“Fellers, we’ve done hit the mother lode,” Curly sang out as he searched through the packs on the mule. “Whiskey! Enough to drown in!”
The three outlaws rummaged through Thompson’s possessions, scattering clothes and camping gear about in an effort to see everything the man carried. “We’ll take the horse and the mule,” Snider said. “Throw the saddle over the bank there.”
“That’s a fine-lookin’ saddle,” Dawson said. “I might wanna trade.”
“Hell,” Curly immediately responded, “what makes you think you get the saddle?”
“Shut up, both of you,” Snider said. “We don’t keep things somebody might recognize, like saddles and boots. Throw it over the bank.”
“What about the damn horse?” Dawson countered. “Somebody might recognize his horse, and we’re keepin’ that.”
“It ain’t got no brand on it. Who’s to say we didn’t find it runnin’ wild? Look at the saddle. It’s got his damn initials on it.” One of these days I’m gonna throw the both of you over the damn bank and be done with you, he thought.
Following the Yellowstone River, it took Cade and Luke two and a half days to reach its confluence with the Big Horn. They camped at the site of Fort Pease, about seven miles below the Big Horn. There was nothing left of the fort but charred timbers. The army had abandoned it two years before, and the Indians had promptly set fire to it. To this point, there had been no sighting of Indians, nor did they expect any—at least not in any great numbers. Sitting Bull and about three hundred Sioux had reportedly fled to Canada in early May the year before, and Crazy Horse’s band had supposedly surrendered. Still Cade and Luke kept a wary eye open for scattered groups of Sioux and Cheyenne. Their concern was not great, however, for they were fairly confident that, with two Winchester repeating rifles, they could hold their own against a sizable war party.
“At the pace we’re goin’,” Luke speculated, “we oughta make Fort Ellis in six or more days.”
Cade, busily building a fire at that moment, only nodded in reply. This was new country to him, so whatever Luke said, he had no choice but to accept. He was not inclined to be concerned with it at any rate. He was happy to be riding west toward the high mountains, free of bawling cattle and the dusty trail they left behind them. He gave very little thought to the prospect of finding the lost packs of gold dust Luke had hidden. He had never owned anything of value that did not come from hard work, so it was difficult to believe there would be riches waiting for him to simply come and fish them from the river. That’s the way things had been for him since childhood.
Even as a small boy, he had always been good with horses, a trait passed down from his father. Cade had worshiped his father, and strove to walk in his footsteps from the time he stood on his own two feet. There was not a better man in Pueblo, Colorado Territory, than John Hunter, but that was not enough to save him from stopping a bank robber’s bullet in an unsuccessful robbery of Pueblo’s only bank. John Hunter had just withdrawn money from the bank to buy some supplies. It was not a large sum of money, but John refused to part with it when accosted by one of the robbers as they burst into the bank with guns drawn. Infuriated by the man’s lack of fear, the outlaw shot him down with his revolver. The bank robbery was foiled when the sheriff and his deputy ambushed the pair of gunmen as they fled from the bank.
Lodged in the jail, the two outlaws awaited trial. That event was never to occur, however, for both men were shot through the bars of the one window in their second-floor cell by an unknown assailant. Due to the fact that the back wall of the jail was built adjacent to the rear wall of the sheriff’s house, with barely two feet of space between the two, there was much speculation as to the possibility of a grown man being able to climb up in such a cramped space. Some argued that it would require a smaller person, maybe like Hunter’s ten-year-old son to accomplish it. Others countered that it was hardly likely that Ada Hunter’s grieving son had the nerve to do such a thing, even if he was capable of shinnying up between the two buildings, pulling up Hunter’s nine-and-a-half-pound Henry rifle. At any rate, it was never determined for sure who the killer was. The boy never volunteered any information on the matter, and as far as his mother knew, he was asleep in his room that fateful night. Most folks, including the sheriff, figured the executions were deserved, and considered it a closed book.
