Thunder Over Lolo Pass

by Charles G. West

  Returning to the point where Yeager had left the alley, the two brothers stepped up in the saddle and prepared to follow. Cody reined the Appaloosa to a halt between the stores and pointed at two riders in the street. “Sheriff Price and Lonnie,” he said. “Looks like they’re headin’ to the stables. I expect we’d better get movin’.”

  The trail was not difficult to follow. Yeager had taken no pains to hide his tracks in his efforts to get away as fast as possible, riding east for about fifteen miles before turning south. “He’s goin’ to Three Forks,” Cody said. The tracks led along the valley, skirting the mountains for a few miles before veering slightly southeast to strike the common trail to Three Forks. The question left unanswered, however, was where he would go from there, for there was nothing in that small settlement to hold a man like Yeager, a paid assassin. They could not count on being able to track him indefinitely, and would have to make a decision once they reached Three Forks. He could continue south to Virginia City, or turn to the east and follow the Yellowstone to Bozeman, or maybe Coulson. “Yeah,” Jug said, “and he just might head back west to Butte.” The more they speculated upon it, the smaller their chance of catching Yeager seemed.

  “All we can do is follow his tracks as long as we can find ’em,” Cody replied, “and hope for a helluva lot of luck after we can’t.”

  They were able to make good time in following Yeager’s escape route until they reached the common road. A little time was lost there until Cody was able to confirm his speculation that Yeager was intent upon heading to Three Forks. A pair of deep ruts told them that a heavily loaded wagon had recently passed along the road. With a team of four horses pulling, the result was a conglomeration of hoofprints, calling for close inspection of the ground until Cody found one with two notches filed in it. “Yep,” he announced. “That’s where he’s headin’.” By this time, they had used up most of the daylight, so they started looking for a place to camp. They picked a spot by a small stream where it emptied into the river.

  As best he could recall, he was thirty or so miles from Bozeman. If he continued at the same pace he had maintained to reach Three Forks, he could make it in less than a day, although he no longer felt the urgency to push the horses as he had been, alternating from his horse to the bay, so as not to have to rest them so often. He figured he was past the necessity to worry about pursuit, feeling fairly confident that the sheriff wasn’t going to chase him this far from Helena. And as far as the other McCloud brother was concerned, he was in the Helena jail and the least of his worries. When he considered these facts, it was easy to return to his old swagger. “It’ll take more than that to clip ol’ Bob Yeager’s tail feathers,” he announced to the blue roan he rode. “I coulda used that extra fifty dollars, though.” No longer in a hurry, he decided to stop at a shabby little trading post on the chance the owner might have some strong spirits. It was a short visit, for the old man who owned it could offer nothing more than some apple cider. He might have considered staying the night there, had there been something more. So he gave the horse a little kick, and under an overcast sky, set out for Bozeman, Cullen McCloud’s light bay following behind.

  A little before dark, a gentle rain began to fall. It was just enough to make riding miserable, so he decided to keep an eye out for a campsite that might offer some protection from the wet. He decided to swing off the trail and ride closer to the bluffs of the Yellowstone, hoping to find a spot where the bank offered some shelter. After he crossed a series of gullies that led down to the water’s edge, he suddenly pulled his horse up short. Peering into the increasing darkness, he was sure he had seen the faint glow of a fire. Not certain, he dismounted and left his horses tied to a bush, then made his way a little closer on foot. Straining to see through the misty darkness, he was distracted by a movement in the trees by the river where the bank jutted out to form the roof of an open cave. He dropped at once to his knee and brought his rifle up ready to fire before he realized that the movement he had seen was the shuffling of three horses tied in the trees. Someone was camped under the bank of the river, and their horses had no doubt been alerted to the approach of Yeager’s two. I’ll just get a little closer to see what I’ve run up on, he thought, cautious that he might have stumbled upon an Indian hunting party. On the other hand, it could be an opportunity to waylay an unsuspecting traveler on his way home.

