Montana Territory

by Charles G. West

  When he approached the edge of the stream, he stopped and dismounted, leaving Rascal in the trees where Blue and Tater had left their horses before. Pausing in the cover of the trees, he watched the still figure lying on the edge of the shallow stream. After a few minutes without any sign of movement, he walked carefully toward the man, ready to react should Blue suddenly raise his rifle to shoot. Still there was no sign of life, so he walked up beside him, then reached down and took the rifle from his dead hands. He had bled to death. “Well, Blue, there’s nothin’ you can tell me, I reckon,” Hawk said softly. Then as a matter of general principle, he took hold of the back of Blue’s coat and dragged his body out of the stream, so as not to contaminate the water. From listening to the two men talking back and forth after Blue was shot, he knew that the dead one was Blue, and the one who deserted him was Tater. “That was more than I knew before,” he said, then whistled softly and waited for the big buckskin horse to trot up to him. “We’ve got one more body to take care of,” he said to Rascal, and turned to look at the carcass of the doe he had shot. “I still need food.”

  * * *

  “What tha . . . ?” Jesse Corbin blurted when Tater rode up to the cabin, leading Blue’s horse. “Where’s Blue?”

  “Blue’s dead, or maybe he ain’t. I don’t know,” Tater replied as he stepped down from his horse. He was not inclined to confess that he felt pretty sure that Blue was dead by now. He figured Blue was fading fast when he left. And even if he wasn’t, the man in the buckskin shirt would most likely finish him off, probably as soon as he had run off with the horses. “He got shot,” he went on, “by some feller down in the canyon. We was chasin’ some deer we ran up on, and when we got ready to cross over a stream we saw this feller. Him and Blue shot at each other. He caught Blue in the side, but Blue missed with his shot.”

  “Booth!” Jesse called for his brother, who was inside the cabin, then turned back to Tater. “What happened to that feller? What about you, did you get him?” His first thought was that somehow, they already had a lawman on their trail.

  Tater shook his head as Booth and Trip came out to see what the noise was about. “I couldn’t get a shot at him,” Tater answered. “He got back in the woods where I couldn’t see him.”

  “Where’s Blue?” Booth asked when he saw the horse with an empty saddle. Tater repeated his version of the confrontation with the mysterious man in the canyon. “Why didn’t you bring Blue back with you?” Booth asked.

  “He didn’t wanna be moved,” Tater lied. “He was hurt too bad to be moved. Told me to ride back here to get you, said he was dyin’, so I did what he wanted me to.”

  “Damn,” Booth swore. This was a situation he hadn’t counted on. “Did you get a good look at the man who shot him?” Tater said there wasn’t time to get much of a look at him, but he was a big fellow, wearing a buckskin shirt. “White man?” Booth asked, and Tater said that he was. That was not especially good news. Booth would rather have heard it was an Indian Tater and Blue had run into. But it was a white man, so now the question he had was, was the man a lone hunter or a lawman? And if he was a lawman, was he alone, or part of a posse?

  “I know what you’re thinkin’, Booth,” Jesse said. “I’m thinkin’ the same thing. But I don’t see no way a posse could be on our trail this soon—probably not at all. That feller coulda been anybody from that town, just out tryin’ to get a deer. It was just bad luck, most likely. Let’s saddle up and go get Blue. If that feller’s still around, we’ll settle up with him. If I had to bet on it, I’d bet he’s long gone from that canyon.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Booth allowed, although he was still thinking of other possibilities. He looked back at Tater, frowning as he asked, “What do you think, Tater? You think Blue’s gonna make it?”

  Tater hesitated a moment before answering. “I swear, Booth, I think ol’ Blue’s dead. He was dyin’ when I came back to tell you. If he wasn’t, I’da brought him back somehow.”

  When Booth hesitated for several moments, his brother asked, “What are you thinkin’, Booth?”

