Thinking all good hideouts had a backdoor escape route, he decided to look for this one. Surely there was an easier way up and down this mountain, he thought, after just having climbed the almost impossible trail up. He went back outside and whistled Rascal up from the path below. Leading the buckskin, he walked around to the back of the cabin, where he immediately saw a path leading down the mountain. There was no evidence that they had tried to hide the path, for hoofprints were obvious. “Might as well see where this comes out,” he said to Rascal. Again thinking of the tight crooks and turns of the rocky passage he had followed up from the stream, he figured this back path was not the way the gang had come up the mountain. The way he had come up was most likely the back door and an escape route.
He had descended for no more than thirty-five or forty yards when Rascal nickered several times. Well accustomed to being alerted by the buckskin when another horse was near, Hawk stopped at once. Thinking Booth was coming back, he led Rascal off the path far enough so as not to be seen right away, then he drew his rifle and went back to kneel beside the path. In a couple of minutes, he saw him coming up the path. A bowlegged, gray-bearded little man, dressed from head to foot in animal hides, was leading a horse. Behind the horse, on a lead rope, a mule followed. It was easy for Hawk to make a quick assumption that he was not looking at a member of Booth’s gang. With his rifle ready to fire, just in case, Hawk rose to his feet and stepped onto the path.
“Whoa!” The little man stopped abruptly and threw up his hands. “Don’t shoot! I was just bringin’ your mule back! I found him runnin’ through the woods down at the foot of the hill. Figured he musta got loose.”
Hawk lowered his rifle and walked toward the man. Hawk had a pretty good idea why the mule was running loose. “Sorry,” he said, “didn’t mean to startle you. That ain’t my mule.”
Relieved to see that he might not be in any trouble, the man looked Hawk up and down. “I ain’t never seen you before. You wasn’t with them other fellers up at the cabin, was you? You thinkin’ ’bout movin’ in up there?”
“Nope,” Hawk answered, “I’m just tryin’ to catch up with them.” He could see by the expression on the man’s face that his answer was good news.
“Are you a lawman?” Again, Hawk said no, so the odd little man started talking. “I’ve had my eye on that cabin up there for a long time. My name’s Davey Crabb, and I’ve been trappin’, huntin’, and prospectin’ in these mountains for a helluva long time. The feller that built that cabin was kilt by a bear, and I kilt the bear that et him. I figured he’d want me to have his cabin, so I decided to move in, but I had to go get all my possibles from my shack over near Signal Mountain. This place here is closer to a town and the tradin’ post I trade with. And don’t you know, by the time I got back, there was four fellers holed up in that cabin. Where they came from, I don’t know, but I knew they weren’t there permanent. Hell, they didn’t do no mining or trappin’, just laid around doin’ nothin’. So, I figured they was outlaws, hidin’ out. Feller that built the shack, name of Sam Davis, had a brother that was an outlaw. I know that for a fact. So I figured that one of ’em mighta been his brother. I kept my eye on ’em, even came back to the cabin a couple of times when they were gone. But they still had their stuff there, so I was afraid to move in. Good thing I didn’t, too, ’cause this time when they came back there was five of ’em.” He finally stopped to take a breath then. “I reckon I’ve been runnin’ off at the mouth,” he said. “What’s your name, young feller? Are you a lawman?” he asked again.
“My name’s Hawk,” he said. “No, I ain’t a lawman. I’m just tryin’ to catch up with the men you’ve been talkin’ about. And I can tell you that the cabin is empty, looks like they ain’t plannin’ to come back. Maybe you can help me out.” He figured Crabb must have seen Booth and the others ride out, or he would hardly be riding up the back trail to the cabin. “How’d you know they were gone for good this time?”
“’Cause this time they were leading all their packhorses behind ’em and they was loaded down,” Crabb declared. “I still weren’t sure, though, ’cause there weren’t but four of ’em. I thought the other’un musta stayed up there, but I thought I’d take a look—tell him I was bringin’ his mule back, if he was still there. You liked to scare the pee outta me when you stepped outta the bushes.”
