“Why, you poor dear,” Martha Gooding uttered upon hearing Roberta’s accounting of the tragedy that brought the slender young woman with the long dark hair to her doorstep. “Of course we can rent you a room for the night. Come inside out of the chilly wind.” She looked, somewhat curiously, beyond her visitor at the horses tied at the corner of the porch.
Quick to satisfy Martha’s curiosity, Roberta explained, “That’s all that I have left of my family,” she said sadly. “When the Indians attacked our camp in the mountains, my dear husband fought them bravely, but after he was killed, I managed to escape with the horses and the few things I could quickly save. It’s not much to show for five years of marriage.”
“Bless your heart,” Martha responded. “You have suffered enough, but we’re glad to make you comfortable if we can. How long do you intend to stay with us?”
“Not long. I’m going back to my family home in Butte on the first stage that goes that way. That is, if I can find someplace to sell my horses and some firearms that Frank had accumulated.”
Just then, entering the living room and overhearing the conversation, John Gooding remarked, “Bob Strother down at the livery stable will most likely take ’em off your hands, and there’s a stagecoach leaving out in the mornin’ for Butte.”
“This is my husband, John,” Martha interjected. “John, this is Mrs. Lawrence. She has just lost her husband.”
John nodded politely. “I’m pleased to meet you, ma’am, and I’m sorry ’bout your husband.” She extended her hand and he shook it. “Like I said, Bob Strother oughta be willin’ to take them horses off your hands. If you want, I’ll go with you to see that he gives you a fair price.”
Roberta fashioned a timid smile for his benefit and replied, “You are too kind. I do appreciate it very much. I know my late husband would appreciate it as well. He always tried to take care of me as best he could.”
“Well, let’s get your things inside and make you comfortable,” Martha said. “I’m gonna put you in the front room. You’ll be our first customer. John’s still finishing the rooms on the back of the house. Our sign hasn’t been up but a month.”
“Will my things be safe in your barn?” Roberta asked demurely. “They’re everything I own to start a new life.”
“Oh yes, ma’am, your things are safe here,” John assured her. “If it’ll make you feel any better, I’ve got a big padlock I can put on that barn door tonight.”
“That would be so thoughtful of you,” she cooed. When he started to lead the horses away, she insisted that she should help him. “Some of those packs are very heavy, with big pots, my skillets, my irons, and so forth. I couldn’t bear to leave anything behind.”
“I understand,” he said, even though he was still amazed at the weight of the packs on one of the horses.
Early the next morning Cullen crossed over the river after finding no evidence of a camp on the east side. He had ridden no more than a few hundred yards when he came upon the body. Backing his horse a few feet from the edge of the riverbank, he looked around him cautiously, taking in the thick stands of evergreen trees that almost reached the water’s edge. Though right on the bank, the camp was well concealed. It was no wonder that he had almost ridden over the body before seeing it.
After satisfying himself that there was no one waiting in ambush, he dismounted. With the toe of his boot, he rolled the corpse over to reveal the horrified look of fear frozen on Frank Burdette’s face. In addition to the bullet wound, there appeared to be a deep knife wound up under his chin. She made damn sure he was good and dead, he thought. Looks like the lady is on her own again. He paused to consider the fact that Burdette was wearing no britches, a rather undignified way to enter the great beyond, and cause for speculation on Cullen’s part. He chose not to dwell on it for long, still uncomfortable with thoughts it created of a conscienceless black widow. Looking into the face of the corpse, he could almost hear the agonizing cries of the deceased as he realized his fate. Bringing his mind back to the reality of the matter, he tried to estimate how long Burdette had been dead. As stiff as the corpse was, he guessed it had to have happened sometime the night before. The question now was where did Roberta escape to? Surely she must have gone on into Fort Missoula. Without further speculation, he climbed back into the saddle and turned the bay toward town, with no thoughts toward burying the outlaw’s body. I hope to hell the buzzards don’t get the bellyache from that sorry meal, he thought.
