Cole was disappointed to hear Gordon’s position on an attempt to retake the town from the criminal element that had moved in. And he could see that talk about the murder of John Henry Black would not be enough to change his mind. “Sounds to me like you’ve pretty much made up your mind on the matter.”
“Pretty much,” Gordon said. He hesitated a moment, but decided to offer his advice. “I know the town’s in a bad fix right now, but it looks to me like you and Harley decided to cast your lot with the Crow Indians, anyway,” It was an obvious reference to Cole’s long braids and his buckskins. “You’ve answered the call to help the town folk before and still the town’s in trouble. It ain’t really fair to ask you to fight their fight for them again, and if I was you, I wouldn’t stick my neck out this time.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Cole said. “I’ll think about it.” He understood Gordon’s attitude, but he could not in good conscience abandon the people of Cheyenne to the evil whims of four lawless predators. There were good people in Cheyenne, set on building a respectable town, and some of them were bound to become victims of the vicious killers. “Well,” he said in parting, “I just wanted to see where you stood on the matter. I guess I’ll be gettin’ along now.”
“The least I can do is offer you some food. Or coffee at least,” Gordon said.
“Yes,” Carrie spoke up. “Let me fix you some coffee. If you’re hungry, there’s a couple of biscuits left from breakfast.”
“Thanks just the same,” Cole replied, “but I’ve got some things to do before dark. So I’d best be on my way.” He nodded good-bye to Carrie and turned to leave. He had maintained a feeling of responsibility for Carrie even after Douglas and Martha Green had graciously welcomed her into their home. He now felt that he could willingly pass that responsibility to someone else. And Gordon Luck seemed to be eagerly stepping up to accept it. It was a good fit for both of them.
With Carrie finally off his conscience, Cole’s thoughts automatically shifted to Harley. His little elf-like friend was wearing a target on his back because of his fancy for Travis Womack’s Mexican saddle. And to make matters more dangerous, Troy Womack thought Harley was the one who killed both of his brothers. It was important to keep Harley out of range of any shooting wars in town. In spite of his bluster, Harley was getting old, and as a consequence, his eyesight was fading and his reactions were slowing down.
As Cole walked back to his horse, Harley fell in beside him. “Whatcha gonna do, partner?” he pressed. “You ain’t still thinkin’ ’bout roundin’ up a posse, are you? ’Cause if you are, I’m afraid you’re gonna find out that Gordon’s right about that. There ain’t but a couple of men that’ll volunteer, and they’ll most likely back out when they find out nobody else is gonna join the party.”
There was no response from Cole. He just continued walking toward his horse.
“Whaddaya think about what Gordon said?” Harley asked. “You think we might as well go on back to Medicine Bear’s village and to hell with Cheyenne?” When there was still no answer from his silent friend, he asked, “You’re goin’ after them four fellers, ain’tcha?”
“I reckon,” Cole finally spoke. “If somebody doesn’t, Cheyenne’s gonna be like Laramie with an outlaw for a sheriff and his gang of killers to back him up.”
“Well, dad-blast-it, I reckon it’ll just be the two of us, ’cause if Gordon Luck ain’t willin’ to lead a posse, ain’t none of them town folk gonna step up.”
“Reckon not, Harley. I’ve got another job for you. It’s important and I need someone I can depend on.” It had come to him that he could kill two birds with one stone. He could keep Harley away from potential gunplay while having someone watch over Mary Lou at the same time.
“You can depend on me,” Harley said. “What is it you want me to do?”
“Leon said that Maggie and Mary Lou rode out to Beulah’s house to stay till things quiet down in town. I don’t know much about Beulah’s husband, but from what little bit I do know, seems to me he’s a little long in the tooth to protect three women. I need to know those women are gonna be safe, no matter what goes on in town. And if you’re watchin’ over ’em, I won’t worry about ’em.” He looked Harley in the eye. “What about it? Can I count on you to take care of ’em?”
