Chapter X
Bohanin drove carefully throughout the night. Any number of sudden washes or chuckholes would have taken a heavy toll on the rig. Once the sun was over the horizon he whipped the mare forward. The rig crashed and careened across the plains. Bohanin knew the constant jolting was hard on her but only a doctor could save her. The blood from her wound did not seem to be flowing as heavily. Keeping her still, would have only increased her suffering and caused her death from blood loss. Hasty, Colorado was forty miles from the camp. A horseman could make forty miles in a day. A buggy, with one animal pulling the weight of two people, was a task he had never attempted. It would probably kill the mare. Bohanin kept the mare at a steady trot. By mid-day, Bohanin saw two riders on the horizon and fired two rounds. The horsemen broke their ponies into a run.
“I’ve got a seriously wounded woman here,” he said as they neared. “How far am I from Hasty?”
“At least twenty-five miles but that animal will never make it.”
“Is there a doctor there?”
“If he’s not on his circuit. His wife is a fair doctor herself. She’s always around.”
“I need some help.”
The cowboy held up Bohanin’s mare and stepped to the ground.
“Jasper, make tracks for Hasty and tell the doctor that these folks are coming in,” the cowboy said. Jasper spurred his mount into a run toward the northwest.
“You hitch up my horse to this rig and leave the mare with me. My gelding is fresh and should make the trip, no problem,” the cowboy said.
Bohanin jumped from the buggy and began unhitching the mare as the cowboy removed his rig from his small buckskin pinto.
“I don’t know how to thank you for this,” Bohanin said as he stepped the exhausted mare from the buggy.
“I’ll make camp here and bring the mare on in when she’s rested. You folks won’t be going any place. Doc Ball’s office is on the second floor above the dry goods store. It won’t be hard to find,” the cowboy said. “What happened to her?”
“We were dry gulched. I killed the feller but he got off a shot as he went down,” Bohanin said as he pulled the harness to the front of the mare.
“Ain’t that a hell of a note? I can’t understand what this country is a coming to,” the cowboy said as he helped Bohanin lift the harness from the mare.
“My name’s L.J. Bohanin. I’ll put the rig at the livery if there is one.”
“Joe Tibbs, I ride for the Circle R. Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll be in just as soon as I know the mare is able to make the trip. It’ll probably be tomorrow.”
“You got enough water?” Bohanin asked.
“Got me a full canteen. I ain’t that far from more if I need it. You just worry about saving that woman, feller.”
As Joe Tibbs buckled the harness to the arms, Bohanin took the reins and stepped into the buggy.
“Watch him now. He’s green broke and ain’t never seen a harness. He’ll likely give you a fit until he knows what to do,” Tibbs said as he slapped the gelding on the rump, sending the rig on its way.
Within minutes, Tibbs and the exhausted mare were far behind.
Bohanin felt Millie’s face as the buggy made quick progress behind the fresh horse. She was alive and didn’t seem too feverish.
Evening shadows were long when the rig came down the dusty street of the little town of Hasty, Colorado. Jasper was waiting by the doctor’s office and signaled Bohanin the site. The young doctor and his wife were waiting in the street as the buggy came to a stop in front of the store. They helped Bohanin carry her up the stairs.
Millie was lifted onto an examining table and the wife began removing Millie’s clothing. Bohanin stepped back and allowed them to work.
“How long ago did this happen?” the doctor asked as he pulled the blood soaked cloth from Millie’s wound.
“Almost twenty-four hours.”
The doctor shook his head. “That’s a long time. It’s a wonder she’s got any blood left in her.”
The doctor and his wife deftly cleaned and examined the wound.
“The sheriff wants to talk to you about this,” the doctor said. “You might as well go see him. There’s nothing that you can do for now.”
“Will she live?” Bohanin asked.
“I can’t say. This is serious and much of it depends on how much blood she’s lost.
Bohanin nodded and made his way toward the door. Jasper stood at the bottom of the stairway and waited for news. Bohanin shook his head. Another man was crossing the street toward them as Bohanin stepped from the stairway. Bohanin could see the badge flashing on the man’s shirt.
