No Justice in Hell

by Charles G. West

  “Makes sense to me,” Hawk said. “I’m gonna go down there and look around to see if I can find anything that might tell me which way they headed.” He really didn’t think there was much chance that he would, but he had nothing else, and his horses were due a rest, anyway.

  “You might look around for a hoofprint with a toe clip on it—be kinda hard to find, but I had to make one for the right front foot of that sorrel of Bertie’s.”

  “Much obliged,” Hawk said, and returned to his horse. He didn’t mention to Grover that he had to have Rascal reshod because of a hot nail Grover had driven in his shoe the last time he had done the job. He figured it wouldn’t serve any purpose beyond making Grover feel bad.

  * * *

  Hawk took the opportunity to feed his two horses some oats after he relieved them of their packs and saddle, then he turned them out in Bowen’s corral. He wanted them well rested when he decided which way he was going to go looking for Bertie and Blossom. Inside the stable, he could readily see where Grover had found Bowen’s body. Grover had picked up the bloodiest patch of hay on the floor, but there were still specks of dried blood on some that was left. Hawk didn’t spend much time looking around inside. There was not much chance he would find anything to help him, so he went outside and spent a good half hour examining the ground by the front door. There were plenty of tracks, but nothing that would indicate a toe clip on any of them. He decided to give up the search when Gladys Welch came in the stable to talk to him.

  “Are you going after that man?” Gladys asked.

  “I had that in mind,” Hawk replied. “Right now, I don’t have any idea where to start lookin’. Grover said you helped Bertie and Blossom escape. Did they tell you where they were goin’?”

  She told him the same thing she had told Grover. “They were just going to try to find a place to hide and hope Dubose would give up and go away.” She and Hawk exchanged hopeless glances, for they both knew Dubose would never give up. She went on to relate the entire happenings of that night as best she could remember. “I just wanted to come down here and tell you to be careful and I hope you find Blossom and Bertie safe,” she said. “I’m just glad they sneaked outta town without that bastard seeing them.” Having said her peace, she returned to the saloon.

  After she left, he started thinking about the circumstances she had described on the night of their escape. The two women were desperately trying to get away without being seen from the street where Dubose was prowling. So most likely they went out the back door, he thought. He went at once to that door, where he found about as many tracks as he had found by the front door, but none that might indicate a toe clip. About to give up again, he glanced toward the back corner of the corral where his horses were drinking from the horse trough. The ground outside the corral at that corner was soggy wet due to the water leaking out of the trough. He went at once to search the area affected. It was waiting for him there, one distinct hoofprint with a small, flat place in the toe where Grover had formed the clip and bent it back over the hoof to help hold the shoe on. It didn’t tell him where they were going, but it did tell him they had left that way. He stood up and looked back toward town. If they were intent upon keeping the buildings of the town between them and their pursuer, they most likely had to keep going in that direction. He looked out toward the mountains beyond, and said, “That’s gonna put you on the trail through MacDonald Pass.” He would take that trail if he wanted to go to Rubin Fagan’s trading post. And Grover said he saw Rubin’s boy, Robert, at the stable earlier, he thought. It had to be more than coincidence and he started building a possible occurrence that could well have happened. They might have gone to Rubin’s place. At least it was enough to get him started as soon as his horses were ready, planning to ride straight to Rubin’s without wasting time to try to strike Dubose’s trail. With a little more luck, maybe I’ll catch up with Dubose before he figures out they’re headin’ for Rubin’s. He knew that was only possible if Dubose had not come to the same conclusion he had and did not lose time trying to track them.

  * * *

  His mind was heavily laden with thoughts of anxiety for Blossom and Bertie, so much so, that he tried to tell himself to give it some rest. So he purposely thought about the attractive lady who ran the dining room up at the other end of town. He would think of Sophie Hicks from time to time when his brain was idle. He liked to imagine that she had special feelings for him, but he was modest enough to know that she probably shined up to a lot of men. It was good for business. He had even considered walking up there to get some supper on this night, since he had to wait for his horses to rest. The only thing that kept him from doing so was the fact that he would be in a hurry to leave. The last time he was in town, he had to leave suddenly, telling her that he had intended to stay longer. He was afraid if he did it again, she’d think he was a jack-in-the-box, or a lunatic. So he stayed with his horses and fixed supper for himself. When he deemed Rascal and the packhorse were ready to go, he saddled up. Grover came in to look after things, so Hawk took a few more minutes to talk to him. Then he paid him for the oats he had given his horses and stepped up into the saddle.

