The Devil's Posse

by Charles G. West

  Jake almost came out of his chair. “Where? Is he still at Whitey’s?”

  “Nope,” Lacey answered. “He left Whitey’s and took that trail up beside the harness shop. I followed the two of ’em up the ridge to see which way they was headin’. Then I hightailed it back here. Figured you’d wanna know.”

  “That son of a bitch,” Jake growled as he got up and kicked the chair out of his way. He paused then when the thought occurred to him. “Why the hell didn’t you shoot the son of a bitch when you had the chance?”

  Lacey shrugged. “I thought about it—I sure did—but I figured that was a score you wanted to settle yourself.”

  “I don’t give a damn who shoots him,” Jake declared, still on the verge of exploding. “I just want him dead. Him and his brother, too. He comes ridin’ in here right under my nose, and you let him get away?”

  “I know where he’s headin’,” Lacey was quick to explain. “He ain’t goin’ far. I could hear most of what they was talkin’ to Whitey about, and it sounds to me like they was just gonna look for a place to camp up in the hills.”

  “You shoulda shot both of ’em while you had the chance,” Jake insisted. “There ain’t no tellin’ where they are now.”

  “Hell,” Lacey pleaded, “I couldn’t just gun ’em down right there in Whitey’s. I’d be settin’ in that little smokehouse they call a jail right now. Besides, I saw where they was headin’. We can find ’em.”

  “We’re wastin’ time,” Jake said. “Quincy will be here in a day or two. I want this done before he gets here, so we’re gonna go huntin’ right now. Come on, it’ll be dark in a couple of hours.” He headed for the door.

  “Hot damn,” Everett exclaimed, winking at Lacey, “that sure beats hangin’ around here.”

  He and Lacey were reluctant to complain about waiting around for the rest of the Morgan Gang, owing to Jake’s violent temper, which had been honed to a sharper edge by the beating he had taken in Fort Pierre. Joining up with Jake was an opportunity for the two small-time claim jumpers to ride with a gang of stage robbers as successful as Quincy Morgan’s.

  Outside, Jake continued to fret over the time it was taking to get mounted and under way. When they got to the top of the ridge, he pulled up to let Lacey come up beside him.

  “All right, where’d they go from here?”

  Lacey assured him that Logan and Billy had continued to follow the trail across the ridge, evidently planning to follow it between the two mountains directly ahead of them.

  Chapter 3

  “It looks like somebody was tryin’ to find a little gold here,” Billy said as he walked the buckskin across the stream. “I reckon they didn’t have much luck.” It was obvious that the claim had been deserted for a good while.

  “It’s a good spot to make camp,” Logan replied, “nice little stream to water the horses and a fair amount of grass on the other side.” He dismounted and stood peering up the course of the stream. “Looks like there might be a waterfall higher up this mountain. I’ll bet there’s deer around here, too. Maybe not while there were folks here pannin’ for gold, but this camp’s been dead for at least a month. Deer might be comin’ around again.”

  “Well, I wish one of ’em would come around right now,” Billy said. “But I expect we’ll be eatin’ some more of that bacon we’ve been livin’ on.”

  Logan laughed. “Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten that fancy dinin’ room you had dinner in today.”

  He was actually partial to camping in this mountain country instead of taking a room in the fanciest of hotel rooms. Maybe it was just his nature. Or perhaps he was simply accustomed to sleeping out under the stars from the many years he had spent driving cattle.

  And these Black Hills were so different from other mountain ranges. They seemed to be in sharp contrast to the stark rocky peaks of Wyoming. Even so, giant granite towers, rising from the slopes, were not an unusual sight. These mountains seemed to be more gently formed, and covered with trees, mostly pines, but occasionally intertwined with maple and some trees he could not identify.

  At the moment, he was happy that he and Billy had decided to see the Black Hills. If it contented his younger brother to hunt for gold, then he was happy to give him the opportunity. It would also give him a chance to get to know these mysterious mountains while Billy fantasized about finding a fortune. He glanced at his brother, who was down on one knee beside the stream, peering into the clear water. He couldn’t help laughing. “You see any gold on the bottom of that stream?”

  “I’m not sure I’d know it if I did see some,” Billy replied, knowing Logan was japing.

  “Whaddaya say we pull the saddles offa these horses and get a fire started while we can still see?” Logan suggested. “Come to think of it, I’d like to climb up toward the top of this mountain to see if there is a waterfall a little higher up before it gets too dark. I ain’t ever seen a waterfall that didn’t attract a lot of game. You interested?”

  “Not really,” Billy said. “I’m more interested in gettin’ the fire started and boilin’ some coffee. You go on and I’ll have some bacon for you to eat when you get back.”

  “Don’t be surprised if I come back with something to cook besides bacon,” Logan replied as he took his saddle off Pepper. He pulled his rifle from the saddle scabbard, turned to give his brother a grin, then started up through the trees beside the stream.

  Billy turned his head to watch his brother until he disappeared in the fading light filtering through the pines. He was pleased that he had persuaded Logan to come to the Black Hills if only to give him the opportunity to explore them. That was the kind of thing that brought Logan pleasure.

