Like a man possessed, Starbeau drove his horses relentlessly, not certain of his way, but with the thought that the town of Helena was somewhere to his north. Finally, when he reached a river that seemed to have carved its way between two steep mountains, he was forced to rest his weary horses for fear he would otherwise be on foot. After a short rest, he started out again, following the river, for the mountains on each side of it seemed too formidable a climb. He pushed the weary mounts onward until darkness threatened to make the travel too treacherous to continue.
He was about to pick a place to camp when a flicker of light through the trees ahead caught his eye. He pulled his horse to a halt and dismounted, pulling his rifle out as he stepped down. The prospect of riding up on a party of Indians did not appeal to him at the present time. He decided to proceed on foot until he could determine just who he had happened upon. But before taking another step, he paused again when he heard a strange noise from the direction of the fire. At first he thought it the mournful buzzing of some insect, or other night creature. A few moments more of the strange twanging sound, and he realized what he was hearing. Grinning, he muttered, “It’s a Jew’s harp, by damn! And it ain’t likely no damn Injun.” His spirits lifted now with thoughts of the possibility of hot food and coffee, courtesy of a friendly stranger, he led his horses toward the sound.
Rounding a bend of the river, he saw the campfire, and stopped to assess the situation before making his presence known. It looked like two men, white men as he had figured, one of them was sitting beside the fire with the simple instrument held against his lips and proving fairly handy in stroking a lively ditty. The other was on his feet, dancing a jig to the sound of the homely rhythm. Starbeau’s grin grew wider.
“Hello the camp,” he called out as he approached the camp. His greeting caused an abrupt halt to the music, as both men scrambled to reach for weapons. “Saw your fire,” Starbeau yelled. “I was hopin’ that was coffee I smelled. Ain’t nobody but me. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Well, come on in a little closer, so we can get a look atcha,” the man who had been dancing called back.
Starbeau advanced a few yards closer. “Lemme tell you, I’m mighty glad to see you boys,” he exclaimed, practicing his best tone of friendliness. “I ain’t ashamed to tell you I’m as lost as a whore in church.” He kept a wide smile on his face as he glanced around the camp, noticing the packs and tools near the fire and the horses hobbled near the river. Bringing his attention back to the two men, he said, “My name’s Starbeau. I’m on my way to Helena, but I reckon I got off the trail somewhere back yonder.”
The two men exchanged glances, then relaxed. “Well, Starbeau, come on in. There’s a little coffee left in the pot. My name’s Barney Cox.” He nodded toward the other man. “He’s Will Forney.” Forney nodded, and they both looked the big man over as he led his horses into the firelight.
“You can put them horses over by our’n if you want,” Forney said. “They look pretty wore out.”
“They are wore out,” Starbeau said. “I got jumped by some Injuns about ten or twelve miles back that way. Had to run for it.”
“Injuns?” Cox exclaimed. “We ain’t seen no Injuns around this part of the river since we’ve been here and there ain’t been no talk of any. Awful close to Helena. Most of the Flatheads has moved farther north. Ain’t that right, Will?”
“That’s right,” Will replied. “I don’t reckon you’ve et, have you?”
“Well, for a fact, I ain’t,” Starbeau replied, “but I wouldn’t put you boys out. I’ve got some bacon in my packs. I’d just appreciate borrowing some of your fire to cook it—maybe cook a little extra if you fellers are still hungry.”
Feeling no further need to exercise caution, Barney insisted, “No need to get your grub out. We ain’t put our salt pork away yet and the pan’s still on the edge of the fire. You go ahead and take care of your horses. They look like they’re needin’ to get to some grass.”
“That’s mighty neighborly of you,” Starbeau replied, and led his horses over to the riverbank with the others.
Will waited until Starbeau was out of earshot before asking, “Whaddaya think, Barney?”
Barney paused to watch Starbeau for a moment. “I don’t know. I reckon he’s all right. He’s a big son of a bitch, though, ain’t he?” He picked up a slab of salt pork and sliced off several thick strips and dropped them in the pan to fry. “He sure is hard on his horses,” he commented.
