Montana Territory

by Charles G. West

  “Grover,” Hawk greeted in return. “This mornin’. How’s business goin’ for ya?”

  “I reckon I can’t complain, and even if I do, it don’t seem to make no difference. You wantin’ to board that buckskin?” He took a look out the stable door. “You ain’t got a packhorse?”

  “No, I don’t, and I’ve regretted it every day on this trip. I’ll leave Rascal with you at least for tonight, and if you don’t mind, I’ll just sleep with him. I don’t know if I’ll be here longer’n one night or not. I’m hopin’ I’m on the trail of two men I think came to Helena. Any chance you’ve seen two strangers, one of ’em riding a black Morgan with a fancy saddle with a lot of handwork on it and both of ’em leadin’ a packhorse?”

  “Nope, I ain’t seen nobody like that come by here. What are you followin’ them for? I thought you was ridin’ scout for the army. You ain’t gone to work as a lawman, have you?”

  “No,” Hawk answered. “Things just turned out that way.” He went on to explain to Grover what had happened near Fort Benton, and how it was that he was left with the job of running two killers to ground. “And the trail I’ve followed tells me they came here.”

  “My Lord,” Grover gasped after hearing what crimes these men had committed. “We don’t need men like that in Helena. Whaddaya gonna do if you don’t run across ’em here?”

  “Damned if I know,” Hawk admitted. “’Cause I reckon I’ll have to admit I’ve lost ’em for sure.” He was sure the ambush that Black Elk and Swift Runner had stumbled into was meant for him. And when that failed, he assumed the two outlaws would continue on to Helena. He had no tracks to confirm it, however. They may have set out in a different direction. “Well, I’m gonna walk around town to see what’s what,” he said after he took Rascal’s saddle off. “Are you gonna lock up that tack room when you leave to go to supper?” Grover said that he usually did, so Hawk said, “I’d like to leave my saddlebags in there. I’ve got a little money in ’em that I don’t like to carry around.” He didn’t tell Grover how much he was carrying in his saddlebags. He was sure that Grover was honest, but if he told him he had Tater Thompson’s share of the Quaker robbery in the tack room, and how much it was, it might worry him to death. “I’ll get some supper at the hotel dinin’ room, then I expect I’ll stop by the Last Chance for a drink and that’ll about do me for the night.”

  When he left the stable, it was way too early for supper, so he took the time to stop in the general store to pass the time of day with Betty Benton, Chad Benton’s widow. Chad had been killed by the same man who shot Frank Bowen. Betty was glad to see him again and introduced him to her brother, Phil, who had come to help her run the store. Like Grover, they could not remember having seen any strangers during the last several days. He left them without telling them the whole story behind his trailing the two men, only that they were dangerous. He made one more call before going to supper and that was in the Gold Nugget Saloon. He was met with the same response as everywhere else he had checked, with one exception, and that was the fact that there was a new saloon in town. Back off the main street a little way, the saloon was called the Capital City Saloon. The folks at the Capital City were not friendly with all the other merchants in town, he was told. He decided to pay them a visit in the morning, for it was suppertime by then and he had told Sophie Hicks he hoped to show up.

  * * *

  Sophie was engaged in a casual conversation with two young men at a table near the front door of the dining room when Hawk walked in. She laughed delightedly at something one of them said. Hearing the door open, she turned to see Hawk and interrupted her chatting only long enough to greet him politely and say, “Sit anywhere you like, Hawk.”

  He didn’t know that he had any right to expect anything more than that, so he had to question why it seemed to disappoint him. It registered in his mind that she hadn’t called him John, calling him simply Hawk, like everybody else. It seemed blatantly impersonal. Then he scolded himself for thinking they were better friends than that. At first glance, he guessed the two young men she was talking to might be cowhands from one of the ranches close by. Suddenly feeling out of place, he quickly found a chair at an empty table and sat down with his back to that table. Seeing him from the kitchen door, Martha poured a cup of coffee for him and brought it to him. “Evenin’, Hawk,” she said. “Glad to see you came back to eat with us. You’re in luck tonight. Betty Benton got in a barrel of dried apples and Sophie got enough of ’em to make a couple of apple pies.”

