Cruel Rider

by Charles G. West

  She gazed at him patiently. “I know you will make some lucky girl a good husband.” She saw the hurt and disappointment sweeping over his face. “I’m not the woman for you, Toby. But I’m honored that you asked.”

  Feeling empty inside, his young hopes dashed against the rocks of what could never be, he still refused to accept defeat. “Don’t say no, please, Polly. Just tell me you’ll think on it.”

  Not wishing to give him false hope, she had to say, “I can’t tell you I might change my mind, Toby. I just can’t.”

  Not another word was spoken between them as he carried her clothesbasket back up the path. She feared she had crushed his hopes with her rejection, so when he set the basket down by the clothesline, she said softly, “There’s no need to tell anybody about what we said.”

  He looked at her with mournful eyes, grateful that she would not expose his earnest confession of adoration, and that made him more smitten with her than ever before. He was certain now that he loved her with every fiber of his body, and he was even more determined to win her love. She did not think him mature enough to marry. That had to be it. He would go back to his claim, and search for the gold that he knew had to be there. Once he had means, she would look upon him in a different light. “I’ll be seein’ you” was all he said in departing, and left without waiting for his free supper.

  He walked into the rough wooden dining hall, standing in the open doorway for a few minutes while he gazed around the room as if searching for someone. “Well, come on in and close the door,” Maggie Hogg barked good-naturedly. “We’ve got enough flies in here already, and we have to let them get a chance to eat before we let in another bunch.” Lester Pierce, seated at the end of the table, laughed in appreciation of Maggie’s attempt at humor. “If you’re wantin’ to eat, you’ll have to park that gun you’re wearin’ on the table by the door. Ain’t nobody wears a gun in here but me.” She patted the pistol in her holster for emphasis.

  The stranger grunted a gruff reply, but ignored her request to deposit his pistol. He closed the door and took a few steps into the room, stopping again to shift his gaze back and forth across a room partially filled with uninterested diners. Maggie paused as she was about to place a plate of biscuits before Lester, and studied the face of the stranger. His eyes had a dark, pinched look about them, giving the impression that his face had never known a smile. A long scar ran horizontally across his left cheek, leaving a white streak through an otherwise heavy beard. Her natural instincts told her that he was a man to be wary of. “If you’re wantin’ to eat,” Maggie repeated, this time in a more serious tone, “get rid of the gun and set yourself down any place that ain’t got a behind in it.”

  Still unmoved by Maggie’s persistence, he stood where he was for a few moments longer, his lifeless gaze locked now upon her. Finally, when it appeared that he was about to turn and leave the room, he shrugged, and still without a word, took a step toward the table, only to stop again when Polly came in from the kitchen carrying a huge bowl of baked beans.

  “Bill!” Polly shrieked as if she had been shot. The bowl dropped from her hands and shattered on the plank floor. The customers seated around the two long tables started as if a gun had gone off.

  An evil smirk spread slowly across Bill Pike’s face. Polly’s reaction could not have been more satisfying for him. “Hello, Polly darlin’,” he slurred. “You look like you’re surprised to see me.”

  There was not a sound in the dining room as all eyes were locked on the heavyset stranger with the dirty black beard and the deep-set eyes. Polly, paralyzed with fright for a moment, recovered enough to back away until stopped by the kitchen door. There she stood, stunned, still not sure she was not seeing an apparition.

  “Thought I was dead, didn’t’cha?” Bill said, gloating. “Well, it takes a helluva lot to kill Bill Pike.” The smirk expanded to form a wicked smile. He eyed his wife up and down, as if appraising the property that had been stolen from him. “I’ve come a long way to fetch you home.” He took a step toward her.

  “Stay away from me!” Polly cried.

  “Now, that ain’t no way to talk to your husband after so long a time,” he said, and took another step toward her.

  “That’s far enough,” Maggie commanded, her .44 drawn and leveled at Bill. “Looks plain enough to me that she don’t wanna go anywhere with you.”

  The smile was immediately replaced by a scowl directed at Maggie. “Lady, this ain’t none of your affair. This is between me and my wife.”

