by Jake Logan
The rear guard, Tar Boy, rode in and dismounted. Mia was busy gathering the leads and reins. Dog told them to be very quiet, and then he threw his leg over and slipped off his horse. On his feet, he pulled the pants out of his crotch and winced at his sore rectum. Their plan better go well.
They left Mia and hurried through the dark timber. A wolf high above them on the rim cut loose, and his cry echoed. Dog wanted to shut him up—might wake the hunters. Without a pause for concern, Snake moved on. They eased by the snoring horses and mules on a picket line. The strong ammonia stink of their urine scalded Dog’s nose, but they looked like fine, stout animals in the darkness.
Snake halted at the edge of the camp. On his haunches, Dog squatted. The smoke from the dying fire burned his eyes and nostrils as he surveyed the dark camp. Nothing stirred. Then, above the small creek’s rush, he heard the sounds of someone snoring. Dog nodded his approval. Even in the starlight, he could see that the camp setup indicated wealth.
He gave a nod for Snake to lead the way. Each man had out his own large sharp knife. They hesitated at the edge of the tent. Snake tried the flap and it was not tied. They exchanged nods. Dog changed hands with his knife, wiped his wet palm, and then regripped the elkhorn handle.
“Go,” he said in a soft whisper.
Snake went in first and went left. On his heels, Dog stepped right, and he could hear the man snoring on his side of the tent. Knife poised to strike, he half-stumbled in the darkness over a saddle on the ground. Recovering, he drove the blade deep into the blanketed form.
A strangled scream came from the left. “They got me—”
Dog ignored the man’s words, repeatedly stabbing the struggling form on the right until his hand at last grasped the victim’s hair and he slashed his throat in a final swipe.
Satisfied the man was dead, he sat on the ground, out of breath and trembling all over. Finally, he shouted for Tar Boy to bring a light. Wiping the blade off on his pants, he realized from the wetness in his crotch that he’d ejaculated.
“Sumbitch die hard,” Snake grumbled when Tar Boy lifted the flap and held up the coal oil light to illuminate the bloody massacre.
“Drag ’em outside and scalp ’em,” Dog ordered as he struggled to stand. They needed to make it appear like the Sioux had been responsible. The copper smell of blood and the sourness of severed guts made the atmosphere in the tent hard to take. He felt better outside in the starlight.
When Snake and Tar Boy pulled the first body outside, Dog dropped on his knees and began to search it for money. “Hold the light,” he shouted at Mia.
It was the money belt he felt first. A canvas belt bulged under the corpse’s shirt. He ripped the shirt open in the dim light and then undid the buckles and jerked the belt free. Hefting the weight of it, he smiled to himself—lots of real money in it. They’d found a treasure.
The twosome brought out the second body and dumped it on the ground. “What you find?” Snake asked.
“Maybe our ticket out of here.”
“Huh?”
Dog shook his head in disgust at the breed’s stupidity. “I mean the money to go where we want to go.”
Snake made a face. “I don’t want to go anywhere else.”
“Good, then you stay here.” No use even talking to him. He was a blanket-ass Injun and beyond saving. Dog checked the first pouch on the belt. Full of shiny twenty-dollar gold pieces that spilled out and amazed Dog. Those two must have sold a large herd or something.
“Maybe buy us women,” Snake said to Dog, motioning toward Tar Boy.
“Maybe,” Dog said. “Get their clothing off them. It must look like those Sioux did this.”
“Why? Who cares who killed them?” Snake asked.
“’Cause the law will find them and look for their killers.”
“Hmm, looks like lots of work for nothing,” Snake grumbled.
“Come on, Snake, we can do it,” Tar Boy said, stepping in before Dog expressed his growing wrath at the breed.
“Good. Make us some food,” Dog said to Mia. “Cut the loin off that deer they have hanging.”
She ran off to obey him as he put the coins away in the pouches. They possessed a good tent, saddles, supplies, horses, and money—lots of money. These Texans had been an easy kill. Maybe he would go to town and find some whiskey and a white whore. It might change his luck—besides, he needed a better-looking woman than Mia.
