The Devil's Posse

by Charles G. West

  Quincy’s smile grew wider. “Well, thank you, sir. You’ve most likely helped bring a wanted man to justice. We’ll ride on down to that dinin’ room, maybe take supper there.” He turned toward the others. “Whaddaya think, boys? It’d be kinda nice to eat some supper under a roof, fixed by a woman cook, wouldn’t it?”

  His question was met with grinning nods and grunts of approval. “That’s just what we need, all right,” Lonnie said, encouraged to see his cousin seeming to come out of the black mood that had possessed him over the last two days.

  “What time do they start servin’ supper?” Quincy asked. When Cecil answered that they served supper at five o’clock, Quincy said, “About thirty minutes from now. That’ll give us time to have a few drinks.”

  * * *

  “Looks like we’re gonna have a good crowd for supper tonight,” Mae Davis commented to Hannah and Daisy when she looked out her front window and saw the group of six men stepping up on the porch. “Rough-lookin’ bunch. I’ve never seen any of them before. You might better throw some more potatoes in that stew, Daisy.” She walked over and opened the door for them.

  Always confident in his ability to charm the ladies, Quincy wasted no time before endeavoring to impress Mae. Though not normally gullible when it came to most things, she was not totally immune to extra attention from a man as handsome as Quincy Morgan.

  “Good evenin’, ma’am,” he began with a generous smile for her. “Fellow back at the saloon told us this was the place to get a good supper. He didn’t tell us it was run by such an attractive lady, though.”

  Mae blushed, unaccustomed as she was to such compliments. “Why, shut your mouth,” she said, unable to think of anything more eloquent. “You must be tryin’ to lower the price.”

  She looked beyond Quincy then at the rugged collection of unkempt men behind him, most of them with amused grins on their faces. Her gaze lingered a moment on Curly, stopped by the blank stare the huge man fixed upon her. “You fellows lookin’ for supper, I reckon,” she managed in an effort not to show her concern.

  “Why, yes, ma’am,” Quincy replied. “We’d enjoy tryin’ some of your cookin’. It’s been a while since me and the boys have had a chance to try some home cookin’. We’ve been in the saddle for quite a spell.” He paused then, as if just remembering. “Excuse my manners, ma’am. I’m U.S. Marshal Quincy Smith. These men are my posse men. We’ve been trailin’ a dangerous man ever since Deadwood Gulch. He’s wanted for murder.”

  That explained the roughshod-looking men with him to some degree, Mae decided, thinking they looked little more than outlaws themselves.

  “Do you think he’s in Spearfish?” she asked, immediately disturbed.

  “I don’t know,” Quincy said, confident she did not question the charade. “We think he came here with a lady who’s helpin’ you here in the dinin’ room—lady name of Hannah. I’d sure like to talk to her if she’s here.”

  “Hannah’s here,” Mae said, worried by the prospect that Hannah might have knowingly had any connection with a wanted outlaw, although Logan hardly looked the part. “I’ll get her for you. You fellows sit down at the table. We’ll be bringin’ the food out in a minute or two.”

  “Thank you kindly, ma’am,” Quincy said as Mae left the room. When she had gone, he turned to face his amused partners. “It wouldn’t hurt if you jackasses quit grinnin’ like a bunch of hyenas. You’re supposed to act like lawmen now.”

  Lonnie gave him an even bigger grin. “I swear, cousin, you’re just as slick as ever. They didn’t take none of that outta you in that prison.”

  “I kinda like bein’ a lawman,” Curly said.

  “Just behave yourself,” Quincy said. “Don’t act like you do around those whores in the saloons. These women are like the women in your family.”

  “I hope they ain’t like that ol’ bitch that tried to raise me,” Wormy said. His remark caused the others to cackle, and brought a swift rebuke from Quincy.

  In a few moments, Mae returned with a worried Hannah in tow. Having already seated himself with his men, Quincy made a show of politely getting to his feet again to meet her. “I’m Hannah Mabry,” she said. “Did you want to see me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Quincy said. “I wanna ask you about the man you rode into town with.”

  “Logan Cross,” she replied. “I came to town with Logan Cross. If it hadn’t been for him, I might not have made it out of the mountains.”

