Crow Creek Crossing

by Charles G. West

  “I still feel like a damn fool,” she said. “I didn’t mean to scare you off.” Trying to back out of the situation enough to save face, she repeated, “Like I said, I wasn’t trying to say I loved you, or anything like that. I just wanted to let you know that I hoped you wouldn’t go off and get yourself killed.” She stepped out into the hallway then. “Go on back to sleep, and when you get finished with the thing that’s driving you, remember you’ve got a place to come back to, if you need one.” She didn’t wait for his response but hurried away from his door, thoroughly disgusted with herself for exposing a weakness that she had always hidden from the men of Cheyenne.

  “I’m beholden to ya,” he called after her, feeling equally the fool.

  • • •

  Sleep did not come easily after Mary Lou knocked on his door and set his mind into a whirlpool of confusion. Having been firm in his belief that there would always be only one woman in his life, he was seriously troubled by the thoughts that kept him from sleeping until the early-morning hours. No one could ever replace Ann in his heart. Of that he was certain. But was there room for another? At the moment, he didn’t believe so, and when he finally left his bed at first light, he resolved himself to get his mind back on the business he was committed to. And the best place to heal himself and keep his mind and instincts sharp was with Harley and his Crow friends.

  He paid Leon for his stable bill, then saddled Joe and loaded the buckskin with some supplies he had purchased when he returned to Cheyenne the day before. Ready to leave, he hesitated when a notion to visit the hotel dining room came to him. He wondered if Mary Lou saw him this morning, would she tell him to pretend last night had never happened? He decided that he’d better just get on Joe and ride on out of town. Most likely she’d prefer that he did that. He climbed up into the saddle, gave Leon a nod of farewell, and once again rode out the north road, leaving Cheyenne, and all that had happened there, behind him.

  Standing at the window near the outside entrance to the hotel dining room, Mary Lou watched the lone rider sitting tall in the saddle as he headed for the north road out of town. She had told herself that if he was seriously interested in her, he would come by the dining room before he left. Since he had not, she assumed that she had made a complete fool of herself in confessing her interest in him.

  Well, hell, she thought, I guess I can’t compete with a dead woman. She’ll only become more perfect in his memory as each year goes by.

  • • •

  With a head full of conflicting thoughts, Cole rode back to Medicine Bear’s village. He was resigned to heal and regain his strength, for he anticipated a long, hard journey before the cries from the grave could be stilled in his brain. He resolved to discard any random thoughts of Mary Lou Cagle that happened to invade his mind, and prepare himself to complete the vow he had made.

  He arrived at the banks of the Laramie River late in the afternoon, crossed over to the other side, riding through the pony herd as he guided Joe toward the Crow village a few hundred yards beyond. Several young boys were watching the herd, and they shouted out greetings to him as he passed, calling him by his Crow name, White Wolf. As he rode into the circle of tipis, he was greeted warmly by each person he passed. It was a peaceful scene, and he could very well understand why it appealed to Harley. It was not hard to imagine that he might be drawn to a similar existence, were it not for the terrible responsibility he was bound by. He could not help comparing this peaceful Indian village with a life of planting crops and raising cattle and hogs, as he had planned when he journeyed west with his new bride. Looking back, he wondered if he would have been contented, even with Ann by his side.

  It doesn’t make much difference now, he thought, for he was forced to play the hand fate had dealt him.

  He found Harley sitting by a small fire outside Yellow Calf’s tipi, busy mending a worn bridle. The little man’s face lit up at once upon seeing his young friend. “Well, I was wonderin’ when you’d show up again, but I didn’t expect to see you this soon.” He put his bridle aside and got to his feet. “What happened? Did you finally admit your wound ain’t healed enough to go chasin’ them damn killers in the middle of winter?”

  Realizing then that he really did feel weary, Cole dismounted. “I won’t have to chase Slade Corbett anymore,” he said.

  “You got him?” Harley exclaimed, surprised.

  “Yeah, I got him,” Cole replied calmly.

