Massacre at Crow Creek Crossing

by Charles G. West

  As if in a trance, Douglas went through the motions to fetch the tobacco for his offensive customer after Carrie disappeared through the storeroom door. He had no idea how he was supposed to respond to Red’s horrifying accusations about his daughter-in-law. The only thing he could think to say was, “Carrie’s not my wife. She’s my son’s wife.”

  “Is that a fact?” Red replied, still laughing at what he perceived as a really entertaining joke as he went out the door. “Wait till ol’ Yarborough hears about this,” he said to Tiny. “Carrie Green. Ha!”

  Still dazed by the devastating encounter with the two men, Douglas stood motionless for a long moment, trying to make some sense out of what had just happened. Surely those two ruffians were mistaken, he tried to tell himself, but he could not rid his mind of the shock he had seen on Carrie’s face. They seemed so certain that she was someone named Corina Burnett, a prostitute. How can this be? he asked himself. She was Robert’s wife, and he would not marry a whore. Maybe she had lied to them, and Robert and the real Carrie were still on their way here. But if that was the case, she would be foolish to attempt her charade. They would expose her as soon as they arrived in town. Another, more serious thought entered his mind. What if she was involved in Robert and Carrie’s murder, and consequently knew Robert and the real Carrie would not show up?

  It was too much for his brain to handle. He had to know the real story and went into the storeroom, looking for Carrie, or Corina, whoever she was. He found her on the floor in the back corner of the room. Huddled against the wall, her face in her hands, she was weeping silently. He couldn’t help feeling a tinge of pity for her, but he resolved himself to the task at hand—to find the truth, no matter how damning.

  “You wanna tell me about this?” he asked. When she looked up at him with huge tears streaking her cheeks, she was so pitiful that he felt himself caving in.

  At that moment, Martha walked in the back door.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked when she saw her daughter-in-law hovering in the corner, tears streaming down her face. Martha looked at once from Carrie to Douglas and demanded, “What did you say to her?” She hurried over to the nearby washstand to comfort the distressed girl.

  Feeling a bit more authoritative with the prospect of his wife’s support, Douglas answered her. “It ain’t what I said to her. It’s what she has to say for herself. She’s got some explaining to do.”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Douglas?” Martha demanded as she tried to help Carrie to her feet.

  “I’m talking about her name ain’t really Carrie,” he blurted. “It’s Corina somethin’, and according to one of those two fellows who was just in the store, she’s a whore.”

  Taken aback, Martha released Carrie’s arm and stood back to stare at the distraught young woman. “What is he talking about, Carrie? What happened here?” When there was no explanation from either of them, she demanded again, this time with angry impatience, “What happened here?”

  Carrie seemed to pull herself together then, as if resigned to take what fate had in store for her. For it struck her that she was doomed to suffer the lot that destiny had written for her. And there would be no release from the hell she had known before Robert Green had stepped forward to save her. “I’m not the person I told you I was,” she confessed. “I’m not who that man said I am, either, but I can’t deny I once was the person he said I was.”

  As her husband had been, Martha was blindsided by what Carrie’s confession implied. At first looking helpless at Douglas, she turned back to face her daughter-in-law, hoping it was all a misunderstanding and Carrie would explain it away. When there was no such explanation forthcoming, she beseeched her husband to tell her what had caused his accusation. He told her of the two strangers who had just been in the store, one of whom had known Carrie before she’d married Robert. Finding it impossible to believe, Martha turned to the shaken young woman, praying for a denial. Instead, she got a tearful confession.

  “His name is Red,” Carrie admitted soulfully. “I recognized him. He was one of a crowd of drifters and cowhands that came into the saloon. That was before I met Robert and changed my life.”

  Totally distraught, Martha could barely believe what she was hearing, first her only son’s death, and now this shameful discovery. She felt she had been betrayed and deceived, and she immediately became angry. “You’re a whore? Did my son know about your wicked past?” she demanded.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Carrie replied softly. “I told him everything. And he said nothing that happened before we met mattered.”

