Mark of the Hunter

by Charles G. West

  “Whatever you say, Mr. Striker. You’re the boss,” Mace was quick to reply, thankful that Striker stepped in. He had no honest desire to face off against a man that looked like the devil’s agent. Strong only smiled at him, already thinking about another killing after he was done with the one he was being paid to do.

  “Tell him who he’s looking for,” Striker ordered.

  “Yes, sir,” Mace replied. “Tall feller, almost as tall as you, maybe not as big, hard to tell with that heavy coat he was wearin’ when I saw him. But ain’t no mistakin’ his face, ’cause he’s got a scar across his forehead above his left eye, runnin’ across, all the way up in his hair. Wears a flat-crown hat, pretty much like the one Tyler there is wearin’. You won’t have no problem knowin’ him.”

  Strong nodded, satisfied. “Then I reckon I’ll ride back into town and wait for him to show up,” he said to Striker. “Soon as he does, you’ll need to have the rest of my money ready, ’cause I won’t be hangin’ around after I’m done.”

  Striker couldn’t help the feeling that he might have acted too quickly when he contracted with the sullen man, but he felt he was too heavily invested in him to change his mind now. “I hope to hell I ain’t made a mistake,” he said. “Hell, that son of a bitch might not come into town before spring. How the hell do we know? If you hang around that damn saloon all winter, you’re gonna have to pay for it yourself. You ain’t gettin’ another cent outta me till he’s dead.”

  Strong showed no concern over his remark. “He’ll show up. I’d bet on it. I’ve seen a hundred like him. They all show up in the saloon sooner or later to brag about how many men they’ve gunned down. That’s how they get a reputation and have people like you pay ’em to do the killin’ for ’em. If I’m wrong, and he doesn’t come into town before long, then I’ll do it the other way. Ride out to the Triple-T and kill him. One way or another, you’ll get what you’re payin’ for.”

  That seemed to placate Striker’s doubts for the moment, and when Strong told him he would start back to Ogallala right away, he called for Rena to fix the assassin some food to take with him. “It’ll be a little late to get supper by the time you get there,” Striker said.

  • • •

  Dooley surprised them all, including himself, when he began to pull through by the morning of his second day after his frosty ride in the back of the wagon. Muriel and Slop were amazed that he felt well enough to take a little food, and was able to hold it down. There was no sign of blood other than a little still seeping from the wounds. Lem pronounced it a miracle. “I ain’t never seen anybody get gut-shot before that didn’t cough up all kinds of bloody mess. You must have somebody lookin’ out after you, for a fact.” He gestured toward the ceiling.

  Dooley managed a weak grin for the folks hovering over him. “I reckon it’s because of my saintly ways and the good life I’ve always led,” he murmured.

  Stony, Muriel, and Eileen laughed at his remark. “I believe you must have led an honest life, all right, for those bullets to have missed anything fatal,” Muriel said. Only Cord and Birdie realized the irony of Dooley’s comment, knowing the man had lived outside the law for a good part of his life. There was enough good in the man, Cord figured, that the good Lord saw fit to give him a little more time.

  “Well, I ain’t got time to stand around this bunkhouse and watch you women make a fuss over Dooley,” Stony announced. “Slop said he ain’t gonna cook no more if I don’t go into town and get that molasses and cornmeal he needs.” He turned to Cord. “How ’bout it, partner? You wanna go along? I might need some help with those barrels.”

  “I reckon so,” Cord said. “I was fixin’ to ride over to the lower range to see if I could pick up any strays that mighta wandered off toward those buttes again, but I reckon Blackie and Link don’t need my help. Let me pull the saddle off my horse and turn him in the corral. I’ll meet you by the barn.”

  He walked outside, pulling his coat collar up around his neck when the chilled air of the morning met him in the face. He heard the bunkhouse door open and close behind him. Thinking it was Stony, heading for the wagon, he didn’t bother to turn to see. “It won’t be so bad a day when that sun gets up a little higher, so maybe we won’t freeze our behinds off.”

  “No clouds to amount to much,” a feminine voice replied.

