Riding past scattered groups of cattle as they approached the ranch house, they saw a couple of Morrison’s crew at a distance. They pulled up to wave when they spotted the herd of horses thundering onto the flat approach to the creek.
Matt Morrison had not wasted any money on an elegant ranch house, a testament to the fact that there were no wife and daughters to pacify. A bachelor all his life, he had built the house with logs snaked from the tree-covered hills close by. More attention was paid to the construction of the barn, and to a lesser degree, the bunkhouse. Red had told them that there had been a woman who cooked for him at one time, but he let her go, since he ate most of his meals with the men at the bunkhouse.
After the horses were turned out to graze by the creek, Morrison told the Cross brothers to follow him to the house where he would settle up with them.
“Well, boys,” Morrison began. “You fellers did a right good job for me, and I’m gonna pay you for eight days, like we agreed on, even though it didn’t take us that long.”
He went into another room where he had an iron safe, leaving Logan and Billy to look at each other in speculation of perhaps a permanent job offer. In a short time, Morrison returned and counted out their pay.
When that was done, he said, “I ain’t hirin’ right now. I’ve got a full crew of good cowhands. But I expect I’ll be needin’ some extra help in the fall, so if you boys are still around and lookin’ for work, come see me.”
Without showing his disappointment, Logan replied, “We’ll do that. Thank you very much. We ain’t sure we’ll be here, but we might.”
“Fine. You’re good men, and you know your business, so I’m sure I’ll probably have a place for you. Now, if you’re in a hurry to spend that money, the town of Sturgis is that way.” He pointed to the northwest. “It’s a right lively little town. When I first brought my cattle in here, they called it Scooptown. That’s because all the folks workin’ for the army at Fort Meade used to go there to scoop up the money the army was payin’. That warn’t no name for a town, so when more folks moved in, and it looked like it was gonna stick, they called it Sturgis for some officer in the army. If you ain’t in a hurry to go into town, why don’t you stay here long enough to get some supper with us before you take off?”
Billy spoke up right away. “I’ll never turn down an offer for supper.”
“Hell, there ain’t no need to hurry off,” Morrison said. “Stay tonight and leave in the mornin’. I’m sure there’s room in the bunkhouse.”
“’Preciate it,” Logan said. “We’ll take you up on that.”
“I’ll see you down there for supper, then,” Morrison said, and walked to the door with them.
* * *
Very much at home in a bunkhouse, Logan and Billy sat outside after supper to swap yarns with Morrison’s ranch hands. Having worked for Oscar Bradley ever since they were boys, they found it a strange feeling to be without a job in the middle of summer. There were some suggestions from the other men for ranches they might try out toward Bear Butte.
Logan, having always been the more practical of the two brothers, found this an obvious plan of action. But he had to contend with Billy’s natural sense of adventure, so they were not in complete agreement on what they should do at this point. For the first time since they had started working, they found themselves free of obligations, and with a little money set aside at that. “We could afford to drift for a while and take the opportunity to see something besides the rear end of a cow,” Billy insisted. “Considering the spot we landed in, why don’t we go on and follow the crowd of folks pouring into Deadwood? It’d be like going to the circus.”
Logan had to laugh. “Yeah, I expect it would,” he allowed, “just like a circus.”
Unlike his adventurous brother, he was more interested in finding permanent employment with one of the ranches raising beef to feed the miners and the army.
“Hell,” Billy went on, “I’d like to try my hand at pannin’ for gold. We might strike it rich, like some of those other folks—give up this business of punchin’ cows.” He looked at Logan expectantly. “That’ud be something, wouldn’t it? Just sittin’ around countin’ our money.”
Logan shook his head, bewildered. Sometimes he felt like a father to his younger brother. It had been his lot, he supposed, since their father died when both boys were not yet in their teens. Their mother followed soon after, for some reason Logan never understood. Maybe she just wasn’t up to raising two rambunctious boys on her own. If he was in fact playing the role of father, however, he wasn’t a very firm one, because he found it difficult to discourage Billy’s fantasies.
