Montana Territory

by Charles G. West

  “Booth,” Jesse cried out in agony as he struggled to pull himself up on his hands and knees. “I’m hurt bad,” he wailed painfully, bleeding from his face and chest, as he tried to pull himself back out of the open doorway. “Help me, Booth.”

  Booth had no intention of exposing himself to the same reception Jesse had run into. Undecided what to do, all thoughts turned to saving himself from the same fate. Still, he stood beside the back wall, frozen, while he heard Jesse’s pitiful pleas for help. Then there was another shotgun blast and Jesse’s cries were no more. Terrified at that point, he turned and ran as fast as he could, down the side of the corral, expecting a bullet to find him at any second. When he reached the pine trees, he remained in them, running until he thought he could safely leave them. Only then would he cut back to the alley that ran between the saloon and the barbershop, his fear driving him until he reached the horses tied at the rail. He untied the horses, climbed into the saddle, grabbed the reins of Jesse’s horse, and galloped off down the street toward the Capital City Saloon.

  Back at the stables, Grover Bramble broke his double-barreled shotgun and reloaded with two new shells. He suffered no qualms for having taken the man’s life. He might have given any intruder a dose of buckshot if they came sneaking into the back of his stable under the cover of darkness. But this time, he had been warned by Bertie Brown about the two men who were hunting Hawk. And Hawk was a friend of his. “You can come out now,” he called back over his shoulder. “The other one ran off behind the corral. I reckon I’d best shut this door now, seein’ as how it’s attractin’ vermin when it’s open.”

  Bertie came out of the tack room, where she had taken cover when Grover told her to hide. After Grover pulled the two doors together and dropped the bar to lock them, he took a lantern that was hanging on a post and lit it. She walked over beside him to look at the body. “That’s one of ’em, all right.” She felt a shiver over her whole body as she gazed down at the mutilated corpse. “That shotgun made a real mess out of him.”

  “At that range, buckshot usually does,” Grover commented. “Wonder how they knew Hawk was stayin’ here with his horse.” He thought about it for a moment, then said, “You didn’t hear Dewey say anything about it when he was talkin’ to ’em, did you?”

  “No,” she answered. “Dewey didn’t tell ’em anything. They musta followed me when I ran over to warn Hawk. Where is Hawk? I thought he was sleeping in the stall with his horse.”

  “He is,” Grover said. “He was here a little while ago, but he said he needed to go talk to Porter about somethin’. I reckon I need to talk to Porter now.” The words had no sooner left his mouth when they heard Hawk calling his name from the front of the barn. “Speak of the devil,” Grover quipped, then yelled in answer, “Back here in the stables.”

  In a few seconds, Hawk hurried into the stables with Porter Willis right behind him. “You all right, Grover?” Hawk asked. “Bertie?” he questioned, surprised to find her there. “We heard the two shots and came runnin’ to see if somebody shot Grover.” Then he saw the body lying just inside the back door and went at once to see who it was, even though he already had a good idea who it might be. “It’s one of the two I’ve been followin’,” he said. “I wonder how they knew I was here.”

  “I reckon you can thank me for that,” Bertie volunteered. “I ran down here to warn you that him and the other one was in the Last Chance askin’ Dewey all kinda questions about you. They were tryin’ to find out where you were.” She looked at him with a sheepish expression on her face. “I reckon I oughta learn to mind my own business.”

  “Who is this feller, Hawk?” Porter asked, still looking at the mess Grover’s shotgun had made of Jesse’s face. “And why was he after you?”

  “I don’t know who he is, for a fact,” Hawk said. “I just know what he’s done, him and the four outlaws that rode with him. And I expect he came after me because him and this Booth fellow finally got tired of runnin’. He’s definitely one of the two I was tellin’ you about when we heard Grover’s shotgun. I ain’t got no idea what his name is.”

  “Jesse,” Bertie volunteered. “That’s what the other one called him, and I heard him say this fellow was his brother.”

  “That’s right,” Porter said, just recalling. “He did say he was his brother.”

  This was Booth’s brother? Hawk’s mind was turning rapidly, thinking it critical that he get after Booth right away. According to what Grover just told them, Booth took off running, leaving his brother behind to die. “I need to saddle my horse,” he said. “If Booth is off and runnin’ again, I need to try to find him before he leaves town. He and his brother had to be stayin’ somewhere here in town.”

