Just the word sheriff was enough to cause both outlaws to become nervous. “What are we gonna do?” Billy asked Quincy. “I don’t wanna talk to no damn sheriff. That damn Rider will be comin’ after us next—sure as hell. That man’s crazy.”
“I expect we’d best get him first, before he has a chance to get us,” Quincy said impassively. Seeing the fearful look in Billy’s eyes, he took a quick look around him, as Billy had done, half expecting this mystery man to appear at any second. He could see that Billy’s inclination was simply to run, but he was of the opinion that there was no one man that he feared so much that he would hightail it rather than deal with him.
“Why don’t we just let the sheriff take care of it?” Billy asked.
Pete Bender was an intrigued spectator at this point, and he was prone to offer any information he had on the subject of Rider. “The Injuns think he ain’t a man,” he interjected. “They say he’s a spirit that lives in those mountains east of this valley.”
“Horseshit,” Quincy responded. “If I get my sights on him, I’ll make a spirit out of him.”
“I know him,” Billy said, still excited. “He ain’t no spirit, but he’s crazy as hell—been livin’ with the Injuns too long to be civilized.”
Impatient with their talk of spirits and Indian legends, Quincy knew the best way to deal with a dangerous man was to simply eliminate him. “Did anybody see where he went when he left here?” he asked Pete. The bartender’s answer that no one had noticed further disgusted Quincy. Evidently everyone in the saloon was so frightened by the brutal execution that took place that they were all frozen motionless until they were sure Rider was gone. “Dammit, he ain’t but one man,” he fumed at Billy. “He’s most likely out lookin’ for you and me. So come on, we’d better make sure we find him before he finds us.”
They started to leave, but were not quick enough to escape the sheriff’s eye. “Hold on, there, you two,” Tate ordered. “I need to talk to you.” He walked over to them followed by a young man Quincy assumed was a deputy. “I’m told that this fellow layin’ on the floor over there is a friend of yours. Maybe you’d like to tell me why this Rider fellow killed him.”
Quick to answer before Billy blurted something incriminating, Quincy spoke up immediately. “We ain’t got no idea why he murdered Bodine. Maybe he just didn’t like his looks. He didn’t have no quarrel with us that I know of. Bodine was a peace-lovin’ man—never did no harm to anybody.”
“I hear you fellows just hit town a day or two ago. What brings you to Helena?” Tate asked.
“We was just in town to sell some horses, wasn’t plannin’ on staying, but when the weather turned, we decided to stay till it improved a little.” He shook his head slowly in mock distress. “Poor ol’ Bodine, if the snow hadn’t come, he’d be on his way home right now.”
“Poor ol’ Bodine,” Billy echoed, trying hard to assume a mournful expression.
“Well, I expect it’d be a good idea for you boys to stay around a while till we can run this fellow to ground,” Tate said. He didn’t buy the peace-loving story about the dead man, or his two friends, for that matter, and he suspected there was a good reason why Rider killed Bodine. The question before him now was to determine if the killing was an isolated execution, or if there was going to be more involving these two. “You stayin’ in the hotel?” he asked.
“No, sir,” Quincy replied. “We’re staying with a couple of friends in a little shack up on the hill. We’ll be right here if you need us.”
“I expect, since he was your friend, you’ll take care of his burial.”
“Hell no—” Billy started, but Quincy cut him off.
“Of course we’ll take care of it,” he said. “He was a good friend, and I know his family will be mournin’ his loss.”
“I’m sure the undertaker will be contacting you,” Tate said. Then he looked at his young deputy and said, “We’d better get goin’, see if we can find this feller. From the description we got, he shouldn’t be hard to spot, if he’s still in town.”
