Montana Territory

by Charles G. West

  “John Hawk,” he said as he shook Jacob’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

  Not totally convinced that he and his grandpa weren’t in danger from this formidable-looking stranger, Thomas reminded his grandpa, “We’d best get goin’ or Mr. Pressley might not get to our horses today.”

  “Then I reckon we’d best jump in the wagon,” Jacob said, as cheerfully as if on his way to a county fair. “How ’bout it, Mr. Hawk? We’d be glad to have you ride along with us, seein’ as how we’re all headin’ to the same place.”

  “Might as well,” Hawk said, and stepped up into the saddle again. He figured it might be a good idea to ride into Bodine’s beside the farm wagon, in case Booth might be watching for anyone following him. This was in spite of the fact that Tater could identify him, if he was the one who happened to spot him.

  * * *

  Hawk was surprised to see a few changes at Bodine’s as he rode in beside Jacob and Thomas. He saw the blacksmith’s shop next to the barn, as well as several outbuildings that weren’t standing when last he was there. It reflected Rufus Bodine’s prosperity at a time when the fur-trading business was no longer a major industry. It left little doubt in Hawk’s mind that the largest part of Bodine’s income had to come from outlaws on the run. And he fully expected to find that Booth and his three partners had come here. The question now was whether or not they were still here.

  When they pulled into Bodine’s, Thomas drove the wagon straight to the blacksmith’s shop while Hawk left Rascal at the hitching post in front of the trading post. Taking note of the one horse tied there, a black gelding with a fancy hand-tooled saddle, he deliberately drew the Winchester from his saddle sling. Jacob stepped down from the wagon and left Thomas to talk to Reuben Pressley while he went to the store. “I’ll be there directly, Grandpa,” Thomas called after him. “Just go in the store part.”

  In the saloon, Bodine and his wife were standing at the bar talking to Booth Corbin, who had come to pick up a bottle of whiskey to take back to the cabin. The conversation was mainly about Booth’s appearance. “I swear, I didn’t know it was you when I first looked up,” Dinah Belle claimed. She beamed broadly. “Did you, Rufus?”

  “Well, he looked different, but I knew it was him,” Bodine said. “Why’d you shave it off?”

  “I don’t know, just tired of messin’ with it, I reckon.” He reached up and stroked his upper lip. “Sure feels strange without it, though.”

  “I liked it,” Dinah Belle said. “You shoulda left it.”

  “If I’da known that, I mighta left it on,” Booth japed.

  Bodine was about to complain that she never made a fuss over his mustache when he heard the door in the store open. When he turned to look, he saw Jacob and Hawk walk in the store, so he left his wife to tend the bar and walked over to greet them. “Well, Woodley, who’s this you got with you?” He gave Hawk a hard looking over, especially noting the Winchester in his hand, before commenting, “It’s been a while, but I remember you.”

  Before Hawk could say anything, Jacob blurted, “I’m needin’ some things, if you ain’t gone crazy with your prices again.”

  “Hell, old man, you’d bitch if I gave ’em to you for nothin’,” Bodine said.

  “Try me,” Jacob responded immediately.

  “You can always go somewhere else to buy your piddling supplies,” Bodine suggested. “It ain’t but about forty miles to Helena.” He was participating in the usual debate about prices with the old man, but in his mind, he was still working on when he had seen Hawk. When it began to come back to him, he ignored Jacob and talked directly to Hawk. “I remember you now, you and that crazy Blackfoot Injun. Is he with you?” He strained to look around behind them, looking for Bloody Hand.

  “Nope,” Hawk replied. “That was four years ago. I don’t do much huntin’ for hides anymore. The only huntin’ I do now is for something to eat. Right now, I’m tryin’ to catch up with four men that musta come here. I don’t suppose you recollect.”

  “Four men?” Bodine responded. “Yeah, I’ve seen ’em. They rode by here yesterday. They stopped long enough to have a drink of likker, then they headed on outta here, goin’ to Helena.” He said it, knowing even then that Booth Corbin was standing at the bar, talking to Dinah Belle.

  “Reckon I’d best not waste much time here, then,” Hawk said. “Stoppin’ long enough for a little drink of whiskey sounds like a good idea, though. How ’bout it, Jacob? Could you use a little shooter? I’m buyin’—figure I owe you one for roustin’ you outta the bushes.”

