Trial at Fort Keogh

by Charles G. West

  * * *

  Ernie Thigpen glanced toward the door when the heavyset, squarely built man walked in. Ernie had never seen Simon Yeager before, but he knew at once that it was him. He stood, silently waiting, while Yeager looked the almost empty room over, as if searching for someone, before he walked up to the bar.

  “Somethin’ I can do for you?” Ernie asked. The badge he saw when Yeager unbuttoned his coat confirmed his identity.

  “Yeah,” Yeager answered. “Pour me a drink of likker. I need somethin’ to warm my insides.” He watched Ernie pour his drink; then he picked up the shot glass and tossed it down his throat like a dose of medicine. He made a point of paying for the whiskey, tossing the money on the bar carelessly. “I wanna see that whore that hangs out here.”

  “Darcy?”

  “Yeah, Darcy. Where is she?”

  Ernie hesitated before answering. He knew for sure that Darcy didn’t want any dealings with Simon Yeager. “Darcy ain’t here right now,” he said, hoping that would be the end of it.

  “The hell you say,” Yeager replied. “She lives here.” He turned to look toward the stairs leading to the second floor. “One of them rooms upstairs,” he insisted. “Which one?”

  Ernie couldn’t think of anything to say to discourage Yeager, who seemed determined to see Darcy. “Uh, Darcy ain’t feelin’ too well right now. She ain’t entertainin’ customers.”

  “That right?” Yeager replied defiantly. “Well, she’s seein’ this one.” He marched straight for the stairs.

  “You can’t go up there!” Ernie exclaimed. “She’s got a customer with her.”

  Yeager spun around, his hand hovering threateningly over the .44 on his hip. “You mealy-mouthed old bastard, you can’t open your trap without a lie fallin’ out. You just told me she ain’t seein’ customers today. You just stay there behind that counter and mind your own business, and maybe you’ll live to see another day.”

  He felt certain now that Darcy was hiding someone in her room, and that someone had to be Clint Cooper. Taking two steps at a time, he charged up the stairs. When he reached the second floor, he started down the narrow hall. With his pistol drawn, he tried the first door. It was unlocked, and he opened it slowly to find that the room was unoccupied. Moving to the next door, he stopped when he heard a woman’s voice on the other side. He knew that there was only one prostitute working at Ernie’s, so he stepped back against the opposite wall, not bothering to try the knob to see if it was locked. Taking two long strides, he kicked the door open, banging it against the inside wall, startling the two people on the bed.

  Shocked by the sudden intrusion, they had no time to react before Yeager was upon them. With one powerful hand, he grabbed the unfortunate man by his hair and pulled him off the screaming woman and onto the floor. Still in a state of shock, the confused soldier made an attempt to defend himself from the demon who now stuck a pistol into his face.

  “Clint Cooper!” Yeager roared triumphantly, lost in his insane rage. He cocked the pistol and glared into the face of the terrified soldier.

  “He ain’t Clint Cooper!” Darcy yelled, knowing then who the demon was. Hearing her, Yeager hesitated before pulling the trigger. “You damn fool,” Darcy shouted. “He ain’t Clint. You’re fixin’ to shoot a soldier.” It was enough to keep him from pulling the trigger, but he was not totally convinced. He had never seen Clint before. “Look,” she said, pointing to a pile of clothes on the floor. “Those are his clothes, an army uniform.” Again Yeager hesitated. “Look at him!” Darcy yelled at him. “He’s a soldier!”

  Yeager finally released the frightened soldier and stepped back to try to calm his runaway rage. He looked hard at the half-naked man shivering on the cold wooden floor. The woman was right. It wasn’t him. Still angry, and now frustrated, he turned to Darcy and demanded, “Where is he?”

  “How the hell do I know where he is? I ain’t his mama,” Darcy responded, no longer afraid she was about to be shot. “You come bustin’ in here like a damn buffalo. Who told you Clint Cooper was in my room? You crazy son of a bitch, you need to go stick your head in the horse trough and wake up.” She got up from the bed and pulled her robe around her. “Get outta my room. Look what you’ve done to poor ol’ Bill there. That sure as hell ain’t what he was lookin’ for when he paid his two dollars. Get outta here!”

