Montana Territory

by Charles G. West

  “Go back to sleep,” Wounded Bear said. “A varmint is trying to get in the tipi.” He picked up a hand ax and went outside. When he did not return, and she heard no sound from him, his wife got out of her blanket and went outside to find him standing beside a horse. He turned when he heard her come out behind him. “It is the Hawk,” he said softly with a voice trembling with reverence, then he stepped aside so she could see the horse, loaded down with supplies. “This is the horse that was missing. Hawk has sent it home.”

  * * *

  With the first light of morning, a little more than ten miles away from the Blackfoot camp, Hawk came out of his blanket, anxious to get back on the road to Helena. It had been pretty late when he led the paint gelding into Wounded Bear’s sleeping village and tied it to one of the chief’s tipi poles. He knew the supplies he had left them would last only a little while, but he thought that maybe they would enjoy them for that short time. Maybe, now that they owned a rifle, they might be able to provide meat for the tiny village. He hoped they would be wise enough to trade the pelts for more ammunition. In his heart, he hoped the village would be able to survive as free men and women, but in his mind he knew that to be highly unlikely. They would soon die if they didn’t go to the reservation, but they preferred that to living on the reservation. I can’t blame them, he thought as he saddled Rascal. He felt free to take care of the business that caused him to be this far up the Missouri River, now that he felt he had done what he could for Wounded Bear’s people. Once again, David Booth was his main target to concentrate on. And the sooner he could track down Booth and his partner, the sooner he could get back to a normal life as he knew it. There was only one priority that stood in the way of that ambition, and that was a hot breakfast at Sophie’s Diner in Helena, next to the Davis Hotel. While he tightened the cinch on his saddle, he paused to think about the attractive owner of the dining room. Sophie Hicks, he thought, and wondered if she would even give him the time of day when he showed up there again. Every time before, there had been circumstances that prompted him to leave almost as soon as he had arrived. It appeared that this visit to Helena would be no different in all likelihood. It might be better not to even go to see her until his business in Helena was finished. But he was only fifteen miles away, at best, and he was craving a good hot breakfast with eggs and biscuits that someone else fixed. He’d been living off smoked venison for too long, and now he didn’t even have any more of that. He had given all of it he had on his first day in Wounded Bear’s camp. The decision made, he climbed into the saddle and started off to strike the Helena road.

  * * *

  They were clearing tables left by the early customers when he walked in the door. Sophie paused and stared at him for a few seconds before announcing loud enough for him to hear, “I do declare, Martha, look who just walked in the door. Are my eyes deceiving me, or is that really John Hawk?” Martha didn’t reply, but paused in her work to form a big grin on her round face.

  “Mornin’,” Hawk offered sheepishly. “I hope I ain’t too late for breakfast.” He wasn’t sure why he always turned bashful in the presence of Sophie Hicks. He wasn’t bashful around any other woman.

  “Well, I reckon not,” Sophie allowed, still in a mood to tease. “Whaddaya think, Martha? You think you could take the time to scramble up some eggs for Mr. Hawk?”

  “Course I can,” Martha said at once, not inclined to bedevil the tall young man who always wore a feather in his hat. After all, she thought, he had told her that she was the best cook in the whole territory. “You set yourself down right here and I’ll get you some coffee and have some breakfast for you in a jiffy.”

  Sophie had to laugh. “You go ahead,” she said. “I’ll get his coffee for him.” He sat down at the table Martha had just cleared, and in a minute or two, he was joined by Sophie with his coffee and a cup for herself. “What brings you to our fair city this time?” she asked, remembering the last time he was in Helena he was involved in a shooting and left town almost as fast as he arrived. “Are you gonna be here awhile this time?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered her question honestly. “I reckon I’ll have to wait and see.” She didn’t have to say anything; he could see in her expression that she decided he hadn’t changed. “I’d sure like to stay awhile, but I just can’t say yet. I’da been back sooner, but I had to do some scoutin’ for the army.” He hoped his face didn’t reveal what he was thinking when he looked at her. If ever I was to get married, it would be to a woman just like you, if she’d have me. Whenever thoughts of that nature entered his mind, he told himself he would never get married. He couldn’t. He had no steady job, he didn’t own a farm or a cattle ranch. He was just a drifter, so he attempted to put the idea out of his head. “I reckon I had to get back in town to see if you’d gotten married yet.”