  “I’m thinkin’ about the possibility that there might be a posse settin’ out in those woods hopin’ we’ll come back to get Blue.” When Jesse looked as if about to question that possibility, Booth continued, “I know what we just said about the odds against a posse gettin’ on our trail, but if Blue’s done for already, why even take the chance? I feel bad about Blue, but this is a risky business we’re in, and the only way to win is to make sure you don’t take risky chances.” He asked Tater again, “You feel pretty sure Blue’s dead, right?”

  “I’m pretty sure,” Tater answered. He decided it best to leave out the part of the incident that had really caused the shooting, the part where Hawk had shot the deer. If they thought the man was no more than a lone deer hunter, there might be more questions about his lack of action against the killer. Blue might not be dead, but Tater believed he was in the process. He didn’t want to take the chance that Blue might have just enough life left to tell them that Tater had run off and left him.

  “Then I reckon it’s just as well we play it safe and leave Blue where he is,” Booth said.

  Having said nothing while he listened to the discussion, Trip Dawson spoke up then. “We might better go back there,” he said. Then he walked over to Blue’s horse and started searching through his saddlebags. “Never mind,” he announced, and held up a canvas sack with Blue’s share of the money in it. “I expect we might as well go ahead and split it four ways.” Although Trip was the first to say it, the thought of splitting Blue’s share of the money was definitely on everyone’s mind. There was no further talk of going back to check on him.

  “Too bad ol’ Blue didn’t get to eat any of that deer meat he was cravin’,” Tater said, already trying to figure out the answer in his head when four was divided into six thousand.

  “What’s got you worried, Booth?” Jesse Corbin sat down at the table opposite his brother. He knew Booth well enough to know when there was something eating away at him. “You thinkin’ maybe we oughta go back and get Blue?”

  Booth met his brother’s intense gaze and shook his head. “Nah, I don’t give a damn about Blue. If Tater thinks he’s dead, then he probably is. It’s the feller that shot him I’m worried about. Accordin’ to what Tater says, they were crossin’ a stream and Blue took a shot at him, and the feller cut Blue down. What for? That’s what I wanna know. Was that feller huntin’ deer, or was he huntin’ us? The next thing I’m thinkin’ is whether or not Tater’s led that feller and whoever’s with him right here to us.”

  His speculating planted a seed of doubt in Jesse’s mind then. “What are you sayin’, Booth? You thinkin’ we oughta be gettin’ ready in case we’re gonna have to stand off a posse?”

  Now that Jesse seemed to be concerned as well, Booth answered. “I’m thinkin’ a posse, or a bunch of soldiers, could set on both paths to this cabin and catch us like a coon up a tree.” When Jesse seemed to be thinking about that, Booth continued, “Oh, we could hold out awhile, but I went to a lot of trouble to get my hands on that money. I’d like to make sure I get to spend some of it. I ain’t thinkin’ about gettin’ ready to hold off a bunch of lawmen in this cabin. I’m thinkin’ that the smart thing to do is pack up right now and get the hell outta here before the door’s closed on us.”

  Booth’s words had a sobering effect on his brother. The scene he described was not beyond belief. Up until this incident with Blue and Tater, all of them had felt they had gotten away with the massacre of the group of Quakers, with nothing to tie it to them. Then right away, a stranger shows up and one of them is dead. Jesse had always believed in Booth’s intuition about making decisions. He saw no reason to go against it now. “Maybe you’re right,” he decided. “But if we leave right now, where do we go?”

  “Well, for right now, we could go to Wolf Creek, to Bodine’s. He’s made a livin’ outta hidin’ outlaws. That ain’t more’n about sixty miles from h
ere. If we just stop to rest the horses a couple of times, we could ride straight through and be there tomorrow. We can lay around there a day or two and decide where we wanna go to spend some of our money, where there ain’t nobody lookin’ for us.”

  “I reckon that might be the smart thing to do,” Jesse said. “We might as well pack up right now.” He got up from the table. “Listen up, boys. Me and Booth have decided to leave this cabin right now, and head down to Wolf Creek.” His announcement caused a look of astonishment on the faces of their two partners, so he explained the reason, just as Booth had convinced him.

