Montana Territory

by Charles G. West

  Less fearful now, she quickly scrambled back to him, eager to do anything he ordered.

  “Any minute now, they’re gonna look over here and see you’re gone,” he said, speaking softly. “Are there just the two of ’em? Anybody else with ’em?”

  She shook her head anxiously, her tears flowing freely, as she uttered, “They killed my husband! They murdered him!”

  “I know,” he said, doing his best to calm her as he cut the ropes binding her wrists, for she looked as if she might lose control of her emotions. “And I’m gonna try to get you somewhere safe while I take care of them. Just do what I tell you. Can you do that?”

  She nodded.

  “Good.” He led her a few steps away, keeping the tree between them and the two, so far, unsuspecting outlaws. Pointing toward a small gap in a bank of laurel, he said, “Run just as fast as you can through that hole in the bushes. Twenty or thirty yards on the other side of ’em you oughta find my horse standin’ in the trees. Wait for me there.”

  Before he could say more, the sharp report of a handgun rang out, and a chunk of bark flew from the tree behind them at almost the same instant. It was followed in rapid succession by three more shots, each one impacting with the tree trunk.

  “Go!” Cole ordered, and Carrie did not hesitate. He watched her briefly to make sure she gained the bank of bushes and disappeared beyond, then he turned his attention back to the two men inching their way toward the tree, firing wildly as they approached.

  Lying flat on his belly, Cole inched up closer to the trunk of the tree, wishing they had picked a bigger tree to tie the woman to. The unfortunate cottonwood was suffering a major assault as the two brothers concentrated their fire at the foot of it. The rain of bullets made Cole reluctant to expose his head and half his body to get off a shot in return. Knowing he couldn’t remain there much longer before one of their shots found him, he pulled a piece of a dead limb out from under him. With almost one movement, he tossed the limb at some bushes to his right, then quickly rolled to his left, his rifle held tightly up against his chest. There was little time to aim, but the moment’s distraction caused by the limb he had thrown afforded him the opportunity for a quick shot. He pulled the trigger before the butt of the Henry was even close to his shoulder. The shot caught one of the men in the shoulder, knocking him to the ground.

  “Travis!” Malcolm Womack cried out when he saw his brother fall. He dropped immediately to take cover behind a rotten log. “You all right?”

  “I’m hit!” Travis answered.

  “Can you move?” Malcolm asked. When Travis replied that he thought he could, Malcolm said, “Crawl back to the riverbank. I’ll keep this son of a bitch busy till you get there.” Seeing Travis making his way backward toward the cover of the low bank, Malcolm raised his head to take a shot at the rifleman, only to receive a face full of wood splinters when a slug from Cole’s rifle tore into the rotten log. It was enough to cause him to push himself backward while keeping as flat on the ground as he could, hoping to reach the riverbank, firing in the direction of the rifle blast as he did. He dropped below the low bank just as the hammer of his pistol clicked on an empty cylinder. Using the cover of the bank, he quickly reloaded the empty cylinders. Ready to fire again, he raised up to find his adversary standing no more than fifty feet away, his rifle aimed, waiting for Malcolm to show himself.

  In the next instant, the .44 slug from the Henry struck him in the center of his chest. The loaded pistol dropped from his hand as he slumped to the ground, never wondering why his brother had not shot the tall figure in buckskins as he stood unprotected, waiting to take the fatal shot.

  Cole walked cautiously to the edge of the bank to make sure Malcolm wasn’t playing possum. The blank, wide-eyed look of surprise frozen on Malcolm’s face told him he was no longer a threat. He looked then toward the north when he heard the sound of hooves, just in time to see a horse and rider disappearing beyond the bend of the river. The thought of pursuit crossed his mind, but he discarded it. It would take too much time, and he had the woman to think about. It would be best to do what he could for her, wait for Harley to catch up, and move on. It seemed unlikely to think they’d see any more of the outlaw that had escaped. He was wounded, how badly Cole wasn’t sure, although it appeared to be no more than a shoulder wound. From the way the outlaw had run off, leaving his partner with no backup, told Cole the man had no stomach for a face-off.

