Black Horse Creek (9781101607466)

by West, Charles G.

  “Gimme a drink of that bottle,” Billy said. “You owe me a drink after haulin’ me all day with my hands tied behind me. My shoulders are gonna be so stove up I won’t be able to move ’em.”

  “Fair enough,” Grayson said. “I figure I owe you one drink after such a long day in the saddle.” He nodded toward Billy’s hands. “You just had it, and you ain’t gettin’ but one, so think about that tomorrow and decide how you want that drink, in your belly, or on your hands.”

  “You go to hell,” Billy shot back.

  “In time,” Grayson replied. “You just behave yourself while I put the saddles in the barn. Then I’ll take you inside to let Earl’s woman take a look at that leg.”

  * * *

  “Who’d you say he was?” Mae asked.

  “He’s Jacob Blanchard’s youngest son,” Earl answered, “and Grayson’s takin’ him all the way back to Fort Smith.”

  “What did he do?” Cassie whispered as she peeked through the crack of the door leading to the store.

  “Grayson said he shot a deputy marshal,” her father answered.

  “He doesn’t look much older than me,” Cassie said, still whispering. “Is he hurt bad?”

  “I don’t think so,” Earl replied. “Your mama’s gonna look at him. You stay here in the house.”

  “Mama might want me to help her,” Cassie said. The young man didn’t look like he was as dangerous as her father and Grayson seemed to think. She had certainly heard of Jacob Blanchard—everyone within three days’ ride of Black Horse Creek had. She couldn’t help but be curious about the notorious family of men that seemed to own all of the state of Kansas on the other side of the Oklahoma line.

  “I don’t expect your mama needs any help in seein’ to that young hellion’s leg,” Earl told her. “You’d best just stay put right here in the house.”

  “You go ahead and make up them biscuits,” her mother said. “Since your pa said we’d feed ’em, I reckon we’re gonna have to cook something.” When Earl reminded her that Grayson expected to pay for the food, she hesitated. “I reckon we could give ’em something besides coffee and biscuits,” she said, having a change of heart. “Before you start them biscuits, Cassie, go out to the smokehouse and cut off some ham. That oughta do for ’em.”

  “Be quick about it, Cassie,” Earl said. “He’s wantin’ to lock that boy up in the smokehouse.”

  Cassie went back to the kitchen to fetch a butcher knife and a pan, then hurried out the back door to the smokehouse where Earl had several salt-cured hams hanging. When she returned, her mother was already cleaning the wound on Billy’s leg. Cassie pushed the door ajar, just enough to peek through. “You want me to get the bullet out?” she heard her mother ask.

  “If it ain’t too much trouble,” Grayson replied. “If you think you can get to it pretty easy, go ahead and dig it outta him. If it’s in too deep, just leave it in there. He wouldn’t be the first one walkin’ around with lead in his leg.”

  “I’ll get it out,” Mae decided.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Billy said, surprising Grayson with the polite expression of appreciation, one that was certainly not typical of the usual ungrateful ranting of the young outlaw. He didn’t have to think about it very long, however, before figuring Billy was just smart enough not to antagonize one who was about to carve into his leg with a knife.

  “I’ll do my best not to hurt you too much,” Mae replied.

  The young girl watching from the other room was struck by the meek attitude shown by the prisoner. With his hands still tied behind his back, he didn’t look to be the wanton murderer that Grayson had said. She shifted her gaze to the formidable bounty hunter standing beside the slender young man, his rifle ready to fire at the first hint of trouble. He looked to be twice the size of his prisoner with his broad shoulders and the steely eyes of a predator peering out from under heavy black eyebrows that, along with his dark mustache, made him the image of cruel justice. Looking again at the young man gritting his teeth with the pain of her mother’s probing knife, she immediately felt compassion for him. No longer wishing to witness the operation, she closed the door and busied herself preparing the biscuits and ham. At least I can give him something to eat, she told herself. She paused to picture him again. He looked hungry, she decided, and wondered if Grayson had given him anything to eat before reaching her father’s store.

