Montana Territory

by Charles G. West

  He returned to the place where Booth and his gang had left the road. The tracks were still there to verify the outlaws had set out to circle around a low mesa south of the town, but he was afraid the tracks might disappear if it continued to rain. Once past the long mesa, he could see the buildings in town in the distance, and he found some tracks that led back to the north. He continued in that direction, even though tracks were harder to find. It promised to be harder to track them once they returned to the road, which he expected to strike before long. To his surprise, he came back to the river without crossing the wagon road. The road had evidently ended at Choteau and that meant there were probably no farms or homesteaders of any kind west of the town. He reined Rascal to a stop beside the river while he tried to determine if he had overrun the gang’s trail. While there was no longer a road, there was a narrow path that followed the winding river, that now looked more like a creek, toward the mountains that suddenly seemed closer. Looking in the opposite direction, he could see that the path led toward town and was most likely the path the strangers Flo Pierce told him about had used to come to town. That thought caused him to again consider the possibility the strangers she talked about and the gang he was tracking were one and the same.

  He climbed down out of the saddle and began walking along the river path, leading his horse. He had walked about fifteen yards before he discovered the first tracks he’d seen since rounding the foot of the mesa, so he knew he was still on their trail. He climbed back on Rascal and continued to follow the path into the foothills. A few minutes more and the rain tapered off and the sun began to peek through holes in the clouds above him. When the rain stopped completely, he decided he’d waited long enough for his breakfast. So, when he came to a little grassy clearing between the willow trees, he dismounted and let his horse drink while he searched for some usable firewood. When he found enough for his fire, he got a small canvas bag from his saddle. The bag contained nothing more than dry grass and leaves to make starting a fire easier when his firewood was wet. Using it as his kindling, he soon had a healthy fire going, and his ever-necessary coffee boiling. Some deer tracks at the edge of the river told him that a small herd had crossed there that morning. It was enough to remind him that he was going to have to do some hunting before very much longer. But for now, he would settle for bacon and hardtack.

  After breakfast, he continued on along the path, following the river. It became more and more narrow as he moved up into the foothills, which were thick with fir and pines. Pretty soon, this river ain’t gonna be much more than a stream, he thought. Another quarter of a mile found him on a much steeper climb and there were no longer any tracks to be seen. The path he followed ended abruptly at a fork where two streams joined to form the river that had led him to this point. Looking up the steep mountainside before him, he could see no sign that anyone had tried to ride up it. And five riders, leading packhorses—and one mule—could hardly have gone up the mountain without leaving an obvious trail. They had managed to lose him, that much was certain, so he turned around and began backtracking, hoping to find some sign. Most of the rest of the day was spent riding up one ravine after another, searching for some sign of the five killers. It was as if they had just disappeared. Certain that wasn’t possible, he decided he’d search every canyon, stream, and ravine until he cut sign again.

  The place he chose to set up his camp was in a narrow canyon between two mountains, divided by a rapidly flowing stream about twenty yards wide. Earlier in the day, when riding up the canyon, he had discovered numerous deer tracks along the stream, telling him the trail he found was a popular crossing, so he decided to make his camp about seventy-five yards upstream from the spot. Seeing what appeared to be a small clearing in the heavily forested hillside a little way up the slope, he led Rascal up through the trees and found a perfect spot for his camp. The clearing afforded a little grass for his horse, and the trees around the clearing would make it difficult to see smoke from his campfire. If it really turned out to be the perfect spot, maybe he might get a deer at that crossing in the morning. He didn’t like to take time out to hunt, but he was getting low on meat.

  CHAPTER 7

  Four anxious souls were gathered around Booth Corbin, watching every bill he peeled off the packs of cash, as he counted the Quaker treasure that had been meant to build a new Friends community near Helena. He had managed to delay the official split of the money for several days in an effort to keep them from storming into Choteau to flash it around. The only reason he had been successful in holding them back was the fact that there wasn’t much in Choteau to spend it on. Finally, however, it had gotten to the point where they threatened to take it away from him and he wasn’t sure if they were serious or not. So, he decided he might as well deal the fortune out.

