Mustang (A John Cutler Western Book 5)

by H. V. Elkin

  The girl called Harriet came through the door at the back and spoke to Iris. Iris nodded and looked toward Cutler. Cutler took the bottle, picked up a battered leather suitcase and weaved his way through the customers to the back room. Inside there was a tub filled with steaming water. He took off his clothes and got in the water with a sigh.

  For a long time he just sat there soaking and drinking and quieting his problem. He tried to concentrate on Iris’ face, but the face kept changing in his mind. It turned into the face of someone he had loved, the woman named Doreen who had been his wife. Sometimes he wished they had never met because if they had not, she might still be alive today. Sometimes he wished he had just kept being a Federal marshal as he had been in Indian Territory, working the Cherokee Strip for Isaac Parker. But he had grown tired of hunting and killing men and had felt compelled to get as far away from it as possible, a ranch in Arizona and building up a herd near the White Mountain Reservation. He took Doreen with him, and she gladly left her school-teaching job in the Cherokee lands to be a rancher’s wife. They had three good years together before she died.

  A grizzly had been roaming the ranch and spooking the cattle. Cutler set a trap for it. Going against everything he knew about trapping, Cutler had skipped a day of checking the trap. That happened to be the day the bear was caught, and that was the day the bear needed to escape by chewing off its own foot. Then, an enraged rogue, it found Doreen hanging clothes in the yard.

  When Cutler found his wife, she was lying in her own blood, but still alive. Her face was bloody, her breast punctured and one arm a mangled stump. She lived long enough to tell him what happened and to say she was sorry the baby would not be born. Then she died in his arms.

  Since that time, Cutler had become a wanderer in search of the silvertip grizzly with a stumped leg. He supported himself by trapping other rogue animals, those that had gone crazy and did not live by their own rules any longer, those that killed only for the sake of killing. His reputation as a trapper of rogues had grown over the years, and he had become as famous for that as he had been as a marshal, the man who cleaned up the Boone gang and the Thomas boys.

  But he had still not found his grizzly. And he could never be at peace with himself until he did.

  The quest had become something besides an obsession. The bear had become as famous as Cutler. Word spread that if such an animal was seen to send word to Iris’ Elkhorn Bar in Tensleep. Cutler would always go there for news. There had been lots of sightings. The bear was seen in the Big Horns. About the same time, the bear was seen a couple hundred miles away in the Rockies. Cutler was not a superstitious man, but sometimes he got the feeling that he was looking for something more than a grizzly. Sometimes he felt the grizzly was watching him from cover. And yet, although the bear had become a legend in itself and as hard to find as any legend, Cutler’s obsession was fed by the sense that he was always getting closer. That and the abiding need to avenge his wife’s murder.

  He could control the pain inside for a month or two when he was out on a job. But as he reached the end, the images came up from deep inside him and tortured him. Then there was nothing to push them back except a bottle or two of whiskey. The liquor never reached his head to deaden his mind. It always went directly to the source of the trouble and made it be still until the next time.

  It was working now. The cold spot was warming up. A glow had started. And the bottle was nearly empty.

  A tap on the door.

  “Yeah?”

  The man Iris had called Snips poked his head in. “You must be the one who wants a barber.”

  “That’s right. Come on in.”

  Snips came in and closed the door. He was carrying a satchel. “What’s that smell?”

  “Trapper.”

  “My apologies.”

  “See those clothes wadded up over in the corner? You burn those and the air in here’ll get a lot better.”

  “Don’t you worry. I got bay rum and stuff to make you smell like a rose garden.”

  Cutler did not exactly smell like a rose garden when he came out of the back room, but he did look like a different person, cleaned, shaved, haircut, new clothes and a bottle of bourbon doing its job inside.

  Iris was waiting at a corner table, an empty chair for him, the one with its back to the corner. There was a fresh bottle on the table and a couple of shot glasses.

