by Jake Logan
The two men waited.
And listened.
It seemed an eternity before they heard a man say something.
“About time them Injuns was gettin’ back here, Bruno, don’t you think?”
“Don’t you worry none, Jake,” a man with a deep voice said, “them Crow know what they’re doin’ .”
Slocum froze. Ice streamed down his spine.
He knew that voice.
He had heard it before.
And he knew where he had heard it.
His eyes narrowed and his jaw hardened to iron.
Jenner looked at him, his eyebrows arched, wrinkles rippling above his nose.
Slocum’s lips tightened and he lay flat, crawled to the edge of the bluff.
He saw the man whose voice he had heard. The one the other man had called Bruno.
He felt his stomach churn, the muscles of his abdomen quiver.
Yes, he thought, that was the man.
Only Slocum knew him by a different name.
11
Slocum stared down at the man he believed to be Bruno Valenti.
That was not the name Slocum knew him by, but the two had met.
Jenner scooted close to Slocum and looked over the edge of the precipice. Then he tapped Slocum on the shoulder and held up both hands in a gesture of helplessness, or ignorance.
Slocum put a finger to his lips to indicate silence, then cupped one ear.
The two men listened to the conversation between Valenti and one of his cohorts. Their voices floated upward and were quite audible in the thin mountain air.
“You got to learn one thing, Pettibone,” Valenti said. “Patience. You got to be patient.”
“Hell, I’m as patient as the next man, Bruno. I was just askin’ is all.”
“Well, them Crow is doin’ one thing and I sent Crowley to do another.”
“I don’t trust them damned Injuns,” Pettibone said. He had a wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth, and spat a stream of brown liquid onto a nearby rock. It splatted and left an oozing stain. Pettibone, like Valenti, hadn’t touched a razor to his face for at least three days and his chin was mottled with the shadow of an emerging beard.
Valenti wore a hat, like Pettibone, but his hair was long and curly, black as a raven’s wing. He wasn’t tall, but he had round muscular shoulders that tautened his faded chambray shirt, and powerful hairy arms that jutted from rolledup sleeves. His boots, like Pettibone’s, were covered in dust, but the polish was dull underneath and nearly all gone from the leather.
Slocum scanned the small cluster of log cabins. They were arranged in a semicircle, at least one hundred yards apart. There was a lean-to at one end of the mesa, a large one, where horses were tied. Slocum recognized the horses and his jaw hardened when he saw them. He couldn’t make out the brands from that distance, but he knew what they were. The cabins all had low ceilings and heavy split-log doors. They were weathered and he could see gaps where the chinking had disintegrated. There was grass growing on the plateau and he saw mounds of bones, and leftover food had been tossed to rot and decay. He saw trenches where the men had relieved themselves, and there were posts erected to hang game they had killed so that the animals could be skinned, bled, and quartered for their sustenance. There was a smell to the place that was both old and new. Men were living on that flat ridge where men had lived before.
At the other end of the mesa, near a stand of pines and spruce, three teepees stood, their poles jutting from the unpainted and undecorated deerskin lodges.
“You don’t need to trust them Injuns, Jake. They’re hungry as wolves and I give ’em just enough firewater to keep them loyal to me.”
“Well, I can’t see wastin’ good whiskey on a bunch of redskins. We don’t have that much for ourselves.”
“That’s going to be taken care of,” Valenti said.
“How? We goin’ back to Billings and buy whiskey and goods?”
“No, we’re not. The little town of Big Timber has all we need. Soon as Harry Wicks gets back, I’ll tell everybody my plan.”
“So, you got a plan, eh, Bruno? I mean ’sides them two women you’re tryin’ to grab.”
“You’re damned right I got a plan, Jake,” Valenti said. “Had it for a good long time.”
“I sure as hell can hardly wait to hear what it is. I don’t like livin’ up here with Injuns and no women or a soft bed.”
“We won’t be here long,” Valenti said. He got up and walked to the nearest cabin. Jake Pettibone spit and walked over to one of the trenches to relieve himself.
