Luke's Gold

by Charles G. West

  “Fair enough,” Luke immediately responded, and started to get up from the table. “Damn!” he swore, and sat down again. “We’re havin’ an earthquake, or I’ve drunk enough whiskey to make the damn floor quiver.”

  Cade laughed. “Come on. I’ll give you a hand, and you can try it again.” He got Luke on his feet and steadied him as he walked him to the door. “I expect you’d best turn in early tonight,” he said.

  Luke was willing to give it a try, but he took no more than twelve paces before he started listing to his left, and Cade could see that Luke wasn’t likely to make it back to the holding pens. It was only a matter of seconds before his legs realized that his brain was already asleep. Cade hurried around in front of him and lowered his shoulder to accept the load. Luke stumbled into him and collapsed gently across Cade’s shoulder, where he was carried back to the cottonwoods by the river. Cade laid him on the ground as gently as he could and covered him with a blanket. Then, figuring he might as well turn in, too, he spread his blanket a few yards away from the already-snoring Luke. He took off his gun belt and removed his Colt Peacemaker from the holster. Using his saddle for a pillow, he laid down on one half of the blanket and folded the other half over him, his pistol in easy reach by his leg, and drifted off to sleep to the rhythmic sawing of imaginary logs from his partner.

  Sleep came easily. It was quiet in the grove of trees since almost everyone else was just getting started drinking up all the whiskey in town. The majority would not stumble back to their blankets before sunup. Some wouldn’t make it back at all. The lucky ones might still have a little of their hard-earned wages in pocket.

  It was still a few hours before dawn when Brady Waits made his move. Inflamed by the whiskey he had consumed, and backed into a corner by boasts he had made to his drinking partners, he was determined to extract his revenge for his loss of face at the hands of Cade Hunter.

  His brain dulled somewhat by the evening of drinking—although he had not reached the level of impairment attained by Luke—Cade’s normal sense of danger failed to alert him. Consequently, he was not aware of the threat to his life until he was awakened from a sound sleep with Brady Waits standing straddle-legged over him. When Cade’s eyes flickered open, Brady reached down and grabbed him by his hair with one hand and pressed his long skinning knife against Cade’s throat with the other. “Now, Mr. Big Shot,” he uttered in a drunken drawl, “I’m fixin’ to slice you from ear to ear.”

  Fully alert by then, Cade immediately raised his arm from under the blanket and jammed his Colt .45 hard up into the crotch of Brady’s trousers. The big man grunted with the sudden shock. “Cut away, you son of a bitch,” Cade growled. “I’ll turn you into a gelding before you get halfway across.”

  Stunned, Brady staggered backward and, tripping over Cade’s leg, sat down hard on the ground. Reaching for his pistol, he was stopped cold by a sharp rap against the back of his skull, leaving him momentarily senseless. “Hardheaded bastard,” Luke complained, “I hope he ain’t bent my rifle barrel.” With his foot, he rolled Cade’s would-be assailant over on his side. “You all right, partner?” he asked Cade before prodding Brady with his rifle.

  “Yeah, I’m dandy,” Cade replied, getting to his feet, “but I’ve had about enough of Mr. Waits here, so I’m thinkin’ I might as well shoot him and be done with it.”

  “I expect that would be doin’ the world a favor at that,” Luke replied. He wasn’t certain whether or not Cade was japing the bully, but he played along anyway.

  Still trying to clear his head, and gazing drunkenly at two guns pointed at him, Brady made an unashamed plea for mercy. “Ah, boys,” he begged, “there ain’t no use in that. I wasn’t really gonna cut you. I was just foolin’ with you, that’s all. You don’t wanna go shootin’ somebody over a joke, do ya?”

  “I’d just as soon,” Luke said with a shrug.

  “I don’t like jokes,” Cade said, his tone suddenly deadly serious. Looking Brady straight in the eye, he said, “Get up from there and get outta my sight. I don’t plan on seein’ you after today, but if I do, I swear I’ll kill you.” He stood back to give Brady room to get to his feet.

