“We’re goin’ back,” he finally announced, and started walking, leading his weary horse.
* * *
By the time the three outlaws returned to Miles City, the whole town was abuzz with the news that Mace Yeager was dead. As they walked their horses slowly down to the stables, every window along the way had at least one pair of eyes watching and wondering. The death of Mace was looked upon as a step in the right direction by most of the town’s citizens. And the question to be answered now was how it would impact their town.
As for Clint Cooper, he was an unknown factor. Would he stalk Simon? Or was his trouble only with Mace, and now that it had been settled, would that be the end of it?
“Well, one thing,” Horace Marshall said to his wife as he watched the hated three ride slowly by, “they aren’t leading a horse with Clint Cooper’s body on it. And they would be if they had caught up with him.” It was Yeager’s practice to display the bodies of his victims.
The first person to find out for sure was Jim Duffy. “Did you catch up with Cooper?” he asked when they pulled up before the stable and dismounted. Yeager didn’t answer right away, instead taking his time to pull the saddle off the dun.
“No,” he finally answered. “The son of a bitch got away, but I’ll get him. He’ll pay for murderin’ my brother.” He fixed Jim with a chilling stare. “Nobody gets away with that.”
He pulled his saddlebags and started walking toward the Trail’s End. Curly and Blankenship followed along behind. Jim stood there for a few moments before returning to the stables, a smile of satisfaction on his face. One of the hated pair was dead, Clint Cooper had gotten away, and he had played a key part ensuring Clint’s escape.
Not a bad day’s work, he thought.
* * *
At about the same time the three outlaws reached the front door of the saloon, the object of their pursuit was in the care of the somber Crow woman at the Double-V-Bar. Working silently, Rena probed deeply enough to extract the bullet that had lodged itself in the muscle in Clint’s side. He had been mercifully unconscious for much of the procedure, but awoke during the sewing up of the wound in painful confusion.
Thinking that Simon Yeager had somehow caught up with him and was torturing him, he tried to get up from the bed. It took the strong hands of both the Indian woman and Ben Hawkins to hold him down on the bed.
“Easy, Clint; easy, boy,” Ben said, much as he would calm a horse he was trying to saddle-break.
Gradually Clint’s brain began to come back to reality, and he looked up at the solemn woman bending over him, working intently to finish her suturing as fast as she could.
“Rena?” he questioned. “Where the hell am I?” She shifted her gaze only momentarily to meet his, then, without answering, went back to her task.
“You’re in the house,” Ben said to him, “in Rena’s room. She’s gonna take care of you, help you heal up. She’s done took the bullet out, and now you’re just gonna have to get your strength back. You lost too much blood, but Rena knows how to fix you up. Right, Rena?”
She tied a knot in her thread and clipped the ends with her scissors before answering. “I make you well,” she said, looking directly into his eyes. “In the morning, I go to river, pick plants for medicine. You heal good, eat meat, build blood. You’ll see.”
Ben nodded and laughed. Clint started to but checked it when it caused him pain. Neither man had heard the stoic Indian woman say that many words at one time.
“If you’re done with me, I reckon I need to get outta your room,” Clint suggested weakly, knowing that he was going to have to be carried to accomplish it.
“You stay here,” Rena said. “Not strong yet.”
Clint tried to protest but found himself too weak to push the issue. “For a little while,” he muttered painfully. “Then I can make it.” He relaxed then and lay back.
Concerned, Ben asked her how long she expected Clint to occupy her bed, and what she was going to do in the meantime. She didn’t seem worried about the inconvenience to herself and was about to answer when Hope suggested that she could move into her room while Clint was recovering.
“No,” Rena said. “I stay here. Sleep on floor.” Her expression seemed to signify that the matter was settled. Hope exchanged glances with Ben; then they both shrugged. “I go cook now,” Rena said. “He need rest.” She picked up the blood-soaked towels and old sheets she had cut bandages from, put them in the basin of bloody water, then went to the door and held it for them to leave. After they left, she closed the door. “He need rest,” she repeated.