  He had told them that the total was estimated to be around thirty thousand dollars and it represented the sales of six separate farms, plus the savings of all the members of the church. For most of the five bandits, it was difficult to imagine such a large payday, and they were eager to see exactly how much it was for each of them. Booth had started to simply deal the money in five separate piles, but his partners wanted him to count out the whole treasure in one pile first, so they could gloat over the score they had pulled off. With his brother, Jesse, helping him count, Booth laid the last bill down for a total of $30,800. None of the five had been schooled in arithmetic, but all knew they got six thousand each. Then Jesse called on his basic knowledge of long division and figured out that each man’s share of the extra eight hundred was $160. With the one hundred dollars Booth gave everyone the first night after the massacre, each man’s payday amounted to a total of $6,260. The whooping and hollering that followed his summation might have been heard by Hawk, had he been within a mile of the log cabin perched at the top of a ravine. At this particular time, he was closer to three miles from the ravine.

  Tater Thompson’s first response, as everyone expected, was that he was going to ride down to Choteau and buy all the whiskey the fellow in the tent-saloon had. He had already drunk up almost all the whiskey he had taken from Grover Dean’s store. “That’s just what we need, you damned old fool,” Blue Davis scolded. “Let everybody in that little town know we’re all suddenly rich. That would really give ’em somethin’ to talk about in that dried-up little town.”

  “Blue’s right,” Booth said. “This ain’t the time to show off your money. Before you know it, there’d be a bunch of soldiers or a posse of lawmen up here, combin’ these hills.”

  “That woman down at the store thinks we’re prospectors,” Tater replied. “Maybe they’d just think we struck it rich.”

  “If we struck pay dirt up in these hills, it’d be gold dust,” Blue told him. “It don’t come outta the ground as paper money.”

  “Hell, Tater,” Trip Dawson japed, while everybody was laughing at Tater’s stupidity, “that feller in that tent ain’t likely got more’n twenty dollars’ worth, anyway.”

  “I told you when I laid this job out,” Booth reminded him, “we’ve gotta be smart about this and don’t go showin’ off our money. Like I said in the beginnin’, we need to lay low up here in this cabin awhile, till we’re sure ain’t nobody talkin’ about that bunch of Quakers gettin’ killed. If I can go to church meetin’s and sing hallelujah for eight straight months, you can sure as hell hole up here for a couple of weeks. Then we’ll all head for someplace where we can spend our money.”

  “Booth’s right,” Blue said. “We need to lay low for a little while. And I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do in the mornin’. I’m gonna ride down in that canyon and shoot one of them deer that likes to go down there in that stream. I’m damn sick of bacon. Anybody wanna go with me?”

  “No, but I’ll sure help you eat him,” Tater said. “Might even help you butcher him.”

  “I knew I could count on you,” Blue joked. “Nobody wanna do a little huntin’?” When no one showed any enthusiasm for going with him, he continued, “A
ll right, but I’ll tell you one thing, that’s gonna be some mighty expensive venison. It’s a good thing you’ve all got some money if you’re thinkin’ you might want some of that fresh meat.”

  “I ain’t sure how much longer I can sit around this little cabin,” Trip declared. “It’s gonna get cold up here pretty soon and I’m thinkin’ I need to get outta these mountains before it starts in to snowin’.”

  “I’ve been thinkin’ about that, myself,” Jesse said. “But Booth’s right, we’d do well to lay low for at least a week or two, long enough to make sure there ain’t nobody lookin’ to find out what happened to those Quakers.” He was well aware of his brother’s concern that the men wouldn’t be able to keep from displaying their sudden wealth. “Besides, it’ll most likely be a month before the weather starts gettin’ really cold.” He turned toward his brother. “Right, Booth? And we’ll be long gone by then.”

  “That’s right, boys,” Booth responded. “Just hold your horses for a little while and enjoy bein’ rich. Then we’ll go on down to one of those Kansas towns, Dodge City, or Wichita, where the gamblin’ and the women are runnin’ hot all winter long.”