“You say you’re headin’ to Helena?” Will asked when Starbeau returned and sat down by the fire.
“That’s a fact,” Starbeau replied. “First light, I’ll be on my way.”
“Well, if you’re gonna keep followin’ this river, you ain’t never gonna get to Helena,” Will said.
Starbeau chuckled. “I told you I was lost. I ain’t ever been there before, and I was guessin’ that this river might run toward it.”
“What you need to do is ride up this river about two miles, till you strike a cross canyon. Follow that canyon north. It’ll lead to a valley, and take you right to Helena, but you’re still two good days away.”
“Well, I’ll tell you,” Starbeau said, in an attempt to sound sincere, “I do appreciate your help. I feel like I oughta pay you boys a little somethin’ for all your help.”
“No such thing,” Barney replied. “Glad we could help.”
Starbeau finished his coffee and bacon and settled back to let it digest. “You know, I’ve got a bottle of good rye whiskey in my pack. Maybe you fellers would like a little drink.”
Barney and Will looked at each other and grinned. “Well, now, that don’t sound like a bad idea,” Barney said.
The dregs of coffee in the tin cups were replaced with a generous shot of whiskey, a little more in the two partners’ cups than Starbeau poured for himself. The talk got more and more casual as the level of whiskey in the bottle dropped, until Starbeau asked what the two of them were doing camped out on the river. A slight pause in the conversation occurred then before Will answered. “Nothin’, we’re just doin’ some huntin’.”
Starbeau chuckled. “I seen them picks and shovels over by your packs. What was you huntin’? Gophers?”
There was a long moment of silence then as the partners looked nervously at each other. “We’re goin’ after elk,” Will said. “We always carry some tools with us just in case we need to dig a cave in the riverbank and cache the meat.” He knew it was a poor answer, but his mind wasn’t quick enough to come up with a better explanation.
“Well,” Starbeau said, laughing, “don’t make no difference to me, but it looks like you ain’t been too lucky so far, or you wouldn’t be eatin’ pork.”
“I reckon that’s right,” Barney said as he and Will tried to laugh convincingly.
At Starbeau’s insistence, they finished the bottle and the burly visitor announced that he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. “I’m turnin’ in,” he said. “I think I drank too much.”
“You ain’t the only one,” Barney said, shaking his head in an effort to scatter the cobwebs that had gathered in his brain. “Whoa!” he exclaimed when he rose to his feet to stand a bit unsteady for a few moments. “I ain’t had that much to drink in a long time.”
Experiencing similar problems, Will struggled to his feet and stood laughing at Barney, who was listing a little to one side. “Ain’t we a fine pair?” He took a few stumbling steps out of the firelight to relieve himself. Barney stumbled after him and they stood elbow to elbow, both men rocking slowly back and forth, from one foot to the other, emptying their bladders.
Starbeau grinned approvingly and joined them after a few seconds to share their camaraderie in the sheer joy of urinating openly under a starry nighttime sky. Unlike his two hosts, he was exaggerating his state of drunkenness, however, for he had purposefully spilled a great deal of his on the ground. Finishing with a series of pulsating squirts, the three said good night and retired to their blankets,
Barney and Will to surrender almost immediately to their slumber, Starbeau to lie awake, listening for the steady drone of snores that would tell him the camp was his to do with as he wished.
Before taking notice of the picks and shovels, he might have been content to pass the night with the two partners, partake of their generosity, and get directions to Helena. But in his mind, the tools meant digging in the ground for something more interesting than making a hole to cache meat. With the money he stole from Bradley Lindstrom and the thirty-five hundred he had just netted in the bank holdup, he felt he was on a definite winning streak. These boys were hiding something, he felt real sure about that. He figured it was not by chance that they were camped where a fairly busy stream emptied into the river, and he was betting a bottle of good rye whiskey that there was a sluice box not far up that stream.
