Outlaw Pass (9781101544785)

by West, Charles G.

  “Mutt? What the hell?” was all Adam could say. He noticed then that all of the men were heavily armed, although none of them appeared to be other than store clerks and businessmen.

  “You got here at a pretty good time,” Mutt said. “This is the vigilance committee of Grasshopper Creek, and we’re fixin’ to clean out this town of all the outlaws that have been robbin’ and murderin’ all over this valley. We’ve got the names of ever’ one of the bastards that have been ridin’ for Ainsworth and his outlaws. We was plannin’ on goin’ to get that murderin’ son of a bitch that’s been sittin’ in the back corner of the Miner’s Friend since yesterday, but you kinda beat us to it.” He paused to grin at the men behind him. “Matter of fact, you’ve cut down on the amount of work we had to do, ever since you landed in town a while back. Now we feel like we got enough men to finish the job you started.”

  Astonished to hear that he had played a significant part in the vigilante effort to clean up the town, Adam was not sure if they expected more from him. “I told you from the first why I came to Bannack. I wasn’t successful in finding my brother alive, but I did find the men responsible for his death. They’re all taken care of. That fellow, Cruz, was the last on my list, so I’m done with what I set out to do. All I want now is to get on back home.”

  “Adam,” Mutt implored, “this business is bigger’n just Grasshopper Creek. We’ve been workin’ with the committee in Alder Gulch and Daylight Gulch, too. We’re takin’ our towns back from the outlaws that have been makin’ a livin’ robbin’ honest folks. They’re all comin’ down, and I’m talkin’ about Henry Plummer, too. A citizens group arrested him yesterday in Virginia City, gave him a short trial, and hung him—said he cried like a baby.” His remark caused a muttered wave of approval from the men gathered around him. “Last week a citizens group arrested five outlaws and took ’em to Nevada City for trial where Plummer couldn’t get to ’em. They hung ’em, but before he died, Red Yager confessed and named Plummer as the boss of the whole thing. A lot of us knew Plummer was behind it all, but we couldn’t prove it.”

  “So now you’re wantin’ me to join you fellers. Is that it?” Adam asked.

  “Well,” Mutt said, “we’d sure welcome it, but like you said, you’ve done your part, and you’re ready to get the hell outta here. Can’t blame you for that. To tell you the truth, we’ve got things under control now. Some of the outlaws got wind of what was goin’ on and turned tail and cleared out. We’ve got enough of us to handle those waitin’ in ambush for you at each end of town.” He grinned confidently. “No, we didn’t stop you for that. We just wanted to keep you from ridin’ right into an ambush. You just give us a head start and we’ll take care of that situation.”

  Although surprised by Mutt’s statement, Adam was glad to hear that they weren’t looking to him to participate. He had had enough of killing to last him the rest of his life, something he was going to have to carry on his conscience, even allowing the fact that every life he had taken would be justified by most men. “I appreciate it, Mutt,” he said. “I expect it is time that I got back home to help my pa with the stock. I wish you men good huntin’.”

  “There’s somethin’ more you need to be worryin’ about,” Mutt said. “Red Yager also told ’em that Plummer had already sent word to that damn professional killer of his to track you down and kill you. Yager said you had killed off too many of Plummer’s gang. They was all sure that you was a hired gun that the citizens here had called in to clean ’em out. And since nobody he sent after you came back alive, he decided to call in some high-priced help.”

  Adam didn’t respond right away. Mutt had given him something to think about, something he hadn’t considered, and something he could certainly do without. “Who is this professional killer?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Mutt replied. “There ain’t much I can tell you about him. I don’t believe he’s ever been around here. If he has, nobody’s ever seen him.”

  “I heard Fred Smith talkin’ to Big John Tyson about him,” Clyde Allen offered. “He said his name is Briscoe. That’s all he goes by. When I asked Big John about him, he told me to mind my own business.”

  “Sorry we can’t tell you more about him,” Mutt said. “You just be sure you’re careful, and don’t leave a trail for anybody to follow.”

