“What are the possibilities that we might go with you?” Jonah asked, quick to see an opportunity. When Cleve hesitated to answer, he pressed. “I don’t have much money left, but I can pay you and your friend to guide us, and we wouldn’t have to lose the time it would take to go to Fort Laramie before heading back north again.”
Cleve looked at Ben. It was plain to see that Ben was no more enthusiastic about such an arrangement than he. Looking back to meet the hopeful gaze of Jonah’s, he hesitated before answering, “I don’t know, Jonah. A wagon would slow us down an awful lot, and there’d be a chance we’ll run into some of them renegade Injuns that have been causin’ trouble between here and the hills. You might be a helluva lot safer goin’ the way you was plannin’ on.”
Ben could see right away that Jonah was not going to be discouraged. Like Cleve, Ben had no interest in acting as a guide to a family from Omaha. He listened as Cleve tried to point out every reason he could think of to dissuade the frail schoolteacher, but also like Cleve, Ben did not have the heart to just come out and tell the man no. He felt sympathetic toward Jonah’s predicament, and frankly felt sorry for the two women and the child who had to depend upon Jonah in the event of trouble. When Cleve turned to give Ben a helpless look, Ben simply nodded his okay.
“I swear,” Cleve told Jonah, “you’re as stubborn as a mule. We’ll take you to Deadwood, but we ain’t gonna do it for nothin’.”
The worried look they had seen earlier returned to Jonah’s face. “I’ll pay you what I can. How much are you thinking?”
“You said you was a teacher. I’ll guide you to Deadwood if you’ll teach me how to read and write my name. That’s my price.” An expression of pure joy captured Jonah’s countenance. “You’ll have to talk to Ben about his price,” Cleve said then, and Jonah looked at once toward the solemn man with the horrendous scar.
“I reckon a cup of coffee would do it for me,” Ben said.
“It’s a deal!” Jonah exclaimed happily. “You fellows won’t be sorry. My Mary’s a wonderful cook. So is my daughter, Victoria.”
Cleve couldn’t prevent a chuckle. “I reckon we oughta introduce ourselves. My name’s Cleve Goganis. My partner here is Ben Cutler.” Jonah shook hands with each of them, and the deal was struck.
Jonah scrambled up on the back of the one horse at the rail with no saddle and led Ben and Cleve past the stables and out the north end of town. About a half mile outside Ogallala, they came to a small creek that emptied into the Platte. On the east bank sat a four-foot-byten-foot farm wagon with canvas covers. A horse, the other half of Jonah’s team, was tethered nearby, and around the wagon in every direction cattle grazed on the rich prairie grass. “Maybe you oughta go on ahead and talk it over with your wife,” Cleve suggested. “She might not want to head straight across the prairie with the likes of me and Ben.” He was thinking that there still might be a chance that the deal just struck could be rejected by the little woman—at least, he could hope for it. He and Ben reined their horses back and let Jonah continue.
They watched from a few yards away as Mary Marple appeared from the other side of the wagon to greet her husband. She was joined in a few moments by her daughter and grandson. They all looked inquisitively at the two strangers idly watering their horses at the stream while Jonah explained their presence. A look of alarm flashed across Mary’s face when she was told of the arrangement Jonah had made with the two ominous-looking riders. “Jonah!” she exclaimed, keeping her voice down so as not to be heard by Ben and Cleve. “What on earth were you thinking?” She turned to take a longer look at the two, which only caused her more concern. The scruffy-looking older man looked to have just come from a saloon, but the younger one with the scarred face was downright scary. “Seth Barnhill was a lying no-good drunk and a thief, but those two look like they might murder us in our sleep.”
“They’re all right, Mary,” Jonah persisted. “They just look rough. And they can lead us straight to Deadwood from here. The best part of it is they don’t want any money for doin’ it.”
This did little to convince Mary. “Of course they don’t need to be paid,” she retorted. “They’re probably planning to kill us all and take everything we’ve got.”
“What is it, Mama?” Victoria stepped closer to hear the hushed conversation between her parents. “Who are those men?”
“Your father has contracted with them to take us to Deadwood,” Mary answered.
Seeing Victoria’s look of astonishment, Jonah again tried to defend his decision. “They’re perfectly all right, honey. They just don’t have a lot of polish, but they sure saved my bacon in the saloon a little while ago.”