  “That sounds good to me,” Tater said. “And, hell, Blue. I’ll even go huntin’ with you in the mornin’. Some fresh deer meat would suit my taste right now. And if I go with you, we won’t have to worry about missin’ the damn deer ’cause I’m a better shot than you are.”

  “Ha,” Blue barked. “That’ll be the day when you can outshoot me.” That was the start of a playful discussion about who was the best shot. “I remember when ol’ Booth was settin’ in the meetin’house, singin’ and prayin’ with them Friends, and we were out there raidin’ their farms and scarin’ the hell out of ’em. Remember that one time, when you shot at a hog big as a cow, and missed him?”

  “I wasn’t shootin’ to kill it,” Tater insisted. “I told you I was just tryin’ to scare him.”

  “Yeah, right,” Blue japed, “but you’re gonna have to drag your lazy bones outta your blanket in the mornin’, if you’re goin’ huntin’ with me.”

  * * *

  It’s about time, Hawk thought when he saw the four deer break from the trees on the far side of the narrow canyon. A buck and three does headed for the shallow stream, but they didn’t stop to drink, which surprised him. Instead, they splashed on across the stream. Something must have spooked them, he thought. There wasn’t much time before they would reach the trees on the other side, so he quickly raised his rifle and placed a shot right behind the front leg of the hindmost doe. The deer collapsed a few yards short of the trees as the others disappeared into the thick growth of trees along the base of the canyon.

  “What the hell?” Blue blurted when they heard the rifle shot ahead of them. “Who the hell . . . ?” He looked at Tater, who was just as surprised as he was. “Somebody just took a shot at our deer.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Tater swore. “We sprung them deer and I ain’t aimin’ to let no damn Injun have ’em.” On foot, they hurried through the trees, leading their horses, until they came to the stream. They stopped abruptly when they saw the tall hunter on the other side, some forty yards away. Hawk saw them at the same time. Both parties were obviously startled.

  No one spoke for a few moments. Then Blue called across the stream, “That there’s our deer you just shot, friend. We run ’em outta a thicket back up the side of this canyon. We ’preciate you stoppin’ that one for us. Maybe if you hustle on after the rest of ’em, you can get another shot at ’em and get one for yourself.” As an aside to Tater, he said, “If he puts up any fuss, we’ll shoot the son of a bitch.”

  Hawk was still surprised. He had not expected to run into any other deer hunters, and their attitude toward ownership of the one slain doe was a little awkward as well. “Well, I reckon that’s one way of lookin’ at it,” he called back to them. “I figure it’s my bullet that brought the deer down, so that kinda makes it my deer. If you don’t think you can follow the other three and get a shot, yourself, I could share this one with you.”

  “I don’t think you understand,” Blue said. “That deer was ours, and we need the whole damn deer, so I ain’t thinkin’ about sharin’.”

  “That ain’t very neighborly of you,” Hawk said. “Maybe that doe didn’t know she belonged to you. Maybe if she had known that, she mighta ducked when I shot at her.”

  “You’re a pretty funny feller,” Blue replied. “I’m tellin’ you plain as I can make it. We’ve been chasin’ them deer for over a mile, and I ain’t about to give one of ’em up just because you happened to get a lucky shot at it. And I ain’t got no notion of sharin’ that deer with nobody. We need the whole deer.”

  “That’s right,” Tater chimed in then. “There’s five of us. We need the whole deer.”

  Blue flinched as soon as Tater said it, and he turned to give him a quick scowl before calling out to Hawk again. “That’s a fact,” he said. “We’ve got women and children to feed.”

  Hawk’s suspicions about the two deer hunters were already growing, and the comment the one made about there being five of them to feed triggered a strong warning, especially after the one doing most of the talking tried to silence him with a frown. What were the odds that the men he searched for would come to him? Not likely, he decided, still he couldn’t deny the possibility. “You shoulda said that in the first place,” Hawk said. “I don’t wanna take any food away from your women and children. You’re welcome to that deer. I’ll find another one.” He backed slowly away, his rifle cocked, ready to fire at the first wrong move either of the two men made. If he could withdraw without trouble, he would then follow them in hopes he really had met with two of the men he hunted.