Harley wasn’t fooled. He knew the real reason Cole wanted him up on Crow Creek was to keep him out of harm’s way. He also knew that he was getting too old to be going into a situation like the one in town, and might end up costing Cole if his young partner had to worry about him. He could also appreciate the way Cole had said it, in an effort not to hurt his sense of pride, so he responded enthusiastically. “You can depend on me. I’ll make sure them ladies are safe.”
“I knew I could,” Cole replied. “I ’preciate it, Harley.”
They walked to the barn. When he had fled with Carrie, Harley had brought with him Cole’s packhorse and all Cole’s possibles that he had left in town. In addition to his cooking utensils, there were the various weapons Cole had acquired while disposing of Malcolm and Travis Womack, including his bow. Yellow Calf had helped him fashion the bow, and with the task ahead of him, he had a feeling it might come in handy.
When they returned to the front of the church where Cole had left his horse, he asked, “Do you know where Beulah’s cabin is?”
“Not right off,” Harley said. “I mean, I ain’t ever been there, but I expect I’ll find it easy enough if it’s on Crow Creek like Leon said it was.” He scratched his head while he tried to recall if he had ever been far beyond Gordon’s sawmill. “Gordon most likely knows where it is. I’ll ask him.” He took a step back to give the big bay room to turn away from the rail. “Just what are you fixin’ to do?”
“I don’t know yet,” Cole answered. “I’m gonna think about it.” He nudged the bay with his heels and left Harley to stare after him until he disappeared among the willows on the creek bank.
“Lord, partner, I hope to hell you know what you’re doin’,” Harley muttered to himself.
* * *
He had not been lying when he told Harley he didn’t know what he was going to do. He knew, however, that he had little chance of getting all four outlaws if he chose to seek them out in a saloon or hotel when they were all in one spot. In an out-and-out shoot-out, he might get two of them, and that was if he was lucky. He was going to have to take them on one by one and the first thing he needed to know was which saloon was their favorite. He needed to talk to Leon Bloodworth again. Leon seemed to have an eye on most of the activity going on in town.
It was past sundown when Cole got back to town. He thought it wise to come in behind the stable and enter through the back door, anyway. The odor of burned bacon told him that Leon was cooking his supper on the little stove behind the tack room. After dropping the bay’s reins to the ground outside the door, he walked into the darkened stable to find Leon hovering over a small frying pan, tending his bacon. “Smells like you burnt it a little,” Cole said as he approached.
“Whoa!” Leon exclaimed, startled. With the frying pan still in his hand, he almost knocked his coffeepot off the flat surface of the stove. He looked around, spotting Cole then. “Cole!” he blurted, relieved when he saw who it was. “Damn, you scared the shit outta me! You’ve been livin’ with those Injuns too long. Didn’t nobody see you come in, did they? That bunch’ll be down here in a minute if they did.”
“Nobody saw me,” Cole assured him. Then he couldn’t help remarking, “I figured I oughta come by to help you cook some bacon that’s fit to eat.”
“I like it a little crisp,” Leon claimed. “I wish to hell Maggie hadda kept the dinin’ room open. I’m always cookin’ everything too done or downright raw. You want some of this bacon?”
“No thanks. I’d enjoy a cup of coffee, though. You any better at makin’ coffee than you are fryin’ meat?”
“Well, it ain’t hurt me none so far, so I reckon it won’t kill you.”
It just occurred
to Cole that he had eaten nothing since breakfast that morning. He often forgot to eat when he had his mind on something important. Now that it was brought to mind, he decided that he was hungry. “I’ve got some dried deer meat in my packs. If I can borrow that fryin’ pan, I’ll cook some of it—enough for you if you want some.”
Done with the small talk, Leon cut straight to the topic that mattered most to everyone in town. “Whaddaya gonna do, Cole? Is Gordon gonna round up a posse?”
“Reckon not,” Cole replied between sips of hot coffee. “He doesn’t see that it’s his problem. What about here in town? Is anybody willin’ to fight yet?”
