The Devil's Posse

by Charles G. West

  “All right,” Jace said. “Jim, you can take ’em over there in the mornin’. Pack up some supplies and you can stay with Bob and take Logan’s place. The rest of the boys can handle things back here at the ranch.”

  “I reckon you and your men can camp here tonight,” Towson said to Quincy. “You can sleep in the bunkhouse if you want to, since most of the men ain’t here.”

  “That’s mighty neighborly of you, sir,” Quincy said. “But we’re used to campin’ on the run, so we’ll just make us a camp right by the creek down there.”

  “Suit yourself,” Towson said, still finding the entire turn of events hard to believe. “Where are you based? We ain’t ever seen hide nor hair of a federal marshal around here.”

  Quincy tried to think quickly. “Fort Meade,” he said. “I ride outta Fort Meade.”

  “Well, I never knew there was a marshal’s office over there,” Towson said. He shrugged indifferently. “Like I said, you’re welcome to use our bunkhouse, if you change your mind, and you can eat breakfast with us in the morning before you get started.”

  “Much obliged. We’ll take you up on the breakfast.” Quincy climbed back into the saddle again and led his sullen followers toward the creek.

  After they left, Jace and the others stayed by the fire a little longer, discussing the surprising turn of events.

  “You think you can know a man, just by the way he talks,” Jace said. “But damn, I reckon you can’t ever tell what’s goin’ on inside his head.”

  “He was a damn good cowhand,” Towson said. “I hate to lose him.”

  * * *

  For some reason, he wasn’t really sleepy, so Logan rolled out of his blanket and moved quietly out of the shack that served as a line camp, being careful not to wake Bob Whitley and Lou Cheatam. He stood just outside the door of the shack for a few minutes and studied the moon hanging like a lantern over the faraway hills. Judging by the size of it, it would be full in a couple of days.

  After another minute or so, he walked over closer to the creek bank to see if there were any nighttime critters working the dark water. He had wondered how it got the name Jackrabbit Creek, and Lou had told him that he was sure it was because of how crooked it was. It had so many sharp bends and cutbacks that it resembled a rabbit’s hind leg in places. The thought brought a smile to Logan’s face.

  He decided that he was in a better place as far as his mind was concerned. He hadn’t really gotten over Billy’s loss. He supposed he never would, because he felt he had failed to protect his younger brother. But his mind was more at ease since he had the good fortune to sign on with the Triple-T. There was a simple peace about herding cattle. The hours were long, and sometimes hard, depending on the weather. But overall, it was an occupation that called for little more than common sense.

  A low whinny from one of the horses in the small corral next to the shack snared his attention. A few seconds later, a couple of the other horses spoke.

  They hear something, he thought. Maybe a wolf or a coyote is snooping around.

  He hesitated awhile longer to see if he could find out what they had heard. Then it came to him, the sound of the soft beat of a horse’s hooves on the bank of the creek. He remained there at the corner of the corral to see who the midnight visitor might be. It didn’t occur to him that, as a precaution, maybe he should go back in the shack to get his rifle.

  Only seconds passed before he saw the dark outline of a horse and rider approaching. It was a sizable man in the saddle. That much was obvious, but he couldn’t identify him until he splashed across the creek and pulled up before the corral.

  “Ox?” Logan exclaimed, surprised. “What are you doin’ out here in the middle of the night?”

  The big man dismounted. “Logan?” he responded. “I came to find you.”

  “In the middle of the night?” Logan replied. “What for?”

  “They came lookin’ for you, back at the ranch, and they’re comin’ out here in the mornin’ to get you. You’ve got to hightail it away from here.”

  “Who?” Logan asked. “Who’s comin’ to get me?”

  “A U.S. Marshal!” Ox blurted excitedly. “Outta Fort Meade, and he’s got five men with him, come to arrest you.” He hesitated before saying, “For murder, he said, for killin’ two men in Deadwood Gulch.”

  The news struck Logan like a blow in his chest. A marshal? He had not really thought that the local sheriff would bother to pursue him once he was out of the Black Hills, but evidently somebody had called in the U.S. Marshal Service and they had sent a posse after him. It was time for a tough decision, to turn himself in and rely on the judge and jury to decide whether he was justified in killing the man who murdered Billy—or to run.

