The Devil's Posse

by Charles G. West

  Wormy and Stokes could tell by the familiar set of his dark eyebrows that Quincy was approaching one of his angry moods. There was no need to ask if he and Lonnie had detected anything in the house that indicated Cross had been harbored there. They stood by their horses while Quincy and Lonnie were engaged in an earnest discussion on what they should do at this point.

  “He’s done give us the slip again,” Stokes said to Wormy under his breath. “And Quincy looks like he’s about to go into one of his fits.”

  “Yeah, looks like it,” Wormy replied in a whisper. “And Lonnie’s tryin’ to talk some sense into him.” It was a scene they had witnessed many times before, and one that had happened with a lot more frequency ever since Logan Cross killed Jake Morgan.

  Tom Towson came out the door then, pulling a heavy coat on as he walked down to the barn to join them. “I reckon I could say I’m sorry you didn’t find the man you came for, Marshal,” he declared. “But to tell you the truth, I’m just as glad you didn’t find him on my land.” He still preferred to think of Logan Cross as a bright, hardworking young man. It troubled him to think of a young man with so much potential taking the wrong path through life.

  Lonnie spoke up quickly when Quincy failed to respond with his usual touch of showmanship. “Understand what you mean, sir. Me and the marshal wanna thank you for your hospitality. I expect we’re ready to ride out now, get on back to Spearfish. Right, Marshal?” He locked his gaze on Quincy’s eyes.

  “That’s right,” Quincy said, after a moment’s hesitation. Then, seeming to come out of it, he expounded. “Yes, sir, we appreciate the neighborly hospitality. Thank you, sir.” He turned to Lonnie and ordered, “Mount up.”

  Jace walked over to stand next to Towson and they watched the marshal lead his men across the barnyard to strike the trail that led back to the Belle Fourche wagon track. “Kind of a strange fellow, ain’t he, that marshal?” Jace asked.

  “You could sure say that,” Towson replied. “I’m not sure his brain’s laced up real tight.” He paused before concluding, “But I suppose his line of work can make a man go a little bit rattled after a while.”

  “Looks like they got sent off on a wild-goose chase to come back here lookin’ for Logan,” Jace said.

  “Looks that way, all right,” Towson agreed.

  * * *

  The mottled gray gelding stood tied beneath the cottonwood trees that grew along both sides of Towson’s Creek, waiting patiently while the man Quincy Morgan sought knelt on the snow-covered bank a few feet away. There were four of them. He watched them as they rode single file up the path that led to the wagon road. When they were almost to the road, he moved quickly along the bank to a position where he could see them clearly, close enough to see the faces of those who had hunted him. They were not familiar to him. He had never seen any of the four before. But they sought to kill him, so it was time to strike back. He drew the Winchester slowly up to rest against his shoulder and rested the front sight on the back of the rearmost rider.

  He paused before pulling the trigger, a moment of indecision causing him to hesitate. Could he justify what he was about to do? It was too late to question his actions, however. It was either kill or be killed, he decided, and his finger squeezed slowly around the trigger. After that, his actions were automatic without thinking consciously. The first target straightened up violently and slid sideways out of the saddle when the bullet struck between his shoulder blades. A second bullet was already on its way toward the next man in line, and Wormy Jacobs keeled over to join Riley Stokes on the snowy track.

  Quincy and Lonnie were quick in their reactions. With a natural sense of survival, they bolted at a gallop, both men lying low on their horses’ necks. Logan ran between the trees, trying to get a clear shot as they raced along the road toward Spearfish. When he reached the edge of the cottonwoods, he stopped and fired another shot at the fleeing outlaws, missed, and fired again. They were too far for an accurate shot, but he had at least shortened the odds again. Now there were only two against him to play this deadly game to its end. He had no idea who the remaining two were, and whether or not they were committed to taking it to a final conclusion. His first thought was to pursue them in hopes of finishing it for good, so he ran back to the trees where he had left Pepper tied and jumped into the saddle.