  “Well, it matters to me!” Martha snapped. “How could you take advantage of a gentle soul like Robert?” She glared at her husband, expecting him to join her in condemning this evil woman. When he did nothing beyond staring at Carrie with his mouth agape, she turned back to her daughter-in-law. “I’ll expect you to gather your shabby belongings and get out of my house immediately.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Carrie replied, knowing there was no sense in trying to plead her case. It was obvious that Martha and Douglas were not interested in hearing about her impoverished childhood, drunken father, and the pitiful conditions that had forced her to do what she’d had to do to survive. “I’ll go right now and get my things.”

  “I’ll go with you to see you don’t forget anything,” Martha said, still fuming. She gave Douglas another scorching gaze to emphasize her disappointment in his lack of indignation.

  Carrie turned at once and started for the door, well aware that Martha was going with her to make sure she didn’t steal anything. If she was a whore and a liar, then she was probably a thief as well. I guess that’s only natural, she thought.

  * * *

  Harley looked up when Leon Bloodworth walked into the saloon. He grinned when Leon looked over the half-empty room until he spotted him, then walked straight across the floor to his table. “Howdy, Leon, you come to join me in a little drink?”

  “Hell, no,” Leon replied. “I came to tell you there’s four fellers lookin’ for you, and I don’t think you want ’em to find you. One of ’em is Troy Womack.”

  “Womack?” Harley responded. “What are you talkin’ about? Troy Womack took off with Cole ridin’ after him.”

  “I’m tryin’ to tell you Womack is back in town. He’s got three rough-lookin’ fellers with him, and they are huntin’ for Harley Branch.”

  Sufficiently alarmed, Harley asked, “What the hell are they lookin’ for me for?” If Womack’s back in town, where the hell is Cole?

  Harley was at once anxious, afraid that his friend had come out on the short end in a confrontation with Womack. Knowing Cole was a pretty good tracker, Harley could only pray that Cole had lost Womack’s trail, but he feared that maybe the worst had happened.

  “’Cause you’ve got that Mexican saddle that belonged to Troy’s brother,” Leon explained. “And they think you’re Cole and you shot the other two Womack boys.”

  “How do they think that?” Harley asked.

  “I don’t know, but that’s what they think for sure,” Leon said, choosing not to admit that it was him who gave them Harley’s name. “I’ll tell them I don’t know where you are, but I heard them talkin’ ’bout checkin’ all the saloons to see if you were in one of ’em. When they passed my place, though, they rode right on by this ’un, else you might be havin’ a drink with ’em right now. You’d best make yourself scarce before they show up here.”

  “That might be the smartest thing you’ve ever said,” Harley said, tossed down the rest of the whiskey in his glass, and got to his feet. He grabbed the bottle, went to the bar to settle up with the bartender, then followed Leon back to the stable to get his horse.

  Harley considered hiding out in the stable, but Leon talked him out of it, saying he felt pretty sure that the four men would be back to the stable when they didn’t find him in town.

  “I didn’t know who to tell about those gunmen,” Leon said. “With Cole gone and John H
enry laid up, I figured the only one who might do somethin’ was Gordon Luck. I was fixin’ to ride over to the sawmill to tell him after I told you to skedaddle. Why don’t you ride out there instead and tell him about our visitors? Might be a good place for you to hide out.”

  Harley thought about the suggestion while he loaded the packhorse and threw his fancy Mexican saddle onto his horse. Luck had been active with the vigilantes before. He might want to face up to the four gunmen. If he did, Harley would help him, and maybe John Beecher at the blacksmith shop would join them. He had before when the vigilance committee went up against Slade Corbett. Harley was willing to help, but he had better sense than to go up against four gunmen by himself. He just wished Cole was there.

  “I’ll go tell Gordon what’s goin’ on.” Harley tightened the girth strap and stepped up into the saddle. Then he waited until Leon took another look up toward the hotel to make sure the four visitors were still up at that end of the street. When Leon said their horses were still tied at the rail, Harley prepared to ride out the back door when he was confronted with Carrie coming in. She was carrying her few personal things bundled up in her arms. “Carrie!” he exclaimed. “What’s goin’ on?”