  “Right now it’s between me and you, ain’t it?” Maggie said. She cocked the hammer back, her hand steady as she held the pistol on him. “Around here, we believe in free choice. She don’t choose to go nowhere with the likes of you, and I don’t choose to have you in my business establishment. Now you can choose which way you wanna leave here, walkin’ or carried.”

  Bill paused. His eyes, dead before, now burned with anger, and for a moment he considered drawing his own pistol. But the calm look of determination on Maggie’s face told him that would be tantamount to suicide. Still he wavered, unwilling to back down to a woman, until a movement in the open doorway caught his eye. He shifted his gaze briefly to discover Hattie Moon, shotgun in hand, easing quietly into the room behind Polly. “So that’s the way it is,” Bill snarled. “A bunch of old women takin’ up for a back-shootin’ bitch that run off with my money and left me for dead.”

  “That’s the way it is,” Maggie said.

  “I didn’t shoot you in the back.” Polly finally found the courage to speak, bolstered by the unwavering support of Maggie and Hattie. “You came at me one too many times, and you got what you deserved. Now, go away from here and leave me alone.”

  Like a cornered badger, Bill snarled as he shifted his angry gaze back and forth between the three women. He was cool enough to realize that he was the loser in this round, but he was determined there would be other rounds. He had not ridden halfway across the prairie to be defeated by a gaggle of women. There was time, he counseled himself, and slowly the pinched look of hatred receded from his dark eyes. His next words were calm and without passion. “We’ll just let it go for now,” he said.

  “Sorry you have to leave so soon,” Maggie responded sarcastically.

  The thin smile returned to Bill’s face, and he glanced around at the silent customers seated at the tables. “I’m in no hurry,” he said. “I ain’t et for a spell. Maybe I’ll just take a chance on your cookin’.”

  “Not today, you ain’t,” Maggie replied.

  Bill affected an expression of mock surprise. “Why, hell, you’re in the business of feedin’ folks, ain’t you? And I’m a customer same as these fellers.”

  Maggie’s patience was wearing thin. “You can peck shit with the chickens for all I care. You ain’t eatin’ here, today or any other day. Now get your sorry ass outta here.”

  A quick spark of anger instantly returned to Bill’s eyes, and his heavy brows lowered to cloud his whiskered face. “I’ll get what I came for, you crazy old bitch, and anybody gets in my way is gonna be sorry.”

  “Mister”—Lester Pierce finally decided things had gone far enough, and it was time for one of the men to say something—“you’d best get yourself on outta here while you’re still standin’.”

  Bill cocked his head sharply to see who had spoken. His gaze lingered for a long second on Lester—as if memorizing his face. Then he turned and walked slowly toward the door, leaving a hushed dining hall behind him.

  It was Hattie Moon who finally broke the heavy silence as all eyes seemed to be locked on the shaken girl still standing by the kitchen door. Stepping over to put a reassuring arm around Polly’s shoulders, Hattie said, “Don’t you worry none, honey, we ain’t scared of the likes of that trash.” She then turned toward the gawking boarders at the tables. “Show’s over, boys. Don’t let the victuals get cold.”

  In spite of her aunt’s confident composure, Polly knew Bill well enough to be certain that the show
was not over. Bill possessed an evil determination that drove him to get what he was after—no matter what. If she had noticed the knowing glances exchanged between Maggie and Hattie, she would have surmised that they suspected the same. Now she stood staring down at the broken bowl and the spilled beans on the floor as if suddenly wondering how they got there. Nothing was making sense at the moment. Her husband back from the dead, spilled beans on the floor—what did it all mean?

  Hattie realized that Polly was in shock. She turned the confused girl away from the tables and led her out of the room. “Don’t worry about spilt beans,” she said. “Me and Maggie’ll take care of ’em. There’s plenty more in the kitchen.” This last she said loudly for the benefit of the customers.