  Surprised, he looked around then to discover Eileen following him. “I thought that was Stony behind me,” he said, clearly embarrassed.

  “I guessed as much,” she said. “But I wouldn’t want you and Stony to come back without your behinds.” He started to apologize, but she stopped him. “Don’t let it worry you.” She caught up to him and walked with him to the barn, where he had left his horse with the reins looped over a rail of the corral.

  “Somethin’ I can help you with?” he asked.

  “Nope, I just wanted to talk to you without everyone else around, that’s all.”

  “Oh? If it’s about that kiss in the barn that night, I reckon I owe you an apology.” He got no further than that before she interrupted.

  “Well, maybe it is about that kiss a little bit,” she said. “But first, I want to know what your plans are as far as the Triple-T is concerned. Now that Dooley’s been shot, are you planning to ride off after the men who shot him? Or are you going again in search of whatever that big important mission is you think you have to do? And I want to know about that kiss, too. What did you kiss me for? Did you think I was like one of those whores that work in the saloon in town—that you can just have your way with, and no commitment at all?”

  “Why, no, ma’am,” he sputtered, completely disarmed by the unexpected verbal assault. “I don’t think you’re like any of those women. I’m sorry if I—”

  “Then why did you kiss me?” she interrupted.

  “I don’t know,” he replied, unable to give her any plausible reason. “I just wanted to, I reckon.”

  “You just wanted to,” she echoed, continuing to scold him as if questioning an irresponsible child. “So you’re trying to tell me you have feelings for me?”

  “I guess so, maybe,” he answered honestly.

  “Well, let me tell you, Cord Malone, I would never allow a man to court me unless he had decided he was going to settle down in one place, and not go riding off to chase after some chore he can’t even talk about.”

  Her blunt statement caught him completely by surprise. Courting Eileen Duffy was something he had never given thought to. Dumbfounded, he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Words failed him. Even his thoughts were tangled in a web of uncertainty, for he didn’t know what his proper response should be. Deep down, he knew that she occupied a special place in his heart. But it had always been a fantasy place, like a fairy tale that had no connection to reality. It was too complicated for him to understand, but one thing he had assumed from the beginning was that she was much too good for someone of his station in life—a twenty-five-dollar-a-month cowpoke. And her almost abrasive attitude toward him had seemed to confirm that impression. She stood now, hands on hips, apparently waiting for him to say something.

  After a long moment while he was trying to decide what he could say to her, he finally responded, “Are you sayin’ you wouldn’t be insulted if I was to ask you if I could court you?”

  “I’m more likely to be insulted if you didn’t,” she shot back. “Are you asking?”

  “I’m askin’,” he said at once, still in a minor state of shock to find himself in this unlikely conversation, and still uncertain about the possibility.

  “What about this secret mission you set off on before?” she asked then. “Are you done with that, or are you going to ride off to who knows where again?”

  Soaring moments before, he was abruptly dashed to earth again by the reminder of his solemn vow. He had taken an oath to avenge his mother’s murder, and he knew he could not forsake that vow. As
much as he was astonished by Eileen’s frank confession, he could not stay here and let Levi Creed ride free, unaccountable for his evil sins. “I don’t have a choice,” he tried to explain. “There’s a man I’ve got to find. I’ve got to settle somethin’ with him before I can do anythin’ else.”

  She shook her head impatiently and said, “Then the answer is no, you are not welcome to call on me. I’ve no intention to play second fiddle to some secret thing you think more important than me.” She turned on her heel then and headed toward the house, leaving a mesmerized young man to wonder what had just happened. She allowed to herself that she might have been far too abrupt. But it was imperative to her to know that nothing would be more important to him than she, because she intended to give that devotion to him in return.

  “What’s ailin’ you? I thought you was gonna turn your horse out in the corral, and you ain’t even took the saddle off yet.”

  Cord was only then aware of the wagon pulling up behind him and Stony in the seat.

  “What did you say to Eileen?” Stony went on. “She took off for the house like a scared antelope—just cold, I reckon.”

