“Well, I don’t know,” Cole hedged. “Like I told you, bein’ a lawman is one thing that ain’t ever entered my mind.” He hesitated, then said, “And I’ve got one more man to run down before I’m through with this bunch. I feel I oughta tell you that I’m kinda hopin’ he don’t wanna come peacefully, if I do catch up with him.”
“I understand,” Campbell said, “and I feel like you’ll do whatever you have to do and whatever’s right. But the offer still stands. Take some time to think about it and then, when you’re ready, tell me your decision.”
“I’ll surely do that,” Cole replied, “and I appreciate the offer.” He turned to leave. “I’ve gotta go talk to Maggie now to arrange to feed my prisoners, even if it ain’t gonna be for more than one night and breakfast tomorrow.”
“See there,” Campbell chuckled. “You’re already acting like a sheriff.”
* * *
When informed of the necessity to provide meals for the two prisoners, Maggie was not surprised at all. She had assumed she would do so as soon as she heard there were prisoners, because she always had. “Arthur Campbell will see to it that I get paid,” she said when Cole asked about it. “I get paid by the council, same as the sheriff gets paid, if we had one.”
He didn’t tell her that he had just been offered that job, because he wasn’t sure he wanted it. While talking to Maggie, he heard some noise from the kitchen. Maggie noticed and told him Mary Lou had not come back from the doctor’s office yet. “That’s Beulah you hear banging around in the kitchen. She came in as soon as she heard two of those bastards were in jail and the other one lit out. Matter of fact, it looks like a lot of folks have come crawling out of their hiding places. For a while there, it was looking like a ghost town around here.” Looking quickly over her shoulder to make sure she was not behind her, Maggie continued. “Even Carrie Green is here. I guess Arthur told you Gordon had come back to help out. Carrie’s holed up in Mary Lou’s room right now.”
“I don’t know if you women oughta be opening this dinin’ room until we know for sure that Swann isn’t still hangin’ around.”
“Well, we thought about that,” Maggie said. “But you saw how many we fed this morning. Maybe we’ll not stay open much longer and just find us a place to hole up till it’s clear.”
He left the dining room with his head filled with decisions needing to be made. It appeared that Red Swann had fled, but he couldn’t be sure of that. The conscienceless miscreant might have a sense of loyalty to his partners and might be planning some attempt to free them. It didn’t seem likely, but if it was the case, the possibility existed that a lot more people might get killed. Cole had to consider that, but how best to prevent it? The jail was pretty secure and built to defend against attack. Jim Low and John Beecher had volunteered to guard the prisoners overnight, which left Cole free to patrol the town in an attempt to stop any attack before it reached the jail.
He figured that he had only the rest of the day and that night to find Swann, if he was still there. Cole had searched every business and outbuilding in the town, making him pretty sure the outlaw was not in town, but he could be hiding almost anywhere outside of town, watching any activity around the jail. It was easy to assume that Swann had figured the smart thing to do was to run, but all his supplies and probably a lot of his extra ammunition were still in his hotel room.
Cole figured he would be hard-pressed to leave without them. It would be pretty difficult for him to slip into the hotel to get his possessions without someone seeing him. After thinking it through several times, he decided he couldn’t cover all possibilities. Figuring the first priority was to guard the condemned prisoners to make sure they met their appointment with the hangman’s noose, he was satisfied he had that under control.
* * *
Laboring through the same possibilities that troubled Cole, Red Swann was weighing his options as the dawn broke on a new day. His gut told him to run like hell while the town was occupied with the two men they had captured. He had found a low ridge near the creek, about half a mile from town where he could keep his horse out of sight. He could see the back of the jail from there, and could get a closer look if he made his way on foot to a grassy mound a quarter of a mile closer. He had thought constantly during the night whether or not he wanted to risk a try to free Yarborough and Womack.
