Trial at Fort Keogh

by Charles G. West

  When that was done, he would settle with Clint Cooper. His mind made up, he went about the business of making a fort out of the Trail’s End.

  * * *

  The somber woman paused when she heard Hope exclaim from the parlor, “Papa’s back! And Clint’s with him! The trial must have come out all right.” In a few seconds, the young lady appeared in the kitchen. “Better put the coffeepot on. Papa’s gonna want a hot cup of coffee after riding from the fort.”

  “Coffee on,” Rena said, and pushed the big gray pot over from the edge of the stove to the center so it would boil. She walked to the window then to see for herself, and to estimate how long it would take them to pull their saddles off and turn the horses out. The bread she was making would not be ready to put in the oven for another quarter of an hour or so. She shrugged and said to herself in her native tongue, “They wait.” It was only a matter of minutes, however, before Valentine came in the kitchen door, having left his horse with Hank to take care of.

  “Where’s Clint?” Hope asked when her father stormed in, looking for coffee.

  “He went in the bunkhouse to see how Ben’s doing. I told him to come on up to the house after he sees Ben.” He looked at Hope’s expectant face, the girl obviously eager to hear what had happened. “Where’s Clint?” he joked. “What about Papa? You don’t seem so excited to see me back.”

  “Oh, Papa, we’re always happy to see you come home. Look at Rena—she almost smiled. I declare.” She glanced at the serious Crow woman and received a somber glance in return. It was what she expected. “Here, I’ll take your coat. Now tell me all about the trial. What happened? Was Justin brilliant?”

  “Yeah, he was brilliant,” Valentine said, and brought to mind the helpless look on Justin’s face when the witnesses sank his hopes. “Yep, he did all right,” he added when he recalled the way he had handled Curly James. He looked toward the coffeepot on the stove then.

  “Not yet,” Rena said.

  “Tell me some more about the trial,” Hope pressed. “Is everything settled now? Is Clint a free man?” Valentine went on to give her more details about what had happened that day, including the townspeople’s firing of Simon Yeager.

  In the bunkhouse, several of the men were gathered around Ben Hawkins’ bunk, where they got the news firsthand from the defendant. “So they finally got their backbones up and kicked Simon Yeager outta town,” Shorty Black commented.

  “By God, that’ll be a gracious blessin’,” Bobby Dees said.

  “Maybe so,” Ben said, looking directly at Clint when he spoke. “But a man like Simon Yeager ain’t likely to just ride away and consider hisself lucky to get out alive, or without spendin’ time in prison. You’d do well to keep your eyes and ears open for a good while after he’s gone.” He nodded at Clint and said, “Especially somebody who killed his brother.”

  “If he’s got any sense at all,” Clint said, “he’ll get on his horse and ride way the hell away from Miles City.” He got up from the bunk he was sitting on. “I gotta go now. Mr. Valentine told me to come up to the house as soon as I found out if you were dead or not. I’ll be back soon as I see what he wants.”

  “I ’preciate your concern,” Ben replied sarcastically.

  Clint strode across the barnyard toward the house, feeling light and lively, a state he attributed to the court’s decision, rather than to the alcohol he had consumed. He figured he should be damn near cold-stone sober after the frigid ride from Ernie’s. Stepping up to the kitchen door, he rapped politely, and in a few seconds, Rena opened it. She held it open for him while Valentine invited him to come in and sit at the table with Hope and him.

  “From the looks of it, ’pears like Rena’s fixin’ to put supper on the table,” Clint said. “Maybe I’d better not stay long. Milt was gettin’ pretty close to throwin’ some grub on the table down at the bunkhouse.” He turned then when Rena nudged his arm and found her holding a cup of coffee for him. “Why, thank you kindly, Rena,” he said. She nodded, and looked for a brief second as if she was about to break out a smile for him.

  It did not go unnoticed by Hope, and she told him so. “I do believe you are the only person that Rena comes close to smiling at. Isn’t that right, Papa?”

