Massacre at Crow Creek Crossing

by Charles G. West

  “Where’s Corina?” Red asked, anxious for Yarborough to see her.

  “C-Corina?” Green stuttered, still not used to the name. “Oh, Carrie . . . she’s not here.”

  “She was here a few minutes ago,” Red insisted, and looked at Tiny for confirmation.

  The simple giant nodded vigorously.

  Red turned back to Douglas. “Hell, man, we was just in here. Where the hell did she go?” Remembering then, he asked, “Is she in the back room yonder?” He pointed to the storeroom door, for that was where she’d gone when she’d left the store.

  “No, sir,” Douglas replied. “She ain’t in the back room. She’s gone, and I don’t expect she’ll be back.”

  Red was rapidly losing his patience with the bumbling storekeeper. He reached over the counter, grabbed the front of Green’s shirt, and yanked the startled man halfway across the counter. “Well, where the hell did she go? And don’t tell me you don’t know, ’cause I’ll shoot a liar quicker ’n I’d shoot a snake.”

  Douglas Green had never considered himself to be a coward, merely a peaceable man. At this moment, however, with the toes of his boots barely touching the floor, he could feel the bitter bile of cold fear creeping up into his throat, causing him to whimper pathetically. “Please,” he begged, “I swear I don’t know where she went. She’s gone for good. When we found out who she really was, we told her to get out. She’s gone, and that’s the God’s honest truth.”

  “You kicked her out, huh?” Red released the terrified man’s shirt, letting him drop squarely onto his feet again. He drew his .44 and stuck the muzzle inches from Green’s face, aiming right at his nose. “I reckon her kind ain’t good enough for you. Is that right?”

  “No, no,” Green pleaded. “She’s good enough. She just shouldn’t have lied to us!”

  Red cocked the hammer back on his pistol. “I’m fixin’ to blow a hole through your head.”

  It was too much for Green’s nervous system to handle. His knees failed him, causing him to drop to the floor, landing in a sitting position against the shelves behind the counter. His face frozen in terror, he stared up with wide-open eyes at the cocked handgun as Red leaned over the counter to keep it trained on him.

  “Bam! Bam!” Red suddenly yelled, then roared with laughter when Green flinched in response. The outlaw released the hammer and holstered the weapon as Tiny and Yarborough joined in the laughter. Red turned to Tiny and said, “He thought he was a goner, didn’t he?”

  “He sure as hell did,” Tiny replied, still chuckling at the frightened storekeeper. “That was a good one, Red. You had me fooled. I thought you was really gonna shoot him.”

  Red laughed again, pleased with the entertainment he had provided.

  “I reckon he thought so, too,” Yarborough said, “if them wet spots on his britches are what they look like.” No longer amused by his partner’s antics, he turned a serious eye toward the terrified storekeeper. “Now that the fun is over, suppose you tell me where Corina went. And don’t make no mistake about it. If I pull this .44 ridin’ on my hip, I aim to fire it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Douglas pleaded pitifully. “I swear I won’t lie to you. I don’t know where Carrie, I mean, Corina was gonna go. She just went to the house with my wife to get her belongings. I don’t know if she’s still there, or where she would go after that.”

  “Where’s your house?” Yarborough demanded. “That buildin’ out back?”

  “Yes, sir,” Green replied. “Right across the yard. But please, don’t harm my wife.”

  “Not if she behaves herself and don’t give me no trouble,” Yarborough said. “She just better answer my questions and she’ll be all right.”

  “Don’t worry, old man,” Womack piped up. “I’ve seen her and there ain’t one of us that’ll wanna lay a hand on her.” He laughed, enjoying his attempt to make a joke.

  * * *

  Martha Green stood by the back door after she had watched her daughter-in-law disappear beyond the outhouse on her way to Leon Bloodworth’s stable. At least, that was the direction she had taken, carrying her pitiful belongings in her arms. Standing now, staring at the empty snow-covered alleyway behind the post office, Martha could still see the image of the distraught young woman in her mind’s eye. She wondered if she had been wrong in sending her away. It was a hard thing to do, but the woman was a prostitute, and had probably lied to trick Robert into marrying her. It made Martha angry to think that Robert had not told them about Carrie’s background—if he, in fact, knew.

