Rocky Mountain Lawmen Series Box Set: Four John Legg Westerns

by John Legg

  A terrible wailing gave the village an eerie cast as Morgan stopped in front of Washakie’s lodge. Rabbit Tail, looking pale and upset, came up to take away his horse. Morgan nodded at the boy and gave his shoulder a soft, reassuring squeeze. “Man Above works in odd ways sometimes, boy,” Morgan said softly.

  Rabbit Tail nodded, but new tears were leaking from his eyes. “I will miss my friend.”

  “We’ll all miss him, Rabbit Tail. He was a good young man, and would’ve been a fine warrior. But, believe me, Rabbit Tail, his death won’t go unanswered.”

  Rabbit Tail nodded again and left with Morgan’s horse. Morgan wondered how much the boy really understood of what he had just said. Then he shrugged. It didn’t matter. The boy had known that Morgan was understanding and sympathetic.

  Morgan entered Washakie’s roomy tepee and sat. Cloud Woman was there, as she often was. She hurried to make sure Morgan was comfortable against a willow backrest, and then to give him food. Morgan didn’t really want to eat, but he remembered that he had not eaten anything since the rancid lunch in Flat Fork. The smell of the stew made him recall how hungry he was, and he ate with a fair amount of gusto.

  Washakie said nothing while Morgan ate, and for some time afterward. He would let Morgan begin the talking.

  Finally, Morgan said, “You know, of course?”

  Washakie nodded solemnly.

  “You know what the boy told Orv?”

  Again the dignified nod.

  “The soldier chief wants to chase after the men who’ve caused all the grief among the Shoshoni,” Morgan said. “I’ve told him he’d be a damn fool to do it.”

  “You’re full of shit,” Washakie said.

  “Reckon I am on that. I told him I’d kill him if he stuck his nose in this business.”

  “And you think you can catch these men by yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  Washakie nodded, accepting the statement as true. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked.

  “Keep your men from going on the war trail,” Morgan said evenly. “They go out raidin’, whether it’s raids on whites or other Indians, the army’s going to get involved, and then there’ll be a lot of death. If you want to keep your people safe, or as safe as they can be, don’t let them make war just now.”

  “You are wise beyond your years, Buck,” the old chief said. “I shall do as you ask.”

  “As if you hadn’t thought of it yourself, eh.” Morgan poured himself some coffee and then settled back again. “There’s a few other things you can do, too, Washakie. For one, keep your people from going off alone. Tell your young men that if they want to seek a vision, then they can either wait or go with a group. If you don’t have horse guards posted regularly now, start doin’ so.”

  “You think they’d attack here?” Washakie asked, somewhat surprised.

  “I doubt it, but there’s no tellin’ what those shit balls’ll do,” Morgan said, an edge of frustration in his voice.

  “And where will you be during all this?” Washakie asked, knowing but wanting to be reassured.

  “Out after them.”

  “You know where to find them?” Washakie asked.

  “The only place they, can hide out around here is Flat Fork, as far as I know. And even if not, they’ll show up there sooner or later. They’re the kind of men well suited to such a place.”

  “But you don’t even know who they are or what they look like,” Washakie noted.

  “I know a little something about one of them.”

  “That’s not much.”

  “It’s a start.”

  “Would you like some of the warriors to go with you?” Washakie asked.

  “No,” Morgan said with a solid shake of his head.

  “That’d only cause more trouble. If I go in there alone, even bein’ a lawman, I might find one or two willin’ to talk to me. I go in there with a couple of Shoshonis and there ain’t a man or woman in Flat Fork that’d talk to me.”

  Washakie nodded. The old chief had known it all along. He had just wanted to make sure Morgan knew it, too. “Something else I can help with?” Washakie asked. “Your face tells me somethin’ else bothers you.”

  “Yes, something troubles me. Something more than the murders. But I don’t know if I should talk about it. It seems so small when compared with what’s happened to the People here of late.”

  “If it troubles you, it is important, because if you don’t find peace over it, your mind won’t be on your job.”

