After the buffalo passed on through, Hawk and Two Toes prepared to go to work butchering the meat. It was at this point that the usually smiling and silent Blackfoot made a statement that Hawk agreed with. “Make mistake not bringing women.”
“Reckon so,” Hawk concurred. There was a great deal of butchering to be done, as well as smoking the meat. The weather was too warm to pack the fresh meat all the way back to the village, where the women could help, so the two of them were going to have to do the curing themselves. They set in to the task with a vengeance. It was not long before they were joined by a pack of wolves that had been following the buffalo. So they fought them off with a few more shots until conceding one of the buffalo to the pack. The rest of the task consisted of butchering the six other carcasses to get the cuts they needed before the wolves challenged for them. By working steadily, they arrived at a compromise with the scavengers, leaving them the remains of the carcasses they had butchered. This consisted of mostly intestines and organs, which Hawk had no use for. Short of starvation, he never ate the insides of anything. However, Two Toes helped himself to the raw livers and hearts.
When the work was all done, the two weary hunters cleaned their knives and hand axes, then retired to their blankets to catch a little sleep in what was left of the night. The sun found them early the next morning, heading back to the village, two riders with three packhorses following behind, two with meat piled high and one with buffalo hides. Hawk couldn’t help noticing that Two Toes appeared to be riding tall and proud, certainly more so than on the days before. He suspected that the old warrior might be feeling confident again in his ability to provide as he had done when he was a younger man.
It was late in the afternoon when the hunters crossed a small stream about a mile short of the Blackfoot village. Hawk reined his horse to a halt and dismounted. When Two Toes pulled up beside him, Hawk said, “I ain’t sure, but Rascal might be favorin’ his left front hoof. I’m gonna take a look. You go on ahead and I’ll be right behind you.” Two Toes nodded, his perpetual smile still in place, and proceeded on. Hawk lifted Rascal’s hoof and pretended to inspect it. He let Two Toes get about fifty yards ahead before he dropped Rascal’s hoof and stepped up into the saddle again.
He heard the cries of welcome ahead of him before he cleared the trees by the river and knew that the people had spotted Two Toes. When he reached the bank of the river, he could see Two Toes riding straight and tall, like a triumphant war chief returning to his village. Another cry of welcome arose when the people saw Hawk emerge from the trees. It was a good day for Walking Owl’s village, and Hawk hoped that it might help the people in their resolve to move farther north to escape the reservation. That thought caused him to pause a moment to examine his conscience. As he usually did, he looked at the problem in the simplest way possible to determine what was best for the most people. He had agreed to find Walking Owl and get him to bring his people into the reservation. He felt that he could truthfully tell Major Brisbin that he had done that. Although the major wanted him to persuade Walking Owl that to do so was in the best interest of his people, Hawk had not promised he would do that. His job was done to the extent he had agreed. The rest was up to Walking Owl. Feeling satisfied with his sense of conscience, he put it from his mind and joined in the celebration of the hunt.
He stayed for another day before saying farewell to his Blackfoot friends. He had already been gone longer than he expected when he left Fort Ellis. The major would no doubt wonder if he had run into trouble, or he might have stayed even longer, so he climbed aboard his horse and rode out one morning. Behind him, a determined Walking Owl prepared his people to move, aided by a newly confident Two Toes as his hunter. Leaving the Sun River, Hawk planned to drop down to cross the Missouri and ride east of the Big Belt Mountains to Bozeman.
CHAPTER 2
As near as he could estimate, it was about twenty miles to the Missouri River, so that’s where he planned to rest his horses. It was around noon when he approached the trees along the bluffs of the river and began looking for a good place to swim the horses across. Once across, he dismounted and let the horses drink and graze along the bank while he built a small fire and filled his coffeepot. He couldn’t help noticing a great deal of deer sign around the place he had picked to cross the river. Being a natural-born hunter, he was tempted to wait there till evening, when he might get a shot at a nice doe coming down to drink water. Best get on back to Fort Ellis, he silently reminded himself. A couple of cups of coffee and a biscuit that River Song had given him, followed by a short period of shut-eye, and he deemed the horses rested enough. Back in the saddle, he headed south, planning to stop for the night somewhere around Hound Creek. Barring any unforeseen trouble, he figured to make Fort Ellis in two days from there.