  “Well, glory be,” Harley said. “I reckon you can take a little time to heal up now. You got Corbett. He was the big dog. Now you need to work on puttin’ it all behind you.”

  “There’s still one more left,” Cole said stoically. “That’s when I can put it all behind me.”

  Disappointed to hear that from him, Harley tried to change his mind, knowing from the start that it was impossible.

  “Damn, Cole,” Harley said. “You’ve settled with the main killer. Slade Corbett was the leader of that gang. That Mexican don’t amount to much as long as you got Corbett and the rest of ’em. Let it go now. I wouldn’t be surprised if he ain’t halfway to Texas by now. He won’t hardly come back to this territory again.” Cole didn’t reply, responding only with a weary smile. Harley knew he was wasting words.

  “You’re right about one thing,” Cole admitted. “I’m feelin’ plumb wore out. This winter weather makes everything hard work. If Yellow Calf and Medicine Bear don’t mind, I figure on stayin’ here till I get my strength back. Then I’ll feel like I’ve got half a chance against that savage.”

  “That’s the smartest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Harley said. “You know you’re welcome here.”

  Having heard Cole ride up outside her tipi, Moon Shadow came out in time to hear Harley’s comment. “White Wolf,” she said in greeting, “Thunder Mouse right. You welcome here. I make you strong.”

  Unable to suppress a grin upon hearing Harley referred to by his Crow name, Cole said, “Many thanks, Moon Shadow. I’m obliged, but I plan to earn my keep. I’ll supply plenty of meat. I ain’t plannin’ on lyin’ around the fire like ol’ Thunder Mouse here.”

  • • •

  Despite a hard winter, his welcome in the Crow camp was evidently the correct treatment for Cole Bonner’s physical condition, and a partial relief for the more serious mental wounds. As the weeks rolled by, he learned the ways of the Crow hunter and warrior: where to find the elk and the mule deer when they took shelter from the winter storms, as well as how to find the hiding places of the small critters when larger game was not abundant. It was a learning process that he readily appreciated.

  Having thought he was a reasonably accomplished hunter before, he realized that his Crow hosts were far more advanced. Before the first months of early spring, however, he was confident that he was equal to the most skillful of the Indian hunters. This, coupled with his accuracy with his Henry rifle, gained him the admiration of the people of Medicine Bear’s village.

  No one felt more gratified by the transformation of Cole than his friend Harley Branch. Watching the young man as he recovered from the wound in his side, and the enthusiasm he exhibited when learning the ways of the forest, Harley had hopes that Cole’s relentless conscience would release him of the fateful vengeance he had sworn to fulfill. He was encouraged by the fact that Cole seldom mentioned the task that still lay before him, and hoped that maybe his young friend had decided to leave the ugly past behind.

  When spring finally arrived, Harley found that an oath once taken by the determined young man was never betrayed. Early on a chilly April morning, Harley woke to find Cole’s blankets empty. Figuring he had taken a notion to go hunting, Harley roused himself to see what he had in mind. Then he noticed that Cole’s saddlebags were missing as well as his saddle. That told Harley that he was planning to be gone for a while. Outside the tipi, he found the saddle and other gear on the ground and saw Cole coming from the pony herd, riding
Joe and leading the buckskin.

  “Looks like you’re fixin’ to be gone for a spell,” Harley said. “What’s on your mind?”

  “I figure it’s time I went about tendin’ to business,” Cole said as he slid off Joe’s back and picked up his saddle.

  Disappointed to hear it, but wise enough to know there was no use trying to talk him out of it, Harley said, “Hell, was you gonna ride off without tellin’ anybody?”

  “No, I was gonna wake you up. I told Yellow Calf and Moon Shadow last night after you turned in early. I’m beholden to them for their kindness and I wanted to tell ’em so.”

  “I reckon your medicine tells you what you gotta do, so there ain’t no use in me sayin’ nothin’,” Harley said. “But you know what I think.”

  “I reckon.”

