High Valley Manhunt: Laramie Davies #1

by B. S. Dunn

  He was wounded and she scrambled aside as he was laid down on the buffalo robes Sally had slept on. Little Fawn followed them in with a look of concern deeply etched on her face.

  The two warriors left and Little Fawn started to tend to Black Elk. Sally moved over to get a better look.

  “Can I help?” she asked Little Fawn

  “Yes,” said Little Fawn, “keep hand here.”

  She took Sally by the hand and placed it firmly over the wound. Sally felt Black Elk flinch and he said something in his native tongue that only the Indian woman could understand.

  Little Fawn looked at Sally, “I'll be back soon.”

  After she had left, Sally asked, “What Happened? Where is Laramie?”

  Black Elk related to her the news of the battle with the outlaws, how he became wounded and that two of the outlaws had escaped.

  “What about Laramie?”

  “Do not worry, your man will be fine. He has gone after the ones who escaped.”

  “What? Oh no,” Sally was taken aback, “he's not my man. He just happened to be the one to risk his life and try to save me from those outlaws.”

  “He is a good man, very strong, brave. He would make you a fine husband,” Black Elk asserted.

  Before Sally could respond, Little Fawn came back into the teepee with a bowl of something that looked like mud. She put it on both sides of Black Elk's wound and bandaged him up.

  When she finished with the bandage, she spoke to Black Elk again in their language. He frowned and looked at Sally, “The man, Laramie, his friend the old one?”

  “Yes, Lonesome, the old mountain man that Blackie Harbin killed,” Sally said with a puzzled frown.

  “My woman says he still alive. He here in village.”

  A rush of emotion flowed through Sally when she registered what Black Elk had said, “Where is he? I must see him. Is he alright?”

  Black Elk tried to rise. He bit back a cry of pain as his wound protested violently at the movement. His wife put a hand on his muscular chest to stop him from going any further. She shook her head and the Indian chief lay back down.

  “Little Fawn will take you to him,” he conceded.

  Sally followed the lithe woman out of the large teepee to another, smaller one. The Indian woman lifted the hide flap aside and allowed Sally to enter first. She let her eyes adjust to the dim light and looked around. She saw him then, where he sat by a small fire in the centre of the teepee.

  He looked up at her, his face looked drawn but he smiled and said, “Hell girl, ain't you a sight for these old eyes.”

  Chapter 12

  It had taken twenty years for Mountain Pass to become what it was now. A town that had started life as, what its name suggested, a mountain pass. That was until late one afternoon, in the middle of summer, a weary traveller named John Brooks, had made camp on the site.

  He laid out his bed roll on a flat piece of ground and turned in. All night long, whenever he rolled over, a small bulge dug into his side. After a long sleepless night, come morning he'd had enough. He packed up the bed roll and for good measure decided to take out his exhausted frustration on the damn rock that had caused him to lose so much sleep.

  Brooks was about to throw it into the forest when a tiny glint, made by the morning sunlight, flashed off the rock and caused him to explore the thing further. What he saw made him stay at the pass for a further two weeks.

  Gold!

  He explored the bottom of the deep scars in the foot of the pass itself and the silt that washed down from the foothills at the base of the peaks. When he was finished, Brooks had two thousand dollars worth of gold, in his saddle bags.

  That was the beginning of the Mountain Pass gold rush. First came the miners and within one year, claims had sprung up all over. As the traders slowly arrived, the town began to emerge.

  In the beginning, it was a town made of canvas tents, followed later by more permanent wooden structures. False front stores and other shops were in abundance along the main street and at one point, while the mines were at their peak, there were no less than twelve saloons.

  It was a lawless time. Claim jumpers were rife and gold shipments were stolen on a regular basis. Men died frequently by gunshot, knife wound or sickness. It was just a regular boom town.

  Then law came and the gold dropped off. Miners left and were replaced by ranchers who cleared some of the surrounding land to raise cattle. Of the few claims that remained in the hills, only a couple still paid.

