He shook his head, then turned to face her, closing the door as he did. “No. I might as well go ahead and eat. That man in there is already halfway dead. I don’t expect there’s anything I can do for him now. Maybe if I had seen him right after he got shot, I mighta saved him. I’ll try to see how much damage has been done, but I expect the only thing I could accomplish right now is letting my dinner dry out in the oven. Let’s go eat.”
Sheriff George Tyler glanced up when Donovan and his son walked in the tent, and continued to stare at them until they in turn spotted him at his usual place at the end of the table. Damn it, he thought, is my dinner gonna be interrupted every blasted day by some member of the McCloud family? He voiced no greeting, however, and waited for them to state their business.
Both father and son took a moment to look over the food heaped upon the plates of the half dozen customers before deciding to grab an empty chair. “Howdy, Sheriff,” Donovan offered as he sat down and pulled his chair back up to the table.
Tyler was pretty sure about the reason for their visit, but he asked anyway. “Mr. McCloud, Cody,” he said, nodding to each one in turn. “What brings you to town?” He assumed they had come for the same reason Cullen had.
“We brought my middle boy in to Dr. Elrod’s,” Donovan replied. “He’s been shot and Doc thinks it’s pretty bad. I’m wonderin’ if you’ve seen my son Cullen in the last day or so. If you have, you know what brings us to town.”
“You gonna eat?” Hattie Moore interrupted, and Donovan nodded.
“I heard that Jug got shot.” Tyler acknowledged that he had seen Cullen, and told Donovan what had been the result of Cullen’s quest for help from the law. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told Cullen,” he said as he hacked off another generous bite of the tough steak on his plate. The beef, seemingly reluctant to be sacrificed willingly, sought to deny the sheriff’s knife, causing Tyler to pause in midsentence while he applied additional elbow grease before declaring victory and shoving the hunk of meat into his mouth. “I’m sorry about your sons gettin’ shot, but there ain’t nothin’ I can do about it. I’m too busy with other things right now to stop and worry about a couple of outlaws. Them folks never showed up here in Stevensville, so it’s out of my jurisdiction.” He decided it was of no value to admit that one of them had, in fact, shown up in town since Burdette left right away with his bottle of whiskey. “Accordin’ to Cullen, them two he was trailin’ camped overnight down by the river, maybe a mile or so below town. Then they musta kept on goin’ the next mornin’, and I reckon Cullen went after ’em, or turned tail and headed for home. I don’t know which. It ain’t in my jurisdiction.”
The sheriff’s comments caused a moment of concern in Cody’s mind. “You said ‘them two’ he was trailin’. Didn’t he say there was also a woman with ’em?”
“Nah. I don’t know nothin’ about a woman,” he lied. “They didn’t come in my town, so it ain’t my worry.”
Cody and his father reacted much the same as Cullen had to the sheriff’s attitude about the fugitives. “Well, we didn’t find out a helluva lot here,” Donovan responded, “but at least we can get somethin’ to eat. I hope we ain’t put you out too much,” he added sarcastically. Tyler just shrugged his shoulders in response and continued the attack on his dinner again.
“Did Cullen say where the camp was?” Cody asked, still concerned by the lack of any word about Roberta.
“I told you. ’Bout a mile below the river road.”
“Which side of the river?” Cody asked.
“Hell, I don’t know,” Tyler replied, plainly irritated. “West, I think. It ain’t my jurisdiction.”
“Thank you very much, Sheriff,” Cody said with more than a hint of the sarcasm his father had just expressed. “We won’t bother you no more. You just go on back to fillin’ that big belly of yours.”
Donovan quickly shot a warning glance in his son’s direction. Of the three, his youngest was the one who possessed a hair-trigger temper. Cody smiled and shrugged. The sheriff’s brow knitted into an angry frown and he pointed his fork directly at Cody as he issued a warning. “Now, I’m gonna go easy on you since you’ve had a streak of bad luck with your brother and all, but you’d better watch your mouth or you’re gonna wind up settin’ in one of my jail cells for the night.”
“He don’t mean nothin’, Sheriff,” Donovan was quick to offer. “He’s just concerned about his brother.”
