they ain’t seen him, I know a couple more places to look.”

  It was still a little before noon when they tied up at the saloon’s hitching post and walked in. As a matter of habit, Dooley paused at the door to get a look at the room before proceeding toward the bar. The only patrons in the saloon were two men sitting at a table in the back corner of the room, so Dooley continued. “Mickey, you old cuss, you ain’t got no prettier since I was last in this place,” he called out to a thin little man with a dark drooping mustache working the bar.

  Mickey did a double take, then replied, “Well, I’ll be damned. . . . Bill Dooley, I thought you’d gone down to Texas with the rest of that wild bunch you rode with.”

  “I ain’t lost nothin’ in Texas,” Dooley replied.

  “Well, times has changed a little around here since you were in town,” Mickey said. “Cheyenne’s gettin’ downright respectable, so I’d recommend you better keep your head down and cast a small shadow.” He paused then to ask, “Whiskey?”

  “You offerin’ one on the house for old times’ sake?” Dooley asked.

  “No, I ain’t,” Mickey replied, causing Dooley to look inquiringly at Cord.

  “I’ll have a glass of beer,” Cord said, “and whatever he wants.” His comment brought an instant smile of appreciation from his thirsty partner.