Massacre at Crow Creek Crossing

by Charles G. West

  “I’m just sorry we didn’t get there soon enough to help your husband,” he said, and turned to leave. Remembering his promise to help her, he said to Douglas, “Carrie’s got a couple of horses down at the stable, plus a mule and the sorrel she rode in on. I told Leon I’d talk to him about buyin’ ’em from her.”

  Green nodded and Cole followed Harley out the door.

  Carrie stood there, watching him go out the door, and once again felt abandoned. She turned to face her in-laws, discouraged by the awkward silence that suddenly dropped over the room. It was obvious that Douglas and Martha were trying hard to control their grief while confronted with a daughter-in-law they had never met before. She wished then that she had not come to Cheyenne. It was hard not to wonder why God had chosen once again to place her in a situation she desired not to be in. When she’d met Robert, she had thought that at last she could lead a normal life, married to a good man. Early in her life, she had made unfortunate choices that had caused her considerable grief. That was all behind her and forgotten when Robert asked her to marry him. And for the better part of a couple of years, it appeared that she had at last found peace and the comfort of a solid marriage. And now this. She wondered if Douglas and Martha would come to blame her for their son’s death.

  Further thoughts on the subject were interrupted when Martha spoke. “Come on, honey. I’ve got a few things to deliver to the postmaster’s wife. She’s been sick with a fever and I told her husband I’d stop by to see her before I went home. You can go with me if you want.” She took Carrie’s hand and led her to the back room of the store.

  Outside, Cole found Harley waiting. “That wasn’t a helluva lot of fun, was it?”

  “Reckon not.”

  * * *

  While Cole and Harley were delivering Carrie to the dry goods store, a couple of strangers pulled up short of the stables when something caught the eye of one of them. “You see what I see?” Troy Womack asked.

  “Where?” Travis responded.

  “Yonder,” Troy said and pointed at some horses tied up in front of the stable. “I ain’t ever seen another saddle like that Mexican rig Malcolm owned. But damned if that don’t look like one on that little roan, tied up beside that big Morgan.”

  “Damned if it don’t,” Travis quickly agreed, and both men became immediately alert.

  “We mighta just had us a big favor handed right to us,” Troy said. “I’m thinkin’ there just might be the initials, MW, cut into the left fender of that saddle. And if there is, we just mighta saved ourselves a long hunt.”

  There appeared to be no one around when they rode up to the hitching rail and dismounted.

  “That’s Malcolm’s saddle,” Travis said, certain of it before he even got to it. He lifted the saddle fender on the left side and peered at the bottom side of it. “By God,” he swore and held the fender up for Troy to see their brother’s initials, just as Leon walked out of the stable.

  “Somethin’ I can help you fellers with?” he asked, more than a little curious about their interest in Cole and Harley’s horses.

  “Yeah,” Troy answered. “Who’s the feller who owns this saddle?”

  “Harley Branch,” Leon answered before taking the time to decide if he should or not. Upon taking a closer look at the two men, he thought he might have made a mistake. So he quickly attempted to water his statement down. “Leastways, Harley was usin’ it today. He ain’t had it no time a’tall.”

  “Where is he?” Troy asked. “I need to talk to him.”

  “Why, I don’t rightly know,” Leon stuttered. “He just said he was gonna leave his horses. Didn’t say where he was goin’ or when he’d be back.”

  “Is that so?” Troy said. “So if I take a look in them stalls, I ain’t gonna find nobody back there, right?”

  “No sir,” Leon replied. “You’re welcome to take a look. There ain’t nobody back there but my son, Marvin. I ain’t got no reason to lie to you.”

  Troy stared at the suddenly nervous man for a few long moments before deciding he was telling the truth. Finally he said, “Come on, Travis, let’s go look in the saloons. Ain’t nobody hidin’ in them stalls. You’d recognize the son of a bitch if you saw him, wouldn’t you?”

  “I’m pretty sure I would,” Travis said, recalling the fearsome image he had beheld as he’d raced away from the small stream where his brother was killed. Clad in buckskins like a wild Indian, standing tall as a tree with his rifle raised, waiting for Malcolm to look up over the bank, he was a man Travis would not likely forget.