He smiled to himself over his plans as he watched Tar Boy and Snake strip the two bodies of their clothing. There was lots to do. But he was smart enough to do it. The finger must point at the Sioux when the law found the mutilated bodies, and the trail must lead the whites to the Sioux camp.
5
Slocum decided that with the two cowboys to watch things and protect Easter, he’d make a fast trip to Cross Creek and buy some supplies they’d need for the winter. She listed flour, baking powder, dried beans, oats, raisins, sugar, salt, and some matches as the main items. He wanted ammunition for his pistol and rifle too.
Cutter and Roland agreed to stay over. So he and Easter went after the mules to use as his pack animals. They rode Paint double and found the pair down the far end of the meadow.
“You will come back?” she asked, pausing before slipping off from behind him.
“Yes.”
“Good,” she said, and slid off Paint’s rump. With a rope in hand, she went after the mules ten yards away. They acted suspicious for a moment at the figure in her swirling fringe approaching them. But after a snort or two, her seductive words settled them and she fashioned a halter on one and led it back to Slocum.
He took the lead rope and motioned to the second one.
“The other one won’t be left out.” She laughed, and was soon behind him on the saddle, hugging him tight. The mules came after them.
“You never had a white wife?” she asked.
“No.”
Her cheek resting on his back, she made a scolding sound. “Ah, such a shame. I can only think what she missed.”
“Why do you worry about a white woman you don’t know?” he asked as the cabin came into sight.
“I only worry because it has been three days since we did it. See how long I have waited for you!”
He reached back and patted her leg. “I get the message. It’s warm enough that the men can sleep outside tonight.”
“Good.” She hugged him tighter.
That night, with the cabin to themselves, they made love until at last they collapsed in each other’s arms and slept until dawn. Before the sun cracked dawn, they awoke and she hurried about to fix their breakfast in the lamplight.
“You will be careful in that place.”
Seated at the table, sipping his coffee, he nodded. “Careful as I can be.”
“Good. Don’t be gone for too long.” With a wink, she went and unbarred the door to let the men in.
“Morning,” Cutter said. “Roland’s gone after a fat deer we saw sneaking up to the lake.”
“We can use the fresh meat,” she said, busy putting the golden biscuits and bowl of gravy on the table.
“He’s going to miss breakfast is all,” Cutter said, and laughed.
“I’ll cook him some more,” she said. “If he brings in a deer.”
“I’d hate for Roland to starve,” Slocum said. “Guess he better kill it.”
They laughed and the two men settled in at the table, busy eating and talking about the mild weather. She went outside and returned.
“He got it. He’s bringing it in right now.”
“I thought I heard a shot,” Cutter said between forks full of gravy-dripping biscuits.
Slocum nodded in agreement. “I heard one.”
Roland arrived, and they went out to see his large buck in the gray light. The deer was strung up to be skinned and gutted. Then they went back inside.
“Twelve points,” Roland said to her. “Fat as a town dog.”
“Good,” Easter said, getting out more bi
scuits from the Dutch oven. “Better eat or they’ll have it all gone.”
“Well, I figured we needed it.” Roland looked around.
“Sure did and thank you,” Slocum said, slipping on his coat. “I’ll see the three of you in a couple of days. I’m off to Cross Creek for supplies, and I won’t forget a little cheer and some tobacco.”
He gave Easter a hug and went out to saddle his animals. In minutes, she joined him and helped him. When everything was ready, he swept her up, hugged and kissed her. “I’ll be back.”
Then Slocum swung in the saddle and headed out. She reached out to clap him on the leg and smiled as he rode away. “See you soon,” he said.
He cut for the south end of the big meadow. A few elk flushed at his approach and headed for the timber. He ignored them and rode on. When he struck the wagon ruts about mid-morning, he made the animals trot. The road followed a small creek, and he watched for a moose in the willows. But none was in sight. By evening, he was at the eastern brink of the Big Horns, and dropped off into a dark canyon that contained a loud creek. Even the starlight hardly penetrated the pine boughs overhead, but Paint was a good night horse, so Slocum put his trust in him and rode on.