  Startled to see Harley, she was initially at a loss for what to say. But she told herself there was no use in trying to hide the truth; he would know soon enough, anyway. “I guess it’s just time for me to move on. I came to get my horse.”

  Fairly astonished, Harley dismounted. “Time to move on? What are you talkin’ about? Where are you goin’?” Thinking about the trouble he and Cole had gone to just to get her to Cheyenne, he was confused by her talk of leaving town. He forgot for the moment about his own need to leave right away. “What’s happened? Do Mr. and Mrs. Green know you’re goin’?”

  She took a moment to put her bundle down while she decided what to tell him. Again, thinking it useless to make up a story, she told Leon to fetch the sorrel she had ridden in on.

  When he went to the tack room to get her bridle and saddle, she turned to Harley and said, “Harley, you and Cole are the only people who have ever bothered to help me without question, so I’ll tell you the straight of it. Douglas and Martha kicked me out.” She went on then to relate the unfortunate happenings that took place in the past half hour, pausing once when Leon left the tack room and went to the corral. “So now I’m leaving this place. I don’t know where I’m going, but I know I can’t stay here.”

  “My Lord in heaven.” Harley exhaled, momentarily at a loss for words, but lost for a moment only, for he immediately responded. “You can’t just go ridin’ off by yourself. I’ll go with you.” He went on to explain his intention to leave town as well. “I’m glad I didn’t ride out before you got here. I can’t have you wanderin’ all over the prairie by yourself. Cole would give me the devil for that. Tell you what. Lemme pack your things on my packhorse. There’s four hardened gunmen in town lookin’ for me, and from what you just told me, they’ll likely be lookin’ to find you, too. So we’ll just make ourselves scarce, and find us a place that’s better for our health. Whaddaya say?”

  Desperate for help from any source, but especially relieved to be under his wing again, she gladly accepted his proposal. “I say yes,” she replied at once. “But are you sure you want to help me? I mean, with all I just told you?”

  “’Course I’m sure. Anybody’s liable to make a mistake, especially when they’re young and ain’t got better choices. Besides, as long as I’ve known you, you’re Carrie Green, and she’s a mighty fine lady in my opinion.”

  She turned her head quickly to blink a tear from her eye as Leon led her sorrel back inside the stable.

  “We’ll stop by the sawmill and let Gordon Luck know what’s goin’ on,” Harley said to Leon. He looked at Carrie again. “I was plannin’ on headin’ out by the river, anyway, so the sawmill will be right on our way.” Ready to ride, they filed out the back door of the stable, heading for the river.

  Behind them, Leon stood watching and puzzling over Carrie’s decision to go with Harley. “I wonder what Douglas and Martha will think about this?”

  CHAPTER 8

  “I’m gonna need a couple of rooms,” Flint Yarborough informed Arthur Campbell. “And I want two of them rooms up there facin’ the street.”

  “Yes, sir,” Arthur responded politely, not at all comfortable with the look of the man giving the orders, standing there with his rifle in hand. He tried not to make eye contact with Troy, who was obviously enjoying his return to town, as evidenced by the impish grin on his face. “How long will you be staying?” Arthur asked.

  “Till I get ready to leave,” Yarborough replied, causing Troy to laugh.

  “Let me see what rooms I have available,” Arthur said, stalling for a few moments while he tried to decide what to do.

  The arrival of Troy Womack and his smirking friend placed the whole town in a particularly dire situation. Arthur had certainly never expected Womack to show up in Cheyenne ever again after he’d gunned down John Henry Black in front of the hotel. But Womack was back, big as life as if he had nothing to worry about—and with the sheriff still laid up in bed with the wounds that had almost killed him. Arthur was afraid to let the two outlaws know that Black was recovering in his room right there in the hotel.

  To make matters worse, Red and Tiny walked in at that moment, having just left the general store.

  My Lord, Arthur thought, there are four of them! He realized then that Yarborough’s request for two rooms was not for a private room for himself and one for Womack. That shot down his initial hope of convincing Yarborough to take only one room, thinking to separate that room as far as possible from John Henry’s room at the end of the hall. Arthur didn’t know what to do. He was given a few more minutes to think of something when the two other men grabbed Yarborough’s attention.