  When the bullet was successfully removed from Billy’s thigh, Mae applied a new bandage. She stepped back to take a look at her final work. Satisfied that it was a good job, she said, “I’ll go see about your supper.”

  “Billy will have his in the smokehouse,” Grayson said. He took Billy by the arms and lifted him to his feet. “I’ll untie your hands in the smokehouse so you can eat.” He motioned toward the door with his head, the rifle pointed at him, and Billy went quietly, limping noticeably.

  In less than thirty minutes, Cassie came out to the smokehouse carrying two plates of food. Her mother was behind her with two cups of coffee. “I reckon you coulda had yours inside at the table,” Mae said to Grayson.

  “Thanks, but I’ll do just fine out here,” Grayson replied. He opened the smokehouse door and handed a plate to Billy, who took it eagerly.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Billy called out to the Osage woman, and aimed a gracious smile at her young daughter, who blushed in return. Grayson shook his head, amused by Billy’s obvious attempt to present a picture of a mistreated prisoner. It seemed to have the proper effect upon Cassie, for she cast an accusing glance in his direction. Grayson closed the door and hooked the padlock over the hasp without locking it, then sat down on the ground to eat his supper.

  He waited until Billy had finished before opening the door to take the empty plate. “You want some more coffee?” he asked. Billy said that he did not, all the while watching to see if Grayson was going to close the lock on the hasp, hoping he would just hook it on there as before. Reading his thoughts, Grayson slowly shook his head and locked him in. “I’ll be back to check on you later,” he said and started toward the store.

  “Go to hell,” Billy snapped and crawled over to a corner of the dark enclosure, bumping his head on one of Earl’s hams before he found the wall. He could hear voices coming from the store, muffled by the log walls between, and he scowled as he imagined Grayson sitting by the stove drinking coffee.

  It seemed like an eternity, but he had been sitting there for only about a quarter of an hour when he heard a scratching noise near the back wall of the smokehouse. Some sort of critter, he supposed, and the thought of it made him a little uncomfortable, for he had nothing to use as a weapon. Even if he had one, he wasn’t sure it would do him much good since it was so dark in the tomblike structure. He found himself hoping it was a rat, and nothing bigger, or meaner. The scratching continued and he was on the verge of yelling for Grayson when a small crack suddenly appeared in the wall, as a small piece of chinking was removed from between the logs, letting a thin ray of light peek through. Thoroughly puzzled now, Billy could only sit and watch.

  “Are you gonna be all right?” the young girl asked, just above a whisper.

  Fairly astonished, Billy answered back immediately. “I reckon, miss, as all right as a man can be that’s been shot and hauled across the country for somethin’ he didn’t do.” He was smart enough to see that the girl felt sorry for him, sorry enough to sneak out back so her folks couldn’t catch her.

  “Do you want me to bring you some more coffee?”

  “No, miss, but I’m mighty grateful to you for carin’ about me. It seems like nobody else in the whole world don’t care what they’re doin’ to me.”

  “Mr. Grayson says you killed a deputy marshal,” Cassie said.

  “It weren’t me that killed that deputy,” Billy said. “I just happened to be there at that saloon when he got shot. I was tryin’ to get bac
k home, and I just stopped there to get somethin’ to eat. It was some feller that looks a lot like me, I reckon. And Grayson, he’s a mean one. He don’t care if I did it or not, as long as he has some poor soul to take back to Fort Smith to hang. He ain’t even a lawman. He’s a bounty hunter, and he don’t care as long as he gets his blood money.”

  “Did you tell him it wasn’t you that did it?” Cassie asked.

  “Oh, yes ma’am, I surely did, but he don’t care, long as he gets his money.” He had no way of knowing if his ruse was working on the young girl or not, since he could not see her. She said nothing more, but he could tell that she was still there, so he continued to try to gain her sympathy. “I ain’t worried so much about myself, but I know it’s gonna break my pa’s heart. He knows I wouldn’t shoot nobody. I’ve always tried to do what’s right. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and it was easier to arrest me than try to find the feller that really shot that deputy. It was just my bad luck that I looked like the killer.” He waited for her response.