  “You got a mouth on you that’s liable to get you shot,” Yeager warned. He was caught between two emotions—whether to back out of the room defeated or to shoot the screaming woman to shut her up. There had not been a lot soldiers to concern him when he came into the saloon, but that might not be the case now. He released the hammer on his pistol, turned, and left the room. He didn’t stop when he got downstairs but headed straight for the door, the second of the Yeager brothers to slink out of Ernie’s saloon.

  Dumbfounded, Ernie stood staring at him, unmoving, until he had gone out the door; then he turned his attention back to the stairs, where a thoroughly disheveled soldier, eyes still wide with shock, stumbled down the steps. Darcy followed close behind, trying to soothe his frazzled nerves.

  “I don’t think it’s really fair to want all your money back,” Ernie heard her say. “You know, you had a pretty good ride up until then.”

  “Just keep the whole two dollars,” the trembling soldier said. “I think I’ve been broke from wantin’ to take another ride for a long spell.”

  “All right, hon,” Darcy cooed. “You take care of yourself, now, you hear?”

  Seeing Ernie, gaping wide-eyed and slack-jawed at her, then, she walked over to the bar and said, “Give me a drink, Ernie, and I’ll tell you all about it.” It was her first encounter with the infamous sheriff, and she only hoped that he didn’t catch up with Clint.

  * * *

  “It’s time we moved you,” Ben said, walking into Rena’s room to visit his partner after supper.

  Clint had occupied the patient woman’s room for three days, during which he could not say that he noticed any real degree of improvement in his condition. Most of the pain had gone, but he was still weak, and the few times he had tried to get on his feet, he almost fell on his back. So he naturally asked why it was time to move.

  “Shorty and Jody were out on the northeast section,” Ben said. “They were headed to the line shack on Muskrat Creek, but when they rode up on that low mesa just shy of it, they spotted a couple of horses tied up at the shack. Well, they knew none of our boys were supposed to be there, so they figured they’d best hold up and see who it was. Turned out it was them two coyotes that hang around with Simon Yeager, Curly what’s-his-name, and that other’n. They didn’t stay there long, just long enough to find out you weren’t there, I’m thinkin’. You know Yeager had to send ’em out there lookin’ for you. Shorty had enough sense not to let ’em know him and Jody saw ’em.” Ben snorted for emphasis. “I told him it’s a damn good thing he didn’t. Them two skunks might not be as fast as Mace was, but they’re every bit as mean.”

  Clint guessed what Ben had in mind. “So you’re thinkin’ I’d be better off at the line shack,” he said.

  “That’s what I’m thinkin’, since they’ve already looked there,” Ben said. “Day after tomorrow’s Sunday, and if that pretty little lieutenant don’t show up here to court Hope, it’d be the first Sunday he’s missed this month.” He paused to recall the lieutenant’s last visit to the ranch three days before, and laughed at the thought. “He might come crawlin’ in on his hands and knees after the other day. Mr. Valentine might shoot him on sight.” Getting back to the subject, he continued. “Anyway, it might be a good idea for you to be gone from here when he shows up. And we need to tell Rena to leave her door open, so the lieutenant can see ain’t nobody hidin’ in there.”

  “Why don’t I just move to the bunkhouse?” Clint asked. “Landry ain’t likely to be down there.”

  “Maybe,” Ben said, consi
dering. “But if Yeager was watchin’ the line shack, he’s damn sure keeping an eye on the ranch, too. And now he knows you ain’t at the shack, so he’ll be watchin’ the ranch.”

  Clint didn’t know if it was necessary to leave or not. He was still trying to decide when he pointed out one thing. “Even if he found out I’m here, he ain’t gonna risk ridin’ in here. He’s too far outnumbered.”

  Ben shook his head impatiently. “All he’ll be lookin’ for is a chance to catch you outside the bunkhouse or the barn, and one shot from a rifle would be all he needed.”

  Ben’s argument was sound. Clint knew he was right; one man alone could easily slip up close enough to the barn without being seen. Then it would be a matter of waiting for the shot, and with a good rifle, it wouldn’t be that difficult. Still, it riled him to think of running from the likes of the three outlaws. Ben studied his face, waiting for his decision.

