The Devil's Waltz

by Ethan J. Wolfe

  “I figured,” Posey said. “I want you to do something for me if I don’t make it back. Dig up the money and take it down to Nuevo and give it to a woman named Pilar Lobos. Her family has a small farm right outside of town.”

  “Why?” Dale asked.

  “Because I’m asking you to.”

  “No, stupid, why this woman?” Dale said. “Who is she?”

  “If I make it back, she’s going to be my wife.”

  “The hell you say.”

  “Will you do that for me if I don’t make it back?”

  “All right, Jack.”

  “We leave in the morning for the Bighorns,” Posey said. “And I swear I’ll be back with Erin.”

  “Jack, you can wear that badge permanently,” Dale said.

  Posey grinned. “The hell you say.”

  Dale sighed. “On the way out, Jack, tell the doctor I could use some morphine.”

  After supper, Posey, Scout, and Sarah sat in chairs on the porch. Posey and Scout had cups of coffee.

  Posey rolled a cigarette.

  “We’ll be leaving first thing tomorrow,” Posey said.

  “Tomorrow is Sunday,” Sarah said. “The railroad doesn’t run until noon. Most of the town will be at services to pray for Erin. I expect you and Mr. Scout to attend as well.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Scout said.

  “Jack, my daughter can’t die at the age of eight,” Sarah said. “Without knowing what it’s like to have a boy kiss her for the first time. To fall in love and marry and have children and a home of her own. To grow old with the man she loves and someday have grandchildren. She can’t be cheated out of her life, Jack.”

  “I’ll get her back, Sarah,” Posey said. “I promise.”

  “Don’t promise,” Sarah said. “Promises can be broken. Swear.”

  Posey nodded. “I swear.”

  Sarah sighed and stood up. “I’m going to visit Dale,” she said. “I won’t be long.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  * * *

  Sarah concluded her hour-long service by saying, “As most of you know, my daughter has been kidnapped by the outlaws Tom Spooner and Pepper Broussard. As they did so, my husband, Dale, was severely wounded. Dale’s brother, Deputy Marshal Jack Posey, and his associate, an army scout, will leave this afternoon to pursue the outlaws and bring them to justice and return my daughter home. I would like everybody to bow their heads and say a silent prayer for their success.”

  The standing-room-only crowd bowed their heads for a moment of silence.

  Sarah looked at Posey, and he nodded to her.

  After loading their horses onto the boxcar of the three-car train, Posey and Scout walked along the platform to where Sarah, John, and Evan waited.

  “John, you look after your mother until we get back,” Posey said. “And Evan, you look after John.”

  Sarah stared at Posey. She reached into her handbag and removed a small doll with golden hair. “This is Erin’s favorite doll,” she said and gave it to Posey.

  Posey nodded, took the doll, and then boarded the train.

  “We’ll be back,” Scout said and followed Posey.

  As the only two passengers on the special train, tickets weren’t required, but the conductor was on board, as he was in charge of the train.

  “We’ll be leaving any minute,” he said. “It will take us about fourteen hours to reach Cheyenne, so I made sure we have plenty of hot coffee and sandwiches.”

  “Obliged to you and the railroad,” Posey said.

  “No thanks necessary, Marshal,” the conductor said. “That son of a bitch robbed us three times in two years.”

  The train slowly moved forward. Posey looked out the window at Sarah, John, and Evan. He made brief eye contact with Sarah, and she nodded at him.

  Posey opened his eyes when the door of the car slammed shut. Outside his window it was dark. In the seat opposite him, Scout yawned.

  The conductor rolled a cart to their seats.

  “Hot coffee and sandwiches,” the conductor said. “Two for each.”

  Posey dug out his pocket watch and checked the time. It was a few minutes past midnight. “How long to Cheyenne?” he asked.

  “I figure we’ll arrive around four in the morning,” the conductor said. “I’ll be back later for the cart,” he said and left the car.

  Posey took a sandwich and cup of coffee, as did Scout. Thick slices of roast beef between hunks of crusty bread, warm to the touch.