He had been leaning that way because of the possibility still remaining of running roughshod over the town as they had planned. But things had changed since the arrival of Cole Bonner. Red had ridden with Flint Yarborough for a few years, and it might not be right to desert him. Troy Womack, on the other hand, troubled Red not in the least. He never had much use for him or his brothers. It was Yarborough that caused even the brief deliberation as to what he should do.
Looking at the seemingly busy town, he decided it would be a foolish thing to try to break his partners out of that jail. “Sorry, Yarborough,” he muttered, “I reckon this just ain’t your lucky day.”
With that decision made, he had a new problem to contend with. He was going to have to take off without his saddlebags and other possibles he had left in the hotel room. All he had were a horse and saddle, his weapons, and one cartridge belt. The thought of it reminded him that he had had nothing to eat since the day before. While he was thinking about that, he was distracted by a flurry of activity around the lone standing cottonwood next to the stable. Curious, he squinted to make out the cause of the activity until it struck him. Several men were rigging up a couple of ropes over one of the larger limbs of the tree.
They’re fixing to have a hanging! They had evidently decided not to wait to turn Yarborough and Womack over to the U.S. marshal. They’re going to hang them right now!
For a few minutes, Red remained kneeling in the grass, stunned with the realization that had he not had to visit the outhouse, he would have been invited to that lynching party with Yarborough and Troy. That was just pure luck, as was the fact that he got the jump on the little gray-haired fellow trying to ambush him when he came out of the outhouse. It told him that it was a sign from the devil, or whoever, that he’d best run while he had the chance. It was not easy to give up on his determination to have his vengeance for the treatment he had received from Cole Bonner. But maybe he would be smart to avoid the possibility of ending up like Yarborough and Troy. Best I leave while I’ve got the chance, he decided.
With that settled in his mind, he started to get up and make tracks, but another thought occurred to him. I’ll bet the whole town will be down there at the stable to watch Yarborough and Troy swing. It would be the perfect time to slip into the hotel and get my stuff. The prospect brought a smug smile to his face. It would sure make his escape to wherever he decided to go a hell of a lot easier.
With that decision firmly made, he knelt back down to watch the preparations taking place at the big tree by the stables. He figured the best thing to do was to wait until the spectators started showing up for the hanging, maybe even until they brought Yarborough and Troy down to the stable. There should be plenty of time for him to slip into the hotel, get his belongings, and ride out the other end of town without anyone seeing him.
He had no idea what time it was, but he had to surmise that it was getting close to the hour of execution because a sizable crowd of gawkers had already gathered, and more were still coming.
Maybe I shouldn’t wait any longer, he thought.
What if the hanging went faster than he expected and left him short of time to do what he planned? But he had a morbid curiosity to see ol’ Yarborough when they stretched his neck. A moment after thinking it, he saw a wagon driving down toward the stable, and he was certain he saw Yarborough and Womack trussed up in the back of it. Red quickly changed his mind about watching the hanging and decided he’d better get while the getting was good.
* * *
Riding in from the opposite end of town, he could still see a few stragglers hurrying down toward the stables, but for the most part, the stre
et was deserted. He rode his horse around behind the hotel and left it tied there at the back steps. Moving as quietly as he could manage, he entered the door to the back hallway and walked up the hall toward the back stairs. When he passed the splintered doorjamb at one of the bedrooms, it brought to mind the reason he had broken in before. And he couldn’t help a feeling of disappointment for never having had the visit he had planned with Mary Lou.
Reaching the stairs to the second floor, he paused to listen for a moment. Hearing no sound that would indicate anyone was moving about upstairs, he proceeded up the steps and walked down the hall to the room he had shared with Yarborough. He still had the key in his pocket, so he didn’t have to risk making noise when he entered. Inside, he discovered that the room had been cleaned and his and Yarborough’s belongings were in one pile close to the door. Waiting for somebody to come haul them off, he thought, feeling lucky for having gotten there before that had happened.
