Left to himself, shunned by the congregation, Starbeau readied his horse and pack mule for an early-morning departure. From a natural sense of survival, he was careful which way he turned his back while tying up his packs. Ordinarily he would not have given a thought to the need for such caution among the gentle Christians he had traveled with from Bismarck. But Bradley Lindstrom was lying around the camp somewhere, sulking over his dead wife. He might get himself worked up to the point where he thought about taking a long-range shot at the man who murdered his wife. The irony of it caused Starbeau to grin, thinking about how frustrated Lindstrom must be, knowing that Starbeau probably killed his wife, and not being able to prove it. And got away with the money, too, Starbeau added, extending his smile even wider.
Starbeau was right about the grieving widower. Bradley Lindstrom could not be consoled. Nancy had been his life, and he could not bear the thought of living without her. The marriage had produced no children, but they felt blessed as long as they had each other. Now it was as if the light of life had been blown out, and nothing remained but the darkness in which his lonely soul must dwell.
His brother, Malcolm, and Pete Watson remained with him to try to give him support until Bradley begged to be left alone with his memories of Nancy. Reluctant though they were to leave him in such an obvious state of grief, they gave in to his insistence that he would be all right. It was growing dark and he expressed the need for sleep, so they filed out of his dwelling and left him to grieve alone.
The despondent new widower sat there with his back against the wall where Nancy’s body had been found until he heard no more noises outside, telling him that the camp had settled in to cook their suppers. Confident that no one would notice, he crawled to the front of the cave and strapped on his pistol belt, knowing that what he was determined to do was not sanctioned in the eyes of the Lord.
Outside, in the fading twilight, he slipped between the caves and walked along behind them to the end of the row and Starbeau’s dwelling. He paused a moment to consider the saddled horse and loaded pack mule tied to a pine sapling a few feet from the cave’s entrance. With dogged determination and fear of facing the world without Nancy greater than that of facing Starbeau, he called out for the brute.
“Who is it?” Starbeau demanded when he heard his name called. Pulling his pistol from the holster and belt lying beside the entrance to his cave, he edged up to the opening and peered out in the growing gloom. Recognizing Bradley Lindstrom then, he guessed the reason for the visit. Remaining at the edge of the opening with his huge body all but concealed, he said, “What the hell do you want?”
“You know what I want,” Bradley replied. “I want you to face me. I aim to kill you for murderin’ my wife.”
“I told you I never done it,” Starbeau said, still using the edge of the opening for cover. He cocked the pistol and held it beside his leg.
“We both know that’s a lie. Come on outta there and face me.”
Starbeau edged his head out far enough to look around to make sure there were no witnesses before answering. Then, unable to resist the opportunity to taunt his victim, he said, “Yeah, you’re right. I shot the bitch. I even thought about doin’ a little more, but a man would have to be damn hard up to want any of that.” A wide grin spread across his face while he waited for Bradley’s response to that.
His mind consumed by the rage within him, Bradley still fought to retain his sense of purpose. “Come on outta that cave and face me,” he demanded again. “The Lord will decide who shall survive.”
Without further hesitation, Starbeau stepped outside and in one quick motion shot Bradley down before the unfortunate victim knew what was happening. “The Lord decided,” Starbeau taunted calmly, and put the fatal shot in Bradley’s defenseless body. He reached down then and took Bradley’s revolver from the holster and placed it in the dead man’s hand. Standing erect again he turned to walk away, only to be startled by the sight of Callie Simmons standing paralyzed by the shock of what she had just witnessed. “Where the hell did you come from?” he asked. Seeing then that she was too shocked to answer, he said, “You saw it. He tried to kill me, but I got him instead. It was self-defense.”
Finally finding her voice, she blurted, “You murdered him! He was just standing there, and you murdered him! Just like you murdered his wife.”
“Now, that ain’t so,” he insisted. “Look at him. He’s got his gun in his hand.” As he talked, he moved closer to her.
“You put it in his hand after you shot him,” she cried. “I saw you.” Recovering from the shock that had immobilized her, she realized the danger she was now in, and spun on her heel to run for help. But he had slowly moved too close, and with a couple of quick steps, he caught her by the arm. She started to scream but was immediately silenced by the barrel of his pistol across the back of her skull, knocking her unconscious.
