Heart waved good-bye and he set Cob for the store in a hard lope. His mind was full of questions about what might have happened. If he’d gone by the road, he’d have passed through there over an hour before. He generally went cross-country to cut time off the trip and see some things of interest, like a spooked-up buck mule deer or two in the willows and a few wild turkeys. Now, as he pushed the big roan horse, his stomach churned over what might be wrong at the store.
He short-loped off the ridge and the store was in sight. Several rigs were parked about, but that was usual. At the hitch rack, he reined up and dismounted looking around for the horse that Barley must have ridden in. No sign of him.
He hitched Cob to the rack, looking up to see someone familiar come out the door. It was Cove Tipton. His face was pale. “What’s happened here?” Herschel asked.
“Mike was robbed and they shot him. I’m afraid he won’t make it.”
Filled with disbelief that such a thing could happen, Herschel bounded up the stairs, two at a time, to the porch. “What about Sara?”
Cove looked ready to cry. “Murdered her, too.”
“Aw, damn.” Herschel closed his eyes. “Who did this, do you know?”
With a hard swallow, Cove nodded. “Three men. One of them was Casey Ford, according to Mike. He recognized him, he said.”
“Mike dead?”
Cove shook his head in defeat. “He’s in there. But he won’t live till Doc gets here.”
“Where’s Barley?” he asked over his shoulder, going inside.
“Gone after ’em about an hour ago.”
Herschel tried to think of the necessary things he had to do before he could go and back up his man. “I’ll need to get word to my office and Marsha. And I have a sack of jury summonses to send back to them.”
“I’ll take ’em.”
“Thanks. I better see if I can talk to Mike.” Herschel parted the quiet throng of distraught-looking men and women at the door to the living quarters off the store. “Excuse me.”
Cove’s lady friend, Lucille Wynne, met him with a sad face when he entered the room. He acknowledged her and looked at Mike, who was propped up on some pillows at the head of the bed. Blood seeped through the bandages. His weak eyes blinked with recognition at Herschel.
“Glad you made it—” Mike’s voice was low and strained.
“So am I. Cove said you knew the robbers?” Herschel took the straight-back chair Lucille had moved in place beside the bed for him.
“One was—” Mike went through some pain and winced at it. “Casey Ford, that tough gunhand the Powder River Cattle Company hired last year. He—I’d recognize him— anywhere. . . .”
Seated beside the bed, Herschel held his cold hand and nodded. “Go easy, pard. I’m not in any rush.”
“I better be—” Mike forced a grin, then dropped his chin. “I give them all the money I had. Why’d they have to kill her?”
“Didn’t want any witnesses, I guess.”
“Probably so. I was mad and called him by his name. Like the devil’s going to call it out when he gets to hell. My mistake—” Then tears began to run down his cheek. “Aw, damnit, promise me, Herschel, you’ll find that worthless beggar and send him there for me and Sara.”
“I’ll find him. Won’t quit till I do.”
Mike choked and coughed hard. He’d either fainted or gone on.
Lucille moved in and felt for Mike’s pulse on his neck, and then she nodded. “He’s still alive, but I don’t know for how long.”
“Do what you can to make him comfortable. I’m going to ride after Barley and find those three killers. Did he mention knowing any of the others?”
She shook her head and arranged the blankets to keep Mike warm despite the day’s heat. “I’ll be sure the store is locked up and all if they take him to town.”
“Thanks. What about Sara?”
“Some of the women and I will clean her up. Dress her, and the men can dig the grave.”
“Thanks. Was she shot?”
She shook her head and looked at the pine flooring. “They cut her throat wide open.”
Bloody no-account bastards. He shook his head. Hell was too good of a place for them.
SIXTEEN
HERSCHEL tied on behind the saddle the bedroll he’d made up from store stock. One of the other women there, Mrs. Jennings, was gathering some dry cheeses, crackers, jerky, and raisins for him to take along to eat.