Slocum scooted backward, slowly and silently. A moment later, Jenner did the same. When they were both some distance from the edge of the precipice, they stood up and walked to a copse of blue spruce.
“You got something to tell me, John?” Jenner asked.
“Valenti. I met him in Billings. Only he went by the name of George Colby.”
“You did? Did you know—”
Slocum didn’t let Dave finish his sentence.
“I sold him six horses. I met him in Kansas City. He told me his name was George Colby and he wanted six horses with Arab blood in them. Said he was going to hunt mountain lions in Montana. Wanted horses that were surefooted with small hooves. He paid me half the money in advance, told me to bring them to Billings. He said he’d be in the Antlers Hotel there. And so he was. He paid me in full and I forgot all about it.”
“There’s got to be more to it than that. How did you wind up in Big Timber?”
Slocum detected a note of suspicion in Jenner’s voice.
“After I delivered the horses, we had a drink in the hotel bar. I asked him about hunting mountain lions and he said there were guides in Big Timber and that it was a town that catered to hunters.”
“So you just rode up to Big Timber and started hunting for Mallory.”
“Not exactly. There was an ad in the Billings newspaper for a meat hunter. I applied for the job and got it. That satisfy you?”
“Jake Pettibone. Did you meet him in Billings? Do you know the man?”
“Nope. I just met Bruno Valenti there, who called himself George Colby.”
“And he didn’t mention the name of Pettibone?”
“Nope. He said he had some hunting partners, from back East, I think he said. Why?”
“Because,” Jenner said, “I’ve got a dodger in my office with that man’s likeness on it. There’s a two-hundred-dollar reward for his capture.”
“So, he’s an outlaw. That shouldn’t surprise you.”
“He’s a murderer, John. He killed a family in Saint Louis, robbed a bank in Denver with three other men who are also wanted.”
“I’ll be damned,” Slocum said.
They walked back to where they had left their horses.
“If my hunch is right, John, Valenti not only has Pettibone, but those other three. They robbed a bank in Denver and killed the banker, a male teller, and a female secretary. U.S. marshals are huntin’ them, and they might be right here under our noses.”
“Seems like Valenti has some kind of plan that involves not only the Lorraines, but Big Timber.”
“I got to get me a posse and talk to our banker there. Frankly, John, I’m scared shitless.”
“What are you going to do, Dave?”
“I’m going back up there and see what I can find out, then go back to town in the morning and start making plans of my own.”
“You better make sure you don’t get caught up here. Those Crow can smell you.”
“I’m going to wallow in pine boughs and rub sap on my face and hands. That’ll kill my scent.”
“Good luck,” Slocum said.
“You goin’ off to meet up with Donnie?”
“I’m going to get an elk and take it to the hotel. I’ll see you in town.”
“When?”
“Sometime tomorrow, I reckon.”
“Elk are in the high meadows this time of year.”
Slocum laughed.
“And that’s just where I told Donnie to make camp.”
Slocum climbed into the saddle and rode off. Jenner started walking back to where they had overheard Valenti and Pettibone talking.
Slocum rode to a ridge above where the outlaw camp was and dropped down into a small valley, heading toward the place he had told Donnie to go. He traveled by dead reckoning, using the mountain peaks as his guide.
He thought about Valenti and how their paths had crossed. It seemed a strange twist of fate that he had provided the horses Bruno and his outlaw henchmen were riding. And now he knew Jasmine and Lydia and the danger they were in from Valenti. It made his skin crawl to think of what Bruno and his men had done, and that they were riding horses he had sold to them.
Fate, he decided, was also full of ironies.
And maybe Fate had decreed that he and the man he had known as George Colby would meet again.
Would that be Fate? Or Destiny?
He wondered.
12
Slocum ate the sandwich Jenner had given him on the ride through the timber. He washed the food down with swallows of water from a nearby stream. It was midafternoon when he rode a game trail down into the meadow where he had told Donnie to make camp. He had, on his ride through the timber, seen a lot of elk and mule deer sign, and the game trail was a maze of cuneiform impressions of deer and elk hooves that a blind man could decipher.