He hadn’t ridden two miles before he saw the smoke drifting lazily over the fir trees lining a creek, just as he crossed over a low hill. He pulled up to give it a longer look and decided it was someone who had pulled off the Mullan Road, the east-to-west road the army had built from Fort Benton to Walla Walla in Washington Territory. It was either that or another Sioux raiding party intent upon attacking freight wagons on the road. That made sense to him because, if that was a party of Sioux, they would likely camp a good distance from the road. And he guessed they were half a mile from it in that spot. It was mighty damn early to be making camp, though. It made him wonder enough to have a look for himself, so he turned Rascal’s head in that direction and rode down the slope toward the creek.
The trees along the bank were too thick to permit him a really close look, so he tied his horses and went forward on foot. Close enough to see then, he knelt beside a tree to watch. Mildly surprised, he discovered a wagon pulled up under the trees. They sure picked a long way from the road to make camp, he thought. The party appeared to be a man and two women. All three were gathered around the fire and they appeared to be roasting some meat. What in the hell are they doing in this country all alone? Surely the soldiers at Fort Benton told them about the danger of Sioux war parties. If not, then the folks at the little settlement of Great Falls would have warned them, if that was the direction they had traveled from. He scanned the area, thinking to discover at least one other man. He looked back at the wagon again and could see only one horse standing by the creek. It was a far too curious situation for him to ignore, so he went back to get his horses.
* * *
“Mama,” Blossom Dubose pronounced softly.
When Bertie Brown looked up to see the sudden look of alarm in her daughter’s eyes, she turned at once to see what had caused it. She glanced quickly at JoJo, who was also staring at the rider approaching from the edge of the trees. There was no time to run for cover, so she warned them. “Just set right there,” she said. “Don’t make no move to run.” She reached down to touch the Henry rifle near her feet to make sure it was readily available in the event it became necessary.
“Is it him?” JoJo whispered anxiously.
“No,” Blossom replied, after a moment to make sure. “That’s not Zach.”
“Hello, the camp,” Hawk called out when within about thirty yards of the fire. “Mind if I ride in?”
“You’re welcome to come on in, if you’re of a peaceful mind,” Bertie answered. “You’re welcome to share some of this meat with us if you are. If you ain’t, then I’ll be happy to introduce you to this Henry rifle.” She got to her feet, bringing the rifle up with her, so he could see that she wasn’t bluffing.
“Thank you kindly,” Hawk said, realizing then that the person he had mistaken for a man was, in fact, a woman. It was an easy mistake considering the bulk of the woman, with her hair drawn back and tied in a ponytail down her back. Adding to it were the men’s clothes she wore, including boots. So, he thought, it’s three women alone, at least so far. “Won’t be any need to meet Mr. Henr y,” he said. “I’ll stop for a spell, or I’ll just ride on, whatever you say.”
“Come on in, stranger. Least we
can do is offer you a cup of coffee and something to eat. We’ve got plenty.”
He could almost feel their eyes upon him as all three women stared at him, and he was pretty sure they needed help. So he rode on in and climbed down. Glancing from one of the still-wary women to the next, he saw a generous amount of anxiety in each face. “My name’s Hawk,” he volunteered. “How’d you ladies get yourselves in this fix?”
“What fix?” Bertie responded. “Who said we was in a fix?”
“I don’t know which way you’re headin’,” he replied, “but my guess is you were travelin’ on the Mullan Road about a half mile yonder way. You’re all by yourselves, no men with you. Your wagon is double rigged, but I don’t see but one horse.” He paused, but she didn’t respond at once, so he continued. “Where’s your other horse?”
Bertie continued to pause, then, as if making a decision, she smiled and replied, “That’s him on the fire there.”
“Run him to death?” Hawk asked as he fixed his gaze on who he figured was the youngest of the three, and she immediately dropped a piece of meat she had been chewing, and it fell to the ground. She looked at the young woman beside her, as if they had been caught eating forbidden flesh.