  Beyond the bend in the river, Travis Womack urged his horse for more speed. When he had been shot and retreated to the cover of the riverbank, he had not been sure how many were in the party that attacked them. His first thought had been to get away, with only a brief concern for Malcolm, thinking it his brother’s choice to run or stay. There had been no time to saddle his horse or grab his saddlebags. Before galloping away along the river, he looked back to see the one lone man, standing in the open, waiting for Malcolm to pop up from the riverbank. In mere seconds, he saw Malcolm raise up to be immediately shot down. He felt bad for his brother, but his death only served to convince him that he had been wise to run. Too bad Malcolm didn’t. He would retain that vivid image of a wild man in buckskins, Indian or white, he wasn’t sure.

  CHAPTER 2

  Tense with fright after hearing all the shooting on the other side of the thick laurel bushes, Carrie was not sure what she should do. What if the mysterious man who had come to help her was killed by the two murderers who had taken her? When the shooting finally stopped, she wondered if she should take the stranger’s horse and flee. When she looked at the dark horse tied to a laurel branch, it looked so big and powerful that she questioned her ability to ride it. She was no rider by any means, having barely been able to hang on to the mule’s mane to keep from falling off. Flustered by indecision, she decided not to try riding the horse and chose to hide instead. She ran farther back in the trees to find a place to hide. A deep gully that ran back toward the river seemed the best place, so she stepped down into it and huddled up against one side of it.

  Pushing through the bushes again, Cole found Joe where he had tied him, but there was no sign of the woman. He called out, “Ma’am?” But there was no answer. Surely she didn’t run off, he thought. Maybe she just tried to find a place to hide. Thinking that to be the most probable thing, he looked around him at the ground. He couldn’t help shaking his head in wonder when he looked at the obvious footprints in the thin layer of snow. He proceeded to follow them, pausing several times when they led in one direction, then back in the opposite, first right, then left. It was plain to see that the woman had run in fright, unable to find a place to hide. Finally finding a deep gully leading down to the water, she had evidently settled on it to take refuge. With the tracks in a straight line toward it, Cole stopped some distance short of the gully and called out again. “You can come outta that gully now. Ain’t nobody gonna hurt you.”

  A few long moments passed, then finally she peeked up over the edge of the gully. Seeing him standing several yards away, patiently waiting, she sheepishly climbed up out of her hiding place, realizing she had not thought about the obvious trail she had left in the snow. Seeing him standing tall and powerful, she wondered if she could trust his intentions any more than those of the two he had just freed her from. As soon as he spoke, however, she sensed an honest quality about the man. Although dressed like a savage, he obviously was not, and she felt safe almost immediately.

  “I’m real sorry about your husband, ma’am,” Cole said. “What were you doin’ out in the Bighorn Valley by yourselves? Where were you headed?”

  “We were on our way to Cheyenne,” Carrie said. “My husband’s father has a store there. We were going to try to make a new start there.”

  “Farmin’?” Cole guessed.

  Carrie nodded.

  “Where did you start out from?” Cole asked.

  “The Yellowstone. About six miles from Bozeman. We had a piece of land near the river, but it was a sorry piece of land, so we decided it be
st to go to Cheyenne. Robert’s father told him he could help in the store while he looked for some decent land to work. But now this has happened, and with Robert gone, I don’t know what else to do but to go on to Cheyenne. I’ve got nobody to go back to in Bozeman.”

  “Yessum, I can see that you’re in a real bind,” Cole said. “I reckon if you’re still wantin’ to go on to Cheyenne, though, I can take you there.” He had no desire to see Cheyenne again. There were too many memories in the little town that was originally called Crow Creek Crossing. So many of those memories were bitter ones. But he didn’t see that he had much choice, now that he had rescued this woman. He felt responsible for her, at least as far as seeing her safely to Cheyenne.

