The Devil's Posse

by Charles G. West

  It was not easy, though, for thoughts of Billy kept returning to haunt him. He was sure that Billy would have liked the feel of these hills and mountains. The Black Hills were in such contrast to the hundreds of miles of prairie all around them. It was little wonder that the Indians thought this place, pahasapa, was the center of their universe and sacred to them. Too bad these mountains were rich with gold, he thought, for gold trumped everything as far as the white man was concerned.

  His meandering mind almost caused him to miss a smaller game trail that forked off from the one he had been following. Thinking it looked more promising, he guided Pepper onto it to see where it might lead him. The path wound around a pine-clad slope, climbing as it snaked its way through the thick forest. Then he suddenly came upon a rushing stream that spilled over a cliff, some seventy feet above him to crash down upon the rocks to form a deep trench that carried the water to the meadow below.

  At first, he didn’t notice the small tent, back under the limbs of a pine, for there had been boughs from the trees set about it to hide it from the casual eye. He reined Pepper to a stop while he took a more careful look before proceeding farther. There were no animals about that he could see. A closer look revealed what looked like a small sluice box, all but hidden behind a large boulder. It was a mining claim, but it looked to be deserted, so he urged Pepper forward and rode down to the stream. He dismounted and let his horses drink from the clear rushing water. Kneeling beside them, he filled his canteen with the cool mountain water, then placed it to his lips and took a long refreshing drink. It was then that he heard the metallic sound unmistakable as the cocking of a rifle. Having little choice, he froze with his canteen in his hand and nothing else.

  “Hold on,” he said. “I’m not lookin’ for anything but a drink of water. I thought the camp was deserted.”

  Still on his knees, facing the stream, his hands raised in the air, he waited for what seemed a long time with no response from the person aiming a rifle at him. Then a figure slowly came into his field of vision, taking one careful step at a time, the rifle never wavering from the bead it had taken upon him. His assailant, a rather dumpy-looking person wearing baggy clothes, knee-high boots, and a slouchy, narrow-brimmed hat, pulled down low over his ears, said not a word but continued to aim the rifle at him. With the passing of several more long moments of silence, Logan began to get impatient.

  “Look,” he finally said, “I mean you no harm. I just happened to stumble onto your camp. Put the damn rifle down and I’ll be on my way.” He started to get to his feet, but the miner immediately jerked the rifle up as if about to shoot. Flustered now, Logan demanded, “Well, what are you aimin’ to do? Either shoot me or tell me what you want me to do.”

  This prompted the miner to gesture toward the trail with the rifle while uttering a single word, “Go.”

  Logan paused, uncertain. “What?”

  “Go,” the miner said, and gestured with the rifle again.

  Although there was an obvious attempt to sound husky, it was not enough to convince Logan. “You’re a woman,” he charged, astonished. He got up then, in spite of the weapon threatening him, and looked all around him. “And all alone,” he added. “What in the world are you doin’ out here by yourself? Where are your menfolk?”

  “I’ll shoot you down if you don’t get off my claim,” she said, no longer trying to disguise her voice.

  “No, you won’t,” he said matter-of-factly. “’Cause it makes no sense to shoot somebody who ain’t gonna do you no harm. More’n likely you need help, and I reckon it’s a good thing I happened to come along, ’cause I might be able to help. How long have you been out in these mountains all alone?” Her only answer was an expression of bewilderment.

  He waited to give her time to answer. When she did not, he walked up to her and took the rifle in his hand. She released it without a struggle, apparently feeling helpless to resist him. He eased the hammer down and stood the rifle up against a rock.

  “Where’s your husband?” he asked.

  “Dead,” she said, barely above a whisper.

  He studied her face carefully, trying to determine how old a woman she might be, but it was hard to tell with the hat pulled down so far over her ears, and the disheveled state of her clothes. “How long?” he finally asked.

  “Don’t know,” she replied, “two weeks, three weeks.” She seemed to be in a daze, for she stood there before him, her head downcast as if awaiting her inevitable fate.

  Not quite sure what he should do, he continued to study her for a few moments more before declaring, “Lady, you don’t have to be afraid of me. I mean you no harm. I’ll help you if I can.”

  Stepping from stone to stone, he crossed over the creek and went over to the tent, looking all around him at the campsite. He saw the remains of a campfire, with a coffeepot and a pan sitting in ashes that looked to be several days old. Not far from the ashes, he saw some open packs that had probably held cooking supplies but appeared now to be empty. A quick look inside the tent turned up nothing more than blankets and bedding, and a couple of packs that he guessed held clothes. He turned back to look at her.

  “How long has it been since you had something to eat?”

  She answered with a blank stare and a shrug.

  He looked beyond the tent and for the first time noticed what appeared to be a grave. A pick and shovel had been left lying there.

  “Is that your husband?”

  She nodded slowly.

  “Did you bury him?”

  Again she nodded. He considered that for a moment, picturing the dumpy little woman laboring to bury her husband in the rocky slope behind the tent.

  It was obvious to him that he was not likely to get much more out of the woman in the state she was in. It was his guess that she had run out of food some days before. And that didn’t help the state of shock she was in over the death of her husband. Maybe if he could put her mind at ease, she might be able to tell him what had happened here.

