The Devil's Posse

by Charles G. West

  “I reckon,” he said. “I’ll help Hannah tote her things in.” He stepped off the porch and went to unpack her meager belongings. Letting her take the two small bags of clothes she had brought, he carried the three sacks of gold, since they were the heaviest.

  “I owe you so much,” she said to him after they had taken her things inside. “I don’t know if I could ever repay you for bringing me here. Maybe I can give you some of the gold dust, if you’ll tell me how much.” It was an awkward proposal, but she didn’t know what else to say.

  He smiled at her. “You don’t owe me a thing, Hannah. You need to keep that dust. It’s gonna pay for your future.” It appeared to him that she was trying to give him an appropriate farewell, probably figuring she wouldn’t see him again, once he was free of her. “I’ll see you in about an hour. I need to test Mae’s cookin’.”

  With Hannah off his hands now, Logan found his interest turning to his own prospects. Deciding he had earned a glass of beer before supper, he rode up the street to the establishment that displayed a sign proclaiming it to be the Gateway Saloon. Inside, he was greeted by the bartender, Cecil Grant. “What’ll you have?” he asked.

  “I think I’d like a glass of beer, if you have any,” Logan replied.

  “I sure do,” Cecil said, and proceeded to produce a glass. He stood there for a moment watching Cross test it before he asked, “Just get into town?”

  “Yep,” Logan answered, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “And right now I’m lookin’ for work.”

  “Punchin’ cows?” Cecil asked, making a judgment based on Logan’s attire.

  “Yep,” Logan answered again. “Fellow I worked for over near Sturgis said there were a couple of big cattle outfits over this way. You wouldn’t happen to know if they’re lookin’ for men, would you?”

  “Well, no, I don’t for a fact, but Jace Evans is the foreman for the Triple-T, and he oughta be in here later on this evening. He usually comes in every Saturday.”

  “Is today Saturday?” Logan replied. He had lost count of the days.

  Cecil laughed. “You musta been roamin’ around in the mountains for a while.”

  “As a matter of fact,” Logan said, laughing with him, “I just came over from Deadwood Gulch and I reckon I kinda lost track of the days. Anyway, maybe I’ll come back after supper and talk to this fellow Evans if he shows up.”

  He finished his beer and left after a few minutes of talking to Cecil about the town of Spearfish and how fast it was growing. He wondered if that would be a good thing for Hannah. He hoped so. With time still remaining before supper would be served at Mae’s dining room, he decided he would leave his horses in the stable overnight. Both the gray and the buckskin would most likely enjoy a ration of grain. Then he would decide what to do tomorrow, after talking to Jace Evans.

  By the time he had taken care of his horses and made arrangements with Sam Taylor, who owned the stable, to sleep there with his horses, it was time to go to supper. He was surprised to find a dozen customers already seated at a long table in the center of a large dining room. It didn’t surprise him that they were all men. He found a place between two cowhands, who politely shoved over a little to give him room. “Much obliged,” he said, and turned his plate and cup right side up.

  Mae Davis was already working her way from the end of the table, spooning out generous helpings of beef stew. When she came to Logan’s plate, she paused to speak to him. “We’ve already put your lady friend to work. I think she’ll work out just fine with Daisy and me. I think I owe you a big thanks for bringing her here.”

  “I’m mighty glad to hear that,” Logan said. “I was a little bit worried about her.”

  “Well, you can stop your worrying now. We’ll take good care of her. Yes, sir, I’m mighty glad she came along.”

  She went on with her serving until reaching the end of the table. Then she went to the kitchen with the empty bowl. What had been a noisy room moments before became suddenly quiet as the patrons turned all their attention to their plates.

  A trim young woman emerged from the kitchen carrying a large platter piled high with biscuits. That’ll be Daisy, Logan thought, and waited for the platter to come within his reach. When it came to him, he quickly plucked one of the browner ones, then glanced up when the platter remained in front of him. Confused for a moment, then shocked when the young lady spoke, he couldn’t believe his eyes. “Logan?” Hannah asked, surprised that he did not greet her.