  He slid into the chair. “Good to see you, Iris.” He smiled at her, and the smile had the same effect on her that the bourbon did on him.

  “Good to see you, John.”

  He waited.

  “No,” she said. “No new reports of the grizzly.”

  He nodded.

  “But Bill Taylor came by when I was in Cheyenne. Said to say hello if I saw you.”

  “Cheyenne? He still on the farm?”

  “No, he’s off on his own now. Don’t know what he’s doing, but I guess he’ll be all right.”

  “I guess so. A good boy, Bill is. Guess I ought to be callin’ him a man now.”

  “Yes.”

  Cutler poured for both of them.

  “I’ll be here a couple of days,” she said. “Maybe longer.”

  He smiled again. “I don’t have any plans right now.”

  “Good,” she said. “But don’t tell me you came to Thermopolis just to see me.”

  “Supposed to meet a man here.”

  “A job?”

  “Can’t say. Tell you after I see him.” He looked to the door, then back to her. “What’s keepin’ him?”

  “The man with the job?”

  “No, the fella I’m always meetin’ in your places who wants to make a name for himself by takin’ me on.”

  She laughed, and when she spoke, he could hear that trace of her English accent that came out every once in a while. “I doubt you’ll have any trouble here,” she said.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Don’t tell me everybody’s in jail already.”

  “By rights, it ought to be a dangerous place, but it’s just the opposite. Oh, it gets rowdy sometimes, but no robberies, no killings to speak of.”

  “That ain’t too hard to understand. A bird don’t usually dirty its own nest.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well,” he said, “I figure this town’s run by outlaws. Saw Butch Cassidy outside the Hole-in-the-Wall when I rode in. If his whole Bunch is here, there won’t be any trouble probably. It’s the places away from here that got to worry.”

  She nodded. “I guess so. But there might be trouble if you got to feeling like a marshal again.”

  “Iris, I obey the law myself but what another man does is between him and the ones he does it to. I didn’t come here after the Wild Bunch. I don’t do that kind of work anymore.”

  “Suppose one of them came in here and tried to rob the Irish?”

  “Oh, that’d be different. But they won’t.”

  “I seem to recall you doin’ marshal work recently. What about that poacher you got in Cheyenne? Or the ones who were using slave labor in Sonora? Or the man who killed a Comanche woman in Oklahoma?”

  “Okay. When they get involved with my work and hurt my people, I got to do something about it. But mainly it’s ‘cause I get mad.”

  “I see.”

  “I don’t expect Cassidy’s gonna cross my path, and I don’t figure he’s gonna pull any of his tricks here in Thermopolis.”

  She saw a change in his eyes.

  “Maybe I spoke too soon,” he said.

  She turned around to see Cassidy coming through the door. He stood there with the door open a moment and looked around the room until he saw Cutler. Then he came in the rest of the way, followed by a Negro cowboy. The two of them came over to Cutler’s table.

  “This man says he’s lookin’ for you,” Cassidy said.

  “Name’s Dave Baker, Mr. Cutler.”

  Cutler extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Dave. My first name’s John.”

  Baker shook
Cutler’s hand warmly.

  “This is Iris Shannon,” Cutler introduced her.

  “Mr. Baker.” She shook his hand. “Mr. Cassidy.”

  “Ma’am.” Cassidy took off his hat.

  “If you’ll excuse me.” She left them to conduct their business.

  “Sit down, Dave,” Cutler said. Dave took the chair Iris had vacated. “Drink?”

  “Thanks.”

  Cassidy said, “You fellas want me to stay or go?”

  Cutler looked up, surprised.

  “I mean,” Cassidy said, “there’s some folks around these parts who get edgy about strangers. But if I’m with ’em, nobody seems to mind for some reason.”

  Cutler nodded. “Sit down, Butch. Have a drink.”

  Cassidy grinned and sat.

