Massacre at Crow Creek Crossing

by Charles G. West

  “Mary Lou’s right,” Maggie decided. “It ain’t our business to execute anybody. We’ll guard him till the men get back from the hanging. All right?”

  Beulah shrugged. “I reckon. Seems like a waste of time to me, though.”

  Conscious of the conversation between the four women to decide his fate, Swann did not move while he waited for his head to clear. Still dazed by the sudden assault, he was not sure he had control of his faculties. His head felt as if it was split open and his brains were hanging out the back, but he was gradually beginning to regain control of his senses. Knowing that he was in serious danger of not coming out of the situation alive, he gave no thoughts toward any mortification over having been completely overpowered by three women. It was no use blaming himself for believing Mary Lou when she’d said no one else was here. Instead, he tried to think hard on how to get out of there before anyone else returned to help them.

  “He’s moving!” Carrie exclaimed when Swann shifted his hands slightly.

  All three women holding weapons immediately trained them on the prone man.

  “Don’t shoot!” Swann cried out. “I give up. I’m hurt bad. I think you done cracked my skull. I just wanna get up from here and set down in a chair. I’m done.”

  Looking at Maggie, Mary Lou felt sure she preferred that Swann stay where he was, facedown on the floor, until help arrived.

  Before she decided to say as much, however, Maggie said, “All right, but you’d best move slow and easy, or I’ll blow your brains out.” She pulled a chair out from the kitchen table. “You can just sit right here.”

  With each move slow and deliberate, he got himself up on his knees before pausing in that position apparently to wait for his head to stop spinning. Then with great effort, he crawled over to the chair and pulled himself up onto it. After a few minutes, with his four women captors watching him intently, he spoke. “I think my head is busted. Can I just have a drink of water? I’ve got an awful thirst.”

  “Hell, no.” Beulah answered immediately.

  But Maggie shrugged indifferently and said. “I don’t see no danger in giving him some water.” When no one else objected, she said to Carrie, “Why don’t you give him a cup of water, honey, but set that shotgun down by the cupboard before you do.” She was wary of an attempt by him to get his hands on it, no matter the seemingly helpless state he presented.

  Understanding Maggie’s precaution, Carrie nodded, propped her shotgun safely out of his reach, and filled a cup of water from the bucket.

  Wincing as if in severe pain, Swann lifted his head and murmured, “Thank you, Corina.” Reaching for the cup of water, he suddenly grabbed her arm instead and jerked the surprised woman across his lap, at the same time pulling the derringer from his vest pocket. “Now, drop them damn guns or I’m gonna put a bullet in her head!”

  The sharp report of the shot startled everyone in the kitchen, especially Swann when he rocked back in the chair and looked down to discover the hole in his shirt. Confused for a second, then realizing that he had been shot, he nevertheless attempted to go through with his threat. Before he could point the derringer at Carrie’s head, a second shot slammed into his chest and he dropped the pocket gun to the floor. Not sure if she was dead or alive, Carrie rolled off of Swann’s legs onto the floor as he slumped over sideways.

  For a long moment, there was no other sound in the kitchen, save that of the cocking of a Henry rifle.

  A moment later, the kitchen was filled with the screams of four excited women, crying out in relief. All heads turned toward the tall, sandy-haired man standing in the doorway from the hotel dining room. Unable to wait a second longer, Mary Lou ran to meet him.

  He gently pushed her aside, his eyes still focused on the body slumped sideways in the kitchen chair. “Lemme make sure,” he said and walked over to confirm that Swann was dead.

  When he gave them an assuring nod, they all erupted into an eager report of the circumstances that had led up to the point of his arrival.

  Fearing to think of what might have happened had Cole not shown up when he did, Mary Lou asked, “How did you know he would be here?”

  “I didn’t for sure,” he answered. “But it struck me that he might wanna try to get his possessions back, and there wouldn’t be a better time to do it than when most of the town was down at the stables. So I thought I’d better check.”

  “Well, praise the Lord you came when you did,” Maggie exclaimed.

  “Amen to that!” Beulah added.

  Both women knew that one or more of them would have been killed had he not come—Carrie for sure, if they had tried to fight him.

  Standing at his elbow, Mary Lou looked up and asked, “Weren’t you afraid you might hit Carrie? He was bent over her so close, there wasn’t much room to shoot. You must have been concerned about it.”

  “I reckon,” he replied. “I’ll tell you about it someday, but right now I expect I’d better drag him outta here. There’s gonna be a whole passel of folks in here in a minute or two, after they heard those shots.”

  Before she could press him any further, Sonny Campbell, having waited till he was sure it was safe, spoke up from the hallway door. “There sure are. I can hear them coming already.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Peace was once again restored to the promising town of Cheyenne where the Union Pacific Railroad crossed over Crow Creek. On the day following the shooting death of Red Swann and the hanging of Flint Yarborough and Troy Womack, there was still a feeling of uncertainty lingering in Cole Bonner’s mind. After a good breakfast in the hotel dining room, where Maggie insisted he had earned a free meal, he was on his way to Doc Marion’s office. Doc had told him that a new day might give him a much better chance at predicting Harley’s recovery. Cole only hoped that the Lord saw fit to give Harley a little more time. His wounds were very serious, so he knew that was asking a lot.