  “The railroad people know how to live,” Scout said.

  “How long do you figure it will take us to reach Buffalo from Cheyenne?” Posey asked.

  “Two days and a bit, from the look of the maps,” Scout said.

  “We’ll need to pick up supplies for a week in Cheyenne,” Posey said.

  “And then some,” Scout said.

  Posey ate some of his sandwich and washed it down with coffee.

  “How do you figure Spooner knew where to go grab the little girl?” Scout asked.

  “We go back to the war, the three of us,” Posey said. “I rode with Spooner afterwards for a spell until we parted ways. He must have figured it was me down in Mexico and that I would spare the boy. He must have figured the boy would tell me about the Bighorns. He took the girl to make sure I’d show up, and we’d put an end to it instead of dragging it out.”

  “Would he really kill that girl if he saw you wasn’t alone?”

  “Him and Broussard, and not think twice.”

  “Then he best not see me,” Scout said.

  The train arrived in Cheyenne a few minutes past four in the morning. A major hub for the railroad expansion west, the city’s four thousand residents were mostly asleep. Those who were awake worked for the railroad.

  Chief of Railroad Police Jess Stockton and four of his men greeted Posey and Scout on the station platform.

  “Marshal Posey, I’m Jess Stockton, Chief of Railroad Police. These are my deputies,” Stockton said. “I got a warm office with beds in the back where you can wait for sunrise. My men will tend to your horses.”

  “It’s a mite chilly here this morning,” Scout said.

  “This is Wyoming,” Stockton said. “Every morning here is a mite chilly.”

  Posey and Scout slept for several hours and awoke around seven in the morning. Stockton had a pot of coffee waiting for them on the Franklin stove in the office.

  Posey filled two cups, gave one to Scout, and took a chair behind one of four vacant desks.

  “We’ll pick up supplies as soon as the general store opens,” Posey said. “Let’s have another look at the map.”

  Scout went to his saddlebags in the corner of the office, brought the map to the desk, and spread it out in front of Posey.

  “Do you think we need a compass?” Posey asked.

  “No,” Scout said. “What we need is a plan.”

  “How are you at night tracking?” Posey asked.

  “Don’t matter to me,” Scout said.

  The office door opened and Stockton walked in. “Can I interest you gentlemen in some breakfast?” he asked.

  At the restaurant in the lobby of the Hotel Cheyenne, Posey, Scout, and Stockton had breakfast.

  “I’m offering the services of the railroad police,” Stockton said. “As Spooner is wanted for train robbery, it makes it my jurisdiction.”

  “Spooner has kidnapped a young girl. My brother’s daughter,” Posey said. “If he sees anybody but me, he’ll kill her for sure. I don’t even know how I am going to hide Scout here, much less a bunch of railroad police.”

  “I see,” Stockton said.

  “I been thinking about those cattle they stole that time the boy told us about,” Scout said. “He said they rustled them cattle in Casper. That means there has to be a back-door pass in the mountains to his hideout south of Buffalo.”

  “I go in the front door while you take the back?” Posey said. “It would take some planning.”

  “It would,” Scout admit
ted.

  “If me and some of my men took the back door with your man here, they’d never see us coming,” Stockton said.

  “It could work,” Scout said. “With some planning.”

  “Got any detailed maps of the Bighorns?” Posey asked Stockton.

  Scout traced a path with his finger on a detailed map on Stockton’s desk. “From Casper to Buffalo looks about two days’ ride and a bit,” he said. “The boy put the entrance to Spooner’s hideout about here.” Scout moved his finger along the map. “Halfway along the red cliffs to a V-notch box canyon.”

  Stockton examined the map closely. “It’s not on the map, this canyon.”

  “No, it wouldn’t be,” Scout said. “They probably found it by accident, or maybe the Cheyenne or Crow know about it and showed them the way for a price.”

  Posey rolled a cigarette, lit it with a wood match, and studied the map.