He handed Cove the large envelope of summonses to take back to his office. “Be sure they don’t get lost, and tell Art and Phil they will have to handle the Kirk hearing, get these summonses delivered, and maybe even take care of Judge Conners’s court sessions. I’ll be back when I can.”
Cove nodded. “I’ve got that letter and the one you wrote to Marsha.”
“Good. Thanks,” he said to Mrs. Jennings, who brought him out the poke of food to tie on his horn.
He finished hanging it on his saddle horn, then turned and saw Lucille hurrying out the front door. “Mike’s dead, Herschel.”
Several of the men had offered to join him, but he’d told them how important it was that they stay there and handle the double funeral and close things at the store. He and Barley could surely capture three outlaws. His deputy could probably handle them by himself. But he’d had a bellyful of this Casey Ford and his gang. Maybe if he’d pursued him harder, Mike and Sara would still be alive— this Ford must be some talker to convince these out-of-work cowboys to help him.
“Figure they got much money?” he asked Cove as he drew up the girth.
“Several hundred dollars Mike said that they got from the safe, and all the supplies they needed, too. In fact, they stole one of Mike’s horses and a packsaddle, so they must have taken a lot of things.”
“I guess I never expected them to come back after the stage robbery. I figured they were long gone to Texas.”
“I’ve got a notion that Ford is wanted there, too,” Cove said.
Herschel stared at the distant hills waving in grass and considered the man’s words. “You’re probably right about him.” He undid the reins and slapped them in his calloused palm. Lots of miles to cover. He wondered how far ahead Barley was.
“You be careful. We need you as our sheriff,” Cove said.
With a nod, Herschel put his boot toe in the stirrup and swung in the saddle. “I’ll be back. Thanks for your help, and all of you.” He looked at the sad faces standing on the porch. “You’ve been getting all the tough jobs lately, Cove.”
“I can handle them. God be with you.”
He turned Cob and headed south waving to the cheers of his friends. Some send-off. Folks counted on him. Mike had counted on him. The murder of the storekeeper and his wife stabbed Herschel’s heart. He kept seeing Ford getting away, not once, but twice. If he’d only pursued him further. Run him down into the ground. Obviously, it hadn’t been long until Ford had come back again. Not this time. There would be no more next time for Casey and his gang.
He crossed the Yellowstone on the hand-cranked ferry while standing on the deck. The operator said he’d taken three men across about ten in the morning. Barley had ridden over at noontime.
Herschel checked his pocket watch. His man had a good two hours start on him. The killers four hours.
“You know any of the three?” he asked as the choppy water slapped the barge’s sides.
The old man shook his head. “Your deputy asked me that, too.” He strained at the winch that drew them across, his thin arms struggling to turn it. “One fella was about thirty. Tough-acting short fella, seen him before. Gunman. Then the old man with him, he was friendly and acted half-embarrassed to be with them. Third was a big bruiser. Never caught their names.”
“Thanks.”
“Barley said they shot up Mike and killed Sara?”
“Yes. Mike died an hour ago or so.”
“Sons-a-bitches. I should have drowned them.” Herschel shook his head. “No, that’s our job.
We’ll handle them.”
“Hope you get them.”
“We will.” The ferry bumped into the shore. He paid the man and thanked him, then unloaded Cob and rode off.
Barley’s tracks were easy to follow, as if his man was leaving him a trail to ride. No way Barley could know that he was this close to him, but intuition sometimes played a role in a Western man’s decisions. Wouldn’t be the first time, nor the last.
He short-loped Cob up on to the next rise, hoping in the vastness below to catch sight of his man. There was nothing in the way of a horse and rider for him to see, only more rolling grass and sagebrush country. His face to the wind, he sent the roan horse into the steep descent for the coulee far below him. One more mountain to climb was all that he could think about.
That evening, he chewed on jerky as he rode, his first meal since breakfast. He spotted a small outfit in the last rays of sundown and turned Cob off the tracks. Obviously, the outlaws and Barley had missed stopping at this place. Hoping to buy some coffee, he short-loped Cob toward the pens and low-walled shack.