  “Yeah, I will,” Adam said. “You mind you be careful, too, and good luck to you.” He grabbed Mutt’s hand when it was offered to him, and they shook. “Briscoe, huh? Well, I don’t plan to wait around for Mr. Briscoe. I’m headin’ back to the Yellowstone. He’s gonna have to be part Indian to catch me.”

  He stood there, holding Bucky’s reins, while the solemn group of men filed out of the stable on their way to the site of the ambush at the upper end of town. He waited nearly twenty minutes before stepping up in the saddle again. Walking Bucky to the doorway, he paused to search up and down the alley before venturing out again. A sudden eruption of shotgun and rifle fire from the upper end of town, past the hotel, told him that the vigilantes had confronted the outlaws waiting in ambush. And from the sound of it, Adam guessed that the outlaws were on the run. I guess Mutt wasn’t lying when he said they could handle it, he thought. He nudged Bucky into an easy lope, pleased for the honest people of the town that they were ridding themselves of the vermin that had preyed upon them for over two years.

  Kneeling between two lone fir trees near the top of the very hill that Adam had first considered heading for, an interested observer watched the developments taking place in the small mining town. While looking the town over earlier, he had spotted the miners’ hired gunman when he rode up to the saloon. At least, he was about seventy-five percent certain that it was the man he had been sent to eliminate. He wasn’t able to tell much about the man at that distance. He had simply been told that he was a big man, riding a bay horse. When, a few minutes later, the gun battle behind the saloon took place, he became more convinced that he was the right man. It was obvious that the gunman had come looking for his victim, and when he had done the job, he rode away behind the buildings. At that point, he lost track of him until the group of men emerged from the stable and headed for a confrontation with three bushwhackers hiding at the head of the trail out of town. Then his target appeared again, riding away toward the far hills. Briscoe was a hundred percent certain then that he had the right man.

  He had the feeling that something on a large scale was occurring in the mining towns. What he witnessed here in Bannack on this day was something he never expected to see any time soon—a citizens’ committee moving against the outlaws. Perhaps had he been in constant contact with Henry Plummer, he might have seen this coming. But it was not his style to stay close to the rabble that Plummer employed. In fact, he preferred to remain apart until summoned for a specific job, as in this case. He suspected that Plummer’s days were numbered, but he had been paid a handsome fee to eliminate this so-called professional gunman, and he had always earned his money. And now he had a hot trail to follow. Mr. Professional Gunman was on a short string, because once Briscoe had a trail, the execution was as good as done. He stepped up in the saddle, guided his horse down the hill, and angled across the broad valley in the direction the big man on the bay had taken.

  He struck his trail just west of the town, fresh tracks in the soft dirt beside a trickle of a spring, and he dismounted to study them. He wanted to familiarize himself with that particular set of tracks. Satisfied, he mounted again and followed the trail until it led to the road to Virginia City. He’s going to make it pretty easy for me if he stays on the road, he thought. It’ll just be a matter of catching up with him. Pausing to look for signs that the tracks departed from the many other tracks on the road, he studied both sides of the road for a distance of about a hundred yards. Satisfied then that his target was intent upon taking the road to Virginia City, and not concerned about being followed, Briscoe urged his horse into a lope.

  Chapter 15

  It was Adam’s plan
to leave the main road when he came to the Beaverhead, then follow that river north to bypass Virginia City before cutting across to the Madison. This was what he had attempted to do before with Finn and the two women, only to be driven into the mountains to hide. Recalling that journey caused him to think about the young girl, Lacey, and the sorrow he felt for not seeing her safely home. He had no idea if it would have been a good idea to take Lacey to the Triple-B, but he felt that his father would have taken her in, especially if Adam told him that Jake had planned to marry her. No one would have to know her past. Adam was convinced that she deserved a second chance. But I reckon it just wasn’t in the cards, he thought.

