Wind River

by L. J. Washburn

  "Thanks, Two Ponies," Billy Casebolt said as he turned and nodded solemnly to the leader of the Shoshones who had saved his life. "I don't reckon I'd be here if it wasn't for you and your people."

  "You must go home, rest now, Billy," Two Ponies replied. He gestured at Casebolt's midsection, which was still tightly bandaged underneath the soft buckskin shirt the tribe's women had given him to replace the torn and bloody one he had been wearing when he was found. "Lose much blood, take many suns to be strong again. Should have stayed longer with Shoshone. Billy has many good stories."

  "Glad somebody thinks so," Casebolt muttered, then went on, "Your offer was mighty temptin', Two Ponies, but I got things I got to do. I sure appreciate you bringin' me all the way here to town. Some folks might get a little spooked if they was to see you and your boys this close to the settlement."

  "The Shoshone have promised peace. We have made a treaty with your chiefs in Washington City saying so. The whites have no reason to fear the Shoshone."

  "I can sure testify to that," Casebolt said. "If it wasn't for you gents findin' me out there on the prairie and takin' me back to your village, I'd've died for sure. Tell your wives and daughters I ain't never seen any better nurses."

  "Come back and tell them yourself someday, Billy Casebolt," Two Ponies told him with a smile. "Farewell." He turned his horse and heeled it into an easy lope that carried it away into the darkness. The other warriors followed.

  Casebolt waited until the Shoshones had disappeared, then put his horse into a walk along Grenville Avenue. Music and laughter came from the saloons he passed, but Casebolt didn't slow down. His side was aching where Strawhorn's bullet had struck him, tearing through flesh and glancing off a rib.

  After Two Ponies and the other men had taken him back to the Shoshone village, the women had cleaned the wound, packed it with a poultice made of mud and moss and herbs, and bandaged it. Casebolt had been too stiff and sore to move for the first couple of days, and he suspected he had been running a fever, too, because he didn't remember much of that time. But then he had started growing stronger, and this afternoon he had persuaded Two Ponies to bring him back here to Wind River.

  As he had told them, the Shoshones had saved his life, and Casebolt would always be grateful to them. But as much as he would have enjoyed taking advantage of their hospitality for a while longer, there was something he had to do.

  He had to find Cole Tyler and tell the marshal about how he had seen Strawhorn and Durand plotting together, up to no good sure as shooting.

  The office in the front room of the land development company was dark, though, and the building was locked, Casebolt discovered when he dismounted stiffly and went up onto the boardwalk. Could be Cole was making his rounds, Billy thought with a frown. He looked up and down the street. The saloons were just about the only places still open at this time of night, and he didn't see the familiar figure of the marshal going into or coming out of any of them. That meant he was going to have to check each one, he supposed.

  Casebolt spotted a light on in Dr. Kent's office and decided to stop in there first. The doctor might happen to know where Cole was, and he could also take a look at the wound and see if it was healing as well as Billy hoped it was. Leaving his horse tied at the rack in front of the marshal's office, he started down the street to Dr. Kent's place.

  The front door was unlocked, and as Casebolt came in Kent glanced up first in annoyance and then shocked surprise. "Good Lord, Deputy!" the doctor exclaimed. "Where have you been? What's happened to you?"

  "Well, that's quite a yarn, Doc," Casebolt said with a tired grin. "I'd be glad to tell it to you, but right now I got to find Marshal Tyler. You know where he is?"

  "He and the posse are still out chasing those train robbers, I daresay."

  "Train robbers!"

  Kent nodded. "A Union Pacific special train was stopped and held up east of town a few days ago. It was carrying the payroll for the work crews. Marshal Tyler led a posse after the bandits, and we haven't seen any of them since then." The physician looked shrewdly at Casebolt. "Are you injured, Deputy?"

  "No time for that now," Casebolt muttered with a curt gesture. He swung toward the door. "I got to find out about this." As he reached the entrance he staggered a little and might have fallen if he hadn't reached out to grab the side of the door.

  Kent hurried around the desk and went to his side. "Come over here and sit down immediately," he said in a brisk tone that didn't allow for any arguments. "You're hurt, and you're not going to do anyone any good by falling on your face."