  “You mean right now?” Trip asked, still confused.

  “Just as fast as you can get all your stuff loaded on your horse,” Booth answered. “Course, you’re free to make your own decision. If you wanna stay here, in case I’m wrong, that’s up to you.”

  “I’m goin’ with you,” Tater quickly decided.

  Trip shrugged. “I reckon I might as well, too.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Hawk’s search for the place where the four remaining members of Booth’s gang had holed up was now narrowed down somewhat, but still quite a challenge in this remote wilderness. In fact, he could not be certain they were not still on the move. But the conversation he had overheard between Blue and Tater led him to believe they were holed up somewhere for a while. For the time being, however, he had to wait where he was to see if the outlaws came to check on the man Tater had left to die. Things were not working out as he had foreseen. His plan from the beginning was to find the gang’s hideout and report it to the military at Fort Benton and leave it to them to make the arrest. But that plan was already upside-down, as a result of his encounter that morning. If the plan was to be followed, he would have to trail them when they came to get Blue and let them lead him to their hideout. He would not hesitate to shoot if he had to, just as he had not hesitated that morning, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to take on the role of executioner and try to stalk them individually with the intention of killing all of them.

  All these thoughts were making his mind spin, so he decided he would do the one thing he knew was necessary, and that was to take care of the deer he had killed. He couldn’t take the time to skin and butcher the animal, but he could at least move the carcass seventy-five yards upstream to his camp, hang it upside down, and gut it. That wouldn’t take long, then he could finish the job when he had time later.

  * * *

  After hanging the deer and gutting it, he returned to the crossing to find a place to wait for Booth and his men. After almost three hours waiting on the side of the mountain, watching Blue’s body, he decided they were not planning to come after him. It was hard to imagine they wouldn’t come back to look for one of their gang, but apparently, they had no interest in that. He still found it hard to believe that, if the two were part of the gang, they wouldn’t come looking for him. He reminded himself then of the obvious disregard the gang had for human life and the strong probability that there was no concern even for the loss of one of their number. So, it was beginning to look like he was going to be searching every stream and gully after all, a conclusion he had reached before he shot the deer. Being a practical man, he decided he would go ahead and spend the rest of the day taking care of his meat supply and start his search in the morning. He had the feeling he might be quite some time in finding their hideout.

  * * *

  He decided the place to start his search was at the stream where he had lost Tater the day before. His plan was simple, knowing the cabin he looked for was going to be on a stream, because they had to have water. So, to start, he rode Rascal up the stream, past the point where he had lost Tater’s tracks before. He climbed only a couple hundred feet before reaching a rock-faced cliff with a hole where the stream came from underground. He dismounted and examined the ground up to the rocky opening. There was no evidence hinting that Tater had come out of the water there to continue up the mountain. And there would have been plenty of sign left by the two horses had that been the case. There was bare ground on both sides of the stream—their tracks would have been difficult to hide. He stood for a few moments, gazing at the cliff, and he knew for sure the two horses didn’t jump thirty feet from the water to the rocky face of the cliff. He turned around and went back down the stream. After riding down the stream until it reached the valley, he gave up on it and continued on around the mountain, looking for another stream.

  After weaving his way through the thick band of trees along the base of the chain of foothills without striking what could be considered a healthy stream, he stopped to consider. He reminded himself that he had overheard Blue crying out that it was a thirty-minute ride back to the cabin. If that was true, then the stream he had just left had to be the only one the cabin was on. He had to figure he had missed the tracks he was looking for, so he decided to turn back and look again. He had a strong feeling now that the cabin he looked for was high up the mountain before the stream went underground. One thing for sure, when he had been standing there, watching the water splash out of the face of that cliff, there was no way to climb up that way. The challenge was to find out how Tater had ridden up to the cabin. There was evidently an easier way up. So, Hawk turned around and went back the way he had come. Upon reaching the creek again, he rode up it until coming to the spot where he had lost Tater’s trail. Just before reaching the cliff, the trail had crossed a rocky shelf that stopped at the stream. He had assumed that Tater had continued on across the shelf to the stream. But he had found no tracks on the other side of the stream. On foot now, he backtracked the trail, looking for some sign that would tell him Tater had left the trail before he reached the stream.

