by John Legg
Ten minutes later they pulled out. Big Horse and Two Wounds took the farthest flanks; Old Belly and Red Hand rode nearer to Morgan.
As he rode, Morgan got the feeling that he was spitting into the wind here. There was no way five men could cover the more than four thousand squares miles of the Wind River Reservation, even if ninety percent of the reservation was short grass plains or scrub desert.
Still, he pushed himself on, knowing that he had little other choice. If Murdock couldn’t be found easily, at least Morgan and his four Shoshoni friends might hound him enough to get him off the reservation.
The five men headed southwesterly, angling vaguely toward the agency, the camp and the Wind River Mountains beyond. They rode slowly under the broiling blob of the sun. Sweat formed and rolled down their skin, but even the constant breeze failed to cool the men any. Morgan decided that he would hate living in this place.
The five gathered near midday to have a small meal and to talk a little. None had seen anything that would help them in their quest. On the other hand, they had not found any more bodies, either. There was something to be said in that.
They camped on the open desert that night, mostly keeping their own council. They were dismayed that they had found nothing, but they were not too discouraged. Anyone with sense would know that they could not find the band of outlaws in just one day, not in the vastness of the land.
“You plan to keep ridin’ in this direction, Buck?” Two Wounds asked in the morning.
“I expect so. Why?”
“We keep movin’ that way, we’ll hit the agency by late afternoon.”
“That bother you?”
“No. Just pointin’ it out.”
Morgan nodded. “It might be a good idea to stop by there anyway and see if they’ve heard or seen anything.”
Chapter Twenty-One
An hour before dark, they rode into the agency section of what passed as the army’s Camp Brown. Orville Ashby came out of his office, which was next to his house, and stood, shading his eyes to watch the five men riding toward him.
“You’ve been gone awhile, Buck,” Ashby said as Morgan dismounted and tied off his horse.
“Seems like it, but I guess it’s only been what, two, three days?”
“About that. Come on in.” He looked at the Shoshoni. “The trough for your horses is around back. You have food?”
Two Wounds nodded.
“Good.” He and Morgan went inside the office. After Morgan had lit a cheroot and Ashby had poured them each a drink, the agent asked, “Well, Buck, do you have any news?”
“Some. None of it good. We found out who’s leadin’ this pack of shit balls.”
“Who is it?”
“Somebody named Del Murdock. You know anything about him?”
Ashby shook his head. “I don’t believe I’ve even heard the name before. How’d you find that out?”
“A bartender from Flat Fork decided to spill his guts out for us.”
“And you believe him?”
Morgan nodded and finished the whiskey. “He was too terrified to lie. Besides, there were a few telltale spots where I knew something and everything that bartender said fit into it.” He poured himself another shot of whiskey.
“I take it you haven’t found him?”
“Not a goddamn trace.”
“So what’s the next step?”
“Me and the Shoshonis out there have been tryin’ to methodically cover the reservation. I figured that if we couldn’t find Murdock, we’d at least keep him on the move. Hopefully that’d keep them from killin’ any more Shoshonis.”
“It’s too late for that,” Ashby muttered.
Morgan’s tired eyes snapped to alertness. Spotting Ashby’s grim look, he asked, “Another one?”
Ashby nodded. “A young couple and their newborn. All dead, all carved up.”
“Jesus goddamn Christ,” Morgan snarled. Anger surged through him, building with each pulse beat. He polished off the whiskey and then dropped the cheroot in the glass, where it hissed for a moment. He rose. “Get me some rations—bacon, beans, jerky, hardtack, and coffee. Enough to last me and four Shoshonis a couple, three days.”
“Where’re you goin’?” Ashby asked.
“Where the hell do you think I’m going? Where’d it happen?”
“You don’t think you’ll find anything there, do you?”
“Tell me where it happened, you bastard, or I’ll beat it out of you.”
Ashby blanched, but nodded. “In the little neck of land where Pevah Creek enters the south fork of Sage Creek.”
Morgan nodded curtly.