“It’s mighty hard to argue with that woman,” Ben commented to Hope when they returned to the kitchen while Rena went outside to empty the basin.
“I can’t believe she wants him to stay in her room,” Hope said.
“Looks to me like she wants to make sure he’s took care of good and proper,” Ben said. “I reckon that’s the best thing for Clint, anyway. She always favored him more’n the rest of the crew.”
“How’s he doing?” Raymond Valentine asked as he came into the room.
“He’s gonna make it all right,” Ben assured him. “He’s a tough son of a gun.”
“Good,” Valentine said. “I want you to take charge of the men while he’s healing up.”
“I figured,” Ben replied.
* * *
Major John Kinsey looked up when the sergeant on duty rapped lightly beside the open door to his office. “Sir, there’s a fellow out here wants to see you. Says he’s the sheriff in Miles City.”
Kinsey frowned. “I didn’t know they had a sheriff there. What’s he want?”
“I don’t know, sir. Somethin’ about a murder in the town. He said he’d explain it to you,” Wilson said.
“All right,” Kinsey said. “Send him in.” He got to his feet and stood behind his desk while Wilson motioned for the sheriff to come in. Yeager entered the office and the major motioned toward a chair. “I’m Major Kinsey. What is it I can do for you? You say you’re the sheriff in Miles City?”
“Yes, sir,” Simon replied. “I’m Sheriff Yeager. I came to see if I can get some help from the army.”
“Help with what?” Kinsey asked. His first impression of the sheriff was not a particularly approving one. The man looked as rough as any road agent one might see on trial in a territorial courtroom.
I suppose it takes a pretty rough-cut individual to uphold the law in a frontier town, he conceded.
“Well, sir,” Yeager said, “the town’s been havin’ trouble with a wild bunch of cowhands from the Double-V-Bar, raisin’ hell, threatenin’ the town-folk, and such wild stuff as that. I’ve done the best I can to keep the peace, but yesterday one of the worst ones, feller name of Clint Cooper, came into town and shot my deputy down. Murdered him right in broad daylight, right in the middle of the street. Well, me and a couple of posse men went after him, but we couldn’t catch him before he got back to the Double-V-Bar. I had to turn back, ’cause there’s too many for me and my two men to fight. All I wanna do is go in there, get Cooper, and take him back to Miles City for trial. But as long as they’re protectin’ him, I can’t do nothin’ about it, and he’ll get away with murder.”
Kinsey took a moment to consider the sheriff’s request. It would certainly fall under the army’s responsibility to protect the citizens from outlaws as well as Indians. He was quite surprised to hear the fugitive’s name was Clint Cooper, however. If his memory served him, Cooper was the scout that accompanied Captain Rodgers’ patrol against the Sioux war party on the Powder River. Rodgers was highly complimentary of Cooper’s work. This didn’t sound like the sort of thing the man that Rodgers described would do. Still, he could have been on his best behavior while riding with Rodgers.
“So I assume you’re asking me to send a cavalry patrol into that ranch to take your suspect into custody, and b
ring him in for trial?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” Yeager said. “Only he ain’t no suspect. He done it, all right. There’s folks that saw him do it.”
“That would be up to a jury to decide, wouldn’t it?” the major asked.
“Uh. . . . Why, yes, sir,” Yeager hurried to amend. “All I’m askin’ is for you boys to help me take him to trial. You get him outta that place and I’ll take him off your hands and take him to jail to wait for his trial.” He hoped the major wasn’t aware of the absence of a jail in Miles City.
Kinsey was hesitant to approve the sheriff’s request. “Have you got some official papers that show you are the sheriff?” he asked.
“Well, no, sir,” Yeager replied. “I ain’t got no papers. I got a badge.” He pulled his coat aside so that the major could see his badge. “If I ain’t mistaken, I believe I’ve seen that sergeant out there in town a time or two. Maybe he can tell you I’m the sheriff all right.”