  She didn’t answer for a long moment, trying to decide what to say to the unfortunate young man. He seemed sincere, and far from the wanton killer Grayson had described to her father. If what he said was true, it would be a horrible injustice to an innocent victim, but could she believe what she had just heard? Finally, she responded. “I’m truly sorry for you. I wish I could believe you, and even if I did, I don’t know what I could do to help you.”

  “Don’t worry yourself on my account, miss.” He paused, still playing the sham. “Can I ask you your name?”

  “Cassie, my name’s Cassie.”

  “That’s a right pretty name,” he said. “It’s one of my favorites ’cause that was my mama’s name. She passed away a few years ago and I sure miss her. But don’t you fret no more about me, Cassie. They may be hangin’ the wrong man, but maybe I’ll see my ma again. I just hope it don’t break my pa’s heart.”

  Thinking this gentle boy could not be the hard-hearted killer they said, Cassie felt certain that he was speaking the truth. The helplessness he expressed, she felt as well. “I wish there was some way I could help you,” she finally confessed, “but there’s nothing I can do.”

  “Like I said, I don’t look for you to do anythin’ on my account. I just appreciate your kindness. I ain’t seen much kindness in my life.”

  “Can I do anything?” she asked, feeling she should do something to ease his discomfort. “Do you want something more to eat—or more coffee?”

  “I don’t think they’d let you bring me anythin’ else,” he replied. “I think Grayson didn’t like it much when you brought me a plate the first time. I am still hungry, though, ’specially in the middle of the night. He didn’t give me anythin’ to eat before we got here.”

  “I can bring you some more of that ham,” she quickly volunteered.

  “No, Cassie,” he immediately responded. “It wouldn’t be good if he saw you bring me somethin’ to eat. It’d make it harder on me after we leave here in the mornin’.” He paused for effect, then continued. “I know what would work,” he said, as if it just occurred to him. “If I had a knife, I could slice off some more from one of your daddy’s hams here, and Grayson wouldn’t even know about it. But I ain’t got no knife.” He paused again as if a thought just occurred to him. “Maybe that’s somethin’ you could do for me. If you could just slip a knife through that hole, then I could just slice me off some ham when I get hungry in the middle of the night.”

  “But that ham’s not even cooked,” she responded. “It would be awful.”

  “No, not so bad,” he assured her. “I’ve et it uncooked before, and it’ll fill my belly.”

  “Mama says you can get worms if you don’t cook it,” Cassie said.

  “I ain’t hardly worried about that,” he countered, “since they’re liable to be hangin’ me in a week or so, anyway.”

  She was still not comfortable with such a decision. “I don’t know—they’d be awful upset with me if I sneaked a knife in to you.”

  “They wouldn’t never know,” he was quick to assure her. “I surely wouldn’t tell nobody. You could just poke that clay chinkin’ back between them logs, and nobody will ever know that I had somethin’ to eat. When he takes me outta here in the mornin’, I’ll leave the knife stickin’ in one of the hams. Nah, better’n that, I’ll drop it on the ground outside the door, and you can be close by and pick it up. That’s the best way to do it.”

  Cassie was still torn between empathy for the young man’s plight and her parents’ instructions to stay away from the prisoner. “I’ll tell Mama to give you some cooked ham, so you don’t have to eat that raw meat.”

  “No, no,” he was quick to respond. “Don’t do that! That’ll just make him mad, and I’ll pay for it for the next week. If you won’t bring me the knife, then don’t say anythin’ about it, and I’ll still thank you for carin’ enough to talk to me. I’m glad I got a chance to meet you, Cassie.” He waited for the response he was hoping for. It came after a long pause.

  “I’ll bring you the knife.”

  “Bring a good sharp one,” he said. “That salt-cured ham’s hard to slice.” A moment later she was gone. There still ain’t nobody better when it comes to working the ladies, he told himself with a smug smile. Somebody’s going to be in for a big surprise come morning.

  He didn’t have to wait long for his escape weapon, for within ten minutes’ time, Cassie was back at the rear wall. “Hurry,” she whispered as she pushed a butcher knife through the slit between the logs. “Grayson’s coming!”

