The Sundown Chaser

by Dusty Richards

“He has no right to me!”

  “Don’t be mad at me.”

  “I’m sorry, Thurman. Why don’t we hitch up and go on?”

  “There are times in life you need to make a stand. All he would do is follow us. When the sun comes up, I want this over.”

  She scooted closer. “I don’t want him to kill you.”

  “I don’t intend to let him do that, nor hurt you either.”

  “How will you find him?”

  “I think come sunup, Blacky will lead me to him.”

  She furrowed her dark brows. “He’s not a hound.”

  “No, but he knows a good man from bad. He’ll find him.”

  Dawn came, and Thurman gave Mary the small pistol from his gear. She nodded and wet her lips. “I can use it.”

  “Never hesitate. He’ll think you will and charge you.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  He kissed her and whistled to the dog. In the growing light, Blacky bounded across the road. On the far side, he stopped and tested the air. Thurman nodded. “I’ll be back.”

  In the woods, he soon found the second dead man’s body. An Indian, or at least a ’breed, in his twenties. He carried a cap-and-ball pistol and some ammunition. No money. Satisfied, Thurman pushed on through the brush and trees. Every step of the way, he watched the dog’s actions. Blacky trailed something or someone, marking trees as he went. His zigzag travels soon centered on a game path, and Thurman could see some rock-faced bluffs ahead.

  When the dog reached the base, he began to growl, and Thurman cocked his .44/40 Winchester, searching around for what Blacky had found.

  “You son of bitch—” Next came the cold snap of a pistol striking on a dud. Thurman returned rapid fire with the rifle at the figure of a man high above him. Hatless, and struck hard by several rounds, the third gang member pitched forward. The six-gun’s muzzle in his hand dropped down. His knees buckled and he fell forward off the twenty-foot bluff to crash on his back in the talus at the base.

  “Thurman. Thurman,” Mary cried, running up. “It’s him—Chickenhead.”

  He gathered her under his left arm and looked hard at the prone outlaw. Just a dead man dressed in dirty ragged clothes, with his long hair back in a ponytail. In death, he looked more like a bum than a notorious badman.

  “It’s over,” he said softly to her.

  “Yes. What can we do now?” she asked, looking like she wanted to avoid being near the body.

  “There is three hundred and fifty dollars lying here in these woods. I aim to wrap their bodies, find you a safe place, and then I’ll go back to Fort Smith to collect my warrants.”

  She shook her head. “No. I will go back with you.”

  “You’ll have to cross on the ferry.”

  “I am your woman. I’ll go make us some food and then we can go back.” She hurried off toward camp.

  He watched Blacky go by, hike his leg, and mark Chickenhead’s run-over boots. Good enough for a killer and rapist.

  THIRTEEN

  ART, in the morning you ride up and see about Pleago,” Herschel said. “If he ain’t loaded up, I’ll get a warrant from Judge Carney and we’ll jail him. He’s had all the warnings I’m giving him.”

  His deputy gave him a nod. “Nebraska sending someone after our horse thieves?”

  “He’s supposed to be on his way up here after the wire I sent telling him I’d hold ’em for them.” Herschel motioned for his man to take a chair in front of his desk. “Questioning those two yesterday, I think I stumbled on something. I think they were going to meet a buyer up there.”

  “Who was that?”

  “They aren’t talkative enough yet to tell me who it is.”

  “That’s interesting—a buyer from around here? Any word on the two store robbers?”

  “No, they vanished faster than I could even imagine.”

  “I bet they’re hiding down south in the Prior Mountains,” Art said.

  “Why there?”

  “Backcountry, not many folks go up there. Got them some small trapper’s cabin and are waiting for things to cool off.”

  “Maybe you or I should ride down there and check on them.”

  “It would be better if we took Black Feather. It’s pretty well Crow land anyway.”

  Herschel agreed. All he needed was six more deputies and two more hands of his own to do everything this job entailed.

