Montana Territory

by Charles G. West

  Jesse’s frustration served only to fan Trip’s confidence. He threw his head back and released a gleeful cackle. “You just ain’t used to playin’ cards with a real poker player,” he taunted.

  “The sun don’t shine on the same dog’s behind all the time,” Booth declared. “Deal the cards.”

  It was Jesse’s deal, so he gathered up the cards and started to shuffle. “It’s gonna be different this hand,” he informed Trip. Laughing in response to Jesse’s complaining, he was about to make another boastful prediction when they heard the shots outside.

  “What tha hell . . . ?” Booth blurted, and all three stood up immediately, their hands finding their six-guns, all eyes toward the door when Tom Pointer came running back inside.

  “The horses!” Tom exclaimed. “They’re stealin’ the horses!”

  “Who is?” Bodine demanded.

  “I don’t know,” Tom said, “but the horses are outta the corral and they’re scattered all over the bluffs.

  “Injuns, I bet!” Bodine responded. “We ain’t had no trouble with Injuns in I don’t know when. Most likely them damn Blackfoot. I shoulda knowed when that Hawk feller showed up here, some of them Blackfoot was snoopin’ around.”

  While Bodine ran to get his shotgun, and Tom and Trip stood ready to move to defend themselves, one remained calm. “That ain’t no Injuns,” Booth declared. “That’s Hawk. He’s tryin’ to get us to come runnin’ out there to save our horses. He’s tryin’ to get us out in the open.”

  “That son of a bitch!” Trip blurted, still fired up over what he saw as the coward who refused to answer his challenge earlier. “I’ll sure as hell come out there to meet him!” He ran for the door, in spite of Jesse and Booth warning him that he was running into an ambush. He ran by Tom, who was crouching just inside the door, his six-gun drawn.

  “I don’t see nobody out there!” Tom exclaimed when Trip went past him.

  “He’s out there, all right,” Trip called back over his shoulder, “and I want him before he runs off and hides again.” Certain now that Hawk would not stand and face him in a shoot-out, he had his Colt .44 in hand with just one thought in mind. That thought was to kill the man who was keeping the three of them from riding on to Helena.

  Standing in the open gate of the corral, Hawk saw Trip running from the house. He recognized him as the thin man wearing the quick-draw holster. He was an easy target, but Hawk waited to see if the other two would come out of the store. Hawk could tell when Trip spotted him standing at the corral, for he jerked back to a quick stop, then continued to run straight toward him. His pistol was in his hand, but he didn’t shoot. Hawk figured he wanted to get closer because of the inaccuracy of a pistol at long range. He’s crazy, Hawk decided, drew his Winchester up to his shoulder, and squeezed the trigger. Trip ran half a dozen more steps after the .44 slug struck his chest before crashing to the ground, dead. That leaves two, Hawk thought. He continued to wait, but no one came out of the building to check on Trip, no one made any move to save their horses. He had figured Booth and the other man would make some effort to get him, but they remained inside the store. He could not see the blacksmith shop from where he waited, so he moved closer to the corner of the barn in case Reuben Pressley suddenly showed up.

  The only show of retaliation came from Rufus Bodine, who was not willing to stand by and see his horses stolen. Out the back door, he came, ran to take cover behind the smokehouse, and promptly began blasting away at the corral with his shotgun. Hawk quickly took cover behind the corner of the barn. He had no sooner taken cover when a chunk of the corner post was chipped away by a shot from a rifle fired by Tom Pointer from the front porch. The return fire placed Hawk in a position he didn’t want to be in and should have thought about before he stampeded the horses. He had no reason, and no desire, to shoot at Bodine and Tom Pointer. In spite of the fact that he had extremely low regard for the dishonest old bandit, he had no reason to take his life. And he couldn’t blame him and his employee for trying to stop someone who appeared to be stealing their horses. Then he thought of Reuben Pressley again, and the possibility he might join in the fight. As it was with Bodine and Pointer, he had no desire to kill the blacksmith. With all this in mind, he had no choice but to withdraw before he was forced to kill to save his own life.