  “All right,” he decided. “I want you to sit down on that rock by your rifle. I’m gonna get some wood and get a fire goin’. Then I’m gonna make some coffee and roast some deer jerky. I think you’ll feel better after you get something to eat.” She started immediately to search for firewood. “No,” he ordered. “You just set yourself down on that rock and rest. I’ll get the wood.” She did as he said.

  He gathered some limbs from the trees close by the camp and got a fire started first thing, thinking that a fire would make her feel more comfortable. After that he unsaddled the horses and let them graze in a small grassy clearing below the camp where he noticed signs that horses had grazed there before. Maybe she would be able to tell him what had happened to the horses after he got some food and coffee in her. He wasn’t certain, however, that she wasn’t touched in the head and unable to communicate rationally anymore.

  With the horses taken care of, he went to his packs to prepare the food. While he worked at fashioning a spit for the venison, he considered the huge problem confronting him. What was he to do with the woman?

  God knows, he thought. I reckon it was my lot to find her. He paused to think about that. I reckon it’s a good thing somebody found her, else she was on her way to perishing. He looked back at the woman again, wondering if it was a good idea to leave the rifle propped there right beside her. He had left it there to give her a feeling of confidence that he meant her no harm. If she is crazy, he thought, she might decide to pick that rifle up again and shoot me. He decided it wouldn’t be good to move the rifle now, since she seemed subdued.

  Once the coffeepot was bubbling and the aroma of roasting meat rose from the fire, he thought he detected a spark of life in her otherwise dull eyes. On a flat rock by the water’s edge, he found two cups, two metal plates, and silverware. He imagined that she had washed them after eating the last of her food. She watched him anxiously as he pou
red coffee in one of the cups and pulled some strips of deer meat from the fire, her eyes growing larger by the moment. He could see that, in spite of what he had told her, she was not sure if he was going to share his food with her. She rose quickly to meet him when he brought it to her. Taking the coffee and meat from him, she sat down again and attacked it ferociously. He couldn’t help smiling.

  “It’s been a long time since you’ve had anything, hasn’t it?” Too busy eating, she didn’t bother to respond. He poured a cup of coffee for himself, pulled a strip of meat from the fire, and sat down on the ground facing her.

  They ate in silence until the woman spoke. “Can I have some more coffee?”

  “Sure,” Logan replied. “Help yourself, and pull some more of that meat off if you want it. I’ve got some beans in one of those packs we coulda fixed, but I thought right now it’d be quicker to just cook some meat.”

  She filled her cup and her plate again and sat down to eat, attacking it with the same passion she had for the first plate. She paused suddenly, looked up at him watching her, and said, “Thank you.” He nodded. She returned her attention to her food. When she had eaten her fill, she got to her feet and picked up both his and her plates and took them to the stream to wash.

  “How’d your husband die?” he finally asked, since it appeared that she was not going to volunteer it.

  “They killed him,” she answered simply.

  “Who killed him?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “They came one night, late. We were asleep. There were two of them, and they shot Jack when he ran out of the tent to stop them. I took the rifle and crawled out the back of the tent and hid in the trees.”

  “My Lord, ma’am, that musta been a nightmare for you,” Logan responded. “You musta been scared outta your mind.”

  No longer reluctant to tell him, she poured the story out. “I wanted to shoot them, but I was afraid I would miss. They didn’t even know I was there, and they had already killed Jack, so I just stayed hidden. They knocked the tent down and searched everywhere to see if we had found any gold. When they didn’t find any, they took our two horses, the saddles, all our food supplies, and left me with nothing.”

  “And that was two or three weeks ago?” Logan asked. He really didn’t know what to say in response to her tragedy. “Did you ever think about tryin’ to walk out of these mountains, maybe findin’ a town?”

  “I was afraid I’d just get lost. I’m not sure of the way we came to this claim when we left Lead. Anyway, it’s our claim, and I didn’t want anyone to steal it. Jack and I paid most of the money we had to buy this claim from the man who first owned it.”

  This didn’t make much sense to Logan. Why would someone sell a mining claim if it was showing real color? It sounded to him as if maybe the woman and her husband had been bamboozled out of their money. As long as she was now willing to talk, however, he continued to question her. “You came here from Lead?” He wasn’t quite sure where that was, but he had heard of it.

  “Yes. My husband worked for the Homestake Mine in Lead since they opened it a year ago.” It seemed she had lost her fear of him, and she continued, seeming eager to tell the story. He learned that her husband, Jack, was little more than a clerk in the Homestake office. When he was offered a mining claim from someone he trusted, he decided that he would search for his fortune, instead of spending his years working for the men who really made the money. He knew very little about panning for gold, but he worked hard and she worked alongside him. And then their dream was ended on that night when they were visited by two claim robbers.

  When she had told her tale, he shook his head, amazed. “Well, ma’am . . .” He paused to ask, “What is your name?”

  “Hannah,” she said, “Hannah Mabry. What’s yours?”