  “The Capital City Saloon,” Porter said quietly. “That feller you just shot was Billy Crocker. He was Mutt Crocker’s son, fellow that owns the saloon.” When Hawk looked a little startled, Porter quickly claimed, “I was gonna tell you that when we were talkin’ in my office, but that’s when we heard the gunshots and came runnin’.”

  “How long have you known that?” Hawk asked, more than a little irritated.

  “Not long,” Porter said. “Jim McDonald just told me. Said he was in the barbershop the other day when Billy Crocker came in to get a shave and a haircut. He was braggin’ to Alan Greer, said he was the fastest gun in the territory. I knew that Mutt Crocker mighta been on the wrong side of the law, but I never had any trouble with him. There mighta been some shady-lookin’ drifters that did business with him. But I didn’t know he had a son, and I sure didn’t know he was in town till today.” Porter could see that Hawk was thinking hard and fast, so he asked, “What are you fixin’ to do?”

  “I’m fixin’ to saddle my horse,” Hawk replied. “I hope to hell I can find him before he skips town.” Based on what Porter had just told him, he figured if he didn’t see that black Morgan gelding tied up anywhere on Main Street, it was a good bet Booth had been staying at the Capital City. Already a step ahead of him, Grover opened the back doors again and hurried to the corral to get Hawk’s horse. If it had not been for the visit from Jesse and Booth, Rascal would have already been inside his stall.

  Porter walked beside Hawk when he went into the tack room to get his saddle. “Maybe I’d best come along with you,” he said, “since I’m the sheriff. And maybe we can make an official arrest. Avoid more killin’, you know. Whaddaya think?”

  Hawk was short of patience at the moment. When he had gone to talk to Porter earlier, it was with the thought in mind that maybe he should ask for Porter’s help in apprehending the last two members of Booth’s gang. He was not at all comfortable as the self-designated assassin of Booth’s gang. He had been thinking that now that he might have the last two of them in a town with a sheriff, maybe it was time to bring an official lawman in and arrest them. And now, with Porter’s weak suggestion to do just that, he changed his mind. He was not confident in Porter’s ability and feared he might just be in the way.

  “I think you’ve got the responsibility of protecting the town from any more harm from this one man, and you might be best utilized by keepin’ a sharp watch on the town. Why don’t you deputize me and I’ll do my best to arrest Booth.”

  “Well, I hadn’t thought about that, but I reckon I could,” Porter said. “Like you said, it would be better if I keep my eye on the town. After all, that’s what I’m paid for. If I was to go with you, chasin’ after this fellow, somebody else might think they can get away with somethin’ ’cause I wasn’t here.” Feeling a great deal more comfortable now, he said, “I’ve got a deputy’s badge in my desk. We can make it official.”

  “Never mind the badge,” Hawk said, and stepped up into the saddle. “I’ve already wasted too much time.” He rode Rascal out of the stable.

  Porter called after him, “Don’t forget, arrest him if you can.”

  “Right,” Hawk bellowed. “But it’ll be up to him.” I hope to hell he refuses to be arrested, he thought as he cut Rascal towa
rd the back street and the Capital City Saloon. First, he reminded himself, he had to find Booth. It was nothing more than an assumption that Booth and his brother were staying at the Capital City. But it was a good bet since the saloon seemed to be the usual hangout for any outlaws passing through town. Had he known that when he first got to town, he would have checked that saloon first, instead of the two on Main Street.

  As he rode up to the two-story frame building sitting back on the lower side of town, he held Rascal to a fast walk while he looked the saloon over. There was a barn and a small corral behind the saloon, but there were no horses at the hitching rail out front. Doesn’t look like he’s got much business, he thought, which was a good thing in his opinion. A crowded bar wouldn’t be a good place to do what he had to do. David Booth was not his only problem, however. There was the matter of facing a father whose son he had just killed. Maybe I shoulda brought Porter, he thought.

  CHAPTER 20

  Mutt Crocker heard Booth’s horse when he rode around the house to the corral. He went to the back door in time to meet Booth just as he was coming in. “Did you get him?” Mutt asked. “I heard a couple of shots. Sounded like a shotgun to me. Where’s Jesse?”

  “He’s layin’ back there in the stables, dead,” Booth answered as he brushed on past Mutt, in a hurry to get upstairs to his room.