  There was still no sign of Booth or his brother when Hawk retreated to the bank of the river, keeping the barn between him and the gunfire from Bodine and Tom. Moving quickly along the bank, using the trees as cover, he returned to find Rascal patiently waiting beneath the large oak where he had left him. He stepped up into the saddle and headed back up the river for about fifty yards before turning Rascal back toward the west to make sure there was no chance anyone at Bodine’s could see him. He was heading to a low ridge close by the trail from Sun River. The ridge would be the best place to watch the whole trading post, some one hundred yards away. So after he left his horse on the back side of the ridge, he climbed up to the top and knelt there while he waited to see if Booth and the other member of his gang were going to help gather their horses.

  By the time he reached his position on the ridge, the shooting had stopped. It had taken that long before Tom and Bodine realized that he was gone. There was a wait of considerable length before he saw Bodine run from his cover behind the smokehouse to a new spot behind the outhouse. While he couldn’t understand what he was saying, Hawk could hear him yelling some instructions to Tom. And after a few seconds more, Tom left his position at the corner of the porch, jumped down, ran to the front of the barn, and disappeared inside. It was only a few minutes more before he heard Tom shouting from inside the barn, which Hawk guessed was to tell Bodine he was gone for sure. To confirm Hawk’s guess, Bodine came out from behind the outhouse and walked to the back corner of the corral. He was joined there moments later by Tom, who came out the back door of the barn, and Pressley, who had taken cover behind his forge. Glancing back at the forge, Hawk could see the mousy little man still crouched behind it, but there was still no sign of the two men Hawk was watching for.

  Luckily for Tom Pointer, most of the horses had not strayed very far from the trading post. Some were wandering back to the barnyard, while some others gathered at the edge of the river. With a little help from Booth and his partner, it wouldn’t be a great deal of trouble to round them up and herd them back into the corral. To Hawk’s disappointment, Tom was charged with the job of herding them back in all by himself when Bodine went back inside the store. Reuben volunteered to help him, however, knowing it would be difficult for one man to do it. When the sudden stampede of the horses had happened, Reuben had been in the process of shoeing Mose Avery’s gray mare. When the shooting started, he and Mose had taken cover behind his forge. And when the shooting was over, Mose chose to stay with his mare while Reuben helped corral the loose horses.

  “I’d be glad to give you a hand, Tom, but I reckon that might be a little too risky for me,” Hawk muttered to himself, disappointed that Booth had not seen fit to appear. It seemed apparent that he had no intention of leaving the safety of the building, so Hawk decided he might as well return to his camp to cook some more of his venison. At least he had eliminated the one who looked like a gunslinger. He might have been a real threat in a duel, but he hadn’t shown much sign of being smart. With only the two of them left to deal with, Hawk considered going into the saloon after them, relying on surprise to give him the chance to take one of them out, so as to face off with only the one left. What he could not count on, however, was for Bodine, Reuben, and Tom to stay out of it. And that was too great a risk. Even if Hawk was successful in getting Booth and his partner, who was still nameless to him, there was the possibility he might hit someone he had no quarrel with.

  CHAPTER 14

  Bodine was not in a friendly mood when he walked back into the saloon and saw Booth and Jesse seated at one of the tables, both men with chairs angled toward the door, a bottle on the table as well as their handguns. His mood was not
improved when Booth asked, “Did you get him?”

  Bodine paused before answering, in order to keep from saying what he felt like telling him. “Well, Booth, no, we didn’t, didn’t even get a good look at who it was. Trip mighta got a better look at him before he got shot in the chest. But you and Jesse don’t have to worry, your horses didn’t get run off. Me and Tom and Reuben saved ’em for you. Tom and Reuben are roundin’ ’em up out there now, if you wanna go out there and take a look.”

  He was not successful in keeping the sarcastic tone out of his reply and Booth picked up on it. “He got Trip, huh? Well, there wasn’t nothin’ we could do to keep him from goin’ after Hawk. We tried to tell him, didn’t we, Jesse?” He looked at his brother to get his nod of confirmation, then looked back at Bodine. “I tried to tell you that Hawk wasn’t after your horses. He got what he came for—Trip—but he didn’t get all he came for, and that’s because me and Jesse have got better sense than to run right into an ambush.”