  The challenge was to try to move to a position that would let him see how many were around that fire under the bank. They were not making any noise, so it might be only one, which would make his job that much easier. He decided he could risk climbing down to the water’s edge, which would permit him to get a better angle to see inside the opening. After a few minutes of careful maneuvering, he gained the position he sought. There appeared to be two people in the camp, one standing between him and the fire, another seated on the other side of the fire. Like sitting ducks, he thought, and raised his rifle to aim at the man standing, confident that he could hit him, cock his rifle, and shoot the one sitting before he had a chance to react. There was never a thought about the senseless slaying of two innocent human beings. They might not be carrying anything of value, but the acquisition of the three horses was enough to justify his actions. It ain’t even a sin if nobody sees you do it, he thought, and chuckled to himself. Steadying his rifle to take dead aim, he hesitated before squeezing the trigger. Something about the man beside the fire looked familiar. Then he almost chuckled aloud as the irony of the situation struck him. Jack Sykes!

  The realization that he had lucked upon Sykes struck him as extremely fortunate, and humorous as well. Fifty dollars, he thought. You son of a bitch. You weren’t planning to be around to pay me after I killed that McCloud fellow. He brought the front sights of his rifle to bear on Sykes again, but paused to consider his options. Was he missing a bigger payday by killing Sykes? For he now realized that the figure seated at the fire was a woman, the mysterious woman that Jack had steadfastly denied. Yeager’s was not a complex mind, but he figured that the woman was the source of Jack’s money, and maybe he might be killing an opportunity to gain a share of whatever their scheme might be. Besides, he thought, it would be downright entertaining to walk in on them. He lowered his rifle and stood up.

  Holding the weapon at the ready in case Jack’s reactions were deadly, he slowly approached the campfire. Sykes, with his back to the riverbank, was not aware of the man casually walking up behind him until Yeager spoke. “Evenin’, Jack.” Startled to the point that he almost stumbled into the fire, Sykes reached for his pistol. “That’d be a mistake,” Yeager warned, leveling his rifle at Jack’s waist. “Ain’t no way to greet a partner, anyway.” Grinning broadly, he walked into the camp. Glancing at Roberta, who was still seated, he tipped his hat and said, “Evenin’, ma’am. I’ve been wantin’ to meet up with you.”

  “Yeager!” Sykes exclaimed, shocked to see the man, and at a loss for something to say. “Did you get Cody McCloud?” he finally thought to ask.

  “Why, sure I did,” Yeager lied, seeing no sense in admitting failure when fifty dollars was on the line. “I’m just a little put out to have to track you down to get paid for the job, though.” He figured it was better to let Sykes sweat a little over the fact that he found him, so he declined to confess that the meeting was purely accidental.

  “Hell, Bob,” Jack quickly responded, “you know I wouldn’t cheat you. I was plannin’ on coming back to Helena to find you.” He looked at his sister, who was watching the confrontation warily, her hand on the handle of the revolver under the edge of her skirt. “Ain’t that right, Roberta? We was talkin’ about that very thing this mornin’, ’bout how I’d have to get back to see that the job was paid for.”

  “Is that a fact?” Yeager replied, and stepped over beside Roberta. She did not recoil when he stuck his heavy bush of a beard practically in her face. Instead, her eyes locked on his with a gaze as hard as steel. It was not lost on Yeager. “Damn, you’re a tough-lookin’ woman behind t
hat pretty face, ain’t you?”

  “How do we know Cody McCloud is dead?” Roberta asked, her words clear and without fear, as she sized up their paid assassin.

  Yeager jerked back in mock surprise. “Why, because I just said he was, darlin’. Now let’s talk about where you’re gettin’ all that money ol’ Jack’s been flashin’ around, ’cause this is your lucky day. I’m your new partner.”

  “Is that so?” Roberta replied, still with no show of alarm. “Partner in what?”

  “Whatever you got goin’ for yourselves,” Yeager said, glancing back and forth between the woman and her brother. “Maybe we’d best take a look at what you’re carryin’ in them packs yonder.”