When the snoring had reached a steady pitch, Starbeau crawled out of his blanket and went to the packs, pausing only a moment to peer down at the sleeping men. They ain’t going nowhere for a while, he thought, and proceeded to tear open all the packs lying off to one side of the fire. Strewing clothes and utensils about him, he emptied them, finding two small pouches of gold dust. Estimating the two were equally weighted, it was easy to assume that these pouches represented the equal split between the partners. It wasn’t much, about fifty dollars’ worth, he estimated, unless the pouches were just for show and the real haul was hidden somewhere. That made sense to Starbeau, and he was determined to find the stash.
He pulled a flaming piece of firewood from the fire to use as a torch, and looked around the camp, trying to spot something—a rock, a log, something out of place that might signal a hiding place. He gave up after a few minutes, finding it impossible in the dark. Their gold cache could be any place, in the camp, in the river, the stream. He decided to quit wasting his time. Returning to stand over the sleeping men again, he gazed down at them, making a decision. After a second, he decided that Barney would be the most likely to talk, so he straddled Will and bent low over him, tapping him lightly on his head with the barrel of his pistol. He could have done the job simply without warning, but he preferred to see Will’s face when he realized he was about to die. Will, however, was too deep in his drunken sleep to be aroused by the gentle tapping, so Starbeau took the canteen lying beside him and sloshed water on his face. Will immediately came to, sputtering and blinking until opening his eyes wide to stare in confusion at the pistol barrel almost resting on his forehead, and the grinning face of Starbeau above it. Stricken dumb with a horrible paralysis at first, Will started to react, but the pistol went off in his face before he could move.
In no particular hurry, Starbeau moved over then to straddle Barney, who was turning sleepily over on his back, shaken awake by the shot. In the next second, he exhaled forcefully as Starbeau settled his massive weight upon his chest, pushing the air from his lungs. Wheezing noisily as he gasped to get his breath again, Barney tried to rise, confused by the weight that pinned him to the ground, only then realizing what was happening to him.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Starbeau taunted, the malicious grin in place again. “You got some talkin’ to do.”
“I’ll be damned . . . ,” Barney responded and tried to free himself, but found he was helpless under the huge bulk of Starbeau. “Get the hell offa me!” he demanded, then called out for help. “Will! Will!”
“You want Will?” Starbeau mocked. He grabbed a handful of Barney’s hair and jerked his head around so he could see his partner’s corpse lying near the edge of the firelight, his lifeless eyes reflecting the flames from the campfire. “There he is. I asked him real nice where you boys hid the rest of that gold dust, but he didn’t wanna tell me.” He jerked Barney’s head back so that he could look directly into his eyes. “Now I’m gonna ask you where that dust is.”
“There ain’t no dust!” Barney cried. “Swear to God there ain’t!”
“Now, Barney, you ain’t showin’ a helluva lot of sense. I figured you’d be smarter than your partner over there. At least he didn’t try to tell me there wasn’t no gold. I reckon he figured it’d be better to be dead than part with a little bit of dust. Is it worth it to you? I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Hell, I ain’t a greedy man. I’ll just take Will’s half of the dust, and go on my way. You’ll be just as rich as you woulda been. It’ll just be me and you partners, instead of you and Will. You do that and I won’t have no reason to kill you. Whaddaya say, partner?”
There were no options for Barney Cox to consider. He might as well have a grizzly bear seated on his chest, his arms pinned under Starbeau’s knees, his rifle out of reach of his fingertips. He was a doomed man, and smart enough to know that Starbeau was not likely to spare his life if he told him where they had hidden their take from the sluice box. But he knew for sure there was no question of it if he refused to tell. It was a straw thrown to a drowning man. He had no choice but to grasp it. “All right,” he said. “I’ll show you if you’ll promise you won’t kill me.”
“Hell, yes,” Starbeau responded, “I promise.” He released him then and picked up his rifle. “You won’t mind if I hold on to both rifles till I get my gold, will you?” he asked as if there were any question. “Why, this might be the best partnership you was ever in,” he said while cocking Barney’s rifle repeatedly until he had ejected all the cartridges and dropped the empty rifle on the ground. “We might wanna team up permanent-like,” he went on, both men knowing it was a lie.
