by Jake Logan
The elk thrashed in the brush. Slocum saw gouts of blood on the ground, and the surrounding leaves were spattered with red droplets.
He reached the dying elk first. It lifted its head, but there was a hole right behind its left leg. Blood spurted from its mouth and nostrils. The animal moaned in mortal agony.
Donnie rode up.
Slocum drew his six-gun, cocked it, and fired a round into the elk’s head. It kicked its hind legs in a spasmodic jerk and lay still. The blood stopped oozing from the hole in its side.
There was another hole in the elk, just under its spine.
Donnie’s shot.
“I got him, I got him,” Donnie exclaimed excitedly.
“You sure did, Donnie.”
“Hot damn.”
Slocum shoved his rifle back in its boot, dismounted, and ground-tied Ferro to a sturdy bush. Donnie climbed out of the saddle. He laid his gun against a tree and stared down at the dead elk.
“That’s the easy part of hunting,” Slocum said. “Now comes the hard part.”
“What’s that?”
“Dressing the cow out and packing the meat down to camp.”
“I don’t know how to do none of that,” Donnie said.
“Then you just watch.”
Slocum drew his knife from his stovepipe boot and kneeled over the cow. He spread its front legs and sliced a deep cut from its throat, down its belly, to the anus. Donnie recoiled as the guts were exposed and a cloud of steam, odorous as an outhouse hole, issued from the bowels of the animal.
Donnie’s eyes rolled in their sockets and his legs crumpled.
Slocum started pulling intestines and organs from the cow’s stomach.
Donnie staggered away a few feet and fainted. He hit the ground with a thud.
Slocum chuckled to himself and continued to dress out the elk with his big knife.
Donnie lay facedown, dead to the world.
Flies zizzed around the entrails, and a jay flitted to a nearby pine limb and started a raucous squawking. Other jays flew to nearby trees and blared their calls through the timber.
Slocum smiled.
He had meat for Mallory’s hotel guests and he felt good. It had taken three bullets to get the elk, but they had gotten it.
The horses looked on as Slocum continued to cut away the front legs and the cow’s head.
Finally, the jays flew away and the mountains were silent, their snowcapped peaks shining brilliant white in the blaze of the afternoon sun.
13
Adolph Gruenig, the lone butcher in Big Timber, smacked his lips when he saw the elk meat Slocum and Donnie carried into his shop. It was close to dusk when they got there, and Gruenig had already lit a lamp.
“Oh, das ist gut,” he exclaimed. “Herr Mallory will be pleased. I will cut up the meat tonight, ja, and you come for some of it in the morning, Donnie.”
“I will, Mr. Gruenig,” Donnie said. “Thanks.”
“You tell your papa I make de good cuts. So much meat, eh.”
Slocum and Donnie rode to the livery. Slocum put Ferro in his stall and put grain in his feed bin, saw to it that he had water in his trough. Donnie put his horse up and the mules he turned outside in the corral. The stableman, Wilbur Snead, was at supper. Donnie and Slocum walked back to the hotel. They looked at the raw sky beyond the high peaks of the mountains. It was as red as barn paint behind the gilded clouds that were already fading to an ashen hue. By the time they reached the hotel, the last rays of sunlight were falling into the horizon like spent fireworks.
“I’ll tell Pop what Mr. Gruenig said, Mr. Slocum. See you tomorrow?”
“I’m not sure,” Slocum said. “Don’t plan on it. I expect Sheriff Jenner will have me busy.”
“Is he back yet?”
“I don’t know.”
Slocum got his key from the clerk, the austere Alfred Duggins, who did not speak to him, as if Slocum were an inferior. As he passed the desk, he saw the large poster on an easel.
APPEARING TONIGHT
THE LORRAINES
MOTHER AND DAUGHTER
IN THE DINING SALON
8:00 P.M.
Slocum carried his bedroll, saddlebags, and rifle to his room on the second floor. He entered and walked to the highboy, where he kept a bottle of Kentucky bourbon on a tray, with two upside-down glasses and a pitcher of water. He threw his gear on the bed as he passed it. He poured himself a generous glass of whiskey and filled the other tumbler with water.