Kinsey considered that. He also realized what a naïve request he had made, asking for official papers. Thinking about it now, he doubted that there were ever any official papers certifying sheriffs in any of a dozen frontier towns in the territory. The sheriff’s appeal for help was most likely legitimate, so he decided to comply.
“All right, Sheriff, I’ll give the order to assemble a fifteen-man patrol ready to depart right after breakfast in the morning. Is that satisfactory?” He didn’t tell the sheriff, but without a territorial judge, he would be bringing the accused into the fort for trial, instead of taking him to Miles City. He could have been wrong, but he had a feeling that there would not likely be a trial. There would more likely be a hanging without benefit of judge or jury.
“Yes, sir,” Yeager replied promptly, unable to suppress a wide smile. “What time would that be?”
“Why don’t you show up here at seven and you can eat some breakfast with the troops?” Kinsey said. He paused then to be sure. “You’re sure this fugitive is still at the Double-V-Bar?”
“Yes, sir, I’m sure, ’cause one of my men put a bullet in him before he got away,” Yeager said confidently.
Kinsey had to ask then, “You’re sure this was outright murder, and not a duel?”
“Oh no, sir, it weren’t no duel. He shot my deputy when he wasn’t lookin’—shot him from down the street with a rifle.”
“All right, then. I’ll look for you in the morning.” He stood up, indicating the end of the meeting.
“I’ll be here,” Yeager said, and took his leave, saving his smug smile of satisfaction until outside the building.
Major Kinsey sat down again just as Lieutenant Justin Landry appeared in his doorway. “Landry?” Kinsey inquired.
“Begging your pardon, sir,” Justin said, “but I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation you just had with the sheriff. That fellow is pretty boisterous. I just happened to be standing by Sergeant Wilson’s desk.”
“Do you know something about the sheriff’s charges?” Kinsey asked.
“Uh, no, sir, not about his charges. What I was going to say is I’d like to volunteer to command that patrol. I’m pretty familiar with the people at the Double-V-Bar, and maybe I’d be of some help finding the fugitive, Cooper. I rode with him on the Powder River patrol.”
“That’s right. You did,” Kinsey replied. “Good—consider yourself in command of the patrol.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Justin walked out of the headquarters building with a devilish smile on his face. It was a chance to see Hope Valentine again, even if for just a little while. But he was somewhat surprised to hear that Clint Cooper was guilty of murdering the town’s deputy sheriff. On the other hand, he had seen for himself what the man was capable of with a rifle. Still, it was ironic that Justin should now lead a patrol of troopers to find and capture a man who had saved his life.
It’s not my call at any rate, he told himself. If the man’s guilty of what the sheriff charged, and there were witnesses to that fact, then he should be brought to pay for his crime.
In fact, he was not really sympathetic toward the man for the simple reason that he believed that Hope was overly fond of him.
* * *
“Well, now, lookee yonder,” Hank Haley exclaimed, although he was alone in the hayloft. The thing that had caught his eye was a column of cavalry turning onto the lane that led to the barnyard. He stood there, watching the soldiers for a moment longer, before he recognized Justin Landry at the head of the column. He scrambled down the ladder then to tell Charley Clark, who was in the tack room.
Hank and Charley walked out of the barn to meet the soldiers. “That’s Hope’s feller leadin’ ’em, all right,” Charley remarked. “Maybe he brung all them soldiers to carry her off to marry him.”
Hank considered that for just a moment before realizing that Charley was joking. “Might be at that,” he said then, and laughed. “Who’s that other feller, ridin’ beside him?”
“Son of a bitch!” Charley muttered, finding it hard to believe his eyes. “That’s Simon Yeager! That’s who it is!” He had never seen Simon Yeager, but from what he had heard of the man, he was betting that was who it was. “What the hell is he doin’ here?”
They hurried out to the front of the barn, anxious to learn the occasion for the visit by the army, but Justin simply nodded to them and continued on toward the house where he ordered his men to dismount. Hank and Charley followed after them.
Randolph Valentine came out the front door and walked out on the porch. “Well, Lieutenant,” he greeted Justin cordially, “to what do we owe the occasion for this visit?”