  “See about Pleago in the morning. Any word on this troublemaker from the other night?”

  “Link Colter? He kinda dropped from sight.”

  “That could be good or bad. Phil,” he called out to his other deputy, who had came into the outside office.

  “What’s up, guys?” the younger man asked, walking in.

  “How’s our patient doing?” Herschel asked.

  “Got a high fever. He ain’t coming around very fast.”

  “Good thing he’s over there.”

  Phil nodded. “He’s tough, but he may not be tough enough to survive this.”

  “We’re thinking his buddies may be hiding in the Prior Mountains until things cool down.”

  Phil took the other chair. “It’s a good place to hide. If they went up there, some Crow saw them going in. Nothing happens up there they don’t know and see it. Why not have one of us go ask them if they saw anyone going up there?”

  ‘I’ll send Black Feather,” Herschel said. “Save us a trip.”

  “We’ve been going to use him for days,” Art said, and laughed.

  “I’ll go find him this afternoon,” Herschel said. “Oh, Nebraska is coming after those two horse thieves. But I think they were going to meet a buyer up there.” He explained what had happened the day before.

  Phil agreed.

  “Now figure out how to get them to tell me who that individual was.” Herschel dropped back in his big chair, which squealed in protest.

  “We might separate them for a few days,” Art said.

  “Then one won’t know what the other one told us. Put one in that single cell down the hall. Then they couldn’t communicate.”

  “Great idea,” Herschel agreed. That might work fine.

  He ate an early plate lunch at the Real Food Café. Buster Cory came out, sat down, and talked to him.

  “Any news I need to know about?” Herschel asked.

  “Looks like they’ve got the railroad coming again. I hear they’ll be in Miles City in no time.”

  “Oh, it’s coming. It is just slower than I figured.”

  “You know, them railroad camps draw more whores and crooks than flies on a dead cow.”

  Herschel nodded.

  “Well, you know, the railroad expects all that to be in place. They want them workers dead broke after every payday. That way, they keep them on the job and they don’t have any money to run off or go home.”

  “I expect that’s the truth.”

  “You’ll have more crap to tend to than you have now for sure.”

  Herschel nodded, savoring the sweet smoked ham on his plate. “I think that’s happening now over there at Miles City.”

  “It won’t be fun.”

  “Anything else?”

  Twisting up a cigarette, Buster stopped before he put it in his lips. “Word’s out that this dead man you got the other day was rich.”

  “He inherited some money. Took a buddy to the whorehouse and had a small party with him. After that, he probably had seven to eight hundred dollars left. It wasn’t on him when I found his body.”

  “That was all?”

  “That’s lots of money to me.”

  Buster laughed. “Me, too, but it sounded from the rumor like he had lots more than that.”

  “Maybe that’s why they killed him. Thought he was holding out on them.”

  “Them mean anything?”

  “Naw, Buster. Still parties unknown.”

  “Well.” Buster clapped his upper legs under his apron. “I better get back to work or she’ll fire me.”

  “S
ee you.” Herschel grinned. No way Maude would fire him. She’d found him as sincere a man as she’d ever met. Probably then he’d been close to sixty or a little older, and he’d proposed to her. She was a long ways his junior, recently widowed, and by a man they said never treated her with any respect. Buster’d never been married before, and when she accepted, all the trail hands in the country that knew him threw a high old Montana wedding for both of them.

  He stood stiff-like and looked back. “You ever hear from your father?”

  Herschel shook his head. “He must not know my address.”

  “Damn shame. I always liked him. Couldn’t believe what got into him back then to make him just up and leave.”

  “That war changed lots of folks. People said when he came back, he wasn’t the same person. I don’t know. I was just a big kid who’d run the ranch the whole time he was off fighting. I was so glad when he came home. I figured he’d build up a big ranch. But somehow, it was like he just didn’t belong there. He’d go off and trade for cattle, and come back home six weeks later and approve whatever I’d done.”