He carried the glasses to the small table in the center of the room and sat down. He stretched his long legs out straight and drank a sip of the whiskey. It tasted good. He was grimy from dressing out the elk and sweating in the sun on the way back to Big Timber.
He drank the whiskey, then bathed himself with a washcloth, soap, and water, then changed clothes. He had just finished the buff on his boots when there was a knock on his door. He threw down the polishing cloth and strode to the door.
“Who is it?” he said.
“Ray Mallory.”
He opened the door and there stood the hotel owner holding a piece of paper in his hand.
“Come on in, Ray,” Slocum said.
“Got yourself all cleaned up, I see. We have a bathhouse, you know. Out back. Hot water, soap, towels.”
“I know. Have a seat.”
“This message was left at the desk for you. I saved Alfred a trip since I wanted to talk to you.”
Mallory handed Slocum the note. He walked to the table and sat down, looked at the bottle of whiskey, the two glasses.
“I must remember to have the maid bring you some extra glasses,” he said.
Slocum opened the note.
“John,” it read, “can you meet me in my office tonight? Say about 6:30 or 7:00. Urgent.”
The note was signed: “David Jenner, Sheriff of Big Timber.”
“You know what’s in the note?” Slocum said.
“Of course. Dave sent a man over from his office. I was there when it was delivered.”
“Some people would say that was snoopy.”
“The note was not folded over. I couldn’t help but read it. Also, the man who delivered it went to see a man staying here at my hotel and asked him to see Sheriff Jenner. Something about a posse.”
“You don’t miss much, do you, Ray?”
“Big Timber’s a small town. Not much goes on here that I don’t know about.”
“Donnie told you we dropped some elk meat off at the butcher shop?”
“That’s why I came up to see you. I want to thank you for taking Donnie under your wing. He was very excited about killing that big elk. He said you let him shoot it.”
Slocum said nothing.
“I just wanted you to know how grateful I am. There’s a big change in that boy. You gave him a chance to become a man.”
“He’s all right,” Slocum said.
“You can pick up your pay in the morning at the desk. There’s a little extra in it to show my gratitude.”
“That was our deal, Ray. Take Donnie hunting and show him the ropes.”
“Yes, but I never thought he could shoot an elk all by himself practically his first time out.”
“I don’t know when I’ll be able to take him hunting again. I have a hunch Jenner’s going to need help.”
“What did you two find out?” Mallory asked.
“I’ll let the sheriff give you that information, Ray. He may want to keep a lid on it for a time.”
“I understand, John.”
Mallory drew his watch out of his watch pocket. It was on a chain.
“Well, it’s getting close to six thirty, John. I don’t want to keep you.”
“I’ll walk over and see what Dave has to say.”
Mallory stood up.
“I hope Dave can bring those scoundrels to justice who ambushed the stage and killed all those people.”
“I do, too,” Slocum said.
Mallory walked toward the door. Then he stopped and turned ar
ound.
“I’m grateful to you, also, John, for bringing the Lorraines to my hotel. They are quite an attraction.”
“You’ve hired them on?”
“For a month, at least. I am sending flyers to Billings, Livingston, and every town along the Yellowstone and the Gallatin. Their manager helped me with the advertisement.”
“Don’t thank me, Ray. They wanted to stay here.”
“Yes, but you made sure they did and I’m mighty pleased about it.”
Mallory left and Slocum strapped on his gun belt, put on his hat.
The sky over the mountains was the color of a dove’s breast, and some of the streetlamps were lit when he walked to Sheriff Jenner’s office. There were horses outside, reins wrapped around the hitchrail.
When he walked in, Dave was standing in front of three men who had their right hands raised.
“I hereby deputize you men,” Dave said.
The men put their hands down.
“Be here at sunup tomorrow,” Dave said. He let them out without introducing them to Slocum. He closed and locked the door behind them. Then he pulled the shades.