He could smell the musk, not only of deer and elk, but of bear scat mingled with the heady scent of fragrant pines. He heard Donnie’s horse whicker and spotted the mules when he reached the flat. Donnie stepped out of a cluster of pines and raised an arm to wave at Slocum.
There were no visible signs of a camp and Slocum nodded in approval as he approached.
He dismounted, stuck the index finger of his right hand in his mouth, covering it with saliva. He held it up and felt the breeze blow on his wet finger.
“You did well, Donnie, making camp downwind of that game trail.”
“What game trail?”
“The one I rode down. You didn’t see it?”
“No, I been sitting back there in the trees just a-listenin’. I think I heard some elk up above me on that next ridge.”
“You probably did,” Slocum said. “I expect we can find elk if we put our minds to it.”
“I’m plumb ready. My trigger finger’s been itchin’ somethin’ fierce all day.”
“You didn’t load your rifle, did you?”
“No, sir, but I got me a cartridge in my pocket ready to slide into the magazine.”
“Hold your horses, Donnie. I’ll tell you when to load that cartridge. Let’s see the camp.”
Donnie led Slocum into the pines to a small clearing, where he had laid out his bedroll. His rifle lay atop it. He had gathered stones, dug a small pit, and ringed it with the rocks. He had also gathered dead limbs and chopped the kindling with a small hatchet, which now leaned against a small pine.
“Nice camp, Donnie,” Slocum said. “Now, let’s hunt us down an elk while the sun’s still up.”
Donnie picked up his rifle.
“Do we ride or walk?” he asked.
“Ride. It’s pretty steep up there and elk can move fast. You just follow me. If we jump one or two or three, we just might get lucky.”
“I’ll saddle my horse,” Donnie said. “Did you and the sheriff find the outlaw camp?”
“We did,” Slocum said.
“I got a hunnert questions for you about that,” Donnie said as threw a saddle blanket on his horse.
“Don’t ask,” Slocum said.
Donnie saddled his horse in a sulking silence. Slocum climbed into the saddle and looked up at the sky. There was still plenty of daylight left and he suspected the timber was full of elk. They would be bedded down at that time of day and they ought to jump a few if they were careful. Elk did not seem to fear horses, but if they smelled a human, they would run from the scent.
They rode back up the game trail and Slocum told Donnie to look down at all the tracks.
“Don’t say anything, Donnie,” he said. “Just look.”
Slocum left the trail following spoor through the timber. He pointed out the tracks, the overturned stones, the crushed pine needles, the broken limbs where elk had stepped. He just pointed and hoped Donnie would know what to look for if he ever hunted on his own. This was part of his bargain with Ray Mallory. He not only had to bring fresh game to the hotel, but had to teach Ray’s kid how to hunt elk and deer.
Slocum followed tracks, then veered off into heavy timber where the going was rougher. They had to ride around huge pines that had toppled and were rotting, avoid rocky outcroppings that blocked their way. But this was where the elk felt most at home. The pines were thick and grew close together. His line of sight was considerably shortened, but they did come across a fresh wallow where three elk had been bedding down only moments before.
Slocum knew Donnie was excited, but he turned to him and put a finger to his lips to indicate silence. Donnie nodded.
They halted and Slocum sat there for a long while just listening. He turned his head to pick up any sound.
Finally, they heard a heavy footfall in the timber above them.
Slocum held up his hand to gesture that Donnie should not move. He was sure that the lad had heard the same sound because Donnie was looking in the same direction as Slocum was.
It was quiet for a few moments, then they heard the sound of an elk breaking dried pine limbs. It was above them, on a parallel course.
Slocum looked but he didn’t see the animal, and the animal probably could not see him. The wind was blowing against his face, so he figured the elk had not picked up their scent.