In the sparse cover of a dwarf cedar, Rider knelt, oblivious to the cold snow about him, watching the activity at the Pay Dirt Saloon. It had not been a wise plan, even though he had eliminated one of the three murderers. He knew he should have waited to catch all three together, but he had let his emotions take control of his common sense, and now he had to look for an opportunity to finish his business with Billy and the other one. Witnessing the uproar his act of vengeance had spawned, he knew that he had to get out of town. Two men arriving at the saloon looked to be lawmen, judging by the way the others made way for them. He told himself that it was time to get back to the stable and get his horses before the sheriff found them. He had started to get up from his position behind the cedars when he suddenly knelt back down, stopped by the sight of two more arrivals. Billy Hyde, he thought, and peered hard at the man with him. There was something familiar about him, but at that distance he couldn’t be sure, and then it struck him—Quincy! His mind shot back to that day on the Solomon. Quincy was one of those who had escaped the ambush at the farmhouse, and he was the first one to take a shot at him when he made his run to warn the Thompson family. His emotions running wild again, he labored to keep a calm head. His common sense told him that he still had to run before he was caught by sheriff’s deputies, but the urge was almost overpowering to settle the debt right then, out in the open. The only thing that kept him from giving in to his anger was the thought of being locked away in a prison.
Chapter 10
Word of the murder in Pete Bender′s saloon spread rapidly around the town of Helena. Accustomed as the residents of the town were to an occasional shooting between two drunken miners, Bodine’s murder was especially disturbing because of the brutal nature of it. Sheriff Tate was anxious to find the killer before he was able to kill again, and he had a suspicion that as long as the deceased’s two friends were in town, there was a definite possibility of another murder. So he put all his deputies out to scour the town, unaware of a similar search initiated by the cavalry detachment in town under the command of Lieutenant Jared Carrington. His search was narrowed almost immediately, however, when stable owner Arthur Tice tracked him down to tell him that the man he searched for had his horses in his barn at that very moment. Tate called his four deputies in and headed for the stables.
All too aware that he might well have delayed his escape from Helena much too long, Rider hurriedly threw his saddle on the buckskin. He hesitated to consider whether he should take the time to load up the packs on his other horse, or leave them and the horse. He decided that he couldn’t spare the time, so he reluctantly left them. Thinking back on this day in the future, he chose to blame the weather for his capture. For when he charged out of the barn, the sheriff′s posse was just approaching. Had there been no snow on the ground, he felt certain he would have escaped, for the buckskin would have quickly carried him out of harm’s way. As conditions were, however, when his horse raced out of the barn, he was forced to almost stop when he hit a snowdrift outside the stable door, momentarily presenting a near stationary target for the posse. In the bevy of shots fired, two found home, one in the leg, and one high in the back, knocking him out of the saddle.
More angry than hurt, although there was considerable bleeding, he lay in the snow, knowing that to try to get up and run would result only in his death. He had no desire to shoot back, for he did not wish to harm honest lawmen, so he offered no resistance to his arrest, lying in the snow, watching while deputies caught his horse and returned it to the stable. Ordered to his feet, he struggled to get up, roughly helped by two of the deputies. Then he was paraded through town to the jail, where he was shoved into a cell. There was no offer of medical attention to his wounds as he was left to fall on a cot and told by Tate that common murderers were not treated lightly in his town.
Once again the news was quickly passed along concerning the violent killing in the saloon—this time it was the welcome re
port that the killer was safely incarcerated in Sheriff Tate’s jail. One, whose interest was more than casual, was the officer commanding the cavalry detachment temporarily camped outside the town. When Carrington heard that the man called Rider had been arrested, he went straight to the sheriff’s office in hopes of negotiating a transfer to military custody.
“What difference does it make to the army whether we try him and hang him here, or you try him and hang him somewhere else?” Sheriff Tate asked.
“It’s a matter of principal and prior rights,” Carrington replied, affecting his best official-sounding voice in hopes of influencing the sheriff. “This man you know as Rider is actually a fugitive named Jim Moran who escaped military custody almost two years ago. The army has been looking for him ever since. I followed him to your town and was preparing to arrest him when you intervened.” This last statement was an outright lie, but Carrington felt certain Tate had no choice but to take his word. “For these reasons, I think he should be released into my custody, and I assure you he will be dealt with to your satisfaction.” When Tate appeared hesitant, Carrington said, “I think this matter is rightfully within military jurisdiction.”