  This was the third time the dull-witted brute had suffered humiliation at the hand of the soft-spoken man from Texas. It was a hard bite of gristle to swallow, and Cade could see that Brady was struggling with a decision—to yield or fight. Cade didn’t care which way Brady decided. He just wanted to be done with the man.

  Suddenly the air between the two men seemed to become still and vacant, like the dead atmosphere an instant before a lightning strike. Luke sensed it, and one glance into Cade’s eyes told him that Brady Waits was a dead man. He decided he’d better step in before it was too late. “Brady, don’t make the mistake that’s gonna cost you your life,” he said. “Get on outta here before you do somethin’ stupid. We’ll just call it a draw and go our separate ways.” Without taking his eyes off the still-hesitating bully, he asked, “That’s all right with you, ain’t it, Cade?”

  There was a long pause before Cade answered. “Yeah, I reckon.”

  Realizing that Luke had probably just done him a favor, Brady got to his feet. “Yeah, we’ll call it a draw,” he mumbled, picking up his hat and his knife. Then without looking either Luke or Cade in the eye, he walked away, feeling he had just stared death in the face.

  They both waited until they were sure he was gone before lowering their weapons. “You always sleep with that Colt in your hand?” Luke asked.

  “No,” Cade replied. “I just figured this would probably be the time Brady would make good on his promise to get even for what I did to his nose.”

  “You had me goin’ there for a minute,” Luke confessed. “I thought you was fixin’ to shoot him.”

  “I was,” Cade said.

  Luke thought about that for a moment. “Oh. . . . Well, it’s mornin’ and I’m sober as hell now, so I’ll ask you again. How about goin’ to Virginia City with me?”

  Cade didn’t answer right away. His mind had wandered elsewhere for a few seconds, thinking about how close he had just come to killing a man. It was not an idle boast to Luke that he would have shot Brady, but Cade felt relieved that his hand had not been called. His thoughts flashed back to a small boy struggling up between the adobe walls of two buildings, straining to hold on to his father’s heavy rifle. For years, the shocked faces of two defenseless men often returned to haunt his dreams before they faded into the back recesses of his mind.

  Realizing then that Luke was waiting for an answer to his question, Cade replied, “All right, partner,” his face finally breaking into a smile, “let’s go pick us a couple of Mr. Becker’s horses, and get the hell away from here.”

  “Hod-damn!” Luke exclaimed. “Let’s head for the high country!”

  Becker had used one of the holding pens to separate the stock he planned to drive back to Texas. The rest of the remuda was left to graze on the bunchgrass near the river. It was early still, so none of the other men were there. Some of them would be lucky to make it back before noon after a full night of drinking and carousing. Of the eight horses Cade had used most often during the drive, he saw that most of them were left to graze. Luke had his eye on a bay mare named Sleepy that he said fit his gait better than any horse he had ever ridden, so they went after her. She wasn’t particularly interested, but Cade finally threw a rope on her after a couple of tries. The rest of the horses had stood and watched the two men until Cade was successful in roping Sleepy. Then as if on a signal, they moved quickly off about a hundred yards. “Don’t look like none of ’em wants any part of us,” Luke joked as he slipped his bridle on Sleepy. Cade was about to agree when Luke spoke again. “Wait a minute. I believe we got us a volunteer,” he said, pointing behind Cade.

  Cade turned to see Loco plodding deliberately toward him from a grassy gully near the river. He expected the skittish gray gelding to trot off to join the other horses, but it continued to approach him until, finally, it ha
lted before Cade and Luke.

  “Would you look at that,” Luke marveled. “It looks like he’s pickin’ you.” He chuckled, amused by the notion that a horse every cowboy in the crew tried to avoid because of its skittish and unpredictable nature had actually taken to Cade. “Well, I’ll be gone to hell,” he exclaimed a moment later when the ornery gray horse took another step forward to nudge Cade in the chest with its muzzle. “That’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Cade was equally amazed by the gelding’s unexpected behavior, but having worked with horses since he was barely able to sit in a saddle, he didn’t question it. He believed that a horse could sense the worth of a man, and was gifted with a lot more intuition than his two-legged masters. Cade was convinced that Loco knew he wouldn’t mistreat him. He gently stroked the horse’s neck for a few moments. “You wanna go with me, boy?” he said as he slipped the bridle on. In answer, the gray willingly took the bit. Cade looked at Luke, who was wearing a silly grin on his face. Luke shook his head, still astonished, and the new partners led their horses back to the trees to get their saddles.

