Chapter 16
Maintaining a steady pace between walking and running, Joe Fox, the adopted son of a Blackfoot warrior, tirelessly ground out mile after mile. Efficiently utilizing the combination of strength and willpower that resulted from years of roaming the highest mountains in the Rockies, he constantly gained on his prey. As he scaled the steep slopes and made his way through forest thick with fir and spruce, he seldom stopped for rest, and only occasionally for food. Such was the determination of Joe Fox.
In mountainous country, he never conceded advantage to a man on horseback, knowing that the horse required longer rest periods than he. Once he reached the valley where Starbeau had followed the river, however, he grudgingly surrendered the advantage to the horse. To make up for it, once it appeared that Starbeau was going to continue to follow the river, he pushed on after nightfall, even though it meant he would be unable to read sign. He didn’t know if Starbeau really knew where he was going or not, but he figured he could stay with the river for a long time before he reached a cross canyon where he would be forced to wait for daylight to see if Starbeau turned north to Helena or continued following the river.
Daylight found him still some two miles or more from the cross canyon, but prints he discovered along the riverbank told him that he was still on Starbeau’s trail. Rounding a bend in the river, he paused to sniff the wind, for he thought he detected the smell of smoke. Slipping his bow back on his shoulder in order to use both hands on his rifle, he moved cautiously forward, alert for an ambush. It seemed unlikely that Starbeau would have lingered in this place, but Joe could now see that there was a camp of some sort a few hundred feet ahead.
Moving even closer, he saw the source of the smoke on the wind, the dying ashes of a fire, but there was no one about, and no horses that he could see. Then he noticed what appeared to be someone sleeping on the far side of the smoking coals. So he knelt where he was for a while, watching for someone else to enter the scene. While he waited, he noticed the open packs and clothing and supplies scattered upon the ground. Someone had evidently raided the camp, he decided, and he might be waiting for a corpse to move. So he rose to his feet, and with his rifle ready to fire, walked slowly into the abandoned camp.
As he had suspected, the man was dead, shot in the face at point-blank range. Looks like some of Starbeau’s work, he thought. Planning only a quick look around, he spotted another body beyond a huge boulder by the river’s edge. This one was lying in a puddle of blood, and Joe was about to turn away when the eyelids flickered open. The man stared with dull eyes at Joe for a few seconds before begging, “Finish me off.”
Surprised, Joe knelt beside the man to do what he could for him, but discovered right away that there was no hope for the unfortunate soul as the pitiable eyes searched his and repeated his whispered request. Joe knew there was no use in speaking words of encouragement. The wounded man knew there was no hope for him, and he was just taking a painfully long time to die. “Who did this?” Joe asked. “Starbeau?” The man nodded painfully, and Joe asked, “Do you know where he’s headed?”
Barney slowly nodded again and rasped, “Helena,” then begged once more, “Finish it.” Understanding, Joe nodded solemnly in response and Barney whispered, “God bless you.” Rising to his feet, Joe moved behind him, so he could not see the pistol when he pulled it from his belt. One shot in the back of his head finally laid Barney Cox to rest, easing his dread of still being alive when the vultures arrived to feast on his bones. Joe glanced up to see a couple of buzzards already starting to circle. Wasting no more time, he kicked some dirt on the smoldering campfire and started back on Starbeau’s trail, knowing that he was now less than a half day behind the murderer.
Departing the camp, he found the trail even easier to follow, for Starbeau now had four horses leaving tracks. His earnest desire was to overtake the cruel killer before he reached the city of Helena. The thought of his frustration when trying to make sense of the many buildings and people in Butte was still fresh in his mind. His experience in the bustling city also showed him that his appearance prohibited him from moving about unnoticed. The law had almost caused him to lose Starbeau’s trail when the deputy stepped in to question him. In view of these factors, Joe decided to gamble on the accuracy of Barney Cox’s statement that Helena was Starbeau’s destination. Instead of continuing to follow Starbeau’s tracks upriver to the cross canyon, he decided to strike out across the mountains with the hope of cutting the killer off before he reached the broad valley and Helena.