  "Just a mite weak still," Casebolt protested as Kent steered him over to a chair. "Took a bullet in the side from Deke Strawhorn the other day. Don't worry, though, it went on through. Just lost a little blood and got bunged up a mite."

  "Strawhorn?" repeated Kent. "He seems to have dropped out of sight again, and I for one am quite thankful, since the town is already full of angry railroad workers who're wondering if they're ever going to get paid again."

  "Strawhorn's been gone, huh?" Casebolt mused as Kent lifted the buckskin shirt and began examining the bandages around the deputy's midsection. "Ever since right before that train robbery, I'd reckon."

  Kent glanced up sharply. "Now that you mention it, I believe you're correct. Do you think Strawhorn might be responsible for that holdup?"

  "Durand said something about a schedule when he was talkin' lo Strawhorn. Could've been a train schedule. Could've been the one that payroll was supposed to be on."

  "What did you say?" Kent demanded incredulously. "Durand was talking to Strawhorn? William Durand?"

  "They rode about ten miles southwest of here to have their meetin'," Casebolt told the doctor. "Reckon they must've had a good reason for bein' so careful—like they were plannin' to hold up that UP train and take the payroll. And they were sure spooked when they found out I saw 'em. So spooked Strawhorn started shootin' and come after me. Damn near got me, too."

  "My God," muttered Kent. "Durand and Strawhorn working together . . . It makes sense of a sort. I wish Cole Tyler was here."

  Casebolt tugged his shirt back down. "If you'll leave off pokin' me, I'll tend to it myself. Where's Durand?"

  "I left him at the hotel. I believe he's using his suite there for the time being."

  Casebolt stood up, his weathered features set in grim lines. "I'll just go pay a visit to Mr. Durand and see what he's got to say for himself."

  "I'm coming with you," Kent declared as he reached for his coat. "You really should be in bed resting, but after what you've gone through, I doubt you'll agree to that until this matter is settled."

  "Damn right," Casebolt said. "Durand's got some mighty tall explainin' to do."

  Chapter 15

  Durand acted as the lookout, despite the fact that he found the whole concept somewhat demeaning. He was a powerful man, after all, the lord and master of Wind River.

  But if he wanted to stay that way, he knew, he had to make sure that Strawhorn and Benton got the three unfortunate witnesses out of town.

  Everything started out as smoothly as Durand could have hoped. The hotel corridors were deserted, and as he motioned urgently to Strawhorn and Benton, the two hardcases hurried out of the suite with the sheet-wrapped bundles. Strawhorn had Delia Hatfield draped over his left shoulder and was carrying Gretchen in his right arm. Over Strawhorn's right shoulder were a set of saddlebags containing half of the stolen payroll money. Benton followed, grunting under the burden of Simone McKay. Durand shut the door of the suite behind them, then hurried ahead to go down the rear stairs first.

  His confidence grew as he saw that there was no one on the stairs or in the alley behind the hotel. Strawhorn and Benton's horses were there, along with a couple of other mounts Benton had stolen a few minutes earlier. He had slipped out of the hotel and untied a couple of horses from the hitch rack in front of one of the saloons, leading them back here to the alley so that Delia and Simone could be draped over their saddles.


  Durand looked up and down the alley, then motioned for the two outlaws to come ahead with their prisoners. Strawhorn and Benton hurried into the narrow, shadowy lane. As they were arranging the bundles on the horses and tying them in place, Durand tugged a handkerchief from his breast pocket and mopped some of the sweat off his face. "Get out of town as quickly as you can without drawing attention to yourself," he told Strawhorn. "Lie low for a while, and I'll get in touch with you when the time is right for you to pull another job."

  "Just make sure it ain't too long," Strawhorn said. "This loot won't last forever."

  "I'll be in touch, I assure you—" Durand began as he turned back toward the rear door of the hotel.

  That was when he saw a sight that froze his blood and would haunt him for the rest of his life. Billy Casebolt stood there, a grim, determined expression on his face and a gun in his hand. "Don't move, Durand!" the deputy called out. "Strawhorn, you and that other fella, elevate— now!"