  “I s’pose you know that you’re always welcome here,” Harley told him. “And if you ask me, this is where you oughta be, or maybe go see them mountains you wanted to see. But you didn’t ask me.”

  “Reckon not.”

  Chapter 13

  As he had done before, Cole rode into Cheyenne to take up his search once again for Jose Sanchez. He had no reason to believe he could pick up Sanchez’s trail there, but he figured he had to start somewhere, and it seemed that he was always drawn back to Crow Creek Crossing.

  There was another reason he returned to Cheyenne, though, one he was not willing to admit. Nevertheless, it was one he could not truthfully deny. Mary Lou Cagle’s last words to him still returned to his thoughts whenever he let his mind wander aimlessly, no matter how much he reminded himself to keep his focus on what he had to do. On this late morning in early spring, however, he found himself at the hitching rail outside the hotel.

  It’s a good place to seek news about any sighting of the man I’m looking for, he told himself. Besides, I’m ready for a solid meal for a change. He decided those thoughts justified dinner in the hotel dining room.

  She saw him as soon as he walked through the door. Tall and rugged, he appeared to be fully recovered from the wound in his side. Thinking of the awkward confession she had left him with when he departed, she was hesitant to display the emotion she felt upon seeing him. Admittedly flustered by his unexpected appearance in the dining room, she retreated to the kitchen to corral her nerves and make an effort to regain her more typically callous facade.

  Maggie, busy helping Beulah peel some potatoes for the standard stew the dining room was noted for, glanced up at Mary Lou when she came into the kitchen. Struck by the odd look on Mary Lou’s face, she took a second look.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Maggie asked. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

  “What?” Mary Lou responded, totally lost in her thoughts. Then she said, “No reason.” Then she confessed. “Cole Bonner,” she declared.

  “Cole Bonner?” Maggie asked. “What about him?”

  “He just walked into the dining room,” Mary Lou replied, trying her best to affect an indifferent expres- sion.

  “Ohhh,” Maggie responded, dragging it out knowingly, for she knew Mary Lou well enough to be aware of her friend’s interest in the sorrowful young man. “Well, we knew he’d show up again, didn’t we? I guess you’d better go wait on him. I’ll be out in a minute or two to say hello myself.”

  “Yes, of course,” Mary Lou said, still trying to maintain her facade as she left the kitchen.

  “Well, hello there, stranger,” she greeted him, as casually as she could affect. “Maggie and I were wondering if we’d see you anytime soon. You look a little more fit than the last time I saw you. I guess you healed up pretty well.”

  “I reckon,” Cole said. “You and Doc Marion musta done a pretty good job, ’cause it doesn’t bother me a’tall anymore.”

  She looked a little different to him than the image he had carried in his thoughts over the winter. It seemed her manner had softened and her smile was warmer. He warned himself not to venture any further with those thoughts.

  “Is Harley with you?” Mary Lou asked, and glanced toward the door as if expecting the swarthy little man to walk in.

  “Nope. I think Harley’s gone completely Injun. He’s found him a comfortable place in the Crow village, and he’s tired of chasin’ around after me, I reckon.”

  Maggie came out then to greet him. Unlike Mary Lou, she gave him a hug. “It’s good to see you again,” she told him. “We’ve been hoping you’d show up now that winter’s let up a little.” Then she asked the question Mary Lou wanted the answer to, but was not willing to ask. “Now that a little time has passed, have you decided to let the past go? Or are you still of a mind to find that fellow, Sanchez?”

  “I reckon,” Cole said. “Ain’t nothin’ happened to change that.”

  “I’ll go get you some coffee,” Mary Lou said, and turned toward the kitchen, afraid that her disappointment would show in her face.

  Damn it, she thought, I don’t know why I waste my time waiting for him to come back from the graveyard.

  “I’ll go fix you a plate,” Maggie said, and followed Mary Lou.

  “’Preciate it,” Cole said.

  In a few moments, Mary Lou came from the kitchen with his coffee. She was placing it before him when a man walked up behind her. “Mind if I join you?” he asked Cole.