  It was into this now peaceful, law abiding town that the Coltrains rode. Their horses were played out and the men were tired and hungry. They rode along the dusty main street until they found the livery stable with its large, red painted doors.

  They tied their horses to the hitch rail out the front and walked in through the main double doors where they were greeted by a grizzled looking hostler.

  “What can I do for you gents?” asked the middle aged man dressed in bib-front overalls.

  “We want to put our horses up for a few days,” said Jeb Coltrain, “There's three of 'em. Give them some good feed and a rub down.”

  The hostler smiled a toothless smile and said, “Sure gents, no problems. I got plenty of room at the moment.”

  While Jeb was talking to the hostler, Shell walked up and down the aisle and looked into the stalls to see if he could see Laramie's horse. When he finished, Shell looked at his kin and shook his head.

  The Sheriff fixed his gaze once more on the hostler and opened his jacket so his badge could be clearly seen, “Have you seen a feller ride into town at all on a big, chocolate coloured, appaloosa stud? He'd most likely have a woman with him.”

  The hostler's eyes lingered on the badge for a moment before he answered, “Nope Sheriff, can't say's I have. Ridin' an appaloosa you said?”

  The Sheriff nodded, “that's right.”

  The man thought some more. Then, “Nope, no one come through here like that. I'd remember if he did. What this feller done any ways?”

  “He murdered my...” The Judge started before the Sheriff cut him off.

  “He killed my deputy over in Rock Springs,” Jeb Coltrain finished.

  The hostler made a silent oh with his mouth, thought about what was just said and then, “Say are you Sheriff Coltrain from over that way?”

  “I am.”

  The man smiled nervously, “Hell, I sure am glad it's not my trail you're on. What's this feller's name so's I know who to look out for?”

  “Laramie Davis,” answered Jeb Coltrain.

  The hostler swallowed hard, “The gunfighter?”

  The Judge grew impatient with all the questions, “Yes damn it, the gunfighter.”

  “Maybe I should get your payment in advance,” he said thoughtfully, “he's the type of feller you go up against and don't come away from in one piece.”

  The Sheriff stepped forward and grabbed the hostler by the front of his overalls, “Listen to me Mister, and you listen good. If you see him ride into town, you come and let me know pronto. If I find out you didn't, I'm goin' to come back here and burn the place down with you in it. Do you understand me?”

  A cold sweat broke out over the man's brow and fear filled his eyes, “Sure...sure thing Sheriff. I understand.”

  Jeb Coltrain pushed him away, “Good, now take care of our horses.”

  As the hostler watched the three men leave, he was filled with an escalated sense of foreboding that the quiet town of Mountain Pass was about to explode into violence.

  *

  The Coltrain's next stop was the Mountain Pass Sheriff's office. It was a double story construction with office down stairs and the jail cells located on the second floor. It had large glass windows out front and big yellow letters painted at the base of the second story that said, JAIL.

  Once inside, the three Coltrains found a tall, slim, young man with light coloured hair who sat behind a large cedar desk. Startled by their entrance, the man scrambled to his feet.

&n
bsp; “What can I do for you fellers?” he asked nervously.

  “Are you the Sheriff of this burg?” Jeb Coltrain asked.

  “No, sir. I'm deputy Gunderson, Lyle Gunderson.”

  “Where's the Sheriff?” asked Jeb.

  “He's out of town at the moment,” the deputy explained, “the stage is late and his daughter was on it, so he took a posse out after it and left me in charge.”

  The Sheriff of Rock Springs opened his jacket once more to display his badge. He showed no outward sign of any kind to tell he knew what had happened to the stage, “The name's Coltrain, I'm from Rock Springs, this is my brother Zeb, he's the local Judge and this is his son Shell, my deputy.”

  If there was any indication that the deputy had heard of the Coltrains, he didn't show it, “So, what brings you over to our neck of the woods? Anythin' I can help you with?”

  “We're trackin' a killer,” Jeb elaborated, “we lost him in the mountains, but we're reasonably sure he's headed here.”

  Concern showed on Gunderson's face, “Who is this killer you're in pursuit of?”