  He almost dropped his biscuit, unable to do anything but gawk at the transformation. “Hannah?” he finally blurted. “Is that you?”

  “Well, of course it is,” she said, astonished by his strange reception, and unaware of the extreme change he saw in her. “Who did you think it was?”

  Before he could answer, someone at the end of the table spoke up. “How ’bout passin’ those biscuits on down before they get cold while you two visit?”

  “Sorry,” she said, and continued along the table, leaving Logan practically stunned, amazed that he could have been with her for that length of time while never knowing what her costume was hiding.

  He understood why she had attempted to look like a man when he first happened upon her camp. But why, he wondered, would she have continued to crush that honey blond hair up under her husband’s battered old hat? He didn’t know why, but he had assumed it was gray. He realized that he had never really paid that much attention to what the woman looked like. It occurred to him then that she had harbored fears beyond those of losing her gold dust, and she felt it safer to hide her shapely body under her disguise of baggy men’s garments.

  It took him a few minutes to recover from his surprise, but then he got used to seeing her in her natural appearance as she came back and forth from the kitchen. He regained his appetite then and attacked his supper once more. It was kind of funny in a way, he thought, the way she had fooled him. Before supper was finished, she paused to say that she had something she wanted to tell him before he left. So he sat there after he was finished eating, drinking coffee until he could hold no more.

  When all but he and a couple of other diners were left, Hannah came out and sat down on the bench beside him. “Did you enjoy your supper?” she asked.

  “Yeah, it was good,” he answered, feeling as if talking to someone he had just met. “What was it you wanted to tell me?”

  “Well,” she began, “I could tell that you were worried about me after you left me here, so I wanted to set your mind at ease. I owe you so much. I realize now that you are an honorable man, and there was no need to ever fear harm by you. So that you can know I’m all right now, I want to tell you what I’ve decided to do. Mae told me of her plans to build on more rooms and eventually make this place a real hotel. She said she has been unable to get any further along than this small two-story house, because her money ran out.”

  He could see what was coming, and said, “So you’re investin’ your money in it.”

  “That’s right,” Hannah said, surprised. “Mae and I are gonna be partners. Daisy is a widow, too, so we’re thinking about calling it the Three Widows Inn. Whaddaya think?” She beamed delightedly.

  “That’s right catchy,” he said, thinking that he hadn’t seen her smile like that before. He couldn’t honestly say if the hotel was a good investment for her fortune, but he supposed that it was better than letting it sit in a bank somewhere doing nothing. Her newfound enthusiasm alone was worth it, he decided. So he said, “Well, that whole thing sounds like a dandy idea. I know you can make it work. That Mae looks like she’s a real doer.”

  “Thank you, Logan,” Hannah said sincerely, and got to her feet. She extended her hand and they shook. “I’d better get back and help my new partner in the kitchen before she decides she’s made a bad bargain.”

  As she walked away, he couldn’t help calling after her, “Just promise me you won’t
ever dress up in those old baggy pants and knee boots again.”

  She looked back at him and smiled. “I promise,” she said.

  He reached under the bench for his hat, put it on his head, and started for the door. A strange feeling, bordering on loneliness, seemed to have suddenly descended upon him, one he couldn’t explain. For the past few days, he had wondered how he was going to get out from under the burden of this mournful woman. Now he might be forced to admit that he was going to miss her.

  “If that ain’t somethin’,” he muttered as he headed for the stables.

  Chapter 7

  “That’s Jace Evans over yonder,” Cecil Grant said, and nodded toward a table occupied by four men, near the back of the saloon. “Jace is the one wearin’ the black vest and the Montana Peak hat. That’s three of his men he’s settin’ with.”