On the flats after the moon rose, he made a dry camp and put nose bags of corn on the animals, leaving them tied. At dawn, he rubbed his gritty eyes and relieved his bladder, then cinched up and rode for Cross Creek. He had not intented to ride into the village without scouting it some. In his cautiousness, he circled and came in at the rear of the wagon yard.
He dismounted behind the raw lumber structure and hitched his animals to the corral. The mules were honking, but he ignored them. A swamper came out rubbing his whisker-bristled mouth with his palm.
“Howdy.”
“Any strangers in town?”
“Not that I seen. Who’re you looking for?”
“Couple of breeds and a black I ran into up north.”
The swamper cleared his mouth again and shook his uncombed mop. “Ain’t seen ’em.”
“Good. Them animals be all right there while I get supplies?” He pressed a silver dollar cartwheel in the man’s calloused hand.
A grin parted his tobacco-stained lips and exposed his rotten teeth. “They’re fine there till hell freezes over, mister.”
“Anything suspicious shows up, send me word.”
“Couple of hunters’re missing.” The old man indicated the Big Horns. “The one fella’s wife’s offering a reward.”
“How much?”
“A hundred. They were supposed to be back yesterday. I figured they just found some big bull elk and are trying to get him packed out.”
“Never saw them.”
“Guess she’ll be getting up a party to go find them.”
“Thanks, I could use the reward.”
The man nodded. “I’m Marty. You need anything, just ask me.”
“Tom White’s mine,” Slocum said with a nod and went through the shadowy, cobwebbed barn, half full with horses standing in tie stalls. The winey-smelling horse piss was strong in his nose. He paused a few feet back from the doorway and studied the street, empty save for a wagon and team across the street in front of Gravette’s Mercantile. Out of habit, he shifted the gun on his waist and pulled down his hat brim before he started across the dry rutted street. He reached the store’s porch and in the shadows paused to look over the rest of the one-block business district. Nothing looked out of place. Some lunger was coughing his guts up, dumping a mop pail off in the dirt down in front of the Magpie Saloon.
A tall, handsome woman was strolling down the opposite boardwalk with a parasol on her shoulder. Kind of fancy-dressed for a place like Cross Creek. No dove, she carried herself like she belonged to respectable society.
He turned and went inside the store illuminated by coal oil lamps. A clerk looked up like some private in a barracks when an officer had entered.
“Yes, sir,” the fresh-faced boy in the white apron said. “May I help you?”
“I need some supplies.”
“Will this be cash or charge, sir?”
“Cash.”
“Very good. I am not the one approves credit is why I asked. I’m Jim.”
“No problem, Jim.” And Slocum began to list the items he wanted: beans, flour, baking powder, coffee, etcetera.
The youth moved swiftly to fill his needs. While Slocum stood at the counter, the small silver bells over the door rang and he turned to see the lovely lady sweep inside.
“That’s Mrs. McCullem,” Jim said in a low voice. “Her husband is missing.”
Slocum nodded. “Marty at the stables mentioned it to me when I arrived. Said they were only a day overdue.”
Jim made a face and shook his head. “More like four now.”
“They’ll probably ride in any day.” Slocum took off his hat for the woman.
“Do you live here, sir?” she asked, looking him over.
“No, ma’am. Why do you ask?”
“I’m looking to hire some men to go into the mountains and search for my husband.”
“What about the sheriff?”
“He doesn’t think there is anything wrong with my husband being overdue on his return.”
Slocum nodded. “I suppose we could look for him.”
“You and who else?”
“Some Texas cowboys staying at my cabin up there.” He motioned toward the direction of the mountains.
“My husband is from Texas. Perhaps they know him.”
“I can ask them.”
“His name is Josh McCullem. He owns the M Bar Ranch.”