  Eager to take his mind off Lacey, he thought about the warning he had gotten from Mutt. There was a hired killer searching for him. The thought did not frighten him. He viewed it more as an irritation than anything else. The part of the story that he found ironic was the outlaws’ belief that he himself was a hired assassin for the miners. Well, he considered, maybe I was an assassin, but I’m not one anymore and I sure as hell didn’t kill for money. Still, he had to deal with the fact that there was someone somewhere in these mountains who was out to kill him—and he had no idea what he looked like. So that meant that all strangers had to be held in suspicion.

  He struck the Beaverhead just before dark, just short of its confluence with Blacktail Deer Creek. The wide, grassy valley was almost devoid of trees, offering very little concealment for a camp. He looked across the valley at the mountains in the distance and decided they were too far, so he decided to follow the river north until he came upon a spot with thick brushy banks and a handful of willow trees. “This will have to do, Bucky,” he finally announced, and dismounted.

  Briscoe considered himself as good a tracker as any man, but he had to admit that it was pure luck, or maybe instinct, that caused him to turn around and go back to take a closer look at the road where it crossed a small trickle of a stream. Something told him that it would be an ideal place to leave the road if a man wanted to without leaving sign for someone following. At first, there appeared to be no evidence that his target had done so, but after careful examination, he was able to form a picture in his mind of a horse being led up the tiny stream. He smiled to himself as he knelt to touch a sizable pebble that had recently been dislodged. He and his prey thought very much alike, and he wondered if the man knew he was tracking him. It didn’t matter, Briscoe thought, because he knew who was going to win in the end. Meanwhile, it would make the hunt more enjoyable.

  The man he had come to kill had walked his horse for almost two hundred yards up the stream before leaving it and remounting. There had been barely enough light for Briscoe to see the tracks where he had exited the water. They told him that the man had continued to follow the general course of the stream as it made its way to the Beaverhead. A full moon had peeked over the mountains to the east by the time Briscoe reached the banks of the river. He paused on the grassy bank to consider what he would do, if he were in his target’s shoes. The answer was obvious, so he started out along the bank, looking for a suitable place to set up a camp.

  The moon was fully on top of the mountains, spreading its light across the valley, when Briscoe saw what he was looking for. A thicket of willows and brush stood a couple of hundred yards ahead on the opposite bank. He waited for several long minutes, watching the trees, before he turned his horse toward the water and crossed over to the other side. Finding a sizable berry bush, he tied his horse there, not willing to chance a whinny from the blue roan as he neared the camp. Then, readying his rifle, he started forward on foot to see if, in fact, there was a camp in the willows. After he’d advanced to within fifty yards, his instincts were confirmed by the sight of a flicker of flame amid the trees. He carefully began to move in closer, but he did not hurry. It made little sense to take unnecessary chances. His prey was supposedly a professional killer. So he decided to bide his time and wait for him to bed down, then walk in and shoot him while he was in his blanket, swift and simple. It would even be easier on the victim.

  Adam knelt by the river where a large clump of berry bushes hung over the water. He took a last swallow of coffee and dumped the dregs from his cup, then rinsed it. He had an uneasy feeling that he could not explain. Maybe it was the full moon, he thought, for he was not really worried about the man who was supposed to be stalking him. It was unlikely that anyone had any idea where he was. It would sure make sense to be a little more careful, though, he thought. So he went back to his campfire and pulled his saddle and blanket closer to the edge of the tiny clearing, where they would not be so easily seen.

  The night wore on as the moon continued its journey across the sky, moving closer to the western mountains, and the firelight flickering through the trees had almost faded away, when Briscoe got to his feet and stretched. Time to earn your money, he thought. He was not a man entirely without conscience, but he felt no compassion for his victims. They were all outlaws, robbers and murderers, so in effect, he was doing the world a favor every time he eliminated one of them. He started to move in.

  Making his way carefully and quietly, he moved slowly through the outer fringe of the trees until he could see a small clearing in the center. Dropping to his hands and knees then, he edged even closer until he could see the entire camp: the bay horse down close to the water’s edge, the dying campfire, and off to the side, the sleeping figure of the man he had come to kill. Still with no cause to rush the execution, he slowly rose to his feet and stepped into the clearing, his rifle aimed at the sleeping form by the saddle. Taking careful aim, so as not to waste cartridges, he took a few more steps closer to his unsuspecting target and stopped.