Quickly looking around him again, in a hurry to finish this business before others came to investigate the two gunshots, he saw people emerging from the caves, but no one at the far end where he was. Knowing he must permanently silence the girl, he pulled his knife from his belt and grabbed a handful of her hair. Pulling her head back, he exposed her white throat, but hesitated before slicing her windpipe. I’ve got a better use for you, missy, he decided, picking up the limp body and hurrying to his horse.
With a quick look toward the other end of the caves, he tried to calculate the amount of time he had. A crowd of people had gathered, and were working their way cave by cave up the line. It was enough time, he figured, to bind and gag the girl. When that was done, he pulled a couple of the packs off the mule and threw Callie across in their place. Working fast for a big man, he vacated his cave with all he thought he would need, and while the crowd of searchers was still fifty yards away, he dragged Bradley’s body behind the cave, then led his horse into the cottonwoods on the other side of the clearing. With one more look back to confirm that he had not been spotted, he stepped up in the saddle and loped off along the creek, leaving the ill-fated mule train behind him.
A quarter of an hour passed before someone shouted, “Over here!” The crowd of pilgrims rushed to the spot behind Starbeau’s cave. “It’s Bradley Lindstrom,” Frank Bowen blurted excitedly. “He’s been shot dead.”
Lighting the way with a torch, Jake Simmons held it close while he and the others bent down to confirm Bowen’s identification. “My Lord in Heaven,” Jake gasped upon seeing Bradley’s startled expression frozen forever on his lifeless face. He stood back away from the body when Malcolm pushed his way through the crowd.
Upon seeing his brother lying cold and still in the muddy clearing, he fell to his knees beside him and roared out his grief. First Nancy, then Bradley, it was almost too much to bear. He and Pete had come all the way from the Dakota Territory to find Bradley. After finding him, to have it end this way, was more than he was prepared to deal with. He rocked back on his heels, oblivious to the mud, and sobbed. The first suspect that popped into everyone’s mind was Starbeau. “Come on,” Pete Watson said, “let’s get him out here!” He led the way around to the front of Starbeau’s cave. Malcolm staggered to his feet to follow. There would be no notice to part company. This time, it was almost a unanimous decision that it was time for a hanging.
“He’s lit out!” Luke Preston yelled from the entrance to Starbeau’s cave. He turned to face the crowd that had grown to include everyone in the camp. Holding up a discarded pack, he said, “His horse is gone, too, and it looks like he left in a hurry.”
“The low-down murderin’ dog,” someone in the group uttered. “Some of us oughta go after him.” His comment was met with grunts and nods of agreement, but no one moved to form a posse right away.
“Where’s Callie?” Cora Simmons asked her husband.
Jake looked around at the gathering of faces, unable to find that of his daughter. “Callie!” he called out. When there was no answer, he yelled her name again. There was still no answer, so he a
sked, “Has anybody seen Callie?” No one had.
“The last I saw her,” Jenny Preston offered, “she was going in to comfort Ida Parsons. Her remark caused a rumble of murmuring in the congregation, for Parsons’ cave was the last one in the line before Starbeau’s.
“No, no, no . . . ,” Cora Simmons uttered in anguish, as she pushed her way through the people gathered at the mouth of the cave, and looked inside. Her face pale with dread, she exhaled a small sigh of relief. She had feared she might find the body of her daughter there. Her relief was only for a moment, however, before she began to call out Callie’s name again. There was no answer. The crowd, having caught the fever of Cora’s alarm, began to disperse, all looking for the missing girl while Cora and Jake hurried back to their cave in hopes she was there.
Every inch of the riverbank was searched, and the cottonwoods, the meadow, the corral. The girl was gone. The moon was high in the sky before the last of the searchers gave up and returned to the fire to report their failure. “He’s got her,” Cora gasped, almost collapsing before Jake caught her and lowered her gently to the ground. “That monster took her,” she sobbed loudly. “He took our baby.”