“Where would she go?” Cullen asked himself as he returned to the settlement at a lope. He decided that wherever she lit, she would most likely have put her horses in the stable, so that was his first stop.
“Yes, sir,” Bob Strother replied. “I just bought them horses you’re lookin’ at there, yesterday evenin’.”
“You bought ’em?” Cullen replied. “All of ’em?”
“Them three,” Strother answered. “The lady that sold ’em to me said she didn’t need to keep but one to tote all her household possessions.”
“When did you buy them?” Cullen asked. When Strother repeated that it had been the night before, Cullen realized that he had managed to catch up with her. “You remember her name?”
“Mrs. Lawrence is what she told me,” Strother replied. “Now, listen, if there’s somethin’ wrong here, if these horses is stolen, it ain’t none of my worry. I paid good money for ’em, so ain’t nobody got any claim on’em but me.”
Lawrence, Cullen thought, so that’s what she’s calling herself now. Looking back to an increasingly agitated stable owner, he quickly shook his head. “Nope, they’re not stolen—‘preciate the information.” He turned to leave, but turned back after a few steps to say, “One of’em’s got a twisted shoe. You might wanna take a look at that before it works loose.”
It didn’t take long to determine that Roberta was no longer in Missoula. There was no hotel in the town, although one was in the early stages of construction. When asking about possible places where a woman alone might find lodging, he was directed to the Goodings’ home.
He was met at the front door by Martha Gooding. “Mrs. Lawrence?” Martha responded. “Why, yes, she stayed with us last night. Are you a relative of hers?”
“Ah, no, ma’am,” Cullen replied. “It’s just important that I catch up with her.” He hesitated, then added, “Important news about her family.”
“Oh, I hope it’s not bad news,” Martha said. “She was such a sweet girl.”
“Yes, ma’am, she sure is. Will she be back here tonight?”
Martha looked dismayed. “Oh no, young man. I’m afraid you’ve just missed her. She took the stage to Butte this morning.”
“The stage? I didn’t know there was a stage runnin’ between here and Butte,” Cullen replied. “How long has that been goin’ on?”
“Only about a month,” John Gooding answered for his wife as he came out on the porch to join them. “Fellow name of Ruthers got a contract to deliver the mail between here and Butte. I think he’s just runnin’ it for somebody else that’s got a bigger line east of here.” When the young stranger seemed slightly perplexed, John went on. “I figure it’s a hundred and twenty or thirty miles to Butte. They claim they can make the run in thirteen or fourteen hours with swing stations every fifteen or twenty miles to change the horses. ’Course I don’t know how much that’ll change when winter sets in.”
Cullen took a moment to consider what he had just been told before speculating, “Pretty much follow the Clark Fork, I reckon.”
“Yep,” Gooding replied, “right up the river.”
“Where’s the stage office?”
“A little board shack next to the stable,” Gooding answered.
“Thanks,” Cullen said, and turned to leave, thinking that Bob Strother might have saved him considerable time had he mentioned that the stage office was right next door to his stable.
He was already tracing the trail along the Clark Fork River in his mind while he walked his horse to the s
tage office. It had been some time since he had last ridden that valley, but he remembered the terrain quite well. Finding the stage office door unlocked, he opened it and walked in to find a bald man eating his supper. Pulled up to a squat table, using a nail keg with a short piece of board across the top for a seat, the man looked up without pausing in his consumption of a plate of beans. “Help ya?” he asked without enthusiasm.
“That stage that left here this mornin’,” Cullen asked, “what time you figure it’ll get to Butte?”
The station attendant paused to wipe his mouth with the back of his cuff while he thought. “Well, they pulled outta here right at seven this mornin’, so if they don’t run into no bad luck, they oughta be in Butte before ten o’clock tonight.”
“That quick, huh?” Cullen replied, thinking how long it would take him to ride that far on the bay.