  When Clint continued to procrastinate, Ben said, “I expect you’re thinkin’ you need to go after Yeager instead of waitin’ for him to come after you. That’s most likely what you’ll do, but not before you give yourself a chance to heal. And all I’m sayin’ is to lay low till you get that chance to heal up, and I’ll go with you.”

  “I expect you’re right,” Clint finally decided. “If you can help me up on my horse, we’ll head out in the mornin’.”

  “Good,” Ben said. “We’ll take one packhorse with us. I’ll load it up with enough to last us awhile. Rena will fix you a good breakfast, and that’ll keep you from fallin’ outta the saddle.”

  Rena was not sure she liked the decision. She said as much while she changed the bandage on his side. Hope expressed her opposition as well. “You’ll freeze to death out there in that cabin,” she said. “You should stay here where we can take care of you.”

  Her father, however, was in agreement with Ben and Clint. “Nonsense,” he told Hope. “There’s a good fireplace in that cabin. He won’t freeze, unless Ben’s too lazy to cut firewood.”

  “There’d better be some cut,” Clint said.

  It was the rule for the last man using the cabin to leave it in good shape with plenty of wood cut so the next man could build a warm fire as soon as he arrived. After all the discussion, Clint and Ben set out for Muskrat Creek early the next morning, with Clint still pretty shaky in the saddle.

  * * *

  Simon Yeager sat at the back corner table in the Trail’s End Saloon, a bottle of rye whiskey before him, staring at the front door, as if expecting someone to come through it. The bottle was half empty. It had been full when he first sat down. The door to the back room opened and Spence Snyder, the owner of the saloon, walked in. Yeager seemed not to notice when Snyder walked straight to the bar to confer with his bartender.

  “How long’s he been sittin’ there like that?” Spence asked Floyd.

  “’Bout half an hour,” Floyd said, “settin’ there like he’s been knocked in the head with a limb.”

  It was a condition they had seen before, as if someone or something had seized control of his brain, and it usually meant trouble for somebody. Most of the time it was one of Spence’s customers, and on one occasion, it resulted in the death of a man, who supposedly drew on the sheriff. This time it could easily be speculated that the thing driving the ruthless man to his special hell was the death of his brother at the hand of Clint Cooper.

  “It has to be one helluva lot of hate to take over a man’s mind like that. I hope he don’t let it out in here.”

  Spence looked around him at the few customers brave enough to patronize the Trail’s End. A familiar feeling of helplessness gripped him as he thought of the loss of business he had suffered ever since Yeager had made his saloon the official sheriff’s office. In fact, all of the town’s business owners had drifted toward the Frontier Saloon to have their evening drink of whiskey or glass of beer. He could hardly blame them, but he was concerned about the possibility that he might have to close, if his unwanted tenant remained for very much longer.

  “Has Jim Duffy been in tonight?” Spence asked.

  “Nope,” Floyd replied. “Ain’t seen him.”

  “Damn,” Spence murmured. Duffy had assured him that Yeager’s presence wasn’t going to keep him away.

  “That reminds me,” Floyd said, “that Reiner kid that works at the Frontier came in here earlier. Frank Hudson sent him over to see if you were here, said to tell you he’d like to talk to you about somethin’ sometime tonight, if you get a chance.”

  Spence nodded, then unconsciously glanced in Yeager’s direction. He knew what Frank wanted to talk about. “I’ll run over there in a few minutes.”

  If Floyd wondered why his boss was having a meeting with his competition, he didn’t ask, but he could guess. Simon Yeager sat in Spence’s saloon like a giant infected boil, subject to bursting at any moment. It was not a question of if, but one of when. And even though business competitors, Spence Snyder and Frank Hudson realized that Yeager would soon destroy the town. It was up to the town’s merchants to do something about the problem, but so far, no one else had been willing to risk confronting the violent man. “I’ll be back in a little while,” Spence told Floyd.

  The bartender nodded. He knew how desperate his boss had become. Before this trouble with Yeager, he wouldn’t give Frank Hudson the time of day. He glanced at the sullen man, still staring trancelike at the front door.

  “You’d best go out the back,” he suggested.