  “I would certainly be beholden to you,” Carrie said, although without her husband she was not sure Cheyenne was the best place for her. She had never met his parents, and she could not be certain she would be welcome there now that Robert was gone. How would they react, she wondered, when a strange young woman appeared, claiming to be their daughter-in-law?

  “Maybe you got family somewhere else,” Cole suggested when she confessed her concerns.

  “No, no family,” she replied. “Robert was all the family I had.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Carrie,” she replied, Carrie Green.”

  “Green,” Cole repeated. “Your married name?”

  She nodded.

  “That’d be Douglas Green then. Is that your husband’s father?” He remembered the owner of the dry goods store in Cheyenne.

  She nodded again.

  He stroked his chin as he thought over the circumstances in which he now found himself. After a minute, during which Carrie watched him anxiously, he sighed and said, “Well, Carrie, I’ve had dealin’s with Douglas Green and I’ve met Mrs. Green. They both strike me as nice folks. They’ll most likely welcome you in their home. Tell you what. I’ll see that you get to Cheyenne to your in-laws, but we’re gonna have to make a stop at a Crow village on the way. We’re packin’ a right smart load of meat that’ll look mighty good to those folks in that village. My partner’s comin’ along behind me with the packhorses, so we’ll wait for him to catch up. He’s seein’ that your husband’s body gets a decent burial. While we wait, why don’t you come on back and sit by that fire those fellows started? Maybe I can fix you something to eat, if you’re hungry. First I’ll see if I can round up the horses they left behind.”

  Already, Carrie felt she was in safe hands, even though she felt as limp as a rag now that the tension in her body was reduced. “I’m not hungry right now, but I could sure use some coffee.” She was trying, but it would be a while yet before she could recover from the events that just happened. And she wasn’t sure she could eat, even if she had been hungry. “Thank you for taking care of Robert,” she said softly.

  * * *

  Before Harley showed up with the packhorses, Cole had caught the sorrel that Malcolm Womack had ridden as well as their two packhorses. Carrie’s mule wandered back on its own. Seeing the body before Cole had dragged it out of the clearing, Carrie identified it as the one called Malcolm. She told Cole they were brothers, and the one who had fled was Travis Womack, the youngest of three.

  When Cole had stripped Malcolm’s body of weapons and ammunition, he had found forty-seven dollars in his pockets and he promptly handed it to Carrie. “Ain’t much in the way of makin’ up for the loss of your husband,” he had told her, “but if anybody’s got a right to it, it oughta be you.”

  There was also the matter of the outlaws’ packs and some clothes for Carrie, since hers, other than what she was presently wearing, had been destroyed along with everything else in her wagon. The dress she had on was torn in several places, the result of the rough handling she had suffered at the hands of the two brothers. Travis had been closer to Carrie’s size than his brother, so she found some of his things that would work for her. The biggest complaint was the fact that they needed a good washing. She was resolved to endure the smell, however, the alternative being to freeze to death. Since the brothers had pulled the saddles off their horses, they were both left behind. Travis had not had the time to saddle his horse before he fled. Consequently, Carrie would no longer ride without a saddle, and she would be riding the sorrel instead of a mule.

  By the time Harley arrived, Cole and Carrie were seated by the fire drinking coffee from the pot the Womack brothers had used.

  “Save me a cup of that,” Harley called out as he led the horses into the clearing by the stream. “We gonna be here a while?” he asked before stepping down from the saddle.

  “Yeah, reckon we’d better,” Cole answered. “I expect the horses need some rest. I know Joe does. I pushed him pretty hard to catch up with the lady, here.”

  Harley stepped down from the saddle and nodded politely to Carrie. “I’m mighty glad to see you’re all right, miss.” Then he looked at Cole for the story.

  When Cole brought him up to date on the shoot-out, and the identity of the woman joining them, Harley had only one question. “The feller that took off, you reckon he’ll be back? Looks like we’ve got everythin’ he owns and you killed his brother, to boot.”

  “There’s a chance, I reckon,” Cole replied, “but I don’t figure he’ll come back for more. I put a bullet in him. I don’t know how bad he’s hurt, but I think he would have already been back, if he was of a mind to.”

