“Whadda you reckon he’s up to?” Jacob asked, as Hawk rode away.
“I don’t know,” Thomas said, still a little undecided about the tall, broad-shouldered man. “I think ol’ Bodine might be fixin’ to get robbed.”
“You think so?” Jacob responded. “He didn’t strike me as a common outlaw.” He shrugged and added, “’Course, I wouldn’t grieve a lot if Bodine got cleaned out—the tight bastard.” He chuckled at the thought. “You don’t need to say nothin’ to your grandma about them two little ol’ drinks I had.”
* * *
Guiding Rascal back closer to the river now, Hawk continued to ride downstream. While there was still plenty of daylight left, he hoped to find the cabins that Jacob had mentioned. If he was right, and Booth and his three partners were here, they would most likely be occupying one of the cabins. No doubt, if he had stayed in the saloon, the other three would have soon come in to join the one he had talked to. That might not have been a position he would have liked to be caught in, since Tater would recognize him. There would have been four guns blazing away at him at once.
It would have been easier to spot the cabin if he just rode along the banks of the river, but he didn’t want to take the chance of being seen. If Tater spotted him, he would then be the hunted, instead of the hunter. So he kept Rascal just inside the outermost trees that lined the river. He had no real idea, but he assumed the cabins would not be very far from the trading post. That proved to be the case, because he caught sight of the first one after a ride of less than a quarter of a mile. He pulled Rascal up abruptly when he spotted a glimpse of a corner of the cabin and climbed down from the saddle. Then, leading the buckskin, he walked cautiously through the trees to a group of laurel bushes. He left Rascal there and continued on to a point where he could see the entire cabin, as well as a second cabin beyond it. They were located on either side of a shallow streambed that ran down the bluff to empty into the river. There was a small corral behind the second cabin and he counted nine horses in it. That seemed about right for five riders, leading five packhorses, and there was still one horse back at the store. The two extra horses had likely belonged to the man he had shot at the deer crossing. Everything seemed to indicate that these were the four men he tracked from Choteau, but the only way he could be sure was if he spotted Tater. He wished he could get a little closer to that cabin, but the cabin on this side of the stream was in the way. It appeared the only way he could get closer to the one where the horses were was to get on his horse and take a wide circle around it and come up from behind it. Or, it occurred to him, if there ain’t anybody in that cabin on this side of the stream, I could sneak in it. That would put him close enough to get a better look at what should be three men. Their partner, back at the saloon, had talked about the big dinner Dinah Belle was preparing. Odds were, the three in the cabin were planning to be there. It was only about a quarter of a mile back to Bodine’s, but he was willing to bet the three wouldn’t walk it. If he was in that first cabin, he might get a good look at them, and most likely hear them talking.
He stared hard at the cabin. There seemed to be no one in or around it. The one window on the side was shuttered, and the door closed. The major problem was an open area of grass about twenty-five yards wide between the trees and the cabin. He would have to cross that without being seen. He decided it was worth the risk. Of course, if I’m wrong, then Rascal’s gonna be an orphan, he thought as he crouched and ran toward the side of the cabin. Once he reached it, he was confident he couldn’t be seen from the other cabin or the corral. To be doubly sure, he peeked through a crack in the window shutter and confirmed that the cabin was empty. He would have liked to go inside to wait for the three men to appear, just for the protection of the cabin walls, but he didn’t think it wise to risk going around to the front door to see if he could even get in. He would be a lot more likely to be seen if he was standing at the door. Further thoughts along that line were interrupted when one of the men walked outside the cabin across from him. Hawk quickly ran to the back corner of the empty cabin and got down on his belly. From there, he could see the man plainly. Of average height and lean as a knife blade, he wore his sidearm low on his hip in a fast-draw holster, and he carried his saddle on his shoulder. “Best get your ass goin’,” he called back toward the cabin. “Ol’ Dinner Bell oughta be settin’ the table pretty soon.”