A bearded man in a worn buckskin shirt stepped out of the doorway and looked hard at him. “You lost?”
Herschel reined Cob up and smiled at the man. “No, I’m after some killers that rode by here a couple of hours ago.”
“Never seed them.” The man spat a black squirt of tobacco to the side and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. A cross look in his dark eyes telegraphed his wariness of Herschel.
Half-twisted in the saddle, Herschel indicated the hill behind him. “They stayed over the crest of the ridge, I’d say.”
“Could have. What’cha need?”
“I was wanting to buy some food and coffee.”
“You want to feed him?” the man asked, looking over his shoulder.
A woman less than four feet tall ducked under his arm and came into view. She held her hand up to shade her eyes from the red glare of sundown. “Hi. I’m Minnie and he’s Jarrow. Get down. I’ve got some antelope stew and I’ll make us some real coffee. We don’t get many guests up here.”
“Thanks.” Herschel dismounted heavily. He figured Jarrow to be in his forties. The short, stocky-built girl with her brown hair in a Dutch bob, he put her in the twenties. Strange pair, but the West drew all kinds. Many varied people were drawn into relationships to survive. Jarrow and Minnie looked like such a couple. No problem of Herschel’s—all he wanted was a meal and his teeth were about to float out for a cup of coffee.
Forced to duck under the low lintel, Herschel soon learned the cabin had a dirt floor. Minnie indicated the rough table and benches made from planks. A couple of stiff deer hides hung on the wall and her cupboards were old gray crates.
“Nothing fancy,” she said, sounding cheery and going to the fireplace. With a rag for a holder in one hand, she brought the pot and three tin cups back. “Jarrow’s going to build us a real house one day.”
Her husband took a seat across from Herschel, and he never answered or commented on her chattering. He acted as if having Herschel there to listen to her saved him the trouble.
“You folks run cattle up here?” Herschel asked to make conversation when he lifted the steaming cup to blow on it.
“That gawdamn outfit send you up here to spy on us?”
Herschel frowned hard at him. “What outfit? I’m passing through here after three killers murdered a man, Mike Melloncamp, that ran a store on Deer Creek. They shot him and cut his wife Sara’s throat. Cold-blooded killers. Now, if you think I came to spy on you, think again.”
“That damn Thorndyke Cattle Company. You know them?”
“No, but I’ve heard of them. What have they done?”
“Sent some rannies over here and told us to get the hell out.”
“Lately?” Herschel dared sip the coffee at the cup rim, though he knew it was still too hot.
“Hell, yes, they want the spring this place sits on. Sent some fella in a suit and buggy over here, offered me two hundred dollars.” Jarrow’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head. “I ran him off and told him not to come back.”
“You have a claim in on this place?”
“She does. We been here three years and I got a brand registered. I ain’t stealing their cattle either. ’Cause we’re poor, they act like we’re second-rate citizens with no rights.”
She stood at his shoulder and nodded.
“Why didn’t you report them to me?” Herschel asked.
“My word against them.” Jarrow laughed in disbelief and then dropped his chin. “The rich get richer and the poor poorer.”
“You have a legal claim, they have no right to harass you.”
“Get that paper,” he said, turning toward her.
She nodded and lifted her skirts to leave. “Take me a few minutes. We hid it in case they tried to burn us out.”
“They say they were going to burn you out?” Herschel asked.
Jarrow nodded quickly, then checked to be sure she was gone out the door. In a hushed voice, he said, “You’re after Casey Ford, ain’t yah?”
“You know him?”
“I might. Him and me had a falling-out six months ago.”
“Mind telling me what that was over?”
“Horse deal and her. He brought four horses by here. Said he bought them in Nebraska and didn’t want to sell them till planting time. Offered to cut me in if I fed them and had them in shape.” He sneaked a peek at the open door and then looked back at Herschel.
“I’m listening,” said Herschel.
