The Cassidy Posse

by D. N. Bedeker

  “A thousand dollars!” exclaimed Billy, totally losing his usually cool demeanor. “That’s sure as hell better than your five dollars a day and expenses Major.”

  “You get a $50 bonus for each rustler killed,” said the Major defensively.

  “What do we have to do?” asked Billy.

  “It’s understood with that sum of money, it buys your silence too. No one must know of this operation.”

  “Mister, I can be silent as a corpse.”

  “There’s a posse of five men passing this way,” the big man continued. “The man in charge is a Chicago detective who is pursuing an escaped prisoner. There are important people in Chicago that don’t want to see either one of them again. You’re concern will be Lieutenant McGhan. He is of medium height and stocky build. You should have no trouble picking him out. He has a fondness for wearing a Derby hat even out here on the plains. McGhan must not make it back to Illinois alive.”

  “Hell, for the money you’re paying, I’ll kill all five of them,” boasted Billy.

  “Unless you can get McGhan alone, you’re going to have to. It’s got to look like they were mistaken for cattle rustlers and killed accidentally. Leave notes on the bodies about cattle rustlers beware.”

  “It sounds pretty dangerous,” said Billy. “I want half up front in gold.”

  “That’s not a problem,” replied Mr. Simms.

  Billy saw no reason to back off on his demands when things were going his way.

  “If I got you straight on the money,” he continued, “if I kill all five myself, I get all the money?”

  “I don’t want you trying that. Hire some good men. Do not let your greed get the best of you,” he warned. “I lost two men this morning trying to take them. We tried to set up an ambush, but he’s with some locals. Somehow they saw it coming.”

  “They won’t see me coming,” the Kid assured them. “Whereabouts are they now?”

  “When I left them, they were headed this way.”

  “They’re trailing some outlaws who will probably have enough sense to stay the other side of the red wall,” said the Major. “It’s very rugged country. You’ll have to take someone who knows the lay of the land.”

  “Who’d that be, Major?” asked the Kid.

  “Take Little Jake. He used to cowboy up here til the storm of ‘87.”

  Before the Kid left, Mr. Simms cautioned him. “Don’t bring me back a Derby hat that blew off the head of some Eastern dude and expect the rest of the gold. Bring me back McGhan’s badge if you can manage that. There are men who have double-crossed me before but none of them are alive.”

  CHAPTER 22

  THE HOLE-IN-THE-WALL

  After coming through Jack’s pass through the mountains, they entered territory known only to Butch and Elzy. Jack relinquished the lead, but he wasn’t comfortable riding drag. He dropped back a ways and was sulking in the saddle.

  The small posse had been riding next to the great red wall that ran through the southeastern part of Wyoming. The towering stone escarpment rose to heights of over two hundred feet and was covered only by an occasional hardy greasewood that found enough soil in a crevice to feed its roots. It seemed to stretch indefinitely before them in the afternoon sunlight, appearing to be as constant and uniform as if it were man-made like Great Wall of China.

  “Something’s been bothering me since that little fracas in the mountains,” said Elzy.

  “What’s that?” asked Butch.

  “How many shots did we get off? Mike shot the guy that got on the wagon. Think the rest of us fired five shots from our positions.”

  “I know I fired twice,” said Butch.

  “How could I forget? Two direct hits by Butch Cassidy the famous buckboard killer. At least you knocked the seat out from under that oversized bastard so he would have a rough ride home.”

  “That’s what I was aiming at,” Butch said curtly and nudged his horse to move ahead of Elzy.

  Elzy grimaced and threw up his hands in exasperation. He whipped his pony to catch up with Butch.

  “Hey, sorry, just kiddin’ around,” apologized Elzy. “I know we had this talk before, and you ain’t gonna kill anybody unless you have no other choice. I respect you for that, Butch, but you know, in our business, that day is gonna come.”

  “Your business, Elzy. Did ya forget that I quit?”

  “Easier said than done, pardner.”

  Their discussion was interrupted by a voice from the rear.