The sheriff was reluctant to turn his prisoner over. He had committed a heinous murder in his town, and Tate wanted to make sure he was properly hanged. “I guess it doesn’t make much difference where his neck gets stretched,” he finally conceded, but not entirely. “I ain’t so sure I can just hand him over to you without some written authorization from somebody higher up, so we’ll leave it up to Judge Corley to decide. If he says it’s all right, then the prisoner′s yours and welcome to him.”
After a disappointed cavalry lieutenant left his office, Tate walked back to the cells to take a look at his prisoner. He found him standing at the tiny window, gazing at the mountains in the distance, like a trapped animal. Holding on to the bars to keep his wounded leg from collapsing under him, he seemed oblivious to the fresh blood oozing from the wound in his back.
“Don’t you think you should have the doctor come and look at his wounds?”
The voice came from behind Tate and startled the sheriff. He turned to face the woman standing in the open door to his office. “Mrs. McGowan,” he exclaimed, surprised to find a woman in his jail. He considered what she had said for a moment before conceding. “I reckon maybe you’re right. I’ll send somebody to fetch Dr. Blake as soon as one of my deputies comes back.” He took her arm to guide her back to his office. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”
Lucy resisted his effort to direct her. “I want to talk to the prisoner,” she said.
“Oh, no, ma’am,” Tate quickly replied. “You don’t wanna talk to that man. He’s as wild as any Injun out in those hills.”
“He’s an old friend of mine,” Lucy insisted. “I just want to talk to him. I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t be allowed to.”
“Why, no, ma’am,” Tate sputtered, “I guess there ain’t.” He scratched his head while he decided. “You go ahead and talk to him if you wanna, but we’ll keep this door open and I’ll be right outside in case you need me.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” Lucy replied.
An astonished witness to the conversation between Lucy and the sheriff, Rider sat down on his cot, watching as the sheriff left the room and Lucy came up to the cell door. She looked different, dressed in a very businesslike jacket and matching skirt, far more ladylike than the last time he had seen her when she rejected his bumbling, boyish proposal. He could not deny a slight ache in his heart that had nothing to do with his wounds, but it was of a minor nature, more closely related to regrets for decisions he had made in the past that had no influence on the present.
Not quite sure how she was going to be received by him after their last meeting, she didn’t speak for a few moments while they gazed at each other awkwardly. She had to consider the common talk about this Indian legend. Maybe he was the wild being reported to be haunting the mountains surrounding the valley. Maybe he hated her intensely for the way she had rejected him. Maybe he knew it was she who had told the lieutenant his real name. She was relieved, however, when he spoke.
“How’ve you been, Lucy?” he said softly.
“You know me.” She smiled. “Full speed ahead.”
“I reckon I oughta thank you.”
“For what?” she asked.
“Tellin’ the sheriff to send for the doctor,” he said.
“I don’t feel like I’m hurt that bad. If the shot hadn’t knocked me off my horse, I mighta got away. But I can’t stop bleedin’, so I’m glad they’re gonna get the doctor.” He tried to show her a smile. “I’m kinda surprised to see you, though.”
“I had to come see you, Rider. I owe you that. I’m the one who told Lieutenant Carrington that your real name is Jim Moran. It was accidental. I had no idea that man was after you.” She threw her hands up, flustered. “If I had known, I would never have told him. I thought you scouted for the army. Why are they after you?”
“I don’t think the army is,” he said. “It’s more like that one man is after me. He’s been doggin’ me everywhere I go.” He went on to explain Carrington’s obsession with him for escaping with Johnny Hawk, and the circumstances that led up to his arrest in the first place.
“So you were trying to warn those people at that farmhouse,” she repeated, feeling no reason to doubt his word.
“That’s a fact,” he replied, “but Carrington insists I was leadin’ the raid.”
“Why did you kill that man in the saloon?” she asked, abruptly changing to a new subject.
“Bodine,” he said. “I killed him because he carved up Johnny Hawk and left him for dead. I just did the same for him.”