“When did you see ’em leave?”
“Yesterday ’bout noon,” Crabb answered.
That would mean they had left soon after Tater got back. “You have any idea which way those four men were headin’?”
“I can’t say where they’re headin’,” Crabb replied. “But when I saw ’em, they were goin’ down the trail that’ll take you to Alvin Peavy’s tradin’ post on the Sun River. That’s where I trade my pelts.”
“I’d be obliged if you’d show me where I can strike that trail,” Hawk said.
“No trouble findin’ that trail,” Crabb said. “You take this one on down to the valley. You’ll see where the trail comin’ around the mountain forks, one headin’ east to Choteau, the other’un headin’ south. That south trail goes right to Alvin’s place.”
“How far is it to the Sun River?” Hawk asked.
“From here, I make it a long half day, about thirty miles, I expect.”
That was pretty close to what Hawk would have guessed. “Much obliged, Davey. I hope you don’t have any more visitors up here.”
“You best be careful, Mr. Hawk,” Crabb replied. “Those fellers look like they could give a man all the trouble he can handle.”
Hawk whistled for Rascal, and as always, the buckskin responded immediately, suddenly emerging from the thicket of pines beside the path and coming to a stop beside Hawk. “I’ll do that, Davey. You take care of yourself.”
“Always do,” the little man said softly as he watched Hawk disappear down the path.
Coming out of the trees at the base of the mountain, Hawk saw the obvious trail, just as Crabb had said it would be. Since it was leading in the direction he needed to go to get back to his camp, he followed it around to the fork, then took the trail heading almost straight south. He stayed on that trail until reaching the stream that ran through the canyon where he had made his camp. He left the trail then and followed the stream up past the crossing where he shot Blue Davis. He continued on to his camp, where he was happy to see his supply of meat, wrapped in the hide and still hanging undisturbed from a tree limb. With apologies to Rascal for the extra weight, he loaded the horse with the meat and his other supplies, then rode back down the creek to the Sun River trail. There was still half a day’s worth of daylight left, so he figured he might as well start out for Peavy’s trading post.
* * *
Close to the same time Hawk was setting out for Alvin Peavy’s trading post on the Sun River, the four men he chased arrived at Rufus Bodine’s store at Wolf Creek, sixty miles away. Ready for a drink of the rotgut Bodine sold for whiskey, Tater led them inside and headed straight for the saloon side of the room. Standing behind the counter in the general store half of the building, Bodine gave him no more than a nod for a welcome, having never seen Tater before. He followed Tater over to the saloon side, and when he looked back to see the three men following, he at once recognized two of them. He stopped and scowled, which was his version of a smile. “Well, well, if it ain’t the Corbin boys,” he greeted them then. “It’s been a right long spell since you two passed this way.”
“About two years, I expect,” Booth responded. “How you makin’ out, Bodine?”
“Better’n ever,” Bodine answered. “I see you’re travelin’ with a couple of friends. Tell you the truth, I figured you boys had finally got yourselves caught, figured you might be in prison. I’m right glad to see you again. Figure you’ve come back to pay me for them forty-eight dollars’ worth of horse feed and supplies you forgot you owed when you left that morning.”
Remembering only then that he and Jesse had sneaked out early that morning two y
ears ago, Booth was quick to reply. “That’s exactly right. Me and Jesse said we had to get back here as soon as we could to settle that bill with you. Matter of fact, we was thinkin’ we oughta pay you double that amount, since it took us so long to get back to this part of the territory. Or, I’ll tell you what, knowin’ you’re a sportin’ man, I’ll give you a hundred dollars and you pour us all one drink of likker. How’s that?”
“By God, that’s fair enough, all right.” Bodine was surprised, to say the least, when Booth counted out the money from a sizable roll in his pocket. Bodine hurried over behind the bar and pulled a bottle from a shelf underneath. “This is the good stuff,” he said as he poured four shots. He paused to watch Booth’s men toss the whiskey back. “You boys musta been havin’ a little luck lately.”