“I suppose so,” Tyler reluctantly conceded. “I won’t hold it against him.”
The moment was defused when Hattie set two plates of food down before them. There was nothing more they could hope to gain from the indifferent sheriff, so they ate the food and returned to see how Jug was doing. The news was not good. Dr. Elrod told them he had probed around in Jug’s side, but the damage was too extensive for him to do much good. It was too dangerous, he said, to try to take the bullet out. He had no choice but to sew up the incision he had made in an effort to dig the bullet out. “You’d best change that bandage in the morning and try to keep it clean. I’d guess he’s got maybe a week or so before he dies. It’s hard to say. He might die on the way home in that wagon. I’m right sorry, but that’s all I could do for him.”
This was sorrowful news to his father and brother, almost unbelievable in fact. It was hard to think of the gentle giant of a man finished by a single bullet. Cheerful to a fault, eternally hungry, he would leave too large a void in the McCloud family. “Let’s get him in the wagon,” Donovan said. Cody nodded sadly and the two of them carried Jug out and laid him in the wagon bed again. When they had made him as comfortable as possible, Donovan placed his hand on his youngest son’s shoulder, his sorrowful eyes slightly moist. “We’ll take Jug home,” he said. “Maybe Smoke can try again to get that bullet outta there.”
Jug didn’t seem to know where he was, or who was with him, as he lay in the bed of the wagon, softly muttering to himself, words that neither Cody nor his father could understand. Donovan had his eldest son to worry about as well. If Jug had not been so close to death, his father would have sent Cody to trail Cullen, but he knew it was important for Cody to be at his brother’s side during his final moments. So they took the amiable giant home to the M Bar C to die.
Chapter 6
The trail Cullen followed north along the river was no doubt leading to Fort Missoula. He urged the bay along at a fast walk, knowing there was little chance of overtaking Burdette and Roberta before they reached that settlement. His only hope was that they would remain there for a day or two, or if they were already gone, someone could tell him where they had headed. He felt sure that their next destination would most likely be Butte. That would be the only reasonable route to take out of Missoula, but he couldn’t depend on Roberta to think like a typical woman. He had already paid dearly to learn that lesson. Anxious to overtake them, he pressed his horse to pick up the pace and held him to it until the bay began to show signs of fatigue. It was while he was resting his horse that he saw the forward scouts of the Nez Perce village. Shortly after, the long column of men, women, and children came into view. Driving a large horse herd, the Indians seemed to pass by his temporary camp on the opposite side of the river for over an hour. Some walking, some riding, they paid little attention to the lone white man watching from across the river. Warriors riding as scouts on the flanks of the column came close to the river’s edge, but seemed to have no interest in him. All seemed peaceful as Looking Glass had promised. In fact, there were wagons from the white farms in the valley loaded with produce, following the column and trading with the Indians as they moved through. Nothing could be more peaceful. Cullen shook his head sadly, for he was certain they felt the danger was over. They could not understand the army’s obsession with stopping them. He remained by the riverbank until the last of the stragglers passed to the south. His horse rested now, he climbed back in the saddle and continued on. He arrived in Missoula at sundown.
For lack of a better idea, he decided
to visit the saloons in case someone might have seen a stranger matching Burdette’s description. There was no hotel, so he imagined the two he followed would make camp somewhere close to the river, just as he intended to do. Pulling his horse to a stop before the first saloon he came to, he looped the reins over the hitching post and stepped up on the board walkway. Pausing in the doorway, he scanned the room, looking for Burdette. There were several soldiers near the back of the barroom, sitting with two civilians at a table. Cullen recognized one of the civilians. Barney Quinn had served in a company of volunteers with Cullen when a hostile band of Bannocks had raided in the valley the year before. After another look around to make sure he had not missed Burdette, Cullen walked in and approached the table in the back.
Quinn glanced up from his glass of beer and did a double take when he recognized Cullen. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he announced. “Here comes the man we need right here.” He got up to greet Cullen. Grinning broadly, he thrust out his hand. “Fellers, this here is Cullen McCloud. Ain’t nobody knows them mountains better’n him.”
