Montana Territory

by Charles G. West

  Jesse and Booth looked at each other, not sure if she was covering for him or not. “Sometimes he tells people not to let on he’s stayin’ here, but it’s all right to tell us. We’re friends of his.”

  Baffled by his statement, Gracie said, “No, Mr. Hawk isn’t staying with us. I don’t know why you think he is. Now, if there’s nothing more I can do for you, I have work to do.”

  “There’s one more thing you can do,” Booth said, and grabbed her by the arm. “I hate to think a pretty little lady like you could be lyin’ to save a no-account bastard like Hawk. So, we’re gonna take a little tour of your hotel to see who is in your bedrooms. He might be usin’ another name.”

  “Take your hands off me!” Gracie cried indignantly. “I know what John Hawk looks like, and he’s not here.”

  “We’ll see,” Booth said. “If you’ve got a master key, you’d better get it, else I’m gonna kick open any locked doors.”

  Realizing how dangerous the two men were, she did as she was told, fearing for her safety. “All right, I’ll get a key, but please, can I at least knock on the occupied rooms, so we don’t terrify anyone else?”

  “Yeah, you can do that,” Jesse said. “But if you say anything besides your name, give any kind of warnin’, it’s gonna cost you your life. You understand that?”

  “Yes, yes,” she gasped. “I understand, but I’m telling you the truth, Hawk isn’t staying with us.”

  Holding her arm tightly with one hand, the other holding his pistol ready to fire, Booth held her in front of him and Jesse as they checked each room on both floors of the house. As she had tried to tell them, there was no trace of Hawk. Six of the nine rooms available for rent had tenants, but there were only three people in those rooms at the time of the search. Gracie went back to these three guests after the Corbin brothers left to explain why she had knocked on their doors. The cause of their confusion paused outside the hotel to decide where to look next. From the looks of the dining room next to the hotel, supper hour was over, for they could see no one through the windows. “Might as well check,” Jesse said. “Maybe they can tell us where he was headin’ when he left.”

  “Sorry, boys,” Sophie greeted them when they stepped inside. “We’re closed. Supper hour is over. We’ve already cleaned up the kitchen.”

  “We’re lookin’ for Hawk,” Booth said. “Was he here for supper?”

  At once becoming concerned, Sophie answered, “No, Hawk didn’t come in for supper tonight, did he, Martha?” Martha, clearing a table on the other side of the room merely shook her head as she stared at the two strangers, looking as if they were ready to shoot someone. No one said anything more as Booth and Jesse seemed as uncertain as the two women. After what seemed an extra-long moment, the two men left the dining room. “That looks like trouble for sure if those two ever find Hawk. If I had to guess, I’d bet Hawk ain’t looking for company of their kind. I think I’ll run down to the sheriff’s office. It might be a good idea if Porter knew they were looking for Hawk.” Martha nodded her agreement, and Sophie moved to the door. “Damn,” she swore, “they’re still out front.” She waited, peeking out the edge of the front window until they finally turned their horses away from the picket fence and rode toward the center of town.

  As soon as she felt the two riders were far enough ahead not to notice her, Sophie hurried down to the sheriff’s office, where she found Porter Willis drinking a cup of coffee, his feet propped on his desk. When he saw her at the door, he quickly put his feet down and sat up straight. “Sophie,” he acknowledged, “what can I do for you? Something wrong?”

  “I don’t know,” Sophie answered, “but I thought it’d be a good idea to let you know there’s a couple of strangers looking for Hawk.”

  “Well, that ain’t against the law,” Porter responded. “Maybe they’re friends of his.”

  “I doubt that,” Sophie stated firmly.

  “Why? Did they say somethin’ that sounded like they might be lookin’ to do him some harm?” He kept asking her pointless questions, even though he knew they could only be the two men Hawk followed to town. He was reluctant to get into the middle of it and was halfway inclined to let Hawk handle it. He’d already had one shooting to deal with and that was enough trouble for one night.