  “Hey, how much farther is this outlaw hole?” shouted Jack. “We been ridin’ the better part of the day next to this wall, and I ain’t seen no break in it.”

  “Comin’ up pretty soon,” Butch assured him.

  Elzy looked back towards Jack, who had now moved ahead of Mike and Luke and was leaning impatiently forward in his saddle, his hands resting on the saddle horn.

  “So what do you make of him?” asked Elzy softly.

  “You mean Mr. Two-guns?” asked Butch. “He’s a good bottle shooter.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. You fired two shots, I shot the skinny guy, and Luke blew the horse apart with his cannon. There’s no mistaken that. What did our best marksman in the county hit?”

  “There was one shot didn’t hit anything but the ground.”

  “That’s my point,” said Elzy. “I’d sure like to know how many guns we can count on before we catch up with Red Alvins’ bunch.”

  They followed Buffalo Creek as it meandered lazily towards the great rock wall. Butch held up his hand to bring the posse to a halt.

  “This is it,” Elza announced. “The Hole-in-the-Wall. Only murderers and thieves are welcome from this point.”

  “Well, thet’s uh fine howdy-yuh-do,” said Mike. “I suppose we can’t just explain tuh them that we’re offeecers of the law servin’ a little warrant.”

  “That’s a fine idea if you think this is pretty country to be buried in,” said Elzy.

  “We need some story we can all stick to,” said Butch as the others circled their horses around him. “Simple but believable so no one screws it up.”

  “How about we say were looking to buy some stolen cattle?” suggested Jack.

  “That would be real good, Two-guns,” said Elzy sarcastically. “We’re outlaws. If we wanted stolen cattle we would just steal some.”

  Jack gave Elzy a dirty look and nudged his horse away from the group.

  “We gotta come up with some good reason we’re here,” said Butch. “Somebody always wants to know.”

  “Let’s use the regulator situation,” said Elzy. “We come cause we figure our names are on the list.”

  “That’s a reasonable enough story since our names most likely are on the damn list.”

  “Yuh might be the first two names from all the stories I’m hearin’,” said Mike.

  “Yep, you’re probably right about that,” Butch concurred. “So that’ll be our story. The easiest story not to screw up is the truth.”

  Before they rode into the valley of outlaws, Mike hit them with another concern.

  “There could be uh problem down there. I was sent here cause I know Sean Daugherty. There’s nothing tuh say he won’t recognize me.”

  Butch pondered that a moment. “Well, one thing don’t help is that thin-brimmed pot that you got strapped to your head. If he recollects your face at all, that thing will get him thinkin’ east. Why don’t we just change hats? My hat’s got a lot more brim to hide your ugly kisser under if you keep it tipped down.”

  Mike agreed and exchanged his stylish Derby for Butch’s trail-worn cowboy hat. Butch made a mock ceremony of the exchange placing it on his head like a crown.

  “What do you think?” he asked Elzy.

  “You look good in that Butch,” Elzy concluded. “It suits the shape of your face.”

  “You look like a genuine Eastern dude, Mr. Cassidy,” said Luke.

  Butch beamed a gleeful smile at this news. The others fell in behind him and rode do
wn from the hills towards the outlaw cabins.

  “When’s duh last time yuh been in this den of thieves?” asked Mike looking at the many vantage points for a rifleman in the valley strewn with large boulders.

  “I haven’t been here in a year or so,” Butch confessed.

  “How will we know if they still remember you?” asked Jack nervously.

  “Depends on if they shoot us or not,” laughed Butch. He waved his new hat to a solitary man standing with a rifle on a ledge above them. The wave was returned.

  “See,” said Elzy. “No need to worry. Everybody knows Butch.”

  “Well, I don’t get it,” said Luke. “Why is this the Hole-in-the-Wall? We ain’t gone through no hole in that big ole long wall.”

  “That’s cause we come in from the west. The Hole-in-the-Wall is at the end of that canyon that narrows to a V. The long one that’s right in front of the main cabin.”

  “It really ain’t a hole either,” Elzy assured him. “It’s just a notch that has a narrow trail going down it.”