Lucy jerked her head back in alarm. “Is Johnny dead?”
“He was alive when I left him in the hospital at Fort Laramie, but I ain’t sure he’s gonna make it. He looked pretty bad. Bodine gutted him and started to scalp him, but he didn’t have time to finish the job.”
She understood the savagery of his attack on Bodine then, and the report that he had actually taken the man’s scalp.
“I wish I could do something to help you. Maybe they won’t release you to the army and give you a trial here. Then I can testify for you.” She was interrupted then when Sheriff Tate came in to say the doctor had arrived. “I’ll come see you again,” she said. “Maybe Tessie and Harvey will come with me.”
“I ’preciate it, Lucy, but don’t worry about me. I’ll be all right.”
She nodded and went through the door to the office as Dr. Blake stepped back to let her pass. He might have said he’d be all right, she thought, but she remembered the sight of him hanging on to the bars and gazing longingly out the window at the mountains. It’s a sin against God to cage a wild spirit like that, she thought.
Lucy’s hopes that Rider would remain in Helena for trial by civilian court were not to be realized. Lieutenant Carrington pled his case to Judge Corley, and the judge had no objection to his request, influenced no small amount by the fact that it was approaching Christmastime when Corley had planned to keep his docket clean. It was like a Christmas present to Carrington, however, whose obsession with punishing the man who embarrassed him with his escape, had reached insane proportions. He was unwilling to wait the extra couple of days that the judge insisted upon for treatment of Rider’s wounds, but he had little choice. To further complicate Carrington’s life, the gold shipment that had been the sole reason for his presence in Helena was now complete. As added irritation to him was the fact that his men had become rather lax in their military conduct, brought on by the extended camp in the snowy valley with the primary objective in their view being to keep from freezing to death.
During the extra two days of his confinement in the Helena jail, Rider had two faithful visitors, Lucy and Carrington. The lieutenant’s visits were to assure himself that his prisoner was secure and to assure Rider that he would not lose him a second time. Lucy, true to her word,
brought Tessie and Harvey with her one day for a very brief visit that proved awkward for them. With the deputy’s permission, Lucy took the heavy coat that Rider had worn when captured with her to repair the bullet hole. On the third day after Lucy’s first visit, Dr. Blake pronounced Rider fit to ride, so Tate released his prisoner to an extremely satisfied lieutenant.
A sizable crowd of spectators gathered to watch the transfer of the prisoner to the army patrol, most of them to get a glimpse of the savage killer known only as Rider. There was an audible gasp from the onlookers as Rider was led out of the jail. Taller by almost a head than the two troopers who stepped up to escort him to his horse, he looked every bit the part of the legend the Blackfeet had created. “Look there,” a voice in the crowd whispered. “You can see where they shot him the back, and he don’t look like it even slowed him down.”
“He’s a big’un, all right,” another replied. “Grover Bramble said the Blackfeet think he’s a spirit and you can’t kill him.”
“Huh,” Billy Hyde grunted, standing close enough to have heard the comment. He grinned at Quincy standing next to him and whispered, “He sure as hell ain’t no damn spirit. You can kill him, all right. Ain’t gonna have to worry ’bout Mr. Rider no more. The soldier boys are gonna stretch his neck. Save us the trouble of killin’ him.” Quincy didn’t answer. His mind was concentrating on the tall man in the animal skins. There was something familiar about him, and he couldn’t quite place him, but there was little about him that would have made him recall the gangly boy who rode with Quantrill’s raiders.
Somewhat surprised that he was of such interest to the citizens of the town, Rider was at least gratified to see that the soldiers had brought his own horse. The problem at the moment, however, was how to climb into the saddle with his hands tied behind his back. Carrington, when told of the problem by one of the troopers, reluctantly ordered them to tie his hands in front of him so he could get on his horse without help. While he waited for his binds to be retied, he glanced up to see Lucy making her way through the crowd, carrying his coat. It was a welcome sight on this frigid morning, and he nodded his appreciation as she started to approach him.
Ride the High Range Page 19