  “Never thought of it that way.”

  “So tell me.”

  “Well, Washakie, I ain’t sure how to go about this.” His eyes drifted toward Cloud Woman. She was watching him but trying not to be seen at it. She smiled. “It’s Cloud Woman,” Morgan said, looking back at Washakie. “I’d like her to be mine, but I don’t know how to go about it.” He paused, sighing. “Makin’ it worse is the fact that I don’t have the time nor the patience to play at courtin’ the way either of our people do.” He paused again, gnawing at his mustache a little. “And I plan to hit the trail for Flat Fork tomorrow at first light.”

  Washakie sat nodding for a few moments, then called, “Come, granddaughter.” When Cloud Woman came and sat next to him, Washakie asked in English, “Would you take this white man as a husband?”

  “Yes,” Cloud Woman whispered.

  “Without the usual courting and rituals?” Washakie asked in Shoshoni. Again Cloud Woman answered in the affirmative. Washakie looked at Morgan. “It is usual to give a father horses for his daughter’s hand.”

  “I have no horses, other than my own,” Morgan answered frankly. “I have nothing much of anything.”

  “Would you be insulted if the white man pays no presents for your hand in marriage?” Washakie asked Cloud Woman in Shoshoni.

  “No, grandfather.”

  “Then so it shall be. Find some friends and get that old lodge of mine. Raise it here near this one, you and your friends. Build a fire. Take what you need from here for your marriage bed, granddaughter. And some food.”

  Cloud Woman fairly beamed. At seventeen she was quite old for never having taken a husband. She had been finicky with those who had courted her, and so had driven most of them away. But her heart had turned over when she had first seen the tall, rangy, gruff-looking white man with the hair on his upper lip and the shiny badge pinned to his vest. She had never been more surprised than when he had asked to court her. She had never dreamed such a thing would be possible. And in just the few hours she had spent with him over the past several days, she had learned that she wanted him. That, too, had seemed an impossibility—until now.

  Cloud Woman stood and hurried outside. Smiling, Washakie told Morgan what had just transpired. Morgan grinned a little then and asked. “So, I’m now a married man?”

  “Well, not just yet. But when you have…dammit, what’s that word…?”

  “Consummated,” Morgan said helpfully.

  “Yes, yes, that’s the word. When you have consummated things, you’ll be married.”

  “That wasn’t very difficult.”

  Washakie shook his head. “Anything else?” he asked in mock exasperation.

  “I think that about covers it all, Chief,” Morgan said with a small chuckle. Then he grew serious again. “I’d advise you, though, to pass the word to the other bands to do what we talked about.” He paused. Then he said with a sigh, “I might consider usin’ some of your warriors if the outlaws head onto your land.”

  “We could be of great service in such a case, Buck.”

  “I figured you would.”

  They talked quietly of other things for a little while, and then Two Wounds entered the lodge.

  “Everything taken care of?” Morgan asked.

  Two Wounds nodded, and explained to Washakie. Then Morgan told Two Wounds what he was planning.

  “I want to come,” Two Wounds said flatly.

  “No,” Morgan said. He went through the reason
s again, ending with, “I know Sleeping Bear was a good friend of yours, Two Wounds, but this is business best conducted by a white man in a white man’s town. You wouldn’t get ten feet inside Flat Fork before someone put a bullet through you.”

  Two Wounds didn’t like it, but he acceded. He could do nothing else.

  Morgan entered the tepee right behind Cloud Woman. It was much smaller than Washakie’s and had almost nothing in it, except for a fire with a couple of cooking pots, a bed made of two heavy buffalo robes and a four-point blanket, a few boxes of Cloud Woman’s possessions, and a willow backrest for Morgan.

  “Are you hungry?” Cloud Woman asked shyly, her English passable.

  “I ate before. At Washakie’s,” Morgan said. He suddenly felt like a teenager, a foolish youth who had bragged to his friends that he could do something when he knew damn well he didn’t know how. It was an odd—and somewhat awkward—feeling for him.