  Cole’s eyes had been locked on Mary Lou. He looked beyond her then and recognized a familiar face. It came to him at once. “Mr. Manning,” he said, remembering the Union Pacific foreman. “Have a seat.”

  Stephen Manning pulled a chair back and sank down. “I’ll have a cup of that,” he said to Mary Lou. Turning back to Cole then, he said, “Seems like I keep bumpin’ into you.”

  “Seems that way,” Cole said. “I thought your crew was all out of Cheyenne.”

  “They are,” Manning said. “We’re workin’ over Sherman Hill now. I had to come back to meet some of my bosses from Omaha. They’re supposed to get into Cheyenne tonight. I recommended they stay at the hotel here. It’s a little too rough at the camp at the end of the line. What I shoulda done is get ’em a room in that little hotel they just put up in Laramie City. That would give ’em a taste of what it’s really like at the start of a railroad town.” He punctuated his comment with a laugh.

  “I never heard of Laramie City,” Cole confessed.

  “Not many people have,” Manning said, then paused to thank Mary Lou when she placed his coffee cup on the table before continuing. “Laramie City’s a little town that sprang up overnight when folks found out the railroad was goin’ through there. It was mostly tents and shacks at first, but there’re already a lot of homesteaders stakin’ claims, and some permanent buildings now. I had to go up there with the surveyors, and let me tell you, I thought Cheyenne was wild before I saw Laramie City. But that’s the wildest, most lawless town I’ve ever seen. I was damn glad to get outta there.”

  Manning paused only when Mary Lou brought two plates of food to the table. “I guess you want to eat,” she said to Manning. “You didn’t say.”

  “You guessed right,” he told her, then continued his conversation with Cole. The railroad man seemed eager to talk, so Cole was content to let him, even though only mildly interested in the subject. He preferred not to have to hold up his end of the conversation anyway. “The insane part of it,” Manning said, “is that the town has a marshal.” He gestured toward Cole with his fork to emphasize his next statement. “And the marshal is the biggest crook in town. He wasn’t nothin’ but a gunman before he made himself the marshal. Big Steve Long is his name. He’s got two half brothers named Con and Ace Moyer, and the three of ’em run the whole town. They own a saloon named the Bucket of Blood, and it’s a good name for it. The three of ’em have been harassin’ some of the settlers around there to turn the deeds to their land over to them. The ones that don’t usually wind up in a gunfight with Big Steve Long, and he ain’t lost one
yet. If a man believes in coincidences, then that’s a helluva string of ’em. I’m reportin’ to these people from Omaha that they’re gonna have to get some government help or something to clean that town up before they think about establishin’ a station there. Why, hell, the only people that get along with the marshal are outlaws and gunmen that drift into town.”

  “Sounds pretty wild,” Cole said, not really interested but content to let Manning talk. He seemed to need to tell someone about it.

  “You might think I’m exaggeratin’ it a little,” Manning went on, “but I saw one incident firsthand. I was thirsty one night, so I went into the Bucket of Blood for a drink. There was an argument started at a table in the back, and one of the men got up from the table, pulled out his pistol, and shot the other fellow in the face. And there wasn’t nothin’ done about it—didn’t call for the marshal or nothin’. One of the owners, he was one of the Moyers—Con or Ace, I don’t know which—just dragged the dead man out the front door and dumped his body in the street. The fellow that did the shootin’—he looked like he was a Mexican or somethin’—just ordered another drink like it was just all in a day’s work.”

  With his gaze mainly on Mary Lou on the other side of the room, and paying only slight attention to Manning’s story of Laramie City, Cole suddenly stiffened upright, an alarm triggered in his mind by the word Mexican. “Did you say he was a Mexican?” he interrupted.

  “Yeah, a Mexican. At least he looked like a Mexican to me,” Manning said.

  “Do you know his name?”

  “No,” Manning replied, astonished by Cole’s sudden change of demeanor. “I wouldn’t have any idea. I didn’t hang around to get acquainted.”