  “Logan Cross. I reckon I shoulda told you that right off. But what I was fixin’ to say is it don’t make no sense for you to be sittin’ out here on this creek by yourself, with no horse, no supplies, no nothing. You’ve got to go someplace where there are some people. Have you got some folks somewhere you can go to?”

  “No, not really,” she replied. “I’ve got an aunt and two cousins in Omaha, but I haven’t seen any of them in years. My folks are long dead.”

  “How ’bout your husband’s folks?”

  “Both of Jack’s parents are still living, but we got married against their wishes, so I don’t think I’d be welcome in their home, especially now. I’m sure they’d blame me for Jack’s death.”

  Damn, he thought, the last thing I need right now is a stranded woman to take care of. But he knew that he had no choice other than to see that she reached somewhere safe.

  “I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Hannah. I’ll take you out of these hills to a town where you can decide what you wanna do. I’m thinkin’ the best thing is to ride west till we strike that canyon I was headed for. Then, if we follow it on out, there’s supposed to be a little town called Spearfish at the mouth of the canyon. I hear there’s already a lot of folks settlin’ there.” He wasn’t sure how much help that would be for her, but he didn’t know what else to do with her. Maybe, he hoped, some family might take her in. “So that’s what I’m thinkin’. Whaddaya say?”

  She didn’t respond at once, seeming reluctant to answer him. Finally she spoke just as he started to repeat the question. “I sincerely thank you for what you’re offering to do for me. I appreciate it, I do. But I think I’ll stay here where my husband and I have worked so hard. If you would be so kind as to leave me some of that meat, I would appreciate that, too.”

  He found it hard to believe that she was in her right mind. “You wanna stay here?” he pressed. “And whaddaya gonna do when that meat runs out?”

  “I have my rifle,” she said. “I’ll hunt for something else to eat.”

  “Like you did before I showed up?” The woman wasn’t making sense, and he was beginning to lose his patience. Then it suddenly struck him. “You and your husband found gold in this stream, didn’t you?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “And those claim robbers didn’t find it, and that’s why you don’t wanna leave here. You don’t wanna leave your gold.” She still did not reply, but the blanching of her complexion told him that he had guessed right. “It still doesn’t make sense for you to try to stay here to guard it. You don’t have any supplies. You don’t have any horses to pack your dust outta here, and you must have too much to tote yourself.” He saw the alarm in her eyes as she stared at him, her secret revealed. “For goodness’ sake, Hannah, ain’t you figured out by now that I ain’t gonna do you any harm? I’m not gonna steal any of your gold, but I’ll help you pack it outta here, and you can put it in the bank at Spearfish, if they’ve got one.”

  She hung her head, shamed, as a child might be, caught in a lie. “I’m sorry. I know you’re an honorable man. I would have known before now, if you weren’t.” She knew now that she had no choice but to trust him, and if she was wrong, it might be her death sentence.

  “How much have you got hid away?” he asked. “Can we carry it all on my horses?”

  She nodded. “Yes. There’s not that much. Jack figured it was worth about twenty thousand dollars, enough to give us our money back with a good bit left over. The color had run out, though, and we decided we must have gotten all we could find panning. We were talking about leaving just before those murderers struck our camp.” She paused, a wistful look upon her face. “If we had just packed up and left when we first talked about it . . .”

  “Yes’um, that’s a shame,” he said sincerely. “It’s tough to understand sometimes when hard luck hits folks that don’t seem to deserve it.” He thought of Billy. “A doggone shame,” he murmured. Rallying his thoughts, he said, “We’ll pack up in the mornin’ and head outta these mountains, see if we can’t find someplace safe for you and your gold.”

  He tried to give her a reassuring smi
le, hoping to encourage her, but there was still no sign of optimism in the strained frown. He wondered just how big a town Spearfish was. It might not be an easy thing to find her a safe place, especially if folks found out she was worth her weight in gold dust. On the other hand, a woman of her apparent age, with a sack of gold dust, might have her pick of the bachelors in town. Of course, that would depend on her fortune actually being that sizable.

  Judging by what he had been told, very few of the inexperienced folks panning for gold ever found any of the precious metal. And most of them that did harvested little more than grub money. He hoped for her sake she and her late husband had been among the lucky few.

  * * *

  Although Hannah had expressed her trust in the rugged stranger who had happened upon her camp, still she slept fitfully, springing awake at every unusual sound from the horses, or the rushing stream. The morning light was a welcome sign that all was still well. There was one more test to come, however. She had not told him—and he had not asked—where the gold dust was hidden. Breakfast was coffee and venison again, and then it was time to saddle Pepper and fashion a saddle for her on the buckskin. After all was ready, he looked at his new traveling companion and could not help grinning at her reluctance when he said, “I reckon it’s time to pack up that gold.”

  With a look of resignation, she went to the flat rock where she had washed her dishes. She stepped very carefully into the stream, trying to keep the water, which was right up to the top of her boots, from lapping over and soaking her socks and trousers. With her sleeves pushed up over her elbows, she reached under the rock and pulled out three canvas bags, one by one, and placed them on the rock. When the third bag was safely on the flat rock, she remained there, standing in the water, expecting the fatal shot, if indeed there was one to come.