  As he approached the road, he pulled up short when he saw the two bodies lying in his path, left by their friends to die. Aware of the possibility of being shot by a wounded man, he decided it wise to make sure they were both dead. So he dismounted and checked the first corpse. Riley Stokes was dead, so Logan moved quickly to check the second man. Wormy Jacobs grunted painfully when Logan rolled him over on his back. He was alive, but just barely. He gazed up at Logan with fearful eyes, pleading for mercy. Logan stood up and aimed his rifle at Wormy’s head, but he hesitated to pull the trigger, reluctant to execute a helpless man.

  “Who are you?” he demanded. “Why were you tryin’ to kill me? What the hell did I ever do to you?”

  “Nothin’,” Wormy gasped painfully. Struggling to get his words out, he started to say more, but Logan was distracted by the sounds of horses approaching from behind him. He turned to see Jace Evans with three of the other men riding out to investigate the shooting. He turned to face them, his rifle held in both hands before him, not sure what their reaction might be upon seeing the two men on the ground.

  “God A’mighty,” Lou Cheatam blurted when the three pulled up at the scene of the shootings, stunned to find Logan standing over one of the bodies.

  “My God, Logan,” Jace exclaimed as he quickly dismounted. “Are they dead?”

  “This one ain’t,” Logan answered simply. Astonished, and clearly not certain what he should do about it, Jace hesitated, trying to decide whether he should have his .44 in hand. When his hand hovered over the weapon, Logan said, “You ain’t got no need for that. I’ve got no reason to harm you.” He glanced quickly at Cheatam and Bledsoe, who had come with Jace, and added, “None of you.” He relaxed his hold on his rifle then and let it drop down to his side, holding it in one hand. “Maybe you can ease this one’s pain a little,” he said, nodding toward Wormy. “There’s two more of ’em gettin’ away. I’m goin’ after ’em.”

  Jace found himself in an awkward position. As far as he knew, Logan had just shot two members of a marshal’s posse, and now he intended to go after the marshal. He could not simply stand by and let him murder a U.S. Marshal. Surely Logan was not in his right mind.

  “I can’t let you do that, Logan,” he said, whipping out his pistol and aiming it at Logan’s belly. “Don’t even think about that rifle. If you raise it, I’ll shoot you down.” When Logan appeared to hesitate, Jace threatened, “I mean it. I ain’t got no choice. I’ve got to know what’s goin’ on here.”

  “Don’t do this, Jace,” Logan pleaded. “You’re costin’ me time.”

  “I can’t help that,” Jace said, confident that he was doing the right thing. “Lou, ride over yonder and get his horse.” Turning back to Logan, he said, “I’ll have to ask you to let Bledsoe take that rifle from you. Don’t give me any trouble, now. I don’t wanna shoot you, but I swear I will, if you do.”

  “I’m sorry, Logan,” Bledsoe said as he took the Winchester out of his hand.

  “Now, the first thing we need to do is take care of this wounded man,” Jace said. He hesitated, uncertain again. “Maybe we’d better tie your hands behind your back, just in case you decide to try somethin’ crazy.”

  “You’re makin’ a big mistake,” Logan said calmly, but he made no attempt to resist when Bledsoe tied his hands with the end of a rope coiled on his saddle, apologizing again while he did it. Logan knew that he had already lost too much time to prevent the other two outlaws from escaping.

  “Okay,” Jace said when Logan’s hands were tied. “Watch him while I see what I can do for this man.” Bledsoe balked
, clearly not wanting to guard Logan, so Jace said, “All right, damn it, I’ll watch Logan. You take a look at the marshal’s man.”

  “You wanna hear what I’ve got to say now?” Logan asked patiently.

  “Well, I reckon I surely would,” Jace replied.

  “In the first place, these two lyin’ here ain’t lawmen, posse men, or nothin’ else to do with the law. They’re outlaws and murderers. And that one that says he’s a marshal is a damn liar. They’ve been huntin’ me for weeks, tryin’ to kill me, because I killed the man who was responsible for murderin’ my brother, and the ones who helped him do it. Now you’ve got the truth of it, Jace, and if that little son of a bitch there don’t wanna go to hell with it on his conscience, maybe he’ll tell you the same thing.”