  Dave appreciated the way the two men had handled the situation, but he knew the real reason—it was handy to have an extra gun at the table. It was not too far south of here, in South Pass, where an outlaw named Jesse Ewing had been forced to share a jail cell with another outlaw named Isom Dart. The trouble was Dart was a Negro, and all Ewing was was the ugliest man in town, but white. Ewing had forced Dart to kneel and used him as a table. They were both dead now, Ewing having been shot by one of Dart’s friends. But you did not always know who your friends were.

  Cutler said, “Dave, you got anything to talk to me about that you can’t say in front of Butch here?”

  “No, John, I guess not.”

  “Okay then. What’s this all about?”

  Baker drank his bourbon and Cutler poured him another.

  “John, I didn’t want you comin’ all the way down into Utah if it wasn’t necessary. That’s why I figured I ought to meet you half way.”

  “ ‘Predate that.”

  “You see, it might be a job for you and it might not. It’s not the kind of rogue you’re used to trappin’. In fact, none of the traps you’re totin’ are gonna be of any use. It’s a mustang.”

  “See what you mean.”

  “One they call Mesteño.”

  “Good name,” Cutler said.

  “Why’s that?” Cassidy asked.

  “It’s the Spanish word for not havin’ an owner,” Cutler said. “Just like us.”

  “Well,” Baker said, “I guess that’s part of the reason I hate to see some fool kill him. A horse like that shouldn’t be shot anymore than we should be.”

  Cassidy grinned. “Lot of people’d disagree with you about that, least as far as my life’s concerned they would.”

  “Dave,” Cutler said, “I guess you know something about me or you wouldn’t be sittin’ here. Guess you know I’m not cheap.”

  “I heard a thousand dollars. Also heard, once you take a job, you guarantee results.”

  “Correct both times. But why would anyone want to spend that kind of money to bring me all the way down there to do what they could probably do for themselves?”

  “That’s just it,” Baker said. “We ain’t been able to do it for ourselves. And in the meantime the mustang’s stealin’ our mares.”

  “Men in Utah’s had lots of experience with mustangs.”

  “This ain’t no ordinary mustang, John. Mesteño’s almost human. More than human. More like a ghost sometimes. He knows when to come for the mares. Always picks the best time, always gets away, never been close to bein’ caught. Closest was a month ago when we had him in a surround. Damned horse got his herd to kick up so much snow, we couldn’t see them, and that’s how they got away that time. He made his raid that night when a man had all the ranchers around at a party to his place. See what I mean? That’s typical. The only time he’ll raid is when you least expect it, and he always gets away in ways you can’t expect. That horse is a mustang’s mustang. So folks think we need a trapper’s trapper.”

  Cutler took a drink and thought a moment. “Why didn’t you put all this in your message so I’d know it was a horse you wanted me to get. You might have saved us both a trip that way.”

  “I’m sorry, John. If you don’t take the job, I’ll pay your expenses out of my own pocket. But I didn’t think a letter would do it. Thought I had to meet you and talk to you about it personal.”

  “Well, I guess you’re right. A letter wouldn’t have done it. But I ain’t sure you can do it personal either. It’s not really in my line.” What Cutler did not say was that going down into Utah would be taking him farther away from where he thought the grizzly might be in the mountains to the north.

  “You sayin’ no then?” Baker asked.

  “Well, Dave, if you need an answer right away tonight, I guess it’s no. The job don’t appeal to me, I got to admit.”

  “I don’t need an answer right away,” Baker said.

  “Okay,” Cutler said. “Then I’ll give you one tomorrow. Can’t say it’ll be any different, but at least then I’ll be sure about it one way or the other.”

  “Fair enough,” Baker said and stood. “I won’t take up any of your thinkin’ time, and see you tomorrow.”

  “Okay, Dave. Where you goin’ now?”

  “I’ll make camp outside town.”

  “I won’t charge you expenses if the answer’s no, so get yourself a bed.”

  “Well ...” Baker hesitated.

  “I’ll come with you,” Cassidy said, “after I talk to John a little bit.”