  “How well do you know him?” Quincy continued, hoping that she hadn’t known him well enough to defend him.

  “Well, not very well,” she said. “All I can tell you is that he came along when I really needed help, and he was nothing but a gentleman. I can’t imagine him as an outlaw. What did he do?”

  “He murdered a man in Deadwood Gulch,” Quincy said. “I guess she didn’t tell you.” He nodded toward Mae.

  “Two men,” Tom Lacey interjected, thinking of his old partner Everett Pierce. His comment brought a deep frown of irritation from Quincy, causing Lacey to hang his head and take a step back.

  Hannah blanched, obviously shocked by what she had just heard. She looked at Mae, searching for some explanation. “Murder,” she finally gasped, finding it impossible to believe. “There must be some mistake.”

  “No, ma’am,” Quincy said, “no mistake. There were too many folks that saw it. He walked right in a saloon and shot a man settin’ at a table playin’ cards. Now, what I wanna ask you is, do you know where he went when he left here?”

  “Why, no,” Hannah said, still stunned by what she had just heard. “I don’t know where he was planning to go. I just can’t believe Logan would do such a thing. He just didn’t seem like that kind of man at all.” She turned to Mae. “You talked to him. He was just a cowhand planning to sign on with one of the ranchers.”

  “That’s right,” Mae said. “I remember now. He did say he was gonna try to get hired by one of the ranches.”

  Quincy was fighting inwardly to control his emotions, for he felt he was getting closer and closer to finding the man who haunted his waking moments. He glanced at his cousin to find Lonnie staring at him as if concerned that he might explode into one of his rages at any moment. It reminded Quincy to remain calm. Things were going too smoothly with the U.S. Marshal farce to spoil it with a fit of anger. After a moment, he asked, “Which outfit did he go to see? Did he tell you?”

  Mae answered, “There are three big ones not far from here. I never heard him mention any of them.” She turned to Hannah. “Did you?” Hannah shook her head. Turning to Quincy again, Mae suggested, “Try Sam Taylor over at the stable. He mighta told him where he was goin’.”

  “That’s a good idea, Marshal,” Lonnie commented quickly, encouraging Quincy to continue the charade. “Maybe we oughta go see him after we eat supper.”

  “Yeah,” Quincy said absently, anxious to give chase right away. “Yeah, we better eat first.”

  “Well, amen to that,” Stokes exclaimed, and received a warning look from Lonnie for speaking.

  Quincy sat down again and the women went to the kitchen to prepare to serve the food. Lonnie slid over close to him. “We might be onto a sweet setup here for a while, if we don’t do somethin’ stupid,” he said. “These folks ain’t questionin’ anythin’ we’ve said so far. Hell, they ain’t even asked to see a badge. Whaddaya say we hang around here for a spell, as long as the town is buyin’ it?”

  Quincy frowned. “We’re goin’ after that son of a bitch. My mind ain’t gonna rest till I put a bullet in his head, so don’t talk to me about layin’ around this town.”

  “I ain’t sayin’ that, Quincy,” Lonnie replied quickly. “Sure, we’re gonna run the bastard to ground. Ain’t no doubt about that. What I’m sayin’ is we can work outta Spearfish while we’re lookin’ on all the ranches around here. Hell, in a little while, we could own this town. Who�
�s gonna stop us? They ain’t got no sheriff. They ain’t got no telegraph. There ain’t no way they can say you ain’t a marshal. I’m just sayin’ think about that. Course we’re gonna get Logan Cross before we do anythin’ else.”

  Quincy paused to give it some thought. What Lonnie said might be a lucrative arrangement at that. The extreme isolation of the place made it ideal to operate out of for a gang of outlaws. He might even consider appointing himself sheriff. There was no one to stop him. There was one additional attraction that had entered his mind, the young woman named Hannah.

  “Could be somethin’ in what you say, cousin,” he said. “We’ll take a look at the other folks in town to see if there’s anybody that might get in the way.” He gave Lonnie a wink and said, “Just in case some of ’em might have to have an accident.” Lonnie grinned and nodded. It looked as if the old Quincy was back in business. Their conversation was cut short then by the women with the bowls.