  “They didn’t have to say anything,” she insisted. “I’ve seen enough troublemakers in this town to recognize one when I see one. And I’m telling you, Porter, these two are looking for Hawk for no good reason.”

  Porter put his coffee cup down on his desk and tried to turn a concerned face to her, reluctant to respond to a young woman’s intuitions. “Where are these two men now? Are they still in town?”

  “They’re right down the street at the Last Chance,” Sophie said.

  This was not good news to the sheriff. He had just returned to his office after having to respond to a shooting in the street involving Hawk. No one knew who the victim was or why he went after Hawk. And if Hawk knew, he wasn’t saying. If there were two strangers in town looking for Hawk right after he shot that man, chances were they were looking to avenge their friend’s death. “It might not be anything at all, but I’ll go on over to the Last Chance just to look into it,” he said. He would like to hope they were just in town to pick up the body, but he knew they wouldn’t be looking for Hawk if that were the case. He got up from his desk and strapped his gun belt on and walked to the door with her.

  Outside, Sophie pointed toward the saloon and said, “Those two horses nearest the end of the hitching rail. Those are their horses.”

  “I’ll see about it,” he assured her. She thanked him and watched him until he had crossed the street and stepped up on the boardwalk in front of the saloon, as if she wanted to make sure he did as he promised.

  CHAPTER 19

  Bartender Dewey Smith noticed the two strangers as soon as they walked in the door. It was their manner that caused him to give them a second glance. Cautious was how he would have described it. Before walking into the crowded room, they scanned it from front to back. He was immediately reminded of the reason Hawk gave for being in town, and in Dewey’s opinion, these two looked like they might be the men Hawk was looking for. His next thought was that it was good that Hawk had left the saloon early, or there might possibly have been a second altercation in the saloon that night. As he expected, when the two decided they didn’t see what they were looking for, they walked on inside and headed for him.

  “What’ll it be?” Dewey asked, making an effort to greet them as he would any stranger, when they stepped up to the bar.

  “Give us a shot of your best whiskey,” Booth said. He figured they would get more of their questions answered if they tried to take a friendly approach. While Dewey poured a couple of drinks for them, Booth said, “It’s been a good while since we’ve been up this way. I expect it’s been a couple of years or more. Wouldn’t you say, Jesse?”

  “Yep, I expect it has,” Jesse replied, aware of Booth’s friendly approach. “The town sure has changed a lot.”

  “It sure has,” Booth commented. “This is the capital of Montana Territory now, ain’t it?” Dewey said that it was. The conversation continued through a second drink of whiskey. There were aimless questions about the town and the surrounding farms and ranches, until Booth got around to the issue they were concerned with. “We’ve got a friend who’s supposed to be up this way. I hear tell he might be in town now. It’d sure be somethin’ if we could run into him while we’re here. Wouldn’t it, Jesse?”

  “It sure would,” Jesse agreed. “I bet he’d be tickled to see us.”

  Booth waited for Dewey to ask who that friend was, but Dewey was already suspicious of the ominous pair’s intentions. And when he failed to take the bait, Booth went on. “Our friend’s name is Hawk, big feller, wears a feather in his hat. I’ll bet he’s been in here.”

  Dewey hesitated. About to declare that he didn’t know anyone by that name, he thought again and decided against it. If they had bee
n in town any time at all, they would surely know about the shooting only a little earlier that evening. And chances were they knew it was Hawk that did the shooting. “Yes, sir,” he finally answered. “That feller named Hawk was in here earlier, but he left. Too bad you missed him.” He was aware at once that Booth was looking at him as if suspecting he was holding something back. He took a step back from the bar, in case Booth’s next move might be to grab him by his collar and threaten him. At that moment, however, he was relieved to see Porter Willis walk in the door. “Well, well,” he said. “Here’s the sheriff, come in for his nightly visit.” That captured the immediate attention of both men.

  Forgetting Dewey for the moment, Booth and Jesse turned their attention toward the sheriff. After looking him over, they silently agreed that he would offer them no problem, if it came to that. Turning back to Dewey, Booth asked, “Where did Hawk go when he left here?”

