“Come on,” Henry whispered, and turned his horse back toward the slope they had just descended. “We can circle around ’em—git a better look at who the hell’s down there. Might be some of Red Bull’s boys—a huntin’ party maybe.” Then he gave Billy Ray a little grin and winked. “Might be an honest prospector, too. That’d be all right, wouldn’t it?” Billy Ray returned the grin.
Working his way around toward the waterfall, Henry led them back along the base of the slope, riding just inside the cover of the pines. When they could go no farther without riding into the clearing around the pool, he pulled up and dismounted, signaling Billy Ray to do the same. “We can leave the horses here, and sneak up behind them bushes. We oughta be able to see the camp from there.”
Billy Ray was excited now with the prospect that he might soon be able to use his gun. Maybe it was an Indian camp they had happened upon. Even so, there couldn’t be many of them. A large camp would have been considerably more evident. He dropped his hand to his pistol, and eased it slightly in the holster to make sure it was ready. A step ahead of him, Henry moved almost silently toward a clump of service berry bushes, his rifle at the ready. When he reached the bushes, he dropped down on one knee. Billy Ray moved up beside him. “Well, now, would you lookee yonder,” Henry murmured. Through a small opening in the bushes, not more than fifty yards away, what appeared to be two white men were sitting on either side of a small campfire. “Wonder what they got cookin’ on that fire,” Henry whispered.
“Let’s go see,” Billy Ray replied impatiently.
“Hold on a minute,” Henry cautioned while he looked the camp over carefully, taking inventory of the situation. One horse, one mule, a notable lack of equipment or supplies—if they were prospectors, they sure as hell looked like greenhorns. At any rate, he decided, they didn’t look to be any threat. He turned to Billy Ray and said, “We might as well go back and git our horses, and ride in nice and sociable-like.” When Billy Ray did not move, Henry prodded him on the shoulder, but the young outlaw seemed fixed upon the two at the fire. “You know them fellers?” Henry asked, puzzled by his partner’s behavior.
Billy Ray looked over at Henry, a slow grin forming across his face. “I know ’em all right—only it ain’t two fellers. One of ’em’s a woman.” That caused Henry to jerk his head around for another look at the camp.
“By God, I believe you’re right. I thought that un on the right looked a bit scrawny. Now ain’t that somethin’?” He stared hard at the smaller figure by the fire. This was getting better by the minute. “A woman . . .” He looked quickly back at Billy Ray. “And you say you know ’em?”
“I sure do,” Billy Ray replied, immensely pleased by the irony of the situation. “I reckon they’re lookin’ for me.” He turned his head to meet Henry’s gaze. “The feller is the deputy sheriff from Dry Fork. And the woman is Rachael Andrews. I killed her husband.” He turned again to gaze at Lon and Rachael, marveling over the circumstances that brought the unlikely pairing to this isolated valley deep in the Black Hills. “Well,” he murmured to himself, “you found me. Now you’re gonna wish to hell you hadn’t.”
* * *
“Hello the camp!”
Startled by the unexpected greeting, both Lon and Rachael jumped to their feet, Lon reaching for the rifle lying by his saddle. With no time to think about taking cover, they both stood paralyzed with indecision while the two riders, each leading a pack mule on a rope, emerged from the trees near the waterfall.
“No need to git excited,” Henry called out. “We’re just weary travelers—happened to see your fire.”
Still startled by having two riders suddenly appear, Lon and Rachael exchanged astonished glances. At least their visitors were white men, or appeared to be. The man in the lead was questionable. Dressed entirely in animal hides, he could have been mistaken for an Indian at first glance. Behind him, his companion rode slouched in the saddle, a wide-brimmed hat pulled down low on his forehead, partially hiding his face. Unlike the first man, he was dressed in regular fashion. Rachael sent no more than a glance in his direction, her attention shifting quickly back to the man in the lead. She was fascinated by the untamed appearance of the man, from the grotesque raccoon head on his cap to the fancy beaded moccasins on his feet. His attire seemed crude, even for a mountain man, suggesting that perhaps he had made little preparation of the hides before sewing them together. He was obviously along in years, judging by the long gray hair hanging in matted strings from under the flaps of his cap, and a bushy white beard that preceded his face like a bramble bush.