As he stepped to his desk, he blocked the lamplight and became a shadowy silhouette. He sat down and waved Slocum to a chair.
“I see you got yourself a posse, Dave,” Slocum said.
“Three pissants,” Jenner said.
“Best you could do, I reckon.”
“I sent a telegram to the U.S. marshal in Helena when I got back. He should have it by morning. Not in time to help us, but I told him we were dealing with some pretty bad hombres and a handful of scalping Crow braves.”
“Maybe you should have called out the U.S. Army, Dave.”
“Yeah. That would take a least a month, maybe two.”
“Well, what’s your plan?”
Slocum tilted his hat back on his head and stretched out his legs.
“That’s why I wanted you to come over. John, I’m scared shitless.”
Jenner picked up a stack of wanted dodgers and held them out.
“Every one of those men up there at that camp has a price on his head.”
“So?”
“I got all their names, and if you read these, you’ll know I’m dealing with cold-blooded killers. And even with those I just swore in, and you, I don’t think I can stop ’em.”
“Do you know what Valenti is planning to do?”
“I’ve got some of it. He wants those women pretty bad.”
“The Lorraines?”
“Yes. But he’s got something else in mind and that’s what scares me.”
“What else?”
Jenner dropped the flyers and leaned across the desk.
“I don’t know. Valenti’s keeping his men in the dark. But we’ve got to get that mother and her daughter out of town, put ’em in a safe place.”
“When?”
“Tonight, if we can. John, I need your help on this. There’s no time to waste.”
Slocum pulled a cheroot out of his pocket. He didn’t light it. He just looked at Jenner and felt a tinge of sadness.
Jenner was in over his head. He would need more than his help to get Jasmine and Lydia to leave Big Timber. There was desperation in Jenner’s eyes. He looked, Slocum thought, like a man who had just been sentenced to die on the gallows.
14
Harry Wicks was one of those men who might be called nondescript. People seldom noticed him. When he was in a town, or part of a crowd, he was one who always escaped notice. He had no distinguishing facial features. He was quiet and deceptive.
Those characteristics were what made Wicks a valuable accomplice when outlaws needed a lookout or someone to blend in when a robbery was planned.
Wicks was the man Bruno Valenti sent into Big Timber after the attack on the stagecoach and wagons. He was the man who could garner the information Valenti needed without being noticed at all.
And Harry Wicks was also a very observant man. He was so anonymous that his face had never appeared on a wanted dodger or was ever mentioned by eyewitnesses who had been his victims.
So when he rode into the old camp, Valenti was anxious to hear what he had to say.
It was late afternoon when the Crow braves returned. They had killed three sheep. They had dressed them out and packed the meat in the hides, which served as bundles.
Valenti, Pettibone, and the others in Bruno’s band watched the Crow braves ride in and almost missed seeing Wicks, who was riding right behind them. They only noticed him because he was white and wearing white man’s clothing. But at first, they only saw the Crow, who were also wearing white man’s clothes. They were riding paints. Wicks was riding a cow pony with patches of white hair in its otherwise brown hide. So he escaped notice, even among his brethren.
“Ain’t that Harry?” Pettibone said as the Crow rode single file toward their teepees.
“Yep, that’s Harry, right at the tail end of them Injuns,” Angus Macgregor said. “Damned if he don’t look half-Crow on that pony.”
Valenti laughed.
“That’s why I sent him into Big Timber,” Bruno said.
“The man’s like a leaf on a tree full of leaves. He don’t stand out like the rest of you ugly bastards.”
Jim Cochran snorted and self-consciously touched a hand to his bearded face as if to confirm or deny Valenti’s comment about his looks. Cochran had red hair that was thinning so that it looked like strands of copper wire streaming across the bald spot in the middle of his skull. He was short and stocky and stood out, even in that group of hard cases, like a boiled thumb.
“Well, Harry,” Valenti said when Wicks rode up and dismounted, “what did you find out?”
Wicks handed the reins of his horse to Pettibone.