  When Dewey replied that he had no idea, that Hawk didn’t say, Jesse asked, “Where does he stay when he’s in town? Maybe we can catch him there.”

  Dewey, who had been trying to signal Porter with his eyes to no avail, answered, “I’m awful sorry. I got no idea where he stays.”

  Booth gave him a hard look then. “Is there some reason you ain’t tellin’ me?”

  “No, friend,” Dewey exclaimed. “Why would you think that?”

  “’Cause of the way you’ve been blinkin’ your eyes at the sheriff,” Jesse answered him.

  “Ah no, friend,” Dewey quickly replied. “I didn’t know my eyes were blinkin’. I would sure help you find Hawk if I could, I just don’t know much about him. He don’t hit town very often.” He felt a measure of relief then when the sheriff finally walked over to the bar. “Evenin’, Sheriff,” he greeted him. “These two gentlemen are askin’ about Hawk. I told ’em I don’t have no idea where he stays.”

  “That’s right, Sheriff,” Booth said. “My brother and I are just passin’ through your town and we heard that Hawk was up this way. Maybe you know where we might find him. I think he’d be disappointed if he found out we were in town and didn’t even stop to say hello.”

  Just as skeptical as Dewey had been, Porter was immediately suspicious that these were the two men that Hawk had tracked from Wolf Creek. His problem was, he wasn’t sure what to do about it, even if there was anything he could do about it. There were no “wanted” papers out for two men meeting their description. All he had was Hawk’s story about the two men, and Hawk was not a representative of the law. He couldn’t arrest them, because there was no law against asking where someone was.

  “Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you any more than Dewey has,” Porter said. “John Hawk doesn’t come through here very often. And when he does, he never stays long. He was here this evenin’, got into a shootin’ with some stranger, and killed him. It wasn’t his fault, the stranger came after him, but I told him it would be best if he was to leave town. I ain’t got no idea where he went when he left town.” He glanced at the pained expression on Dewey’s face before looking back at Booth to judge whether or not they believed him. He wasn’t sure, so he hoped Hawk didn’t decide to come back to the saloon for a drink.

  Undecided at this point whether to suspect the sheriff and the bartender of lying about the whereabouts of Hawk, Booth wondered why they would want to protect him. He suspected they might have some reason to, otherwise, they would have given him up without concern. It was then that a woman behind the bar caught his attention. He had paid her no mind when he and Jesse first walked up to the bar. She had been at the other end of the long bar, seeming to pay no attention to them. He realized now that she had gradually moved up closer to them, and when the sheriff came over to the bar, she moved closer still. He was sure it was so she could hear the conversation between them and the sheriff. He suddenly had a hunch she could be of some help to them. He surprised Jesse then when he abruptly declared, “Well, I reckon we won’t get a chance to visit with our old friend this trip. Maybe we’ll just have to have a drink and get on our way.” He motioned to Dewey to pour another drink. “How ’bout a drink, Sheriff? I’m buyin’.”

  “Thanks just the same,” Porter declined. “I reckon I’d best keep a clear head.”

  Bertie Brown moved back down the bar and walked toward the kitchen. Booth followed her with his eyes until she disappeared into the kitchen. “Come on, Jesse, we need to go.” He didn’t wait to find out if Jesse was ready to leave but grabbed his arm to get him started. As soon as they were out the door, Jesse asked, “What in the hell lit a fire under your behind?”

  “Just follow me,” Booth said, and went directly to the corner of the building, leaving Jesse to follow, still waiting for an explanation. Within seconds, they saw Bertie go across the alley between the saloon and the barbershop, walking behind the buildings. “That’s what I thought. We need to follow that woman,” Booth said to Jesse. “I think she’s gonna lead us right to Mr. Hawk.”

  They hurried down the alley to the back corner of the barbershop in time to see Bertie striding deliberately behind the buildings. “She’s goin’ to the stables,” Jesse said when Bertie continued past the blacksmith’s shop. “That’s where he is!” They left the corner of the building and ran toward the stable, anxious to get there before Hawk could get away. Fueled by the fact that they were no longer running away from the relentless hunter, they were confident they would put an end to this problem for good.