  Grover stepped back to let him ride past. He looked at the money in his hand and said, “I declare, Hawk, I reckon this makes you my first customer in the stable. Maybe I oughta put it in a jar to keep, so I’ll always remember the first dollar I made in this business.”

  “Hell, if you’re gonna do that, give it back and I’ll write you a promissory note.”

  CHAPTER 14

  “They eat like they’re really hungry,” Robert Fagan said to his father when he came into the store. “They didn’t bring any food with ’em, they just ran.”

  Rubin had been giving the two women plenty of thought since they arrived with his son early that morning. At the moment, Blossom and Bertie were in the kitchen eating the food that his wife, Minnie, had prepared for them. He could not question his son’s decision to bring them here. It would be wrong to deny help to a woman and her daughter in danger. At the same time, he was not sure he wanted to place his family in the path of the wanton killer the women had described. And it seemed almost certain that this man, Dubose, would continue to search for them until he tracked them here. “They’re afeared for their lives,” Rubin replied. “I reckon they didn’t have much time to plan for their trip.”

  “I think it was lucky I was there to help them,” Robert said.

  “Yeah, I reckon it was,” Rubin said, although without enthusiasm. He decided then that what was done was done, so he tried to be more receptive. “When they’re done eatin’, we’ll let ’em put their possibles in your grandma’s hut and they can stay there as long as they need to. And they won’t be in the store if that feller shows up here lookin’ for ’em. You’d best keep your rifle handy, just in case he does show up lookin’ for trouble.”

  A few minutes later, Bertie came in from the kitchen, leaving Blossom to help Minnie clean up after their breakfast. “I wanna thank you again for takin’ us in, Mr. Fagan. I know this musta been a big surprise to spring on you, but I’m sure your son, here, probably saved our lives. We didn’t have much time to bring anything with us, but I want you to know that I did think to bring a little money with me. So I intend to pay you for the cost of takin’ care of us and I hope we won’t put you out too much.”

  Her declaration caused him to feel a little guilty about his reservations, thinking maybe he should have a more compassionate nature, like his wife, and welcome the women openly. “Well,” he forced, “we’re happy to help you any way we can.” He glanced at his son in time to see his satisfied smile. “I think we’ve got just the place for you. I built that hut out behind the store for Minnie’s mama. It was either that or set up a tipi for her.” He paused to exchange chuckles with Robert. “She wanted her own place, so I built her one and she liked it just fine, but she passed on a little over a year ago and ain’t nobody been in it since.”

  “That sounds like the perfec
t place,” Bertie said. At that point, she would have settled for a tipi or a tent, herself. From what she had seen of the rooms behind the store, there would be little privacy for Blossom and her, had that been the only option.

  “Good,” Rubin said. “Come on and we’ll go look at it.” He opened a drawer and retrieved a key to the padlock on the door of the hut. He led them outside then, past the corner of the corral to a small log cabin sitting beside a trickle of water that ran down to empty into the river.

  Bertie was pleasantly surprised when Rubin opened the door for her. Expecting a dingy little room covered with over a year’s layer of dust, she instead found a neat, orderly little cabin that had obviously been continually maintained by Minnie Red Shirt, Rubin’s Blackfoot wife. There was a stone fireplace at one end of the cabin and a window on each side wall. It looked ideal for Blossom and her. They could even cook in the fireplace if they so chose, even though Minnie insisted she would do the cooking while they were there. Evidently the grandmother had chosen to do some cooking, because there was a heavy iron skillet sitting on the side of the hearth. Blossom once again thought of how grateful she was that Robert Fagan was put in their path.

