by Jake Logan
“When they were broke, the Denver police came in and arrested them.”
“Convenient, wasn’t it?”
“Good business.” He wrinkled his nose. “The police owed more allegiance to Norma Jean than they did to the Union Pacific.”
“You will let me hire you to find his killers?”
“All that money may be gone.” He looked over at her hard.
She raised her chin. “I have other money.”
He shifted his weight to his other leg. “I meant, he’s liable to blow it before I can catch him.”
“Money is not the object. I want him to face the hangman for his crimes.”
“After I get you back to Cross Creek—”
She shook her head in the dying orange light of sundown. “I’m not going back there until we have him.”
He drew a deep breath, and the smell of the cooking meat and wood smoke filled his nostrils. Grateful they were at a distance from the posse members down by the fire, he phrased his words to convince her she couldn’t go along. “This is serious business. It won’t be nice or easy. It’ll probably snow again in a day or two and this country will be locked up.”
“Slocum,” she said in a low voice, “I don’t fear anything except going back home and knowing—knowing that Josh’s killer is out there free.”
He nodded for a long time considering her words. No way he’d convince her to wait in town. Staring hard at the dark timbered hillside, he finished the cup and beat it against his leg. “It will be a tough, dangerous business and I can’t promise you any success.”
“I trust you’ll do all you can.”
“That might not be enough.”
She clapped him on the arm and rose to her feet. “It will be all I ask.” Straightening, she took the cup. “Now that that is settled, I’ll go help them make some biscuits. The venison will be done enough to eat soon.” Standing above him and looking around, she hesitated. “Josh would have been happy to live up here. It’s a good place for the graves.”
“I’m glad it is,” Slocum said.
“You know what will be the hardest part for me?”
“No.”
“Telling the woman who raised him that he’s gone.”
“His mother?”
“No, Comanches killed her when he was three. His aunt, her sister Marge, raised him. But she was Mom to him.”
A grim set to his lips, he nodded. “That will be hard.”
She went to check on the cooking. He watched her move toward the fire; she’d never shed a tear all day with the burial. He knew she was holding it back like a great dam and one day it would burst. Then she’d have it resolved—maybe she’d resolve it when her husband’s killers were caught.
At dawn, the sheriff rustled his grumbling army out of their bedrolls for coffee, more venison, and biscuits. The bleary-eyed posse members huddled under blankets in the cold, eating and swilling down the hot Arbuckle’s finest. The valley sat painted silver with a hoary frost, and the men’s breath came out in great clouds.
One man, watering his horse, slipped and fell lengthwise into the small creek. After much laughter, they soon had him undressed and wrapped in blankets and his clothing drying at the fire. Saddles were tossed on the mounts, and a few of the horses bucked around under their riders. Hat-waving men still on foot herded the buckers, shouted, and laughed at their cohorts’ plight.
On his stout horse, Sheriff Hankins, after flattening his mustache with the web of his hand for the sixth time, scowled at it all. “Anyone ain’t in the saddle in two minutes is going to be left behind.”
He reined around and spoke to Slocum. “Guess you’ll show her back to town?”
“I can’t talk much sense in her. She wants to run down the killers.”
The sheriff looked displeased. “Hell, she ought to know better’n that.”
“She’s had a big loss. I’ll look out for her.”
“I guess you have so far.” Hankins lowered his voice. “I’d rather have her with me than this whole bunch.”
Slocum grinned, reached up, and shook his hand. “You going to look for the renegades over east where I saw their camp?”
“Try. You be careful. That breed, I figure, by hisself killed all those Yarnells, and they weren’t Sunday-school teachers either.” He checked his horse.
“I will. You look out for that Shoshone girl Easter. If you find her, make sure she gets a good start back, you know what I mean?”
Hankins agreed with a firm nod and waved his arm over his head. “Let’s ride. Daylight’s burning.”
The posse short-loped up the eastern slope, following Slocum’s directions to where they had been camped earlier. He watched them climb the hillside for the ridge. Some horses still acted unruly with their riders fighting with them. Satisfied, he turned back to the fire where Lilly was packing up.
Two posse members had stayed with a third one, the man who was drying out from his fall in the creek. Obviously, they’d had enough playing lawman, and were helping Lilly reload the panniers before they headed for home.
Slocum tossed the saddles on their two horses and cinched them up. Then he rolled up their bedrolls, grateful for the extra blankets some of the posse had given them. Even with the added cover, it sure wasn’t as warm sleeping by himself as it was with her. But for the sake of respectability, they’d slept apart.
“Where will we go next?” she asked, meeting him coming down to the fire leading the saddle animals.
“There has to be some sign that Hankins missed. I think they went south and may have moved into the lower Big Horns.”
“What’s down there?”
“Some riffraff wanted by the law somewhere. And some Mormon widows.”
“Widows?”
“Not really. But that’s a nice name for discarded wives. Their husbands put them out there to watch after some range cattle and scratch a living out of some creek bottom while they live with the newest young wife over in Utah.”
“Polygamy?”