  “Narrow, hell,” said Butch. “That trail is as slippery as a grass rope on a wet morning. Rocks slide out from under your hoss’s feet. This time of year it can be plugged with snow. That’s why we took a chance on you two’s pass through the mountains. We saved a good days ride comin’ in from the west.”

  “The top of that whole wall slopes downward into a valley on the other side,” explained Elzy. “A man with a Winchester at the top has quite a commanding view.”

  “I remember the first time I went through the Hole-in-the-Wall,” reminisced Butch. “I was with Nate Champion and we had about a dozen head of beeves we had found running loose.”

  “That happened a lot to ole Nate,” Elzy chimed in. “Always findin’ mavericks.”

  “Anyhow,” continued Butch, “Nate told me to stay with the cattle for a minute and he would go on ahead. After a while I got tired of waitin’ and tried to find where he had went. It was a dead end. It was as though he had vanished leaving me with all these beeves. Then a rock begins to move and out he steps just laughin’ his ass off. They used to have this rock they rigged so they could move it over the narrowest part of the gap. They would brush out the cattle’s hoove prints with sagebrush after they drove them through. It looked like the cattle just upped and vanished. It would drive a posse nuts. Course ole Nate couldn’t just tell me about it. He had to show me.”

  They descended from the low-lying hills into a grassy valley watered by the meandering Buffalo Creek. There were several rough-hewn shelters around a larger cabin that appeared to be the center of activity.

  “Damn,” said Luke, looking about in amazement. “I heard Jesse and Frank James was the first to find this place.”

  “I don’t know if they were the first but they surely were here,” Elzy assured him.

  “How would yuh be knowin’ thet as uh fact?” Mike challenged. Having the viewpoint of a lawman, he was already tiring of outlaw lore.

  “Shorty Wheeler told us and that’s good enough for me,” said Elzy. “He’s the unofficial proprietor of this place. Been here for as long as anyone can remember.”

  “If I have kids, I can tell them I was inside the Hole-in-the-Wall,” said Luke enthusiastically.

  “What girl’s gonna marry you?” Jack cut him off.

  “There might be one,” Luke countered. “You don’t know everything Jack. If I can’t get no regular woman, maybe I’ll get a squaw.”

  Jack reined up his horse and turned on Luke in reaction to this obvious remark about his family.

  “Well, you badmouth her all the time,” said Luke defensively but backing up.

  Mike rode between them. “Knock it off. We dun’t have time fer this nonsense.”

  As they approached the main cabin, several of the half dozen men sitting idly on the wide porch got up to get the first look at the new arrivals.

  “It’s ole Butch Cassidy,” one announced.

  “Whose’s that with him?” asked another.

  “Looks like Elzy Lay and some other fellers I don’t know,” said the first porch sitter.

  “Howdy boys,” Butch greeted them with a wave and a smile. “You all look like your enjoying the nice spring weather.”

  “Spring weather, hell, we had one warm day,” said an old veteran standing in the doorway. “Look around you now. It snowed the other night.” The worn Confederate hat on his head blended into his worn leathery face. He bore the air of a man that was accustomed to being in command.

  “This is nothin’,” said Jack. “You should have seen the snow we caught coming through the mountains the other night.”

  “You come through the mountains this time of year,” remarked the first porch sitter. “You must have been in an all-fired hurry to get here.”

  “You boys got a posse on your tail?” asked the old veteran, suddenly concerned. “We don’t need no more trouble right now. We got to worry about those regulators headin’ up to Buffalo. They might decide to swing over here and wipe us out. We been keepin’ three men posted in the hills and two on the top of the Hole-in-the-Wall.”

  “Naw, its okay,” Butch assured him, giving Jack a look.

  “We had better get us some boys up to the west to re-enforce Gil if you think yuh were follered.”

  Butch considered this a moment and saw a possible advantage: reducing the odds.

  “I think we lost them but don’t really know for sure, Sarge,” Butch faked a confession.

  “Damn,” swore the Sarge, slapping his worn confederate cap against his leg. “Uh couple of you boys got to go up west or there’ll be hell tah pay.”