  She shook her head violently in an effort to drive away thoughts of guilt. She had done what had to be done. She told herself that it was not Douglas and her responsibility to take a common whore into their home because of their son’s foolish mistake. “She’ll no doubt light somewhere else,” Martha finally announced, trying to close the door on the issue, “and likely be better off than staying with Douglas and me.” With that, she closed the back door and went to the front of the house, intending to return to the store.

  Passing the front window, she happened to see four men walking down the tiny path between the store and her house. The sight stopped her cold before she reached the door. Two of them were probably the men just in the store, the two who had identified Carrie. All four looked capable of doing any amount of harm. Why are they coming to my house, she wondered, immediately alarmed. Why would Douglas permit them to come to the house? Unless he couldn’t stop them, she thought. She went at once to the fireplace and took Douglas’s shotgun from over the mantel. After checking to make sure it was loaded, she stood facing the door, awaiting a knock. It never came, and she was startled when the door was flung open and the four, led by Flint Yarborough, strode into the parlor.

  Recovering her wits, she calmly informed them, “Most civilized folks knock before they come busting in somebody’s house.”

  “Whoa!” Yarborough yelped when confronted with the shotgun pointed at his midsection. “Take it easy with that thing, lady. Don’t go doin’ somethin’ that’ll wind up with you gettin’ yourself killed.”

  “What are you doing busting in here? You’ve got no business in my house, so you’d best turn yourself right around and get outta here. Where’s my husband? Have you harmed him? ’Cause I’ll shoot you down like the mad dog you are.”

  When Red and Tiny moved away from Yarborough to spread out a little, in case she pulled the trigger, she motioned them back. “You two just stand right where you are,” she commanded, then directed a threat at Yarborough. “There aren’t but two shots in this gun, but if one of them tries something, you’ll get the first load of buckshot.

  Her warning stopped Red and Tiny in their tracks, but Yarborough held up his hand to stop them as well. It was plain to see that the skinny little woman wasn’t bluffing. “Hold on a minute, ma’am,” he said politely. “We didn’t come to do you no harm. You’re right. I reckon we’ve been away from civilized folk too long. We just wanna talk to Corina for a minute.”

  “Is my husband all right?” Martha asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Yarborough answered. “We didn’t have no reason to harm your husband. He’s all right.”

  “Just wet his pants a little bit,” Red couldn’t resist commenting. It brought an amused grunt from Tiny, while Troy took a step back in an effort to get behind Yarborough in case the angry woman cut loose with her double-barreled shotgun.

  Ignoring Red’s attempt at humor, Yarborough continued. “Like I said, we didn’t come to cause trouble. I’m just wantin’ to see if she’s the same woman I knew a couple of years back, so how about callin’ her out here?”

  “She’s gone from here,” Martha said, “and she ain’t coming back.”

  Yarborough considered that for a moment. The feisty little woman was probably telling the truth, and he wasn’t quite sure why he was determined to see Corina. But he had taken quite a shine to the young girl and been plenty aggravated with her when she ran off and hid from him when he went looking for her. She
deserved a little payback for treating him like that, he concluded.

  He was going to have to see for himself if she was in the house or not. “We’ll just take a quick look to make sure she ain’t slipped back in the house without you knowin’ it.” He nodded to Tiny and took a step to the side.

  “No, you don’t,” she charged and brought her shotgun to bear on him, taking her eyes off the huge man beside him. Caught in the unfamiliar action of cocking the hammers back on her weapon, she was not ready for the sudden move from Tiny.

  Grabbing the shotgun by the barrel, he turned it straight up as she pulled both triggers, resulting in landing her on her backside and creating a gaping hole in the ceiling. The simpleminded giant stood over her, grinning down at her.