  * * *

  Zach Dubose was not much of a tracker, but he could see that there were recent tracks on the winding trail he had been following since sunup that morning. He had no way of knowing how far behind he was and if the tracks belonged to the two women he chased. But considering the terrain he rode, the trail he followed was the only sensible way to go. His progress was slow, however, since he sometimes veered off the trail to check out a cut or ravine that looked to be a good hiding place. He lost considerable time when he saw some tracks leave the trail and he followed them up a stream into the hills. He found a frequently used campsite, but no indication that anyone had camped there recently. Had he felt the ashes of one of the campsites, he might have discovered that deep down there were a few still warm. Maybe, he thought, he could have passed the point where they might have ridden up into the hills to hide. That only made him more frustrated and angry to think they might have gotten the best of him, maybe even riding back to Helena now while he continued on through these mountains. They might be playing him the fool like he had with that lawman when Loafer Smith sent him off into Utah Territory. To further frustrate him, the dark horse he rode was in need of rest. He wanted to drive the weary horse on, but knew he had to stop for a while. He was hungry, so he built a small fire on top of one of the old campfires and made a small pot of coffee. As he sat there drinking his coffee, he wondered where this trail he followed eventually wound up, if anywhere. He cursed the woman who had led him off into the wilderness, unaware that he was sitting in the same spot as she had the night before.

  When he first started out to look for Blossom, he had thought he would force her to come with him and if he had to kill Bertie to do it, all the better. Now as his frustration continued to mount, he decided Blossom would only continue to be a problem. As much as he would enjoy abusing her, he now desired to see her dead, her pretty face smashed by a .44 slug. That’s what she deserved.

  When the dappled gray had been rested, he rode back to join the trail again, thinking that surely he would come to a point where the women had to stop. He smiled when he thought of the two of them, most likely on foot now, after having foundered their horses in their fright. He pushed on, carefully approaching every hidden bend where the ornery bitch that was her mother might be in ambush with that Henry rifle of hers. He would take great delight in bending the barrel of it around her neck.

  Just when he decided he was going to have to call it quits for the day, after another half a day’s ride from his last stop, he came to a wide curve that led down to a river. If he had to guess, he would have said it was most likely the Clark Fork. A few dozen yards off the trail, he discovered what appeared to be a trading post. He pulled the gray up at once. Could this be where they were heading all along? It damn sure had possibilities! He had to check his emotions then to remind himself to play the part of innocence until he had a chance to look the place over. There was a corral behind the building with eight or ten horses inside, a small cabin beyond, an outhouse, and what looked to be a smokehouse. It would have been his intention to see if their horses were among those in the corral, but he had no idea what horses they rode. Only thing to do, he decided, was to go in the front door like any other traveler.

  * * *

  Rubin Fagan looked up when the door opened, expecting to see his son walk in. He had heard a horse approaching and figured it was Robert back from hunting. He almost started when he encountered the dark image of the man standing with his hand still on the handle of the door as he surveyed the room before entering. He knew at once who he was and had to rapidly pull himself together to manage a greeting. “Well, howdy, stranger, you’re ridin’ late tonight.”

  “Yeah,” Dubose sneered while trying to affect a friendly smile. “I reckon I am. I musta got off on the wrong trail. I’m a deputy U.S. marshal on the trail of two women who’ve been robbin’ and killin’ storekeepers like you that are too far from any town where there’s some law. Don’t reckon they passed by your place, did they?”

  Rubin knew he was bluffing, so he bluffed as well. “No, sir, Deputy, I ain’t seen nobody like that. Two women, you say? No, I doubt they’d be ridin’ up this way without any protection. But I’ll keep an eye out for ’em. I appreciate the warnin’.”

  Dubose had a gut feeling they were both bluffing, but he decided not to call him on it until he had a better idea what he might be faced with. There might be more than this proprietor to deal with, including Bertie and her Henry. As if to confirm that precaution, Robert walked in at that moment, his rifle propped on his shoulder. His first impression of the stranger was the same as his father had and he immediately pulled the rifle off his shoulder. Rubin, with a tight shake of his head, quickly warned him to wait. He had seen Dubose’s hand drop to the handle of his pistol as soon as Robert walked in. “Have any luck, son? This is a deputy marshal lookin’ for two women outlaws. I told him we ain’t seen nobody like that around here. You see any sign of ’em where you was huntin’?”