“Hello, Barney,” Cullen said. “What are you doin’ back here? I thought you were goin’ to work for that rancher up in Deer Lodge.”
Quinn chuckled. “I was, but I never got there. I got drunk in Butte and lost all my money—ended up helpin’ a feller owns a farm north of there till I heard they was lookin’ for volunteers to ride with the army to make sure them Nez Perce don’t start no trouble.”
“Everybody up and down the whole valley is lookin’ for Indians,” Cullen responded. “I just came from Stevensville, and I passed Chief Joseph’s people just short of there. Folks in that town are nervous as hell. They’re tryin’ to build old Fort Owen up to defend the town, and the Nez Perce will already be past ’em in a day or two.”
“Hell yeah,” Quinn replied. “There’s a bunch more soldiers that got here a few days ago. The folks around here was already worried since the Flatheads have been doin’ some raidin’.” He shook his head and chuckled as if he was about to tell a joke. “Funny thing is, it’s the Nez Perce that’s got everybody shittin’ their underwear now.” He nodded toward the soldiers sitting at his table. “Me and some of the boys are fixin’ to ride with these fellers. Captain Rawn is their commanding officer. He’s the officer they sent over here to establish Fort Missoula. You oughta join up with us.”
Cullen shook his head. “The Nez Perce aren’t goin’ to go on the warpath against the white folks in this valley. Hell, Barney, I’ve bought more’n a few horses from some of White Bird’s people, and they’ve passed through this valley on their way to hunt buffalo for as long as I’ve lived here. Never been anything but friendly.”
“It might be a different story now,” Barney said, “since they’ve already been fightin’ the soldiers over in Idaho Territory. Ol’ Joseph says he ain’t goin’ to the reservation—soldiers say he is. He might forget he used to be friends with you and your family.” When Cullen still appeared to be doubtful, Quinn changed the subject. “Well, what are you doin’ here, if you didn’t come to fight the Nez Perce?”
Cullen told him about the appearance of Roberta Morris at his father’s ranch and the tragedy that followed, ending with his two brothers being wounded. “I followed them this far,” he said. “And I’m hopin’ this is where I’ll find them.”
“Damn, Cullen, I’m sorry to hear about your brothers. Maybe I can help you look for this feller and the woman. I can’t say I’ve seen ’em since I’ve been here. Everybody here is a stranger to me.”
“’Preciate the offer, but I reckon I’ll just have to do the lookin’ myself, since you don’t know what they look like. I’ll walk through town just on the chance I’ll spot ’em. If I don’t, I expect I’ll just head on to Butte tomorrow to see if they showed up there—after I scout up and down the river a ways to see if I can find their camp.” He fully realized that his was a hopeless endeavor at this point unless he was struck with blind luck. Even though he was following a horse with a twisted shoe, it was impossible to find the trail among all the many tracks in the settlement—most of them fresh—but he didn’t know what else to do.
“Well, you might as well camp with us for the night,” Quinn said. “We’re camped close to town right in the fork of the river. You mighta passed it on your way into town.”
“Yeah, I saw the camp,” Cullen said. “I’m gonna take a turn around town; then maybe I’ll be back later.”
Roberta was a woman driven by her selfish ambitions, a woman who would not let anything stand in the way of her goals, but she was also capable of compassion in the right circumstances. Sitting by the campfire next to the riverbank, she cast an observant eye upon her traveling companion and partner in crime as he poured a cup of coffee and settled himself next to her on the blanket she had spread for the purpose. Roberta studied him as if seeing him for the first time. One could not say that Frank Burdette was not an interesting man, she decided. He might look more distinguished if his beard was trimmed properly and he was dressed in a proper suit—two things he said he planned to do when they reached Butte. He said he wanted to look like a worthy escort for her. A slight smile traced her lips at the thought. It was flattering to think she controlled the man so completely. As she continued to study him, she decided that he had served her well in her quest to become wealthy. And all he wanted was to remain with her, to protect her, to do her bidding. She decided that she owed him the one thing he longed for.