  The next few seconds were shattered by gunfire when Briscoe pulled the trigger and sent a .44 slug ripping into Adam’s blanket, only to feel the burning impact of a bullet almost immediately after slamming into his back. With animal-like reflexes, he spun around to fire at the man standing in the deep shadows across the clearing, but his shot was wide of the mark. Already dying, he nevertheless cocked his rifle again while fighting to stay on his feet, for he knew, if he went down, he would never get up again.

  Adam stepped out of the shadows just as the moon slipped from behind a cloud, illuminating the tiny clearing. He raised his rifle to deliver the final shot, but suddenly he could not pull the trigger. His whole body froze, unnerved by the face he saw in the moonlight. “Jake!” He gasped as the rifle dropped from his brother’s hand and he slowly sank to the ground. “Jake!” Adam cried out again in horrified realization that he had just killed his brother. He dropped his rifle and ran to his brother’s side. Dropping to his knees, he started to lift Jake up to hold him in his arms, but Jake gasped in pain and begged him to let him lie.

  “Adam?” Jake forced the words through teeth clenched in pain. “What are you doin’ here?”

  “I’m gonna take you home,” Adam said, his words halting and trembling with the crushing realization of what he had done. “You’ll be all right. I’ll take care of you. Just lie still now and don’t try to talk.” He was trying hard not to panic. His shot had been a kill shot, and it was obvious to him that Jake was fading fast. And he didn’t know what to do to save him.

  “I reckon he outsmarted me,” Jake gasped, then tried to cough up the blood that was now filling his lungs. He was still unaware that it was Adam who had fired the fatal shot. “I didn’t kill any innocent folks.” He closed his eyes then and seemed to relax.

  Alarmed, Adam took him by the shoulders and begged, “Jake, hold on, hold on. Don’t give up. Oh God, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know it was you!”

  Jake opened his eyes one last time and smiled faintly. “Big brother,” he whispered, “you always come to take care of me. I was comin’ home after this last strike.” Then his eyelids fluttered briefly and he was gone.

  Overcome with the tragic grief that now consumed him, Adam pulled Jake’s lifeless body up in his arms, pressing him close to his chest until he could contain hi
s anguish no longer, and he roared out his pain into the indifferent night. He remained there on his knees, holding his brother for a long time, tears streaming down his rugged face, until he at last was able to gather his emotions and take control again.

  He buried his brother near the bank of the Beaverhead River, digging the grave with a short hand axe and his hunting knife. With only those tools available to him, it took him the rest of the night to dig the grave deep enough to suit him, for he could not abide the thought of leaving Jake in a shallow grave to be torn apart by scavengers. When it was done, he sat down in the early-morning sunshine to think about what had happened. Although still emotionally drained, and physically spent from his nightlong labor, he was able to try to make some sense of it all. He had been so convinced that the body he had discovered in the gully near Finn’s camp was Jake, because Jake had disappeared completely. It was difficult to believe, knowing his brother, that Jake could turn to murder to make his fortune, even though he might have thought he was doing the world a favor. He had said as much before he died. It’s my fault, Adam thought. I should have been there to talk some sense into him. Then he paused to consider the name Jake had chosen, and it occurred to him then where it had come from—Briscoe. It had come from their home in Briscoe County, Texas.

  It was not going to be easy for him to live with the horrible sin he now carried on his conscience. There was no forgiving a man who had killed his brother. Of that he felt certain. He would go home to the Triple-B now, but he was not sure he could ever tell anyone of the real circumstances that had led to his brother’s death. When he thought about it, he decided that it would be best to let his father go on believing Jake was killed by outlaws near Bannack. He had already resigned himself to his son’s death. Why open up a new source of grief? Smoothing over the grave as best he could, he spread dead limbs from the willows over it in an effort to disguise it.