  Robert caught on to the charade. “Nope, no sign of ’em. I got me a deer, though. I’m fixing to hang him up and skin him.”

  “Good, we can use some fresh meat.” Rubin looked at Dubose. “Was there somethin’ else you’d be needin’?”

  “No, reckon not,” Dubose answered. “I reckon I got sent on the wrong trail. I’ll just turn around and head back to Helena while there’s a little light left. Those two women show up at your door, you be careful. Don’t turn your back on ’em.”

  “Thanks for the warnin’. Stop in again when you’ve got time to visit,” Rubin invited as Dubose walked out the door. You lying son of a bitch, he thought to himself.

  Robert stepped to the door and listened to hear him ride away. When he did, he walked out on the porch to make sure Dubose was gone. He was joined a second later by Rubin. “He rode back up the trail toward the pass,” Robert said, and turned to face his father. “That was him, wasn’t it?” Rubin nodded. “I shoulda just shot him down.”

  “I know,” Rubin said, “but I saw him gettin’ ready to whip that .44 out as soon as you came in the door. He’da got one of us for sure and I didn’t want no gun battle in the store. One of the women mighta got hit. They’re right there in the kitchen.”

  All three women were in the kitchen and all three quiet as mice, pressed up against the wall between them and the store. Minnie and Blossom each held a butcher knife and since there were only two, Bertie held the large iron frying pan from the hearth to use as a weapon. “He found us!” Blossom whispered, even though she knew he was gone. “He knows we’re here!”

  Seeing her daughter about to panic, Bertie tried to calm her. “Maybe, maybe not. Ain’t no way he can know for sure, ’cause he didn’t see us. He couldn’t.” She looked to Minnie for confirmation.

  “He no see,” Minnie ass
ured her.

  Blossom shook her head slowly, still frightened. “I don’t know,” she said. “That man’s a devil.”

  The door opened then and Rubin walked into the kitchen to tell them that Dubose had ridden back the way he had come. “He’s gone. I don’t know if he swallowed my story or not, but he left. Just so you’ll feel safe, Robert and I will stay awake tonight to keep an eye on the place in case he decides to show up again.” This seemed to add some comfort to the terrified woman holding on to her mother’s arm, so he gave her a smile and said, “So you ladies go ahead and finish fixin’ supper. If you wanna wait for a few minutes, you can cook some fresh venison. Robert’s fixin’ to skin a deer he just killed.”

  Outside, Robert was in the process of hauling the carcass of a young doe up to hang on a heavy porch beam extending out over the ground for just that purpose. His rifle was propped against the front wall of the store, in case it was needed in a hurry. He knew he was going to be out there butchering his deer for quite some time and he knew he would see anybody coming back down the trail to the river. His father was going to take his post by the outside kitchen door. They figured to be ready in the event Dubose decided to make a later visit.

  * * *

  Darkness descended upon the river valley of the Clark Fork, and the night creatures that dwelled along the riverbanks came out of their holes to serenade the rising moon. A colony of crickets endeavored to fill the empty air with their calls on this peaceful night, the ardent males doing their best to attract the ladies. Oblivious to this chorus of nature’s night world, Zach Dubose sat uninspired. He watched the trading post patiently, knowing in his heart that this would be the night he found restitution. The women were there. He knew that for sure. From his position in a laurel thicket above the store, he saw the young man butchering the deer out front. He saw his father lingering near the back stoop outside the kitchen door. He saw the Indian woman come out the door to bring him a cup of coffee. He would wait. They would soon tire of their watching and decide he was not coming back, so he waited. His horses were tied well back in the trees where they would not send signals to the horses in the corral. For this business tonight, he left his rifle in his saddle sling. His Colt .44 would be handier in close quarters. He checked it again to make sure all six cylinders were loaded. He waited.