  “Now, I expect you’d best just get up from there and go set yourself down on that sofa and behave yourself till we get done looking through the house,” Yarborough told her. “Troy, there, will keep you company while we look. Tiny, you stand by the door and set her husband down with her when he comes runnin’ to the house.” He looked back at Martha. “If he don’t come a-runnin’, I believe I’d run him off, if I was you.”

  There was little doubt that she was helpless to resist the invasion of her home, so she got up from the floor and went to the sofa.

  Yarborough watched her until she was settled, then said, “Come on, Red, let’s see if that little bird is hidin’ someplace. And best be careful. There might be another gun in the house.”

  He and Red were looking in the kitchen when they heard Tiny welcoming Douglas at the front door.

  “Well, I reckon maybe his missus might not run him off,” Red said with a chuckle. “He showed up.”

  The search was thorough, but resulted in no sign of Corina. They checked a shed out back as well as the outhouse before concluding that Martha had spoken truthfully. Corina was gone.

  “Who’s watchin’ the store?” Yarborough joked when he walked back into the parlor and saw Douglas seated beside his wife on the sofa. “Ain’t you afraid some outlaws might clean you out while you’re at home visitin’ with your wife?”

  His three companions laughed at his joke.

  When Douglas sat there meekly with no desire to reply, Yarborough said, “It’s a damn good thing you came a-runnin’ when you heard that shotgun go off. She said if you didn’t, you’d be sleepin’ on the back porch tonight.”

  Tired of the entertainment enjoyed at their expense, Martha finally spoke. “All right. You’ve bullied us and had your fun. Your Corina ain’t here, so get out of my house. We’ve got to get back to the store.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Yarborough mocked, “just as soon as you tell me which way she went.”

  “I told you I don’t know which way she went,” Martha retorted emphatically, even though she could have told them that Corina started out toward the stable. “And I don’t care which way she went,” she added.

  “I believe you don’t,” Yarborough said. “Come on, boys. Let’s go.”

  Douglas and Martha sat there for a few minutes after the four outlaws had filed out the front door.

  “I guess I’d best get back to the store, in case they take a notion to go back and clean us out,” he said.

  She nodded in response.

  Ashamed of the humiliation he had been forced to endure, he attempted to apologize for his lack of backbone.

  “Don’t be silly, Douglas,” she responded. “You couldn’t fight the four of them. They would have killed you, and then where would I be? With John Henry laid up in bed, the town is at the mercy of all the good-for-nothing outlaws that happen to drift through here. I just hope Arthur Campbell doesn’t let them know the sheriff’s laying helpless right there in the hotel. I’m afraid they might decide to finish him for good.”

  * * *

  Mary Lou Cagle paused just before opening the door when she heard the heavy tread of boots and the boisterous conversation outside in the hallway. She automatically looked back at the bed, where John Henry Black lay weak and defenseless. She placed her forefinger to her lips, lest he might start to say something. It had to be the four outlaws outside the door on their way to the two rooms at the front of the hall. Holding a tray with the sheriff’s supper dishes in one hand, she listened until she was sure there was no one else in the hall before slowly turning the knob and easing the door open. When she saw the empty hall, she took another quick look back at Black before stepping outside. Placing the tray on the floor at her feet, she quickly locked the door, picked up the tray again, and hurried down the back stairs.

  “How’s he looking?” a concerned Maggie Whitehouse asked when Mary Lou came into the kitchen.

  “Better,” Mary Lou answered. “At least he’s feeling a little more like eating now, a little more than yesterday, anyway. But he still ain’t ready to sit up for no longer than it takes me to feed him.”

  “I hope that scum ain’t planning to stay in the hotel very long,” Maggie said. “I don’t know how long you can keep being a nurse to John Henry before they get wise to something going on in that room.”