  Valentine smiled. “You might be right. I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Rena appreciates what a fine gentleman I am,” Clint said. “By the way, did your daddy tell you that your fine gentleman lieutenant said he’s comin’ to see you Sunday?”

  “No, he didn’t,” Hope replied, “and I wish you’d stop calling him ‘my lieutenant.’”

  “Sorry. I forgot,” he said facetiously. He turned to her father then. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “Nothing in particular, really,” Valentine replied. “I just thought you might want to join us for supper instead of eating in the bunkhouse.”

  “Well, I figured I’d be eatin’ with the men—” he started, but Hope interrupted.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, every time we invite you to eat with us, you say the same thing,” she said. “You’ll hurt Rena’s feelings. She thinks you prefer Milt Futch’s cooking to hers. And besides, I want to hear all about your time in jail at Fort Keogh.”

  “Well, Rena knows I don’t think any such thing,” Clint was quick to deny.

  “I fix plenty, bake bread,” Rena said.

  “In that case, I’ll be pleased to eat with you,” he said. It had not escaped him that the table was already set with three plates, and he knew one of them was not intended for Rena. It wasn’t long before he realized the real reason his boss invited him to supper.

  “I expect you’re feeling pretty good, now that this thing with the army is settled,” Valentine began. “But I think it would be a sensible idea for you to stick close to the ranch for a while, at least until we have some kinda idea that Yeager has really cleared out.”

  Clint smiled. “I just got told that by Ben.”

  “Yeah? Well, I think you should take the advice seriously. That man is dangerous, especially now when he thought he was gonna own a saloon. He’s gonna blame you for ruining his run in Miles City, because you killed his brother. That’s why I want to be damn sure you realize how serious your situation is.”

  Clint shrugged, not really that concerned, even though very much aware of the potential harm that could come his way if he was not careful.

  “I’ll try to be careful,” he said. Then, quick to change the subject, he said, “I’ll tell you one thing, when it comes to makin’ coffee, there ain’t no contest. Milt’s eatin’ dust tryin’ to catch up to Rena.”

  “Listen to what Papa’s telling you,” Hope said, concerned that Clint’s usual carefree attitude might carry over to this matter. “You’ve already gotten yourself shot once. Isn’t that enough?”

  “I always listen to what your daddy tells me,” Clint replied. “Don’t you worry about that.” He couldn’t help wondering if she might really be worried about him. As soon as it came to his mind, he told himself to forget it. He might be having supper with the boss and his daughter, but he was still just the hired help. Once he rid his mind of hopeless thoughts, the rest of the supper went pleasantly enough, and the general discussion turned to matters of the ranch and the cattle.

  When it was over, Clint said good night and headed for the door, where he was met by Rena with another thick slice of the fresh-baked bread—in case he got hungry later on, she told him. He thanked her and complimented her on the quality of the meal. Then as he opened the door, Hope said, “We’re really glad to have you back safe and sound. Please take care of yourself from now on.”

  “I always do,” he said casually.

  Damn it, he thought, I wish she’d stop saying things to start me wondering.

  * * *

  Simon Yeager’s mind was churning with all of the things that needed to be done in order to c
arry out his plan to barricade himself in the saloon. If the citizens of the town had, in fact, decided to band together against him, he would be ready. They would most likely come as a gang to see if he had left in the morning as Horace Marshall had ordered. If it happened the way he envisioned, he would gun down several of the posse’s leaders. Then he would see how dedicated the others were to rallying around Marshall’s call to rid the town of their sheriff. He would have a stronger grip than ever. As a precaution, however, he decided to bring his horse up from the stable and leave it in the shed behind the saloon where Spence had kept a buggy.

  On his way down to the stable, he stopped to peer in the window of Marshall’s general store. He saw Lucinda, Marshall’s wife, but no sign of her husband. Seeing the fearsome bully staring at her, she instinctively turned away to quickly move behind the counter. Her obvious fright made him grin mischievously as he continued along toward the stable. Passing the blacksmith shop, he noticed that there was no sign of Lon Bessemer. When he reached the stable and found Jim Duffy gone, he realized that none of the group of merchants was back from Fort Keogh.