“You ain’t gotta tell me twice,” a response came back as another man walked out behind him, carrying his saddle. Hawk felt his muscles tense. It was Tater! That was all he needed to confirm his belief that these were definitely the men who had slaughtered the people on the mule train. There should be one more now, and he anxiously awaited the appearance of the man with the fancy mustache, David Booth, as Hawk knew his name. After a few moments, he walked out, throwing momentary doubt into Hawk’s mind. He wore no mustache! It was almost enough to make Hawk think he had been trailing the wrong gang. But there was no mistaking Tater. As the three of them saddled their horses for the short ride up to Bodine’s saloon, Hawk was in for another surprise when Tater spoke again. “Ol’ Booth’s up there already, tryin’ to get a head start, I reckon.”
“Won’t do him any good,” Trip Dawson drawled. “That gal, what’s her name? Josie,” he repeated when Jesse told him. “Anyway, she ain’t hardly over the female sickness yet. Least, that’s what Dinner Bell said this mornin’.”
“Booth ain’t got no interest in old wore-out whores like Josie,” Jesse informed him. “He just wanted to get a drink and do a little thinkin’ ’bout where we oughta be headin’ when we leave here.”
“How do you know she’s an old wore-out whore?” Trip responded. “Bodine said she’s younger’n she looks.”
“’Cause what the hell would she be doin’ at Bodine’s if she wasn’t?” Jesse answered.
Lying flat on his belly, listening to the idle conversation among the three outlaws, Hawk could hardly believe he had been talking to Booth in the saloon less than an hour before. It didn’t register with him at the time that Booth looked freshly shaven. And I’m supposed to be a scout, he thought. I had my rifle in my hand. I could have shot him down and cut off the head of this gang. What to do now? That was the question. He found himself right in the middle of the vicious miscreants who had slaughtered whole families of innocent people. It left him facing a challenge that he had not anticipated when he first set out on this self-appointed mission. His original aim was to trail these killers, so the army or the marshals would know where to find them. He knew now that it was not a realistic endeavor. He could ride away, but by the time he left here and traveled to any law enforcement agency, these criminals would be gone to who knows where. They were still on the move. What it boiled down to was, he was the only recourse those massacred families had for vengeance. And it was his decision as to whether or not he was going to take justice into his own hands. It would not be the first time he had to make that decision. He thought about the two men on the Yellowstone who had kidnapped Winter Flower. When they came for her, he had killed them without hesitating. Booth and his partners would be no different. He would be their judge, jury, and executioner, because he was here. There was no one else to do it.
His decision made, he now tried to plan the best way to accomplish his role as an assassin. To begin with, he preferred to think of it as extermination, to rid the world of vermin like David Booth. To make the task more of a challenge, he was certain that the man in Bodine’s, whom he now knew to be Booth, was very much aware that he was trailing him. So, it was going to be a question of who gets who in this game of assassination. He lay there, his rifle ready, but with no intention of shooting at any of them at this point. He had a good twenty or more yards of open area between the cabin he was hiding behind and the cover of the trees where he left his horse. He reasoned that he might get one, or maybe two, of them before they could retaliate. But he would be an open target when he tried to make it back to cover. And that would leave two, maybe three, of
them to go unpunished, depending upon how many he was able to get before they got him.
He got up from the ground and went to the front corner of the cabin and watched the three men ride away. In a matter of seconds, they were out of sight, swallowed up by the dense growth of trees by the river. He realized that he wouldn’t have had much time to shoot, even if he had decided to. Since he knew they were going to Bodine’s for supper, he decided to take a look in the cabin before returning for his horse. He was sure there would be none of the Quakers’ money left in the cabin, but he thought he might as well confirm that thought. More than likely, they each carried their share of the stolen money in their saddlebags. It seemed too large a sum to carry in your pocket. Part of his plan was to recover as much of the Quakers’ money as possible and return it to Donald Lewis.