The name was familiar to Slocum, though he’d never met the man. He merely acknowledged he’d heard her. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he knew or had heard something about her man—good or bad, it remained beyond his recall.
“I’m sorry—” She broke into his deep reflection. “My name is Lilly McCullem.”
“Tom White,” he said and nodded, replacing his hat. “I’m sure that my friends would agree to searching for him.”
“Then may I hire you?”
“I’m not sure what to say. We’ll look for him and let you know what we find.”
“Mr. White—” She straightened her shoulders so her proud breasts pushed out the dress. “I am a proficient horseback rider and have been on two long cattle drives. I need no special attention. I am ready to pay for your services as guide. When may we leave?”
With a mild smile for her, he nodded. “As soon as I get these supplies on my mules.”
The bell rang and a burly-looking man with whiskers and dressed in overalls stalked into the store.
“Ah, thar you are,” he said, and headed for Mrs. McCullem.
Her blue eyes looked troubled. Then her dark lids narrowed and her mouth set in a tight line. “Mr. Yarnell, I have told you I have no need of your services.”
“Aw, lady—” He rolled his cud of tobacco around in his mouth looking at her like he would a raw piece of beef. “I’m ready to go find your man.”
She shook her head. “Mr. White is going to handle that for me.”
“Huh?” He blinked his bleary eyes in disbelief at her, then craned his head around to look at Slocum.
“Why, that sumbitch couldn’t find his ass with both hands—” His words were cut short by the barrel of Slocum’s .44 punching him in the stomach.
“Apologize to her,” Slocum said in a cutting tone as he drove the man backward toward the door. The eyes of customers and clerks flew open in frozen shock as they watched him make the big man retreat rapidly toward the entrance at the point of his six-gun. He opened the left-side door with his left hand and drove the intruder out on the boardwalk.
“Now get lost.”
“You ain’t seen the last of me, White. I’ll nail your gaw-damned hide to my shithouse door.” He waved a dirty index finger at Slocum as he almost toppled off the edge of the walk. Catching his balance, he spit out a mouthful of tobacco and wiped his lips on
the back of a big ham of a hand.
“Just don’t cuss in front of a lady again unless you have on your Sunday suit.”
The big man frowned at him. “Huh?”
“’Cause they’ll bury you in them overalls. Now get the hell out of here.”
“You ain’t heard the last of Rube Yarnell, White. No, sir.” He waved a threatening finger at Slocum like a gun as he backed across the street.
Slocum holstered his gun and went back inside. Mrs. McCullem stood a few feet from the door. “I am so sorry. The man has been insisting I hire him.”
As the door closed, Slocum turned to her to allay her concern. “How far away is your horse?”
“I can be ready in fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll be at the livery.”
She looked around as if to make certain she wouldn’t be heard, then spoke soflty. “I’m not a bad judge of men. I considered you a man of action. Thank you.”
Slocum opened the door for her and she swept past him with a rustle of her dress. So much for a quiet winter with Easter—somehow he had a notion his life was going to be turned upside down by this woman and her situation.
6
Dog wore the heavy money belt around his waist under his leather shirt. He couldn’t stop from touching the solid shape of it. More money than he’d ever possessed in his life. More money than he took in that stage holdup in Nebraska. More than when he cleaned out the steel safe at the trader’s outpost on the Platte. Enough money to buy a place—but where?
He booted his thin horse down the slope. There had to be a place where he wasn’t an outlaw and could live out his life. But he couldn’t read and barely could count—business people could do such things. They’d rob him like the store man did his mother. When he was a boy, she took three prime wolf skins to this man’s store. He gave her some candy, some wormy flour, and told her she owed him a dollar.
From under his hat brim, he checked the sun time. Past noon already. He wouldn’t be to Cross Creek before late afternoon. No matter. With all his money, he could buy what he needed and impress the white people. Even a breed who had money could be a big man. His mouth filled with saliva. Whiskey—plenty of whiskey—he could buy plenty of it. No cheap rotgut firewater, but the real smooth kind that went down a man’s throat like velvet.