  Maybe, he thought, they’re having a meeting somewhere, getting up their nerve to hold a necktie party. It might have occurred to them that it would be the best way to make sure they were rid of him permanently. “We’ll see about that,” he promised.

  After throwing his saddle on the big dun gelding, he rode up the short street as far as the Frontier. He looped his reins over the hitching rail and walked in to confront Pete Bender behind the bar. “Where’s Hudson?” Yeager asked bluntly.

  “He ain’t here,” Pete answered. “He ain’t back from Fort Keogh yet.” It was no telling what the menacing brute wanted with Frank, but Pete figured it couldn’t be good.

  Saying nothing more, Yeager turned around and left the saloon, his suspicions confirmed in his mind. They were having some kind of meeting, maybe with the army, maybe not. It could be they were trying to work up the nerve to try to hang him that night, instead of waiting until morning. The cruel smile returned to his face as he thought of the reception he was preparing for them.

  Then the thought occurred that it might be a good idea to have an escape plan in the event that things didn’t go the way he hoped, so he rode back to the stable. In the absence of the owner, he helped himself not only to an extra horse, but to a packsaddle as well. There were enough supplies in the Trail’s End storeroom in case he needed them. Satisfied that he was prepared for any circumstances to come, he took his horses to the shed behind the saloon. There was plenty of room for them both after he pulled Spence’s buggy out. Back inside the saloon, he leaned his rifle against the back of the bar with two cartridge belts on the floor beside it.

  From behind the bar, he could watch the front door, the back door, and the landing at the top of the stairs, in case someone climbed up on the porch and came in a window. That possibility caused him to get his saddlebags from upstairs and put them on the floor beside the ammunition. With the money he had found in the safes in his saddlebags, he felt secure in the knowledge that he was prepared for any outcome in the standoff with the merchants.

  * * *

  Private David Bostic and two of his friends, all three members of the Second Cavalry, pulled up to the hitching rail in front of the Trail’s End. “Before we go in the saloon,” Bostic said, “I need to go in the store across the street and get some tobacco. If I don’t get it before we go in the Trail’s End, I might not have any money left when I come out.”

  Bob Simpson laughed. “Especially if you see Bonny, right?”

  “That’s a fact,” Bostic replied.

  His two friends went into Ed Taylor’s store with him and waited near the door while Bostic made his purchase. He was in the process of paying Lila Taylor when he was startled by a woman’s voice calling him from the door of Taylor’s stockroom. “Bonny?” Bostic asked. “Is that you? What in the world are you doing back there?”

  “I’m so glad to see you!” Bonny cried out. “He killed Alice!” She ran to him and put her arms around him, desperate for someone’s protection.

  “What?” Bostic exclaimed. “Who killed Alice?”

  “He was trying to kill me, too,” Bonny sobbed, breaking down in the security of his embrace. “Mrs. Taylor let me hide here. I didn’t know where else to go.”

  At once concerned, Bostic tried to calm the frightened woman as his friends by the door gathered around to lend support. “Just calm down,” Bostic said, “and tell me what happened.” Bonny gathered her composure enough to relate the sudden outburst of violence from Simon Yeager with the brutal slaying of her friend Alice. “And he came after you, too?” Bostic asked. She told him then how she had run into her room and climbed out the window to escape.

  “Did you go tell the sheriff?” Bob Simpson asked.

  “He is the sheriff,” Lila said.

  “Damn,” Bostic said. “That’s right.” He looked at his two friends for support. “Well, we’ll just go over and have a little talk with the sheriff.” He got nods of agreement from both.

  “Maybe you’d better not,” Bonny said. “He’s the meanest man I’ve ever seen.”

  “She’s telling you the truth, soldier,” Lila said. “I heard the shot, but with most of our menfolk still out at the fort, I doubt anybody had the nerve to go see what it was about.”