  “Never turn down a free drink of likker,” Jacob said, “even if I ain’t got time for one.” He unconsciously looked back toward the door to make sure Thomas wasn’t coming in, then handed Bodine a list that Thomas’s mother had written for him. “There’s some things we need,” he said to him. Then he followed Hawk, who was already walking toward the bar on the other side of the store.

  Hawk took note of the man at the other end of the bar, leaning on one elbow, a whiskey glass in his hand, having a conversation with Dinah Belle Bodine. They both paused and looked him over as well. He had to wonder if he was one of the men he trailed. He had no way of identifying any of them but Tater, whom he had seen—and he had a description of Booth. Donald Lewis had described him as a fairly impressive man with a thick mustache, groomed to curl up on the ends. This man at the bar had no mustache. “Howdy, stranger,” Dinah Belle said. “What’ll it be?” Unlike her husband, she didn’t recall having seen Hawk before.

  “I’ll have a drink of whiskey,” Hawk said, “and another one for my friend here.”

  She leaned aside to look behind him. “Jacob Woodley,” she announced sarcastically. “The last time you was in here, your grandson had to come drag you out.”

  “Never mind your sweet-talkin’,” the old man said. “Pour my drink.” He licked his lips in anticipation. Noticing, Hawk realized he may have made a mistake by inviting Jacob for a drink. Maybe Thomas was not going to appreciate the gesture. He remembered the boy telling his grandpa to just go in the store. Evidently, he meant for him not to go into the bar.

  Thinking it was too late to stop the old man now, Hawk was to find it even more difficult when Booth greeted them. “Howdy, stranger,” Booth Corbin said, still studying the tall man with the hawk feather in his hat. “What brings you to Wolf Creek?” Before Hawk could answer, Booth told Dinah Belle to pour them another drink. Jacob reached for his while she was still pouring.

  “That better do for me and my friend,” Hawk quickly told her. Then back to Booth, he said, “Much obliged. I’m just passin’ through. You live around here?”

  “No, I’m just passin’ through, same as you,” Booth said. He was thinking of the description Tater had given them of the man who shot Blue Davis—big man, wearing a buckskin shirt. Tater didn’t say anything about a feather in his hat, but Booth doubted Tater was close enough to see that. Even without that detail, he felt this was Blue’s killer, and the man who was now chasing him. The thing that didn’t make sense, however, was the little old drunk with him. Maybe it just appeared they were riding together.

  “I reckon a lotta people pass through Wolf Creek, don’t they, ma’am?” Hawk asked Dinah Belle. “Your husband said a party of four men just rode through a day or so ago.” He looked back at Booth. “You mighta seen ’em.”

  “Nope,” Booth said with a smile. “I reckon I just missed ’em.”

  More convinced now than before, Hawk continued to probe the stranger. He did not miss the small show of alarm on Dinah Belle’s face when he asked about the four men. “I’d say you’re lucky you did. Word I hear is that those four cowards are the bunch that massacred about thirty folks that were headin’ to Helena to build a new church.” As he said it, he watched the stranger’s eyes for any signs that meant he might have touched a nerve.

  Booth calmly smiled even though he could feel all the muscles in his arms tightening. “Is that so?” he forced casually. “I hadn’t hea
rd anything about that.”

  “We have,” Dinah Belle spoke up. “We heard about all them church folks gettin’ shot down—women and children, too. It took some low-down son of a bitches to do somethin’ like that.” From what she had heard about Booth Corbin, she wouldn’t have doubted he and his men were involved in something like that.

  “You’re absolutely right, ma’am,” Booth said at once. “That was a terrible tragedy.” He shook his head thoughtfully. “That kind of news makes it risky for any four men ridin’ together, don’t it? Even if they ain’t ever been anywhere near that place it happened.” He paused. “Where did it happen?” When Dinah Belle said it happened between Great Falls and Fort Benton, Booth said, “Then it was nowhere near us.” Reasonably sure he was right about the stranger now, he asked Hawk, “You campin’ here tonight, or are you goin’ with your friend?”

  “If you got any money, you oughta stay in one of them cabins ol’ Bodine’s got back down the river,” Jacob piped up.