  * * *

  The climb up the mountain took longer than Logan had anticipated. There was a waterfall, as he had suspected, although not as large as he had hoped. Still, it was a fascinating sight, even in the fading light.

  Curious then to see the source of the water, he went around the falls and climbed up closer to the top of the mountain, where he discovered a small lake. As the sun sank swiftly in the distance, he told himself he’d better mind his step descending back to the camp, for soon it might be very dark. He took just a few moments longer to look around him at the smaller peaks.

  It was then that he heard the shots.

  Far below him, they echoed among the rocks and trees, reverberating across the mountain slope. He was not certain how many, for they were too close together to tell. He felt his blood go cold as he was suddenly gripped by a numbing fear. He had to get to Billy! A sickening feeling of panic overcame him as he made his way back down the mountain, lurching and stumbling in his hurry.

  Indians? Outlaws? He could only wonder.

  The trip back down turned treacherous in the growing darkness and he crashed down upon his knees, only to get up and press on, ignoring the cuts and bruises he sustained from the rocky slope. The only thing that mattered was to get to Billy—as quickly as possible.

  Because of the darkness, which now cloaked the forest in a heavy shroud, he was forced to make his way more carefully. When finally he approached the camp, he stopped to look around him before charging in recklessly. The fire was still burning, forming a rosy globe of light beside the stream, but there was no sign of Billy or anyone else. Then he realized that the horses were gone. The camp was deserted. He ran then, convinced that whoever had been there were now gone.

  “Billy!” he called out as he neared the fire, but there was no answer. “Oh God, no!” he cried when he saw the body sprawled facedown at the edge of the firelight. “Oh God, no!”

  Unmindful of anyone waiting in ambush, he rushed to his brother’s side, praying that it was not Billy. He knew that it was, however, before he turned the body over to see the cold lifeless face, staring but not seeing. He had been shot three times in the back, which were probably the killing blows, and there were other b
ullet wounds in his legs and arms, which told Logan that he was used for target practice after he was dead. It appeared that he had been taken by surprise, and never had a chance to defend himself.

  Devastated, Logan pulled the cold body up and hugged it close to him. Then unable to contain his grief, he cried out to God above.

  “Why Billy? He never hurt anybody!” He rocked the body gently as a father would a child, large tears rolling down his sun-bronzed face. “I should never have left you here alone,” he wailed. “I should have stayed to make sure nothing like this could happen. I’m sorry, Billy. I’m so sorry.”

  He sat there near the edge of the stream for a long time, gently rocking his brother’s body, before finally telling himself there were things to be done.

  He had to dig a grave, but he had no tools to work with. Everything was gone. The people who had murdered his brother had taken the horses, saddles, packs, everything they owned. He was left with only his rifle and the cartridges that were loaded in the magazine—and his skinning knife, which would normally have been in its case on his cartridge belt. He had taken the belt off before he climbed up the mountain, but on second thought, he had drawn the knife out and stuck it in his belt. He had been joking about finding game at the waterfall but decided to take the knife in case he did. Determined to bury Billy, he resolved to dig the grave with the knife, since that and his hands were all he had.

  He dug the grave, although it took most of the night. He had looked for the best spot to dig, where the dirt looked as yielding as he could find. Then he toiled away through the long, dark hours, his mind filled with Billy’s life ever since their parents had died. Billy had told him not long ago that his big brother had always been there for him.

  Well, he wasn’t there for you on this night, Logan thought.

  As the hours passed, and the work grew harder, his mind dwelled more on avenging his brother’s death, and he soon swore an oath before God that he would not rest until he had killed the man or men who had murdered Billy. When finally he had dug the grave as deep as he thought he could with his knife and hands, he stood up to stretch his weary back.

  The first light of dawn began to filter through the pine limbs, and he apologized once again. “It ain’t as deep as I’d like, Billy, but at least it’ll cover you up.”

  He laid his brother in the shallow grave as gently as he could. “I’m sorry I ain’t got a blanket or something to cover you with,” he said as he pulled the loose dirt over the body. Reluctant to pile dirt over Billy’s face, he put his brother’s hat over his face before covering it.

  When he had piled all the dirt he had over the grave, he started carrying rocks, as big as he could lift, from the streambed. These he placed on top of the grave to keep predators from disturbing it. Finished, he sat down, exhausted, as the morning sun played shadows across his face.

  He didn’t know how long he had been asleep when he suddenly opened his eyes, awakened by the sun now high in the sky. He crawled over to the pool of water and took a long drink. His thoughts turned to his quest to find the people responsible for Billy’s death. In the morning light, it was now possible to see the many tracks that told the story of what had happened there. After studying the campsite carefully, he could not be sure how many had attacked his brother, but he was sure there was more than one man. And while he had allowed for the possibility that they were Indians, he now discarded that idea, because all the horses were shod, and there were boot prints around the fire. He looked around the edges of the camp, but the killers had left nothing. He continued scouting the perimeter of the camp until he found what he was looking for, tracks of the horses where they had left the camp. He set out at once following the tracks.