  His indifferent attitude about the death of one of his men did not escape Bodine, who was not known for his compassion for the unfortunate victims of violence. But even he felt a sense of loyalty to one’s own gang. “Like I said, we didn’t get close enough to get a good look at him. I don’t know if it was Hawk or some Injun tryin’ to steal a horse.” Actually, he was pretty sure it was Hawk, he just wanted to aggravate Booth.

  “I know damn well it was Hawk,” Booth insisted, rising to the bait.

  “I’da thought you and Jesse mighta wanted to get out there and help ’em round up your horses.” He paused, then said, “I mean, after you knew he was gone—whoever it was that done it—and it was safe outside.”

  Again, he was not successful in hiding his sarcasm, and again, it did not go unnoticed by Booth. “Let’s get one thing straight, old man,” he informed him, no longer willing to play word games. “We’re spendin’ a helluva lot of money in this dump of yours. We’re payin’ you to take care of our livestock, so you damn well better make sure those horses ain’t gone. From what you’ve charged us to rent two rooms, I sure as hell ain’t plannin’ to get out there to round up horses I’m payin’ you to take care of.”

  Bodine didn’t like the dressing-down, but he took it because of the violence he knew the two brothers were capable of. He didn’t respond at once, and when he did, it was in a calm voice. “What about your friend? Whaddaya wanna do about Trip’s body?”

  “Hell, I don’t care,” Booth at first replied, then reconsidered. “Have your man bury him somewhere. Bring his weapons and other personal stuff to me, whatever he’s got on him.” He glared at him, a smug smile on his face, waiting to see if Bodine wanted to push his luck any further. An amused witness to the discussion, Jesse sensed the tone in Booth’s voice that usually signaled an explosion about to happen. Bodine recognized it as well and decided not to push the dangerous man any further. He nodded and turned to go back outside. “Before you go out there again, tell ol’ Dinner Bell to make us a fresh pot of coffee. I need something to settle this rotgut whiskey you sell.” Bodine didn’t reply but turned toward the kitchen door to do Booth’s bidding and stopped once more when he spoke again. “While you’re at it, tell her she needs to empty those damn chamber pots in our rooms. The air’s gettin’ downright rank up there.”

  Thinking that was a little too much to put up with, Bodine replied, “Dinah Belle don’t perform no maid work. She does the cookin’.”

  “What about Josie?” Jesse asked. “She ain’t doin’ nothin’.”

  “We ain’t had nobody in them rooms before you that used a chamber pot,” Bodine answered. “Everybody else just went outside to find a tree, or used the outhouse for serious business.”

  “We ain’t like everybody else,” Booth informed him. “Ain’t you got it in your head yet that there’s a back-shootin’ son of a bitch with a rifle hangin’ around out there just waiting for one of us to step outside? You saw what happened to Trip, didn’t you? Besides, we’re payin’ you to do it.”

  “All right,” Bodine gave in, “I’ll get somebody to empty it, or I’ll do it, myself.” He went into the kitchen to tell his wife to make the coffee.

  “I heard,” Dinah Belle said as soon as he walked in. “It’s already on the stove. I’ll cook and make ’em some coffee, but I ain’t emptying no slop jars for the lazy cowards.” She glared at her husband as if daring him to object. “I swear, since those bastards came here, it’s like we’re livin’ in a fort or somethin’. It’s as bad as it was back when the Injuns were raidin’ us,” she huffed. “Least that Hawk feller ain’t tried to burn the house down yet.”

  Bodine shook his head, perplexed. “I might have to do that, myself, to get them two outta here. We’re gonna make good money off of ’em, but I’m ready to see the last of those two.” He started toward the back door but stopped long enough to tell her not to worry about the chamber pot, he would get Tom to take care of it.