“Yes. They say there’s a way a man on the run can easy-like slip down the spine of the Big Horns, cut over into Green River country and down into the Arizona Strip, and make his way to Mexico. There’s plenty of those small remote ranches to stay at for a few coins.”
“Will Red Dog go that way?”
“I don’t figure he’s looking for a home coming back up in Montana unless he’s willing to risk a lynching party. With the money he took, all he wants to do is keep his head down and get the hell away.”
“So where do we start?”
“He has a good head start and we might—”
“Might what?”
“Take a big step and cut straight off in that direction and see if he’s shown up down there.” He pointed south with his forefinger.
“And if he hasn’t?”
“We can always come back to the high country and search every cabin and cave.”
She agreed. “You mentioned winter coming on.”
“We’ll cross that river when we get to it.”
“Fine, you’re in charge. The mules are loaded. I’m ready.”
“Let’s go.” Slocum turned to shake the remaining posse men’s hands and thanked them before he stepped up on Paint and he and Lilly headed south.
She looked around as the rising sun heated them. “I spent my honeymoon on a pack trip.”
“Where to?”
“Josh took me to his ranch in the hill country. It was fun and we had only one brush with the Comanche along the way. We about rode right into a war party in a deep canyon. It was too close. We hid in the live oak until they went past.” She smiled slightly. “But I still like the adventure of a pack trip.”
By afternoon they were winding down into the broken country of junipers and mesas. The ridges were roached with lodgepole pines and the valleys with cottonwoods that still wore their coats of golden leaves. The afternoon sun’s slanting warmth forced them to shed their coats.
“No one live ar
ound here?” she asked as they rode beside a silver stream that one could easily leap over.
“A few trappers like Davis. And some Mormon widows are scattered out south of here.”
“How many widows?”
“Not over a handful—three or four, and they’re so scattered out on separate ranches and so far apart, they can’t even get together.”
“What do they do if they get sick or—” She turned her palms up as they rode.
“I’ve heard two of them say they’ve had babies by themselves.”
“Oh, no—”
“Hey, all I’ve done is passed through here.” He turned and saw the flicker of rider and horse on their back trail. No hat—
She laughed aloud at his words—he stuck his hand out with a frown to silence her.
“What’s wrong?” she hissed, and her eyes cut around to see what was wrong.
“Don’t look back, but we’ve got company.”
“Who?”
“I suspect those renegades. Head this pack train for that grove. I’ll be beating their butts.”
She put spurs to her sorrel and he moved in to spook the mules. They began running and honking. Hooves pounding the short grass, they swept down the valley. As Paint crowded the mules, Slocum drew his Colt and twisted in the saddle. Three war-painted bucks were sweeping off the steep hillside with bows and arrows. A fourth one was directly behind. He sent an arrow past Slocum that thudded into the pack without doing damage. In reply Slocum shot at him twice, and the buffalo pony spooked sideways, dropping his rider off in a tumble. One down.
The grove drew closer and the mules were running hard with Lilly. But they were still some distance away, an eighth of a mile. She turned the sorrel and mules off into the creek in a great splash, then up the far bank with Slocum close behind, worrying about the other two renegades.
“You’re doing great!” he shouted.
Grim-faced, she nodded at him and kept on riding. They slid to a halt amid the gnarled trunks of the ancient cottonwoods. He holstered his Colt and slipped the rifle out as he stepped down.
On his knee, he took aim and put the center blade of the sight on the piebald horse of the lead renegade coming out of the water and cresting the low bank. He pulled the trigger, and the black and white pony broke his stride and fell sideways into the path of a bald-faced bay. The collision threw both riders off their mounts. The third one reined up and swung around. Slocum’s next shot missed him.
“Here,” she said out of breath, and handed him her rifle. “I’ll reload that one.”
He accepted it and nodded. “I’ve got to go get them before they recover. You stay low.”
“No—”
He was already gathering the reins. While they were undecided, he needed to take them if he could. In the saddle, he gave her a sharp nod. “Get under cover.”
Then he slapped Paint on the butt with his rifle to get him turned around. It was do or die in this valley. He had no intention of dying. Screaming like a banshee, he headed for the two, who were crossing the creek on foot to escape his wrath.
12
Red Dog’s head felt like a busted pumpkin. Still groggy, he found himself facedown on a dirt floor. Acrid dust filled his nostrils. He was also tied up. His body felt so cold he shivered, realizing then that he had no pants on and his bare legs and butt were exposed. Where in the hell—
“I see you done woke up,” a woman’s sharp voice suddenly said.
He tried to roll over and see her, but as bound up as he found himself, that was not possible. He was frantic to get loose, and his thoughts were in a whirlwind. What should he do next?
“Well, a cat got your tongue?” she demanded.
“No.”
“I should’a kilt yeah. Nerve of you, breaking in here and raping me.”
He never answered her.
A swift kick to his kidneys made him grunt. “Who was that black and breed come in here and robbed you anyway?”
“Tar Boy and Snake.”
“They’s gone.”
‘Where?”
“How the hell would I know? They left. They’re your friends, ain’t they? If your kind ever has any friends.”