“Afternoon,” Henry said, breaking the silence. He pulled up before them, his smile wide enough to be seen through his heavy beard. Favoring Lon with the smile, he said, “Easy with that there rifle, son. What brings you folks to these parts?” he asked as he threw a leg over and dismounted.
Behind him, Billy Ray did the same, his body shielded by Henry’s pack mule. While Lon and Rachael were captivated by Henry’s bizarre appearance, Billy Ray pulled his coat away from his side, clearing his holster. He then stepped clear of his horse and planted himself solidly, feet wide apart, bracing himself for the moment he anticipated. He could feel a rush of excitement that charged through his veins, the same feeling he had experienced when he faced Will Andrews in the street before the Lucky Spur. Ready now for his defining moment, he shoved his hat back, to expose more of his face. “Well, now, if it ain’t my old friends from Dry Fork,” he said.
His sudden interjection stopped the conversation, just at the point when Rachael was about to offer her guests coffee. Frozen for a moment by the sound of his voice, both she and Lon turned their full attention toward the sneering face of Billy Ray. Caught totally unprepared for the sudden encounter, they stared in disbelief. Although only a moment passed, it seemed as if time had stopped dead still for an eternity before Lon realized the reality confronting him. Aware now, he attempted to take action, raising his rifle to fire. In the next instant, two shots rang out, and Lon doubled over, clutching his belly, his rifle still silent.
Rachael screamed, watching in horror as Lon sank to his knees. With one forlorn look at her, as if in apology for his failure, he clenched his teeth against the pain burning his midsection before his eyes rolled heavenward; then he keeled over helplessly.
Billy Ray’s sudden move surprised Henry fully as much as the lady or the victim. He jumped to one side when the shots exploded right behind him, reaching for the pistol he had stuck in his belt. Recovering immediately, he grabbed Rachael just as she went for her pistol, which was lying beside her saddle. “Whoa, there, little lady,” he said, and clapped a dirty hand over her mouth when she started to scream again. Rachael responded by trying to bite a chunk out of his hand, which promptly earned her a hard slap across her face. “Damn you!” he cursed, about to strike her again before immediately suppressing his anger. The customary grin returned to part his whiskers, and he shoved his face right up to hers to give her warning. “You don’t behave yourself, and I promise you it’s gonna git a whole lot worse than a little slap in the face.” Reading the fatal promise in his eyes, her face stinging from the blow, Rachael knew it was not an idle threat. Gripped by terror, she stopped struggling, fearing for her life. Satisfied that Rachael was under control for the moment, Henry turned to look at Billy Ray. “Ain’t you the frisky one? Next time you decide to shoot somebody, I’d appreciate a little notice.”
If Billy Ray heard him, he gave no indication of it. Still standing, feet spread wide, pistol leveled menacingly, he stared as if in a trance. He remained that way for a full minute, seemingly lost in the euphoria of another kill before shifting his gaze to Henry and the woman. “Maybe I’ll write you a letter,” he said sarcastically as he replaced the two spent cartridges in his pistol. The intoxicating sensation of his kill having subsided somewhat, he was ready to turn his attention toward Rachael.
Still held firmly in Henry’s grasp, Rachael tried to pull away when the sneering young outlaw
approached her. Amused, Henry tightened his grasp as Billy Ray walked up and took her chin in one hand to prevent her from turning away from him. “Come all the way out here to find me, did you? Well, darlin’, you found me. What you aiming to do about it?” Pleased by the fearful look in her eyes, he grinned broadly, only to replace his expression with a sober glare when he turned to give Henry notice. “So’s there’s no misunderstanding, I claim this woman as my property. She came lookin’ for me.” He shifted his gaze back to her, his grin returning. “And you found me, didn’t you, honey?”