  “Might not be too good an idea to stop here for the night, anyway,” Harley advised, still concerned. “Just in case that other one ain’t hurt as bad as you think. Might be he’ll take a notion to sneak back here.” He waited for Cole’s reply, but when he did no more than shrug, Harley continued. “Whaddaya say we take advantage of the hour or so of daylight we got left and push a little farther on?”

  Cole shrugged again, not really worried about a visit from the wounded outlaw. He had not taken even one shot after he had been hit in the shoulder. Cole wasn’t even sure if the man had waited to see his brother killed before climbing on his horse and running. But if it would make Harley more comfortable, Cole didn’t object to the suggestion.

  “You’re right,” he said. “We haven’t started cookin’ any food yet, so we won’t even unload the horses. We oughta find some water between here and the North Platte, so we’ll camp when we come to a good spot.” The North Platte River was probably no more than twenty miles from where they stood. But there wasn’t enough daylight left to count on making that distance, and the horses were too tired to be pushed another twenty miles that day.

  After they took time to drink their coffee, they started out again, holding the horses to an easy walk. After what Cole estimated to be a distance of about eight or nine miles, they came to a small creek. He figured that was as far as he wanted to push his horse. It was almost dark, anyway, so they made their camp beside the creek.

  Feeling a sudden relief, now that she was removed from the campsite where he had found her, Carrie was able to dispense with any lingering fears she might have had. For it was obvious to her that the hands she found herself in were sent by the angels and she was safe. Why the Good Lord had sent them to save her, but not her husband, was not for her to ponder. It was just one more sorrowful event in her lifetime to add to those that had preceded it. She would just give thanks for her salvation and vow to be strong in facing what the fates had in store for her. With her confidence restored, she insisted that she could take over the cooking, since they provided the food. She found that it helped take her mind off the loss of her husband when she busied herself with the mundane chore.

  Harley agreed with Cole when it came to the property of the Womack brothers. Carrie should be given anything that she might sell or trade. That included the three horses and the contents of the packs. Carrie insisted that Cole certainly deserved something for rescuing her, and in the end, he settled for the weapons and ammunition. Harley was struck with admiration for the fancy Spanish-style saddle that had belonged to Malcolm Womack and immed
iately offered to buy it from Carrie. Cole wondered what Harley was going to use for money, but Carrie, grateful to them both, insisted that Harley should take it. She was perfectly comfortable with Travis’s saddle. The fancy trimmings on the other saddle held no special interest for her, but Harley was overjoyed. He had never seen it in his means to afford a saddle so elegant with its high cantle and handsome designs embossed on the skirts and back jockey.

  * * *

  When they broke camp the next morning, Cole was certain that his old partner appeared to be sitting especially straight and tall in his new saddle as he led them out toward the crossing at the Platte. He looked back at Carrie, riding the sorrel, dressed almost entirely in garments owned by Travis Womack, looking more like a child in hand-me-downs than a recently widowed woman. We ought to make quite an impression when we ride into Medicine Bear’s camp, he couldn’t help thinking.

  * * *

  For Travis Womack, the cold cloudy morning that greeted him promised nothing but pain and hunger. His shoulder had stopped bleeding, but it was still throbbing with pain. He had nothing to eat or drink, save water from the Platte River, where he had been forced to stop for the night. Confident at least that the tall, fearsome-looking man wearing buckskins was not on his trail, he was thinking about finding something to fill his stomach. Unfortunately, his Winchester ’66 rifle was still on his saddle, back on the South Fork of the Powder River. Somehow, he had managed to hold on to his pistol when he was shot, however, so he was searching the banks of the river, hoping to get a shot at a muskrat. He was not looking forward to the long ride ahead of him to Laramie to join his brother. It was sorry news he had to deliver. Troy would be furious to hear of Malcolm’s death at the hand of the buckskin-clad killer. To make matters worse, Travis had been forced to return with nothing to show for their trip to Bozeman. His luck improved, however, with the arrival of two trappers at his camp.