“What’s your rush, Buck?” Ashby asked. “This happened a couple of days ago. There’s no need for such haste.”
“Like hell there ain’t. It means there’s a good chance Murdock is still on the reservation somewhere. Besides, I want to get out of here before that shit ball Pomeroy sticks his nose in here.”
Ashby smiled a little. “I heard you and he had a little run-in the other day.”
Morgan nodded. “Dumb bastard,” he muttered. “Well,” he added, “can you get me those supplies?” Ashby nodded curtly. “Of course. You want a mule for packin’?”
“No, just divide it among several sacks. We can each take a little. I don’t want any more distractions or baggage than’s absolutely necessary.”
“You’ll be out back with the horses?”
“Yeah.”
While tending the horses, Morgan explained what had happened and what his plan was.
“I think we should spend the night at Washakie’s village,” Big Horse suggested when Morgan was finished talking.
“Why?” Morgan asked, eager to be on the move. “We’re not gonna find anything at night.”
“True, but if we go out there now, we’ll be right there to take a look at things as soon as the sun comes up.”
“Somebody in the village might have something to tell us.”
Morgan looked sharply at the big Shoshoni. “You just want to go back there so you can hump your woman,” he said in accusatory tones.
“And if I do?”
“Dammit, Big Horse. A young warrior was killed. And a woman and a newborn little child.”
“I know these things.”
“Then how can you think of humpin’ knowin’ what happened to some of the People?”
“If I thought we’d catch them right off, I’d ride forever if need be to do so. But we won’t catch ’em tonight. Tomorrow neither.”
Two Wounds walked up to Morgan and threw an arm around the lawman’s shoulders. “A night in the robes with Cloud Woman would do you much good, my friend,” he said quietly. “It’s good for a man to be with his woman. Tomorrow we’ll ride to where the white devils did their work.”
Morgan nodded, accepting it. He still would have preferred riding straight to the murder scene and so get a jump on this in the morning. But he also knew this was all weighing very heavily on him and that he probably would not be thinking too clearly when he would most need to. He and the four Shoshoni rode out half an hour later, heading northwest.
They rode into the village sometime after dark, but it seemed the whole village came alive to greet them. Many of the Shoshoni were rambling on about the latest murders while trying to ask a hundred questions of the men who had just returned.
Morgan bulled his way through the crowd. Cloud Woman waited for him just outside their lodge. He slid out of the saddle and grabbed her in his arms. He kissed her hard, and then swung her around.
“I must see to your horse,” she said laughingly when he put her feet on the ground again.
“The hell with the horse,” Morgan growled. He was suddenly very intensely grateful that Big Horse had suggested they return to the village. He wanted Cloud Woman desperately. He had not realized until this minute how much he missed her and wanted her.
“But...”
“Hush,” he whispered, covering her lips with his. Then he swept
her into his arms and barged into the lodge, thankful he had not knocked it down. In minutes they were on the robe bed and thrashing happily.
Afterward, he stood and rearranged his clothing.
“Where are you going, my husband?” Cloud Woman asked. She was not really worried, but she did want him back in her bed, even if only for sleeping. She loved this tall, strange man with his white skin. She had been shocked when she had really looked at his naked form for the first time. His face and hands, and even his arms, were weathered and browned from the sun. But the rest of him reminded her of a new snowfall—just a bountiful expanse of absolute white. But none of that mattered. She loved Marshal Buck Morgan and wanted him close to her as much as possible.
“Out to tend my horse.”
“That is woman’s work,” Cloud Woman said sternly. She stood up and her dress, which Morgan had merely shoved up as high as necessary fell into place. “I will go.”
“That ain’t woman’s work, Cloud Woman,” he said.
“Here it is. Now go lay down. You need sleep. You’ll need to be fresh in the morning.”
Morgan stood looking at her for a few moments, pleased at what he saw. Then he nodded. He was asleep by the time Cloud Woman returned. She shucked her dress, leggings, and moccasins, and then slid carefully into the robes beside Morgan. She rested her small head on Morgan’s outstretched right arm. She sighed and fell asleep.