“You won’t git no argument from me,” Henry promptly replied. “My pecker retired years ago. I leave all that stuff to you young fellers.” While this was not entirely true, Henry was content to let Billy Ray think so. The urge to mate was a seasonal thing with Henry, much as it was with an elk or a deer. Now, in the later years of his life, however, his seasons were of shorter duration and farther apart. He was not too old to be aware of the feel of the woman still in his grasp, but he was concerned for the moment with more important things. The woman could wait. “Right now I’m thinkin’ we’d best not linger around here for too long. Them shots is bound to catch Red Bull’s ear. We’re gonna have to move on, and find us another place to camp.” He frowned to show his irritation. “A knife is a whole lot quieter than a damn gun.” The statement was wasted on Billy Ray, whose mind was captured by thoughts of the fair young Rachael and the prospects that lay ahead.
Billy Ray’s lustful speculation was interrupted by a warning from Henry. “Kick that rifle out of his reach.” He turned then to see Lon struggling to find the strength to reach his rifle. Seeing the effort it took for the dying man to move his arm, Billy Ray unhurriedly walked over and picked up the rifle. “Is this what you’re a-wantin’, Deputy?” He drew his pistol again and aimed it at the helpless man’s forehead.
“Hold it, dammit!” Henry exclaimed. “Use your knife. You’ve made enough damn noise. Besides, it ain’t no use to waste cartridges when you don’t have to.”
Billy Ray hesitated, undecided whether or not to shoot anyway, if only to show his defiance. Knowing Henry was probably right, he offered a weak response, anyway. “Hell, he’s got a belt full of cartridges,” pointing to Lon. He put his pistol back in the holster and drew his skinning knife. “You just keep a good holt on my woman,” he said, grinning again. “She came a long way to see me. Didn’t you, darlin’?”
“Don’t worry. She ain’t goin’ no place,” Henry replied smugly as he shifted one restraining arm down a little so that his hand could find her breast. Rachael struggled briefly in protest, but there was little she could do against Henry’s strong embrace. Like a frightened animal caught in a trap, she was terrified by the nightmare taking place, and began to shiver uncontrollably. Feeling her tremble, Henry let his other hand slide down to rest on her stomach. He answered Billy Ray’s resulting frown with a wide grin.
“Ain’t gonna do you no good to get ideas about her,” Billy Ray warned.
“You just go ahead and take care of your friend there,” Henry replied, unmoved by his young partner’s threats. “I’m just checkin’ to make sure all her parts is here.”
Not amused, Billy Ray turned his attention to focus on the dying man. During the brief exchange between the two outlaws over Rachael, Lon had managed to crawl several feet, painting a bloody trail upon the blades of the new spring grass. His desperate efforts brought a sense of amusement to Billy Ray, who quickly stepped in front of him.
“Where you goin’, Lon?” Billy Ray taunted. “You fixin’ to crawl back to Dry Fork?” He glanced at Henry to see if he was enjoying the helpless man’s last moments. Henry just shook his head as if observing a precocious child. “Reckon how far ol’ Lon could get?” Billy Ray went on. “S’pose he could make it to the waterfall there?” When Henry didn’t respond, Billy Ray prodded Lon with the toe of his boot. “You’re crawlin’ the wrong way, Lon. Dry Fork’s the other way. Ain’t it, Henry?”
“Just go ahead and finish him,” Henry replied, tiring of the game. “We need to git ourselves outta this place before one of Red Bull’s boys shows up to see what the shootin’ was about.”
All traces of humor leaving his face then, Billy Ray prepared to end his macabre game. Knife in hand, he grabbed a handful of Lon’s hair. Though barely alive after losing such a great quantity of blood, Lon struggled desperately to avoid presenting his throat to be cut. His feeble attempts to resist final execution only proceeded to delay it, but it caused Billy Ray some consternation. He was not as experienced with a knife as his elder partner, having not used one in this manner since an attempt on a classmate when he was a schoolboy. Consequently he succeeded only in administering a series of wild slashes over Lon’s neck and shoulders, none serious enough to bring about the desired result. “Hold still, dammit!” Billy Ray exclaimed in frustration.
Watching the bumbling attempt, Henry could only shake his head in exasperation. “Jesus God, man, get on with it.”
In furious frustration, his anger compounded by Henry’s rebuke, Billy Ray gave up on his attempt to slit Lon’s throat neat and clean like Henry would have probably done it. Instead, he began to stab the doomed lawman in the back, over and over, repeatedly drawing the knife out and plunging it in again, until Lon lay dead. The body limp and lifeless at last, Billy Ray sat back on his heels, panting from the exertion, his hands and wrists spattered with blood.