  “You’ve got to get outta here!” Ox repeated, when Logan seemed to be hesitating.

  “You’re right,” Logan decided then, conceding to his natural instincts to survive. He had no way of knowing if he would get a fair trial or not. In fact, he wasn’t sure he could rely on a posse to take him back for trial. They might deem it a lot less trouble just to hang him and be done with him. That settled, he brought his thoughts back to the way he had been warned. He did not fail to see the irony in the fact that it was Ox who had taken it upon himself to ride out to warn him—the only man in the crew on the Triple-T whom Logan had had trouble with. “You mighta risked your neck, ridin’ out here to tell me,” he said to him.

  “Didn’t nobody see me slip out,” Ox said. “Them fellers went down near the creek and made camp. I didn’t tell none of our boys I was goin’, either. I’ll slip back in before mornin’.”

  “You’re a good friend,” Logan said to the simple giant. “I ’preciate what you’ve done for me. I just wanna make sure they don’t find out you rode out here to tell me. You’d best swap for a fresh horse to go back on.” He started to return to the shack to get his things, but paused and turned back to Ox. “I reckon I owe you the truth of the matter. They’re right. I did kill two men in Montana City, and I shot ’em because they murdered my brother. My brother woulda done the same for me, if the situation had been turned around.”

  Ox made no judgments. In his mind, Logan was an honest man, a man who had gotten the best of him when Ox forced him to fight, and then made no mention of it to anyone else. Ox appreciated that. His reputation as a fighter was all he had, and Logan could easily have taken it from him.

  “I reckon if you shot ’em, they was needin’ to be shot,” he said.

  “Thanks for that,” Logan said. “And thanks for givin’ me a head start. I reckon I’d best get my gear together and get on my way.”

  “I expect so,” Ox said, and followed him to the corral.

  Logan pulled his saddle off the top rail of the corral and called Pepper. The obedient horse came at once and stood patiently while Logan saddled him. “I’ve got my other horse back at the ranch,” he said to Ox. “You know, that buckskin. I truly hate to leave that horse behind. That was my brother Billy’s horse. Maybe I’ll get back there one day to get him.”

  “I’ll look after him for you,” Ox volunteered.

  By this time, their conversation, although hushed, had awakened the two men still inside the shack. “What the hell’s goin’ on, Logan?” Bob Whitley asked, coming out the door. Then, seeing Ox, he asked, “Where’d you come from?” Before he could get an answer, Lou Cheatam staggered out, still half-asleep.

  Busy checking his saddlebags and tying down the gear he had with him, Logan answered Bob’s questions. “I reckon I’m gonna have to turn slacker on you boys. Looks like my past has caught up with me, and I’ve gotta make tracks.”

  “What the hell are you talkin’ about?” Lou asked. “Where are you goin’?”

  “I don’t know, to tell you the truth,” Logan said, and went inside to get his bedroll and war bag with his cooking utensils. When he came back, he said, “And I most
likely wouldn’t tell you if I did. That way, you wouldn’t have to decide whether to lie for me or not.”

  Still in the dark, Bob turned to Ox, who was also busy changing his saddle over to a fresh horse to make the ride back to the ranch that night. “What’s he talkin’ about, Ox?”

  Ox told them the story while Logan finished his preparations to depart. When he had finished, both Bob and Lou stood dumbfounded, scarcely believing that the man they had been driving cows with for the past several days was the same man who was wanted for murdering two men.

  “Damn, Logan, I swear . . . ,” Lou muttered, unable to think of what to say.

  “They killed his brother, them two men,” Ox reminded them, still trying to justify Logan’s actions.

  “I reckon you’re right,” Bob allowed. “What’ll we tell that posse when it shows up here tomorrow?”

  “We’ll tell ’em we ain’t seen you,” Lou suggested.

  “I ’preciate it, fellows, but accordin’ to what Ox says, they know I’m out here with you boys. I just want you to tell ’em the truth. Tell ’em which way I went when I leave here. That way you won’t get crossed up in any lies. They might have a tracker with ’em anyway. I don’t plan on leavin’ much of a trail for them to follow.” He stepped up into the saddle. “I’d ’preciate it if you’d tell Jace I’m right sorry about this, and I thank him for givin’ me the job.” All three responded, saying that they surely would. He looked at Ox then, standing by his stirrup, reached down to shake his hand, and said, “You’re a good man, my friend. Maybe I’ll see you again.” He turned Pepper’s head toward the low hills to the east and gave him a nudge with his heels. “Good luck with the cattle.”

