by Neil Hunter
‘Hope so,’ he said in reply to Gallman.
‘If they ain’t back come tomorrow morning I’ll send Charley Crow. Let him earn his keep.’
Charley Crow was an Absaroka Indian who scouted for Gallman and looked after the gang’s base. The tribe was given the name people of the crow interpreted from the French. Charley Crow, his name a simple affectation by the outlaws, had allied himself to them because he knew the Bighorn range better than most and was able to move around faster than any white man. Charley Crow saw a better way for himself with the whites, especially Gallman’s gang. He looked after their hideaway. Hunted for food and ran errands for them. It gave him a place where he had shelter and food and drink. Charley might have given the impression of being harmless. In truth he capable of killing if the need arose—which it sometimes did. He was a good man with a variety of weapons, preferring a traditional bow to a rifle, though he always carried a .45 caliber handgun as a backup weapon. And as long as he was kept supplied with tobacco and rum, which he liked far better than whisky, the Indian did whatever he was asked.
~*~
Hours later they were traversing the narrow winding pass that took them into the secluded basin, through a deep cleft in the towering rock face, where they made their base camp. A sprawling log and stone building built against a sheer rock wall, with a corral and a couple of outbuildings. A constant spring provided fresh water that spilled over into a rocky basin and created a shallow stream that meandered across the area. There was grass and timber. The walls of the pass gave shelter from high winds, though during the winter months snow often cut off access and exit.
Smoke rose from the main chimney of the house. A number of horses milled about in the corral. As they neared the house they saw the stocky figure of Charley Crow forking out feed for the animals. He stopped to watch them cross the final stretch and draw rein next to the corral.
‘Where the others?’
‘Vasquez is dead,’ Gallman said as he dismounted. ‘We had some problems. Lagrange and Stringer went looking for the man who caused it.’
‘They ain’t come back from searching yet,’ Wilkerson said.
‘Come daylight tomorrow if they ain’t back I want you to go trackin’ for them. Follow our trail and pick up where they split from us. Go find out where they are.’
The Indian simply nodded. Gallman knew he need say no more. The Crow would be gone by the time they woke in the morning.
‘We have any visitors while we been gone.’
‘Couple. Kris Lubbock and Jake Dawson inside. They rode in two days back. They got trouble too.’
Gallman was unloading the gold bags from his horse, Wilkerson doing the same.
‘Hell, I can’t ever recall when Kris wasn’t in trouble,’ he said.
‘He attracts it like flies ‘round horse shit,’ Wilkerson said.
‘Charley, see to the horses and bring our gear inside.’
‘Sure ’nuff.’
They trooped in through the door and dumped the bags of coins on the big table in the center of the room.
‘That coffee smells good,’ Wilkerson said.
‘It do.’
Across the wide room a door opened and a tall, lean figure stepped into view, tucking a bright green shirt into his pants. His thick, corn colored hair hanging to his shoulders, and he peered at Gallman and Wilkerson with sleepy eyes.
‘Boys, you make noise enough to wake the dearly departed.’
Gallman looked the man over. ‘Hell, Kris, in your case it looks like it worked.’
Kris Lubbock blinked a few times to bring his eyes into focus. His brown face, wrinkled from sleep, was unshaven.
‘That you, Lew? Damned if it ain’t.’ He met Gallman in a couple of long strides, reaching out a big hand to take his friend’s. ‘Been a while.’
As they shook Wilkerson turned from the coffee pot, a mug in his hand.
‘Kris.’
‘Now there’s an ugly face I ain’t seen in a long time,’ Lubbock said.
‘Not likely to forget.’
‘I hear you boys been running a nice game in these parts.’
Gallman jerked a thumb at the bags of coin on the table, grinning. ‘We like to see money getting’ distributed evenly.’
‘I’m all for that. Where are the rest of your boys?’
‘We run into a little hassle. Picked up a feller on our trail.’
‘Law, or maybe a bounty man,’ Wilkerson said. ‘I’d say bounty man. Law don’t like comin’ up here.’