Cloud Woman awoke before Morgan in the morning. She smiled when she saw his face so near to hers. It mattered little to her that his face was covered with stubble and that he snored a little. She kissed the tip of his nose. Morgan shuffled a little but did not awaken. So she did it again. When she got the same response she decided that the third try would be her last. If he did not respond then, she would get up and build up the fire in preparation for their morning meal.
She was disappointed when she got almost no response this time. With a sigh of regret at the lost opportunity, she rolled over and shoved aside the robes. Just as she was getting up, Morgan suddenly grabbed a handful of her naked buttocks.
“Where’re you goin’, woman?” he asked, voice still rough with the dregs of sleep.
She whooped with surprise, then rolled back over until she was half atop him. “Nowhere, my husband.” Interest and desire burned in her coal-black eyes.
Cloud Woman finally got to rebuilding the fire, but she had to rush the meal. Big Horse and the others would be along soon, she knew, coming to get Morgan.
The lawman had barely gulped down some buffalo meat and two cups of coffee before he heard Two Wounds and Big Horse yelling at him to come out.
While Morgan had been eating, Cloud Woman had run outside to saddle Morgan’s horse in the dark and then bring it around to the front of the lodge. Big Horse and the others were calling for Morgan.
“Go tell that lazy husband of yours to come out here and greet the day,” Big Horse said to Cloud Woman in Shoshoni. He was smiling, though. “Tell him it is a good day, and that good things await him.”
“Christ,” Morgan grumbled good-naturedly as he stepped outside, “are you always this goddamn noisy in the mornings? No wonder your woman throws you out most times.” He kissed Cloud Woman and climbed into the saddle.
They pushed their horses some, wanting to make as much distance as possible before dawn arose. Daybreak caught them still on the trail, but very soon afterward, they reached the spot where the killings had taken place. It was evident from the signs on the ground what had happened here.
The Shoshoni moved about, their well-trained eyes covering the ground, looking for any scrap of information the land might yield to them.
Morgan knelt where he figured the woman had died. Visions of a young Shoshoni woman—one looking suspiciously like Cloud Woman—and her baby being brutally murdered floated before his eyes. His fists clenched and he ground his teeth together as he battled the avalanche of rage that was close to destroying him.
He rose and turned, heading swiftly toward his horse. Even Big Horse, that massive warrior, was taken aback by the look on Morgan’s face. As he and Two Wounds mounted their ponies next to each other, Big Horse said quietly in Shoshoni, “There’s death in that white man’s eyes. He’ll have blood before the sun goes down.”
A little frightened, Two Wounds nodded. He and his three Shoshoni companions kicked their ponies into a trot to catch up to Morgan.
Two Wounds pulled up alongside Morgan. “Slow down, my friend,” he yelled above the rushing wind.
Morgan shook his head.
“You won’t help nobody if you kill your horse and get put afoot. Take your time. They can’t get away from us.”
Morgan looked at Two Wounds as if he had never seen the Shoshoni before. Then the light of recognition came to his eyes, if only a little. He nodded and slowed his horse.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Near noon, Two Wounds, who had been riding far out ahead of the others, following the sign they had picked up that morning at the murder sight, trotted up to Morgan.
“You know where this sign is headin’, don’t you, Buck?” he asked.
Morgan nodded tightly. “Flat Fork. It’s the only place men like Murdock can go.”
“I counted eight, maybe nine horses.”
“So?”
“So, if they get to Flat Fork, you’ll be alone against eight, nine, maybe even ten men. Like you said, me and the others can’t help you much in there.” He had thought about that often since Morgan had first mentioned it. Two Wounds had been insulted at first, but then he had forced himself to look at it rationally. When he could see it clearly he realized that Morgan was right. The Shoshoni wouldn’t get more than a dozen yards into the town before they’d all be blasted into oblivion. And even if that didn’t happen, there would be no way the evil populace of Flat Fork would talk to a man like Morgan when that man was accompanied by four Shoshoni. In either case, it would seriously endanger Morgan, as well as Two Wounds and his three fellow Shoshoni.