* * *
Jesse Corbin and Trip Dawson walked into Bodine’s saloon to find Booth sitting at a table, talking to Josie Johnson, who, as Bodine promised, was on her feet again—at least until she persuaded one of the gang to part with some of the money he was carrying. “Is that supper ready?” Trip asked upon seeing no food before Booth.
“Won’t be long,” Booth replied. “Where’s Tater?” With Dinah Belle’s promise of a big meal, he would have expected Tater to be the first through the door.
“He went back to get his teeth,” Jesse answered. “He was so excited to eat, he went off and left ’em in the cabin.” That brought a laugh from them all and a question from Josie.
“He’s got store teeth?” she asked, thinking that only rich people and maybe royalty, like kings and queens, could afford false teeth. “He must be rich,” she said.
That brought another laugh from the three customers. “Yeah, he’s rich,” Trip cracked. “He inherited a lot of money.” Josie looked puzzled by the chuckles following that remark.
Booth interrupted then, already having had to try to convince Bodine that the four of them had not been the gang that robbed and killed those innocent families near Fort Benton. “They don’t cost as much as you think,” he said, then went on to explain the dentures made out of vulcanite with porcelain teeth. “He only uses ’em when he’s got some meat to chew up, like that ham Dinah Belle put in the oven. He says he can gum just about everything else.” Further conversation about Tater’s teeth was halted by Dinah Belle’s appearance at the kitchen door.
“It’s on the table,” she announced. “Better come and get it while it’s hot.” There was no hesitation by anyone, as they all filed into the kitchen, where she had set everything on the kitchen table. Bodine was already in place at the head of the table.
“Ol’ Tater’s gonna be fit to be tied, if he don’t show up pretty quick,” Trip commented, as Dinah Belle poured the coffee from a large gray pot.
* * *
Back at the cabin, Hawk looked around the front room, where the fireplace was located. There was nothing really to see, he decided, but he went into the back room just in case there might be a canvas money bag or something to make his investigation worthwhile. He looked around him. There was nothing but four bedrolls and scattered items of clothing. He had started to turn around and go back to the front room when something odd caught his eye. Sitting on the floor next to one of the bedrolls was something that looked like teeth. Not sure he wasn’t seeing things, he drew his long hunting knife and poked at the teeth with the point of it. Hearing a noise behind him in the front room, he turned to find Tater standing in the doorway, dumbfounded. Startled as well, Hawk had no time to think when Tater suddenly realized who he was and went for his .44. In a split-second reaction, Hawk threw the hunting knife underhanded to bury the blade halfway under Tater’s rib cage. His gun not clear of his holster, he released it and clutched the knife lodged in his belly. Like a great cat, Hawk was upon him and both men crashed to the floor. Hawk would have preferred to finish the desperate man with a quick shot from his .44, but they were too close to the trading post. The shot would be heard. So, as he had mercifully put many a deer out of their suffering, he withdrew the knife and drew it across the struggling man’s throat.
Tater held on to his life for only a few minutes before his body relaxed in death. Hawk stood over him until he did, not at all unfazed by the violent way he had been forced to kill him. He had not considered the possibility that any of the three would return to the cabin that quickly. He cleaned his knife on the dead man’s shirt, then thought to check Tater’s pockets. He was not surprised to find a large roll of bills in Tater’s vest pocket. Hawk took the money and went outside, where he found Tater’s horse standing. He expected the money in his hand was probably a small part of Tater’s share in the robbery. So, he looked in the saddlebags and found what he was looking for, a canvas bag with a much larger sum of cash inside. He put the money from Tater’s pocket in the bag, hoping that, somehow, he would be able to return it to the church people. He picked the reins up from the ground and looped them over the saddle horn, so the horse would be free to wander. There was no thought of taking the horse—he knew he was going to be too busy to take care of an extra horse. But he took Tater’s weapons and cartridge belt. Then he took one quick look toward the path that Tater had come on and hurried across the open area to the woods beyond.