  A little after sunup, Becker arrived after having rewarded himself the luxury of spending the night in the hotel. He was to meet with an officer from nearby Fort Keogh who was coming to look over the horses Becker wanted to sell. Spotting Cade and Luke all saddled up and ready to depart, he rode over to talk. He seemed genuinely disappointed that Cade had decided not to go back to Texas with him, but understood the pull of the Montana country on a young man’s sense of adventure. “What have you got in mind?” Becker asked.

  “Nothin’ in particular,” Luke was quick to answer for them. “We’re just gonna see what’s out there. Maybe do some huntin’ in the mountains, prospect a little, whatever suits our fancy.”

  Becker nodded as if he understood. “I see you picked your horses already. You’re probably gonna need a packhorse as well.”

  “I expect so,” Cade replied. “We were thinkin’ about maybe buying one offa you.”

  Becker looked at the two for a long moment before deciding. “Ah, hell, just go ahead and pick one. I expect the soldiers will take whatever’s left, and they always pay more than the horses are worth.”

  “Much obliged, Mr. Becker,” Cade said. “And thanks again for offerin’ me that job.”

  Becker nodded again. “Good luck to you, boys.” With that he wheeled his horse, preparing to ride off toward the river where the rest of his crew were in the throes of early-morning hangovers. “If you don’t find what you’re lookin’ for, come see me in Texas,” he called back over his shoulder.

  Chapter 3

  “I declare, Mr. Thompson,” Belle exclaimed while pretending to have lost her breath, “you are quite the lover.” She rose from the bed and slipped into her robe. “I almost feel guilty for charging you.” Then she laughed and said, “Almost.” She brushed her hair back while she waited for him to get his pants and shoes on. “How long are you gonna be in town?”

  “Just till morning,” Thompson replied, “then I’ll be on my way to Bozeman.” This was not the first time he had paid for the services of a prostitute, so he was not so naive as to believe he had actually caused her to lose her breath. He had arrived that morning on the packet boat Josephine with his supply of samples and merchandise. It didn’t take but a day to complete his business in Coulson.

  “I’m sorry to hear you’re leaving right away,” Belle said. “I’d kinda hoped you’d come back to see me.” When he only smiled in reply, while busily tying his shoelaces, she asked, “Are you staying in the hotel?”

  “That’s right.”

  “It’s early yet,” Belle suggested. “Maybe you might wanna drop back later for a little nightcap.”

  He looked up at her with a tired smile. “I’m afraid I’m done for the night. I’ve got to get started early in the morning. It’s a long ride to Bozeman.”

  “Oh, well,” she said, “too bad—maybe next time you’re through Coulson.” She picked up his coat and held it till he was ready for it. “It must be exciting being a liquor salesman.”

  “It’s like anything else, I guess—good times and bad times,” he said as he hastily took his coat and grabbed the doorknob. On a sudden impulse of generosity, he paused at the door, pulled out his wallet, and peeled off a few more dollars. “This was one of the good times,” he said.

  Standing in the shadows of the cottonwood trees, Lem Snider watched the man emerge from Belle’s tent and walk hurriedly toward town and the hotel. Judging from the man’s clothes, Lem speculated that he was a lawyer or salesman. At any rate, he had enough interest in him to find out. He left the trees and headed toward the tent.

  Entering the front portion of the tent, which was partitioned off from the rooms in the rear, Lem found Belle, having a drink with her partners, Lucille and Violet. He paused at the entrance to endow them with a sarcastic grin. “Well, ain’t this a bouquet of faded flowers.”

  “You go to hell, Snider,” Violet replied.

  “Hell wouldn’t have him,” Belle said. “Are you coming to buy something?”

  “I’m comin’ for some information, but we might as well do some business while we’re at it.” He looked at Belle directly. “Who serviced the gent that just left?” When she answered that she did, Lem grabbed her by the arm and said, “Let’s go in the back.”