  “I got somethin’ to tell you that’s gonna tickle you, I guarantee ya,” Red declared as he swaggered up to join them at the desk.

  Yarborough turned halfway around to respond with a dubious expression.

  It caused Red to grin confidently. “You remember that little gal you took a shine to in that saloon, The Cattleman’s, down in Ogallala?” He winked at Tiny, who was grinning as wide as he, for they knew that Yarborough had taken more than a casual interest in the young woman.

  Yarborough paused to think a few moments before answering. “Yeah, I remember her. Can’t call her name right off. What about her?”

  “Corina Burnett,” Red reminded him, knowing full well that Yarborough remembered her name. “I just saw her, right next door in the general store. Calls herself Carrie Green now.” He gave out a hearty chuckle when he saw the light of recall in Yarborough’s eyes.

  “Well, I’ll be . . .” Yarborough muttered. Two years had dulled the flame of obsession he once had for the pretty young prostitute, but it had never gone out completely. “Corina Burnett. Are you sure? I’d sure like to see her again. Did she remember you?”

  “She remembered me,” Red stated emphatically. “She played like she didn’t—tried to tell me she warn’t the same gal—but she didn’t fool me.”

  “When we get through here,” Yarborough said, “we’ll go back and see if she’s the same gal. I got a thing or two I’d like to tell her.”

  Speechless to this point, but equally amazed, although for a different reason, Troy Womack could scarcely believe the woman Malcolm and Travis had abducted was, in fact, a common dancehall prostitute. His initial reaction was one of anger when he heard her name, thinking his brothers had been taken for suckers. The whole time she had been held by his brothers, Travis said she had cried and screeched like a Sunday school teacher over her dead husband. If she had owned up to it, she could have hooked up with them, and maybe caused a hell of a lot less trouble. He tried to remember the two women driving the buckboard that night when he and Travis charged it. He’d gotten a good look at her face when Travis tried to pull her out of the seat, but the memory had been dull
ed by the image of Travis falling dead a moment later. Finally he spoke. “That’s the woman that caused Travis to get killed, only he didn’t know her name was really Corina whatever you said.”

  “Well, I’ll be . . .” Yarborough started, getting even more stirred up. “Is that a fact?”

  Troy nodded slowly.

  “Well, I know I gotta get a look at this woman now,” Yarborough said. “See if she’s the same one.” He shook his head, amazed, still doubting the possibility. “Damned if she ain’t a real sidewinder, ain’t she?”

  As aghast as any of them, Arthur Campbell found himself stunned by the new portrayal of the seemingly innocent young widow of Robert Green. So astonished was he that he had to remind himself of the problem he had yet to solve regarding the recuperating sheriff in the room upstairs at the end of the hall. It might be impossible to keep the four outlaws from finding out the sheriff was lying helpless only a few doors away from their rooms.

  Although he preferred not to rent his two best rooms to the rowdy four facing him, Arthur could think of no other option. “Well, if you gentlemen are going to the store right now, I’ll make sure your rooms are ready for you. I’ll rent you my two best rooms upstairs, right up front where you can look out the windows and see everything that’s going on in the street below. How’s that?”

  “You ain’t got nothin’ better?” Yarborough countered.

  “No, sir,” Arthur replied, thinking he had already answered that question.

  “Then I’ll take ’em,” Yarborough came back. “That’s what I want. We’ll go upstairs and look ’em over.” He turned to Red and said, “Then we’ll go see that gal you think is Corina. It’s been about two years or more since we was in Ogallala. You mighta seen somebody that just looks like Corina.”

  Red just laughed, sure of what he had seen.

  * * *

  Already in a state of total dismay, Douglas Green was alarmed to see the two men return to his store with two others. And one of them was the gunman who had shot Sheriff Black. His first thought was that he was about to be robbed, and he knew there was nothing he could do to prevent it. They obviously knew there was no sheriff to stop them. With no option other than to give them whatever they demanded, he stood silently watching, hoping he would at least be alive after they left. He was somewhat surprised when one of them asked a question.