With no time to waste, he pulled his saddlebags and his sack of personal items off the pile and took an extra moment to take a couple of Yarborough’s possessions, as well. He sure as hell ain’t got no more use for them, he thought as he stuck into his belt a bone-handled knife he had always admired. Then remembering, he picked Yarborough’s heavy vest up and felt for the derringer he always carried in an inside pocket. The little pocket pistol was not there, but it prompted him to check his own vest to make sure his was where he usually carried it. He had adopted the habit after joining Yarborough but had never had occasion to use it. He felt pretty sure that whoever cleaned up the room had already made a thorough search for any money left in either man’s clothes, but he went through Yarborough’s extra shirt and trousers to be sure.
With that done, he went back out in the hall and tiptoed to the head of the front steps to take a quick look down at the lobby with a thought toward robbing the cashbox. Someone was manning the front desk, but it was only the owner’s boy, Sonny. Red hesitated. The temptation was almost overpowering, but the risk of making too much noise made him think better of the idea. He turned about and hurried back down the hall to the back stairs.
When he reached the first floor again, he had to stop for a moment when he caught the aroma of fresh coffee drifting out the open kitchen door. It had been closed when he walked by before. Immediately alert, he dropped the sack he was carrying and drew his .44. He had heard nothing on his way upstairs and had assumed they had gone to watch the hanging like everyone else in town. Peering in the door, he saw no one in the kitchen, so he figured maybe Sonny Campbell had gone in the kitchen for coffee while he was upstairs going through Yarborough’s things. That made sense. He holstered his pistol, picked up his sack again, though he found it difficult to forget his empty stomach. He briefly considered taking a few seconds to visit that pot of coffee he could smell, but decided against it and continued toward the outside door at the end of the hall.
Hurrying, he passed the room where he had damaged the door and was just before the second bedroom door when it suddenly opened. Startled, he and Mary Lou stopped cold when they confronted each other. Her immediate reaction was to slam the door, but Red, acting just as quickly, dropped his saddlebags and the sack and put a shoulder to the door. Just as Maggie’s door had, Mary Lou’s door gave way to his superior strength.
Bursting into the room, he didn’t see her at first, then spotted her on the floor between the bed and the wall. He dived across the bed and caught her as she pulled a shotgun out from under it. “No, you don’t,” he warned as he grabbed the barrel of the shotgun, confident then that she was powerless against him. When she still fought to hold onto the weapon, he slapped her hard across her face until she could hold on no longer. “Now lookee there,” he teased, “you got that pretty face to bleedin’.”
He pulled her across the bed and threw the shotgun back onto the floor between the bed and the wall. “Now let me set you straight, Miss Honey-britches. If you don’t behave yourself like a nice little lady, I’ll cut your throat and say to hell with you.” Lifting her up on her feet, he pinned her arms to her sides with one huge arm around her. With his free hand, he drew the bone-handled knife from his belt and pressed the blade against her throat to make sure she knew he meant business. “Who else is still here?” he demanded.
“Nobody,” Mary Lou answered, her face still throbbing from his blows.
“Don’t tell me no lie,” he warned. “I saw that scrawny son of the owner’s at the front desk. Now, who else is here?” He tightened the arm imprisoning her until she found it difficult to breathe. “And in case you’re thinkin’ ’bout hollerin’ for help, you’d best know I’ll shoot the little son of a bitch if he comes a-runnin’. Who else is here? Anybody in the kitchen or the dinin’ room?”
“Nobody,” she repeated. “I forgot about Sonny. Everybody else went down to the stables to watch your friends hang. Too bad you missed the party.” She refused to be anything but defiant, even knowing she was helpless against his strength. She was rewarded for her curt remark with a slight penetration from his knife. Although it stung, she made no sound, a sudden tensing of her body the only indication that she felt it.
“You’re a tough-talkin’ little bitch, ain’t you?” He sneered. “You know what you need? You need to be rode hard one time, and it don’t look like to me that you’ve ever been. And I’ve knowed from the first that I’m the man to do it—made up my mind to do it.”