  “I swear . . . ,” Lou uttered again, as the three Triple-T riders stood watching until he disappeared into the night.

  “Well, I’ve got a piece of ridin’ to do, if I’m gonna get back to the ranch before daybreak,” Ox said, and stepped up into the saddle.

  “Well, I ain’t waitin’ around this shack in the mornin’, waitin’ for that posse to show up,” Bob declared. “We’ve got cattle to find, and it’ll be that posse’s job to track us down.”

  “By God . . . ,” Lou agreed.

  Chapter 9

  “How much farther is this damn line camp?” Quincy asked, pulling up beside Jim Bledsoe.

  “We’re just about there,” Jim said. He pointed toward a dark line of trees on the otherwise treeless plain. “That’s Jackrabbit Creek. The camp’s just on the other side of it.”

  Quincy squinted to see in the glare of the sun, feeling his heartbeat quicken with anticipation. He beckoned for Lonnie to come up beside him. Then he reined back to let Bledsoe go on ahead. “It’s on the other side of that creek you can see up ahead,” he said to Lonnie.

  “Right,” Lonnie replied. “How you wanna do this? You wanna make out like we’re arrestin’ him?”

  “I ain’t wastin’ the time,” Quincy said. “Get Lacey up here. I want him to sing out as soon as he sees him, and then I wanna fill that son of a bitch so full of lead he won’t float in that damn creek.”

  “What about those other fellers at that camp?” Lonnie asked. “We got a good deal goin’ here with this posse thing. It wouldn’t hurt to ride it a little further. Maybe we oughta arrest Cross, and wait till we’re away from here to kill him.”

  “Maybe,” Quincy allowed, although he was not certain he could restrain himself once he caught sight of the man who killed Jake. “We’ll wait and see what he does when we get there. If he starts to run, shoot him down.”

  “What about the rest of them?” Lonnie asked again.

  Impatient with his cousin’s concerns about the Triple-T hands, Quincy barked, “Damn it, we’ll kill the whole damn bunch, if they cause any trouble. Then you won’t have to worry about anybody talkin’.”

  Lonnie shrugged and said nothing more. He would have preferred milking the ruse of being lawmen as long as they were able to get away with it. But he knew there was no use pressing Quincy further.

  “Hell, we’ll tell ’em Cross shot ’em after we got here,” Quincy said.

  “They ain’t here,” Jim Bledsoe announced unnecessarily as the so-called posse approached the line shack by the creek. The corral was empty, which told him that the extra horses had been turned out to graze and the men were already searching the outer boundary for stray cattle. It didn’t surprise him. The sun was already peeking over the horizon. Bledsoe looked at Quincy, waiting to see what he wanted to do now. He was hoping that his services were no longer needed, and he would be free to catch up with Logan and the others on his own. If he could shake loose from this posse, he might have a little time to warn Logan.

  “Well, this here’s the line shack,” he said to Quincy. “No tellin’ where the boys might be workin’, but they’ll most likely be back here tonight.” It was obvious by the dark frown on the marshal’s face that Quincy was not happy with the situation. “I reckon you don’t need me no more, so I’ll go on back to work,” Jim said.

  “The hell you will,” Quincy fired back at once. “You’ll stay right here with us. You know this range, so you know where the damn cows like to bunch up. You’re gonna show us where they’ll likely be.”

  Jim took one look at the menacing frown on Quincy’s face, then quickly glanced at the threatening leers of his posse riders. He saw no mercy in those faces, and no healthy way for him to object. So he quickly decided he had no sensible option.

  “Why, sure,” he said. “I can do that—always wanna help the law any way I can.” I don’t know if you’re in the right or wrong, Logan, he thought, but there ain’t much I can do for you now.

  He figured there was no sense in trying to lead the posse astray, so he started out to the east, knowing that to be the direction Logan and the others would most likely be working in.