  Maggie, her pistol holstered now, went back to the kitchen with Hattie and Polly. “Why don’t you take her on back to the house,” she said. “I’ll clean up the beans.” When they went out the back door, Maggie got another bowl and a big spoon, then returned to the dining room. “There’s more beans in the oven,” she reassured her guests as she scooped them up. “I’ll fetch some more.” Returning to the kitchen, she transferred the contents of the bowl into another of the same size, hurriedly picking occasional shards of broken glass from the beans. Satisfied that she had not missed any pieces of a size sufficient to rip a hole in the gut of one of her regulars, she stirred the beans to blend in any dust from the floor. All done, she returned to set the bowl on the table where it was immediately seized upon by the closest man and promptly emptied as it made the rounds.

  Back of the kitchen, in the small room that served as bedroom for the three women, Hattie was in the process of calming her niece. “You just need to rest here a bit, honey. Everything’ll be all right.”

  “He was dead,” Polly insisted. “He was laying there in the mud—dead—I know he was. I killed him.” She began to sob violently. “I killed him. I had to, Aunt Hattie, I swear.”

  “I know it, child,” Hattie cooed softly. “Ain’t nobody blamin’ you.”

  Polly seemed intent upon telling Hattie the whole story, anxious to confess what she considered her secret shame and sin. So Hattie sat on the side of the bed and listened while Polly recreated the fatal evening that caused her to take flight from Omaha. When she had finished, Hattie assured her that any woman worth her salt would have done the same. As for Polly, the confession served as a cathartic for her troubled mind, and she seemed to calm down enough to settle back on the pillow.

  “You just rest here a bit,” Hattie said. “I’m gonna go help Maggie finish servin’. Then I’ll be right back.” Confident that she would be all right, Hattie left her and returned to the dining room to help Maggie.

  As she entered the back door to the kitchen, Hattie met Maggie coming from the dining room carrying an empty coffeepot. “Is she all right?” Maggie inquired.

  “Yeah,” Hattie replied. “She was mighty shook up from seein’ that son of a bitch land on the doorstep. I don’t know as how I blame her. He was a mean-lookin’ son of a bitch.” She shook her head as she thought about the confrontation. “I had a feelin’ Polly had a stronger reason for landin’ here in Deadwood than just lookin’ for a place to make a livin’.”

  “I don’t think we’ve seen the last of that man,” Maggie said. “I don’t mind admittin’ I was gettin’ a little nervous myself back there. I swear, I thought for a minute he was gonna go for his gun right there in the dinin’ room.”

  The thought caused a shiver down Hattie’s spine, and she shrugged suddenly to shake it off. “I’ll help you with them bowls. Then I think I’d better go on back to see if she’s all right.”

  Always a fast eater, Lester Pierce untangled his long legs from the bench and stood up. With a brief good night to all in the room, he took his leave, pausing only to take a toothpick from the little glass in the middle of the table. He paused again at the door to work a piece of bacon from between his front teeth before stepping out into the cool evening. Standing on the small covered stoop, he worked the toothpick around in his mouth while taking in the night air, taking no notice of the dark figure lurking in the shadows. As Lester turned to step off the stoop, the figure was suddenly in front of him. “What tha—” was as far as Lester got before the eight-inch steel blade sank up to the hilt in his belly.

  Drawing his breath sharply in terrified agony, Lester staggered backward against the stoop, his assailant stepping with him to stay pressed against him, his face almost touching Lester’s. “This’ll learn you to mind your own business,” Bill Pike hissed, even as Lester began to crumple with the pain. In one quick motion, Bill jerked his knife from Lester’s gut, and stepped back to let him fall. He stood there, unconcerned that others might come out of the dining room, and watched the wounded man’s efforts to save himself.

  Lester struggled to his hands and knees, one hand clamped over his stomach in an effort to contain the bloody flow from his insides. In desperation, he tried to crawl back up the step to the porch, gasping out for help. Bill watched for a second before planting a foot on Lester’s behind and shoving the suffering man flat. When he heard someone approaching the door, he stooped down, wiped his knife blade on Lester’s trousers, and disappeared around the corner of the building.