  “This don’t smell right to me,” Blue murmured to Tater. To Hawk, he called out, “’Preciate it, friend, the young’uns will be mighty happy to get the meat.” When Hawk continued to move toward the protection of the trees, Blue said, “Hold on a minute, I’d like to shake your hand.”

  “All the same to you,” Hawk answered, “I think I’d best get goin’, if I’m gonna catch up with those deer.” He was almost in the cover of the trees when Blue suddenly jerked his rifle to his shoulder and fired. Anticipating just such a move, Hawk dropped to one knee at the same time he heard Blue’s shot rip into the bark of the large tree beside him. Without thinking, he automatically returned fire, his shot catching Blue in the side. By the time Tater brought his rifle to bear, there was no target to shoot at, for Hawk disappeared in the thick forest of firs behind him. So Tater wisely took cover behind a sizable rock.

  “Damn it, damn it, damn it,” Tater heard Blue moaning as he lay wounded at the rocky edge of the stream. “Tater, I’m shot,” he gasped. “I need help.”

  “How bad is it?” Tater responded. “Can you crawl?”

  “No, damn it, I need help,” Blue pleaded. “I don’t think I can move.”

  “Just hang on as best you can. If I get out in the open to help you, I’m liable to get shot, too. Might be best for me to go back to the hideout and get the other boys to make sure that jasper ain’t settin’ there waitin’ to pick another one of us off.”

  “You can’t leave me here!” Blue wailed, as he frantically held his side, trying to stop the bleeding that was already forming a shallow scarlet pool in the wet rocks he lay upon. “It’s a half hour’s ride back to the cabin. I might be dead before you get back.”

  “You just hang in there, Blue,” Tater said, all the while looking right and left for any sign of the man who shot him. He knew he could not stay there behind that rock, in case the man might be moving around in those trees to get a better angle to shoot at him. “He’s got us in a tight spot, but I’m gonna go get some help. You just lay low. He’ll think you’re dead. You’ve got your rifle handy, so you can shoot him if he comes back. I’ll go get the other boys.” He started backing away from the rock, intent upon getting back to the horses.

  “Tater! You son of a bitch!” Blue cried out,
and fired his rifle in Tater’s direction, but Tater was already sprinting toward the horses at that point and Blue’s shot was nowhere close. The effort he expended caused him to fall back in pain as he grabbed desperately at the wound in his side, trying to stop the bleeding.

  On the other side of the creek, Hawk watched Tater’s retreat, and when he was sure it was safe, he ran across the stream, leading Rascal, in an attempt to follow him out of the canyon. It was not difficult to follow his trail through the thick growth of trees, because the path of broken branches was obvious enough, especially in Tater’s haste to flee. It became more difficult, however, when he came to the edge of the band of trees that wrapped around the mountain and came to a wide meadow. He stopped to look for hoofprints that would tell him in which direction Tater had ridden after leaving the trees. The tracks from two horses led toward another band of trees farther around the mountain. He followed the tracks into the trees until reaching a flat rock ledge that led up to another stream coming down the mountain, and that was where he lost him. There were no tracks on the other side. Did he go upstream or downstream? That was what he had to determine. Maybe, he thought, he may have remained in the water for a long way before coming out again in an effort to lose anyone tailing him. With no option other than to ride up and down the stream, looking for tracks that would tell him where Tater had left the water, Hawk began searching. Unfortunately, the fleeing man had succeeded in disguising his trail, and eventually Hawk had to admit that he had lost him. He turned Rascal back the way they had come, thinking to check on the man Tater had left behind.

  As he rode back toward the band of trees on the other side of the meadow, he remembered that the wounded man had cried out that it was half an hour back to the cabin. If that was true, it at least gave him a general area in which to look for this cabin. He was almost certain now that he had, in fact, caught up with two of the five murderers of the group of Friends. Maybe, he hoped, he could get some additional information out of the wounded man back in the stream.