  “Jesse, dead?” Mutt blurted. “What the hell happened?” He followed Booth up the steps, scarcely able to believe what he had just heard. In all his years riding with the Corbin brothers, it was always somebody else who got killed. “You takin’ off?” he asked then when Booth hurriedly started gathering up his belongings. “How’d he get Jesse?”

  “It don’t matter,” Booth replied, still busy tying his extra shirt and socks up in his bedroll. “He got shot and he’s dead.”

  “Two shots from a shotgun,” Mutt insisted. “That’s all I heard. Didn’t you get a shot at him, at all?” He was forming a picture of Booth that he didn’t like, and he suspected Booth should have told him what a wildcat this Hawk fellow was. He wouldn’t have sent Billy in there to call Hawk out. He could have told Billy to set up somewhere and dry-gulch Hawk. He still hadn’t accepted the story as told to him by Fred, who also got it secondhand. Hawk must have tricked Billy somehow, just so he wouldn’t have to square off against him man-to-man. Now it sounded like Jesse tried to stand up to Hawk and he ended up like the three members of Booth’s gang before him. “How come you didn’t stand up to Hawk after he shot Jesse? Sounds to me like you turned tail and ran and hung ol’ Jesse out to dry.”

  That remark brought Booth’s head up abruptly. He dropped his bedroll on the bed and straightened up to his full height. “You’d best be careful, old man. You’re about to let your tongue get you in trouble. You weren’t there. You don’t know what happened. You’d do well to just leave it at that.”

  Mutt wasn’t satisfied to leave it at that. His first thought had been that Booth had a yellow streak down his back. But on second thought, it occurred to him that Booth was now the sole possessor of whatever score the gang had made that put them on the run. It must have been enough money to cause this fellow, Hawk, to stick on his trail like stink on a sow. He recalled Booth’s remark that Hawk had Tater’s share and should have been satisfied with that. Mutt decided that he should be compensated for the loss of his son. “You fixin’ to leave?” Mutt asked again.

  “I reckon I ain’t got much choice,” Booth said. “Hawk’s got too many friends in this town. Every place I go the people alibi for him, don’t nobody know a thing about him, so they say. It was just bad luck we picked a town to light in where he had so many friends.” He smiled smugly and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll pay you for what me and Jesse both owe you.”

  “I’m figurin’ you owe me a helluva lot more’n that,” Mutt replied. “And I’m pretty sure you can afford it. You owe me a cut of that money you’re settin’ on, now that there ain’t nobody left to split it with.”

  “What in the hell makes you think that?” Booth responded. “What money I’ve got is mine alone, same as it would be if I was the one got killed and Jesse ended up with the money. I don’t owe you squat. You’re lucky I’m willin’ to pay you for what we used in this rattrap you call a saloon.”

  “You owe me for the life of my son,” Mutt insisted. “It was on account of you and Jesse wantin’ somebody to do your killin’ for you ’cause you were too yeller to do the job yourself. You coulda told me how dangerous that man is.” He paused and waited for Booth’s reply. When there was none other than the same contemptuous smile, he asked, “How much money did you boys take from that bank? It musta been a helluva lot.”

  With a calm voice and a smile still on his face, Booth said, “It wasn’t a bank holdup. It was a mule train with a bunch of Bible-thumpin’ Quakers. They were carryin’ thirty-one thousand and three hundred dollars with ’em, to be exact, hopin’ to get to the promised land.”

  “That was you,” Mutt exclaimed, “killed all them folks!”

  “Every damn one of ’em,” Booth replied, arrogantly, “’cause there wasn’t any reason to let ’em live—same as you.” As he said it, he drew the .44 from his holster and aimed it at Mutt. “Say hello to Billy for me when you get to hell.” He pulled the trigger as Mutt tried to back out of the room.

  Mutt stumbled out into the hall before doubling up and collapsing to lay helpless on the floor. Booth walked out in the hall and stood over him as he casually cocked his pistol again. “Me and Billy’ll be waitin’ for you, you son of a bitch,” Mutt gasped before the fatal shot to his forehead quieted him forever.