Bertie answered him. “I reckon that’s what happened to him. He was a good bit older than the other horse, and I reckon he just gave out. We was just in too big a hurry, I reckon.” She grinned at him again. “Anyway, he does better as supper than he did pullin’ that wagon. You want some?”
“I reckon not,” Hawk said. “I just had a little something to eat before I came across you ladies. Besides, I ain’t especially fond of horse meat unless that’s all there is.”
“Well, Mr. Hawk,” Bertie replied, “that’s all there is on the menu.”
Hawk considered that for a few moments before continuing. “I figured that.” He paused again, reluctant to go forward with what his conscience was telling him. “And I expect you need help. But if I’m gonna help you, I need to know what’s goin’ on. Who are you runnin’ from, the law?”
“Hell, no,” Bertie replied. “We ain’t broke no laws, though, unless you call tryin’ to save your life breakin’ the law.”
In all of Montana Territory, I had to pick this trail to follow, he thought, already anticipating trouble ahead. Better me than a Sioux war party, he told himself. “Where are you tryin’ to get to?” he asked.
“Helena,” Bertie answered.
“So you’re headin’ west,” he said, and paused to think about that. “Where the hell did you start out from?” There wasn’t a town of any size that he’d ever heard of east of where they stood unless you went a hell of a long way.
“Great Falls,” Bertie said. Then thinking it a good idea to introduce themselves, since he had the look of a chivalrous man, in spite of the buckskin shirt and the feather in his hat. “JoJo, pour the man a cup of coffee.” She turned back to Hawk. “That young girl is JoJo. My name’s Bertie Brown and the pretty one there is my daughter, Blossom.”
He nodded to each one in turn, noticing that there was no sign of offense taken from the younger girl when the other one was referred to as “the pretty one.” To the contrary, she offered a broad smile that almost eclipsed a doglike face. He couldn’t help thinking that JoJo was an appropriate name for the girl. On the other hand, Blossom was a fairly handsome woman, her only obvious flaw a scar across the side of her face. Hawk estimated her to be about twenty years old. He turned to Bertie again and made an attempt to show some manners. “Pleased to meet you, Birdie,” he said, mispronouncing her name.
“It’s Bertie,” she quickly corrected him, emphasizing the t, long accustomed to doing so. “I mighta got by with Birdie when I was a little younger, but it’d be more like Buzzard now, I reckon.” She laughed with him. “What’s your line of work, Mr. Hawk? You don’t look like a cowhand, or a lawman.”
“One thing and another,” he replied as he accepted the cup of coffee JoJo handed him. “Mostly I ride scout for the army out of Fort Ellis.” More interested in why three women were on their way to Helena with no escort, he quickly shifted the conversation back to them. Putting two and two together, he asked, “Who’s chasin’ you?”
Bertie grinned. “Why, nobody, I hope. But you can’t never tell in this country, can you? We’re just in a hurry to get to Helena.”
“You know somebody in Helena?” he asked.
“Matter of fact, I do. Sam Ingram, owns the Last Chance Saloon. He’s wantin’ me to help him build up a better hostess business. He’s got one hostess that’s been with him since he opened the place. You ever been in the Last Chance?” When he said that he had, she continued. “Gladys Welch, she worked for me in Cheyenne, but that was a long time ago. Blossom wasn’t much more’n a young’un then. I expect Gladys is lookin’ to go out to pasture about now.”
That confirmed suspicions he had already entertained, that the three of them were prostitutes, although he doubted that Bertie was still a working girl. Looking at Blossom, he could see the vast improvement she would make over Gladys. He was a bit surprised, though, when he considered she was Bertie’s daughter, thinking she might have hoped to prevent her daughter from following in her footsteps. All that aside, now that he knew the situation he had stumbled upon, what was he going to do about it? Climb on my horse and ride, was his immediate thought, already knowing that he wouldn’t. First off, he felt pretty certain that somebody was chasing the three women. He didn’t buy Bertie’s story that they were just in a hurry to get to Helena. “All right,” he said. “I’m gonna help you get back on your way to Helena. We’ll hitch my packhorse up with your horse to pull that wagon. He ain’t gonna like it, but he’s been hitched to a wagon before. Now, suppose you tell me who the hell you hope ain’t chasin’ you.”