  Durand stared, eyes wide with horror. He saw Judson Kent standing behind Casebolt, angry realization on his bearded face. Kent might not have believed what was going on in this alley if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, but now it was too late, Durand thought. Here he was with a pair of outlaws, a couple of unconscious women, and a child, the latter three on their way to be killed on his orders. Too many witnesses, too much guilt. . . It was all over, he thought, all over.

  "I thought I killed you, old man," Strawhorn said, his voice cool and mocking.

  "Wasn't for lack of tryin', you son of a bitch. Step out from behind them horses and drop your guns, the both of you. What's that you got there in them bundles?"

  Simone McKay picked that moment to regain consciousness and start squirming and trying to shout through the gag in her mouth. Or perhaps she had already come to and had been waiting for the proper moment. At any rate, Judson Kent exclaimed, "Good Lord! There's someone wrapped up in there!" He started past Casebolt, heading toward the horses.

  "Damn it, Doc, stay back!" Casebolt ordered, but it was too late. Strawhorn stepped into the clear, his hand sweeping down to his pistol. The Colt flashed out of its holster and geysered flame from its barrel.

  Casebolt ducked to the side as the outlaw's slug sang past him and thudded into the wall of the hotel. He lifted his gun but hesitated, obviously afraid of hitting one of the prisoners if he fired. Strawhorn and Benton didn't have to worry about that. Both owlhoots slammed shots at the deputy as Casebolt threw himself backward through the rear entrance of the hotel.

  Kent had flung himself on the ground when the shooting started. He looked up to see Strawhorn and Benton swinging into their saddles. Durand was moving around agitatedly, taking a step one way and then the other, clearly at a loss as to what to do. Strawhorn looked at him and shouted, "Get on that horse if you want to come with us, Durand!" He motioned with his gun hand to the mount carrying Delia Hatfield.

  Strawhorn was right, Durand knew. His burgeoning empire had collapsed around him in a matter of moments. His only chance now was to get out of Wind River and start over somewhere else.

  It wouldn't be the first time, he thought fleetingly.

  Grabbing the bundle containing Delia Hatfield, Durand started to sling her off the horse, but Strawhorn yelled, "Put her in front of you! We'll need the women if anybody comes after us!"

  Durand understood. Delia and Simone would make excellent hostages. But there was no need for the child to be endangered, now that it was too late to preserve any secrets. "Let the little girl go," Durand ordered as he shifted Delia and climbed up behind her.

  For a second Strawhorn looked like he wanted to argue, but then he nodded and let the bundle containing Gretchen tumble to the ground. Durand hoped she was all right.

  Then it was too late to worry about such things, because Strawhorn and Benton were spurring their horses into a gallop and throwing a few final shots at Casebolt as they fled the alley.

  Casebolt returned the fire, but his bullets went wide. Durand smacked his heels against the flanks of his own mount and felt the horse leap into motion. He hung on for dear life, one hand clinging to the saddlehorn while the other grasped the reins.

  He hoped Delia Hatfield wasn't bounced off by the rough ride and tried to hold her in place with his legs. Awkwardly, he galloped after the two outlaws. Only there were three outlaws now, he thought, because he was every bit as much a fugitive as Strawhorn and Benton. William Durand, businessman, financier, entrepreneur, was hitting the owlhoot trail.

  * * *.

  Judson Kent picked himself up from the dust of the alley and hurried over to Casebolt. "Are you all right, Deputy?" he asked anxiously.

  Casebolt was wincing as he came out into the alley. "Jumpin' around like that wasn't much good for that wound in my side, I reckon," he said. "But I'm good enough to go after those low-down skunks!" He waved the pistol he had borrowed from the desk clerk in the hotel, then suddenly sagged forward. Kent grabbed him and held him up.

  "There's blood on your shirt," Kent said. "You've torn the wound open again and you're bleeding badly. I'll get you back to my office—"

  "The hell you will! I got to go after Durand and Strawhorn. They had some folks hog-tied in them bundles."

  "I know," Kent said. "I saw and heard them, too, and they left one of them behind. You're on the verge of collapse, Deputy, and if we don't get that bleeding stopped, the situation could become serious."