Back in the saddle, he turned Rascal toward the high hills to the north of the river. When Tater’s body was discovered, the war would be officially on. So, he decided he had to find a camp he could operate out of, one that would be hard to find, because they would definitely be coming after him.
CHAPTER 12
“This is some mighty fine eatin’, Dinner Bell,” Booth commented, not realizing he had called her by her nickname and somewhat puzzled by the smug grin on his brother’s face. “I’ll take another one of those biscuits.”
“’Deed it is,” Jesse agreed. Then he glanced toward the kitchen door. “What I can’t figure out, though, is what the hell happened to Tater? It sure ain’t like him to miss a meal.”
“Can’t find them fancy teeth,” Trip said.
“I expect he’ll be here pretty soon,” Booth said, his mind already working on things a lot more serious than the fact that Tater was late for supper. The mysterious Mr. Hawk would have to be dealt with. He had left Bodine’s when the old man and his grandson left, but when Hawk had talked to Booth in the saloon before that, he just said he was going to find a place to camp for the night. He looked like a man who could handle himself, but Booth didn’t think he was foolhardy to the point where he would take on four men like the four of them.
Almost as if he knew what his brother was thinking, Jesse leaned toward him and asked, “What’s on your mind, Booth? You look like you’re gnawin’ on somethin’ in your head.”
“As a matter of fact,” Booth responded, “there is a little somethin’ I was fixin’ to tell you. I was waitin’ for Tater to get here, but it looks like he changed his mind about eatin’.” He paused to make sure Bodine wasn’t listening in on their conversation. “While you boys were layin’ around the cabin, I had a drink with the man who’s been followin’ us.” That captured Jesse’s attention at once. “His name’s Hawk.”
“Hawk? A lawman?” Jesse asked immediately.
“Don’t think so,” Booth replied. “I figure he’s the same jasper that shot Blue. That’s the only thing that makes sense to me. I don’t know how he got on our trail to start with, but it’s my guess he’s comin’ after the money.”
Jesse shook his head slowly, concerned now. “He musta got on our trail right there where we done it.” They had been so sure no one would find that hill where the slaughter took place until it was way too late to do anything about it. Then another thought naturally popped into his head. “Why didn’t you shoot the son of a bitch?”
“I intended to,” Booth said, “but he never gave me the chance.” He told Jesse about the whole incident in the saloon and Hawk’s cautious departure. “I thought I had a shot at him when he got on his horse, but he knew he was about to get it and he slid ove
r on the side of his horse, Injun style. I didn’t have nothin’ to shoot at.”
“We’re gonna need to take care of him, and that’s a fact,” Jesse stated emphatically. “And we need to stick together, so he don’t get another shot like he did with Blue.” As soon as he said it, they both looked back toward the door as if looking for Tater.
Booth came out with the question that occurred to them both. “Where the hell is Tater?”
“I don’t know, but we’d better go find out,” Jesse at once replied. It had been long enough to conclude Tater wasn’t coming to supper. Everyone had just about finished eating. “And we’d best all go together,” he added, knowing there was safety in numbers.
Booth got up from the table and told Trip they were going back to the cabin, which was at first no concern to Trip. “You and Jesse can go back,” he said. “I’ve already made some plans for some better company than you jaspers.” He winked at Josie, who responded with her most enticing smile.
“You’re gonna need to go back to the cabin with us,” Booth said. “We’ve got a problem and we’ve got to fix it right now.” When Trip started to complain, Booth nodded toward Josie and said, “That’s gonna have to wait. We need to get back now and see what’s keepin’ Tater from comin’ to supper.”
“Who in hell cares why Tater . . .” Trip started to protest again, but one look at the stern expression on the faces of both brothers persuaded him to give in. “Ah, hell,” he muttered, and looked at Josie, who was also disappointed. “I’ll be back after I find out what’s goin’ on,” he promised.
Montana Territory Page 14