  They left the visibly shaken stable owner and started up the street, past the saddle shop, toward the first of three saloons. Having no reason to spend any time in that saloon because there were only a few customers in the small room, they left the Cowboy’s Rest and headed for the Sundown Saloon.

  “It’s still pretty early,” Travis said. “Maybe he’s gone to take supper at that hotel down at the end of the street.”

  “Maybe,” Troy allowed, “but we might as well look in those two saloons on the way.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Unaware of the remote possibility that someone was even now searching every saloon between the stables and the hotel with the intention of killing them, Cole and Harley sat at a table in the hotel dining room. Maggie Whitehouse made an extra effort to make them feel welcome.

  “Sure is good to see you back in town again,” she said to Cole. Then as an afterthought, she added, “You, too, Harley.” But her main interest was in Cole. Although Mary Lou had never admitted it, Maggie knew the real reason she had called off her wedding to Gordon Luck. And that reason was sitting at the table right now. “When you left here, we thought you and Harley were heading up in the mountains for good.”

  “I reckon that was more or less what we had in mind,” Cole admitted. “But we hadn’t figured on meetin’ up with Carrie Green, so we had to make sure she got back here to Crow Creek Crossin’ all right.”

  There were a couple of things that Maggie wanted to say before Mary Lou returned from the kitchen with a fresh pot of coffee, so she didn’t hesitate. “If Mary Lou hadn’t told me you were back, I mighta had to take a second look to make sure that was you.” Puzzled by the remark, Cole merely shrugged, and Maggie continued. “You looked pretty much like an Indian when you walked in the door. I suppose that’s natural when you’re living up in the mountains with nobody but the squirrels and bears, and Harley, here, for company. I expect you’ll be cutting your hair short again, now that you’re back with the white folks. First thing you know, people will be worried about losing their scalps when you walk in the door.” She forced a chuckle to make him think she was just teasing him.

  Cole exchanged glances with Harley, puzzled by Maggie’s seemingly meandering conversation. She acted as if she had never seen a man wearing buckskins before, and he didn’t really care if people thought he was an Indian or not. He preferred to go clean-shaven, like the Crow men, instead of wearing hair all over his face, like Harley. The length of his hair didn’t bother him as long as it was woven into two long braids, so as not to be in his way. Maggie always was a little strange, he figured, but then, again, most women were, and that included Mary Lou, who came from the kitchen at that moment.

  “I’ll try not to take any scalps while I’m in town this time,” he declared, in answer to Maggie’s comment, and winked at Harley.

  Dumb as a stump, Maggie thought when it was obvious Cole was not aware she was hinting that he should do away with his wild-man look and return to the old civilized Cole Bonner. “Well, I’ll get back to the kitchen,” she announced to Mary Lou when she started to pour the coffee.

  “Now, that surely hits the spot,” Harley said after taking a sip of the steaming hot liquid. “You must have a special way of boilin’ it.”

  “Well, I’m glad you find it satisfactory,” Mary Lou responded. “We wouldn’t want you going around telling folks our coffee wasn’t good.” Although trading playful comments with Harley, h
er eyes were cocked toward Cole, who sat silently studying her face.

  Arthur Campbell had said that Mary Lou had called off her wedding with Gordon Luck. The news had caused Cole’s brain to go numb at the time. He could have been truthful just now, when Maggie inquired about his plans to remain in the mountains for good. He could have admitted that he was prompted to retreat to the wilderness when Mary Lou had told him that she had accepted Luck’s proposal of marriage. He could only speculate on the reason for her change of mind, and he was lacking the confidence to express his feelings for her. Further thoughts on the matter were suddenly interrupted when they were startled by a piercing scream from the street outside.

  Jolted from thoughts of Mary Lou, Cole came out of his chair, along with all the other diners in the room, and went to the window to seek the cause for the scream. What he saw caused him to snatch up his rifle, yell to Harley, “It’s Carrie!” and ran for the door.

  In the moments before Carrie screamed, Troy and Travis Womack had walked out of The Sidewinder Saloon and climbed onto their horses when suddenly Travis reined his horse back hard. “It’s her!” he’d blurted. “It’s her! That’s the woman!” He’d pointed to a buckboard, pulling out from behind the dry goods store with two women in it.

