Evil Breed

by Charles G. West

  Still almost in a state of shock, Jake realized the form standing there was, in fact, flesh and blood. And though macabre in appearance, it was not a vision at all. “Brother?” Jake croaked. “You’re Blackie’s brother?”

  “That’s a fact,” Slocum replied, eyeing Jake suspiciously. He hadn’t seen Blackie in several years, but he could understand why someone might mistake him for his twin brother. The thing that triggered his suspicions was Jake’s frightened reaction when he thought he was Blackie. Frowning now, he said, “Maybe you got some reason to be skeered of Blackie. You looked like you was about to piss your britches a minute ago.”

  Jake was immediately alarmed by the sudden change in the stranger’s expression, and he rushed to reassure him. “Nossir. I never got crossways with your brother, not me. I was just skeered because I thought you was a ghost, seein’ as how Blackie’s dead and buried.”

  Stunned, Slocum took a step backward. “Dead! Blackie’s dead? What the hell are you talkin’ about?” The instant storm that developed behind those dark brows was enough to terrify Jake. He yelped like a frightened pup when Slocum suddenly stepped right across the fire and grabbed him by his shirt. Pulling the petrified man up by his collar, he demanded, “How did he die? Who killed my brother?”

  Jake did wet his britches then. His face no more than inches from the fuming giant’s, he felt his legs go limp as the warm urine spread in his pants. “Wait, wait,” he pleaded, afraid the infuriated beast was about to extract his vengeance from him. “I didn’t have nothin’ to do with it. Please, put me down, and I’ll tell you the feller what done it.”

  Still fuming with a rage that only he was capable of, Slocum slowly released his hold on Jake’s collar, permitting the frightened man to sink back to the ground. “Who?” Slocum demanded impatiently.

  “A young feller back at Fort Pease,” Jake blurted. “He shot him three times in the chest.” He was trying hard to recall the name. “Just give me a minute. I’ll remember his name.”

  Slocum’s eyes narrowed again as the storm intensified in his face. “I’ll give you about thirty seconds. You come up with his name or I’ll crack your skull for you.” He grabbed Jake’s collar again.

  “Wait! Wait!” Jake squealed. “I got it! I remember!” Slocum eased his grip a little. “Young feller’s name was Jim something.” Then it came to him. “Culver, Jim Culver, that was his name.”

  The roar that followed caused Jake to shrink back, once more in fear for his life. The menacing giant bellowed like a wounded grizzly. His dark eyes flashed with an anger that sprang from his very soul. Jim Culver! The name caused the angry bile to boil deep inside him, temporarily blurring his vision and impairing his capacity for rational thought. In his need to strike out at one who had brought him frustration, and now pain and insult, Slocum launched his massive body toward the closest living thing in his path. And that was Jake Pascal.

  Horrified, Jake tried to scramble out of the crazed beast’s path, certain that his judgment day was at hand. Slocum grabbed the cowering man—one massive hand clamped around the back of his neck, the other taking a handful of the seat of Jake’s britches—and lifted him up over his head. Poor Jake was held there, squirming and begging for mercy for a moment, before Slocum slammed him to the ground.

  The pain that shot through his chest caused Jake to fear that something inside him had broken when he crashed to the ground. He was helpless to defend himself and unable to run. Just as he would have had he been attacked by an angry bear, Jake lay still, pretending to be dead. Slocum stood over him, glaring down at the seemingly lifeless form at his feet for what felt like an eternity to Jake. Gradually Slocum started to recover from the explosion of rage that had touched him off, and after a few minutes he took control of his anger. As if noticing Jake lying before him for the first time, he stepped back and said, “Git up from there. I ain’t gonna hurtcha.” The storm over, he moved back and sat down by the fire. The need for vengeance against Jim Culver that already burned deep in the pit of his stomach was now magnified tenfold. He knew that he would stop at nothing until Jim Culver was dead.

  Now that the baleful monster was no longer standing over him, Jake began to slowly move one leg and then the other, like a possum emerging from a death pose. When there was no violent reaction from Slocum, Jake proceeded to sit up, groaning quietly as the pain in his ribs caused him to catch his breath. Convinced that he had almost had an introduction to the great beyond only moments earlier, he was still leery of the menace that now sat silently beside his campfire.