  “Well, that surely sounds to my likin’,” Hawk said. “I’ll have whatever you’re pushin’ for supper tonight.”

  “Beef stew,” Martha said. “I’ll fix you up a plate,” she called back over her shoulder, “and I’ll set a slice of that pie aside to be sure you get some.”

  “Much obliged,” Hawk called after her. He sat there, sipping the hot coffee, trying to get his mind back on the business that caused him to be in this town. He was still irritated with himself for letting irresponsible thoughts take control of his mind when he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, causing him to start.

  “Whoa, horse!” Sophie said. “You’re as jumpy as a cat. What were you thinking about?”

  “Nothin’,” he quickly insisted. “I just wasn’t expectin’ it, that’s all.”

  “Glad you made it back for supper. Is Martha fixing you a plate?”

  “Yes, she is,” Martha answered for him, coming through the doorway at that moment, carrying a plate heaped high. She placed it on the table before him and checked to see if he needed coffee.

  “If you pile everybody’s plate up that high, we’re not gonna have enough to make it to closing time,” Sophie teased.

  “Hawk appreciates my cookin’,” Martha said, “so I like to see that he gets plenty of it.” She turned her head toward him and gave him a little smile. “Besides,” she went on, “if you hadn’t been flirtin’ with those two cowboys over there, you mighta waited on him and fixed his plate the way you wanted it.”

  “That’s just doing business,” Sophie replied. “Those boys come in here to eat every week. Mr. Hawk, here, doesn’t come in but once in a blue moon.” She turned quickly toward him then. “But we’re still mighty glad you come in when you are in town.”

  Sitting there with his fork raised halfway to his mouth, he was astonished by the inane bantering between the two women. Noticing, Martha said, “Look, we’ve got him so confused he can’t enjoy his supper. Let’s let him eat.” Another customer came in the door at that moment, so Martha said, “Go take care of that customer. I’m going back to the kitchen, and we’ll let Hawk eat.”

  When they left him, it felt to him like he had been struck by a lightning bolt of reality, his own, in particular. And he realized the absurdity of his thinking there might be something between him and Sophie. His life was not compatible with any woman’s. When he was not working for the army, his home was a cabin, far up the Boulder River, on a stream three hundred yards up the side of a mountain where nothing but wild animals lived. He had no future to offer a woman. With that discouraging truth fixed firmly in his brain, he signaled Martha to bring his apple pie, which he made short work of. Gulping the last of his coffee down, he left his money on the table and headed for the door. What I need is a drink of whiskey, he said to himself.

  * * *

  Booth glanced at Jesse when the stranger walked in the door. He didn’t have to be told that the man was Billy Crocker. Jesse nodded in response to Booth’s unspoken signal. Billy paused to look the room over. His gaze stopped for a moment on the two men sitting at the table in the back corner next to the kitchen door before continuing. Fred Futch, the bartender, nodded and said, “Evenin’, Billy.” Billy responded with a nod, then proceeded toward the kitchen with the swagger of a man confident in his ability to master any challenge anyone might offer. Both Jesse and Booth gave him a nod when he walked past their table. His manner was typical of most gunslingers who believed themselves faster than any
other man with a six-gun. He was reminiscent of Trip Dawson, with the exception in the way he wore his .44. Billy wore his in a double holster with the handles forward.

  He didn’t return the nods from the two brothers as he stepped inside the kitchen door to inform the cook that he was ready for his supper. His father was in the kitchen, talking to Cora, and he answered for her. “She’ll fix you a plate,” Mutt said. “First, I want you to talk some business with those two fellers settin’ at the table.”

  “What about?” Billy asked. “I’m hungry.”

  “Won’t take but a few minutes, and it’ll damn sure be worth it,” Mutt said. “That is, unless you’ve come into a lotta money I don’t know about.” Billy responded with nothing more than a bored shrug of his shoulders. “Come on in here for a minute,” Mutt insisted. When Billy walked on into the kitchen, Mutt took hold of his elbow to make sure he had his attention. “That’s Booth and Jesse Corbin settin’ at that table out there. You’ve heard me talk about ridin’ with them before I went on my own. They’re two of the meanest men the devil ever put on this earth, so you need to keep that in mind. I think they’re settin’ on a lotta money from some job and they’ve got some jasper on their trail they need to get rid of.”