  “I expect I’ll just find me a place to camp where I can water and feed my horse,” Hawk said. “I reckon Jacob and his grandson will likely start back home.” He hadn’t known about any cabins Bodine had built. Thanks to Jacob he did now.

  “Dinah Belle’s gonna fix a big supper in a little while,” Booth said. “I guarantee it would be worthwhile to stay for that.”

  “Well, now, that is mighty temptin’,” Hawk said. The conversation was interrupted then when Bodine came from the store with Thomas behind him.

  “Grandpa, it’s time to go now,” Thomas said when he saw his grandfather standing by the bar. “We’ve got to load our stuff in the wagon. Come on, I’ve paid for the supplies and paid Mr. Pressley, too.” It was obvious in his tone that he was worried that his grandpa might already be too far into the bottle to come without an argument.

  But Hawk came to his rescue. “Yeah, come on, Jacob, it’s time to get outta here.” He took the old man by the arm and pulled him away from the bar. With one hand holding his rifle, he was ready to release Jacob’s arm in an instant, if he needed his other hand. Keeping his body half turned toward Booth as he moved back to the store portion of the room, he said, “Thanks for the drink. It was nice talkin’ to you.”

  “Yeah, same to you,” Booth returned. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again sometime.” While he felt reasonably sure he was looking at the man who shot Blue Davis, he remained there, casually leaning on the bar. His natural inclination would have been to simply draw the Colt .44 he wore and shoot the man down. He was discouraged from doing so by the wary manner with which Hawk made his exit. Tater had said the man was quick and accurate with that rifle. Proof of that was in the lightning-like way Tater said he took Blue down. And Blue wasn’t slow, so Booth reluctantly stood there and watched Hawk walk out, his rifle obviously ready for instant reaction.

  “Who is that son of a bitch?” Booth demanded of Bodine, who, like his wife, was standing there watching Hawk leave the saloon.

  “Hawk is his name,” Bodine answered. “This is the first time I’ve seen him in a helluva long time. He came in here about four years ago with a Blackfoot Injun to trade some hides.”

  “That’s where I seen him,” Dinah Belle blurted. “I knew I’d seen him somewhere, but I couldn’t place him.” She flashed a wide grin in Bodine’s direction. “I remember, if it hadn’ta been for him, that Injun he was with was fixin’ to scalp you.”

  “I’ll tell you somethin’ that might interest you,” Bodine said to Booth, ignoring Dinah Belle’s comment. “He asked me if I’d seen four men ride through here in the last couple of days.” Before Booth could ask, he continued, “I told him I sure did—told him they only stopped long enough to get a drink of likker and went right on, headin’ for Helena.”

  “What the hell’s he followin’ us for?” Booth wondered aloud. He didn’t say it, but he had to wonder if Hawk was after the money he and his partners were carrying. That was the only reason he could come up with, since Hawk was evidently not a lawman.

  “Ain’t no tellin’,” Bodine answered Booth’s question. “Was that you boys that done that piece of business on them church folks?”

  “Hell no!” Booth answered at once. “Like I told that feller, every party of four men on the road will have folks thinkin’ they’re the ones that done for them Quakers.” With his mind still working on Hawk’s reasons for tailing them, he uttered one more statement, he wished he could take back. “Besides, there was five men that rode away from that massacre, and we ain’t but four.”

  As soon as he said it, Bodine knew Booth and his boys had done that low-down job. Dinah Belle had come to the same conclusion when Booth had said he hadn’t heard anything about it, then referred to them as Quakers. No one had said they were Quakers before that. As far as her husband was concerned, Bodine was not above such evil disregard for human life. Instead of compassion for the poor innocent victims, Bodine was quick to think about the money Booth and the others must have gotten. Talk was that those folks were going to Helena with the intention of buying land for all of their families plus building a meetinghouse. They must have been carrying a great sum of money to do all that. And Booth and his three partners were acting like they had plenty. Bodine was happy to see them so free with their money; it was good for his business. But he’d like to figure out a way to get more of it. In line with that thought, he made a suggestion. “Looks like to me the best thing for you boys is to stay right here in my cabin till talk about that massacre dies down a little. We got everything you need and then some. Josie’s near ’bout done with her female sickness and she’ll be rarin’ to go. As far as Hawk is concerned, looks to me like, if he is tailin’ you, he’s a damn fool, ’cause he’s by himself, unless he’s countin’ on help from old man Woodley and his grandpup. And in my way of thinkin’, that ain’t no help at all.” He gave Booth a wink. “And if he’s dumb enough to make a move on the four of you, you oughta be able to handle that.”