“Your gal and her daughter are stayin’ at the Big Timber Hotel. Singin’ there, as a matter of fact.”
“What about that little weasel, Fenster?”
“He’s with ’em. I think them gals will be singin’ in the dining salon ever’ night for a while.”
“What about the bank?”
“It’s a pushover, Bruno. They got one gal teller and one shrimp of a man. Banker’s office is right behind the cages. They got a vault and leave it open most of the time.”
“No guard?”
“No guard. It’s a little old bank, kind of like a post office.”
“But they got money,” Valenti said.
“They seem to be doin’ business. A lot of people came in and put money on the counter.”
“Good. We can kill two birds with one stone,” Valenti said.
“The gals is up on the second floor. Room 122. Fenster is lodged in Room 124, right next door.”
“We can sure put that jasper’s lights out if he interferes,” Valenti said.
The Crow were skinning out the sheep. One of them walked over to where Valenti and his men were sitting around a campfire that had been built, but was unlit.
“Here comes Two Knives,” Cochran said.
Valenti raised his head and looked at the approaching Crow.
“Hau,” Two Knives said. “Kill sheep.” He held up three fingers, then rubbed his belly. “Good meat. You cook.”
“You eat with us, Two Knives. You and your braves. You done good.”
“Heap good,” Two Knives said. He was a stoical man, unsmiling, with piercing brown eyes that looked black, and long black hair braided into a single pigtail that was tucked inside his thin muslin shirt. He wore rumpled trousers that were slightly too large for him. His belt was a piece of rough hemp rope. He wore a knife and a small .38 caliber pistol in a worn holster. His beaded headband protruded from under his battered felt hat, which bore the stains of many a meal.
“Me and the boys will be leavin’ camp in a day or two,” Valenti said. He signed, swirling a circle to include the group of white men, straddling a finger with two on the other hand, making a crude fork. Then, the sign for go and showing one sun to indicate the day they would be gone. “Yo
u stay here. Wait.”
“Two Knives no go?”
Valenti shook his head.
“If you go with us,” he said, “many soldiers come. They hunt you. Take you back to Agency.”
Two Knives grunted.
He and his men had sneaked away from the Crow Agency in Wyoming with Valenti’s help. They wanted money to buy rifles and bullets, which Valenti had promised them.
“You go,” Two Knives said. “We wait. We hunt. We eat.”
Valenti grinned.
“We bring money. Buy guns. Guns for you and your braves.”
“Good,” Two Knives said. He walked back to his camp. He was slightly bowlegged and rocked from side to side as he walked.
“You give them redskins guns, Bruno, we’ll all lose our scalps,” Cochran said.
“You let me worry about that.”
“Well, what about that bank in Big Timber?” Pettibone said. “When do we clean it out?”
“Next stage is due on Saturday. Two days from now. I reckon they’ll bring money from Billings for that bank. Ain’t that right, Harry?”
“Yep. Bank sends a clerk to the stage stop to pick up a big bag.”
Wicks had spent two weeks in Big Timber. He hadn’t been present when the gang ambushed the stage. The Monday stage, which carried no money.
“So late afternoon, the bank should have the money, right?”
“They will,” Wicks said. “They count it after the bank closes. So it’ll still be in that bag.”
“Mighty convenient,” Cochran said, a wry grin on his sun-freckled face.
“Harry and Jake will go to the hotel and get Jasmine and Lydia. I want ’em both, but if they only get Jasmine, that’ll be all right. The rest of us will be withdrawing money from the Big Timber Bank right at closing time. We’ll all meet there.”
“What about the sheriff?” Cochran asked.
Valenti looked at Wicks for an answer.
“He ain’t much, and he ain’t got no deputies. We can take him down with one shot from a Greener if he butts in.”
“That answer your question, Cochran?” Valenti said.
“Macgregor, you’ll be on the street outside the bank. You keep an eye on the hotel and for that sheriff.” Valenti stood up and stretched.
“Glad to be of service,” Macgregor said.