“What were you doing in a saloon?” Mary immediately responded. “You went to town to buy salt.”
“One little drink. I haven’t had one since we left Omaha. Anyway, it’s lucky I did, ’cause I ran into these two fellows, and they can save us a lot of time on the trail.”
“In a saloon?” Mary retorted, not ready to let that matter pass without comment, then turned to give Victoria a bewildered look before chastising Jonah once more. “If you were looking for someone more dependable than the last scoundrel we hired, you sure picked an odd place to do it.” She paused to take another look at Ben and Cleve, who were beginning to realize that Jonah’s sales job was not going well. “Besides,” Mary said, turning back to her husband, “that big one scares me. How did he get that awful scar across his face?”
“I don’t know,” Jonah replied, growing weary of the conversation. “I didn’t think it polite to ask him. You can ask him.” He threw up his hand then and beckoned. “Come on in and meet the family,” he called, ignoring the daggers from Mary’s eyes.
Like her mother, Victoria experienced a feeling of cold dread as the two strange men crossed the stream and rode up to the wagon. She unconsciously reached down and placed her hand on her son’s shoulder when she felt him press against her leg. Upon closer inspection of their visitors, she and her mother both instinctively took a few steps closer to the wagon and the shotgun Jonah kept by the seat.
They stepped down from their saddles, and as had become the usual procedure, Cleve did the talking. “Howdy, ladies,” he said. “We’re pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Jonah stepped in to do the introductions then. “This is my wife, Mary, and my daughter, Victoria. Girls, this is Ben Cutler and Cleve. . .” He paused then. “I declare, I forgot your last name.”
“Goganis,” Cleve said. “I have trouble rememberin’ it myself. Cleve is good enough.”
Standing a few steps behind Cleve, Ben sought to appraise the family he would be traveling with. Mary Marple was a short, stout woman with plain features and a ruddy complexion, no doubt the result of the many days spent traveling in a wagon. Her daughter looked very much like her, an unremarkable young woman in appearance, though unlike her mother, slender as a reed. At the moment, she exhibited a frown of apprehension, but he imagined hers a pleasant face in lighter circumstances. In an effort to ease some of her concern, Ben asked, “And who’s this young man hidin’ behind his mama’s skirt?”
“This is Caleb,” Victoria replied, and pulled the boy away from her leg. “Caleb, say hello to Mr. . . .”
“Cutler,” Ben supplied. Being more sensitive to the air of uneasiness than his partner, he sought to further alleviate their fears. “Jonah here talked to us about travelin’ to Deadwood together. You women might not feel comfortable with that, and I wouldn’t blame you. Cleve and I are a pretty scruffy-lookin’ pair. Like we told Jonah, it might be safer for you folks to follow the river to Fort Laramie and take the road from there to Deadwood. It’s all the same to Cleve and me. We were on our way to the Black Hills, anyway. If you want to go along with us, that’s all right with us, too.”
There was a short silence that followed. His remarks had surprised both women, for they had prejudged the man because of his threatening appearance, and had obviously not expected anything from his mouth re
sembling intelligent conversation. Mary was the first to respond. “Well, Mr. Cutler, I’m sorry if we seemed a bit concerned. You have to understand that we had not discussed the possibility of hiring any more guides after our experience with Mr. Barnhill.”
“We’re not for hire,” Ben gently reminded her. “We’ll just be travelin’ together.” He paused, then added, “If that’s all right with you.”
She glanced at her daughter, searching for her leaning, and discovered a noncommittal expression. Looking back at Jonah, she was met with a wide smile. Ben’s soft tone had somewhat disarmed her. “Well, I suppose it makes sense.” She allowed herself to smile then. “I guess we’ll have company for supper, Victoria.”
Chapter 6
Pushing their way through the evening crowd at the Cowboy’s Rest Saloon, the two deputy marshals scanned the busy room as they approached the bar. When the bartender got to them, they ordered a drink; then Barrett showed his badge and asked, “Have you seen a man with a long scar across his face in here lately? Maybe in the last couple of days?”
“Sure have,” the bartender replied without hesitation. “Bad-lookin’ feller, he almost got into a tussle with some cowboys over a spilled drink.”