“I reckon you’ve got a right to know, since you’re gonna help us out,” Bertie said. “Feller name of Zach Dubose, Blossom’s husband. That’s who’s chasin’ us.”
“Blossom’s husband? I thought you said Blossom was a . . .”
“She was,” Bertie went on, “and she will be again.” Seeing his confusion, she decided to tell him the whole story. “Blossom was doin’ just fine in Great Falls until Zach Dubose came to town with that sorry bunch he runs with. From the first time he set eyes on my Blossom, he was sure he had to have her. Well, he sweet-talked her into marryin’ him, tellin’ her how easy her life was gonna be since he was such a successful businessman. Course, she had to give up whorin’, he couldn’t be sharin’ his wife with half the drunks in Great Falls, even as small as it was. I couldn’t blame him for that, could you?” Hawk shook his head. Bertie went on. “Well, Blossom came to find out two things about her husband. One, the business he was so successful in was holdin’ up stagecoaches in Dakota Territory and stealin’ cattle in Wyomin’. It was that other thing that Blossom couldn’t live with, though. Zach is a low-down mean drunk, and when he ain’t ridin’ with those gunmen friends he hangs out with, he’s lookin’ for a reason to beat her up. He was accusin’ her of entertainin’ gentlemen while he was out of town on one of his jobs.”
“That scar on the side of her face?” Hawk asked.
“That’s right,” Bertie answered. “He done that with a whiskey bottle.”
When her mother said it, Blossom looked away, as if ashamed. “Mama, he don’t wanna know all that.”
Bertie ignored her and continued. “He damn near killed her, so I figured it was time for her to leave the son of a bitch. He always claimed he’d kill her if she ever tried to run away from him, so I decided we’d best leave Great Falls. It wasn’t much more’n a wide spot in the trail, anyway. I got talked into goin’ there in the first place because folks were sayin’ it was gonna be a real town. Anyway, JoJo said she’d go with us to help out, so we bought that wagon and them two horses when Zach took off to do some business up near Fort Benton. So now you’ve got the whole story.” She stepped back then to judge his reaction.
“What about the wagon?” Hawk ask
ed. “What kinda shape is it in?”
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it, as far as I know,” Bertie said. “It got us this far without no trouble.”
He walked over to take a look at the wagon, checking the axles and wheels. They had hauled it over some pretty rough terrain when they drove it back this far from the road. But she was right—he could see no real damage. He took a moment to look up at the sky then. “All right,” he announced. “We’ve already used up a good piece of this day, and by the time we get the horses hitched up and my packs off my horse, we’ll use up another big chunk of it. So we might as well just stay right here and start out in the mornin’. Is that all right with you ladies?”
“I reckon so,” Bertie replied with a good bit of enthusiasm. She felt sure now that he wasn’t going to back off his offer. “We’re fixed pretty good for supplies. Oughta be plenty to take us all to Helena. We’ve got some salt pork, but there’s a lot of that horse left.”
“Like I said,” Hawk replied, “I ain’t particularly fond of horse meat if there’s something else available. And I saw a lot of deer sign back by the river. It ain’t but a couple of miles from here, so I think I’ll go back this evenin’ and see if I can get a shot at one.” There was no need to ask the women. He could read the approval in the faces of all three.
“That bein’ the case,” Bertie said, “I reckon I’ve got time to see about makin’ some biscuits. I’ve already got a pot of beans soakin’ in the wagon, so how’s that sound to go with some venison?”
“That sure suits my taste,” he allowed. So he busied himself with the transfer of his ammunition and supplies from his packhorse to the wagon, filling what little space was left. It looked to him like they had brought half of Great Falls with them. When he was satisfied they had enough wood for the fire, he stepped up into the saddle, preparing to go hunting.
No Justice in Hell Page 2