Disgusted with the exhibition of total incompetence, Henry only then realized that he was supporting Rachael’s entire weight. The gruesome and messy execution of the young deputy had been too much for her to bear, and she had fainted dead away. He let her drop to the ground while he stood watching Billy Ray wipe his hands on Lon’s shirttail. “Well, that was some piece of work you done there,” he slurred.
“Don’t look at me with them damn fish eyes, old man. I just might give you a taste of it.” Billy Ray was in no mood for Henry’s critical comments. Glaring pointedly at Henry, he went directly to his horse to get a length of rope to tie Rachael’s hands.
“What are you aimin’ to do with her?” Henry asked.
“Well, whaddaya think I’m gonna do with her?” Billy Ray replied curtly. Then he paused a moment to look Henry directly in the eye. “I reckon she’s my property. I’ll do what I damn well please with her.” His gaze moved back to Rachael when she began to stir again. A grin spread across his face when he thought about the day he had accosted her in front of the Lucky Spur. “Me and Miss Rachael here got a lot of catchin’ up to do.”
Henry looked long and hard at his headstrong young partner, reconsidering the wisdom in having taken on Billy Ray. “Best you get your catchin’ up done, and git rid of her. We can’t travel with no woman, not in our business.”
“Don’t you worry ’bout that, old man. She ain’t gonna be no trouble.” He paused. “Long as she behaves herself. Then, if she don’t, I reckon I’ll settle her hash for her.”
Henry could see that it was wasted energy to say anything more at this point. The foolish young hothead could only think with his groin. I hope you settle her hash a whole lot better than you settled the deputy’s, he thought, and turned away to take inventory of their victims’ plunder. He decided then that his partnership with Billy Ray was destined to be a short one. Ol’ Ned must be laughing at me somewhere down in Hell. The thought made him pine for the old days, when he and Ned used to comb every creek and gulch in Montana territory. He glanced down at the fancy decorated moccasins he wore and chuckled to himself. Me and Ned left a string of dead prospectors from Virginia City to Alder Gulch. Ned used to call them investors—investors in our business. His thoughts were brought back to the present by the sound of Rachael’s groggy murmuring as Billy Ray pulled her to her feet. There’s gonna be trouble there, he thought. There always is with a woman. He resumed his search through the lady’s saddlebags, leaving Billy Ray to paw over his trophy.
“These folks ain’t got nuthin’ of value,” Henry announced, di
scarding the plundered bag. “An extra shirt, and a pair of ladies’ drawers—you might be able to wear them.” Billy Ray responded to the joke with a scowl. Henry shrugged and turned his attention to Lon’s body. There had been a small chain with a gold wedding band on it, but Billy Ray had been too occupied with the woman to notice when Henry slipped them into the pocket inside his buckskin shirt. “The extra guns might come in handy if Red Bull heard them shots, and comes lookin’ for us.” With that thought in mind, he reminded Billy Ray, “We’d best get finished here, and get on our way.”
Reluctant to delay carnal knowledge of the young schoolmaster’s widow, Billy Ray nevertheless gave in to Henry’s warnings. He saddled Lon’s bay and, with Henry’s help, lifted Rachael onto the horse’s back. Her hands already tied, he looped the end of the rope around the saddle horn and knotted it. Still in a partial state of shock, she reeled in the saddle until Billy Ray forcefully shoved her feet in the stirrups. Tears streamed down her face as her horse was led past Lon’s body and she swallowed hard in an effort to choke down the sobs that threatened to convulse her. She wanted so to apologize to Lon for causing his death, for which she felt fully responsible. Her guilt was compounded by the immediate fear for her own life. At the moment, it appeared that she might be spared. And so far, she had no injuries beyond the crude and liberal pawing by both men as they lifted her into the saddle. But there was little doubt what lay ahead for her.
* * *
The light of day was fading rapidly in the deep valleys by the time Henry led them down an old game trail to a clearing near the bottom of the mountain. “This ain’t a bad spot,” he said. “I camped here once before.”
Bloody Hills Page 11