Barrett smiled at Ike Gibbs. “That’s got to be our boy.” Turning back to the bartender, he asked, “Is he still hangin’ around town?”
“I don’t know. If he is, he ain’t been back in here.”
“Much obliged,” Barrett said. He tossed his drink back and turned to leave. “We’ll take a look around town.” He stopped then, just remembering. “You remember if this feller was with somebody?” When the bartender said that he was, Barrett asked him to describe the man.
“I don’t know,” the bartender started, trying to recall. “Kinda short feller, older than the jasper with the scar—rough and tumble lookin’, though. That’s about all I can tell you, except he’s got a full crop of whiskers.”
“Much obliged,” Barrett repeated, although the information was of questionable value. The bartender had described probably half the men in Ogallala.
There were not that many business establishments in the town, so it was not a major task for the two lawmen to cover them all, hoping to find some clue that would tell them where Ben Cutler was heading when, and if, he had left Ogallala. “I reckon Martin DePriest is still the sheriff here,” Ike said when they made their way through a gathering of cowboys in front of the hotel. “You think we oughta let him know we’re in town?”
“To hell with him,” Barrett replied. “He don’t need to know we’re here. He would just get in our way. We’ll leave him and his deputy to worry about the drunk cowhands and the whores.”
Their search of the town came up empty, and Barrett’s frustration was growing by the hour, for there was no possible way to track Cutler out of town. He could have gone in any direction. Just when they were about to decide they had been beaten, they got the break that set them on Ben’s trail again. It came from a boy who worked in the stables. “Yes, sir,” he said. “I saw that man you’re talkin’ about. I couldn’t rightly say where he was goin’, but I saw him and his friend ride out of town with a feller by the name of Marple that’s been campin’ down by the river for about a week. Mr. Marple was ridin’ a horse bareback.”
Barrett’s pulse began to quicken. “This Marple,” he pressed, “where’s his camp?”
” ’Bout a half mile up the North Platte,” the boy replied. “It’s him and his wife, and his daughter, I think. They’re in a wagon on their way to the Black Hills. He brought the wagon in here to get a wheel fixed.”
Barrett and Gibbs lost little time in putting Ogallala behind them. With detailed directions from the stable boy, they were able to find Jonah Marple’s campsite. The wagon was gone, but there was no doubt that it was the right camp and there was a trail to follow. The sandy strand near the river was covered with hundreds of tracks. Most of them were left by cows, but there were the distinct tracks of a wagon pointing the way. Barrett stood looking north in the direction the wagon had been heading. “I told you this jasper would most likely head to Deadwood, where the easy money is. Damn it, I know how he thinks! And I’m gonna haul his ass back to prison.”
“You know,” Ike felt it his duty to remind his partner, “we’re already one helluva long ways outta our jurisdiction.” Barrett seemed not to even hear him. “Might be time to forget about this feller.”
Barrett heard that. “Forget about him?” he demanded. “Like hell I will. I don’t give a damn about jurisdiction. I’m takin’ him back to Lansing, either settin’ in the saddle, or lyin’ across it. I don’t care which.”
Ike studied his partner for a long moment, wondering just how much deeper this fugitive was going to get under his skin. Barrett had the same attitude about any criminal he was sent after, but this particular man seemed to present a personal challenge to his record of arrests. It was especially puzzling to Ike because this man, Ben Cutler, seemed to have the best wishes of most of the folks in Crooked Fork. Ike himself could understand the man’s need to avenge the murders of his wife and son, but he left the right and wrong of it to the judges and juries. In his opinion, however, he and Barrett had gone far enough in pursuit of Cutler. It was time to hand the job off to Dakota Territory marshals and go on home. After a few moments more, he decided to express his thoughts. “I’m gonna tell you the truth, Graham. I think you’ve let this feller get into your head. It’s time we was headin’ back to Topeka and passin’ this on to the marshals in Dakota Territory.”
“What’s the matter, Ike?” Barrett scoffed. “You startin’ to miss home cookin’ and a soft bed? I ain’t about to stop now. I’m gonna follow these wagon tracks right up Ben Cutler’s ass. Hell, we’ve got him now. We oughta catch him before he gets to the Black Hills if he’s ridin’ along with this wagon.” Seeing the lack of enthusiasm in Ike’s face, he was moved to say, “If you’ve lost your stomach for it, you might as well turn back, and I’ll go after Cutler alone.” He was surprised by Ike’s response.