  “Ha!” she exclaimed. “Fat chance of that. I’m a little more particular about who I get tied to.” Too impatient to play the game any longer, she finally asked, “What are you really in town for?”

  “I’m tryin’ to catch up with a couple of fellows that have caused a world of hurt to a lot of folks,” he said.

  He didn’t have to say more before she interrupted. “Why are you always chasing outlaws and murderers? You’re not a lawman, are you?” When he shook his head, she continued, “Then why don’t you leave the job of catching outlaws to lawmen who are paid to do it?”

  “It ain’t by choice,” he was quick to protest. “It just happens to fall in my lap.”

  “Well, when it falls in your lap,” she insisted, “take it to the sheriff or some other lawman and dump it in theirs.”

  “Sometimes there just ain’t any lawman handy,” he tried to explain, but she obviously didn’t accept that. So he told her more than he had anticipated telling her. He told her about the vicious massacre of the religious group near Fort Benton and the fact that, were it not for him, no one would be after the men who did it. “When we started out, I was scoutin’ for the cavalry patrol that was after those outlaws. After a while, the patrol had to return to Fort Ellis. There wasn’t anybody to keep after the outlaws but me. I didn’t have any choice.”

  “And you’ve followed them to Helena?” she asked, still of the opinion that it was not up to him to do so. “And if they are here, what are you going to do, shoot them down?”

  “Well, that ain’t the best way of handlin’ it,” he answered, while thinking that was exactly what he had in mind. “Is Porter Willis still the sheriff? Maybe I can get him to help if I see those outlaws in town.”

  “Porter’s still the sheriff,” Sophie said. “But he’s not fully recovered from the shot he took in his belly.” She paused and raised an eyebrow as she added, “The last time you were in town.”

  “I don’t reckon you’ve seen any new fellows in the dinin’ room in the last couple of days, have you?” he asked just in case Booth might have stopped in the hotel.

  “Sure,” she replied. “We see new people in here all the time, don’t we, Martha? It’s hard to tell which ones are mass murderers. Maybe we should start asking.” She got up from the table then and went into the kitchen. Martha watched her till she went in the door, then shook her head solemnly as she filled Hawk’s coffee cup.

  “I don’t mean to do it,” Hawk said to Martha, “but I always seem to get her riled up.”

  “You sure do,” Martha agreed. She could have told him what she was thinking but decided not to. She gets riled up at you because she cares for you. You’re just too blind to see it.

  He finished his breakfast, paid Sophie, and told her he was hoping to get back for supper. She realized she had been a little less than gracious when he came in, so she offered some cheerful conversation to send him off. “Good, I’ll look forward to it.”

  * * *

  He went to the sheriff’s office next, only to find the door locked and a sign hanging on the doorknob that said the sheriff would be back in an hour. Since he didn’t know when Porter had hung the
sign there, he decided not to wait and headed for the Last Chance Saloon instead. As a precaution, he stood just inside the doorway and scanned the room before entering. Dewey Smith, the bartender, sang out as soon as he stepped inside. “Hawk! When did you get in town?”

  “’Bout an hour ago,” Hawk replied. “Thought I’d stop in to see if you folks were still in business.”

  “We’re in business, all right,” a voice from the storeroom door called out, “and gettin’ busier every month.” Hawk turned to see Bertie Brown coming to meet him, her face one big smile. She walked up to him and extended her hand. “I was wonderin’ when you were gonna ride up this way again.”

  “Howdy, Bertie.” Hawk took her hand and they shook, as was Bertie’s style. “I figured you’d be managin’ this saloon by the time I got back here.”

  “I’ll say she is,” Dewey said. “It’s got to where Sam don’t hardly ever come in but once in a while to count the money.”

  “We treat the customer right,” Bertie boasted. “Makes ’em wanna come back.” Always thinking of business, she asked, “You ridin’ scout for a bunch of soldiers? We’re real partial to our brave boys in uniform.”