  Cloud Woman nodded, looking embarrassed. She felt as if she had been slapped. How foolish I am, she thought. A woman ready for the marriage bed, but without any brains.

  Morgan suddenly realized that Cloud Woman was feeling as odd as he in this strange situation. It was expected, he knew, once he thought about it for a moment. It wasn’t so much that they were unsure of being with the other sex; it was the fact that they were with a mate of another race. He knew next to nothing about the Shoshoni and their way of life. He suspected Cloud Woman knew a little more, but still not very much, about his people’s ways.

  Still, he knew full well that white men had been getting along with Indian women for a good many years. They, too, would work out some sort of arrangement. And it might as well start now, he told himself sternly.

  “Would you think I was an old reprobate if I was to suggest we march straight on over to yonder bed and get to know each other?” he ventured.

  Cloud Woman was not sure she understood all the words her new husband had said, but she got the gist of it. She smiled brightly, suddenly feeling better. She still harbored a thought or two that he might just be using her, but she hoped there was more to this night than just that.

  Morgan swept her into his arms and kissed her hard. Cloud Woman responded eagerly. When they broke apart Cloud Woman was a little breathless, but she stepped back. Undoing the knots at the top of her dress over each shoulder, she watched Morgan’s face as her buckskin dress fell off her, leaving her standing there in nothing but moccasins and leggings.

  “Lordy, woman, but if you ain’t a sight,” Morgan breathed.

  Smiling and proud, Cloud Woman sashayed over to the bed and sat. Morgan watched as Cloud Woman removed her leggings and moccasins. He could feel himself reacting strongly to her.

  “Well?” Cloud Woman queried, sounding much more assured than she felt.

  “Guess I am a mite overdressed for the occasion, ain’t I?” Morgan said. He unhooked his gun belt and set it down alongside the bed, where it would be in easy reach if he needed it. He sat and pulled out the Bowie knife stuck in his boot and jabbed it into the ground at the side of the buffalo robes. Then he pulled off the boots, stood, and removed the rest of his clothing.

  Looking into Cloud Woman’s smoldering dark eyes, Morgan knelt on the bed and took Cloud Woman into his arms.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Saying goodbye to Cloud Woman the next morning was one of the hardest things Morgan had ever been called on to do. He wasn’t sure why he had fallen in love with the beautiful young Shoshoni woman right from the start; it was sufficient, he thought, that it had happened. Now he was not so sure it had been a good idea.

  Then he laughed at himself a little. Falling in love with Cloud Woman wasn’t an idea at all; it was simply something that was. It had happened, catching him unawares, but there was little he could have done about it at the beginning, and there was nothing he could do about it now.

  Still, knowing he was going off to make war on a bunch of savage men who butchered people for excitement did not make his leaving Cloud Woman any easier. He wished they had a week or a month to get to know each other, to explore each other, to learn each other’s ways. But they didn’t. They had had one night, and one night only. He would have to be satisfied with that.

  He knew that in reality he did have a choice. He could toss away his badge and ride up into the beautiful, snow-capped Wind River Mountains so nearby and lose himself with her there. But he knew that such a thing would be like a raccoon trying to wipe away the circles around his eyes. He was a lawman by choice and by desire. He could do no less than his best on whatever task he was called on to perform.

  He and Cloud Woman stood in the soft new dawn behind their lodge, holding each other. They had already told each other—several dozen times, it seemed— they wished Morgan didn’t have to go. Now Morgan simply said, “You heed what Washakie says to do. I don’t want you goin’ out by yourself for anything. You stay close to the village.”

  “I will.”

  “You better,” Morgan threatened with a loving hug. “I come back here and find you’ve gotten yourself killed and I’m going to be one hell of an angry man.”

  Cloud Woman nodded and smiled up at him. “I’ll be all right,” she said. She knew it would do no good to tell him that she would be devastated if he went out and got himself killed, which at the moment looked likely. Such expressions would hurt him, and in turn that would hurt her. No, she figured a woman was better off keeping such things to herself.