  The trail was not hard to follow. Logan figured there were at least six horses, and three of them were his and Billy’s, leaving three the number of assailants. There could be four, he couldn’t be sure, but at least three. He followed the tracks down the course of the stream until it reached the road he and Billy had taken from Montana City. A careful study of the hoofprints told him that the murderers had turned back toward the town. This was what he had hoped for. Had they turned the other way, it would have been a great deal harder to track them, especially if they had been intent upon disappearing in the mountains. He wasn’t sure how long it would take him to get to Montana City on foot, but he hoped he could make it before dark.

  As he followed the road at a steady pace, his mind was filled with thoughts of his brother and what his last moments must have been like. And he could not help continuing to blame himself for not taking care of him. There was nothing he could do to bring him back, but he swore to avenge him, even though there was no way doing that could balance the scales for the taking of one so carefree and optimistic.

  * * *

  “Bring that coffeepot over here,” Jake yelled at Lyle Weaver, the bartender at the Lucky Dollar Saloon. He waited for Lyle to get to the table before continuing. “As much money as we’re spendin’ in here, I oughta get better service.”

  “Hell, you are gettin’ good service,” Lyle shot back, accustomed to verbal abuse from the likes of Jake Morgan. “You ain’t seen me servin’ coffee to nobody else, have you?”

  “Don’t get smart-mouth with me,” Jake said, “or I’ll take my money somewhere else to spend.” He was feeling right pleased with himself, after last night’s little adventure. He and his boys had extra money in their pockets, and he planned to live high on the hog until his brother, Quincy, showed up.

  In addition to the money found in the saddlebags, he had sold the three horses, along with the saddles, to the owner of the stable that morning. He cut Everett and Lacey in for a share, but it still left him with plenty of extra money.

  Aside from that, he was enjoying the accomplishment of having settled the score with the jasper who broke his nose. The one who had actually inflicted the damage was not in the camp when he struck, but he had killed his brother and taken everything in the camp. He decided that that was satisfaction enough for his broken nose. He might have looked around that mountain a little longer for the other one, but he had evidently been hiding, and was likely running.

  He’s gonna have a helluva time of it, though, he thought, smiling, since I got everything he owns.

  Everett Pierce watched while Lyle filled all three cups, and waited until he left before he commented, “You sure look like you’re feelin’ mighty perky this mornin’, Jake.” He turned to Lacey and asked, “Don’t he, Tom?”

  “Hell, why not?” Lacey replied. “Little extra money in your pocket’ll do that every time. Ain’t that right, Jake?”

  “That’s a fact,” Jake said. “And you can get used to it, ’cause when Quincy and the rest of the boys get here, you’ll see what it’s like to do some real business. They’ve got one of those heavy reinforced stagecoaches full of gold leaving this gulch every week or so. And they’re all hollerin’, ‘Here I am, Mr. Morgan, come and get it.’”

  His remark brought chuckles from his two partners. “I’m feelin’ lucky,” Everett said. “I think I’ll see if I can scare up a card game this afternoon. I’ve still got some winnin’s from that game the other night, so I might as well play on the other feller’s money.”

  “I’m up for a game,” Lacey decided. “What about you, Jake? It’s about time for that gambler you and Everett played with last time to show up, ain’t it?”

  “You don’t have to worry about him,” Jake said. “Just get out the cards and shuffle ’em. He’ll show up before you can cut ’em.”

  * * *

  Jake’s comment was close to being accurate, because the professional gambler known as Harris showed up soon after the three gunmen started playing cards. The game went on for most of the afternoon. A second bottle of whiskey was ordered at about the same time a tired but determined man carrying a rifle walked up to the corral at the stables, down at the end of the street.

>   Seeing his master, Pepper came to the rail at once. Logan reached over and stroked the gray gelding on his face. In a few minutes, Billy’s buckskin ambled over and stood beside Pepper. Relieved to find the horses, Logan knew that it would not likely be a simple thing to reclaim them. It was a matter now of finding everything else that was stolen along with the horses. He gave the buckskin a few seconds of attention, then started toward the stable door.

  “Something I can help you with, mister?” Walt Bowen asked as he walked out to meet him.

  “Yes, sir,” Logan replied. “I came to pick up my horses.”

  “Your horses?” Walt responded. “I don’t recall boardin’ any horses for you.”

  “Well, I didn’t ask you to, but you’ve got three of my horses in your corral, that gray, the buckskin, and that sorrel standin’ near ’em. Whoever brought ’em in here last night stole ’em from my campsite, so I’ll take ’em offa your hands now.”

  “Now, hold on here a minute, feller,” Walt protested. “Those horses belong to me now. I don’t know if the fellers I bought ’em from stole ’em or not, but I paid good money for those horses, and everything that came with ’em.”

  So he bought everything, lock, stock, and barrel, Logan thought. He had not expected to find his saddles and all his other possessions in one place. It was convenient, but it created a helluva problem. “Who’d you buy ’em from?” Logan asked, his tone soft and without emotion.

  “Well, I don’t know as how I oughta tell you that,” Walt said. He didn’t like the position he was in. This rangy fellow facing him looked deadly serious, but he knew for a fact that the man he had bought the horses from was a wanted gunman in Kansas. He suddenly found himself between two choices, neither of which was desirable.