“Yessir,” the man replied. “We ain’t got no Concord coaches on this line. We’re using the Celerity coach—mud wagons, as we call ’em. They ain’t as fancy and comfortable as a Concord, but they’re lighter and faster. They’ll getcha there quicker, especially with a six-horse team and six swing stations between here and Butte. Yessir, they’ll make Butte, maybe by nine o’clock, and that’s with a one-hour stop to eat.”
“Where’s that?” Cullen asked.
“Little ranch settlement called Garrison,” the attendant answered, “’bout ten miles short of Deer Lodge.”
The prospects for catching up with Roberta were getting smaller and smaller in Cullen’s mind. It would take him maybe two days of hard riding to get to Butte, maybe a little more than that—with the risk of killing his horse in the process. There was nothing to do, however, but to start out. “Much obliged,” he said as he turned to leave. Then he paused and asked, “Was there a young woman on the stage—traveling alone?”
“Yes, there sure was.” He reached behind him and took a pad from the shelf. “A Miss Lawrence. She took the stage and wanted to tie a packhorse on the back. I told her the stage would run that packhorse to death, so she packed her stuff on the stage and sold me the horse for ten dollars. I couldn’t pass that up.”
“Much obliged,” Cullen said.
Outside the stage office, he saw the familiar figure of Barney Quinn ambling his way, leading his horse. Beside him, Captain Charles C. Rawn was in pace with him. Barney threw up his hand when he spotted Cullen. “Hey, Cullen,” he hailed, “I been lookin’ for you.” Cullen stopped and waited for them. “I been tellin’ Captain Rawn here that you was in town, and ain’t nobody knows the mountains better’n you.”
“I don’t know about that,” Cullen said as he nodded to the captain. “I expect there’s a lot of men that know those mountains better’n me.”
“I’ll get right to the point, McCloud,” Rawn said. “I’m leading a detachment of cavalry and some civilian volunteers to keep an eye on those Nez Perce passing through the valley. I’d like to have you ride along with us.”
“Why?” Cullen asked.
Surprised that he would ask the question, Rawn replied, “Because Quinn here says you live in the valley and know every foot of it.”
“Captain,” Cullen said, “Nez Perce, Flatheads, and Gros Ventres have been ridin’ back and forth across the Bitterroot Valley for longer than I’ve been born. I appreciate Barney’s recommendation, but anybody can follow their trail. Hell, there’re about eight hundred of’em and God knows how many horses. You can’t miss’em, and I’ve got other business I need to attend to right now.”
Captain Rawn was obviously disappointed with Cullen’s response. “I’d like you to consider the needs of your fellow citizens here in the valley,” he said. “I’m asking you to consider how important this business of yours is in comparison to the safety of hundreds of people that are your friends and neighbors.”
There was no hesitation in Cullen’s response. He was quite frankly weary of talk about the dangerous threat descending upon the people of the Bitterroot Valley. “Captain, I know these people. If you just leave them alone, they’ll pass through the valley peacefully. There wouldn’t have been any fightin’ in Idaho if the government had just left the Nez Perce the hell alone, or at least let Joseph and the others go peacefully with their families and horses.”
Rawn was clearly perturbed. He glanced at Barney and then back at Cullen. “So you’re telling me you refuse to go?”
“Like I said, you don’t need me to follow them.”
“Quinn didn’t tell me you were an Injun lover,” Rawn said. “I’m sorry I’ve wasted your time, as well as my own.” He turned abruptly and walked away, leaving a bewildered Barney Quinn to stand alone with Cullen.
After watching silently for a few moments as the captain stalked away, Barney shrugged. “I’m sorry, Cullen. I thought you mighta changed your mind about goin’ with us.”
“Any other time, Barney,” he replied, “but I’ve got family business to take care of now.” Barney nodded without commenting further. Cullen went on. “And if you leave White Bird and Looking Glass alone, they’ll leave you alone. You oughta see if you can get that into that captain’s head.”
“I hope to hell you’re right,” Barney said. “Hope you get your business took care of.” He turned to stare at the officer’s back. “Now I’ve got to go catch that captain you pissed off.”