Barney got to his feet, his mind a roaring tornado inside his skull, desperately trying to see some way out of his situation, as he dutifully led Starbeau to a boulder the size of a haystack that protruded out over the edge of the water. His hands would not stop shaking and there seemed to be no feeling at all in his legs below his knees. Though he tried as hard as he could to think of some salvation, nothing presented itself except simply running for his life after he showed Starbeau the gold. Maybe the menacing brute would be satisfied and would let him live. A cold numbness spread up his fingertips and into his arms as he pointed to a spot at the base of the boulder.
“Well, dig it outta there, man,” Starbeau exclaimed impatiently. “Let’s see how well you boys was doin’.”
“I need a shovel,” Barney replied.
“That ground don’t look too hard to me right there,” Starbeau said. “I expect you can just dig that out with your hands. Besides, you get hold of a shovel, you might start gettin’ crazy ideas about takin’ a swing at me. Now, let’s get at it.”
Barney’s hopes sank even deeper. Using a shovel as a weapon was the only plan he could think of in this desperate moment. With Starbeau’s rifle leveled at him, he dropped to his knees and began raking away the loose dirt with his hands, praying for God to somehow come to his aid. After only a matter of ten minutes or so, he uncovered a pouch that appeared to be considerably heavier than those found in the packs. “Hot damn!” Starbeau exclaimed when he caught sight of it. “Lemme see that!” Seeing this was his only chance to escape with his life, Barney tossed the pouch toward the edge of the bank. When Starbeau quickly reacted and jumped to keep the pouch from falling in the river, Barney scrambled up from beside the boulder and ran for the woods. Starbeau snatched the pouch from the edge of the bank, then calmly turned and cut Barney down with two shots in his back.
Without bothering to confirm Barney’s death, Starbeau went to the packs and picked up a shovel, then returned to dig in the hole Barney had already started. He immediately uncovered a pouch similar to the first and kept digging. Soon he was digging in solid dirt and roots, and he knew the two pouches were all there were. “I reckon that’s all the elk meat there is in that cache,” he said, laughing at his joke.
Since there were still several hours until sunup, he took his new treasure over by the fire to examine it. What had started out as a questionable day had turned out to be a great one. He had no idea how much his newly gained gold was worth, but he estimated that it was considerable. He was a wealthy ma
n. In addition to this fact was the accumulation of two extra horses to sell, and the satisfaction that he had left Joe Fox far behind him. By the time the bothersome tracker reached Helena, if he followed him that far, Starbeau would be long gone—too long to leave a trail.
After retying the gold pouches, he searched the bodies, starting with that of Will Forney. He found nothing of value, and started to drag it away from the fire circle when he remembered something. Fishing around in Will’s vest pockets, he found what he was looking for, the Jew’s harp. Smiling broadly, he placed the simple instrument against his lips and with a meaty finger, flipped the spring a few times, producing a series of sharp twangs that was no kin to music of any form. But the irritating noise pleased him, and he kept it up for a while until tiring of it. Dropping the harp in his pocket, he dragged Will’s corpse away.
When he went to search Barney’s body, he found the man still alive, although paralyzed from a bullet in his spine. When he rolled him over, Barney screamed with the pain, causing Starbeau to start. “Damn,” he questioned, “ain’t you dead yet?”
Unable to move, but fully aware of the pain throughout his body, the mortally wounded man begged Starbeau to finish him. “Hell,” Starbeau responded, “you’ll die before long—ain’t no sense in wastin’ another cartridge.” He pulled the Jew’s harp from his pocket. “Here, I’ll play you a little tune to cheer you up.” He taunted the dying man with a few minutes’ worth of tortured sounds from the instrument. Pleased with his new toy, he then left Barney with the comforting words that either buzzards or wolves would eventually come along and put him out of his misery. The mournful nonmusical sounds could be heard through the forest as the evil man strolled back to the campfire. He threw a few more limbs on the fire, then turned in to get a little sleep before starting out for Helena in the morning. It would take him two more days, but he was no longer in a hurry.
The Blackfoot Trail Page 20