  “I reckon,” Cord said, after a long moment. “I won’t be but a minute.” He pulled his saddle off the bay and turned the horse out. Then he headed for the barn to put his saddle away, wondering if the preceding moments with Eileen had been a dream, and wishing it was so. He was struck with the realization that he might have destroyed the one chance of happiness he was likely to have. It left him with an overbearing feeling of indecision, for he was not sure where his heart lay. He was not confident that he would know if he was in love or not; he frankly didn’t understand the term. All he knew for sure was that he was suddenly staggered by the awareness of a deep longing to be with someone, a mate to share his life with. Was Eileen that woman—the self-confident girl who had seemed to distance herself from him before? He shook his head, trying to shake the melancholy thoughts from his brain. It’s over and done now, he thought, resigning himself to what might possibly have been the biggest mistake of his young life. “I’m comin’,” he called out when he heard Stony yell for him to hurry up.

  • • •

  He was bad news. Flo knew that from the moment he walked into the saloon and pounded on the bar for a drink. A huge brute of a man, who looked to need a bath more than a drink, he looked around him at the nearly empty room, confident that it was his for the taking. Intimidation was his specialty, and he wasted no time in applying it. “Gimme a bottle of whiskey,” he told Clyde Perkins, and continued to look the saloon over while Clyde got a bottle of whiskey from under the counter. His eye paused, then fixed on the large woman standing by a table talking to Ralph McConnell, the telegraph operator at the train depot. Flo swore she could feel his gaze settle upon her before she turned to look at him.

  “You can have that one,” Betty Lou whispered. Seated at the table, facing the bar, she had seen the stranger walk in. “You’re big enough to handle him. I’m afraid he’d kill me.”

  “I’m more your size, ain’t I, darlin’?” Ralph asked playfully.

  “You sure are, sweetie,” Betty Lou responded in kind. Ralph was like most of the few men who wintered in Ogallala. He liked to talk and steal a touch of skin whenever he could, but was tight when it came to laying some money down. She and Flo realized that they had made a poor choice when they changed their minds about leaving for the winter. They had been all set to go to Cheyenne, but decided they might make out all right if they stayed after they found out that none of the other girls were staying. They hadn’t counted on the men in town being so reluctant to part with their money. If it were not for the occasional trips for supplies from the ranchers, the two prostitutes would have been hard-pressed to survive.

  “He doesn’t look like he’s housebroke, does he?” Flo commented.

  Ralph turned to see who they were referring to. “Hell, he don’t even look saddle-broke,” he remarked. “He’s the feller who got off the train from Cheyenne yesterday. A couple of Roman-Three boys met him.”

  “Look out, Flo,” Betty Lou warned with a giggle. “He’s headed this way and he’s got his eye on you.”

  “Looks to me like there ain’t no need for one man to have two women,” Strong declared when he walked up to the table. “I’ll take one of ’em off your hands. That’s all right with you, ain’t it, partner?” He fixed Ralph with a maleficent stare that served as a challenge.

  “Yes, sir,” Ralph quickly replied. “Take your pick.”

  “I was goin’ to.” Strong smirked. He undressed the somewhat skinny Betty Lou with his eyes, then grabbed Flo by the wrist. “What’s your name, honey? You come on over here and set with me.”

  “My name’s Flo,” she told him. “And take it easy on that wrist. I ain’t fixin’ to run.” With her other hand, she casually felt her hair to make sure her hat pin was in place, in case it became necessary to use it.

  He led her over to another table before releasing her, placed the bottle of whiskey in the center, then stood over her until she seated herself. “We’ll have us a few drinks before we go up to your room to have a little tussle,” he said, favoring her with a wicked grin.

  “Is that so?” Flo replied. “Well, you’d better have some money, ’cause this business ain’t a hobby for me.”

  “Ha,” he snorted. “Is that a fact?” He reached in his coat pocket and came out with a twenty-dollar gold coin. “You think you’re talkin’ to some shit-kickin’ saddle tramp? You’d better be thinkin’ how you’re gonna earn this money.”