  Roberta laughed contemptuously. “Is that what you’ve sneaked up on our camp for? To rob us of some cooking utensils and women’s clothes? Do you think we’re stupid enough to travel with any valuables when there’s just the two of us to watch for slimy idiots like you?” She looked him straight in the eye, all the while knowing that the packs held a substantial sum of cash money as well as a sack of gold dust that Jack wasn’t even aware of. “Maybe you’re after my brother’s extra suit of underwear, or that sack of flour.”

  Aware then of his sister’s bluff, Jack joined in the charade. “Yeah, maybe you’re after my dry socks. Hell, I’ll pay you for doin’ the job on McCloud, but we have to get to where the money is. We ain’t got it with us.”

  Yeager glanced from one of them to the other, this time in uncertainty. His simple mind was easily convinced that there was the possibility they were telling the truth. “Well, I’ll just ride along with you to where you got the money,” he said, his attitude on a completely different tack. “All I want is to get paid for the job I done.” Aiming his proposal at Roberta then, he continued. “We’re all goin’ in the same direction. We might as well ride along together. This is kinda dangerous country for a man and a woman travelin’ alone, and I’m handy with a gun. You already know that. So whaddaya say we join up till we get to wherever that is you’ve got your money?”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Roberta said, much to Jack’s surprise. She was not at all convinced that Yeager had taken care of Cody McCloud. “Maybe we could use some extra protection. Jack said you had Cullen’s horse and gun belt to prove you shot him. I don’t suppose you have anything of Cody’s to prove he’s dead.” She studied his reaction to her comments closely.

  “No, I don’t reckon I do,” Yeager replied, a slow grin forming on his bushy face. “I shot him through the bars of the jailhouse window, so there wasn’t no way I could take no souvenirs.”

  “You know something, Mr. Yeager,” she remarked calmly. “You’re a rotten liar. You didn’t get Cody McCloud, and now you’ve caused me extra trouble because you might have led him right to me.”

  Stunned by the woman’s frank and fearless damnation of his lie, Yeager was without an immediate response, causing him to stammer for a second in search of a reply. “That ain’t so,” he finally blurted. “I got him, just like I said.”

  “There you go again,” Roberta scolded. “You’re just compounding one lie after another, and you’re about the worst liar I’ve ever seen. Now, you say you want to be a partner in whatever Jack and I have going. Well, you’re right. We are onto something big enough to make us all rich, but I’m not going to stand for any more lying if you’re going to work with us. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Yeager replied, properly flustered by the unexpected dressing down, but encouraged by her mention of the possible partnership. “It wasn’t all a lie,” he confessed. “I did shoot at him through the jailhouse window.” Then he was quick to add, “But I didn’t lead him to you, ’cause he’s still in the jail.”

  His confession was the confirmation she sought. Cody McCloud was still coming after her. “All right, Bob,” she said, affecting a calmer tone. “Cody McCloud will be on our trail again, and probably sooner than you think. With me gone from Helena, they would hardly hold him much longer. There are no charges against him. We can use a man who’s handy with a gun, so if you still want to be a partner in our plan, your job is to go back and make sure he doesn’t follow me. If you can stop him, and bring me proof that he’s dead, then we’ll take you in as a partner. What do you say, Bob?”

  Jack watched in awe as his sister defused Bob Yeager’s swagger, and took total control of the fearsome killer, hesitating to open his mouth while Roberta took Yeager to task. Consequently, he was not surprised by the outlaw’s answer.

  “I reckon that suits me just fine,” Yeager decided. “Now, how about tellin’ me what the plan is and how much is my share?”

  “There’s plenty of time for that when you get Cody McCloud off my back,” Roberta said. “Just know that it’ll certainly be worth your while.”

  “I’ll start out at first light in the mornin’,” Yeager said, thinking it best not to push her for details. “I’ll get him and I’ll bring his scalp back to prove it.”

  “Good, we’ve got a deal, then,” Roberta said, and offered her hand to seal it.

  “We’ve got a deal,” Yeager echoed. “I’ll go fetch my horses and tie ’em up in the trees yonder with yours.”

  “We’ll wait for you in Bozeman,” she said.