“You the fellow that brought in the hurt woman?” the sheriff asked.
Bohanin nodded. “We were bushwhacked some forty miles south of here.”
“The feller get away?”
“He’s laying where he fell.”
“You shoot him?”
“Yes, I shot him,” Bohanin said as he leaned against the edge of the building.
“You look like you need a drink.”
Bohanin nodded and followed the sheriff across the street to his office. The office was one room. The sheriff pulled a bottle from a roll-top desk positioned against one wall. He poured Bohanin a drink and one for himself.
“I’m Creek Witter. I’m the county sheriff. Jasper didn’t know your name.”
“L.J. Bohanin.” He sipped the whisky.
The sheriff tipped back his hat and smiled. “I know you. You headed a troop of nigger cavalry out of Fort Wallace some years back. I was with Forsythe on the Arikaree when we killed Roman Nose. Your people relieved us.”
“We surely did.”
“That was a hell of a fight.”
“They chewed you up some.”
The sheriff nodded. “Yes sir, them was the longest days of my life. I was never so glad to see a bunch of them buffalo soldiers when you fellers came riding up.”
Witter pulled up a chair for Bohanin and sat behind his desk.
“You know who that feller was?”
Bohanin shook his head. “No, she was carrying a lot of money and he must have gotten the word. My guess is that he was just some bushwhacker looking for some quick money.”
“I’ll need to ride down there and look the place over.”
“I left most of our camp gear there. I’d appreciate it if you could bring it back.”
“No problem. Where’s the money?”
“Probably in her suitcase in the buggy. I really don’t know.”
“I can check that out. If you don’t mind, I’d just as soon get that money in a safe as soon as possible.”
Bohanin nodded. “That would be fine. There’s a cowboy named Joe Tibbs between here and there, stranded with my mare. I’m not sure that the animal is fit to get him into town.”
“I know. Jasper is going to find Joe. I’m sure he’ll be all right. You don’t need to concern yourself about that. You’re lucky to have gotten off a shot if it was an ambush. Usually folks never know what hit them in a dry gulching.”
“I was expecting trouble. That fellow had been trailing us all day.”
Witter nodded. “I’m sure you’re better than most at smelling out trouble.”
“Comes from experience. I was the lady’s escort for just that reason.”
Witter tapped his finger on his desk.
“Well, I’m sure you need some rest. You’ll probably be in town for several days. I’ll ride down there tomorrow and look things over. If everything checks out, I don’t see that there’s much we can do other than plant the guy and wish the best for the woman.”
Bohanin rose from his chair and stepped toward the door.
“There’s a hotel next to the dry goods store. I think they have a room for you. It’s on the county,” Witter said as he followed Bohanin to the door.
“I’ll probably go back to the doctor’s office to see about Millie. I’d like to get some kind of word.”
“Toland. She’s a school teacher from Springfield.”
“That’s a shame. I wish her the best,” Witter said as Bohanin started across the street.
Bohanin entered the office quietly. He was surprised to see Millie alone on the table. The doctor and his wife were standing by a basin, cleaning instruments.
Doctor Ball produced a .45 slug. “We had no trouble finding it. It almost passed clean through.
She’s a very lucky woman. No vitals damaged, only tissue. We’ve got to sew her up yet but the bleeding wasn’t nearly as serious as I feared. If we can control infection, I believe she’ll be completely healed in a month or so.”
Bohanin sighed. “May I see her?”
“Sure, but she’s not regained consciousness. I doubt that she’ll awaken before mid-day tomorrow. The body has a strange way of protecting itself in such circumstances. She’ll be weak for days.”
Bohanin stepped to her side. She was still vibrant, in spite of her condition.
“And the baby?”
“If there is one, she’s in her earliest stages,” Doc Ball answered in surprise. “I seriously doubt that she’ll be able to keep the child after such trauma. She’ll probably lose the child and not even notice.”