  “Good girl,” he whispered in response. “God bless you. Don’t forget to be close to the door when he lets me out in the mornin’.” Then she was gone. A moment later he heard Grayson’s boots on the hard ground outside the smokehouse.

  “Who are you talkin’ to,” Grayson said, thinking he had heard Billy’s voice.

  “Talkin’ to myself,” Billy replied sharply, “if it’s any of your damn business.”

  * * *

  When the first rays of morning light filtered through the trees bordering the river, Grayson rolled out of his blanket. His first thought was to check to make sure the lock was still in place on the smokehouse door. While he stood rolling up the blanket, Billy called out from inside. “You gonna let me outta here to pee, or you want me to do it in here?”

  “I don’t expect Earl would appreciate it if you used his smokehouse for that purpose,” Grayson answered. “I’ll take care of that little business for myself. Then I’ll let you out so you can pee.”

  “Well, hurry up,” Billy replied, “or I might decide to piss on one of these hams in here.”

  Grayson didn’t bother to respond, but walked down behind the hog pen in preference to the outhouse behind the store. Finished with nature’s call, he returned to unlock the smokehouse door. Before opening it, he cocked the rifle he was holding, so Billy could hear it in case he had any ideas about any sudden moves. He lifted the hasp and stepped back a few steps. “All right, Billy, come on out.” Squinting against the morning light, Billy came out and paused to look around him before moving in the direction Grayson pointed. He seemed docile enough as he walked down behind the hog pen.

  “Just so you know,” Grayson said, “I’d like to get off to a peaceful start this mornin’, but this rifle is aimed right between your shoulder blades. So get your business done quick and we’ll get some breakfast before we get back in the saddle.” Billy seemed inclined to cooperate. Ordinarily, Grayson would have started out right away and stopped for breakfast only when it was time to rest the horses. Since they were at a place where someone could fix them a good breakfast, with eggs as well as bacon, he decided to take advantage of it. Already he could smell the aroma of frying bacon on the crisp morning air.

  As he was walking Billy back up the slope from the hog pen,
he noticed Earl’s young daughter standing in the half-open back door, watching them. Billy hung his head and began to limp a little. Trying to look as pitiful as he can, Grayson thought. He didn’t know why he bothered. He was quite surprised, however, that Billy remained docile and went back into his makeshift jail cell with no fuss. Before leaving him to go in the store, he took a good look at him to see if he looked all right. The complete lack of insults and threats set him to wondering if Billy had taken ill. “I’ll bring you some breakfast in a little while after I saddle the horses,” Grayson told him as the padlock clicked shut. “You can eat it in there, so both of us can have our hands free while we eat.”

  After breakfast was finished, Grayson settled up with Earl and they walked out in the yard to the smokehouse, where Grayson had tied the horses. Neither man noticed Cassie when she slipped out of the back door and walked casually over toward them. Grayson unlocked the padlock and handed the key to Earl. “Come on out Billy,” he said and stepped back. When Billy came out, Grayson told him to turn around, face the door, and put his hands behind him. Billy did as he was instructed, but turned only partially around. Grayson started to step closer to tie his hands behind his back, but at that moment, Cassie, who had moved up to stand at her father’s elbow, suddenly moved in closer to Billy. Quick as lightning, Billy spun back around with the butcher knife in his hand. Before she could react, he grabbed Cassie with his other hand and pulled her hard up in front of him, his forearm drawn tight across her neck and the butcher knife pressed against her throat.

  Earl blurted, “Cassie!” and started to go to his daughter.

  “Step back, old man,” Billy crowed, “or I’ll run this blade right through her pretty little neck.” He pressed the point just hard enough to draw a little blood, causing Cassie to cry out and stopping Earl in his tracks. “Now, by God,” Billy swore, “things are gonna change around here.” Cassie’s mother, alerted by the sounds, came running from the house, screaming her daughter’s name. “Tell her to shut up,” Billy said, “or I’ll cut clean through to her gizzard.”