  “I know how to use this.” Baker patted his six-gun.

  “Sure that you do,” Cassidy said. “But let’s save your ammunition money for a bed. If I can, I like to keep this town peaceful. I get enough excitement outside it.”

  Baker grinned. “I’ll be at the bar.”

  After Baker had gone, Cutler poured Cassidy another drink.

  “Heard you was a pretty good lawman once,” Cassidy said.

  “People I worked for didn’t complain.”

  “Ones you worked against did, though.”

  “Well, some folks are never satisfied.”

  “Now, John, I ain’t callin’ you a liar. I’m just wonderin’ if you keep from tellin’ all the truth. You know you could get that mustang for them.”

  “Probably.”

  “So the problem ain’t that it’s out of your line.”

  “Got me another animal I’m interested in up north.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that, too. But, if I was you, that wouldn’t be the only reason I wouldn’t want to go after Mesteño.”

  “That right?”

  “You know I know a little bit about horses.”

  “Folks say you used to sell a lot of ’em. Never knew you to buy any, though.”

  “I specialized.” Cassidy grinned, then chuckled at an old memory. “But knowin’ horses as I do, and if Baker’s right about this Mesteño, I’d say there’s no way you can win.”

  “Win?”

  “Keep that horse from dyin’, I mean. If I was you, I’d want to see Mesteño stay free. Capturin’ him would be like puttin’ myself in jail. Figure it’d be the same thing for you.”

  Cutler nodded. “I guess you got it about right.”

  “And you know, even if you do get him which you probably would, it’d be the same as killin’ him. A horse like that can’t be tamed usually. They’re gonna have to shoot him or he’ll die by his own choice. Mesteño’s got a better chance if you let the ranchers handle it. If that horse is what I think he is, it’s either stay free or die, There ain’t no other choices.”

  “You may be right. But I figure the horse might have more of a chance if I get him than if I don’t. There’s always a chance he can stay alive as a ranch horse. It’s a problem. But, hell, Butch, there’s another angle to this.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a job.”

  “You hurtin’ for money?” It was not really a question. More of a joke.

  “I like to keep busy.”

  Cassidy wondered how much this former lawman was still a lawman. Cutler’s respect for law was well known. But a lot of other lawmen had found the other si
de more profitable. Cassidy had a couple like that who rode with him from time to time. When times were hard, a man could change. Of course, with the kind of fees Cutler could demand as a trapper, times were not so hard for him as they were for others. But if he needed to keep busy, needed to keep his mind off the things that were bothering him by keeping on the move, maybe that was more important than some of the values he had held onto from his past.

  “Lots of ways a man could keep busy,” Cassidy said finally. “Like to keep busy myself. But maybe I’ve got more choices than you do.”

  “The people you come up against,” Cutler said, “they’ve got choices, too.”

  “Well, I guess that’s all in how you look at it. I just wonder, though, if a man had a choice between killin’ a mustang and throwin’ in with me, what would he choose, I wonder?”

  “Guess that’s all in how you look at it, too,” Cutler said. “If the man liked stayin’ on the right side of the law, he’d go after the mustang and hope it didn’t kill a good horse. If the same man didn’t cotton to takin’ orders from another man, he’d go after the mustang. Or he might just sit and wait for something else to come along.”

  Cassidy grinned. “Then that man’s only choice would be goin’ for the mustang or not keepin’ busy for a while.”

  “That’s it.”

  “Wonder where that man’s gonna be for the next few months?”

  “Man like that never knows.”

  “I’d sure like to, though.”

  “Can’t see what difference it’d make to you.”

  “Well, John, wherever that man was gonna be, I’d like to be conductin’ my business somewheres else.”

  “Well,” Cutler said, “you know how it is on the trail. Chances of your runnin’ into the same man more’n once are mighty slim. If you’re a gamblin’ man, you’ll probably count on the odds bein’ in your favor.”