“I reckon you could say that, wouldn’t you say, Jesse?” He looked at his brother and grinned. Back to Bodine, he said, “You know Jesse. Say howdy to Trip Dawson and Tater Thompson.”
Bodine nodded to each of them in turn. “Glad to have you boys come by. You plannin’ on stayin’ awhile? I’ve still got them two cabins back down the creek. Ain’t nobody in ’em right now. Or, I’ve got two rooms upstairs over the saloon that ain’t occupied right now.”
Booth watched Bodine pour another shot in the four glasses before answering. “Don’t know for sure, a couple of days, I reckon, till we decide where we wanna go. I reckon we’d rather take one of the cabins.”
Almost drooling after seeing the roll of money that came out of Booth’s pocket, Bodine was eager to persuade the four outlaws to stay longer. “The big cabin’s in pretty good shape and there’s a good-sized stack of firewood ready for the fireplace, good grass for your horses, and room in the back room for your saddles and such. I’ve got me a gal workin’ here since you’ve been here—name’s Josie Johnson. She’s a lot younger’n she looks.” When Tater and Trip looked around the room to see her, Bodine said, “She ain’t here right now. And you ain’t likely to get no better vittles than comes outta my kitchen. My wife, Dinah Belle, is still doin’ the cookin’.”
Booth remembered Dinah Belle’s cooking. It was fit to eat. That was about the most you could say for it. With a name like that, it was only natural that all the boys called her Dinner Bell. “Well, you talked me into it,” Booth joked. “We’ll move in the big cabin for a while, give you a little business.”
“You’ll get your money’s worth,” Bodine boasted. “I’ll tell Dinah Belle she’s gonna need to fix enough supper for four hungry fellers. She’ll be tickled to do it.”
“Good,” Booth said. “Is that cabin locked?” When told that the door was open, he said, “All right, we’ll move in and take care of our horses, then I expect we’ll be back pretty quick for supper.” He grabbed the bottle off the bar and the four walked out.
Bodine stood there, grinning to himself with anticipation at the thought of separating Booth and his gang from their money, then he turned and went into the kitchen. Before he could speak, Dinah Belle blurted, “I heard. It’s gonna take me a little time to fix enough for that bunch. It’s a good thing I’ve got a helluva lot of cornmeal. I’ll fill ’em up on corn bread.”
“Do the best you can, honeypot, those jaspers are carryin’ a lot of money. They musta hit a bank or somethin’, if they’re all totin’ money like ol’ Booth flashed. And that’s just what he was totin’ in his pocket. We need to get Josie on her feet again to keep those ol’ boys buyin’ whiskey.”
“She’s been huggin’ that bed long enough,” Dinah Belle said. “She claimed she was havin’ female problems, but I know she ain’t had any of them problems in years. She just don’t wanna help out in the kitchen. I’ll get her up.”
“Reckon you’d better. Those boys will be back here lookin’ for whiskey and supper.”
CHAPTER 9
Although carrying a heavier load than usual, Rascal was willing and gave no sign of fatigue. It was not the first time on this patrol that Hawk wished he had his packhorse. Whether the horse was weary or not, Hawk was glad to see the trees that bordered the Sun River, because he was tired of riding. Then it occurred to him that he had eaten nothing all day, even though Rascal was carrying a bundle of deer meat. As Hawk neared what appeared to be a bend in the river, he caught sight of the trading post. It was time to be cautious again. He had not been this far up the Sun River before, so he had no knowledge of Alvin Peavy, or his trading post, other than the fact that Davey Crabb traded his pelts there. From what he could see from the trail, the store appeared to be fairly busy. There were three horses tied at a hitching rail out front and a wagon parked beside the porch, but there would have been more horses if he had caught up with Booth. Maybe, he thought, Peavy must sell a little whiskey along with his other goods.
He was a little anxious to find out if Booth had actually come this way, afraid that he might have spent half a day on a blind chase. He shrugged, remembering what Crabb had said, that he knew which trail Booth took, but he didn’t know where he was heading. “Wonder if they sell supper,” he said to Rascal. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna let you take a long rest. I’ll buy you some grain, if they’ve got any.” He nudged the buckskin gently with his heels and rode down the path to the store.