“Whaddaya say?” Billy pressed. “Let’s just go up there and see what it’s all about.”
“All right,” Logan said, finally caving in, “if you ain’t gonna be able to stand it unless you see for yourself.”
“Hot damn!” Billy exclaimed excitedly. “I knew you couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”
When they expressed their intentions to Red and Percy, Percy tried to talk them out of it. “I don’t know how much money you boys have got, but I’ll guarantee you it won’t last long in Deadwood. You’d be better off if you can find work at one of the bigger ranches up toward Belle Fourche. That’s a little north of the hills. Most of the folks movin’ into Deadwood and Lead, and those other towns now, are just figurin’ on makin’ a livin’ offa the miners. They ain’t diggin’ for gold.”
“I expect you’re right,” Logan said. “But some fellows have always gotta go see the elephant.” He nodded toward Billy, who met his gesture with a satisfied grin. “So I reckon that’s what we’re gonna do.”
“Well, I wish you fellers luck,” Percy said. “I kinda hope we’ll see you back here in the fall.”
* * *
Although this was their first time in the Black Hills, they had no trouble finding the way to Deadwood Gulch. The road was clearly marked by the ruts of the many wagon and mule trains that had plodded along through the passes. Especially hard on the trail were the bull trains—heavy wagons—pulled by ten or twelve yoke of oxen. Logan and Billy encountered many spots in the road that were so deep in gumbo mud that they were almost impassable for a farm wagon. On horseback, leading the one packhorse they had bought from Morrison, the trail was of no concern to them.
Their first glimpse of Deadwood Gulch was from the top of a steep hill. A winding road led down into the lower end of the gulch, which appeared to be one solid line of tents and shacks of various sizes and shapes. The gulch was filled with people, horses, mules, oxen, and wagons. From the hilltop, it reminded Logan of a bed of maggots unearthed by the pawing of a horse’s hoof. “Well, there’s your circus,” he said sarcastically.
“Looks like they ain’t gonna run short of people,” Billy commented in return.
Assuming they had found Deadwood, they rode down the road to the bottom and walked their horses along the crowded street. It seemed that every other building was a saloon, but in between there were stores of all kinds. The gulch itself was a continuous string of placer mining claims. There didn’t appear to be a lineal foot that wasn’t claimed. They pulled up before a store that displayed a sign that proclaimed WHITEY’S—EATS. “Let’s see if we can buy a cup of coffee and something to eat, and maybe some information,” Logan suggested.
There were a few customers seated on stools along a long shelflike table attached to the wall, so Logan and Billy took a seat. The proprietor, a thin, bald man, wearing a dirty white apron, called out to them from behind a counter that separated the dining area from the cook stove, “Whaddleya have, fellers?”
“Whaddaya got?” Billy shot back.
“Stew beef and beans, or beans and stew beef. Take your pick.” The wide grin on his face told them that he was joking with them.
“Have you got some coffee to go with it?” Logan asked.
“I sure do,” he
replied. “You fellers ain’t ever been in here before, have you? I just cook up a couple of things every day, and not the same things, neither. Today, I’ve got stew beef and beans, and bacon and potatoes. And you can have biscuits with either one. It ain’t as fancy as the hotel dining room, but it’s just as fillin’ and a helluva lot cheaper.”
“Sounds like what we’re lookin’ for,” Billy said with a chuckle. “I’ll go with the beef and beans.” Logan ordered the same.
The man served up two plates and placed them on the counter. Then he poured two cups of coffee from a large gray pot sitting on the stove and stood there waiting. When they walked over to get their dinner, he said, “That’ll be two bucks apiece.”
“Damn,” Billy replied, “I thought you said it was cheaper than the hotel.”
The man laughed. “I can see you boys ain’t ever et in the hotel.”
“That’s a fact,” Billy said. “We just rode into town about fifteen minutes ago.”