Bohanin nodded, surprised that the pregnancy was so little advanced.
“Is there a husband that needs to be contacted?” the doctor’s wife asked from across the room.
“No, she’s a widow,” Bohanin said. “I’ll notify those parties that might be concerned.”
Bohanin returned to his buggy and retrieved what belongings were still in the boot behind the seat. He realized that his Winchester was still back at the campsite. His money was under the seat cushion so he had plenty to get by. The sheriff joined him and they found Millie’s three thousand in her suitcase. Bohanin urged the sheriff to take the money for safekeeping. It was late when he stumbled into the lobby of the small hotel. He asked if there was a place where he could purchase a saddle rig and horse. He also asked the best location to buy some trail clothes, revolvers and ammunition. As he found his room and prepared for a badly needed rest, Bohanin formulated his plans. He would wait until he was sure that Millie was all right. He would trade his pistol for some newer Colts and buy himself some trail clothes and a horse. He would return to Springfield and find Logan Bochart. He had been careful to tell the sheriff very little. It would be impossible to bring Bochart to trial without more evidence.
Chapter XI
Bohanin involved himself with preparations for his return to Springfield and monitored Millie’s progress for two days. He was able to purchase a nice roan gelding and saddle rig from the livery and obtain trail clothes from the local general store. The only new revolver of significant caliber was a nickel-plated shopkeeper’s model with a three inch barrel and no ejection rod. Bohanin would have preferred something with a longer barrel but the single action weapon was a .45 Peacemaker of traditional Colt quality. A few sessions behind the store of close range target shooting convinced Bohanin that he had made a good purchase. For most of his work he would use the Winchester. Bohanin spent several hours in practice between visits to the doctor’s office to check on Millie. Jasper and Sheriff Witter had left the next morning after Bohanin’s arrival. They returned with Tibbs in the late evening of the second day. Witter told Bohanin that as far as he was concerned, the matter was fully resolved. Bohanin’s story checked out and the bushwhacker had been identified as a local Springfield tough known as Starbuck. Starbuck had been buried without benefit of marker or much attention. The shallow grave would keep the buzzards and wolves away for a few days. That was the best the scoundrel deserved.
Millie did not regain consciousness until the second evening. Incoherent, she returned to a deep sleep. Doctor Ball said that it was normal and probably for the best. If infection could be controlled, she would probably recover completely after several weeks of convalescence.
At sunrise, the third day, Bohanin prepared his roan for the ride back to Springfield. As he was tying his bedroll behind the candle, Bohanin heard someone entering the livery. He turned, his right hand resting on the butt of the new Colt.
“Careful there, Captain,” Joe Tibbs said as he entered the livery. “No need to get jumpy on my account.”
Tibbs was a large man in his mid-forties, over six foot and two hundred pounds. He was bearded and had lost about half his teeth from years of neglect on the trail. He dressed in a large brimmed, low crowned black hat with tie down, bat-wing chaps, bib-front dark blue shirt, and large rowled Texas style spurs jangling from the heels of square toe boots. A Richardson conversion Colt rode high on his right hip, a Bowie knife on his left. His eyes drifted to the new Colt resting in Bohanin’s holster.
“So we got us a new fancy Colt, pony and saddle rig,” Tibbs said. “Sorta makes me think there’s more to this story than the sheriff knows.”
“What of it?”
Tibbs laughed nervously and stepped to a stall, leaning on a rail with his hands in plain sight.
“Hold on there, Captain. I ain’t wanting any trouble.”
Bohanin turned back to his rig and continued tying down the bedroll.
“What do you want, then?” he asked.
“I want to spin you a yarn,” Tibbs said as he remained in his position. “You interested in a little story telling before you vamoose?”
“Sure,” Bohanin said.