  With the arrival of each regular customer, Mae made it a point to introduce the marshal, in case anyone was alarmed by the roughness of the men with the handsome lawman. As Quincy had ordered, the rest of his men kept their mouths shut, opening them only to insert food, while he acknowledged the introductions. All in all, it went well, as far as Mae and Hannah could determine. Plus, there was the bonus of six new customers for supper.

  Before they left, Quincy approached Mae to inquire about renting some rooms. “I’m thinkin’ we’ll be operatin’ out of Spearfish while we’re coverin’ this part of the country,” he said. “Maybe you’ve got some rooms to let.”

  “We’ve only got two rooms available,” Mae said. “We’re planning to build onto the house in the spring, but right now two’s all we have.”

  “That’ll do,” Quincy said. “We don’t need no more than two.”

  “Good,” Mae said with a smile. “Thank you very much, sir. I’ll make sure they’ve got clean sheets.”

  “Mighty fine,” Quincy said. “Me and my cousin, Lonnie here, can take one of ’em and my other four men can bunk up in the other one. They’ve got their bedrolls and they can swap off usin’ the bed.”

  He laughed to himself, wondering if his men had ever slept on clean sheets.

  * * *

  Much as Cecil Grant and Mae Davis had, Sam Taylor experienced an uneasy feeling when the six hard-looking riders pulled up at his stable.

  “Can I help you gentlemen?” he asked.

  As before, Quincy identified himself as a U.S. Marshal, and his men as posse men. This came as some relief to Sam, although he was still not comfortable with the appearance of the marshal’s posse men. Justifiably surprised when informed of the posse’s purpose in Spearfish, he confessed that he had been completely taken in by the fugitive killer.

  “Seemed like a helluva nice feller,” he said, “just lookin’ for honest work.”

  “Did he say where he was headin’?” Quincy asked.

  “Matter of fact, he did,” Sam volunteered. “He asked me how to find the Triple-T Ranch, said Jace Evans gave him a job.”

  Straining to keep the evidence of excitement out of his face, Quincy asked, “Can you tell me how to get to the Triple-T?” He cast a sideways glance at Lonnie.

  “Why, I reckon if I could tell him, I can sure ’nuff tell you,” Sam replied. “He’s a big feller, but it looks like you’ve got plenty of good help,” he commented as he looked Curly up and down.

  When they found out that the Triple-T headquarters was approximately seven miles from Spearfish, it caused Quincy and Lonnie to consider the advisability of starting out right away. It was already getting along toward evening, but seven miles wasn’t that far, provided they had no trouble following Sam’s directions. Quincy liked the idea of arriving after dark, and the prospect of catching Logan by surprise while he was lying around in the bunkhouse. It seemed too good to pass up, so he told his men to mount up. The horses were rested, so they might as well go.

  * * *

  They found that Sam Taylor’s directions were as easy to follow as he had claimed. Having found Towson’s Creek, they followed it until spotting the lights of lanterns in the bunkhouse and ranch house of the Triple-T.

  “You reckon we’d best split up and some of us get around behind that barn, in case he sees us comin’ and tries to make a run for it?” Wormy asked.

  “Ain’t no need for that,” Quincy said. “He don’t know we’re trailin’ him. We’ll just ride right on in like a marshal and his posse.”

  “Quincy’s right,” Lonnie said. “Ain’t no way he could even know about us.” He looked at Lacey. “Ain’t that right, Lacey?”

  “That’s a fact,” Lacey replied. “He just knew about Jake and me and Everett.”

  “He ain’t lookin’ for anybody comin’ after him,” Quincy said. “So when we ride in there, Lacey, I want you right beside me to point him out just as soon as you spot him.”

  “What do we do when Lacey spots him?” Curly asked.

  “You be ready to shoot in case any of the other men try to put up a fight,” Quincy said, “’cause I intend to shoot him down, just like he did to Jake.”

  “Maybe we oughta arrest him and carry him off someplace to shoot him,” Lonnie said, “since we’re supposed to be the law.”