He figured the afternoon was already wasting away, but he needed new supplies before setting out in pursuit once more. Looking up into a cloudless sky, he turned to the west. Before long the sun would be settling down behind the Bitterroots, but there would be a three-quarter moon that night, a good night to travel. He paused to stroke the bay’s neck. “You’ve been workin’ pretty hard, boy, but we’ve got a lot of ground to cover.” Untying the reins, he led the horse back to the stable to buy a sack of oats, figuring the bay was going to need some extra nourishment.
Chapter 7
Jack Sykes sat in a side chair in his sister’s hotel room in Helena, his feet propped on the corner of the bed. He took a deep drag on his cigar. Smiling in response to Roberta’s frown when he flicked ashes on the carpet, he was feeling very satisfied with himself. It had gone pretty close to plan, just as Roberta had predicted. And Burdette and his two stooges had all been eliminated, also as his sister had promised. God, she’s a cold-blooded snake, he thought, smiling to himself. I’m glad we’re on the same side. If he had the capacity to be honest with himself, he would have admitted that he practically worshipped his sister. He had spent time in the territorial prison in Deer Lodge, but his was not the devious, conniving mind of his sister’s.
There were some details of the past days that were not entirely clear to him, things that didn’t matter nearly as much since he and his sister were in possession of his uncle’s gold. He might have wondered what became of the horses that had belonged to Burdette and his partners, as well as some weapons that could have been acquired. Roberta had told him when he met her at the stage station in Garrison that the horses had all been lost except the one she sold. She had three pouches of gold dust to split between them. Jack couldn’t help chuckling when he thought of the gold and the irony he enjoyed now that he and Roberta had gotten their hands on it. If his uncle Gabriel had lived to have his way, it would have all gone to his brother Jonah’s family, and none to the Sykes side of the family. Well, me and Roberta were always the black sheep of the family, but I guess they can all go to hell now.
“There’s still some business that has to be taken care of,” Roberta said as she tidied up her hair in front of the mirror on the dresser. “McClouds.” She turned to face her brother then. “I didn’t figure them to be as big a problem as they may turn out to be—Cullen, especially. He was eating out of my hand by the time we got to that camp.” She paused when Jack laughed and made a comment regarding her ability to charm a fence post if there was something it could do for her. “I’m sure he thinks I was sweet on him, and I know he’ll try to come rescue me. If he finds out the truth, he’ll probably come
even harder. And he wasn’t wounded. I’m pretty sure of that. I think Cody got shot, but I don’t know how bad.”
“Hell,” her brother said, “them folks back there has got plenty to worry about with all them Nez Perce comin’ outta the hills. They ain’t got time to be chasin’ you. We couldn’t have timed it better.”
She pointed her finger at Jack as if to threaten. “They’ll come after me. I know they’ll try to find me. Cullen especially. He’s one of those ‘do the right thing’ kind of men. I guess I only have myself to blame. I should have stopped short of causing him to fall in love with me.”
Jack chuckled. “You sure are somethin’,” he crowed. “Them McCloud boys ain’t no problem, though. I can have that taken care of for a couple hundred dollars—same way I got Burdette and the other two. I ran into Bob Yeager the other night in the Red Dog Saloon. He was at Deer Lodge the same time I was—just got out about a month ago—and he’s bound to be lookin’ for some fast money. So first, we’ve gotta go to the bank and change the rest of that dust into cash. After we divide it up, we’ll split the cost of taking care of the McCloud boys, right? Equal shares.”
“Equal shares,” she repeated, “just like everything else.” As she said the words, she couldn’t help wishing she had told him there had been only two pouches of dust, instead of three. It had been hard enough, however, to hide the fourth pouch in her saddlebag from him. It was a good thing he didn’t have a courteous bone in his body. Otherwise, he might have offered to carry the saddlebag for her. If he had, he might have wondered why it was so heavy. Like most men, she thought, dumb as a stump. “Jack,” she emphasized, “it’s got to be taken care of right away. How do we know this Yeager can handle it?”
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