  “Much obliged,” Logan said. “I’ll go see if I can talk to him.” The conversation at the table stopped when he walked up to stand before them. “Evenin’, fellows. Pardon me for buttin’ into your drinkin’, but I’d like a word with Mr. Evans.”

  Evans gave the tall stranger a good looking-over before speaking. “What about?” he asked.

  “I’m lookin’ for work, and the bartender said you’re the foreman at the Triple-T, so I thought I’d ask if you’re lookin’ to hire any new men,” Logan said.

  “He did, did he?” Evans replied. He looked over at the man seated across from him and said, “I didn’t know Cecil was doin’ the hirin’ for me now.” The remark brought the chuckle he expected from the other three at the table. Turning back to Logan, he said, “Have you worked around here anywhere?” Logan said that he hadn’t. “What have you been doin’ all summer, just driftin’?”

  “Nope,” Logan answered. “I helped drive a herd from Ogallala up to Fort Pierre. Then I worked for a man named Morrison, who drove a herd of horses from Fort Pierre to Sturgis on the other side of the mountain. I got caught at the end of the summer with time on my hands, so I’m lookin’ for someplace to start work again. Figured you might be needin’ some more help for the fall roundup.”

  Evans studied the rugged individual standing squarely before him, meeting his gaze eye to eye. He couldn’t help being impressed by the way the man carried himself.

  “For a fact, I might be hirin’ some more men in about a couple of weeks from now, but I’ll only be lookin’ for the best cowhands this fall. You figure you’re the best?”

  Logan didn’t hesitate to answer. “I don’t know if I’m the best or not, but I’m pretty sure I can cowboy with the best and hold my own. And I won’t take a man’s pay unless he thinks I earned it.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Evans said, even more impressed after Logan’s answer to his question, “you show up at the Triple-T two days from today, and I’ll give you a chance to back that up. All right?”

  “All right,” Logan answered. “How can I find the Triple-T?”

  “That’ll be the first test you have to pass,” Evans replied to the chuckles of his companions at the table.

  Logan smiled. “Fair enough,” he said without hesitation, “two days from today. Much obliged.” He nodded to the others at the table before turning around and walking toward the door.

  Jace Evans’s japing didn’t really irritate Logan very much. It was not unusual for a new hire to be tested for his sense of humor as well as his work ethic. It would have been the obvious thing to just invite him to ride on back to the ranch with them, since he wanted him to show up in only two days. But Logan figured he would ask Sam Taylor how to find the Triple-T. In the meantime he had a couple of days with nothing to do.

  He found Sam working in the tack room when he got back to the stable. “Reckon I’ll be ridin’ out to the Triple-T tomorrow,” he said to him, “that is, if you can tell me where it is.”

  “Easy enough to find,” Sam said. “Take the north road outta Spearfish. It runs right along Spearfish Creek for about three miles before it leaves the creek and branches off more to the west. The Triple-T is about four miles from where the road leaves the creek. There’s a smaller creek that feeds into the Spearfish that runs right along beside the road, right through Thomas Towson’s ranch. He’s the owner of the Triple-T and they like to call that little branch Towson’s Creek. Just follow the creek and you can’t miss the ranch house.”

  “’Preciate it,” Logan said. “I reckon I can find that easy enough.”

  * * *

  The next day was Sunday and Logan was tempted to treat himself to breakfast at Mae’s dining room to get one more look at Hannah before he started out to find the Triple-T. He decided against it, however, telling himself there was no purpose to it beyond a curiosity to see if she really looked as good as he had thought the night before.

  “I reckon I’ll just have breakfast with you,” he told his horse, “like it was before we picked up Hannah.”

  He had no trouble following Sam’s directions. They were as simple as he had claimed. When he came to the second creek that Sam had described, he followed it for a couple of miles before stopping to fix a little breakfast of coffee to go with some more of the deer jerky he had plenty of. The mountains were behind him now, with a smaller range of hills off toward the northeast, and nothing but an endless sea of grass before him. It was little wonder that the cattlemen had found this country, once the Indians were driven off to the reservations. In the saddle again, he guessed he was already on the Triple-T range, for he began to sight small groups of cattle here and there.