  “Jez, Sarge, one man’s enough out there,” said a young man who was vigorously whittling on a branch. “There ain’t nothing or nobody west of here.” He sensed he would be the first to be drafted.

  “That’s what they said at Lookout Mountain,” the Sarge began.

  “Okay, I’ll go,” said the young man, hopping off the porch. “I can’t sit through that war story again.”

  “Now what about the rest uh you slackers,” growled the Sarge.

  “I just came back from lookout to the north all night,” said the first porch sitter. “The regulators are at the KC ranch. As long as we got that big rock wall between them and us, we got no worries. They have to go way up north and double back around the wall to get to us.”

  There were various other excuses from the men on the porch. The Sarge turned towards the inside of the cabin and yelled. “Red, can you send one of your boys up west to guard. We may have trouble coming that way.”

  “Naw, we’re leaving early in the morning,” came the reply.

  “Well, Butch, how about you sending up one of your men?”

  Butch gave him a quick smile. “Can’t Sarge. We been riding all day. We’re done in. We’re leaving in the morning too.”

  “Damn it, Butch. You brought this on us.”

  “Sarge!” interrupted the young man, already mounted and pointed west. “Gil and I can handle it.”

  Sarge turned and went inside mumbling something about the younger generation and lack of responsibility. Butch and his group dismounted and followed him through the door. Mike tried to nonchalantly pull Butch’s cowboy hat down over his eyes as he entered the cabin.

  CHAPTER 23

  THE OUTLAW CABIN

  The inside of the cabin was unfinished log walls with a few newspaper clippings and wanted posters for decoration. Journals from a variety of towns proclaimed the exploits of the various desperados that occasionally slept there.

  The cabin was divided into two rooms. In the larger room that was entered from the doorway, several men were seated at a crudely-made table engaged in a heated debate. Two men sat along the sidelines choosing to be oblivious of the fray. They were intently working on their equipment. One was fixing his saddle. Another, a sandy-haired young man, was trying to sew a button on his shirt. He struggled to get the job done before the sun dipped below the horizon and the light
failed.

  Butch and Elzy entered the room but went unnoticed momentarily by the men arguing at the table. Luke cautiously peeked out from behind Butch. Jack was trying to regain his look of self-assurance. He realized he had stuck his foot in his mouth about crossing the mountains. Mike worked his way into a far corner and carefully considered the inhabitants of the cabin from under the wide brim of Butch’s hat. Butch glanced back at him and Mike nodded towards the sandy-haired young man sewing on the button. Butch looked relieved. The trip had not been in vain.

  “Hey, it’s ole Butch and Elzy.” shouted an unattractive but congenial looking man sitting at the head of the table.

  “Hey yourself, Flatnose,” replied Butch. “What happened to hospitality around this place? You all are so busy shoutin’ at one another we could stand here forever waitin’ for a cup of coffee.”

  “Sorry, Butch, but tempers been a little short around here the last few days.”

  “What the trouble?” asked Elzy.

  “Oh, it’s all this invasion talk.”

  “We been hearin’ bits of that story,” said Butch.

  “Did ya here they killed Nate Champion and Nick Ray the other day,” said News Carver. “Had them surrounded all day at the KC ranch. Finally they burned ‘em out and shot Nate down like uh dog. Oh, Nick was already dead.”

  Butch’s smile disappeared and he looked visibly saddened by the news.

  “Nate was the one that brought me through the Hole-in-the-Wall for the first time. Ya say the regulaters got him.”

  “The question is whether they’re comin’ here next,” said Red Alvins, looking proud to be sitting at the same table with the more infamous outlaws of the Hole-in-the-Wall.

  “I don’t think that’s the case,” said Flatnose George Curry. “The KC is a little north of us. They’re already by us. I heard their headin’ for Buffalo.”

  “Buffalo’s a big town,” said News Carver. “There must be a couple hundred of them if they’s gonna try that. I heard there was two-three hundred hired Texas gunmen. Oh, they got a supply train half a mile long.”