Two years after his father’s death, Cade’s mother married again, this time to an attorney named Samuel Whitsel, and moved to his house in town. Young Cade never cared for the union. Samuel Whitsel was certainly taken by the widow Hunter, but he was not keen on the acquisition of a twelve-year-old son, especially one who many citizens of the town suspected of cold-blooded murder. Repulsed by the sight of his mother’s doting upon the slick, nattily dressed lawyer, Cade avoided contact with his stepfather, spending the majority of his time out at the ranch with the horses. He stuck it out for two more years until Whitsel decided to sell the Hunter ranch and all the stock. When the horses left, so did Cade. The only possession left to him was old Billy and his saddle. The farewell to his mother was brief with little emotion, it being apparent to the fourteen-year-old boy that the parting made things easier for her new marriage. Nothing came easily to him after that, so it was just natural for him to expect that nothing ever would.
They started out again early the next morning, following the Yellowstone west. Luke commented that it seemed especially strange to him for the two of them to ride peacefully through country that used to be prime hunting grounds for the Sioux when he was last here. At that time, the only safety was in a cavalry patrol. They came upon more than a few cabins that had been built by settlers since the treaties with the Sioux had opened up the land along the river for settlement. By the time they reached the little town of Coulson, Luke was ready to stay over for an extra day—to rest, so he said. But Cade suspected that it was the saloon next to the general store that held the real attraction for his friend.
A man named Perry McAdow had bought some land on the Yellowstone the year before, and set up a sawmill along with the saloon and general store. It seemed to be a good location to receive the goods brought upriver by the steam-boats. It looked to be a promising venture for Mr. McAdow, for now the little town boasted a hotel, a post office, and a telegraph office in addition to the saloons and general store. “Dang,” Luke exclaimed upon seeing the progress, “if this keeps up, it’ll be as big as Chicago.”
It was late in the day when Cade and Luke rode into Coulson. “I don’t know about you, partner, but that saloon there is a happy sight for this dusty throat.”
Cade shrugged indifferently. “I guess I’ve got enough money left to spare for one drink,” he said.
There were three horses tied up in front of the saloon when they dismounted and tied on alongside. The owners of the three animals were hovering around one end of the bar, nursing a bottle of whiskey. All three paused and gave the newcomers a thorough looking over. Cade merely glanced their way, while Luke ignored them altogether, his mind set on a drink. There being no tables in the saloon, they each propped a foot on a long wooden step that substituted for a brass rail, and waited while the bartender finished wiping a spot for them with a wet rag. “What’ll it be, gents?”
“Have you got somethin’ that’ll burn the hair off the inside of my throat?” Luke asked good-naturedly.
“I reckon,” the bartender replied, laughing. “You fellers are new around here, ain’tcha?”
“Just passin’ through, friend,” Luke answered, his eye never leaving the bartender’s hands as the man produced two shot glasses from beneath the counter.
“Where you headed?”
“West,” Luke answered briefly before tossing his drink down.
Cade noticed that the conversation between the three men at the end of the bar had stopped, and their attention seemed to be captured by Luke’s banter with the barkeep. One of them in particular, a bushy-faced man with brooding dark eyes, continued to openly stare at them. Lu
ke, oblivious to the scrutiny, continued his casual conversation with the bartender. Cade, however, being of a more cautious nature, moved around to the other side of Luke, where he could keep an eye on his friend and the three strangers beyond.
Bushy-face whispered a few remarks to his drinking partners, then moved up the bar to join Luke and Cade. “Couldn’t help but notice you, friend,” he said. “I’m thinkin’ your name might be Tucker.”
Surprised, Luke turned to face the man, looking him over. “Yes, sir,” he replied, “I’m Luke Tucker. Do I know you?”
“Luke Tucker, that’s right,” Bushy-face replied, affecting a wide grin. “Corporal Tucker, right?” When Luke was obviously struggling to recall the man before him, Bushy-face said, “I’m Lem Snider from C Company. We served together under Lieutenant Parker.”
“Oh, yeah,” Luke finally replied, although without a great deal of enthusiasm it seemed to Cade, “Snider, I remember you. That was a long time ago. You wasn’t much more than a kid back then.” He gave him a long hard look. “I didn’t recognize you right off with all that brush on your face.”