  Quincy pulled up beside him. “What did you say your name was?” he asked.

  “Jim,” Bledsoe answered.

  “Well, Jim, I reckon I oughta tell you that I’m gonna catch up with Logan Cross just as sure as that sun is risin’ up over that mesa yonder. So you might be thinkin’ about leadin’ me on a wild-goose chase, but I promise you, if we don’t find him pretty soon, I’m gonna be mighty unhappy with you. You understand?”

  “Oh, yes, sir, I understand,” Jim quickly assured him. “I know better than to get in the way of a lawman doin’ his duty.”

  “Good,” Quincy said. He looked back at Lonnie and winked.

  It took over an hour, enough time for Bledsoe to start worrying, but finally they spotted a herd of about forty cattle coming up out of a grassy draw. Two riders could be seen coming up behind the cows, still a good distance away. “Get them rifles ready!” Quincy called back over his shoulder and drew his from his saddle scabbard. “Lonnie, you and Stokes move out a ways to the left. Wormy and Lacey can fan out to the right. I wanna close in around ’em, in case he starts to run right off.”

  Although some distance away as yet, the two drovers were easily recognized by Bledsoe. “He ain’t here,” he yelled to Quincy. When Quincy appeared not to understand, Jim repeated it. “I don’t see Logan Cross. That’s Lou Cheatam and Bob Whitley drivin’ those cows.”

  “Well, where the hell is he?” Quincy demanded, frantically scanning the prairie behind the two coming toward them, his finger resting lightly on the trigger of his Spencer carbine. He kicked his horse hard and galloped around the herd to come up before the startled drovers. “Logan Cross!” he yelled at them. “Where is Logan Cross?”

  Both men pulled up at once as the rest of Quincy’s men galloped up behind him. “He’s gone,” Bob Whitley answered.

  “Gone where?” Quincy roared.

  “Don’t know,” Lou said. “He took off last night. Didn’t say where he was goin’, and didn’t say why. Me and Bob was wonderin’ the same thing. He just said he had to go.” He l
ooked at Bledsoe then, trying to appear clueless. “Left me and Bob shorthanded. I hope you can stay out here to help us.”

  “Jace told me to stay with you boys, since the marshal here was plannin’ to arrest Logan,” Bledsoe said. “They’re wantin’ Logan for shootin’ some fellers.”

  “You don’t say,” Bob replied. “Well, I never woulda thought that.”

  “Where did he go?” Quincy demanded, seething with anger now, and not at all convinced that Jim and Bob were as innocent as they attempted to appear. His hand automatically cocked the carbine, causing his men to do the same. It had the intended effect on the three Triple-T hands.

  “Swear to God, Marshal,” Bob blurted. “He took off in the middle of the night. Said he had to go, but he wouldn’t say where he was headin, or why. Ain’t that right, Lou?” Lou nodded vigorously to confirm it.

  It was easy to see the frustration settle upon Quincy as he gripped the carbine in his hands so tightly it appeared that he might break the weapon in two. Worried that his anger might blow up at any minute, Lonnie moved up close to him.

  “We’ll find him,” he assured him again. “Might have to do a little trackin’, but he can’t have got too far.”

  Quincy stared at him with eyes glazed with anger. “I want him dead,” he said. “He killed my brother. I want him dead.”

  “I know, Quincy,” Lonnie said softly, looking around to make sure the Triple-T hands could not hear their conversation. “I want him dead, too, just as much as you do. Jake was my cousin. We got to be careful these fellers don’t hear us talkin’. What we gotta do now is go back to that line shack and see if we can pick up his trail. Then we’ll stay on his trail till we track him down. His luck’s gonna run out before long.”

  Gradually Quincy seemed to regain control of his emotions, much to Lonnie’s relief. It wouldn’t do for the rest of the men to know how bad Quincy’s crazy spells were getting. Some of them might start thinking about deserting, and Lonnie was convinced that they would be needed when Quincy was done avenging Jake. Then the gang could get back to the business of robbing stagecoaches. Satisfied that his cousin was under control again, Lonnie spoke loud enough for the others to hear. “Quincy said we’re goin’ back to that shack and pick up Cross’s trail. We’ll rest up the horses and fix us somethin’ to eat when we get there.”