  “I think I can find the box canyon by myself,” Posey said. “Scout, if you take Stockton and his men and can find the back door near Casper and give me three days to find the front door, you can come up behind their hideout and wait for me.”

  “Leave you out there alone?” Scout said. “Spooner could have more than just Broussard with him.”

  “Not guarding the back door,” Posey said. “Spooner probably will have men keeping watch close to the hideout to warn Spooner and not to take me out. He wants that pleasure for himself. I have to go in alone, or Spooner and Broussard will kill the girl for sure. I can’t allow that.”

  “If you don’t make it?” Stockton asked.

  “Do what you can to save the girl, but don’t risk her life,” Posey said.

  “Say we find the back door of the hideout, how long do we wait for you, and how will we know if you made it?” Stockton asked.

  “Find a good place to watch the rear of the cabin from a safe distance and watch for Spooner’s men riding in from the north to warn him,” Posey said.

  Stockton looked at Posey.

  “What did you do in the war, Marshal?” Stockton asked.

  “Advance scout for Sherman, mostly on his march to the sea,” Posey said.

  Scout and Stockton stared at Posey.

  “And so was Tom Spooner,” Posey said. “Why do you think no one has caught him?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  * * *

  After a hard day’s ride north to Casper, they made camp close to sundown and built a fire to cook hot food.

  Posey, Scout, Stockton, and four of his men sat around the campfire and drank coffee while they waited for the food to cook.

  “We should reach Casper by early evening tomorrow,” Scout said. “I should be able to find that back door by the time you reach Buffalo.”

  “I’ll need two days to find the hideout once I reach Buffalo,” Posey said. “When you see Spooner’s lookouts come running, you’ll know I arrived.”

  “What makes a man like Tom Spooner do the things he does?” Stockton asked. “You rode with him, Marshal, why?”

  Posey sipped some coffee. “When we returned home to our farms in Missouri after the war, we found Rebel sympathizers had murdered our families and burned our homes. We fought a war to save the country and came home to nothing but misery. It turns a man bitter.”

  Scout and Stockton looked at Posey.

  “We set out together to get revenge on those that done it,” Posey said. “We took our revenge upon the south, robbing and burning whatever and wherever we could, but after a time I realized there was nobody to take our revenge on, so I went my separate way from Spooner. But old Tom, he just kept at it, and I believe it’s because he developed a taste for the bloodshed. I believe he thinks the more blood he sheds, the more he gets even for what was done to him. He doesn’t, of course. He is not of right mind. I never met Broussard, but I’d guess he has the same taste for blood as Spooner. I can’t guess as to his reasons. Maybe he was just born bad.”

  “I hear of a boy named Jim Miller who shot and killed both his grandparents when he was just eight years old in Evant, Texas, for no reason,” Scout said. “A boy that could do that is like you said, just born bad.”

  “Wasn’t John Wesley Hardin charged with his first murder at the age of sixteen?” Stockton asked.

  “Believe he was,” Scout said.

  “I guess it doesn’t really matter how young they start, sooner or later they all wind up like Wild Bill Hickok,” Stockton said.

  Hearing the name Hickok brought to Posey’s mind Calamity Jane and the sadness she carried in her heart. Wasted life will do that to a person.

  “Food’s ready, gentlemen, let’s eat,” Stockton said.

  Posey kept his mind blank as he followed Scout’s lead. To his right was Stockton and behind them Stockton’s men. Conversation wasn’t necessary and barely a word was spoken all day.

  As they rode, it became clear to Posey that Scout was an incredible tracker. He had an uncanny sense of direction and didn’t need to check the sun to keep on path. He could tell the time just by looking at shadows made by the horses or a tree.

  Late in the afternoon, Scout pulled up.

  “We made good time,” Scout said. “Casper is less than an hour to the east. We can resupply and split up in the morning.”

  “I’ll take one of my men into town for supplies,” Stockton said. “Marshal, do you want anything particular?”

  “Cornbread, if they have it, and tobacco and paper. I’m running low,” Posey said.