Leon shook his head. “I don’t know. Right now everybody’s kinda keepin’ their head down.” He stroked his beard thoughtfully, then commented. “I figured Gordon would be one of the first to help out. Hell, he was the main one when we had that deal with Slade Corbett.”
“Well,” Cole continued, “I really can’t say as I blame him. From what you’ve told me, that’s a pretty rough bunch to tangle with. Besides, I think he’s got other things on his mind.” He paused to turn the meat in the pan. “I need you to tell me where the four outlaws usually hang out.”
“That’s easy enough,” Leon said. “This time of night they’ll be at the Cowboy’s Rest, eatin’ and drinkin’ and raisin’ hell.”
“All four of ’em?”
“Usually,” Leon answered. “That big ’un, the one they call Tiny, will be upstairs with one of the women most of the time. Louella’s the one he likes best. She said it was like ’rasslin’ with a horse, said he ain’t got a brain in his head. He claimed he was the one who killed John Henry, laughin’ about how John Henry tried to fight, but he grabbed hold of his neck and wrung it like a chicken. Got big hands, Louella said. Said she could set her whole fanny in one of his hands.” He shook his head when he recalled the conversation. “Louella told him to call on one of the other girls, ’cause she didn’t like the way he was gettin’ rough with her. She said he warn’t too happy about that and left a good-sized lump on the side of her face.”
“What about the Womack fellow?” Cole was especially interested in him for a couple of reasons. He was the one who put the two bullets into John Henry Black’s chest and laid him up helpless in his room. And he was out to kill Harley, blaming him for the shootings that Cole had done. Losing Womack’s trail had also caused him to ride a hell of a long way to a dead end at Iron Mountain. That hadn’t set too well with Cole, either. Womack alone had been the only one Cole had a score to settle with. He knew nothing about the three Womack had hooked up with, other than what he had learned about them since they rode into Cheyenne.
“Womack’s as bad as the other three rattlesnakes,” Leon said. “But the king snake is the one they call Yarborough.”
“Yarborough?” Cole reacted at once. “Did you say Yarborough?”
“Yeah, that’s what they called him. He’s the one callin’ the shots. You can tell the others jump when he opens his mouth. And he’s the one doin’ all the talkin’ about takin’ the sheriff’s job and protectin’ the town.
It struck Cole then that Leon had mentioned one of the outlaws called Tiny. And he didn’t even take notice. “What about the other one? Is his name Red?”
“Yeah,” Leon replied, surprised. “How’d you know that?”
“I’ve had the pleasure of meetin’ those three before,” Cole said, not surprised that Yarborough would try to take over a whole town.
“That Yarborough feller’s got a crazy streak in his head about Carrie Green, too, lookin’ for her all the time, only he calls her Corina. He asks me if I’ve seen her every time he comes in here and I tell him every time that Carrie’s gone from Cheyenne and ain’t comin’ back.”
Leon started shifting from one foot to the other as he became more and more worked up about the siege the four villains had placed the town under. “And they ain’t paid a dime for anything they buy. They order horse feed and hay like them horses belonged to the king of England and pay for it with promises. Douglas Green told me they’ve about stripped his shelves bare, and he ain’t got paid a nickel.”
By the time Leon had finished lamenting the certain demise of their town, Cole had gotten an accurate picture of the evil that had fallen upon them. He was more aware than ever that the town had to come together to stop the rape of the growing community.
“The killin’s already started,” Leon continued. “I ain’t just talkin’ ’bout John Henry Black. Day before yesterday, that one they call Red shot Harvey Settles down—said Harvey pulled a gun on him.”
Cole pictured the meek telegraph operator at the train station.
Leon cocked an eyebrow at Cole. “Harvey Settles ain’t never pulled a gun on nobody, especially a murderin’ out-and-out gunman like Red Swann. Arthur Campbell said he figured Red went there to make sure nobody sent any telegrams asking for help from the U.S. Marshal Service or the army. Harvey likely told him he couldn’t hardly refuse to send a telegram if somebody wanted one. That was enough to cost Harvey his life. He shoulda just told that murderin’ son of a bitch that he wouldn’t send any. Arthur said he was fixin’ to wire Fort Laramie for some help, but he didn’t get to it before that feller got to Harvey.”