“I went up to Miles City to get some things we needed. Her and her old man had credit up there. Ford come by and got the horses. I think he slapped her around when she asked him for pay. She wouldn’t talk about it. So if Ford went over that ridge out there, I understand ’cause he knows I’d kill him if he showed up here.”
Herschel nodded. “What happened to her husband?”
“She figured he had a ruptured appendix and died. She buried him by herself. We ain’t got any close neighbors. I’ve been here over a year with her.”
Both men looked up when she returned looking a little red-faced from exertion. “Whew, I really had it hid.”
She put the paper on the table in front of Herschel, then went for more coffee.
Herschel read the claim. Issack and Minerva Bowen were the names on the paper. Recorded in Miles City, which was the county seat before they formed Yellowstone County. “Looks good enough to me. They have no right to threaten you.”
“It’s a long ways to Billings when they do,” Jarrow said.
“Not as far as you think. I’ll get word to them to stop harassing you two.”
Jarrow held his cup up ready to sip it. “What the hell kind of sheriff are you, anyway?”
“One elected by the people. All the people in Yellowstone County.”
“Guess you won’t be in office very long.”
“As long as folks vote for me, I’ll be there.”
Her brown eyes twinkled and she squeezed Jarrow’s shoulder standing behind him. “We have any more trouble, we’ll sure call on you.”
“Good. You know where in Nebraska Ford hides out?”
“He mentioned some fella named Knowles one time.” Jarrow shook his head as if lost for an answer. “I never heard him say the town or place.”
“One of them horses,” she said, “that he claimed he’d bought down there had a Clover brand on it. I never saw one like that before.”
Jarrow nodded. “I thought at first he was a traveling horse trader. She did, too.”
“He ever say where he came from?”
“Someplace in Texas. He sure hated the snow and cold up here. Bitched about it all the time. Wonder why he kilt them folks.”
“Robbing them. He shot an unarmed stagecoach guard in a holdup a few weeks ago. You all were lucky he didn’t turn on you.”
“He ever comes back he’s a dead man,” Jarrow said with the frost of a winter night in his voice.
&nbs
p; Herschel saw Minnie nod solemnly out of the corner of his eye.
“Hey, I promised you antelope stew,” she said. “We all forgot you were hungry.” Her skirts in her hand, she rushed over to ladle him a bowl of it out of her large iron kettle.
After he ate and they refused his offer to pay for his food, he excused himself. “I want to leave at first light. I need some hay and grain for my horse. Be glad to pay for it.”
“No,” Jarrow said as he stood up and stretched. “You’re the first lawman I ever met wasn’t in love with himself. No, sir, we’ve got horse feed and it’s our treat.”
Herschel chuckled. “I been told lots of things, but never that.”
Later, under the stars, he wondered about Jarrow and Minnie. The man must have drifted in and then stayed. No telling where he came from. He probably had a checkered past, too, before coming there. No telling. Plenty of men like him in the West, and they weren’t talking about their lives before. Kind of like this big-sky country cleansed those that would let themselves be cleansed and separated them from their dark pasts.
Ford was one of those who went the other way. From bad to worse. Herschel lay on his back in his bedroll under the spray of tiny lights in the vast canopy over him, a hundred yards from the dark cabin, and wondered about Marsha and the girls. But the last vision before he slipped off into sleep was the dark image Cove Tipton had described of Billy Hanks hanging from the tree and illuminated by the lightning.
SEVENTEEN
IN the predawn darkness, Minnie came from the house while he saddled his horse, and spoke quietly to him. “Sheriff, I have breakfast fixed when you are ready. Don’t ride out with an empty belly.”
“Thanks, I’ll be there,” he said, and led Cob for the gate.
“Good,” she said, and in the gray light with her skirts in hand, went back to the cabin.
With Cob outside the corral, he stopped to tie the bedroll behind his cantle and his poke of food on the horn. Then he led the roan to the rack and hitched him. Better make the meal short, he thought. Barley might need him down the trail. Though he considered Barley the toughest of his deputies, Ford had to be the worst man either he or Barley had ever tangled with. Time would tell.
Montana Revenge Page 13