‘Lagrange and Stringer went back a ways to see if they could pick up tracks,’ Gallman said. ‘While earlier we ran into a couple of strangers. They had a woman with ’em. We put the men down but the woman gave us the slip. Signs say she and this feller been following us headed back down the mountain. Seemed the thing to go after ’em in case they spread the news we was in the area. Woman saw our faces, too. We had this place to ourselves a good while. Don’t want no law pokin’ around.’
‘Lawdogs get a sniff they might start lookin’ close,’ Wilkerson said.
Lubbock helped himself to coffee. ‘Got to protect your place. You want we should stay around a while in case you get unwanted company?’
‘Who you got riding with you?’
‘Just the one,’ Lubbock said. ‘You know Jake Dawson?’
‘Jake—hell yeah. Last I heard he was down Tucson way.’
‘We partnered up six months back. Done pretty good until we almost got caught a couple weeks back when we hit a bank over to Casper. Had to run pretty fast to lose a local posse. They backed off after a couple days. I figured we should stay low for a while. Let the smoke die down.’
‘You are surely welcome,’ Gallman said. ‘Could always use an extra gun if things warm up.’
Charley Crow came inside with the gear he had taken from the horses. He put it in a corner.
‘You want food?’ he asked.
Wilkerson said yes they would, so the Indian made his way across to the corner of the cabin where the cooking was done on a squat iron stove.
‘Charley’s goin’ to track our boys tomorrow. See if he can find out where they are,’ Gallman said.
‘Charley, if you’re cooking better throw something in the pan for Jake,’ Lubbock said.
‘You got it.’
Jake Dawson put in an appearance the moment the food was put on the table. He was a skinny, bearded individual who was losing his hair. He wore steel-rimmed spectacles with thick lens that enlarged his eyes and gave him the studied appearance of a hoot-owl. He wore untidy, loose clothing that dangled from his boney frame and knee high, flat heeled boots. He carried a Remington 1875, .44 caliber revolver in a waist high cross-draw rig. Despite his weak eyesight he was a good shot and more often hit his target than missed. He grunted an acknowledgement when he recognized Gallman and Wilkerson, sat down and helped himself to the food Charley Crow had delivered on a huge wooden platter.
‘Talkative as ever,’ Wilkerson observed.
‘You know Jake. Only talks when there’s somethin’ worth sayin’, Lubbock said.
Later Gallman tipped out the coinage from the bags and set to counting what was in them.
The others lounged around, discussing anything that came into their minds, drinking coffee and smoking, tipping a whisky bottle that was passed from hand to hand.
Charley Crow squatted in his favorite corner near the log fire kept burning in the stone fireplace while he cleaned his pistol and made sure his bow was ready for use. The hide quiver held over a dozen, feathered shafts. When he had those weapons to his satisfaction he took out the knife he carried and sat working it on a well-used whetstone until the edge was sharper than any razor.
‘That boy looks like he’s ready for business,’ Lubbock observed.
‘And you’d be right,’ Wilkerson said.
‘When he rides out come morning he’ll be on a killing trail,’ Gallman said, glancing up from counting the coin.
~*~
&
nbsp; By the time first light came and the sun dispelled the mist that had crept down from the higher peaks Charley Crow had already gone. He had woken early, saddled his black and white pinto, and left without disturbing any of them.
He picked up the tracks Gallman and Wilkerson had made riding in and settled in as he made his way. He knew the way blindfold. This was his land, had been for decades before the white men came and Charley Crow rode easy.
He felt the warm sun and breathed the fresh air of the mountains. The Crow Mountains. Let the whites come as they may. This was still the land of his father and his father’s farther.
It was Charley Crow’s land.
The land of the Absaroka.
Chapter Ten
‘Bodie, you don’t have to do this. Why go after these men? Look what happened already…’
Ruby watched as he continued checking his weapons. Thumbing in fresh loads. He did it with the sure hand of someone so familiar with them it came easy.
‘Mr. Kramer—Elijah—can’t you make him see sense.’
Kramer raised both hands in defeat. ‘You see what those men did here. If they are not stopped how many others would suffer? When I tried to interfere I almost ended up with my head caved in.’