  Mary Lou could only respond with a shrug and a long sigh. She had been the one person Arthur Campbell thought of when a nurse was needed. It wasn’t the first time she had been called upon to take that role. That time had been voluntarily on her part, however, when she had watched over Cole after he had been shot. The thought brought an image to mind of a wounded mountain lion, tame under her care. A slight smile parted her lips as she compared that picture with the image he presented when he’d returned recently, a year later. With his long sandy hair in braids and dressed in animal hides, he looked more like a wild Indian, but he still created that special feeling inside her. Her smile suddenly gave way to a frown when she reminded herself that he had yet to declare his interest in her. Although she would never admit it, she had turned Gordon Luck down because she had made up her mind to wed Cole Bonner.

  Maggie suspected as much, but Mary Lou would deny it until the knot was tied. And if they never married, she would take it to the grave with her. Her thoughts were interrupted when Maggie broke into her reverie.

  “What in the world are you thinking about?”

  “Nothing,” Mary Lou replied. “Wondering if we were going to have those four coyotes coming in here to eat, I guess.”

  “Is that so?” Maggie said. “Looked more to me like you were off someplace else in your mind. I asked you twice if you wanted me to clean up the dishes so you could take care of John Henry. And you ain’t answered yet.”

  “No, I’ll help with the cleanup. John Henry oughta be all right for the night. He’s got his bedpan and water beside the bed. I’ll check on him before I go to bed.” Mary Lou paused, realizing Maggie had voiced concern about the four men. “Maybe, if we’re lucky, they’ll eat their meals at one of the saloons, like most of their kind.”

  * * *

  In fact, the four outlaws were intent upon checking the saloons as soon as they parked their saddlebags and war bags in the two hotel rooms.

  “I’m bunkin’ with Flint,” Red announced before any of them entered a room.

  Still too new to the gang to be particular about a roommate, Troy shrugged and carried his belongings into the room with Tiny, unaware of the sly wink Red aimed at Yarborough. He would find the reason for Red’s preference, however, when going to bed that night. Tiny, on the other hand, could not care less who bunked in with him, for he always fell fast asleep within minutes of closing his eyes. Consequently, he never suffered the problem of trying to sleep in a room resonating with the sound of a lovesick moose. As he had often explained, he had never stayed awake to hear how loud he snored.

  With their gear stowed, they left the hotel to begin a search of the three saloons in town, looking for the man called Harley Branch. Starting with the Cowboy’s Rest, they worked their way down the street, having a drink in each place and questioning the bartender about Harley. The results were the same in all three, no one had seen Harley, and from the re
sponse they received, it appeared that no one had ever heard of the man.

  Tossing his shot of whiskey back, Yarborough smacked his lips in loud appreciation of the fiery liquid. They had drunk their way down to the last of the three saloons, the Sundown, so named because it was on the western end of the short street. Troy suggested that it might be a good idea to go back to the stable.

  “I reckon we could do that,” Yarborough said. “He’d likely know if Harley Branch was back in town.” Like his friends, Tiny and Red, Yarborough was rapidly losing interest in finding the man who had killed Troy’s brothers. He was fine with the idea of killing the man, but his main interest was in the possibility of looting the town of Cheyenne. It appeared to him that they had found themselves in the right place at the right time. And, so far, there appeared to be nobody to stop them, adding icing to the cake. To hell with Harley Branch, he thought, but as a last friendly gesture to Troy, he said, “All right. Let’s go to the stable.”

  * * *

  Faced again with the four dangerous-looking faces, Leon Bloodworth hoped his nervousness was not as apparent as he feared. “No, sir,” he responded politely. “As far as I know, Harley Branch has left here for good, and he didn’t say where he was headin’. He came in not long after you fellers rode by here, settled up with me, and left. I asked him where he was headin’, but he just said away from here.”

  “Well, that about ties a knot in that piece of rope, I reckon,” Yarborough said, turning to Troy. “There ain’t any more we can do about him. Maybe we’ll run into him somewhere down the line.” He paused a moment, waiting to see if Troy had anything to say about that. When Troy simply shrugged as if accepting the missed opportunity for vengeance, Yarborough turned his attention back to Leon. “I don’t reckon you’ve seen hide nor hair of Corina Burnett, have you?” Seeing Leon’s startled look, he mistook it for confusion. “You might know her by Carrie. Does she keep a horse or maybe a buggy here?”