  Flo’s scowl disappeared when she saw the color of the brute’s money, replacing it with a honey-dripping smile, for she was certain she had heard the jingle of other coins in the coat pocket. In better times she might have told the crude beast to spend his money somewhere else. But in this slow winter season, she needed the money badly, so she did the best she could to hide her disgust for him. If she could keep him there at the table long enough, maybe there was a chance he would get too drunk to cause her much of a problem when she took him upstairs. She had used that ploy before, but Strong downed shot after shot, without so much as a blink of his eye. After consuming over half of the bottle, he got up from the table, picked up the bottle, and said, “Let’s go. I’m drunk enough now that you’re startin’ to look pretty.”

  “Well, thank you, kind sir, for the compliment,” she replied sarcastically. As she got to her feet, she cast an impatient frown at Betty Lou, who was watching with obvious interest, thinking it not worth any amount of money to subject herself to the rough experience her sister prostitute was bound to endure. Flo was a bigger and stronger woman, however, so she would probably have a better chance of controlling the brute.

  • • •

  Three-quarters of an hour passed, long enough for Betty Lou to become concerned, before Strong appeared at the top of the stairs again—this time alone. He paused there for a moment to tuck his shirttail in and put his coat on before coming downstairs. Betty Lou noticed a scratch on the side of his cheek and was at once alarmed for her friend, who had still not made an appearance. “Where’s Flo?” she asked.

  “Upstairs,” he said, smirking, “cleanin’ up, or doin’ whatever you whores do when you’ve finished earnin’ your money.” Fully distressed then, Betty Lou got up from her chair and started for the stairs. Strong paused to look her over, grinning as he told her, “Maybe I’ll have a turn with you next time.”

  “Not on your life,” she responded, causing him to chuckle.

  “Sassy little bitch, ain’t she, partner?” Strong said to Ralph. “They’re all like that.”

  “If you say so,” Ralph replied, hoping to avoid saying anything that the huge man might take the wrong way. He remained seated, relaxing only after Strong had walked out of the saloon. Then he headed for the door as well with a “See ya later, Clyde” as he walked past the bartender.

 
Upstairs, Betty Lou hurried past a couple of doors to Flo’s room at the end of the hall. She found her friend on her knees beside the bed, struggling to pull herself up to sit on the bed. “Flo!” Betty Lou cried out when she saw Flo’s swollen eye and bloody face. “Oh, you poor baby, are you all right?” She rushed to help her up on the bed.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Flo managed to respond. “The son of a bitch hit me without so much as a warning. I reckon he thought he didn’t get his money’s worth. I didn’t even have time to get to my hat pin, ’cause I didn’t see it coming.” She sat still while Betty Lou cleaned some of the blood from her face. “I guess he knocked me out, ’cause, I swear, I don’t remember anything after he told me I cheated him till when I found myself on the floor trying to get up. He’s older than he looks. I think he just can’t cut the mustard like he wants to. I reckon it was part my fault. I shouldn’t have said that maybe he was a gelding.”

  “We shouldn’t have let you take him upstairs,” Betty Lou went on, fretting over their failure to acknowledge the warning signals. “Here, let me wet a cloth and clean you up a little better.” She shook her head, distressed. “Your eye is gonna swell up something awful. It looks like it’s almost closed already—that low-down son of a bitch.”

  “If I’d had my pistol out of the drawer, he’d have never walked out of here,” Flo swore.

  “Did he hurt you anywhere else?” Betty Lou asked, concerned then that Flo might have suffered damage on her body, especially in the parts with which she earned her living.

  “No, not much,” Flo said. “But if you’re asking what it was like, it was about as close as I ever wanna get to wrestling with a horse.” She came close to forcing a chuckle, but her split lip made her pause. “He’s even got little round spots all over his back like a bunch of scars or something. I ain’t sure he’s human.”

  “Well, I’ll take care of you,” Betty Lou assured her. “I need to go outside and scoop up a handful of snow to put on that eye. Then maybe we oughta go tell the sheriff what happened.”