He took the first opportunity he came upon to ford the river and then made his way once again up through the lodgepole pines, using a distant peak as his point of reference, pushing even harder than he had before coming upon the two miners. Gliding doggedly along the many game trails, he chewed a strip of deer jerky when he was hungry while still maintaining his pace. Moving with the soft tread of a mountain lion, he emerged from a stand of spruce trees near the top of a high ridge to startle a buck and two does nibbling at some low plants at the edge of a high meadow. As they bolted away into the forest, he never bothered to think about what an easy shot it would have been for fresh meat. Thoughts of Callie lay heavy on his mind, ever increasing the closer he came to overtaking the brute that caused her so much pain and shame. He would always carry the guilt that none of Callie’s torment would have happened if he had killed Starbeau when he first had the chance.
The frightened deer that just bolted caused him to remember the look in Callie’s eyes when she had turned to leave his camp on that last night. She would be on her way to the Oregon country now. Hopefully, she would be able to forget this terrible period of her life. Had he thought it appropriate, he might have told her that he would always carry her in his heart. He could not help her to forget, but he could erase the monster that had defiled her from the face of the earth. He had hunted and killed before, man and beast, but he had never before felt the fire in his veins like this except once when he rode against the Crows to avenge the deaths of his mother and father.
He continued on through the day until darkness forced him to stop, the steep mountainsides being too treacherous to travel in the blackness of the thick forest. Coming to a stream near the bottom of a slope, he dropped down exhausted, to quench his thirst and to rest. With thoughts of Callie still on his mind, he fell asleep nonetheless, his body demanding rest, having given all that it could.
Starbeau squinted his eyes against the afternoon sun in an effort to get a better look at the house ahead. Built on a gentle rise beside a creek, it was the first sign of civilization he had come to in the wide valley. He smiled, feeling satisfied that Helena couldn’t be far away now. It would be a good time to rest and water his horses, he thought, and maybe get a hot meal for himself. After turning his horses toward the water, he took a long look at the little frame house and the barn and corral behind it. It had the look of a well-run farm. The house was painted and the barn was in good repair. He suddenly took a new interest in the farm when he spied a young girl of about thirteen or fourteen walking from the barn to the house. She paused a few moments when she spotted the man and four horses approaching the creek.
“Good day to ya, little miss,” Starbeau called out in his friendliest tone. “I’ll just water my horses in the creek, and if your pa don’t mind, I’ll let ’em rest a spell before I go on to Helena.”
“Pa won’t mind,” the girl replied as she reached the corner of the front porch.
Starbeau stepped down from the saddle and walked closer to the house while the horses drank. “That’s mighty neighborly of you,” he said. “Is your daddy in the house?”
“No, sir,” the girl replied, slightly surprised to see the size of the stranger when he stepped down on the ground. “He took the wagon into town for supplies.”
“Is that a fact?” Starbeau responded, the situation becoming more interesting by the moment. Before he could ask any more questions, the door opened and a woman came out on the porch, having heard voi
ces and wondering who her daughter was talking to.
“If you’re looking for my husband,” Mary Lester said, “he won’t be back for a couple of hours or so.” She frowned as she looked past him to the horses drinking at the creek. “You must be the man he was talking to about the horses. He wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”
Quick to realize an opportunity when it was freely presented to him, he replied, “Yes, ma’am, I reckon one of us musta got our days mixed up.” He glanced at the girl and winked, wondering whether she remembered that he had told her he was just stopping to rest before going on to Helena. She expressed nothing more than a slight frown of confusion. “Well, I sure hate it that I missed him,” Starbeau went on.
“Me, too,” Mary said. “I know he’s needing a couple of horses. He’ll hate it he missed you.” There was an awkward moment of silence then as he waited for her to remember her manners. “Would you like to sit on the porch for a while and have a cup of coffee? I’ve got some cold buttermilk Janie can fetch from the creek. I ain’t started supper yet, but there’s some cold biscuits left from dinner.”