  Doc Marion met him at the door. “Morning, Cole. He’s awake, but he’s running a fever and he can’t sit up yet. You can go on in and talk to him. Just don’t stay too long. He’ll tire out pretty quick.”

  He went into Doc’s surgery and stopped short of the cot in the corner to see if Harley might be asleep.

  “Is that you, Cole?” Harley suddenly rasped.

  “Yeah, it’s me,” Cole answered and walked on over to his bedside. “How’d you know it was me?”

  Speaking in a voice barely above a whisper, Harley said, “He shot me in the chest. He didn’t shoot me in my ears.”

  Cole couldn’t help laughing. “When Doc dug around in there for those bullets, I see he didn’t take out any of that orneriness.” He pulled a stool up beside the cot and sat down. “Doc said not to stay long, so how you doin’, Thunder Mouse? You gonna whip this thing?”

  “Damn right,” Harley replied, although with noticeable weakness. “If Doc don’t kill me with all his pokin’ and washin’. I’d most likely get better a whole lot quicker if Old Walkin’ Owl was doctorin’ me.”

  “Maybe so,” Cole allowed, “but I think Doc’s pretty good at his trade.”

  Within a few minutes, Doc came in to administer a dose of laudanum. He gave Cole a nod.

  Understanding it to be a signal, Cole said, “I’d best be goin’ now. Got to go take care of my horses. I ain’t been givin’ them much attention for the last few days. But I’ll be back after you’ve rested up some more.”

  “Cole,” Harley said when his friend got up to leave.

  Cole sat back down on the stool and leaned close.

  “I want you to take me home,” Harley said, “soon as I can set up.”

  Cole knew Harley meant Medicine Bear’s village on the Laramie River. “I will, partner, just as soon as you’re fit enough to go.” He got up to leave then, thinking that Harley knew his time was short, no matter the prognosis Doc might come back with. “I’ll be checkin’ on you, so do what Doc tells you and rest up.”

  * * *

  He was not really concerned that his h
orses weren’t getting enough attention, but he went down to the stable to check on them and the horses that had belonged to the four outlaws. He only had two horses in Leon’s stable, the bay he had been riding, and one packhorse to start with, but he had claims on the gray that Womack had owned plus one of the outlaws’ packhorses. He was content to let Leon have the rest of them and spent most of the morning passing the time of day with Leon after they had settled their deal.

  When the conversation died out, he went to the hotel dining room to see what Maggie and her girls had cooked up for the noon meal.

  Mary Lou saw him when he walked in the door and guided him away from the long table where he was inclined to sit. “Sit down over here closer to the kitchen,” she said as she led him to the table where Harley had been seated when Swann and Womack had walked into the dining room on that fateful day. “You’ll get your coffee a lot quicker and it’ll give me a chair to sit and talk when I can.”

  He sat down and in a few minutes she returned from the kitchen with a cup of coffee and a plate of food. “Did you see Harley this morning?” she asked and he told her that he had. She left him then and went to help Maggie serve the customers at the long table. It struck him that he was getting more than the customary attention and figured it to be because of his timely arrival the day before and the fact that he hadn’t missed his mark with either shot.

  When most everyone else was finished eating, he decided he might as well go talk to Arthur Campbell and get that over with.

  Mary Lou stopped him just as he was getting up. “Sit back down. As soon as I take this tray of dishes back to the kitchen, I’m gonna have myself a cup of coffee. And I need somebody to talk to while I’m drinking it.” When he hesitated, she asked, “Have you got someplace you’ve got to go to right now?”

  “Nope,” he answered. “I gotta go talk to Arthur Campbell for a minute, but that’s all. Matter of fact, I’m just killin’ time, waitin’ around to see if Harley’s gonna be fit enough to ride back up to Medicine Bear’s camp on the Laramie.”

  That caught her attention right away. “Wait a minute. Let me take this tray back. You want some more coffee?”

  “My insides are floatin’ in it already,” he replied, “but I reckon I’ve got room for a little bit more. Tell you what, though, let me go find Arthur before he decides to go somewhere. I’ll be right back. That’ll give you time to clear the tables and get your coffee.”

  “You’ll be right back?” Mary Lou asked, and he said he would.

  When he returned, Maggie and Mary Lou had cleared the tables of dishes and Beulah was busy washing the dirty ones. After a cheerful hello, Maggie disappeared into the kitchen, leaving little doubt that all the fuss over his cup of coffee with Mary Lou was of more than casual importance. In keeping with the supposed reason for the visit, Maggie brought two cups of coffee and placed them on the table, then disappeared again. Cole wasn’t sure he could handle any more, but he thanked her and took a sip.