He prodded Ferro and the horse stepped out. Slocum guided him to a slightly higher elevation and kept heading into the breeze that blew down from above them.
Donnie followed him at the same slow pace.
Slocum reined up and held up a hand to halt Donnie.
They listened.
It was quiet for several moments and then they heard heavy footfalls not far away. Slocum peered through the timber and saw a pair of large brown legs. Then he saw an ear and, a second or two later, a yellowish rump.
He mentally gauged the yardage.
The elk was about fifty or sixty yards above them. It was moving slow. It was eating something, grass or blackberries, succulent leaves from a bush. Now it was making a lot of noise.
But it was hard to see the animal. There was a lot of brush, and the trees were thick.
Slocum waited and watched. The elk seemed unperturbed. It was feeding and oblivious to the fact that it was being watched.
He gestured to Donnie to ride up alongside him. He pointed to the feeding elk, a large heavy cow, he figured. Donnie craned his neck and watched as the elk moved out of their line of sight. But they could still hear it every time it moved. It was on a path of its choosing, and Slocum wanted it to move well away from them, well out of earshot.
Finally, when the sounds of the elk faded into silence, Slocum leaned over to speak to Donnie.
“Get your rifle,” he whispered. “Move the bolt real slow so you don’t make much noise. Don’t cock it.”
Donnie nodded and slowly slid his rifle out of its scabbard.
Slocum pulled his Winchester ’74 from its sheath. He waited until Donnie had loaded his rifle and then worked the lever action, injecting a cartridge into the firing chamber. He closed the action and laid the rifle across his lap.
Donnie looked at him, a questioning look on his face.
Slocum leaned over again and whispered into Donnie’s ear.
“I’m going to ride up and get on that elk’s track. We’ll take it real slow. You ride on this same course and stop every so often to listen. I’ll do the same.”
Donnie craned his neck over and whispered to Slocum, “If I see it, do I shoot it?”
Slocum considered the question.
“If the elk sees us or smells us, it will
probably run to higher ground. If you get a shot, take it.”
Donnie beamed.
“Wait until I give you the sign to ride,” Slocum whispered.
Then he turned Ferro and slowly ascended the slope until he found the path the elk had taken. The cow was munching on leaves and tufts of grass. Its hoofprints were deep in the soft damp soil. It was easy to track.
Slocum rode slowly ahead until he was slightly forward of where Donnie sat his horse. Then he looked down and lifted his hand and nodded.
Donnie proceeded on the same track he and Slocum had been following. He looked up at Slocum every now and then to make sure he wasn’t getting ahead of him. When Slocum stopped, Donnie stopped.
Ferro followed the spoor, sniffing at the elk scent and stepping slow because Slocum held a tight rein on him. They advanced, and the trail led around heavy clumps of brush and a rocky outcropping.
Less than a half hour later, Slocum spotted the tallow rump of the elk. Its head was down as it fed and it was not lifting it to sniff the air. He and Ferro crept closer. Slocum pointed ahead so Donnie would be on the lookout.
Slocum closed the distance, and when the elk was about fifty yards away, he stopped and put the rifle to his shoulder.
He motioned for Donnie to keep riding forward.
When he saw that Donnie was directly parallel to the elk, Slocum held the trigger and cocked the hammer back on his rifle. The click was muffled, barely audible.
Then he saw Donnie rein in his horse and put his rifle to his shoulder.
Slocum waited. All he could see was the elk’s rump and part of its side.
He watched as Donnie sighted down the barrel of his single-shot, bolt-action rifle.
Donnie fired.
The explosion echoed off the rocks. The elk jumped and Slocum had a clear shot at its heart. He held his breath and squeezed the trigger. The rifle bucked against his shoulder. Sparks and lead flew from the barrel. He heard a smack and saw the elk stagger. He jacked another cartridge into the chamber and nudged Ferro forward.
Donnie ejected his empty hull and put another round in the chamber of his rifle.
“I got him,” Donnie shouted.
He spurred his horse and started up the slope.