“Why, thank you, ma’am. That sure would set good right now. I ain’t had much but salt pork lately.” He stepped up on the porch to tower over the woman, his eyes roaming over her from head to toe. She looked not a lot different from thousands of frontier women, overworked and prematurely gray, her eyes reflecting the weary look of hard summers and cold winters. If she had been the only choice, he would have been interested. But since she was not, Starbeau decided he preferred the daughter. He turned to glance at the young girl as she walked down to the creek to fetch the buttermilk from the spring box.
Already startled by the frightening appearance of the man up close, Mary instantly felt uneasy about the way his dark eyes followed her daughter. “I don’t want to waste your time, Mr. . . .” She paused to let him introduce himself. When he failed to do so, she continued. “I’m sure Paul will come to see you tomorrow.”
“Ain’t nobody else here? Just you and the girl?” he asked.
“Well,” she hesitated, “not right at this moment, but we have a couple of neighbor men that help out—oughta be here at any minute.”
Now that there’s a lie, he thought as a smile spread wide across his face. “I ain’t in no hurry. Maybe I’ll wait till your hired hands get here. Maybe they’ll wanta look at them horses.” He went over to the two chairs at the end of the porch and sat down. “That buttermilk oughta taste real good.” It pleased him that she was showing signs of caution. He enjoyed intimidating people, especially women.
She stood for a moment, wishing she had not offered him food and coffee, undecided as to what she should do. It might be that she was giving in to needless fears, but the man had the look of a predator, like a wolf sizing up a lamb. Oh, Lord, she prayed, please let me be wrong about this man. “I’ll go in and see about the coffee,” she finally said, thinking of the shotgun over the fireplace.
Janie returned from the creek carrying a large gallon jug. “I’ll help Mama,” she said as she passed him on the porch and went directly into the house.
“You do that,” he replied, a mischievous grin upon his face.
Inside, she startled her mother, who was lifting the shotgun down from the fireplace and almost dropped it when Janie walked in. “Mama, what’s wrong?” Janie whispered.
“I don’t know,” Mary said. “I just wish your daddy was here.” She wasn’t sure that she wasn’t just letting her imagination run wild, and she didn’t want to scare the girl if this foreboding feeling of danger was nothing more than baseless fears.
“Mama,” Janie whispered, “when he rode up, he said he just wanted to rest his horses and then he was going on to Helena. He didn’t say anything about coming to see Daddy.”
Trying hard to control her feeling of panic, Mary propped the shotgun against a kitchen chair. Straining to keep her voice calm, she said, “Let’s just give him some of that buttermilk and a couple of biscuits, and maybe he’ll get out of here.”
“I hope you wasn’t gonna make coffee with that shotgun.” The voice came from the open doorway as Starbeau stepped inside and stood leering at the two captive females.
Not sure how much he had heard before he walked in, Mary tried to pull her shattered nerves together. “I was just getting it out of my way,” she said. She snatched the jug of buttermilk from her daughter. “Janie, run out to the barn and see if we’ve got any fresh eggs. I’ll pour a cup of buttermilk for our guest.” She poured a cup of the milk, spilling a good portion as she tried to steady her trembling hand. When her daughter hesitated, confused by her mother’s instructions, Mary spoke again in a voice as calm as she could manage. “Go on, child. Do as I told you.”
Impassioned by the naked fear in the woman’s eyes, Starbeau, his evil grin a constant fixture, took a step to block the girl’s way. “I bet you already fetched them eggs this mornin’, didn’t you, little gal?” He grabbed her arm and pulled her with him to the table. “You stay here with me and your mama, and we’ll have us a time like you ain’t never seen before.” Still holding Janie by the arm, he picked up the cup of buttermilk and drained the whole thing. Laughing, he smacked his lips loudly. “Ain’t much better’n a cold cup of buttermilk,” he roared. “But I know somethin’ better. Ain’t that right, Mama?”