  “Yeah, we could hang him,” Wormy said, seeing the possibility for some entertainment. “We could even give him a trial first. You could be the judge, Quincy. Curly there could be his lawyer, so you’d know you couldn’t lose.” Curly grinned at the thought, too simple to realize he had been insulted.

  Though it was said in jest, the idea had some appeal to Quincy, but he said, “I’m gonna shoot him down as soon as I see him, just like he gave it to Jake.”

  * * *

  Owner Tom Towson was down at the bunkhouse drinking a cup of coffee with his foreman, as he often did during the roundup season. A couple of the other men had sat down outside with them, taking their leisure after a hard day’s work. They weren’t expecting visitors this time of night, but some whinnying of the horses in the corral and the barking of the dog signaled company. Not particularly alarmed, but curious about who could be calling, Towson stood up and walked a little way away from the fire so he could see better. In a few seconds, he saw them, six riders, slow-walking their horses toward the fire outside the bunkhouse. “Who is it, Tom?” Jace Evans asked, and came up to stand beside him.

  “Don’t know,” Towson said. “I don’t recognize any of them.”

  “Evenin’,” Quincy called out. “Mind if I step down?”

  “Depends,” Towson answered. “What’s your business?”

  “I’m U.S. Marshal Quincy Smith,” Quincy said, using the same name he had given the people in Spearfish. “Me and my posse are trailin’ a man wanted for murder. We got word that he might be workin’ for you. Can I step down?”

  “Sure,” Towson said. “You and your men step down and come on up to the fire. You’re traveling awful late, ain’t you?”

  “Thank you,” Quincy said, and dismounted. “It is a little late in the evenin’, but this man’s dangerous, so when we got a strong sniff of his trail, we didn’t wanna waste no time gettin’ after him.” He motioned for Lacey to step up beside him.

  Looking quickly at the men now standing behind Towson, Lacey said, “He ain’t here.”

  “I think somebody gave you the wrong word,” Towson said. “I know my men. Most of them have been riding for me for a long time. We haven’t hired but one new man this year, and I don’t think he’s the man you’re looking for.”

  “Is his name Logan Cross?” Quincy asked. He saw the immediate shock in all their faces.

  “Logan?” Jace Evans exclaimed. “Are you sure you’ve got the right man?”

  “That’s the man, all right,” Quincy said. “A whole saloon full of people saw him murder Jake Morgan in cold blood.”

  “Fact
of the matter is, he killed two men,” Lacey interjected again, thinking of Everett Pierce.

  “That’s a fact,” Quincy said with another frown for Lacey. Everett’s death was never important to him, so he seldom bothered to remember.

  “My God!” Jace blurted. “If what you’re sayin’ is true, I ain’t ever misjudged a man more in my life. Are you absolutely sure he’s the man they saw?”

  “There ain’t no doubt about it,” Quincy assured him. “And I’m afraid we’re wastin’ time standin’ here talkin’ about it. Where is he?”

  “He’s out with the rest of the men, roundin’ up cattle. They won’t be back in till day after tomorrow, I don’t expect,” Jace said. He turned to Jim Bledsoe behind him, who seemed just as surprised as he. “Where is Logan, Jim?”

  “He’s with Bob and that bunch at the line camp, over by Jackrabbit Creek,” Bledsoe answered.

  “How far is that?” Quincy asked, not at all pleased with the way things were going.

  “That’s about eight miles east of here,” Jace said. “It’d be pretty hard to find, especially at night. Best thing for you to do would be to wait till mornin’. I can tell you a whole lot better how to get there if you can see where you’re goin’.”

  “It’d be a whole lot quicker if you send a man to show us the way,” Quincy said. “And you’d be helpin’ the law bring a killer to justice,” he added when Jace seemed hesitant.

  “Logan Cross murdered a man,” Jace murmured in disbelief. “I swear, I’d like to hear what Logan has to say about it.” He shook his head slowly, still not responding to Quincy’s request for a guide. After a long moment, he looked at Towson and asked, “Whadda you think, Tom?”

  Towson exhaled a long breath and shook his head. “I reckon it’s the right thing to do. We sure stand for law and order, so send somebody to take them to the line shack.”