“It has been a while,” Snider allowed. Then with a fleeting glance at Cade, he asked, “Who’s your friend?”
“This is Cade Hunter,” Luke said. “He’s my partner.”
“Partner in what?” Snider wanted to know.
“Well, nothin’ much right now, I reckon,” Luke replied.
It was obvious to Cade that, for whatever reason, Luke was not enjoying this chance reunion with an old army comrade. He seemed guarded and unusually reserved for one who could talk a gopher out of his hole. As far as Cade was concerned, he didn’t like the looks of Lem Snider. He had the gaze of a man who might be measuring you for a coffin, and there was something about him that didn’t seem right. It took Cade a couple of minutes to figure it out, and then it struck him. The man’s right ear was missing the very top part. Just a little piece was missing, like maybe someone had bitten it off in a fight.
“A lot of the boys back in C Company wondered what in hell happened to you,” Snider said. “You were on that escort that lost the gold shipment over near the Gallatin. I rode on the patrol that was sent over to pick up the bodies.” Snider shook his head slowly as if recalling the scene. “That was a shameful sight, all them dead boys layin’ around in the sun.” He glanced at Cade to see if he was listening. “Ever’ last soul rubbed out, all except two. We found all the bodies but yours and Adams’. Then we found Adams’ body across the river. We wondered what happened to you. Some got to thinkin’ that maybe you was in on the ambush.” He paused then and watched for Luke’s reaction.
“Oh, they did, did they?” Luke responded. “Well, I got away, all right, with a rifle ball in my leg for my trouble. I made it on up to the East Gallatin where we was supposed to pass the shipment off to a cavalry unit. They ordered me on to Fort Lincoln with them. I wound up in Virginia by the time the war was over.”
Snider didn’t say anything for a few moments while he considered Luke’s explanation, a hint of a smile on his face. “Well, that explains it, don’t it?” he finally said, although without conviction. “And them Rebs got away with all that gold.” He paused again, watching Luke’s face closely. After a moment, he said, “You ain’t said what you’re doin’ back in this part of the country again”—he shifted his gaze to Cade for a second—“you and your partner.”
“Like I said,” Luke replied, “we’re just headin’ west, lookin’ for opportunity, I reckon. How ’bout yourself? What are you doin’ back in these parts?”
Snider grinned. “Hell, I never left. Me and my partners are in business together.” He turned to signal his friends. “Come on over, boys.” The two picked up their glasses and the half-empty bottle, and moved up the bar to join them. “Luke Tucker, meet Bob Dawson and Curly Jenkins,” Snider said. “I already forgot your partner’s name,” he added with a wide grin. Cade didn’t bother to remind him. Dawson and Jenkins didn’t say anything, just contented themselves to stand leering like two surly yard dogs.
“What kind of business are you in?” Luke asked Snider.
His question brought a sly grin to Snider’s face. “Just business, any kind of business, sometimes cattle, sometimes gold.” He paused and looked at his partners and winked. “Sometimes even hides,” he said, causing a gruff snort of a chuckle from the man introduced as Curly, the remark obviously recalling some incident they found humorous. “Maybe you and your friend here would wanna join up with us,” Snider suggested. “We could use some new ideas. Couldn’t we, boys?”
Luke favored him with a wry smile. “Well now, Snider, that’s mighty generous of you, but me and Cade ain’t lookin’ to go into business with anyone. We’re just passin’ through.”
“Well, that’s too bad,” Snider said, suspicion written all over his wooly face. “It was mighty good to see one of the boys from the old company, though.” He offered his hand to Luke. “Your partner don’t talk a helluva lot, does he?”
“Nope,” Luke replied. He tossed his drink back, and turned toward the door. “Come on, Cade, we’d best be goin’.”
Outside Luke hurried Cade to their horses. “Partner, it woulda been better to run into the devil himself than to run up on Lem Snider. He mighta acted like we was old friends, but I never had any use for the low-down son of a bitch back then, and I sure as God don’t have any use for him now. He’d steal the pennies off a dead man’s eyes.”