Desperate, Mary grabbed for the shotgun, but Starbeau kicked it out of her reach, and with his free hand, clutched her around the throat. With mother and daughter trapped in steel-like grips, he backed Mary up against the kitchen wall, dragging Janie along with him, oblivious to her screaming and fighting. Clamping down tighter and tighter on the entrapped woman’s throat, he grinned in her face as she fought for air.
Dangling like a rag doll, Mary Lester began losing consciousness as the air was shut off from her brain. Her life began spinning before her mind’s eye; images of her husband, her family, friends from her childhood flashed before her. As she slid deeper into a dark abyss, the last image she remembered was that of a savage warrior.
Suddenly Starbeau released her and grunted as if something had struck him and knocked the wind from his lungs. As she slid down the wall to collapse on the floor, the cruel brute grunted a second time and staggered toward the table, a fire-hot pain searing his lungs and gut. Confused and in excruciating pain, he didn’t resist when Janie pulled free of his grasp. Clutching a chair to keep from falling, he turned to face the avenging spirit standing in the doorway, the bowstring fully drawn. “Joe Fox!” he said with a gasp a split second before the final arrow was released and driven deep into his stomach.
Only then realizing what had happened to him, he looked down in shock at the deadly shaft buried in his gut, and his fear of the unknown seized his terrified mind. Suddenly, he vomited a vile mixture of blood and buttermilk, then fell to the floor, pulling the chair over on top of himself.
Still terrified, unsure what her fate was now at the hands of this new demon, Janie ran to her mother’s side while Joe Fox grabbed Starbeau’s ankles and dragged the huge corpse out the front door, across the porch, and off on the ground, breaking the two arrow shafts in Starbeau’s back when he landed. He stood looking down at the corpse for a few moments. One each in the back for Bradley and Nancy Lindstrom, he thought, and the one unbroken shaft for Callie. Then he went back inside to check on Mary Lester.
He found her sitting up with her back against the wall, her daughter by her side. The two of them stared in uncertain fright at the formidable spirit dressed in animal skins. A sob of relief escaped from Mary’s throat when he asked, “Are you all right, ma’am?”
It was a few moments more before she was able to get up, with the help of Joe and her daughter, and sit in a chair. “Who was that monster?” she managed, though her throat was hoarse and painful.
“He’s the devil, ma’am,” Joe answered, “and I’ve been chasin’ him for a long time. As soon as I round up those horses, I’ll drag him away from here.” He waited while she and Janie e
xplained that they thought he was a man who was supposed to bring two horses for her husband. Joe politely remained until they had finished relating the entire incident, even though he was eager to be on his way. “Yes, ma’am,” he said when they were finished, and took his leave.
“Hold it right there! You take another step and I’ll blow your head off.” Joe had little choice but to stop. The man holding the rifle aimed at his head looked determined enough to do as he had threatened.
“No, Paul!” Mary cried from the doorway. “He saved our lives!”
Baffled by the scene that had met him when he returned from town, Paul Lester was at least relieved to see his wife and daughter safe. “What the hell happened here?” he exclaimed. “Who’s that?” he asked, pointing to the body lying in his front yard.
“That’s the devil,” Janie said, repeating Joe’s words. “And he was gonna kill Mama and me till he came along.” She pointed at Joe.
Joe waited again through the relating of the incident and longer, since Paul pressed for a more detailed account of who Starbeau had been. “I reckon I might oughta go tell the sheriff about it,” Paul said.
“I wouldn’t bother,” Joe said. “Just dump him in the ground somewhere. Ain’t nobody gonna come lookin’ for Starbeau. Your wife said you need two horses, so I’m leavin’ two of those by the creek. I’m takin’ the other two, since he killed my two horses. And I’m takin’ the stuff in those packs. It’s stuff he stole from some other folks.”
“Mister,” Paul said, shaking his head solemnly, “I don’t know how I can ever thank you enough for saving my family.”
Joe nodded. “I’m just glad I got here when I did.”
When he turned to leave, Mary said, “God bless you, Joe Fox.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he replied. It was the second time in as many days that he had been blessed, once for taking a life, and once for saving two.
The Blackfoot Trail Page 21