“I figured as much. My name’s Whitey, least that’s what ever’body calls me. After you look around a little bit, you’ll see my prices are pretty good.”
Logan couldn’t help recalling Percy’s prediction that their money wouldn’t last very long in Deadwood. He took a tentative sip of the coffee, then shrugged. “I’ve had worse,” he declared as he picked up his plate. Before turning to follow Billy back to the table, he asked, “This is Deadwood, right?”
“No,” Whitey answered. “This is Montana City. You’re in Deadwood Gulch, all right, but there’s four different towns in the gulch. Deadwood’s on the other side of Elizabeth Town toward the upper end of the gulch. You lookin’ for somebody or some place in particular?”
“Nope,” Logan said, “just lookin’.” He walked back to join Billy.
“It ain’t bad grub,” Billy said when Logan sat down next to him. “But if everything is as expensive as this, I expect we’ll need to go huntin’. I’ll bet there’s a lot of deer back in these hills.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Logan said. “I figured we’d be up in the hills to make camp anyway. Damned if I wanna spend all my money in a hotel.”
“You’re right about that,” Billy said. “Besides, we need to find us a good spot on a little creek somewhere and see if we can turn up a little gold, like the rest of these miners.”
“Right,” Logan said, still skeptical. “Just look around you at all the fancy rich gentlemen.”
Billy didn’t bother to glance at the rough assortment of men hunched over Whitey’s cooking. If either of them had turned to take a hard look at the shaggy-bearded man at the end of the long shelf, he might have paused to wonder if he had seen him somewhere before. But Tom Lacey was certain he had seen the two brothers before, and he knew where, so he decided it best to stay crouched over his dinner and turn his back toward them lest they recall.
Logan had convinced his brother that it would be a good idea to try to learn a little bit about panning for gold before they wasted their time sifting through the sand and gravel of a streambed.
“We don’t even know which streams are likely prospects,” he said. “We do know that there ain’t nothing left in this gulch. Our best bet is to do like the prospectors workin’ some of the streams comin’ down from these mountains. So I think we’d do well to scout around in the mountains and see who’s doin’ what. Maybe that’ll give us an idea of where to look and what kind of tools we’ll need. Whaddaya think? That’d be better than thrashin’ around like a couple of lunatics, wouldn’t it?”
“I expect you’re right,” Billy agreed. “We’ll look the country over and find us a good stream.” As usual, Billy was cheerfully optimistic about their chances to strike it rich.
When they got up to leave, Whitey stopped them before they reached the door. “I couldn’t help hearin’ what you boys were talkin’ about,” he said. “You didn’t ask for my advice, but I’m offerin’ it anyway. You look like decent young men. Brothers, ain’cha?”
“That’s right,” Billy replied. “How’d you know that?”
“I could just tell,” Whitey said. “But here’s what I wanna tell you. The only folks makin’ any money in the gulch right now are the miners who staked out the first claims and the business folks like me that are sellin’ ’em what they need. You’re workin’ on the right idea, though, sluicin’ the streams coming down some of these mountains. If you ain’t got somewhere else in mind, I’ll tell you this. There’s been a couple of small strikes up Switchback Creek. I heard some fellers talkin’ about it the other day. You might take a look up that way.”
Logan studied the little man’s face and decided that he was sincere in his advice. “Well, sir, we appreciate the tip. How would a fellow go about findin’ Switchback Creek?”
“Well, that is a problem,” Whitey said, “seein’ as how you boys ain’t ever been here before.” He scratched under his chin thoughtfully as he realized there was really no way he could give them directions. “It’s about five or six miles west of the gulch here, runs down offa that tallest mountain over toward Spearfish Canyon. It’s really more a stream than a crick. That’s about the best I can tell you, I reckon.” He threw his hands up, as if wondering why he even mentioned it.
“’Preciate it,” Logan said again, wondering the same thing.
Outside, Billy laughed and said, “That was helpful as hell, wasn’t it? Somewhere between here and Spearfish Canyon there’s a mountain with no name that stands taller than the ones around it. Why, we oughta be able to find that blindfolded. Then all we gotta do is find which little ol’ stream runnin’ off it is Switchback Creek.”