  “Who?” Troy demanded. “What woman?”

  “The one me and Malcolm had! Carrie Green, the one that son of a bitch took from us.”

  Carrie had screamed when she’d recognized Travis.

  He gloated, “Well, ain’t that somethin’?” An evil grin spread across his face, pleased when he saw the horror reflected on the young woman’s face. “Hello, Buttercup,” he said, even though she was too far away to hear him.

  “Well, shut her up before she gets the sheriff on us!” Troy ordered, and they both galloped to cut the buckboard off. But it was too late. John Henry Black was coming out of the hotel at that point, just in time to see them racing toward the two women.

  Martha Green fought to control her horse when the animal reared back to avoid the charging riders amid screams of terror from Carrie.

  Running, Sheriff Black yelled at the two riders, “Hold it right there! Rein those horses back!” He drew his weapon to show he meant business. Troy Womack was quick to respond. Two shots from the gunman’s .44 caused the surprised sheriff to fall to his knees and collapse on the boardwalk.

  Seeing the sheriff go down, Travis pulled up beside the buckboard and reached for Carrie.

  “Leave her, damn it!” Troy yelled at him. “We’ve got to get the hell outta here!” Without waiting to see if his brother followed, he wheeled his horse and galloped away.

  “I want her,” Travis replied, “and she ain’t gettin’ away this time.”

  Carrie tried to fight back, but his grip was too strong until he suddenly let go with the simultaneous thud of the first of two .44 rifle slugs that slammed into his body. He slid from his horse as it bolted away after Troy’s.

  Cole cranked another round into the chamber as he ran from the dining room door in an attempt to get a clear shot at the fleeing brother. But he was not in time to take it before Troy, leading a packhorse, galloped out of sight between the saddle shop and the post office. Concerned then for Carrie, Cole turned and ran back to the buckboard, pausing only a moment to make sure Travis was no longer a threat. He reached the buckboard a step or two behind Douglas Green, who had run from his store and was trying to calm the horse down.

  Once the horse was under control, Douglas and Cole went to the aid of the two distraught women while Harley, only a few steps behind Cole, went to check on the sheriff.

  “It was him!” Carrie cried when Cole asked if she was all right. “He came to get me!” she exclaimed, thinking that Travis had somehow followed her to Cheyenne.

  Recovering from her fright more quickly than Carrie, Martha put her arm around the shaken girl’s shoulders and held her close. “We’re all right now. You’re safe now.”

  “That’s right,” Cole said. “He ain’t gonna bother you no more. He’s dead.” He turned when he heard Harley yell.

  “The sheriff’s alive,” Harley declared as he knelt beside the wounded lawman. “But we’d best get him to the doctor right away. He’s bleedin’ pretty bad, got two bullet holes in him.”

  “Put him on the buckboard,” Douglas said. “We’ll take him to Doc Marion’s.”

  Cole went at once to help Harley carry the wounded man. They laid him as gently as they could in the back of the buckboard as Douglas climbed aboard and took the reins from his wife.

  “Better hurry, Douglas,” Arthur Campbell said, running up to join them after having witnessed the shooting from the door of his hotel. “We can’t afford to lose him. First Jim Thompson, now John Henry. We’ll have a helluva time replacing him.”

  Douglas turned the horse, and with the two women crowded in the seat beside him, headed toward the edge of town to the doctor’s office. Wedged in between her in-laws, Carrie turned to gaze over her shoulder at Cole. It was a frightened look of distress like that of a child who was being taken from her parents, and Cole couldn’t help feeling a little concerned for her. She was safe from the man who wanted to violate her, but she had yet to find what her life would be with parents she had never known. He guessed it was a natural emotion that she had come to feel safe with Harley and him. She’ll be all right, once she gets to know them, he told himself.

  A sizable crowd of spectators had gathered, now that the shooting appeared to be over. Most of them were gathering around the body of young Travis Womack.

  In a minute or two, Horace Smith, a barber who also served as an undertaker, showed up to gawk at the dead gunman. “Reckon it’s up to me to haul him off and bury him,” he said and looked around at the gathering as if waiting for someone to offer payment for his services.