  “You might be right,” Booth allowed, his mind already working on the best way to take care of Hawk. “We might stay right here for a while.” Until Hawk was dead, or had moved on, which he didn’t anticipate, he had to tell the others to stay together. He didn’t want to give Hawk a chance to catch them alone, like he did with Blue and Tater, before Booth and his gang had a chance to hunt Hawk down and kill him. Satisfied with what he had to do, Booth shifted his attention to Dinah Belle. “When are you gonna have some supper ready? I’m workin’ up a powerful hunger.”

  “In ’bout an hour,” she replied. “I’ve got a ham in the oven that’s just about ready to take out. And when it’s out of the oven, I’ll bake biscuits and cook the beans.”

  “That’s good, maybe I’ll just have another drink while I’m waitin’ for the boys to come eat,” Booth said. “Too bad Hawk didn’t stay to eat with us.”

  “That would make your problem a lot easier to take care of, wouldn’t it?” Bodine remarked.

  “That’s a fact,” Booth answered with a smug grin. Then he walked through the store to the front window, just on the chance he might have a clear shot at Hawk, and get this business taken care of right then. He drew his .44 when he saw Hawk step up into the saddle, and quickly went over to the door, opening it just enough to see the yard. As he raised his pistol to aim at him, Hawk rode to the other side of the wagon with Jacob and his grandson on the seat. Then they moved out of the yard, toward the road, making it a harder shot with a pistol, but still worth the risk. Booth stepped quickly out on the porch and steadied his arm against the post. Setting his sight on the broad back of the rangy rider, he started to squeeze the trigger, only to have his target disappear. Startled, Booth hesitated, baffled by Hawk’s sudden slide over on the side of his horse, leaving Booth no shot. It struck him then. “The son of a bitch knew I might take a shot at him,” he muttered aloud. You were lucky this time, he thought. You came walking in here with that old man and that threw me off. If you’d come walking in here by yourself, I would
have shot you down, just on the chance you were following us.

  CHAPTER 11

  “What the hell?” Jacob blurted. “I thought you was fixin’ to fall offa your horse.”

  “Nope, I was just checkin’ somethin’ I thought I saw on Rascal’s front leg.” He straightened up in the saddle again as they rode up the path to the road. “It wasn’t anything, though. I reckon I’m just seein’ things.” With a couple of trees blocking the line of sight between him and the front of the store now, he felt there was no danger of catching a .44 bullet in his back. It might have been an unnecessary move, rolling over behind Rascal like that, but he felt certain he had been talking to one of Booth’s men in the saloon. And if he was, the odds were mighty good there would be a shot coming his way. He wasn’t sure, but he also thought he had felt a little itch between his shoulder blades when he climbed on his horse.

  Jacob and his grandson were both puzzled over Hawk’s intentions when he got on his horse and rode out of Bodine’s with them. Since he was heading back the way he had come when he first met up with them, Jacob wondered if he was going home with them. Finally, Jacob asked, “Where’re you headin’?”

  “I just thought I’d ride back a little way with you and Thomas. Then I’ll swing over and ride down the river till I find a good place to camp.”

  “Oh,” Jacob responded. “We was wonderin’. Thought for a minute you was fixin’ to go home with us. Didn’t we, Thomas?” Thomas just shrugged his shoulders. Jacob quickly continued, “You’d be welcome, if that’s what you was thinkin’. We’ve got a little farm ’bout twenty-five miles from here. We’ll be campin’ tonight and get home in the mornin’. We’d be tickled to have you.”

  Hawk had to smile. Jacob’s invitation didn’t sound that sincere. He didn’t know what the situation at their home was like—they had never talked about it during their short acquaintance. He guessed that he might not be a welcome guest, if their farm was as small as he imagined it to be. “That’s mighty kind of you, Jacob, but I’ve got some unfinished business to take care of back at Bodine’s. So I’d best make a camp a little closer than twenty-five miles.” Having said that, he pulled Rascal to a stop. “I was glad to meet you and Thomas. I wish you luck with your farm.” He wheeled Rascal then and set off downriver at an easy lope.