“I figured as much,” Cade said, untying Loco’s reins.
Luke frowned up at the early-evening sky. “Damn, it’s gettin’ a little late to start out now.”
“The horses need rest, anyway,” Cade reminded him. “We can go up the river a piece to camp.”
Stepping up in the saddle, Cade turned Loco’s head upriver and led Luke and the packhorse west along the bank. The dark figure of Lem Snider stood just inside the saloon tent flap, watching them depart. Bob Dawson walked over to stand behind him. “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” Bob asked. “They’re both totin’ fine-lookin’ Winchesters. Didn’t look like there was much on that packhorse, though.”
Lem continued to watch the two riders moving along the riverbank a long moment before answering. “No, I ain’t thinkin’ what you’re thinkin’. I’m thinkin’ there might be a helluva lot more than three horses and a couple of rifles for the takin’.” He turned to explain to his partner. “Luke was mighty tight-lipped about where the two of them was headin’. I got a feelin’ them two are up to somethin’ they don’t wanna talk about. I didn’t see no picks or shovels or whatnot on that packhorse—nothin’ a man would likely be totin’ if he was plannin’ on doin’ some prospectin’. Maybe all that shipment of gold didn’t get to the Rebs. He said him and Luther Adams hightailed it together, and we found Luther’s body on the other side of the river with a bullet in his back. Maybe Luke knows where some of that gold’s hid. They’re up to somethin’, and I aim to find out what it is.”
Luke and Cade made their camp in a stand of cottonwoods that flanked the wide river. The water was fairly deep here despite the fact that it was late summer. The spot they selected for their camp lay opposite a wide gravel bar that divided the briskly flowing water into two channels. From the edge of the bank where they built a fire, the prairie swept away to the north, a moving sea of lusty grass as the evening breeze skipped across the land. It was a peaceful place to make camp, and Cade hobbled the horses, then left them to graze while Luke sliced some strips from a slab of bacon. It was just beginning to get dark when their guest arrived.
“Now, who the hell is this?” Luke uttered when a horse pulling a buckboard suddenly appeared among the trees.
Cade set his coffee cup down by the fire and reached for his rifle. Looking back toward the trail beyond the trees, he saw that the buckboard was alone. As it approached their camp, he was surprised to see a woman holding the reins. Still cautious, however, he got to his feet and moved away from the firelight. Luke got up as well,
but remained by the fire, staring at their visitor. “Well, I’ll be . . .” he mumbled under his breath when he discovered that the caller was a woman.
“Evening, gents,” the woman called out cheerfully upon pulling her horse to a stop before the fire. “My name’s Belle. I heard there was a couple of fine-looking gentlemen passing through our little town, and I thought it would be a shame if I didn’t at least give you a little word of welcome.”
“Why, yes ma’am, Miss Belle,” Luke was quick to respond. He unconsciously reached up to twist the ends of his handlebar mustache. “Step down and light a spell. We can offer you some coffee. That’s about all we got right now.” He moved quickly to offer his hand to assist her. One glance at the buxom woman left little doubt of the kind of welcome she specialized in.
“I’ve got a better idea,” she said with a giggle. “Me and two other ladies run a little social club between the sawmill and the ferry. Why don’t you and your friend there come on back with me, and we’ll have a little drink of whiskey—and anything else you boys might have a hankering for.”
“Well now,” Luke replied, his face alight with the thoughts stampeding through his brain, “that sounds like a right friendly idea.” Unable to take his eyes off Belle, he asked, “Whaddaya say, Cade? We could stand a little female company right now, couldn’t we?”
Cade, silent to that moment, was not sure he and Luke were seeing the same woman. Evidently not as desperate for female companionship as his partner, he was not intrigued by the obvious assets of Belle Whatever-Her-Name-Was. In fact, he was inclined to believe that inside the billowy gingham frock there might lie a generous landscape that could frighten a man. He had no prior experience with prostitutes, and there was nothing about the aging puffy face behind the rouge and lip paint that tempted him to gain that experience at this particular moment. She looked to be a few years older than Luke, and Luke claimed to be forty.
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