  Tom Blanton was still strapping on his gun belt when he stepped out on the small porch. After pausing a moment to buckle it, he almost stepped on Lester’s hand when he started down from the porch. “God-a-mighty!” he exclaimed, recoiling at once. After a moment to look right and left, he moved closer again to see who it was. It was not an unusual sight to see a drunk passed out in the street in Deadwood, and this was his first assumption. Kneeling down beside the body, he said, “Come on, feller, you was just about to get stepped on.” He placed a hand on Lester’s shoulder and rolled him over, recoiling for the second time when he recognized Lester Pierce. The faint light from the window of the dining room reflected from the dark pool of blood on the step, and Tom quickly withdrew his hand to keep from touching it. At that moment, Lester emitted a weak groan. “God-a-mighty,” Tom gasped again. “Lester, what happened?” Not waiting for an answer, he said, “Just hold on. I’ll go for help.”

  Instead of going for Doc Plummer, Tom ran back inside The Trough for help, thinking that Maggie and Hattie would know what to do. When he blurted out the news, almost everyone inside jumped up and crowded to the door to see for themselves. Only a couple of dedicated diners remained seated, pausing for only a moment before resuming their supper. As Tom had figured, Maggie took command of the situation. After a brief inspection of the ugly wound, she sent one of the men to fetch Doc Plummer. “A couple of you fellers pick him up and bring him inside,” she ordered.

  Without waiting for instructions, Hattie cleared one of the two tables of dishes. “Put him down on the table,” she said. “I’ll get another lamp from the kitchen.” She only glanced at the two boarders still seated at the other table when one of them asked if there were any more biscuits.

  In the little shack that served as the ladies’ living quarters, Polly Hatcher lay resting, unaware of the commotion in the dining room. Outside, a dark figure moved quietly through the shadows, pausing at the kitchen window to observe Hattie while she took a lamp from the table and disappeared through the door to the dining room. With no sense of haste, Bill then turned his attention toward the small building behind the kitchen. Trying the latch, he found the door unbolted and pushed it open. The soft squeak of the hinges was not enough to disturb the woman lying on the bed. He stood in the open doorway for a long moment, gazing at the sleeping woman lying helplessly on the bed. An evil grin of smug satisfaction spread slowly across his grizzled features as he relished the deed he was about to perform.

  “Wake up, darlin’,” he cooed softly as he shook her shoulder. “I want you to see your lovin’ husband one last time.”

  Polly’s eyelids fluttered as she awakened. Confused at first, she opened her eyes wide when she suddenly realized it was Bill standing over her. S
he immediately tried to bolt, but he grabbed her and held her down. The terror he saw in her eyes was enough to force a chuckle from his lips. “Did you really think you was gonna get away with shootin’ me?” he said, smirking. Confident that she was helpless to prevent it, he prepared to finish what he had come for. Just as he had done with his father, he clamped his hands over Polly’s nose and mouth. But Polly was not as feeble as the old man had been. She struggled against him, fighting for her life, and was able to scratch his face to the point where he released his death grip with one hand in an effort to defend himself. When he did, she managed to wrest herself free of his other hand and scramble off the bed. Furious to have lost his advantage, he cursed her fiercely, pulled his pistol, and leveled it at her. The wicked grin returned to his face as he watched her cringe against the wall. Enjoying her terror, he kept the pistol trained on her as she slowly edged toward the door. When she was within a foot of the open door, he shot her. The bullet caught her in the chest and slammed her against the wall.

  Knowing he had but moments before the sound of the shot brought someone to investigate, he lingered only briefly, regretting the fact that he didn’t have the time to watch her die. He considered the possibility of dragging her out the door with him, but the sound of voices from the front of The Trough changed his mind. There was no time left. Gazing at the mortally wounded girl slumped in a sitting position against the wall, her eyes glazed and unblinking, a grim smile returned to his face. He quickly holstered his pistol and slipped out the door, satisfied that vengeance had been served. No more than a few brief moments had passed when a half-dozen boarders, led by Maggie Hogg, came running. No one noticed the shadowy figure sliding along the side of the building to be swallowed up in the darkness of the alley.

  Hattie was beside herself with grief. “I shouldn’t have ever left her alone,” she admitted tearfully. “I meant to come right back, but then all that with Lester . . . I shoulda known that son of a bitch was just mean enough to do something like this.” Her guilt was almost unbearable as she stood to one side while Doc Plummer did what little he could to ease Polly’s suffering.