  Jace was stunned. Could he believe Logan? he wondered. He knelt down beside Wormy. “Watch Logan,” he ordered Bledsoe. “Lou can help you,” he added when Cheatam pulled up, leading Logan’s horse. Turning his attention toward the wounded man, he said, “We’re gonna try to do what we can to help you, you understand?”

  “There ain’t nothin’ you can do for me,” Wormy gasped painfully between coughing fits that brought up great quantities of blood from his lungs. He knew he was dying, and was only intent upon getting it over with.

  “Did you hear what he said?” Jace asked. Wormy didn’t answer but nodded.

  “Is what he said true? Were you and your friends tryin’ to kill him?”

  “Hell no,” Wormy gasped in pain, then reconsidered since he could clearly feel the claws of death reaching out for him. “Yeah, he’s right. Quincy ain’t no marshal. He’s Quincy Morgan, just got out of prison.” A spasm shot through his lungs, causing him to cough feebly and spit up more blood. “The feller with him is Lonnie Morgan, Quincy’s cousin. That was Quincy’s brother Cross killed. I’m sorry for my part in it.” He stiffened with the pain of another spasm, and his body relaxed with the passing of his life.

  Logan and the three Triple-T riders stood in silence for several long moments, amazed by the dying man’s confession. No one knew what to say, so Logan finally spoke up. “Can somebody untie my hands now?” Bledsoe jumped to do his bidding. When he was free, Logan took his rifle back.

  “I reckon I . . . all of us . . . owe you an apology,” Jace said. “But, damn it, we thought that bastard was a U.S. Marshal. He sure acted like one. He had us all fooled.”

  “I shoulda knowed you warn’t the killer they said you was,” Bledsoe said. “But Jace is right. That marshal—I mean that lyin’ skunk—had all of us buffaloed, just like Jace said. Hell, the whole town thought he was the law. You can’t hardly blame us for goin’ along with it.”

  “I don’t,” Logan said. “I thought they were the law, too, even though I found it hard to believe they were after me. I figured it had to be because I shot Jake Morgan. I didn’t know he was that phony marshal’s brother. I shot him because he murdered my brother, Billy. So that’s the whole story, only it ain’t ended yet, not as long as those last two are alive. I’ll be goin’ after them now.”

  “I knew you were in the right,” Ox suddenly spoke up, having been silent to that point. “And I’m thinkin’ you could use some help, so I’ll go with you.”

  Logan was not surprised. “I know you would, and I appreciate it. But I figure this is somethin’ I’ve got to finish by myself. I don’t wanna take a chance on any of my friends gettin’ killed. I’ve already lost my brother. So thank you just the same. I won’t forget it.” Ox started to protest but was stopped by a patient shake of Logan’s head. They all knew that he meant what he said.

  “Well,” Jace concluded, “I reckon there ain’t nothin’ we can do for you except wish you good huntin’.” He paused, then remembered something else he wanted to say. “I reckon you know there’s a job waitin’ for you here on the Triple-T when you finish what you’ve gotta do.”

  “Much obliged, Jace,” Logan said. “I was hopin’ you’d say that.” He looked around him at the circle of concerned faces, all of them nodding as if confirming Jace’s offer. “I reckon I’ll need to take that buckskin of mine, since I don’t know how long I’m gonna take, or how far I might have to go.”

  “I’ll get him for you,” Ox volunteered quickly.

  * * *

  Their hooves thundering upon the hard road, the two horses galloped toward Spearfish, flogged continuously by their frantic riders until they threatened to founder. Forced to pull up to let them rest, Quincy and Lonnie dismounted quickly, drawing their rifles as they did. “I don’t see nobody!” Lonnie exclaimed as he peered back down the road behind them.

  “These horses are spent,” Quincy said, and looked around him for a spot to wait in ambush. “They were set up and waitin’ for us while foolin’ us with all that hospitality. Now they’ll be comin’ after us.”

  “I ain’t so sure,” Lonnie said. “I don’t think there was but one rifle doin’ all the shootin’. It was him, and now he’s killed Stokes and Lacey. There ain’t nobody left but you and me.”