  “No,” Hawk said. “Hate to disappoint you, but I’m by myself this time.” Dewey and Bertie both waited to hear what brought him to town, but that was all the explanation he offered until Bertie pressed him for more. “Well,” Hawk told them, “I’m tryin’ to catch up with a couple of jaspers that headed this way. Fellow name of Booth, I don’t know the other one’s name. You ain’t seen anybody like that, have you?”

  “Not that I know of,” Bertie said. “Can’t say that I haven’t, though. I don’t ask every saddle tramp that comes in here what his name is. What did these fellers do to get you on their tail?”

  Hawk told them what Booth and his gang of murderers had done and how it now happened that he alone was still on their trail. “My stars in heaven,” Bertie exclaimed. “We heard about them church folk that got killed. You sayin’ the bastards that done that are here in town?”

  “I don’t know if they are or not,” Hawk explained. “There were five of ’em that did the killin’. Three of ’em are dead, and the last sign I got of the other two was leadin’ to Helena. I’m a couple of days behind ’em now. I got sidetracked back at Wolf Creek.” He didn’t bother to elaborate on the reason.

  Totally concerned at this point, Bertie looked at Dewey. “You see anybody like that come in here the last couple of days?” Before he could answer, she looked back at Hawk. “What did you say that feller’s name was?” When Hawk told her the one name he knew was Booth, she looked at Dewey again for his answer.

  “Not that I know of,” Dewey replied. “Like you said, though, we don’t usually ask them their names. What do they look like?” he asked Hawk.

  “I don’t know, just regular-lookin’ jaspers,” Hawk answered. “The one named Booth rides a black Morgan with a fancy saddle. That’s about all I can tell you.”

  They talked awhile longer, then Bertie’s daughter, Blossom, came down the stairs, a young cowhand preceding her by about ten minutes. Like her mother, her face lit up when she saw Hawk standing there at the bar. Unlike her mother, however, she ran up to him and locked him in a warm embrace. John Hawk had helped her and her mother when they were in desperate need of help and she would always be indebted to him.

  CHAPTER 17

  “How ’bout it?” Mutt Crocker bellowed. “That room suit you all right? You ain’t gonna get nothin’ much fancier up at the hotel.” He grinned at them as they came down the steps to the saloon.

  “I’ve seen worse,” Booth Corbin answered. “I reckon it’ll do. What do you think, Jesse?”

  “I’ve slept in fancier jail cells than that, but I reckon it’ll do,” Jesse japed the onetime member of their gang and now owner of the Capital City Saloon. “How’d you come up with the fancy name for this place?”

  Mutt shrugged. “Since they moved the capital of Montana to Helena, it’s the capital city, so I thought that’s what I oughta call it.”

  “How’s business?” Booth asked. “I mean, since you’re not exactly in the center of the town.”

  “I was lucky to get this spot on a back street, as it was. I didn’t have the money to buy anybody out on Main Street. But I’m doin’ all right since I got Loretta workin’ the floor,” Mutt said with a nod of his head to the bored-looking woman sitting at a table watching them. “She does all right when the evenin’ crowd comes in, sells a lotta whiskey for me.” Having ridden with the two brothers before, he was sure they were this far from Wyoming for a good reason, so he asked point-blank, “Who’s after you boys?”

  “What makes you think anybody’s after us?” Booth said, and winked at Jesse. “Me and Jesse just wanted to see how an old bandit like you was makin’ out tryin’ to run a saloon, knowin’ you as good as we do.”

  “Is that a fact?” Mutt huffed. “You boys wouldn’t be up this way if you wasn’t on the run. Who can I expect to be showin’ up here lookin’ for you? You ain’t had a fallin’-out with the rest of the boys, have you? When I left Wyomin’, Trip Dawson, Tater Thompson, and Blue Davis was ridin’ with you. Ain’t they with you no more?” He looked from one brother to the other, waiting for the truth. His suspicion was that Booth and Jesse had somehow double-crossed the rest of the gang.

  Booth shrugged. “I know what you’re thinkin’, but it ain’t like that. All three of them boys are dead, and they all got killed by the same man. Trip was the last one he got, and that was Trip’s fault. He went plum loco, wantin’ to shoot it out with him, so the son of a bitch shot him.”