  “Where is he?” Slocum asked, his voice deadly soft and even, his eyes locked on Jake’s.

  “I don’t know,” Jake answered, his voice shaking, afraid the violent man might explode upon him again. He hastened to offer any information he possessed about Jim Culver. “I swear, I never saw him before he come into the trading post that day with Newt Plummer. I don’t know what his trouble with your brother was. All I know is, he shot him. When he left Fort Pease, he didn’t say where he was headin’, but I expect he went back to that Crow camp with Newt.”

  “What Crow camp?”

  Jake quickly explained that Newt Plummer lived with a band of Crow Indians, and Jim had evidently spent some time there recently.

  “Where is that Crow camp?”

  “I think they said they was camped on the Bighorn, but I couldn’t say fer sure.”

  “That’s a good piece west of here,” Slocum said. “You sure about that?”

  Jake was quick to reply. “No. Like I said, I couldn’t say fer sure, but that’s what I recollect. Iron Bow’s village, I think. At least that’s the one Newt was livin’ with. I reckon Culver was goin’ back there with him.”

  Slocum considered the matter for a few moments. He decided Jake was probably telling him everything he knew about Jim Culver. The man was too frightened not to. “All right, friend,” he said, his voice reflecting a friendlier tone. “I reckon I’ll be on my way west at first light. What kinda grub have you got? We best have ourselves some supper before we turn in.”

  Although his fearsome guest appeared to have taken control of his explosive emotions, Jake didn’t sleep much that night. Fearing the worst if he closed his eyes, he fought to keep his lids from dropping. The surly giant slept fitfully and loudly. Once, when Slocum suddenly issued a loud threat to some antagonist in his dreams, Jake sat upright in his blanket, thinking an attack was coming. Early in the predawn hours, Jake decided his life was losing value with every minute he remained in the violent man’s presence. He will surely rob me and kill me, his exhausted brain told him.

  Deeming it prudent on his part to be gone when the belligerent bounty hunter awoke, Jake rolled out of his blanket as quietly as he could manage. Carefully placing each foot, so as not to make a sound, he eased his saddle up on one shoulder and tiptoed toward the willows where his horses were tied. If I can get a couple hours’ start toward Laramie, he told himself, I’ll be in the clear. As set as he is on going after Jim Culver, he ain’t gonna waste time coming after me. It seemed a reasonable assumption that Slocum would set out due west.

  Although Jake was as careful as he could possibly be, the horses spooked a bit when he suddenly approached them in the darkness. Jake’s own horses, used to his scent, merely stamped their hooves in nervous tension. Slocum’s horses, Toby in particular, snorted loudly to challenge this sudden intruder. In a moment of panic, Jake tried to quiet the big horse. He grabbed Toby’s bridle and tried to soothe the nervous Morgan, but Toby pulled away. Damn you! Jake thought, and frantically jerked at the reins. He never heard the loud report of the rifle as the impact of the bullet slammed him in the back, ripping through his heart.

  “I can’t abide a horse thief,” Slocum stated quietly as he walked over to confirm his kill. With the toe of his boot, he rolled Jake over and watched him for any sign of life. When it was obvious that Jake was dead, Slocum returned to his bed. He placed a couple of limbs on the fire, then, oblivious to the body near t
he horses, rolled up in his blanket again. It would be over an hour before daylight.

  * * *

  Approaching the outer buildings of Fort Laramie, Jim couldn’t help but recall the first time he had entered this army post. It would soon be a year since he and Lettie had arrived here. It seemed more like three years to him now, so much had happened. One thing was certain: He was a different man from the Jim Culver who had ridden in that day. Events of the past year had dulled the sharp edge of youth that had followed him from Virginia, and he could no longer be thought of as a greenhorn. Like many others before him, he had experienced the magnetic charm of the Rocky Mountains. And the scars on his chest and hack attested to the fact that he had met their violent element as well. Dressed in animal skins, rifle in hand, and bow strapped on his back, he rode with the confidence of a man firm in the knowledge that he could deal with whatever God or nature decided to send his way.