“Good morning, sir,” Justin said. “I’m afraid this is an official visit this time. I’ve been sent to take one of your men in custody.”
Valentine, startled for a moment, asked, “One of my men? Who?”
“Clint Cooper,” Justin replied. “He’s been charged with the murder of the deputy sheriff of Miles City. I apologize for inconveniencing you, but my orders are to bring him in for trial. I’m hoping that he will come peacefully.”
“Murder?” Valentine demanded. “Who the hell is charging him with murder?” At that moment, Hope walked out onto the porch.
Justin smiled warmly. “Good morning, Hope.”
“Go back in the house,” Valentine told her. The stern expression on his face told her not to argue. She immediately turned on her heel and went back inside. Turning back to the lieutenant, Valentine repeated his question. “Who’s charging him?”
Justin, uncomfortable now with the way the confrontation was going, said, “The sheriff.” He nodded to indicate the man standing to the side, watching intently.
“Simon Yeager,” Charley blurted in disgust.
Valentine, his eyes narrowing under a deep frown, said, “That man’s nothing but a common outlaw, and you come marching onto my land on his word? This deputy, I’m told, was the sheriff’s brother, the same murdering dog that shot one of my men down in cold blood. Why in hell didn’t the army do something about that?”
“I really don’t know anything about that,” Justin replied helplessly. “I guess the civilian authorities didn’t report that.”
“I guess not,” Valentine roared back. “There isn’t any civilian authority in Miles City.” He pointed an accusing finger at Simon Yeager. “There’s your civilian authority, a damn two-bit gunman who’s probably wanted everywhere outside this territory.”
Stung by the big man’s insults, Yeager automatically dropped his hand to rest on the handle of his pistol, his palm itching with the desire to draw it.
Justin was at a loss for words. “He is the sheriff,” he offered weakly as justification for his actions.
“He’s a murdering outlaw,” Valentine stated flatly. “How the hell did he get to be sheriff? Did the town hire him? I don’t think so. He just appointed himself sheriff.”
Yeager’s broad face became twisted with an angry snarl as he glared at the owner of the Double-V-Bar. Itching to pull the .44 riding on his hip, he was forced to remain silent, but he promised himself that he would eventually settle with Randolph Valentine.
Justin was completely flustered at this point. What he had thought was simply another opportunity to posture before Hope had quickly turned sour, and Justin was not certain how to proceed. To his distress, he appeared to be antagonizing the man whom he anticipated would someday be his father-in-law.
“He’s the sheriff, regardless of what you may think of him,” he insisted.
“Clint ain’t here,” Charley called out then.
“I have my orders, sir,” Justin began again. “So I have to take Cooper into my custody. If he’s innocent of the charges, then it will no doubt be decided in his trial.”
Valentine would not yield. “Trial? Where’s he supposed to be tried? There’s no judge that I know of in Miles City. Are you talking about a military trial at Fort Keogh?”
“I don’t know,” Justin confessed. It was his assumption that he would turn Clint over to civilian authorities, and that would be Sheriff Yeager.
When it was obvious that Justin wasn’t really certain what was to be done with the prisoner, Valentine said, “You heard Charley. Clint’s not here.”
“Where is he?” Justin asked.
“I don’t know,” was the reply.
“Ol’ Clint’s long gone from here,” Charley called out again.
Justin was caught in the midst of indecision, wishing at this point that he had not volunteered to lead the patrol. In his mind, he believed that Clint Cooper was, in fact, somewhere on the Double-V-Bar. The silence of the apparent standoff settled like a blanket over the snow-covered yard. A snarling self-appointed sheriff continued to glare at Valentine, who met his gaze with one of unbending defiance. The troop of fifteen soldiers stood in bored impatience, awaiting orders while Justin tried to decide what to do. Finally he decided that he had no choice; he had his orders.
“I’m really sorry, sir, but my orders are quite explicit. I’m afraid I’ll have to search the premises for the fugitive.”
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