  After they had completed the business that Belle specialized in, Snider asked her about the man she had pleasured before him. If Thompson had planned to be in town longer than one night, she would have been reluctant to share information with Snider. Since she saw no further opportunity for her, she was willing to sell what she knew about him.

  “He’s a whiskey salesman,” she volunteered. “And he’s leaving early in the morning on his way to Bozeman.”

  Snider’s interest was sparked immediately. “A whiskey salesman, eh? Ain’t that somethin’?”

  “He’s pretty well-heeled, too,” Belle said. “His wallet was so thick, I thought it was a gun in his coat till he pulled it out to pay me.”

  Lem smiled as he pictured it. “Maybe me and the boys oughta make sure he gets started in the right direction in the mornin’.”

  “I figure that information is worth a little something extra,” Belle reminded him.

  “You’ll get it,” Snider said as he left the tent still buttoning up his trousers, “but first, we’ll see how much it’s worth.”

  “Don’t you short me,” she warned. “If something happens to Mr. Thompson, I might have to talk to the law.”

  He halted abruptly and turned to face her. “Now, Belle, you wouldn’t ever wanna do somethin’ that damn foolish. That’s the kinda talk that gets whores’ throats cut.”

  “That was quick,” Lucille scoffed when Snider walked through the front room.

  “It ain’t how long,” Snider said, “it’s how good, and Belle ain’t never had no better.”

  “Hah!” Violet snorted contemptuously. “I’ll ask Belle about that.” As he went out the front entrance, she called after him. “And tell that big dummy Curly it’s gonna cost him more next time. I’d as soon mate with a bull elk.”

  Claude Thompson was at the stable behind the hotel before sunup the next morning, saddled and with his merchandise packed on a mule. His intention was to leave for Bozeman before daylight so as not to attract any attention. He had been warned by John Alderson, the owner of the hotel, that there had been some recent reports of road agents operating between Coulson and Bozeman. Thompson was not a timid man. He wore a .44 pistol and he was not averse to using it should the necessity occur. He was gratified to make his way out of town without seeing a sign of anyone out and about at that early hour.

  Following the trail along the banks of the Yellowstone, he was well along his way by the time the sun made a showing behind him. As he guided his horse around a barren section of high bluffs, he spotted a lone rider on the trail ahead coming toward him. Always careful when encountering strangers, Thompson rea
ched down and eased his .44 in the holster. He kept his eye on the approaching rider as the yards between them decreased to the point where he was able to make out the man’s features. All he could really tell at that distance, however, was that the man had bushy whiskers that appeared to be a beard gone wild.

  A sense of caution suddenly caused Thompson to look behind him. Caution turned to concern when he discovered two riders on the trail behind him, moving along at his pace. Concern now replaced by alarm, he looked around him, seeking some avenue of escape. There was none, for that stretch of river was treeless and slashed with narrow gullies that ran down to the water. Maybe just coincidence, he thought. Might not be what it looks like. He was not convinced. There was nothing he could do but keep riding and hope he was wrong.

  “Mornin’ to you, sir,” Lem Snider called out as he drew up even with Thompson.

  “Morning,” Thompson replied curtly, and continued to ride past.

  Snider wheeled his horse and trotted up beside Thompson again. “I just thought I’d better tell you there’s a lot of road agents along this way. Maybe you oughta be on the lookout.”

  “Thank you for your concern,” Thompson replied guardedly.

  In the next instant, a rifle shot rang out. Thompson sat straight up for a second before keeling over to the side and dropping to the ground with a bullet in his back.

  “Damn you, Dawson,” Snider railed, “you coulda missed and hit me!”

  Bob Dawson smirked as he and Curly caught up to them. Looking down at the body, he said, “Hell, I couldn’ta missed from that distance. I didn’t see no reason to pussyfoot around with him.”

  “Yeah, well, next time wait till I give a signal before you go blastin’ away.” Eager to examine Thompson’s wallet, Snider dismounted and rifled through the dead man’s coat pockets until he found it. “Hot damn!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “It’s just as fat as Belle said it was.”