  As he guided the buckskin Indian pony toward the sutler’s store, he thought about the friends he had recently left behind. The people of Iron Bow’s camp had been uncommonly friendly toward him, and he had to admit to a certain bit of reluctance at having to say good-bye. After all, he owed his life to Iron Bow and Newt Plummer. The Crow war party could just as easily have left him to die from Johnny Malotte’s bullet when they found him lying half dead in that stream. Thinking about his visit in the Crow village brought a smile to his face when he pictured Newt. The salty old trapper had proven to be a competent medicine man, as well as a patient teacher of Crow customs. Jim had given Blackie’s horse to Newt as a token of his appreciation and promised that he would get back for a visit soon after he had finished a little piece of business with Johnny Malotte—and maybe a ride over to Canyon Creek to see Lettie Henderson.

  * * *

  Alton Broom glanced up briefly from the sack of meal he was tying off when the broad-shouldered young man in buckskins walked through the doorway. He quickly took another look when it occurred to him who it was. “Why, hello there, stranger,” he greeted Jim. “I swear, I didn’t know who you was for a minute there.” He extended his hand as he looked Jim over thoroughly. “I know you’re Clay Culver’s brother, but I can’t call your name right off.”

  “Jim,” Jim answered. “I reckon it has been almost a year, at that.”

  Eyeing the transformation in the young man who had passed through the previous October, traveling with a young woman, Alton couldn’t help but remark, “Looks like you’ve took to life on the frontier quick enough.” He finished tying off the sack of meal. “Did that friend of yourn ever catch up with you?”

  Puzzled, Jim replied, “Who would that be?”

  “Why, I reckon it’s been quite a while now. Big fellow, said he was a friend of yourn from back east.” Seeing the puzzled look on Jim’s face, Alton continued. “He said you and him was friends from back in Virginia.”

  Jim stroked his chin thoughtfully. He could recall no such friend who fit the description that Alton proceeded to give him, of a huge bear of a man with a jagged scar down the side of his face. “Must be some mistake. Did he ask about me by name?”

  “Sure did,” Alton assured him. “There was a couple of soldiers in the store, and they told him there was a stranger visiting Cora’s wagon. I told him that the feller they was talkin’ about had been in the store. He said his name was something I can’t recall right now. But I told that friend of yourn it weren’t you; if you’d been in Laramie, you hadn’t come by the store. He mighta gone lookin’ for you over at Cora’s anyway. Then I guess he just moved on. At least he didn’t come back here.”

  Jim felt the muscles in his arms tense. “The young stranger over at Cora’s, was his name Johnny Malotte?”

  Alton grimaced, trying to recall. “I don’t know. Coulda been. I ain’t sure.”

  Jim’s mind was racing as he considered what Alton had told him. There was a strong possibility the stranger who had passed through was Johnny Malotte. As far as the other man, Jim could only shake his head, at a loss for even a guess as to who might be looking for him from back east. He was inclined to be suspicious about anyone from Virginia who came looking for him, although his only trouble might be from the army. And according to Alton, this man was not a soldier. “Doesn’t sound like anyone I know,” Jim finally declared. Satisfied that he had found out all he could from Alton, he inquired, “Do you know if my brother is in camp?”

  “He is,” Alton replied. “He was in the store yesterday. Said he was fixin’ to ride out with a patrol in the morning. So I guess you just caught him this time.”

  “Much obliged,” Jim said, and took his leave.

  * * *

  “Damn, I hardly recognized you, little brother,” Clay Culver exclaimed when he spied his younger brother approaching his campfire. “You look like you’ve gone plum Injun.” He got to his feet and stepped around a small campfire to greet Jim.

  With a wide grin, Jim reached out to grasp his brother’s arm, and the two pounded each other on the back affectionately. “They told me over at the cavalry barracks that you’d be camped over here by the creek. How come you’re way out here by yourself? Won’t the soldiers let you camp with them?”

  Clay laughed. “I like peace and quiet, and there’s a racket of some kind or another going on all the time with those troopers. Half of ’em’s foreigners, anyway. You can’t even tell what the hell they’re talking about.” Grinning from ear to ear, he stepped back and took a long look at his brother. “You’re looking pretty spry for a dead man.” When Jim was obviously puzzled by his remark, Clay explained. “I got word from Canyon Creek that Luke had tried to find you after some fellow came to the cabin lookin’ for ya. Luke couldn’t find you, but he found enough sign to make him think you’d been bushwhacked. Anyway, that’s the word I got. I didn’t put much stock in it, and I wouldn’t believe it till I had a chance to talk to Luke about what he’d seen. I was fixin’ to ride out toward Wind River to see if I could pick up any sign as soon as I got back off this patrol.”