  When he had gone, Jack took the opportunity to voice his doubts. “I don’t know if I like the idea of splittin’ our take three ways.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” Roberta replied. “I’m not cutting that imbecile in for a penny. But make no mistake about it, Cody McCloud will be coming after us. And maybe, with more incentive, Yeager might stop him this time, so he might be doing us a favor after all.”

  “If he does kill him, and comes lookin’ for a share, what then?” Jack asked.

  “Do I have to tell you?” Roberta responded, her tone condescending. “You shoot the son of a bitch.”

  Chapter 12

  “If I remember correctly,” Jug commented, “there’s a little tradin’ post on this side of the river that might have some beans and bacon for sale. That damn jerky we had for breakfast is long gone.”

  Cody chuckled. It had been a long time in the saddle since they had last eaten, and he was surprised that there had been nothing out of Jug before this. They had managed to follow Bob Yeager’s trail to the banks of the Gallatin River, thanks to the outlaw’s careless flight. “I reckon we’d better feed you before you dry up and blow away,” he said. “Might be the feller that runs that tradin’ post has seen Yeager. He coulda stopped there if he’s as big an eater as you are,” he teased. “If that store is even there. It wasn’t much before.” He truly hoped that Yeager had stopped there, and possibly given some hint as to where he was heading when he left there. It had become more and more difficult to find the impression of the right front shoe on Cullen’s horse as the trail became older. He had to count it as luck when he found one clear print in a stretch of soft sand on the riverbank. By the direction the hoof was pointed, Yeager was still heading south. Did this mean Virginia City was his destination? It was hard to say, for there was still a mile or so to strike the east-west trail that could lead to Bozeman or Butte.

  Much to Jug’s relief, the simple trading post was still there, run by the same old man. Smiley Watson stood in the open doorway of the log building that served as his domicile and trading post. The structure was actually a chain of four cabins, built at separate times as Smiley’s business expanded over the years to accommodate the fur trade, the Indians, the gold rush, and the army. No one was sure how old Smiley was, some said not even Smiley. But he was a young man when Lewis and Clark named the three rivers that formed the origin of the Missouri River. He had traded with the Blackfoot, Shoshoni, Flatfoot, and Crow before Lewis and Clark, but his business had fallen on lean times for the past dozen years, the world having moved around him, so it was with a natural curiosity that he stood watching when he saw riders approaching. Most new customers were actually lost when they stumbled upon his business. If he was lucky, they would b
uy or trade something before they left.

  “Hey, old man,” Jug called to him as he and Cody reined up before the store, “I see you’re still here.”

  “Hell yeah,” Smiley replied. “The Lord ain’t sent for me yet. I reckon He’ll let me know when he needs me.” Although there were plenty of signs of age in his white beard and bent body, there was nothing wrong with his memory. “Last time you was in here, you bought a half side of bacon and some of them dried apples I had. If I recollect, you and your brother was partial to some cider I got from Benny Denson, too.” He took a hard look at Cody. “This ain’t the feller you was with.”

  Jug grinned, amazed by the old man’s ability to recall details of incidents that had happened years earlier. “No, sir, that was my brother Cullen. This is my other brother Cody.” He turned to Cody then to explain. “When me and Cullen went to Bozeman three years ago this winter,” he said. Looking back at Smiley, he said, “We’re needin’ some more bacon and some dried beans if you’ve got’em.”

  “It’s a little early yet to kill hogs, but I’ve got some meat left in the smokehouse,” Smiley said.

  “Cut me off a quarter of that side meat,” Jug said, as he glanced around the store in case something else caught his eye.

  “We’re also lookin’ for a feller,” Cody said, since Jug showed no indication of leaving the topic of food, “may have passed your place a day or so ago.”

  “Bushy-faced feller with a scar down the side of his face?” Smiley replied. Surprised, Cody nodded and Smiley continued. “Yesterday, late in the afternoon, came in lookin’ for whiskey. I didn’t have none, so he moved on. Didn’t buy nothin’.” He paused to examine the expressions on both their faces. “I take it he warn’t no friend of yours.”

  “No,” Cody said. “He ain’t a friend of ours.”