“Maybe I will,” he said. “I figure one of us oughta be workin’ in the territory we’re assigned to. The more I think about it, the more I’m thinkin’ that feller ain’t done no more than what you or I woulda done if it was our folks who got killed.”
“Damn!” Barrett swore. “You, too? You’re startin’ to sound like those people in Crooked Fork. Go on back to Topeka. I ain’t sure you’d be much good to me with that attitude. That’s the same reason I don’t aim to turn this over to the marshal’s office in Dakota Territory. That sorry crowd up there don’t wanna ride more’n a mile or two outta Sioux City.”
“I expect you know me better’n that,” Ike replied softly. “I think you’re too damn stubborn to let go because of your reputation, but I think we’ve followed this feller long enough. I’m goin’ back to headquarters. I’ll see you when you get back.” He climbed back in the saddle and turned his horse back toward Ogallala.
“Never figured you for a quitter,” Barrett chastised, making no attempt to hide his disgust for his longtime partner. “You go on back, and I’ll finish the job we were sent to do.” Ike responded with no more than a sigh of exasperation before touching his horse with his heels. Fully angry then, Barrett pulled his pistol from the holster and aimed it at Ike’s back. He held it there for a few moments before gradually lowering it and replacing it in his holster. With new determination, he climbed aboard the black Morgan he rode and set off to follow the wagon tracks.
“What happened to your face?”
Ben had wondered how long it was going to be before the young son of Victoria Beaudry asked that question. The boy had stared at him all day long whenever Ben happened to ride close to the wagon. He picked up another limb from the little pile he had gathered and threw it on the fire. “I fell on a crosscut saw,” he answered, seeing no reason to tell the youngster how he really happened to be scarred.
“I bet it hurt like the dickens,” Caleb said, his eyes wide as h
e openly stared at Ben.
“Yeah, I reckon it did,” Ben said, although when he thought back about it, he couldn’t recall the pain when he was struck—only the severe pain afterward when he came to. “So you’d best remember to be careful if you’re usin’ a crosscut when you get a little older.” Seeking to change the subject then, he asked, “How old are you?”
Caleb held up four fingers and said, “Four.”
“So you’ll fill up that hand on your next birthday,” he said. It brought a smile to Caleb’s face. Ben thought about his late son. Danny would have been seven on his birthday. These were things Ben had striven to ban from his thoughts, but talking to Caleb now made it impossible.
The boy was about to ask another question, when mercifully, his mother called from the cook fire near the wagon. “Caleb, come and eat your supper!”
The boy did not respond immediately. Ben could see that he was formulating another question. “Better run eat your supper, boy. Don’t wanna rile your ma.” It wasn’t enough to prevent the question.
“Why are you staying way over here by yourself?” he asked. “Mr. Cleve comes to our fire all the time, but you never do.”
The comment caused a chuckle from Ben. “Mr. Cleve does a lot of things I don’t do. It’s just better if I stay outta your ma’s and your grandma’s way.” That and the fact that they always look like they’re afraid I’m gonna cut their throats, he thought to himself. Caleb got to his feet and started back toward the wagon. The distinct aroma of pan-baked biscuits triggered some interest on Ben’s part, and he gazed after the boy.
As she waited at the rear corner of the wagon for her son to come to supper, Victoria’s gaze met that of their puzzling traveling companion. He immediately averted his eyes and turned his head away. She was not certain yet what to make of him, but she suspected that there must be an unhappy past that caused him to seem so withdrawn and melancholy. She also had a feeling that it was firmly connected to the silver chain that she had seen him holding when he thought no one noticed. She found a sadness in the way he held it close to his chest before returning it to his pocket. It was obvious that he made an effort to have as little contact as possible with his traveling companions—in sharp contrast to his partner. There had been only a few stops for meals since they had joined up, and Cleve had been the one to pick up two plates of food and bring them back to their separate fire. Her thoughts on the subject were interrupted by the arrival of her son by her side. “Come on,” she said. “Time to eat your supper.”
Left Hand of the Law Page 8