  In a hurry to get out of the saloon now, what with the delay just caused by having to deal with Mutt, Booth picked up his few belongings and walked out the door. At the top of the stairs, he stopped when he saw Fred coming up, having heard the gunshots. Fred stopped at once, his head just about even with the second floor. He glanced at Mutt’s body lying on the hallway floor, then back at Booth gazing down at him, and backed slowly down the steps without saying a word. “Looks like you just inherited a saloon,” Booth sneered, and started down the steps. A frightened bystander, Loretta stood by the bar, her eyes wide with the sight of Booth, a mocking smile still firmly in place, as he came downstairs. She didn’t have to guess the explanation for the two shots just heard. Fred continued slowly backing away until he was stopped when he bumped into the end of the bar. The two of them stood frozen with fear as Booth casually came down and started toward the back door.

  Relieved that Booth had no intentions of killing him and Loretta, Fred finally permitted his brain to free him up. Mutt had speculated more than once about the large amount of money he was sure Booth and Jesse had amassed. It occurred to him that the money was now walking out the door, with Booth’s back turned toward him. He had no need to think further. He spun around the end of the bar and grabbed the shotgun propped there. Before he got the butt of it up to his shoulder, Booth turned and fired. For one instant, Fred looked down in disbelief at the hole in his shirt before he crumpled to the floor. Anticipating just such a move, Booth had pulled the extra six-gun from his belt before he reached the back door. Looking now at Fred to make sure he was no longer a problem, he then glanced at Loretta. “How ’bout you?” he asked. “You got any ideas?”

  Loretta immediately threw her hands up. “No, sir!” She exclaimed, “I’ve got no part in this.” He stuck the pistol back under his belt and went out the door.

  * * *

  Making his way cautiously up to the front corner of the corral, Hawk stopped when he heard gunshots from inside the saloon. While he paused to wonder what they might mean, he glanced at the black Morgan tied there. He’s planning to leave, he thought, since the horse was still wearing the saddle with the fancy etched designs on the skirts. While he thought to decide how best to approach his target, he then heard a third shot, this one from a different part of the saloon. He took another second to ponder what that might imply. It was still in his mind that
he would have to deal with Mutt Crocker as well as possibly the bartender and anyone else who worked for Crocker. He decided his odds were better if he waited to ambush Booth when he came for his horse, instead of going into the saloon after him.

  There were other thoughts that interfered with his mission to put a permanent stop to the cruel life of David Booth. He had given Porter Willis half a promise to capture Booth if at all possible, with all intent that it would not be possible. Porter was no doubt thinking of the prestige he might gain in his town by the arrest of the boss of the gang that massacred the Quakers. Aside from that, Hawk now had thoughts that it might be a better lesson for other outlaws of Booth’s nature to see him tried and hanged. I’ll give him a chance, but if he doesn’t surrender right away, he’s dead. With that decided, he waited.

  The wait was not for long. In a few minutes, the back door from the kitchen opened and Booth stepped out on the low porch. About to step down he was stopped when he heard Hawk’s warning. “You can hold it right there.” Gripped by the fear that had caused him to run, even as his brother was calling for his help, Booth was unable to move. Even more frightening was the fact that, due to the darkness behind the building, he could not see the man who haunted him. Then the voice came again from the dark. “I’m gonna give you a chance to surrender, so decide now. If you don’t surrender, you’re a dead man. So, what’s it gonna be?”

  Facing sudden death only a moment before, Booth realized that Hawk’s intention was not to shoot him down as he expected. Hawk wanted to arrest him. Although Booth’s situation was still desperate, he figured the odds were now in his favor. “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot! I’ll give up!” he blurted, dropped the belongings he was holding, and raised his hands.

  Hawk walked out of the shadows and ordered, “Turn around.” When Booth turned around, with his back to him, Hawk stepped up and removed the. 44 from his holster. Then he stepped back again and ordered, “All right, unbuckle that gun belt and let it drop.” While Booth’s back was still turned toward him, Hawk took a few steps to his right. Even though it was dark, he had seen the extra handgun Booth had stuffed under his belt. Expecting a desperate move on Booth’s part when he told him to turn back to face him, Hawk moved to make Booth’s attempted shot more difficult. He stood ready to execute the heartless killer when he made his move. Booth dropped his hands and unbuckled his gun belt and let it drop. Then his hand dropped to the extra gun and pulled it out of his belt. Behind him, Hawk leveled his rifle at him, ready to cut him down. He never got the chance. In the next instant, the blast from both barrels of Fred’s shotgun, through the open kitchen door, knocked Booth off the porch and dumped Loretta on her backside on the kitchen floor.