  Mary Lou didn’t waste any time. “You said you were just waiting around until Harley was well enough to ride.”

  “That’s right,” he replied and took another little sip of coffee.

  “Then you’re gonna take him back with you to that Crow village.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Then I suppose you and Harley will be heading back up in the mountains come this spring. White Wolf and Thunder Mouse, following the elk and the deer.” There was a hint of sarcasm in her tone.

  “Reckon not. I ain’t sure Harley will be able to go. I think he knows it, too.” She started to say something, but paused, so he went on. “Besides, I can’t go. I just told Arthur I’d take the job of sheriff here in Cheyenne.”

  She was too surprised to speak at first as it sank in. When she could, it was to chastise him. “Why, you son of a bitch. Why didn’t you tell me that at first?”

  “Didn’t think you’d care one way or the other,” he deadpanned. When she just shook her head, he continued. “Yep, I thought it was time for me to sink some roots somewhere, settle down, maybe have a son to carry on after his daddy is gone.”

  “Is that a fact?” Mary Lou replied, recovering her usual attitude of indifference. “Got anybody in mind to have that son for you?”

  “Well, tell you the truth, I was figurin’ on seein’ if you were interested.”

  She responded with a knowing nod. “Is that so? Well, I’m not interested in having a bastard boy or girl for any man.”

  “Reckon we’ll have to get married then.”

  “Reckon we will,” she mocked. “The sooner, the better.”

  “Suits me.”

  They sat for a few moments longer, just smiling at each other, both parties satisfied that things were finally working out the way fate intended.

  “Well, I told the mayor I’d be right back. I had some important business I had to attend to.”

  They both got up from the table, and Mary Lou stepped up and gave him a quick kiss to seal the deal. “Same as a contract,” she called after him as he walked out the door.

  He signaled a confirmation as Maggie and Beulah came from the kitchen then, having listened just inside the kitchen door.

  “Damned if that wasn’t the most romantic proposal I believe I’ve ever heard,” Maggie said sarcastically.

  “I thought Ralph’s proposal was about as romantic as buyin’ a mule,” Beulah commented. “But after hearin’ you two go at it, I believe Ralph was et up with romance.”

  “It’ll come,” Mary Lou said with confidence. “The romance will come.”

  * * *

  To everyone’s surprise but Cole’s, Harley rallied from his sickbed after two more days. Cole was well acquainted with the little man’s will and determination, and he also knew that Harley was aware that the old man with the black hood and scythe was coming soon to take him. When Cole asked him how he knew, Harley said the old man had visited him a couple of times when he was asleep. Cole wasn’t sure about things of that nature, but he saw no reason to doubt his friend. He couldn’t help remembering the white wolf he, himself, had seen that somehow left no tracks in snow a foot deep on the riverbank.

  When Harley said again he wanted to go home, Cole made preparations to take him. He suggested borrowing a wagon to transport Harley, but his stubborn friend insisted that he could sit in the saddle. He had no intention of returning to the village in the back of a wagon, he said.

  Cole threw Harley’s fancy Mexican saddle on his horse and helped him mount. When all was ready, a small party of friends gathered to say good-bye and wish him well. By then, everyone was of the opinion that it was the last they would see of Cole’s cocky little friend.

  Standing by Cole’s side, Mary Lou placed her hand on his arm. “Don’t go letting your wild blood get hot when you get back with your Indian friends. Promise me you’ll start back as soon as Harley’s settled in.”

  Still finding it hard to believe that she really wanted to be his wife, he grinned and nodded. “I promise. And don’t you get to thinkin’ you like it better when I’m not here.”

  She laughed. “You just be careful.” He started to put his foot in the stirrup, but she stopped him. “I just remembered something you said in the dining room when you shot Red Swann. I asked you if you weren’t afraid to take that shot with Carrie lying across that monster’s lap. And you said you’d tell me about it later—but I forgot until now.”

  He shrugged, feeling some embarrassment for admitting a weakness, but she seemed to want to know. “Well,” he admitted, “it was Carrie lyin’ across his legs and I didn’t have any doubt about taking the shot. If it had been you lyin’ there, I mighta started thinkin’ about how my whole life would end if I happened to miss. I ain’t sure I wanna live without you.”

  In spite of his efforts to make his confession to Mary Lou only, Maggie and Beulah had managed to stand close enough in the kitchen door to overhear everything spoken between the young couple. A romantic sigh escaped from both of the tw
o women as one, “Ahhhh. . . .” They turned and walked arm in arm back to the dining room, satisfied that at long last, everything was happening the way it was meant to happen.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHARLES G. WEST is the author of more than forty action-packed westerns. In 2018, Hell Hath No Fury, the first book in the John Hawke western series, won the Spur Award for Best Paperback Western. He currently resides in Ocala, Florida, with his wife, Ronda. Visit him at www.charlesgwest.com.