  “No idea where he went?”

  “I haven’t really cared. He chose to ride off. I never did anything to him to make him do that.”

  Buster nodded. “A man’s mind can get all twisted sometimes. I always wondered about him. He was the best captain a man could have.”

  “Thanks for the information.”

  Herschel paid for his lunch and walked the six blocks to Black Feather’s tepee in his camp by the river. The man’s oldest wife was hoeing in the garden plot, and two black dogs ran out to greet him barking their heads off. A younger wife stuck her head out and shouted at them to stop. Then he heard her say, “The sheriff is here.”

  Wrapped in a colorful red and blue wool trade blanket, Black Feather came out bareheaded and nodded. The Crow stood six foot tall, a giant among other red men, and he wore thick braids. He had come to live among white men, he told people, to learn their ways. But his polygamous situation and living in a tepee hardly made him blend in.

  “Some men robbed Taylor’s store a few days ago,” said Herschel. “I wonder if the two who rode off with the money are hiding in the Prior Mountains.”

  “That is a vast land. Many places to hide.”

  “Can you see them all for me for ten dollars?”

  “Is there a reward for these men?”

  “I’ll ask Mr. Taylor for one. They are mean men. You better come get me if you find them.”

  Black Feather nodded. “I go in the morning. What if they are not there?”

  “I’ll still pay you ten dollars in silver.”

  “You and I speak truth to each other. I come tell you what I find when I get back.”

  “I’m counting on it. I have another job for you when we finish this one.”

  “Plenty good. Nice weather. The grass is strong for my ponies.”

  “I’ll see you when you return. Be careful. They are dangerous men.”

  Black Feather solemnly nodded.

  Herschel hoped the tall Indian understood those men would be armed and desperate. But Indians had their ways—he needed to ask the Taylors about the reward in case Black Feather did find them.

  On his leisurely walk back to town, he saw lots of garden planting beginning in earnest. Marsha was busy planting at home. He should be home helping her, but he still had several things he’d call duties to do.

  At the Taylor store, he rang the bell overhead and pushed inside.

  “Why, Sheriff Baker,” Mrs. Taylor said, coming down the aisle to met him. “What can I do for you today?”

  “They return the slicker and blanket I was so grateful for the other day?”

  “Yes, the very next day. What do you need?”

  “Is Ted here?”

  “No, he’s home planting our garden. Can I help you?”

  “Ted ever mention offering a reward for those two outlaws?”

  “No, but I am certain he would. Do you have a lead on them?”

  “Not for me or my deputies. But another man who may locate them. I’ll need a reward for him.”

  “Does he know where they are now?”

  “No. But he’s going looking and may find them.”

  “I’d say we could pay twenty-five dollars each for their capture.”

  “You could pay that in groceries. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

  Her face brightened. “Why, of course.”

  “I only have two deputies and serving papers, getting jurors, investigating crimes take up all our time.”

  “Most folks know you work very short-handed and they appreciate all you do for us. The town has no money for a police force either.”

  “We handle that, but we’ll sure need a police force when the railroad gets closer. I don’t think any of us are ready for that.”

  “Be a boomtown, won’t it?”

  “Things will be different, that’s for sure. Thanks, I hope my man can find the robbers.”

  “How is the missus? She was in here getting garden seed earlier.”

  “She and the girls are very busy putting them in the ground today.”

  “Tell her I said hello.”

  “I will.” He walked back toward the office. One more place he needed to stop. Miss Sally’s Place. He climbed the long flight of stairs and found the door open.

  “Anyone here?”

  “The girls are all asleep.” Sally came sweeping into the living room wearing a satin robe with white fur trim. “Oh, Sheriff Baker. My, what brings you upstairs?”

  Removing his hat, he stepped over the threshold. “How’s things, Sally?”

  “Good. Is someone complaining about us?”