* * *
“Howdy do, stranger,” Alvin Peavy greeted him cordially when he walked in the store. “Don’t believe you’ve stopped in before.”
“Reckon not,” Hawk replied while Peavy looked him up and down. “First time I’ve been this far up the Sun.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place to get whatever you’re lookin’ for,” Peavy boasted. “If you’re needin’ supplies, I’ve got a good stock of most everyday needs. If you’re lookin’ to wet your whistle, the bar’s on the other side of the store.”
“I can see that,” Hawk said, and he glanced toward the other side of the big room where there were customers sitting at a couple of the four small tables. “Looks like you do a pretty good business here. I expect you mighta seen a party of four fellers come this way in the last day or two, one of ’em sportin’ a fancy mustache with the ends curled up,” he said, thinking back on Donald Lewis’s description of David Booth.
“Yep, they were here late yesterday evenin’,” Peavy said. “Are you a lawman?”
“Nope, I’m just tryin’ to catch up with ’em. Did you see which way they went when they left here?”
“I’m pretty sure they crossed the river and stayed on the trail to the Missouri River,” Peavy answered.
“Like I said, I ain’t been over this way before. Where does that trail strike the Missouri?”
“Wolf Creek,” Peavy answered. “You goin’ after ’em right away, or are you gonna stay with us awhile?”
“Well, I know where Wolf Creek is,” Hawk said, then answered his question. “I think I’ll camp here tonight. I rode my horse pretty hard today, so I’ll let him rest up for tomorrow. If you’ve got any oats, or other grain, I’d like to buy some from you.” He nodded toward the barroom side of the building. “I might like a drink of likker, but I’d better have some supper before I take a drink on my empty stomach.”
“We can fix you up with both of those,” Peavy was quick to reply. “My wife, Louella, has a big pot of beef stew on the stove and fifty cents will buy you a plate of it and a cup of coffee to wash it down.”
“That sounds to my likin’,” Hawk said. “It’ll give me a little break from deer meat and bacon.”
“Good,” Peavy said. “Set yourself down at one of the tables over yonder and I’ll tell Louella to get you some supper.”
Hawk walked over to one of the empty tables next to the one where two men were playing checkers, and pulled a chair back. He returned the friendly nod from one of the two men before taking off his hat and hanging it on the back of an empty chair before sitting down. In a few minutes, a tall, bony woman with flaming red hair came from the kitchen with a cup of coffee for him. “You want bread?” she asked, her face expressionless. When Hawk said
that he did, she turned around and went back to the kitchen. After a few more minutes, she returned with a bowl of stew with two biscuits sitting on top and placed the bowl on the table. She paused for a second as if to see if he had any comments or questions. Then, without a word, she turned around and went back to the kitchen.
He had finished almost all of the bowl of stew when the man who had nodded to him looked at him and grinned. “Ol’ Red’s a pretty good cook, ain’t she?”
“I’d have to say so,” Hawk replied. “Course, I ain’t an expert on anything but the beef stew.” He gave the gray-haired little man a friendly smile, then went back to work on the stew.
“That looks like a hawk feather in your hat there,” the man said. It was obvious to Hawk that he just wanted to make a little conversation with a stranger.
“That’s right,” Hawk said. “It’s a hawk feather.” It prompted him to think about Winter Flower and wonder if she had recovered mentally from her ordeal at the hands of Luke and his partner.
“My name’s Earl Belcher. Don’t mean to be nosy, but does it mean somethin’ special?” the man asked, still intent upon making conversation.
“No, I reckon not,” Hawk replied. “I just thought I’d stick it on my hat.” In fact, the feather held many meanings, all of them special to him, but none he felt like sharing.
“I think I’ll try to find me a feather for my hat,” the little man said. “Maybe it would bring me luck. Whaddaya think, Jack?”
His friend chuckled and replied, “You’ve already had all the luck in this game of checkers, enough to cost me thirty-five cents.”
Montana Territory Page 11