  Mutt shook his head, thinking of the fast gun that Trip was. “Where was that?” Booth said it was at Bodine’s on Wolf Creek. “Bodine’s?” Mutt responded. “Ain’t nobody killed that ornery old goat yet?”

  “Not since a couple of days ago,” Jesse quipped. “But there ain’t no tellin’ now, since me and Booth ain’t there to protect him.”

  “Who the hell is this feller that’s got you on the run? A marshal or some other lawman?” Mutt asked.

  “No, he ain’t no lawman,” Booth answered. “Me and Jesse figure he found out about a job we pulled that was a pretty big payday, and he’s thinkin’ he wants to get some of it.”

  “Just one man?” Mutt found that hard to believe. “And the two of you can’t take care of one man?”

  “He had us pretty much holed up at Bodine’s, so that’s the reason we came here,” Booth said. “To get him out in the open. We set up an ambush, figurin’ he was gonna follow us. We were gonna take care of him for good, but the bastard never showed up. So we ain’t sure if he’s give up on tailin’ us or not. I reckon we’ll find out if he shows up here.”

  Mutt was working his mind on the piecemeal story he was getting and the one thing that struck him was that Booth and Jesse must have made a big score on some job. They were pretty tight-lipped when it came to talking about it, so that told him it must have been so big they didn’t want him to know how much they stole. Maybe, he figured, there was a possibility he could cash in on it as well. “This jasper that’s tailin’ you, has he got a name?”

  “Yeah, his name’s Hawk,” Booth said. “He’s easy to spot, big feller, wears a buckskin shirt, and has a feather in his hat.”

  “Hawk,” Mutt repeated. “I’ve heard somethin’ about a feller named Hawk. He had some kinda trouble here, in the Last Chance Saloon. I don’t know what it was, but I think that Hawk feller is a big friend of Sam Ingram’s, who owns the Last Chance.” Thinking now about getting his hands on some of Booth and Jesse’s money, Mutt made a suggestion. “What you need is a man who’s an expert at gettin’ rid of people like that.”

  “We don’t need nobody to do our killin’ for us,” Jesse responded, his dander up at the suggestion. “We just need to catch him when he’s out in the open, face-to-face, then we’ll see who kills who.”

  “You’re startin’ to talk like Trip Dawson,” Booth said. “It w
ould be a lot easier for somebody Hawk ain’t ever seen to get the jump on him.” Turning back to Mutt then, he said, “You talk like you’ve got somebody in mind.”

  “I do,” Mutt replied. “Billy Crocker—he’s the fastest man with a gun this town’s ever seen.”

  “Your son, Billy?” Booth responded in surprise. When last he had heard of Mutt’s son, he was serving time in prison for holding up a stage out of Cheyenne. “Has it been that long? I wouldn’t have figured he’d served his time yet.”

  Mutt chuckled when he replied, “Neither did the territory of Wyomin’, but Billy figured he’d served as much time as he wanted to. He’s been layin’ low since he came out here, pickin’ up cash anyway he can. So far, ain’t nobody complained about his work. You oughta talk to him, let him take care of that little problem of yours. Hell, if you pay him, Billy’ll go find him, even if he didn’t follow you here.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Booth said, “if he ain’t lookin’ for too much to do the job—save us a little trouble.” He glanced over at the bored woman sitting at the table. “Is it all right to talk about it with her sittin’ right here, listenin’ to every word?”

  Mutt chuckled. “Ain’t nothin’ to worry about with Loretta. She’s heard a lot of talk in here since I opened up and she knows not to open her mouth about it. I think you’ll be satisfied with Billy to do the job. He’ll be in to get some grub around suppertime.”

  * * *

  At the other end of the street, Hawk pulled Rascal up in front of the stable and dismounted. Seeing no one in the blacksmith’s shop next door, he figured to find Grover Bramble at the stable. Grover took over the stable after Frank Bowen was shot down by a fellow named Zach Dubose. He remembered Hawk because it happened that he was his first customer when he became the stable owner. On this day, Grover was cleaning out some stalls when Hawk walked in. “Well, John Hawk,” he declared when he saw who it was. “When did you get back in town?”