  “Hold up!” Booth whispered when she disappeared into the barn. “We go runnin’ in there wide-open, we’re liable to walk right into an ambush.”

  “Circle around to the back of the barn,” Jesse said. “If he’s in there, she’s told him we’re comin’ by now. He’ll be waitin’ for us to come chargin’ in the front door of the barn.”

  “You’re right,” Booth declared, and pointed toward a stand of pines behind the corral. They angled off toward the trees at a fast trot, their eyes on the back door of the stable in case Hawk decided to make a run for it. Once they reached the pine trees, they stopped to make sure they hadn’t been seen. When there was no indication that they had been spotted, they moved through the trees to the corral behind the barn, then took cover at the back corner. Kneeling by the corner post, they watched the back door of the barn. There were more than a dozen horses in the corral, and as dark as it was, they provided a screen of sorts. Anyone looking out the rear barn door would not likely see the two men kneeling behind the back rails. After a few minutes with no sign of Hawk sneaking out the back way, their concern turned to wondering if he had gone out the front while they were sneaking around the back. “Maybe he’s gone, maybe he ain’t,” Booth speculated. “He might be hunkered down in there waitin’ for us to come bustin’ through the front door.”

  “If we set here, we’re gonna come up empty, that’s for sure,” Jesse said. “Let’s go in there and get him.”

  “Take it easy,” Booth told him. “Remember how he got Trip.”

  “Yeah, but I ain’t talkin’ ’bout chargin’ in there, out in the open, yellin’ my head off, like that dumb son of a bitch did,” Jesse said. “I say we can use these horses for cover and work our way all the way through ’em till we get right to the barn door. As dark as it is, it’d be pretty damn hard for anybody to see us. Then we can slip inside one of the back stalls till we find out where he’s hidin’ in there. If he’s hidin’ in there,” he added. “The longer we set here, the more I’m thinkin’ he ain’t in there at all.”

  “I don’t know, Jesse.” Booth hesitated, thinking that might be pushing their luck.

  “I’m goin’,” Jesse insisted. “I’m tired of that bastard on our tail everywhere we go. If he’s in there, he’s gonna have to shoot it out with me. Can I count on you to back me up, in case I have to come back out that door?”

  “You know you can,” Booth assured him, “like I always do.”

  “All right, let’s get the bastard,” Jesse said, and crawled through the rails of the corral, then start
ed working his way slowly through the horses.

  Booth followed a few yards behind him, trying to calm the horses as he went, afraid their milling about would alert anyone inside the barn. His six-gun in hand, he took cover behind a big buckskin gelding to watch Jesse crawl between the rails and quickly press his body against the wall of the stable. He signaled for Booth to come ahead. Still reluctant, Booth left the cover behind the buckskin and made his way to the corral rails and crawled through. When he moved up behind his brother, Jesse pointed to the back stall, which he could just see in the darkness through the open doors. “I’m gonna make a run for that stall,” he said. “When I get in there and make sure everything’s all right, I’ll signal you. Then we’ll work up to the front of the stable, stall by stall.”

  “Watch yourself,” Booth cautioned. “He’s a tricky bastard.” He was not sure this was a good idea, and gradually, that nagging feeling that he and his brother had crossed paths with an avenging disciple of the Quaker religion returned to trouble him. More likely he’s just another outlaw who wants that money for himself, he thought, just like we figured all along. “I’ll be right behind you,” he said to Jesse as his brother inched closer to the edge of the barn door.

  “Wait for my signal,” Jesse whispered, then pushed away from the edge of the door and ran across the open doorway. He made it to the middle of the opening before the blast of a shotgun broke the silence and knocked him down. Frozen by the shock of seeing his brother flat on the ground, Booth was unable to move for a long few seconds, the explosion of the shotgun blast seeming to continue ringing in his ears. The Colt .44 he held in his hand felt heavy and cold, and he thought he heard Jesse calling his name. After another moment, he heard it again.