  Morgan looked up as Two Wounds, Old Belly, Big Horse, and Red Hand rode up. They stopped next to Morgan’s saddled horse.

  “Where’re you boys headin’?” Morgan asked, sure he knew the answer.

  “With you,” Two Wounds said flatly.

  Morgan shook his head. “No, Two Wounds. We went through this last night. Those bastards in Flat Fork’ll kill all of you just for the hell of it.”

  “We’ll ride with you to the edge of our land,” Two Wounds said. “We’ll wait for you there. Then we’ll ride back here with you. As protection. If anyone dares attack you, they’ll have to deal with the four of us.”

  “You give me your word you’ll not go into Flat Fork?” Morgan asked, skeptical.

  “We won’t go into Flat Fork,” Two Wounds said flatly. “Unless we hear you have died or are being held there.”

  “Well, let’s hope that don’t happen,” Morgan said. “I’d hate like hell to have your deaths on my hands, too.” He gave Cloud Woman one last kiss and pushed her away. “Go on, now,” he said. He gave her a gentle push and swatted her buttocks lightly with his hand. He watched as she walked away. You’re a damn fool, Buck Morgan, he told himself silently. A great big, oversized, goddamn idiot. He pulled himself onto his horse.

  As he rode, Morgan let the anger build up in his chest again. By the time he reached Flat Fork he was in a rage, though he kept it bottled up pretty well. But every time he thought about Yellow Wing, and the boy’s mother, he would come dangerously close to blowing his top.

  Half a mile outside Flat Fork, he and the Shoshoni stopped. It was just before noon. “This is close enough for you boys,” he said firmly. When the others nodded he moved off again, resisting the urge to turn and make sure the Shoshoni were staying put.

  Morgan rode straight to Foster’s saloon and dismounted. With the cocked scattergun in hand, he strolled inside. Only six men—plus Foster—were in the foul den.

  Foster spotted him and looked like he had just soiled his pants. He frantically scrambled for the pistol he had gotten the previous afternoon since another shotgun was not available. He stopped his search, though, when Morgan shook his head. Foster wisely put his hands on the plank bar.

  Morgan stopped alongside the near edge of the bar. He picked up a bottle sitting there and tossed it toward the back of the room. The bottle left a trail of airborne whiskey and clunked off the log wall with a dull thud.

  The five patrons of the saloon looked around to see where the projectile had come from. “Now that I’ve got your a
ttention,” Morgan said, “I’d like to ask you shit balls if you know a man who wears a rather special necklace.”

  “What’s the necklace look like?” one man asked, more to give someone lip than actually seeking information.

  “If you have to ask that, you either don’t know the man or you’re a goddamn idiot.”

  Another man went for his gun, figuring Morgan was distracted by the first man.

  Morgan fired one barrel of the scattergun. What remained of the man was not a pretty sight. “Any of you other shit balls want to make a move?” Morgan’s voice was cold, hard.

  Four heads shook slowly.

  “Mr. Foster,” Morgan said, “get your bucket.”

  “Ah, Jesus, Marshal,” the bartender complained, “not again.”

  “Yes, again. And move your fat ass.”

  With a sigh, Foster picked up a bucket of cheap whiskey and held it out as his four living patrons deposited their firearms in the pail. A potential customer stepped inside during the procedure, saw what was going on, and quickly backed out. There were more than enough saloons in Flat Fork. A man didn’t have to get himself involved in whatever was going on at one; he needed only to walk a few yards for another place.

  The four men filed out, one after another. The third to leave suddenly popped up in the door again, a small belly gun in his hand. He fired once, but it went wild. Morgan let go the second blast from the scattergun and the man went down in a pile of arms, legs, blood, and entrails.

  “You got any more shells for this scattergun, Foster?” Morgan asked.

  Foster nodded. “In a crate back behind the bar,” he said.

  Morgan nodded, and caught himself just before telling Foster to get them. There was every chance that Foster had another gun under there. Morgan walked behind the plank bar and squatted, looking for the shotgun shells. And then the world crashed in on him.