  * * *

  “Heard you wanted to talk to me,” Spence said when Frank Hudson answered his knock at the back door of the Frontier Saloon.

  “Yeah, Spence, come on in. We can sit down in my office where nobody will bother us.” Frank led the way to a desk over by a window in the combination office-storeroom. There had been several meetings between the two men competing for the town’s thirsty citizens. It was an unlikely situation brought about by the threat to both of them. “Can I get you a cup of coffee? Maybe something stronger?” Frank offered.

  “No, no, thanks,” Spence replied. “I need to get back to my place pretty soon. Floyd’s gettin’ to where he’s a little nervous by himself.”

  “Yeager?” Frank asked.

  “Yeah, the son of a bitch is sitting at a table, staring like he’s lookin’ at something that ain’t really there. And he’s gotten worse since his brother was shot. I’m afraid he’s gonna explode one day and start shooting everything and everybody in sight.” Spence shook his head slowly. “I guess I don’t have to tell you that it ain’t gonna be much longer before I have to close up.” It pained him to admit it, but Frank already knew it to be the case.

  “It doesn’t bring me any satisfaction,” Frank said. “We were both doing all right before Yeager and his brother landed in our little settlement. Besides, if you close up, that devil will most likely move in here.” They exchanged worried glances. “Anyway, what I wanted to tell you is Ed Taylor told me today that he’s thinking about moving out of town and taking his dry goods business someplace else.”

  “Hell,” Spence complained, “he just opened up this summer. Where’s he gonna go? He’s got to know it takes a little time for a town to develop.”

  “He says he can see the writing on the wall. The town’s dying. Killed by a parasite, he says, all on account we ain’t strong enough to stand up to folks like Simon Yeager. Folks ain’t gonna wanna settle around here with the town being run by a common criminal. I tell you, Spence, it’s time we did something to save our town, and I think our best bet is to ask the army to help us.”

  “Well, I reckon you’re right, it’s time we did it,” Spence said. They had talked about it before in a couple of meetings with several of the other businessmen in town. They had also discussed the possibility of forming a vigilance committee to take care of their outlaw problem, but there were not enough men willing to risk confronting the four gunmen. And their cour
age was no stronger since the number of outlaws had been reduced to three. “Who do you reckon we could get to go to Fort Keogh? It’ll have to be somebody who can speak for the town.”

  “Hell, there ain’t nobody with enough sense to talk to Major Kinsey but you or me,” Frank said. “I mean anybody who’s willing to go. You know that. Horace Marshall ain’t gonna go. Neither is Lon Bessemer. The whole damn town is afraid Yeager will find out. I’d go, but I ain’t got anybody to take care of the Frontier other than Pete or Billy—one a drunk, the other a kid.”

  “It ought not take more than half a day,” Spence said. “Hell, I’ll do it. Floyd won’t like it, but he’s used to running the place by himself. He’ll be fine till I get back.” He had made up his mind that his business was finished if something wasn’t done to save the town right away. “I’ll ride over to the fort in the morning before those three leeches drink up all my whiskey.”

  “Good man,” Frank said, relieved that Spence had volunteered. “We’ll keep this quiet so Yeager doesn’t get wind of it. It’s best not to tell anybody else, just in case.”

  “Agreed,” Spence said. “I’ll leave a little after sunup. Yeager doesn’t like to get up till the sun’s sitting high in the sky.” They shook on it then and Frank wished him luck and Godspeed.

  * * *

  Yeah, good luck. Curly James smiled to himself, pressed against the outside wall under the window near Frank’s desk. Ol’ Simon’s going to be tickled to hear about this. He hurried away from the rear wall of the saloon to be sure Spence didn’t see him when he came out the back door.

  Back in the Trail’s End, Simon Yeager waited for Curly to return. Although Floyd was convinced that he was captured in some manner of trance, Yeager had been aware of Spence’s departure through the kitchen door. It was an unlikely door to use, because it led to nothing but a weed patch, and Spence had begun to favor that point of egress lately. And to someone as devious as Simon Yeager, any departure from normal behavior triggered suspicion. Curly happened to come downstairs at about the same time Spence disappeared through the kitchen door, so Yeager had told him to find out where he went.