  “Laramie Davis,” answered the Judge, “he damn well killed my boy and I mean to see him hang for it.”

  “He's ridin' a big appaloosa, have you seen one in town at all?” asked Jeb Coltrain.

  Gunderson shook his head, “Nope, but man have you guys got a bear by the tail. I saw him in action once and let me tell you somethin', that man is lightning fast with a gun.”

  “He'll be in hell when we're finished with him,” asserted the Judge.

  “I wish you fellers luck in your endeavours,” Deputy Gunderson said politely, “I'll let the undertaker know to be expectin' you.”

  Jeb Coltrain moved swiftly and back handed Gunderson across the face. The blow was solid enough to knock the deputy to the hardwood floor, “Don't you sass me boy. Let's get one thing straight from the start, Davis is comin' here and we are stayin' in town until he shows up. So just stay the hell out of our way.”

  The three Coltrains left the Sheriff's office and stood out in the middle of the dusty main street.

  “Where to now, Uncle Jeb?” Shell asked as he looked around.

  “That place across the street looks mighty good, how about it?”

  Shell looked across the street and saw what Jeb was talking about. In bright red letters on a well kept building was painted the name, 'The Royal Flush Saloon'.

  “I'll be in that,” Shell said with a smile, “I could use a drink.”

  “What about you Judge? Are you comin'?” Jeb asked.

  The Judge looked at his brother and nodded. Jeb could see the hurt and rage in Zebulon's eyes and wondered how much more his brother could take before he cracked completely. Up until now, it was just a few chinks in his armour, but Jeb figured it wouldn't take much more.

  Behind them, Deputy Gunderson stared out the big window of the Sheriff's office. He used a kerchief to dab at a small trickle of blood that ran from the corner of his bruised mouth. While he did that, he watched them walk across to The Royal Flush. There's a storm comin', he thought to himself, and the town is goin' to be right in the centre of it.

  *

  When Laramie arrived at the Blackfoot village the next day, he was greeted by Black Elk who was now, against his wife's wishes, up and about.

  “I see you are still alive Mingan,” Black Elk observed calling Laramie the Blackfoot name for Gray Wolf, “what of men you hunted? Are they in spirit land?”

  Laramie nodded, “The only spirit land they are in chief, is one filled with plenty of fire.”

  “Where are bodies?” Black Elk enquired as the gunfighter climbed down from his saddle.

  “I buried 'em,” Laramie said truthfully, “if you want to see 'em you'll find their graves at a place the white men call Miller's Pond.”

  “I know of it,” said Black Elk.

  Laramie looked around, “Where is the girl?

  “She is with...” It was as far as Black Elk got before Sally burst through the crowd of onlookers.

  “Laramie!” she cried ecstatically. She grabbed his arm to prevent the embarrassment of a hug, “I'm so glad you're okay.”

  “Have they been lookin' after you girl?”

  Sally nodded, “Yes, they are wonderful people. They treated me very well indeed.”

  “I'm glad,” the gunfighter said relieved.

  She tugged on his arm, “Come with me, I have a surprise for you.”

  Laramie frowned at her strange behaviour , but followed Sally anyway. She took him to the teepee where she had spent most of her time, and out front, wrapped in a buffalo robe was that damned old Ridge Runner himself, Lonesome Lane.

  “About time you damn well showed up, instead of gallivantin' around the countryside like some damn psalm singer,” Lonesome grouched.

  Laramie couldn't believe it. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, “You're meant to be dead.”

  “Hell son, have you ever known a tough old boss loper like me to go under without a fight,” he said with a wry smile, “besides, I'd probably be dead if one of Black Elk's braves hadn't come along.”

  Laramie remembered back to when he was first brought into camp, that when he related his story to the Blackfoot chief, the lone Indian had disappeared.

  “It's good to see you still breathin' old man.”

  “Did you get them fellers you went after Laramie?” Lonesome asked, “I'm guessin' you did or you would still be out there huntin' 'em.”

  “Yeah, they're gone. Folks won't have to worry about Blackie Harbin any more,” Laramie went on to unfold the story to Lonesome and Sally.