  Around a campfire, Stockton opened the bottle of bourbon whiskey he picked up in Casper and added an ounce to each coffee cup.

  “The shopkeeper said this whiskey came all the way from Kentucky,” Stockton said. “When men ride together on a mission like we are now, they deserve a decent drink to end the night with.”

  Posey sipped his bourbon-laced coffee.

  “Have you men ever heard of tequila?” he asked.

  After breakfast, they broke camp and shook hands.

  “Give me four days, and keep watch on the back door,” Posey said.

  “You’ll have it,” Scout said.

  Posey pulled the Sharps rifle from his saddle and tossed it to Scout. “Are you any good with this?” he asked.

  “Not so good as you, but I can hold my own,” Scout said.

  “You’ll need this then,” Posey said and tossed Scout the box of Sharps ammunition.

  Scout nodded. “Good luck, Marshal.”

  “You too,” Posey said and mounted his horse.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  * * *

  Posey kept his mind free of outside thoughts as he rode north toward Buffalo. There wasn’t room for thoughts of Pilar, or anything else for that matter, except for Tom Spooner and Pepper Broussard.

  Posey knew he would be riding into a trap. He knew Spooner and how the man acted and thought. He relied upon his army training to plan his jobs and escapes. He was a lot like Jesse and Frank James in that regard. Guerrilla warfare with a planned route of escape.

  It was the advantage of surprise Spooner relied upon. His last job in Texas, robbing the railroad payroll, probably took a month or more of planning the attack and the escape to Nuevo.

  Once Posey fouled his escape route, Spooner realized that to successfully pull off the payroll robbery, he needed to sacrifice his own men. And he did so willingly.

  Word must have reached him somehow that Posey was paroled and working for his brother and that it was Posey in Nuevo, so in order to set a trap for him, Spooner needed an edge.

  Always have an edge against your opponent. In terrain, the high ground, superior numbers, and the element of a surprise attack at dawn; battles are won and lost on an edge.

  That’s how Jesse James was defeated in Minnesota. He lost his edge when the entire town turned out to be armed and ready to fight. Lose your edge and lose the fight.

  Spooner’s edge was Erin.

  He knew Posey would never do anything to endanger the life of Erin.

  The sun
was hot on his back, and he paused briefly to rest the horse and eat a cold lunch of cornbread, jerky, and water.

  After eating, he rolled a cigarette from the fresh tobacco pouch and smoked in the shade of a tall tree.

  Finished with the cigarette, he went to the horse and gently rubbed his powerful neck for a few moments.

  “It occurs to me that after all the riding we’ve done together, I failed to give you a proper name,” Posey said. “Well, you got the heart of a lion and the tenacity of a bear. I’ll call you Bear, how’s that?”

  Responding to Posey’s voice and touch, the newly named Bear turned his neck and looked at him.

  “Bear it is,” Posey said and mounted the saddle.

  Late in the afternoon, Posey, riding in a northwest direction, noticed a group of Indians in the high ground to his left. They followed him but kept their distance. They were too far away for him to identify what tribe they belonged to, but if they meant him harm, they would have done so already.

  Near dusk, Posey decided to make camp for the night. He built a large fire and put on coffee, bacon, and beans. While the food cooked, he hobbled Bear and gave him a good brushing.

  Then he sat with a cup of coffee and a cigarette and waited.

  The Indians arrived and stopped fifty feet in front of the fire. One dismounted and approached Posey.

  Posey stood.

  As the Indian came into the light of the fire, Posey saw he was a handsome man and wearing the shirt of an army sergeant.

  “I am White Buffalo of the North Cheyenne and scout for the soldiers at Miles City,” White Buffalo said. “We set out a month ago on patrol.”

  “You’re a long way from home,” Posey said.

  “I am,” White Buffalo said.

  “I am called Jack Posey,” Posey said.

  “You wear the star of the lawman,” White Buffalo said.

  “I do,” Posey said. “Federal marshal. Will you sit and share a meal with me? I have fresh cornbread.”