  There it was again. Someone had gone to Canyon Creek looking for him. Then he showed up here at Fort Laramie. Jim was going to have to deal with it pretty soon. Thinking about the report Luke had taken back, he explained. “Luke wasn’t far wrong. I was left for dead, all right, but it wasn’t by anybody trailin’ me.”

  “Come on and sit down while you tell me about it.” He motioned Jim toward the fire. “Hungry? I’ve got a little bacon here and some beans.”

  “I could eat,” Jim stated thoughtfully, and followed Clay to the fire.

  “You make some coffee while I slice some of this bacon,” Clay said. “The coffee beans are in that sack yonder by my saddle. I ain’t got a grinder, but there’s a couple of smooth rocks laying by the sack that do a pretty good job.” Never one to miss many details, he glanced up at Jim again. “I was wondering why you took off after we finished Katie’s cabin. Kinda figured you might stay close to that little Henderson gal. From the looks of you, you musta been visiting with the Injuns. Crow, I’d say.”

  Jim smiled. “Yeah, Iron Bow’s village, but how’d you know that?”

  “That bow,” Clay replied. “Those are Crow markings.” He paused while he casually picked a worm from the bacon. “Iron Bow, huh? Is old Newt Plummer still above ground?”

  “Alive and kickin’,” Jim replied. “He’s the main reason I’m still here, I guess, and how I happen to be riding that buckskin pony.”

  “I was gonna ask you about that. I didn’t think you’d ever part with Toby. I notice you ain’t carrying that fancy Winchester of yours either.”

  With the quiet patience of a man who had lived much of his life in the high mountains, and consequently accepted most events with little emotion, Clay listened to Jim’s recounting of the circumstances that brought him to Laramie on this day. His only display of concern was a grave nod of his head when Jim told of the incident with Johnny Malotte that had left him near death until Iron Bow had found him.

  When Jim f
inished his story, Clay sat back on his heels to digest everything he had heard. “Damned if you ain’t had one helluva summer,” he finally exclaimed. Thinking of the lieutenant in Virginia, the man called Blackie, and Larson at Fort Pease, he commented, “You’re leaving a string of dead men behind you.”

  “Not by choice,” Jim quickly insisted.

  “I know,” Clay responded, knowing from his own experience that a man didn’t always have a choice. “So now I reckon you’re looking for this Malotte fellow.”

  “I reckon,” Jim replied.

  “Then I reckon I’ll help you,” Clay decided. “I’ve promised to lead a patrol back toward Horse Creek in the morning. I’ll have to do that first. We’ll only be gone for ten days at the most. Then we’ll see about this Malotte fellow. Whaddaya say?”

  “Fair enough,” Jim replied, welcoming his brother’s help. “I need to go have a little visit with a whore named Cora. I reckon I could do that in the morning.” He laughed when he saw the grin on Clay’s face. “It ain’t what you think.” Then he told him he suspected Johnny Malotte had visited Cora. He also told him about the friend who had come to Laramie looking for him. “I think I’ll go over and talk to the lady. Maybe I can figure out who the hell he might have been.”

  Clay nodded. “Sorry I wasn’t here when he came lookin’ for you. He sounds pretty damn persistent.”

  * * *

  Jim and Clay sat watching the formation of the cavalry patrol that Clay was to lead. There was very little conversation between the two brothers as they waited patiently for the troopers to go through the formalities of getting started. It was an awful lot of useless commands and wasted time, as far as Jim was concerned. Clay, having served in the army during the recent war, agreed with his brother, but understood the necessity for the routine.

  “Like I said,” Clay advised, “I shouldn’t be out more’n ten days or so. Some settler down past Horse Creek says some Injuns ran off some of his stock. When I get back, it might take some time for us to find this Malotte fellow, and I’ve been thinkin’. Maybe you might better ride over to Canyon Creek and let Katie and Lettie know you ain’t dead.” When Jim didn’t respond right away, he said, “It would be the right thing to do. That little girl thinks a helluva lot of you.” He grinned and added, “God knows why.”