“They work for me.”
He heard her pull out a chair behind him.
“They did,” she said. “How much damn money was in that dang belt anyway?”
“Don’t know.”
“You mean you didn’t know how much money you had? Lord, I can tell you to the penny how much I have.”
He raised his head up to relieve the kink in his neck, still unable to see her because she was behind him. “How much?” he asked.
“Seventy-three cents.”
“How come so much money?”
“Ain’t none of your damn business.” She kicked him in the shoulder with her bare toe.
“How did you earn that out here?”
“A cowboy rode by one day a few weeks ago. He said he was near broke and out of work, could he trade me some labor for a meal and letting him stay overnight. I said sure. I don’t get much company.”
“And?” Straining at his binds had done nothing to make them looser. His efforts only cut the cords deeper into his skin.
“Aw, he split stove wood, and a pile of it too. He was a hard worker. I fed him. He kept looking at me. You know how a man looks at a woman when he’s been out sleeping with the dry cows for months?”
“Yeah.”
“I said how much money you got? ‘Seventy-three cents.’ Fair enough, give it to me.”
“He did?”
“Yeah, he did.” And she laughed. “Stayed three days and I have enough stove wood to do me six months. But you’re different. Guess I should’ve kilt you right off when them two left you.”
“How long they been gone?” He closed his eyes in disgust over his dilemma.
“Since morning. It’s mid-afternoon now. I begged ’em to take you along.”
“What did they say?”
“That black one, he said no. They was fixing on moving fast. I can’t for the life of me figure why they left you alive anyway. They knowed sure as sin you’d follow ’em for all that money.”
Dumb, they were both dumb. He sneezed from the dirt and drew his body up in a ball. “Untie me.”
“I untie you and you’d overpower me. No, sirree, you’re all right on the ground right now.”
“I’ll give you half the money.” He squeezed his eyes shut to close out the chill.
“I ain’t stupid. You probably double-crossed them two.”
“No, I came to take over your house for a hideout and we were going to stay here all winter.”
“Stay here all winter?”
“Then when spring came, we’d go to Arizona. You ever been there?”
“My sister lives at St. David.”
He had no idea where the hell that place was at. “We get that money back, we can go down there.”
“Why would you need me?”
“Can you count?”
“Sure.”
“Can you read?”
“All those books over there plus the Bible and the Book of Mormon and lots more.”
“You asked why I didn’t know how much money I had.”
“Hmm, if it was so much—”
“I can’t count or read. We’d make good partners. You do all that stuff and I’d do the rest.”
“Rest?”
“Yeah, you’d be sure they don’t cheat us—you know.”
“Yeah, I’d untie you and you’d fly away like a wild goose and I’d be lucky if you didn’t kill me before you left.”
“I swear—”
“Swear to what—you ain’t got any religion.” He heard her sigh and stand up. “I got eggs to gather and a cow to milk.
Maybe after that I can figure out what in the hell to do with you.”
He didn’t answer her. While she was gone doing that, he’d get loose—somehow.
He watched her dusty dress tail, the hem rav
eled from dragging in the dirt, and saw the bare soles of her feet pass him and go out the door.
“Don’t you go nowhere,” she said, and closed the door after herself, shutting off the cold blast that swept over him and chilled him deeper. His shoulders even quaked, he felt so chilled to the bone.
Somehow he had to convince her to be his partner and get her to untie his binds. No use straining, he was tied too well with fresh rope. The binds only cut deeper in his wrists and ankles. If he ever caught Tar Boy and the others—he might cook and eat them all three. Mia especially for going along with them. Why, she’d have been starving over in South Dakota on the reservation if he hadn’t taken her in. The ungrateful little bitch.
How did Tar Boy get Snake to go along on the double cross? Why, that blanket-ass breed would have died outside Fort Lincoln from drinking bad whiskey if Dog hadn’t gone up there and rescued him. Custer never would have taken Snake to the Little Big Horn. Greed got them two. Greed might get her to untie him. He needed to work on it.
The door creaked open and the fresh north wind washed over him. He met her blue-eyed gaze as she swept inside with a milk bucket in one hand and a wicker basket in the other.
“You ain’t gone nowhere,” she said, and whisked by him.
When she was out of his sight, he strained on the ropes behind his back. His left arm was asleep with pins and needles underneath him. He wondered if it would ever work again.
“That ole cow is going dry,” she said. “Them hens are too. I only found three eggs. Must be these shorter days, huh?”
“I don’t know about cows and hens.”
“You mean you ain’t a farmer?”
“No, I’m not a farmer.”
“You know about Mormonism?”
“No.”
“Well, see, you get you some wives and you make them farm for you while you lay up with a new one.”
“I see.”
“No, you’d like that. Most men do.”
“I like money. Those two have it. Let’s get it back.”
“Me and you against them two mean hombres?” She made a pained face.
“They ain’t that tough or they’d’ve taken me face-to-face. They waited till—we were doing it.”
Obviously, she was straining the milk through cheesecloth behind his back. He could clearly smell the strong whang of hot raw milk and heard it pouring into a vessel.