  “If they’re so mean, why don’t they get rid of him?” Billy was inclined to ask.

  “This jasper’s pretty slick, so they ain’t been able to corner him, but he’s already shot three men that was ridin’ with ’em. I told ’em they’d be smart to hire you to do the killin’, figurin’ somebody he don’t know could get close to draw him out. Oughta be a nice payday for you.”

  “All right,” Billy said. “I’ll talk to ’em.”

  He followed Mutt back into the barroom, where he was introduced to the Corbin brothers. “This is my boy, Billy,” Mutt said. “I ain’t never seen nobody faster with a six-shooter than Billy.” He paused only a moment before saying, “And I’ve seen Trip Dawson draw.” He paused again to gauge the interest generated so far in his selling of his son’s services, then continued, “Billy killed two men at the same time in a gunfight in the Trailsman Saloon in Cheyenne. That’s why he’s out here in Montana now, waitin’ for things to cool off in Wyomin’.”

  “It’s a wonder we ain’t ever heard of you,” Booth said, talking directly to Billy. “Maybe it’s because you’re so young.” Billy shrugged indifferently. “How old are you, anyway?”

  “What difference does that make?” Billy responded.

  “He’s goin’ on nineteen,” Mutt quickly replied for him, afraid that his gruff indifference might queer the deal.

  “Old enough to know what the consequences are if you ain’t as good as you claim, I reckon,” Booth said. “I’ve gotta warn you, if we was to give you this job, you won’t be comin’ up against some drunk in a saloon. This cat ain’t nobody to fool with.”

  “Is he fast?” Billy asked, starting to get interested.

  “With a handgun?” Booth replied. “I don’t know. He seems to favor a rifle from a distance, but he killed Tater Thompson with a knife. I’ve met him, although at the time I didn’t know who he was, and he didn’t know who I was. If I had, I’da shot him. He’s a big feller, tall, wears a buckskin shirt and a feather in his hat, like a damn Injun.”

  “I’d like to see how fast he is when he’s standin’ in front of me,” Billy said. “A big man ain’t nothin’ but a big target. How much is it worth to ya?”

  Booth glanced at Jesse before answering, in case he saw any signals guiding him one way or the other. There were none, so Booth made an offer. “This is more a matter of convenience because sooner or later one of us will get a chance to shoot the son of a bitch. He’s just a damn annoyance right now. He won’t show if you call him out to a face-off. Trip tried to call him out, and he shot Trip with his rifle before he got close enough to use his six-shooter. So it’s worth two hundred dollars cash money to have somebody take him out.” He glanced at Jesse again and Jesse nodded. So they waited for Billy’s response.

  Mutt was disappointed with an offer less than what he believed he could get, but Billy accepted the two hundred before he could speak. It was big money to Billy, who had never been paid to kill, in spite of his father’s attempt to put that image into Booth’s mind. Maybe it doesn’t make any difference, anyway, Mutt told himself. He might not even show up in town. To Booth, he said, “Well, I believe you boys made a good deal, if that feller does show up, he’s as good as dead. Right, Billy?”

  “Right,” Billy answered. “Now, I want my supper. I’m hungry. Tell Cora to bring me a plate.”

  “You can sit down with us, if you want to,” Booth offered, but Billy declined, saying he liked plenty of elbow room. So he sat down at a table across from them. Suits the hell outta me, Booth thought. Mutt’s son was not a likable young man, that was for certain. There was no more conversation between the Corbin brothers and their hired assassin.

  Although Billy devoured the plate heaped up with ham and potatoes, beans and corn bread, he was not finished before a topic of interest to all of them came in the door with one of Mutt’s drinking customers. He passed the time of day with Fred, the bartender, for a few minutes before Fred suddenly left the bar to get Mutt’s attention. Mutt was engaged in conversation with Booth and Jesse, but he stopped abruptly to hear what Fred was anxious to tell him. “That Hawk fellow you’ve been talkin’ about is in the Last Chance right now,” Fred told him. “Barney Meadows saw him goin’ in the door. He remembered him from when he was in town before.”