  Jace Evans had told him to report on Monday, but Logan purposely rode out a day early for a couple of reasons. In the first place, he wanted to get a look at the outfit beforehand, just to get a feel for it. He had not definitely ruled out the possibility of returning to Sturgis to sign on with Matt Morrison. In the second place, he was always early for any job he agreed to do, so he planned to be there waiting when Evans came out in the morning.

  He rode another couple of miles before he spotted the headquarters buildings lying low on the horizon. A sizable ranch house, a large barn with a corral, several other smaller buildings, plus a bunkhouse, all of them in good repair, which was a sign he was looking for. At first glance, it appeared to be a well-run operation. He would skirt well clear of it as he scouted out the surrounding range and picked a place to camp overnight.

  A little before sundown, he settled on a spot on yet another creek where it made a turn around a clump of cottonwoods north of the ranch headquarters. He figured he was about a mile and a half from the ranch.

  * * *

  Monday morning, first day of the roundup, Jace Evans thought as he walked out of his room at the end of the bunkhouse. It was a little earlier than usual, still hard dark, but he wanted to let the men know that it was time to go to work to earn their pay. Better get a good meal in your belly to get ahead of the day, he told himself as he strode toward the cookhouse. He thought it was always best to be the first one up in the mornings. It served to demonstrate to his crew that he worked longer and harder than anyone.

  On this morning, however, he stopped abruptly when halfway across the yard between the two buildings when he saw two horses tied at the corner of the cookhouse. He made out the form of a man sitting on the ground with his back against the building. When the man spotted him, he got up and stood waiting for him to approach.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Jace drawled when he recognized him. “I wasn’t sure you’d show up. Hell, I’d almost forgot about you.”

  “You said show up today,” Logan said. “So here I am.”

  “I didn’t expect you this early,” Jace said.

  “The day’s already started and I didn’t wanna be late.”

  Jace couldn’t help laughing. “Well, you ain’t late. Come on in and we’ll get some breakfast.” He opened the door and held it for Logan. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Logan C
ross.”

  “All right, Cross. While we eat, I’ll figure out who I’m gonna send you out with.”

  Over a breakfast of sourdough biscuits, sowbelly, white gravy, potatoes, and steaming black coffee, Jace talked cattle with his potential hire. He quickly got an idea that Logan was a genuine cattle hand, so he made up his mind before half of the crew struggled in for breakfast.

  As each man walked in, he cast a curious eye in Logan’s direction, but Jace was waiting to introduce him after the whole crew got there. Even though he felt he was hiring a good man, Jace couldn’t resist putting Logan through a test that had become a standard on the Triple-T.

  “I’ve been thinkin’ about it,” he said, “and I expect I’ll send you out with Ox today. He can show you the ropes.”

  Logan noticed that the comment brought forth a few grunts of amusement from the men seated close to them. He had no trouble guessing the reason when, seconds later, Ox Russell walked in.

  One look at the imposing man told Logan that he was the resident tough. Every crew seemed to have one, and this one looked typical. Not especially tall, but broad of shoulders and thick through the chest, Ox wore his long black hair in two heavy braids, Indian-style, a bushy mustache his only facial hair.

  “Looks like you got yourself a new partner, Ox,” one of the men said, causing the others to laugh and drawing a frown on Ox’s dark face. Jace chose that moment to introduce the new hire to the crew.

  “This is Logan Cross,” he began. “He’ll be workin’ with us today, ridin’ with Ox, so he can get a chance to see how things are done on the Triple-T.” He turned to address the scowling Ox, who was still standing there glaring at Logan. “Ox, I want you to ride up toward the Belle Fourche to see how many of our cows have drifted up to the river. Might be more’n the two of you can handle. If there are, I’ll send more of the boys up there to help you drive ’em back this way tomorrow. All right?”