  "Dad-blast it! The marshal's dependin' on me—" Casebolt's protest came to an abrupt end as his eyes rolled up in his head and he sagged even more in Kent's grip. He was only semiconscious as the doctor dragged him back into the hotel, shouting for help.

  Curious townspeople were already hurrying toward the spot, drawn by the gunfire, and Kent quickly had enough volunteers to carry Casebolt back to his office.

  Some of the saloon women took charge of Gretchen Hatfield, who was sobbing as she was unwrapped from the tangle of sheets. One of the soiled doves picked her up and cuddled her, calming her and displaying an unexpected maternal instinct. Kent told her to bring the girl along to his office. As they went down the street Kent told the townspeople about the probable arrangement between Durand and Strawhorn to steal the railroad payroll. Howls of outrage went up from the listeners.

  "We're goin' after 'em!" one man shouted. "We'll string up them thievin' bastards!" There were angry yells of agreement from the other men as, in the distance, lightning flickered and thunder rumbled faintly. A storm was rolling down from the mountains, Kent realized.

  He was far from an experienced Westerner, but it only made sense that a storm would wipe out any tracks the fugitives left. And he doubted that any of the townspeople had the skills necessary to track someone at night. If the posse waited until morning to leave, chances were the trail would be gone, destroyed by the storm.

  Kent wished he knew where in blazes Cole Tyler was at this moment.

  * * *.

  William Durand watched the lightning as he and his companions rode northwest, leaving Wind River far behind them in the night. It was quite appropriate, he thought, that on the same night he lost everything he had worked so hard to establish, he would also be soaked by a rainstorm.

  So far, though, the rain had held off. There was a light breeze from the south, a hot, dry wind. Maybe the distant storm wouldn't break, Durand thought. At this point, he would be thankful for any small favor.

  Almost an hour had passed since he had left Wind River with Strawhorn, Benton, and the two women. Simone and Delia were both conscious now, and although their hands were tied in front of them, the sheets that had been wrapped around them and the gags in their mouths had been discarded when Strawhorn first called a halt to rest the horses. The women were riding astride now, in front of Strawhorn and Benton. Strawhorn was leading the extra horse.

  "Reckon we'll get rained on?" Strawhorn asked Simone. He had put her in front of him and kept an arm looped around her waist as they rode.

  "I don't care
about the rain," she replied. "But it would be all right with me if God would strike you dead with a lightning bolt."

  Strawhorn chuckled. "You'd fry, too, lady, because I don't intend to let you get very far from me tonight. But hell, you're lucky. If things hadn't got all tangled up back there in town, you'd be dead by now. Durand wanted you shut up. Now you're worth more to us alive. No posse's goin' to get too close to us as long as we got you ladies."

  "Are you sure my baby was all right?" Delia asked wretchedly. She had asked the same question several times already.

  Durand moved his horse up alongside Benton's and said to the worried young mother, "I assure you, madam, your child was not injured. The townspeople will have found her by now and be taking care of her. I'm sure you'll be back together with her soon."

  Delia gave him a despairing look. "You're lying," she said dully. "You're going to kill us. I know you are."

  Durand wanted to promise her otherwise, but he couldn't. There was no way of knowing what was going to happen. He hoped that Delia and her unborn child would survive this ordeal, but he cared less about Simone.

  She obviously shared that feeling. She looked over at him with hate in her eyes and said, "I'm not surprised you're mixed up with these outlaws, Durand. I never trusted you."

  "Oh?" he said. "You trusted your husband, didn't you?"

  "Of course!"

  "Well," Durand said smoothly, "Andrew was just as much a part of the arrangement with Strawhorn here as I was. He was a thief just like me."

  "That's a lie!" Simone said.

  Strawhorn moved his hand up her body and let his thumb caress the bottom of her breast. "Nope, Durand's tellin' you the truth, lady. Your husband was in it as deep as any of us. He just had the bad luck to get in front of a bullet."

  Simone shuddered and fell silent, gritting her teeth to hold back screams of outrage as Strawhorn continued caressing her.