  Mutt turned at once to see if Booth and Jesse had heard. From the startled expressions on both their faces, he knew they had. Billy had heard as well. He paused long enough to release a loud belch, then finished the last couple of bites of ham before getting up from the table. He walked over to stand before their table and asked, “Two hundred dollars, cash money, as soon as he’s dead?” Both brothers nodded. “Then I reckon I’ll go have a little drink at the Last Chance instead of drinkin’ your likker, Pa.” He started toward the door.

  Mutt hurried to walk to the door with him. “You mind how you go about this, son. Don’t give nobody a chance to say you just walked in and dry-gulched him. You do that and there’ll be a posse out lookin’ for you. Make it look like a regular face-off if you can.”

  “Hell, it’ll be a face-off,” Billy boasted. “I’m gonna call the son of a bitch out right there in the saloon, where everybody can see I gave him a chance. Those two back there better damn sure come up with my money, or this Hawk feller ain’t gonna be the only one gets shot tonight.”

  “Don’t you worry none about that,” his father assured him. “They’ve got the money. I know they have.”

  CHAPTER 18

  “John Hawk!” Sam Ingram called out from a table in the rear of the saloon. He motioned for Hawk to come join him. Seated at the table as well was Bertie Brown. Hawk signaled with his hand, then stopped at the bar to order a drink, which he carried back to the table. “Have a seat,” Sam said. “Bertie told me you’d been in earlier today, and the reason you’re back in town. Damned if trouble don’t have a way of findin’ you. You didn’t pay Dewey for that drink, did you?”

  Hawk propped his ever-present rifle against the wall next to an empty chair and sat down. “Not yet,” he replied to Sam’s question. “I thought I might have a couple more before I’m done.” He was still thinking about his thoughts in the dining room and considered going over his usual limit of two shots of whiskey.

  “That drink’s on the house,” Sam said, “and you can take the next ones outta this bottle on the table.”

  “You must be something special,” Bertie said, beaming at Hawk. “I don’t think Sam ever offered anybody drinks on the house before.”

  “I owe Hawk,” Sam said. “If it wasn’t for Hawk, I wouldn’t have you or Blossom workin’ here.” He looked at Hawk and said, “I ain’t forgettin’ that.”

  “Well, I’m much obliged,” Hawk said, “but we’ll just call it even after a
couple of drinks, all right?”

  “You oughta take ’em free as long as ol’ Sam offers ’em,” Bertie said. “He might wake up any minute and find out what he’s doin’.”

  “Looks like a party goin’ on here,” Blossom declared as she walked back to the table. “I leave just long enough to go to the outhouse and come back to find somebody settin’ in my chair,” she joked. “I reckon it’s all right, long as it’s you.” She smiled at Hawk.

  “I won’t be in it long,” Hawk responded as she sat down in the empty chair on his left.

  The conversation was light and jovial, in spite of the serious nature of Hawk’s visit to Helena. These folks were friends of his, a friendship forged after a dangerous time for Bertie and her daughter when Hawk was able to help them. He poured his second drink from the bottle on the table and tossed it back. He could still feel the burn after he was sure it was mixing with the heavy supper he was carrying in his stomach. It was sign enough for him to call it enough after only two drinks. When Sam picked up the bottle and started to fill his glass again, Hawk held his hand over it. “No thanks, Sam. I ’preciate it just the same, but I think I’m gonna call it a night. Rascal’s waitin’ down at the stable for me to come to bed.”

  Blossom placed her hand on his arm and leaned closer to him. “You ever think about sleepin’ with somebody besides your horse? You know, all the time we’ve known you, you ain’t ever asked me for a ride. And I figure I owe you one.” She gave his arm a little squeeze. “I’m free right now.”

  He was immediately uncomfortable. Her suggestion was the last thing on his mind. He glanced at Bertie, who had obviously overheard her daughter’s proposition and graced him with a smile of approval. He would not for the world insult them, so he paused while he tried to think of what to say. Finally, he came out with it. “Blossom, you don’t know how much I appreciate what you’re offering to do for me. Any man would. But I think of you as a true friend and never any other way. And I just can’t make it right in my mind to take advantage of a friend.” Blossom looked confused. She looked at her mother, who also looked confused. “I’d best just thank you and get on back to the stable,” he said, and pushed his chair back.