  “Good, saved me a job,” Lonesome said.

  Laramie's expression grew serious, “When we leave here you're comin' with us. There should be a doctor in Mountain Pass to give you the once over.”

  “I'll be fine right here,” the old mountain man insisted.

  “No arguments, you're comin' and that's it,” the gunfighter asserted

  “What about the Coltrains?” Sally asked, “They're still out there somewhere.”

  “I'll talk to your Pa when we get to Mountain Pass, he might be able to sort somethin' out,” Laramie said hopefully.

  “After everything you've done, I certainly hope so,” Sally said.

  “Yeah, me too,” but he sounded less convinced.

  *

  The next day, they left the Blackfoot camp. Laramie rode Bo, while Sally and Lonesome rode a couple of Indian ponies they had been given. Hidden under Laramie's shirt was a necklace that Black Elk had given him. It was the one made of bear claws that the chief had worn and was for bravery. The Blackfoot chief figured that Laramie was going to need it more than he would.

  Chapter 13

  Shortly after the sun went down, a woman's screams rang out through the saloon and brought Jeb Coltrain instantly to his feet. They originated from one of the many rooms at the top of the stairs, with doors that opened out onto the landing. More blood curdling screams brought a hushed silence to the bar.

  “Aww hell!” snapped Jeb.

  “What's up?” Shell asked, confused.

  “Come with me,” said the older Coltrain as he hurried to the stairs.

  The saloon owner beat him there and was half way up when Jeb put his foot on the first step.

  The Rock Springs Sheriff turned to his nephew, “Don't let any one else up the stairs.”

  “Sure,” answered Shell and drew his gun and turned to face the oncoming crowd. He cocked his six-gun and said firmly, “Hold it right there folks. Ain't nothin' to see. Just go on back to your drinkin' and cards.”

  Men hesitated for a moment, but confrontation with a cocked Colt was enough to make the bravest think twice. They all turned away except for a short, blonde whore. Mary had dull blue eyes and a full figure, which was trussed up into a bright red dress.

  “I'm goin' up there,” she said, jaw set rigid in defiance.

  Shell shook his head, “Nope, Uncle Jeb said nobody else goes up.”
>
  The look on Mary's face became more determined, “The hell with him, I said I'm goin' up and I am. If you want to stop me then go ahead and shoot me.”

  She shouldered past Shell and began to climb the stairs.

  Shell couldn't hide the respect on his face. That was certainly some woman.

  When Jeb Coltrain stopped outside the door that the screams came from, the saloon owner exclaimed, “He's killing her! Do something!”

  From the other side of the door came the loud smack of hand on flesh. It was quickly followed by more screams that pleaded, “Stop. Please, stop.”

  Jeb Coltrain tried the door but it was locked, “Do you have a key?”

  “There is only the one per door,” the saloon owner shook his head and answered hurriedly.

  The Rock Springs Sheriff lifted his foot and with a mighty kick, the timber frame splintered and the door flew wide. The Judge stood there semi-naked with a clenched fist raised, about to strike another blow.

  “Judge, Stop!” he cried.

  But the Judge punched the naked whore again in her already battered face. There was a sickening crunch as her jaw broke. She fell to the floor and whacked her head on the night table beside the rumpled bed. Mercifully for her, she was knocked unconscious and the pain of the last blow never really registered.

  “How did you like that bitch?” crowed the Judge as he stood over her prostrate form, “You shouldn't of sassed me girl. I don't take to it, do you hear me? Damn whore.”

  He raised his foot to kick her but his brother grasped him around the neck and threw him down on the bed, “That's enough Judge, you'll kill her. We don't need this right now.”

  Jeb held the Judge down as he fought to rise, “Get the hell off me Jeb, I'm going to teach that bitch some more manners.”

  “You've taught her enough Judge. If you go teachin' her any more, them folks downstairs will have you strung up quick smart.”

  Zeb Coltrain stopped his struggle and his brother let him go, “Put your clothes on and get the hell out of here.”