Logan laughed with him. “Hell, he was just tryin’ to be helpful.” He put his foot in the stirrup and climbed onto Pepper. “We need to get up out of this gulch anyway, and find us a place to camp. We might as well head west, like he said, and see what we find.”
Holding the packhorse’s lead rope, he started out toward a road snaking up the ridge west of the town. Billy stepped up into the saddle, wheeled the buckskin around, and loped after him.
Behind them, Tom Lacey stood just inside the door of Whitey’s, watching them depart.
I swear, he thought. Ain’t Jake gonna be tickled to hear about this?
He remained where he was, watching the two riders as they made their way through the busy street, until they had ridden about fifty yards from the diner. Only then did he step outside, untie his horse from the rail, and follow, being careful to keep a safe distance, so as not to be accidentally seen by the two brothers. He had no cause to worry because they never looked back, intent upon dodging a couple of mule trains blocking the street. He pulled up when he saw them take the narrow trail leading up toward the ridge, afraid that they might notice if he followed. He waited there until they disappeared over the top of the hill before proceeding up after them.
Upon reaching the crest, he spotted them still following the trail toward the mountains to the west. That was as far as he decided to go, anxious now to get back to the Lucky Dollar Saloon to tell Jake whom he had seen.
* * *
Big Jake Morgan sat with Everett Pierce near the back of the Lucky Dollar, a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the table between them. He was in a foul mood, because of his poor luck in a poker game that had concluded a short time before. It didn’t help that he was already impatient for the arrival of his brother. Quincy and the rest of the boys were supposed to meet him sometime within a day or two, and Jake wasn’t good at waiting. Quincy was his older brother, and there was no question that he called all the shots.
Quincy, he thought. Things are going to be mighty different when he gets here. We’re going to eat high on the hog then.
His brother was scheduled to be released from the Wyoming Territorial Prison on the first of the month. He sent word to Jake that he was going to get the old gang back together again. Most of them were already on their way
to Laramie, to be on hand when he walked out a free man, after serving five years for an armed robbery. The thought made Jake laugh. He’d lost count of how many men Quincy had killed, but all they could charge him with was a bank holdup. The plan was to meet in Montana City sometime around the end of the month. Already, the last day of the month had passed with no sign of Quincy, and Jake was getting more and more antsy. His thoughts were interrupted when Everett said, “Yonder he comes.”
Jake scowled when he saw Tom Lacey walk in the door of the saloon, and he wondered what Quincy would think of the two men he had picked up at Fort Pierre.
Lacey looked around the crowded barroom until he spied his two partners, then made his way directly toward them. “What are you grinnin’ about?” Everett asked when he pulled out a chair and sat down. “I thought you was gonna go get somethin’ to eat.”
“I did,” Lacey said, looking pleased with himself.
“I wish to hell I’d gone with you,” Jake said. “I’da saved myself a lot of money.”
“Didn’t do no good in that poker game you and Everett was in, I expect,” Lacey said, anxious to tell him what he had seen, but taking his time to savor the eruption that was sure to follow.
“Everett won a little money, but I didn’t catch a decent card the whole game,” Jake complained.
Lacey was unable to wipe the smile from his face as he proceeded to tell his news. “Well, I saw somethin’ at Whitey’s that might tickle you a little bit.” He paused, waiting for Jake to respond.
After a few moments, Jake demanded impatiently, “Well, what, damn it?”
Anticipating the reaction he was sure to see, Lacey, still grinning, replied, “Remember that feller you had a little go-round with back at Fort Pierre, in O’Malley’s Saloon?” He got the reaction he expected. The big man’s eyes narrowed and he snorted angrily through his bruised and broken nose. “Yeah, you remember him,” Lacey went on. “Well, I just saw him and that feller he was with—I think he’s his brother—eatin’ dinner at Whitey’s place.”
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