  “Might be he needs a little of that meanness taken out of him,” Bostic replied, confident in the belief that the three of them could overpower him. “You stay here with Mrs. Taylor,” he told Bonny.

  * * *

  Simon Yeager laid his rifle across the bar and put one of the cartridge belts beside it. He turned to look at the clock on the wall behind the bar, wondering how long it would be before the vigilance committee showed up.

  Maybe they won’t show up till after dark, he thought, trying to catch me when I’m not looking. He snorted in disgust. Won’t make any difference, because I’ll be waiting for them, no matter what time they come.

  Settling in for the wait, he had turned to pour himself a little glass of courage when he was startled by a voice from the door.

  “Simon Yeager? We need to talk to you.”

  Already primed to explode, Simon spun around to see the three men walking in the door. Without pausing to think, he grabbed his rifle and cranked three rounds in rapid succession. Unarmed, the three men were dropped to the floor before they had time to back out. Simon remained where he was, using the bar for cover, watching the doorway in case there were others. When no one else came in, he cocked his rifle again and walked over to examine the bodies, realizing only then that he had shot three soldiers.

  “Damn!” he cursed, knowing that he might now be in bigger trouble than he had first imagined. They had called out his name, so that meant they had come looking for him.

  So they got the army into it, he thought. That put a different light on things. When these three failed to come back, a mounted patrol would most likely be next. He had no desire to hang alongside Curly James. It was time to cut his losses and run.

  “To hell with this town,” he exclaimed as he hurried to take what he could from the late Spence Snyder’s saloon. There were other territories and other towns where a man with over sixteen thousand dollars in cash could make his mark. Colorado came to mind, because he was not wanted by the law there.

  But before I head for Colorado, he thought, there’s a little matter with Clint Cooper I need to clean up.

  He pulled the bodies of the slain soldiers out of the doorway with only a curious thought as to why an arresting party came to get him unarmed. Too busy with his escape to stop and think it through, he closed and barred the door. Then he carried the plunder and supplies he had gathered out to the shed and loaded his packhorse, pleased with himself for having the foresight to prepare for such an emergency.

  It occurred to him that he would like to burn the T
rail’s End down to the ground, but he decided it would take too long to get a proper fire started. Besides, he thought, it was better not to attract attention as he slipped out of town. He stepped up into the saddle then and uttered a curse.

  “To hell with the saloon, and to hell with the damn town.”

  Chapter 15

  At Valentine’s insistence, Clint’s activities were confined pretty much to home base, a situation that he was not particularly pleased with, but it gave him an opportunity to keep Ben company more often. He found himself doing more of the chores around the barn, which pleased Hank. For the rest of the hands, it was back to the normal business of rounding up strays and riding the herd, on the lookout for coyotes and wolves.

  On the day after Clint’s trial at Fort Keogh, Charley Clark and Shorty Black came back from Miles City with a wagonload of supplies for Rena and Milt. They brought back the news that Simon Yeager had locked the doors at the Trail’s End and left town. As a farewell gesture, however, he had murdered three soldiers and Alice Birchfield. A committee of five, headed by Horace Marshall, had broken into the saloon and found the bodies. It was an unfortunate conclusion to Simon Yeager’s reign of terror, but the committee breathed a collective sigh of relief when it appeared they had seen the last of the brutal man.

  After helping unload the wagon, Clint went to the house to give Valentine the news. Rena opened the kitchen door for him, then went to fetch her boss. “Thought you’d like to know that Yeager left town,” Clint said when Valentine came into the kitchen behind Rena. “Accordin’ to what Charley and Shorty say, he cleaned the saloon out of everything he could carry on a packhorse.”

  “I reckon it was worth it to get rid of him,” Valentine said. He hesitated for a moment when another thought came to mind. “There’s no telling how much cash Spence had when he was killed, so I guess Yeager’s time in Miles City was worth it to him. It’s a damn shame that killer got away with it. At least he’s probably got enough to take him far away from this part of the country.”