  Back in the saloon, Booth and Jesse remained seated at the table, the six-guns of each man lying on the table, aimed at the door. They were discussing the split of the late Trip Dawson’s estate, mainly the saddlebags in his room upstairs. “What about that roll of bills he likes to carry in his pocket?” Jesse asked, thinking of Booth’s orders to Bodine to take care of Trip’s body and bring his personal effects to him. “You know damn well Bodine’s gonna pocket that and tell us Trip wasn’t carryin’ any money.”

  “That’s what I think,” Booth agreed calmly. “I figure it outta be enough to pay Bodine for our stay here, don’t you? ’Cause he ain’t gettin’ one red cent out of me and you when we’re done here.”

  “That’s the next question,” Jesse said. “When are we gonna break outta this place? It’s startin’ to get on my nerves. I’m about ready to shoot my way out. The longer we stay, the more I’m afraid I’ll get as loco as Trip was.”

  “I’ve been thinkin’ about that,” Booth said. “And I believe this feller is plannin’ to wait us out as long as we stay here, so we’re gonna have to take a chance to ride out in the middle of the night. He’s got himself a camp close by, and he won’t stay away from here long enough to let us get the horses packed up, ready to ride, before he’ll be back to see us leavin’. I say, hell, let’s stay right here for a couple more days and let him get used to seein’ those horses in the corral every mornin’ after he’s laid awake all night keepin’ his eye on ’em. I’m willin’ to bet he gets pretty doggone sleepy, tryin’ to watch us day and night. I’ll bet he thinks, if we’re fixin’ to leave, we’ll most likely start out in the mornin’. After a couple nights, he’s gonna figure our horses are gonna be there in the mornin’, so he can get a little sleep. That’s gonna be the night we slip outta here and head for Helena. We’ve got a place to go to in Helena where we can stay while we wait to see if Hawk shows up.”

  Jesse looked surprised. “Is that so? Where’s that?”

  “The Capital City Saloon,” Booth crowed, “owned and operated by Mutt Crocker.” He waited for Jesse’s reaction. He wasn’t disappointed.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Jesse swore. “That’s right. I forgot all about that. That is where Mutt went—Helena, Montana—to open a saloon.”

  “Financed by a gunpoint loan from the First Bank of Wyomin’,” Booth reminded him. It had been a source of envy by the Corbin brothers when Mutt pulled off one of the biggest bank holdups in Wyoming history after he left them. Mutt had ridden with Booth and Jesse until he decided he wanted to be the boss of his own gang. There had really been no hard feelings when he left because Mutt was getting a little long in the tooth to continue riding with them. He was older than Tater. If things didn’t go like he planned, they figured he’d eventually want to come back. But it didn’t happen. He made that one big bank job and decided it enough to retire from the bank business. “Helena ain’t but about twenty-five or thirty miles from here,” Booth continued. “We can drive our horses hard all night, without stoppin’. It’ll be a different game in a town. He
ain’t gonna be able to hide in the bushes and pick us off one at a time.”

  Jesse considered Booth’s plan and decided the two extra days might work like Booth figured. But once they were successful in escaping, he was more inclined to find a good spot on the road to Helena and wait for Hawk to come after them. “It would be him that wouldn’t know somebody was waitin’ for him, and I think he’ll get a little careless while he’s bustin’ his ass tryin’ to catch up with us. I’d like to settle that jasper’s hash before he ever gets to Helena.”

  “All right,” Booth said without hesitation. “We’ll do it that way. We’ll each take one packhorse and make ol’ Bodine a present of the rest of ’em. I don’t aim to be trying to drive those extra horses to Helena.”

  “What we need is for that son of a bitch to get up the nerve to come walkin’ in here to settle it face-to-face, like ol’ Trip was always jawin’ about,” Jesse said. “That would make things a helluva lot easier, wouldn’t it?”

  He had no sooner said it when the outside door to the saloon came swinging open and he stood in the doorway. Without a second’s delay, both brothers grabbed the six-guns lying on the table before them and pumped four shots into him. Mose Avery clutched at the doorjamb for support, only to slide slowly down to the floor, dying. Both men got to their feet, guns still in their hands, and ran over to look at their victim, who was softly muttering incoherently. “Damn,” Jesse cursed, surprised when he looked at the little man. “Is that him?”