  “We don’t need nobody else,” Quincy said. “We’ll wait for the son of a bitch over there.” He pointed to a low rise that the road curved sharply around. “He won’t be able to see the horses behind that rise, and we’ll knock his ass outta the saddle when he comes down that road.”

  There were really no other options available for them, since their horses were exhausted, so they led them around the bend in the road and left them behind the rise. Once the horses were taken care of, Quincy and Lonnie climbed the rise to take positions at the top. Lying flat on a bed of snow about two inches deep, they aimed their weapons down the road and waited. “Let him come on,” Quincy said.

  When half an hour passed with no sign of pursuit, they entertained the possibility that they might have been tricked. Lonnie rolled over and sat up to look all around behind them.

  “Why ain’t he comin’? There ain’t no way he coulda circled around behind us.”

  “Hell no. He ain’t had time to circle around us.”

  Quincy was impatient for Logan to show up, even more so than Lonnie. And as each additional minute passed with no sign of pursuit, he grew more and more suspicious that they were somehow being tricked. Finally he decided to withdraw.

  “He ain’t comin’. We’ll be better off goin’ on into town. Let’s go.”

  “The horses ain’t hardly rested enough yet,” Lonnie said.

  “We’ll walk and lead ’em awhile longer,” Quincy said. “That’ll be better’n settin’ here like a couple of doves on a fence.”

  Lonnie was not so sure Quincy knew best, but out of habit, he didn’t protest. So they backed away from the top of the rise and went back for the horses. With a distance of about four miles ahead of them, they started down the road to Spearfish, figuring on walking probably around two of those miles before riding the rest of the way. As they walked, Quincy became more and more irritated by the sudden role reversal.

  For so long now, he and his men had hunted one man. And it galled him to be running from that same man. Lonnie reminded him that the crew at the Triple-T were probably standing behind Logan Cross, even though it was Cross alone who shot Wormy and Stokes. They might very well be preparing to ride into Spearfish with him, and that was the reason Cross had not come after them immediately.

  If this was true, then the advantage in numbers would now lie with Cross, leaving Quincy and Lonnie outnumbered. It was something to consider.

  “Somehow the Triple-T knows that you ain’t a marshal,” Lonnie said.

  “I don’t know how the hell they coulda found out unless somebody told ’em,” Quincy replied. “Couldn’t been nobody but Cross himself. They musta believed him, but everybody in town believes he’s an outlaw, and that’s what we’re gonna depend on. That’s why we need to get on back to Spearfish and let those folks know there’s a dangerous killer headin’ their way and they
need to help us fight him.”

  “I hope to hell you’re right,” Lonnie said. They climbed back into their saddles then and rode on into town.

  Chapter 13

  Riding two weary horses, Quincy and Lonnie reined up at the stable in Spearfish. Sam Taylor came out to greet them. “Howdy, Marshal. Where’s the rest of your men?”

  “Well,” Quincy replied, “that’s a terrible thing to have to tell you. They were murdered, all of ’em, by that back-shootin’ coward, Logan Cross. Me and Lonnie are lucky to be here to tell you about it. And while we’re at it, I need to warn you that he might be comin’ this way, so you’d be wise to be ready if he shows up here at your place.”

  Sam was visibly upset by the news. “Why would he wanna do me any harm?” he asked. “The little bit I’ve had to do with him he’s always treated me just fine.”

  “A man like Logan Cross is hard to figure out,” Quincy said. “One day he’ll buy you a drink, and the next he’ll put a bullet in your brain. Some killers are just like that. You just be careful and let us know if you see him in town.”

  “Much obliged, Marshal,” Sam said, still concerned.

  “Give these horses a ration of grain,” Lonnie said to him as they were leaving. “They worked hard today.”

  They went by the saloon and gave Cecil the same story they had given Sam. They even stopped by Fred Ramsey’s dry goods store to alert him to the possibility of Logan Cross’s return, and the danger to everyone in his path.

  “Remember what happened to one of my posse men right there in the roomin’ house,” Quincy said to him. “Don’t mean to frighten you, ma’am,” he said to Fred’s wife, Martha. “Just want you folks to be careful. Let me know if you see him.