“I’ve been alone before. Against odds that big, too,” Morgan answered flatly.
“This is no time to be a hero, Buck,” Two Wounds said urgently. The Shoshoni had come to have a lot of respect for the white lawman, and he would hate to see him killed.
Morgan shrugged. “There’s no choice.”
“Go to the soldier chief and have him send some blue coats with you.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I don’t trust that soldier chief in the least. I think he’s an ambitious, conniving little ball of shit who’ll trample anyone who gets in his path on the way to attaining higher rank and glory.”
“Can you call other lawmen like you?”
Morgan shook his head. “That’s one thing I did consider. But it’s impossible. The only place I could get such help is from my own office down in Cheyenne. But the U.S. marshal there, Floyd Dayton, doesn’t have enough deputies to go around as it is. And even if he did, it’d be weeks before we could get anyone up here.”
“There’s the singing wire and the iron horse.”
“Yeah, I could wire Floyd from the agency. That wouldn’t take too much doing. But even if he could find the deputies, he’d have to round them all up. Hell, we just don’t sit in an office down there drinkin’ coffee. Once he did that, he could send them by train to Rock Springs or Rawlins. Then they’d have to ride the rest of the way up here. That’s almost a week by itself.”
“So you’re just gonna go into Flat Fork by yourself and get killed, is that it?”
Morgan smiled in self-deprecation. “Maybe you best make up a death song for me.”
“Fool,” Two Wounds snapped. He turned and raced out ahead again. He went back to following the outlaws’ tracks, doing so all the way to Flat Fork. He stopped on a very low rise about one hundred fifty yards from the edge of town, and sat there on his pony, waiting for the others to catch up to him.
While waiting, he saw a puff of smoke, and at almost the same instant, he saw
a bullet kick up dust a few feet to his left. Moments later he heard the report of the rifle. Shaking his head in annoyance, he backed up some and dismounted. This way he could keep an eye on the town, yet be out of rifle range.
Finally, the others were there. “See anything?” Morgan asked.
“Just one fool who took a shot at me.”
“Friendly folks down there, ain’t they?”
“You sure you don’t want us to go there with you, Buck?” Big Horse asked.
“I’m sure. There’s no reason for you to place yourself in such danger.”
“We can go at night,” Old Belly offered. “Then we wouldn’t be such easy targets.”
“Thanks, Old Belly,” Morgan said. “But no. Besides, if somethin’ happens to me, you boys’ll still be around to catch the rest of those shit balls.”
“You watch yourself down there, my friend,” Two Wounds said, clapping a hand on Morgan’s shoulder.
Morgan nodded. “Thanks, Two Wounds.” He rode down the low ridge toward the town. He rode down the main—well, only—street, a well-abused thoroughfare that reeked with the flotsam and jetsam of a town.
He stopped in front of Foster’s saloon and went inside, shotgun at the ready. “Where’s Foster?” he asked the bartender.
“Gone to parts unknown. Sold me the place for next to nothin’ and skedaddled.”
“When?”
“Couple of days ago. He told some wild story of being taken away by some goddamn law dog and then bein’ scared shitless by a bunch of Shoshoni. And...” He finally spotted the star on Morgan’s vest. “Oh, Jesus,” he muttered, throwing away his cigar, “you’re the one, ain’t you? He wasn’t lyin’, was he?”
“Shut up,” Morgan commanded sharply. When the man did, Morgan asked, “You seen Del Murdock or any of his outlaw friends?”
Still scared to death, the bartender shook his head.
“Keep your mouth shut about me bein’ here,” Morgan said sternly, “or you’ll get what Foster did.” He turned and left.
As he rode down the street, he noticed that Vin Applegate’s mercantile store was a mess. The two small windows in the place were gone, leaving behind only jagged edges. On a hunch, Morgan stopped and went inside. Broken bottles and jars were scattered all over, piles of clothes were tom, and a few looked like someone had tried to set them afire. Penny candies were strewn all over. Shovels lay on the floor, handles sawed in half.