  Since it was obvious that no one saw it as their responsibility to help out, he sighed and muttered, “I’ll go get my wagon.”

  “He’s wearin’ a Colt .44 and a gun belt full of cartridges,” Cole spoke up. “That oughta help cover your expenses.”

  “Why, yes sir, that would, indeed,” Horace had assumed that Cole would strip the body of those things, as well as any other valuables, since he was the one who shot him. “I thank you very kindly.” It was a fair assumption on his part, for Cole, being a practical man, was not above claiming the spoils resulting from his shooting.

  He hoped to pick up the dead man’s horse for his part. He turned when Arthur Campbell walked up to him.

  “Reckon we’ve seen the last of that fellow?” Campbell asked. “You think he’ll make another try to get that woman?”

  “I don’t know,” Cole said. “I ain’t so sure it was Carrie they came after. They mighta been lookin’ for me, since I shot his brother and took Carrie away from them.” The thing that baffled him was how they knew he would be in Cheyenne.

  “I’m thinking there ain’t no way we can be sure we won’t get another visit from that gunman,” Campbell said, “and maybe lose another one of our citizens.”

  Harley cocked his head around to catch Cole’s eye. Like Cole, Harley knew what Campbell was getting at.

  Cole paused a long moment before responding. When he spoke, it was with a deadly sense of responsibility. “I know what you’re gettin’ at, and I don’t reckon I blame you, but I ain’t no lawman.”

  “You’re the only man with the guts and the skill to track him down,” Campbell insisted. “He shot our sheriff. There ain’t nobody else to do it. We’re trying to build a respectable town, and we’re making good progress. We can’t let drifters and gunmen think they can come here and have their way. As mayor, I can appoint you sheriff, if that’s what bothers you.”

  “What if he gets me before I get him?” Cole asked. “You’re makin’ a risky bet.”

  “I’ve seen you in action,” Campbell said.

  “Ain’t much else we can do here to help right now,” Cole said to Harley. “I’m gonna go back to the stable and get my horse.�
�� He nodded toward Travis’s body. “I wanna see if I can run his horse down before it wanders off somewhere. Maybe it didn’t get too far before it quit runnin’.” He turned back to Campbell. “I’ll go after that fellow, because I reckon I’m the one that caused your sheriff to get shot. I won’t be needin’ a badge.”

  “I figured that,” Harley said. “I’ll be ready to ride, but I need to get a little drink to warm my insides first.” He nodded toward the closest saloon, the Cowboy’s Rest. He was confident that Cole didn’t need him to go after one man, so he was counting on Cole to say as much. As often happened of late, he was afraid he might slow him down, and after the gunfight just ended in the street, he felt the need for a drink.

  Cole figured as much. “Why don’t you stay here and help Carrie sell her horses? She’d most likely appreciate it. And I ain’t got no idea how long I’m gonna be gone.”

  Leon Bloodworth, who had come running to join the spectators, fell in step beside Cole as he walked back to get his horse. “Looked like that one feller was after the lady,” Leon said, “but they was after you and Harley.”

  “How do you know that?” Cole asked. “How’d they know I was in town?” Having recognized the man he had just shot for the second time—this time for good—he could believe that Travis was hunting him. But surely they could not have followed him to Medicine Bear’s village, waited him out, then followed him to Cheyenne.

  “Tell you the truth, I don’t think they did know you were here,” Leon said. “They looked mighty surprised when they spotted that fancy saddle of Harley’s. Asked me who rode in on that horse, and where he was. I told ’em it belonged to Harley before I thought about what I was sayin’. But I told ’em I didn’t have no idea where he was. So that’s who they were lookin’ for, the man who had that saddle.”

  That sounded plausible to Cole. The Mexican saddle was the spark that had set off the shoot-out. And poor Carrie had just happened to ride into the scene at the wrong time. He was well aware that neither Carrie nor Harley was the real target. According to what Carrie had told him, the men who’d killed her husband and carried her off were two of a three-brother clan. He had to give serious thought to the possibility that the one who had just escaped was the third brother and would make another attempt to avenge his brothers.