Tibbs spoke quietly in a strong assured voice. “Ever since the war I been working out at the Circle R as line boss for a fellow named Major Reinhart. He was a major in the Prussian Army. Too old for the big fracas back in ‘62. Couldn’t ever speak American too well but he was a good old boy and always treated me fair. There was another feller working on the spread named Tim Stevens. He was a war orphan I suppose, but the old kraut took a liking to him and sorta raised him as his own. Hell, we all liked Timmy. He was an hombre and his word was as good as gold.
Anyway, some good range came up for sale down west of Springfield. Had solid water, especially in the dry, and the Major needed something like that for the outfit. He sent Tim down to bid on that land with a fancy green money belt full of double eagles. We all knew the old man was grooming the kid to take over some day and figured it was good experience for him. Tim never made it to that sale. He just sorta disappeared from the scene. We rode out looking for him but never found hide nor hair. There was some talk here abouts about young cowboys, too much gold and temptation, but none of us bought that story. It was too much for the Major. He just sorta went down hill from that day. We planted him this spring and I’ve been working on the ranch managing things until everything’s ironed out about who gets what.
That range land was bought by the Bochart outfit for a song, there being no other bidders big enough to muster the coin to run up the price.
Well, two weeks ago I was ordered by the bank to sell some steers at an auction at La Junta. While I was there, I took time to visit a local establishment and vent my pipes. While I was conducting my business, I overheard some of the ladies talking about three hombres who had come in about a year earlier raising hell. Seems there was two old boys and a Mexican flashing a load of double eagles and spending them like there was no winter coming. Claimed that they had gotten a ranch bonus for some special business. They busted the place up some. Got a personal invitation from the local marshal to spend them double eagles elsewhere.”
“And?” Bohanin asked.
Joe smiled. “So now I ride out with the sheriff and look over a dry gulching, and who do I find all decorated with slugs? My old friend, Jake Starbuck. I’ve known that skunk ever since he started stinking up Colorado. So I takes me a look-see in his saddlebags and what do I find? A green money belt coiled up in the bottom.”
“The same green belt?” Bohanin asked.
Tibbs nodded. “Weren’t no other belt like that in this part of creation. Came over from Prussia quite a fer pi
ece back. I watched the Major give that belt to Tim along with his instructions. I was his witness, you might say.”
Bohanin studied the cowboy carefully.
“So I had me a long conversation with Sheriff Witter about the old soldier boy who brought in a young school marm. He seems to think you’re quite an hombre. This soldier boy don’t know why the woman was shot except that she had herself a pile of money and was probably bushwhacked for it. Yet, here he is with a new rig, trail ready, a chip on his shoulder and blood in his eye. You know what I think?”
“No, what do you think?” Bohanin asked, impressed with Tibbs’ manner.
“I think that soldier boy knows more than he’s saying. I think he’s getting ready to take a ride down to Springfield and pay a visit to Bochart. I think that soldier boy knew exactly who Starbuck was and knew that he rode for Bochart along with a feller named Nobel and a Mexican named Espironsa. I think that old soldier knows why that schoolteacher was bushwhacked but can’t prove nothing to the law. Being just a might pissed over the whole deal, he intends to set things right without the benefit of a star.”
Bohanin listened silently.
“What do you think, Captain Bohanin?” Joe Tibbs smiled.
“I think the wrong feller is sheriff, hereabouts,” Bohanin answered.
“I don’t know about that. Witter is smart. He just don’t know both sides of the yarn. Up until now, I was the only guy that knew that. Kind of an oddity don’t you think?”
“So what’s your play?” Bohanin asked.
“I figure that soldier could use some help. He could use a partner who knows the back trails and is a fair hand in a fracas. I ain’t no pistolero, but I’ve shot me a saucy bandit or two and faced down a few red Injuns in my time. I kind of liked the old man and the boy. I wouldn’t like to live with what I know without hearing what some fellers down Springfield way have to say about it.”
“Might not be much conversation involved,” Bohanin said.
Joe Tibbs nodded. “I can live with that. Hell, the Circle R is finished anyway. I have been thinking about working some Texas spreads in my old age. Warmer down there, don’t ya know.”
Bohanin's Last Days Page 7