‘You men and your pride,’ Ruby said. ‘I…I can’t reason with you.’
She turned and walked out of the trading post.
‘A very strong minded young woman.’ Kramer said. ‘You think she has a point, Bodie?’
‘In her eyes she figures I’m going at it wrong.’
‘She can only see her friends being killed in front of her. Enough death for any young woman to have to live with.’
Bodie stood, pushing back his chair. Even though he moved carefully he felt the painful reminder of the bullet crease in his side, even though Ruby had cleaned and bandaged it from Kramer’s medical supplies. He understood it was going to be sore for some time. He didn’t have the luxury of waiting for it to heal. The longer he waited the further away Gallman and Wilkerson were going to get. Time was not on his side. He had already delayed his departure, resting overnight at the post. Now with morning brightening around them, he decided it was time he moved.
‘Elijah, you going to be comfortable me leaving her here with you?’
Kramer smiled. ‘A beautiful young woman under my care? I love the company and she will be fine. My Indian friends will be back tomorrow. Between us we will keep her safe.’
Bodie crossed to the door and stared up at the distant peaks. The sky had taken on a clear, refreshing appearance. He felt Kramer move to his side.
‘Weather is going to be no problem. I don’t see any more storms coming.’
‘You certain about that?’
‘I have lived here for many years, Bodie. I know these hills. I know the weather. If I tell you wrong you can come back and shoot me.’
‘If you are wrong I might just do that.’
‘Hey, go make your peace with the lady. I’ll go sort out your supplies. Make sure you have everything you need.’
‘Good luck?’
‘That you will have to supply for yourself, my friend.’
~*~
Bodie found Ruby with his horse, busy checking the saddle and trappings. She had her back to him and her slim shoulders were taut under the new shirt Kramer had provided. She made no attempt to face him when he came up behind her.
‘They got to be stopped. Else others are going to die,’ Bodie said.
‘Why does it have to be you?’
‘It’s what I do best.’
She turned suddenly and the first thing Bodie saw were the tears running down her cheeks.
‘Damn you,’ she said. ‘What if you go out there and get yourself all shot up and…’ Bodie felt himself pushed back when she leaned against him, gripping him with her arms. ‘I can’t let you get killed as well. I already lost my cousin and the man who was guiding us.’
‘Difference is I do this for a living, Ruby. Doesn’t guarantee I can’t get hurt, but I figure I stand a better chance. I understand men like Gallman. Gives me an advantage.’
‘And you think that justifies putting yourself in danger? Bodie, I can’t believe you do it just for the money.’
‘Comes in handy when I need to eat.’
‘So hard,’ she said, her tone slightly mocking. She turned her face up to stare at him, a flush coloring her cheeks. ‘Back home this would be considered shocking…’ She kissed him on the lips and there was nothing ladylike, or chaste about it. ‘You see, it matters what might happen to you. It matters a lot…’
Chapter Eleven
Charley Crow had worked out the mix of tracks he’d found. He judged the freshness and the way one set merged with another, giving him an indication where the different parties had moved. He had spent some time on his haunches, inspecting the overlapping hoof prints until he was satisfied he understood. He backtracked and found the cave where the body of Vasquez still lay. He stood over the dead man more than a little sorry the Mexican was gone. Vasquez might have been part of Gallman’s gang, but he was still a foreigner in the eyes of the others, just as Charley Crow was. A part of the group who was still apart. When he left the cave Charley Crow cast around and found where Lagrange and Stringer had ridden a different route that would eventually take them to the trading post run by the man named Elijah Kramer. The way they had ridden would got them to Kramer’s ahead of the pair they were following.
Charley Crow took the direct route. He was curious that there was no sign of Lagrange or Stringer returning from Kramer’s place. It was a new day and they should have been on their way back to rejoin Gallman. Unless they had run into more than they could handle. He accepted the pair were well able to look after themselves—yet it was possible something might have happened to them. He didn’t like to think that way. On the other hand Charley Crow knew bad things could happen, so he rode with his bow in his left hand, with a nocked arrow—just in case.