She was immediately concerned. Up until that moment, she was counting on his desire to run before Cole and the other men caught up with him. Maybe, she feared, the crude ox didn’t have enough brains to know he didn’t have time to waste with her. “You’d better get away from here before they come back to get you.”
“You’re right,” he agreed. “I ain’t aimin’ to waste no time here.” He bent down with his mouth against her ear and whispered, “I’m takin’ you with me, Honey-britches.” With that, he started walking her back up the hall—much to her surprise—toward the kitchen door. Determined to resist, she tried to hold back, only to have her feet dragged along the floor. When he reached the open door to the kitchen, he paused to take a quick look inside. Seeing no one, he dragged her inside. “I ain’t had no grub since yesterday mornin’ and I can smell some bacon on the stove. I’ll take some food with me.” When he felt her struggle to free herself again, it only served to amuse him. “If you don’t put up no more fight, I might even let you have some of it.”
Still holding her tightly, he walked across the kitchen, when he spotted a pan of freshly baked biscuits on the table. He stuck his knife back under his belt and reached for a biscuit.
“Have some coffee with it,” a voice behind him invited a split second before a full pot of hot coffee caught him flush against the side of his head.
Staggered, his open coat and shirt soaked with the scalding hot liquid, he had to release Mary Lou while he frantically grasped his shirt to pull it away from his skin. Roaring like a wounded bear, he turned to meet his attacker, but Maggie had already backed out of his reach. He lunged after her, but slid face forward on the floor after being slammed in the back of his head with a heavy iron skillet, wielded by Beulah.
Hot grease and bacon enough to serve a dozen diners was suspended in the air for a split second before landing on his prone body. Beulah set herself squarely, watching his response, ready with her skillet, and when he struggled to get to his knees, she landed another blow to the back of his head that laid him prostrate again.
Taking advantage of his immobility, Beulah’s two fellow avengers did not hesitate. Mary Lou quickly reached down and pulled the .44 handgun from Swann’s holster, while Maggie ran to retrieve her shotgun from behind the door.
“I ain’t never seen coffee and bacon go to better use,” she declared as she ran.
“Sure made a mess for me to clean up, though, didn’t it?” Beulah observed. “Reckon I’d better put on another pot of coffee.”
With time while their victim was still making no mov
e to get up, Maggie turned her concern toward Mary Lou. “Are you all right, honey? You’ve got some blood on the side of your face.”
“Yeah, I’m all right, thanks to you two,” Mary Lou answered and put her fingers gingerly to her cheekbone. Smiling at Beulah, she said, “I’ll help you mop up this mess after we decide what to do with Mr. Swann, here. I expect we better keep our guns on him till we do.”
“Why don’t we just shoot the son of a bitch?” Beulah asked. “If the men captured him, they’d just hang him with the other two. Save a lotta time and effort to put a bullet in him and be done with it.”
“It wouldn’t be any worse than shootin’ a mad dog,” a voice from the hallway door declared.
Startled, the three avengers turned to see Carrie standing there holding a shotgun. Of the four women, she had the most history with the loathsome beast and certainly no sympathy.
“I was wondering about you,” Mary Lou said. “The last I remember, you were under the bed when I reached for that shotgun.”
“I know,” Carrie replied. “And I was so scared, I like to wet my bloomers, especially when he dragged you across the bed. I was afraid to move. But when he threw this shotgun back against the wall, I figured it was up to me to take it and come help you.” She broke out a big grin. “But I see you didn’t need me. I believe you three could take down a grizzly. I agree with Beulah, though, why don’t we just shoot him and be done with it?”
“Maybe,” Mary Lou replied. “But I think the mayor and his council are trying to act like a civilized community and give him a trial before they hang him.”
“What good does that do?” Beulah asked. “Dead is dead, whether they give him a trial or not.”
Massacre at Crow Creek Crossing Page 24