  While Rascal drank from the stream, Hawk walked back across the rocks once again looking for sign he felt had to be there. Walking almost to the start of the rocky ledge, he stopped short when he saw it, a narrow path that started between two boulders. When he first glanced at it, it appeared to be nothing more than a path into the solid face of the rock wall. When he walked over to stand inside the boulders, he discovered a passage that led around the rock wall. Well, I’ll be . . . he thought, because he knew he had found the path to the hideout. There were no tracks on the flat rock shelf. He whistled softly, and the big buckskin came to him at once. Due to the narrowness of the path, he thought it better to lead Rascal. Even then, it was a tight fit for a horse. He tried to imagine five men with packhorses negotiating the constricting double turns before reaching the upper end of the rock formation. Once clear of the rocks, the path, though not so confining, was still well hidden as it climbed up through the trees and away from the stream.

  Since he had no idea how far the path led, he stopped to listen when he heard the sound of gushing water. It came from a source about fifty feet to his right, and he realized then that he was even with the spot where the stream emerged from under the ground. It was the sound of the water splashing on the rocky shelf at the foot of the cliff. The thought occurred to him that he might be in one hell of a spot if he suddenly met the four outlaws coming down from the cabin. With that in mind, he carried his rifle in his right hand, ready to drop Rascal’s reins from his left, should the meeting occur. Aware that the path was angling back toward the stream now, he continued for another thirty yards when he caught a glimpse of the cabin through the trees ahead. He stopped immediately, lest they might hear him climbing up the trail. He dropped Rascal’s reins to the ground and gave the buckskin a few reassuring pats to keep him quiet. Then he continued the climb toward the cabin, moving carefully in case there was a surprise encounter, hoping, if there were one, they might be more surprised than he.

  So far, so good, he thought when there were no inquisitive whinnies from any horses above him. Able to see most of the cabin now, he paused to consider what his situation really was. There was no apparent activity outside the rough log cabin and no sign of any horses, but from where he stood, he couldn’t see what was behind the cabin. There was no smoke coming from the chimney,
and as chilly as it was, there should have been. To make sure they were all inside, he thought it best to leave the path and make his way a little higher up, so he could see the back of the cabin. After climbing a little farther up the mountain, he moved in a little closer, where he could see the stream running beside the cabin to form a little pool just before it went underground. He could also see there was no one there, since there were no horses anywhere about.

  Reasonably sure the cabin was empty, but cautious nevertheless, he moved down through the trees, his gaze focused on the door, ready to open fire if suddenly surprised. With his rifle leveled before him, he opened the door to find the cabin deserted. They were gone, but for how long? Looking around the rough structure, he saw no clothes, bedding, or anything that would indicate the occupants would be coming back. He went to the fireplace and tested the ashes. They told him that there had been no fire rekindled that morning, that the fire had been allowed to go out during the night. So, they either left last night or before breakfast this morning, he thought. And from the looks of the cabin, they weren’t planning to come back. Good thing I didn’t ride back to Fort Benton and tell them where they could find Booth and his gang. As soon as he thought it, he decided that his plan to find the killers for the army to arrest was not likely to have resulted in bringing the guilty parties to trial, anyway. So now, standing in an empty hideout, it was time to make a decision. As Conner would advise, should he forget about something that was not his responsibility in the first place, and go home? Or should he make it his business to see that the four remaining members of the gang paid for their atrocious crimes? “Hell, I shot one of the son of a bitches,” he announced to the cold fireplace. It wasn’t enough to satisfy him that justice had come to only one of them, however. The problem now, if he decided to continue to tail them, was the fact that they were gone and he had no idea where they might be heading.