  “No. I need some information on a client.” Her strong perfume filled the air.

  “Come in the kitchen and we can discuss it over hot tea.”

  He followed her in to a large table with twelve place settings. The smell of cooking made his mouth water. A black woman named Hatty nodded at him.

  “Tea, Hatty, for the high sheriff and myself.” She showed him a chair and took the next one for herself.

  “Yes, ma’am. You’s be all right, Mr. Baker?”

  “Fine, Hatty.”

  “Now,” Sally said, retying her robe, crossing her bare legs, and showing more of her cleavage. “Who do you need to know about?”

  “A couple of days ago a man named Hamby brought a friend named Olsen up here and they had a party.”

  “You mean Wally Hamby?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was so sad to hear the poor man was shot shortly after that.” Her thick eyelashes closed as if in respect for his demise.

  “Did Hamby and Olsen argue while they were here?”

  “I didn’t hear of anything. Hattie, go wake up Ruth and Nalda. Tell them the sheriff is here to ask them some questions. There is no problem.” When the woman had gone out of the room, she reached over and shook his leg. “You can come up the back stairs any time you want to. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Thanks, but I don’t reckon I will.”

  She shrugged. “The past sheriff found our services satisfactory.”

  “What I need worse than anything is to solve a murder right now.”

  The sleepy-eyed girls came in, yawning and wearing too large gowns.

  “Sheriff Baker is here to ask you about Wally Hamby and the Olsen boy.”

  Herschel nodded at the girls. “When they were here, did they ever argue?”

  The black-headed one shook her head. “They was just having them a real good time.”

  The brunette with the long nose agreed. “I thought they was big buddies. He—Hamby was paying for it all, and Olsen, he was sure whooping it up.”

  “How much money did they spend?”

  “Champagne and all?” Sally asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Thirty-three dollars.”

  “Did Hamby tip you girls?”

  They shook their heads, but they
would deny that anyway because they had to hide that money from Sally. He hadn’t learned much.

  “Well, Sheriff, anything else you need to know?” Sally asked.

  “Where were they going from here?”

  “Page’s place.”

  “What for?” He was unfamiliar with the name.

  “They never said.” Nalda shrugged. “But they had to ride hard, they said, to get there to meet someone.” She turned to her “sister.”

  “Yeah, they mentioned someone’s name, but I forgot it.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “You recall that name, send me word at once.”

  “You girls may go back to bed,” Sally said. “Anything else, Sheriff Baker?”

  “No, but you hear anything, let me know. I want this murder solved.”

  “I cross my heart I will.”

  She showed him to the door and blew him a kiss when he turned back to tell her thanks. Seduction was her game, and while he never felt tempted in her company, he still knew he’d just met a real pro at the game. Besides, men sometimes confided in doves—sometimes the doves knew too much for their own health.

  He walked into the office and Darby looked up. “The store robber died today.”

  “The infection?”

  “No, Doc wasn’t certain. He just quit breathing or had a heart seizure, I guess.”

  “Thanks.” He’d lost a witness. He wondered how Art was doing with the eviction. Time would tell. Who knows? And Black Feather might find those men.

  Who were Hamby and Olsen in such a hurry to meet? He might never know that either.

  FOURTEEN

  IT was past midnight in a light drizzle when they crossed on the ferry. The three bodies were slung across the horses. Mary was under the big black hat and wearing a slicker as she drove the mule and filled Thurman in about the outlaws. Thurman was wearing his rubber raincoat and sodden hat. They made a right turn and went to the courthouse, which had some lighted lamps on the porch and inside.

  He hitched the horses, walked up the sidewalk, and then took the steps. Inside, a clerk looked up, shocked at seeing him.

  “Can—I—help you, sir?”

  “I have three dead outlaws outside. Where should I take them?”

  A tall man with a big mustache came down the hall, his boot heels echoing in the building. “Did I hear you right, sir?”