There was little doubt what Yarborough and his friends had in mind. It was to clean the town out of everything they could with no hesitation to shoot anyone who protested or got in their way. And to Cole’s way of thinking, they didn’t plan to take long in doing it. Leon said they had killed the telegraph operator, but surely Yarborough had enough sense to know that the railroad would investigate the loss of contact with their operator. It was clear to Cole the looters had to be stopped right away before more innocent people were killed. Hell, he thought, it’s not my responsibility. If the folks in this town don’t care enough to fight to save all they’ve built, it’s not up to me to do it for them.
He shook his head. There was no sense in thinking such thoughts. He knew he couldn’t turn his back and walk away. Too many good people called Cheyenne home—Mary Lou and Maggie were foremost in his mind. But also the many people who had invested in the future of the town and built businesses to accommodate the growing population.
As if reading his thoughts, Leon asked, “Do you know where Jim Low’s cabin is?” Low owned the saddle shop next to John Beecher’s forge.
Cole said that he did not.
“It’s about a mile down the creek just past the spot where it forks to go around a big rock. If you’re wantin’ to help, Jim’s holdin’ a meetin’ there tonight with a few of the others to talk about gettin’ rid of Yarborough and his gang.”
It came as a surprise to Cole, since he had been told repeatedly that there was no longer anyone in town willing to risk going up against the outlaws. Maybe Low and the others were just smart enough to keep it quiet. They were going to need all the help they could get, so he decided to ride down there and see what they had in mind. “I’ll leave my packhorse with you for a little while,” he said to Leon. “I’ve got what I’ll need for the time being and I’ll come back if I need anything else.”
“I figured with the way things are goin’ around here, you and Harley might be thinkin’ about goin’ back to that Crow village. I don’t know what you’ve got in mind, but you’d best be careful if you’re gonna stay in town.”
“All I’ve got in mind right now is to see how many men show up at Low’s place tonight, and hear what they’re plannin’ to do. What about you? You goin’?”
It was fairly obvious the question made Leon uncomfortable, since he had taken a bigger role in organizing the vigilantes before. “Ah, no, I reckon not,” he stammered. “One or two of them fellers usually show up here after supper to make sure I’m takin’ care of their horses. I expect they wouldn’t like it if I weren’t here. Might cause some trouble.”
Cole nodded, but made no reply. It was his guess that a lot of the other men in town had their excuses as well.
* * *
“Evenin’, Mr. Bonner.” A soft voice belonging to young Sonny Campbell greeted him from the shadow of the cabin. He stepped out of the shadows as Cole dismounted.
“Evenin’, Sonny,” Cole returned. “I see you got the job as lookout.”
“Yes, sir. I volunteered. Daddy’s inside with the others, so I told ’em I’d keep a watch out to make sure none of those gunmen surprised the meeting.”
“Good idea,” Cole said. “And you’re doin’ a good job, too. I didn’t know you were there till you said something.” His comment pleased the young boy, as evidenced by his wide smile. Without thinking about it, Cole pulled his rifle from the saddle sling and went in to join the meeting.
There was a pause in the discussion when the door opened and Cole walked inside. It resumed immediately with greetings of welcome from some of the men gathered before the fireplace.
“Evenin’,” Cole responded and settled himself on the floor on one side of the fire, the three chairs having been claimed by the early arrivals.
“I’d offer you some coffee, Cole,” Jim said, “but you’ll have to wait till somebody finishes with their cup.”
“No, thanks,” Cole replied. “I helped Leon Bloodworth empty his pot just before I rode out here.” He looked around the half circle of men. There were only five—Harold Chestnut, Arthur Campbell, John Beecher, Douglas Green, and Jim Low. Of the five, Cole knew Chestnut, Campbell, and Green could not be counted on to participate in any gunplay. That left three possible guns, counting himself, and that was not enough for the job at hand.
Massacre at Crow Creek Crossing Page 18