He rested his pinto and took time to taste some of the rum from the bottle he always carried with him. There were times he admitted his liking for the drink was not wise. As with much of his race Charley Crow was easily affected by it if he took too much, but he always felt he could conquer that weakness. As he rested he took another couple of swigs from the squat bottle, enjoying the warm feeling that spread through his body. When he put the bottle away he ignored the slight hesitation in his movements and mounted up again before moving off.
~*~
He sighted the trading post from his concealed position in a stand of timber and brush. The trading post stood open and exposed, the creek flowing some way behind it. Charley Crow tied his pinto, then eased through the greenery and settled down to study the layout.
Smoke rose from the post’s chimney. There were horses in the corral. Charley Crow’s attention was drawn to a pair. His keen eyes identified them as the ones ridden by Lagrange and Stringer. If the horses were here it told the Indian the riders were as well.
Figures appeared, stepping outside the post.
Charley Crow instantly recognized Elijah Kramer. He had seen the man many times before. There was a bandage wrapped around Kramer’s head. The unmistakable shape of a young woman appeared. She was talking to Kramer.
A second man appeared. Tall and leanly muscular, he wore a tied down Colt and carried a Winchester rifle in his hand. He spoke briefly to the woman and Kramer, crossed to the corral and saddled up a chestnut mare. Kramer handed him a sack he tied behind his saddle and led the horse out. Charley Crow studied the man’s face, a faint stirring at the back of his mind. It came to him after a minute or so.
He was looking at Bodie.
The bounty man known as The Stalker.
Some years back Charley Crow had seen the man at a rendezvous on the banks of the Green River. He had heard talk the bounty man was on the lookout for a known killer. Charlie Crow’s interest had been surpassed by his need to make his own deal for furs he’d trapped and he forgot about Bodie, t
hough he did learn later that the wanted man had been shot and arrested by the bounty man. Last heard Bodie was taking his prisoner back to Laramie. Charley Crow had never crossed paths with Bodie. Now it was looking as if he might.
Watching now and seeing the horses belonging to Lagrange and Stringer, Charley Crow saw the man looking at the tracks his friends had made riding into the trading post. Bodie, still talking to Kramer, gestured back and forth as they talked. After a time Bodie spoke to the woman, mounted his chestnut and picked up the tracks that showed where he and the woman had left on their approach to the post.
He was going after Gallman and Wilkerson. Retracing the way he and the woman had rode in by. Bodie would follow those tracks to where Gallman had broken off and headed up into the mountains. The bounty man was no fool. He would follow those tracks until they led him to the high camp where Gallman would feel safe. Only Bodie was not to know there were two more men there to side Gallman and Wilkerson. He would be facing four men—not two.
Charley Crow waited until Bodie was well out of sight, the timber hiding him from sight. That didn’t worry him. He would let Bodie ride away and follow him. Let the man hunter believe he was riding alone. Then Charley Crow would deal with him. He would show Gallman the way it should be done.
By a warrior.
By Charley Crow of the Absaroka tribe. Always.
Chapter Twelve
The feeling he was not alone persisted. Sixth-sense. A premonition. Even the smell of something in the air. Bodie held his relaxed position in the saddle. He was over an hour out from the trading post, closer to two, doggedly following the distinct trail left by himself and Ruby. He still had a way to go before he reached the location of the cave where things had begun. It seemed a lifetime had passed since then. It was alarming how quickly events could overtake a man and turn his life around. Yet right now he needed to put all that behind him and concentrate on what was building.
He knew he had acquired a shadow. Someone who was following him, concealed in the trees and brush close by. Bodie hadn’t spotted anyone yet. But he knew he was there. Someone who had picked him up after a few miles. At a discreet distance but definitely present. Someone Bodie didn’t know. Nor did he know the reason he was being trailed. All he did know for certain was the real presence, and sooner or later Bodie would find out who it was. The tracker was good. Knew the way to play the game, but gave himself away a couple of times—whether by clumsiness, or by some perverse design. Whatever the reason Bodie kept his counsel and let the rider follow on.