She had not resisted his animal-like attempts at making love, even though she did not participate in earnest. Perhaps, she decided, she should show her appreciation for his faithful service to her and give him the kind of response he longed for. She placed her coffee cup carefully down and lay back on the blanket. Curious, he paused to watch her as she arranged herself comfortably on her side. She smiled at him then and beckoned him to come closer. Confused and unsure at first, he hesitated, thinking he must have misunderstood—she had never been aggressive in that regard before—and for the last couple of days she had seemed especially distant. She parted her lips slightly and gazing at him longingly, bade him to come to her.
Still not sure he had not misinterpreted her gesture, he moved over closer to her—cautiously at first—until she smiled and motioned for him to lie next to her. Then resembling a trembling puppy more than the rough outlaw he was, he scrambled to her, his excited heart pounding in his chest. He at once began his usual pawing and groping, but she stopped him and whispered, “Lie back. Let me do it.” She made love to him then in a fashion not known to him before, accustomed as he was to the rough-and-tumble style of prostitutes and rapists in his lawless life. For the first time in his thirty-four years he was permitted entry into a tender, loving paradise that he never knew existed. When it was finished, he lay contented and helpless in her arms, a defenseless and grateful puppy. He paid no attention to her movements as she casually reached behind her for the long stiletto she always kept under the edge of her blanket. With her other hand, she grasped a handful of his long dingy hair and gently pulled his head back. Still in a blissful stupor, he smiled at her, only to recoil in shock as the long blade was suddenly and forcefully thrust up under his chin, buried to the handle.
Like a chicken whose head had just been chopped off, he convulsed violently, clawing at the knife desperately. Choking with blood, he was unable to scream as he writhed in excruciating pain, his eyes bulging as if about to explode from their sockets. She moved away a few feet to stand and watch him die. It did not happen as quickly as she had imagined, so she casually went to her saddlebag and withdrew her Colt .44. Returning to stand over him again, she patiently waited for him to remain still long enough to make sure her aim was accurate. The fatal shot was no doubt as welcome to the suffering victim as it was to his callous executioner.
Silently complimenting herself for her sacrifice in giving her body to the trusting outlaw as a reward before his termination, she rolled his body off the edge of the blanket. He had already ma
naged to soak a corner of it with blood, a fact that irritated her somewhat, and she frowned to think it would be ruined. I’ll try to soak it in the river to see if the cold water will remove the stain, she thought, but she didn’t hold out much hope for salvaging it. Then she smiled when she reminded herself that she was a very wealthy woman. She could simply discard the blanket just as she had the man. Frank Burdette had outlived his usefulness as soon as Roberta had realized she was reasonably safe upon reaching the town. And with all the soldiers now posted at Fort Missoula, she no longer feared for her safety. Still, she admitted, Frank Burdette and his partners had proved to be useful. All things considered, it had turned out well, the only downside being the necessity to sacrifice her body to the vile and disgusting outlaw. It would have been nicer, she thought with a mischievous smile, and a lot more interesting had it been Cullen McCloud instead of Burdette. I might have even enjoyed it. With that thought in mind, she went to the water’s edge to thoroughly clean herself, with the intent to wash away all traces of Frank Burdette.
Now that she was free of the last of her temporary partners in her venture, she prepared to move into town. There was no hotel, but she did remember seeing a rooming house at the end of the street. The thought of sleeping on clean sheets in a real bed was enough to cause her to make up her mind, but first, there was a great deal of preparation before she could risk a trip into town. There was the question of four heavy sacks of gold dust to be dealt with. She would have preferred to convert the dust to cash, but there was no assay office in Missoula. It would have to be converted in Helena. Thinking to sell the horses in Missoula, she decided to keep one to carry her fortune, so she spent most of the next morning packing the gold in four different saddle packs to be carried on only one of the horses. Once the gold dust was situated evenly, she disguised the packs as best she could with pots and pans, blankets and clothing until she was satisfied that the horse appeared to be loaded with household possessions. Everything else of trade value, like her late partners’ weapons, she loaded on the other horses, and leading the extra horses, she rode into Fort Missoula.
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