“We’ll find him,” Jake promised, trying to comfort his wife while fighting to keep his emotions under control. “We’ll get her back.”
Malcolm Lindstrom was already a step ahead, calling for volunteers to go with him and Pete. Every man there volunteered to join the posse, some wounded and not really fit to ride. Malcolm picked eight of the volunteers. “Get saddled up,” he shouted. “We’ve already lost too much time.”
Still shaken, but determined to go after his daughter, Jake left Cora in the hands of Raymond Chadwick’s wife, Pearl, and hurried to join the posse. There was no clear trail to follow, especially in the dark, but the one they decided the most likely was the one through the cottonwoods to the south. It was the trail cut by Joe Fox when he had left the camp the first time. Since there had been a bit more traffic over the same tracks from Indians and Joe’s horses when he left for good, it would have been difficult for a real tracker to determine if any of the tracks were recent. Urgency ruled the night, however, and with the need to take some positive action, the riders stormed out through the cottonwoods, churning up any fresh trail had there been one.
Out of the trees and onto the broad treeless plain that rolled toward the distant mountains they rode, determined men, resolute in their intent to find Starbeau and Callie. Unprotected by trees, however, the snow on the open plain had melted during the recent weeks of warmer weather. The riders were slowed by the need to inspect the ground more closely for tracks in the darkness of the night. Soon the posse was broken into smaller groups as men circled about, checking the little isolated patches of old snow in gullies and ravines. Finally, when the moon was sinking behind the mountains, even Jake was forced to admit that they were going in circles and might as well give up. It was a difficult decision for Jake, his mind already half-crazy with thoughts of Callie in the hands of that evil brute, but there were promises by all to take up the search in the morning when they could see.
“It ain’t that long till daylight,” Jake protested when several of the men prepared to return to camp. “We might as well stay right here till sunup.” Feeling helpless and frustrated, and eaten up inside with worry, he did not want to return to tell Cora they had failed.
Malcolm spoke for the rest of the men when he said, “We left in a kinda hurry, Jake. And we ain’t that far from camp as it is. So we might as well go on back and pack in some supplies. We don’t know how long this is gonna take. We’ll get back on it in the mornin’, ready to ride to Texas if we have to. I got as much reason to catch that son of a bitch as you do.”
“I expect you’re right,” Jake conceded. Feeling weary and defeated, he climbed back up in the saddle and followed along behind the posse.
Chapter 8
At first she fought him any way she could—fingernails, teeth, fists. Her efforts were a pitiful attempt to ward off his assault, and in fact, served only to add to his fiendish pleasure. Though not frail, she was a small girl and no match at all against the imposing bulk of Starbeau. When he was no longer amused by her desperate efforts to deny him the satisfaction of violating her virginity, he struck her with his fists, one hammer-like blow after another until she lay unconscious, a helpless sacrifice on the altar of evil.
When she awoke, it was to a world of pain and sickness, and disappointment to find that she was, in fact, still alive. Moments before she lost consciousness, she had prayed that God would take her soul, but He had not seen fit to end her torment. As she lay there on the ground, she did not open her eyes, afraid that he would see that she was awake and attack her again. Her body ached with deep bruises all over as if she had been trampled under a horse’s hooves. Her thighs and knees burned with the pain of muscles stretched beyond their human limits. And she felt sick, dizzy and nauseated, realizing at that moment that she was going to vomit. The wave started in her stomach and rolled upward, and she knew she could not prevent it from gushing forth. Suddenly it crested, forcing her to roll over on her side, unable to stop it. She didn’t know until then that her jaw was broken, and she almost screamed out when the spasms of her stomach forced her mouth to open wide.
“Gawdamn,” Starbeau mocked. “Ain’t you a pretty sight?” He got up from beside the fire and walked over to stand looking down at her. “I reckon you learned your first lesson. It don’t pay to make me mad, and you’re gonna get a whuppin’ every time you don’t give me what I want.” Disgusted by the vomit dripping from the side of her mouth, he stuck his foot out and rolled her over with the toe of his boot. “Get yourself up from there and clean that mess offa your face.” When she did not move, he drew his foot back as if to kick her, and she struggled to do as he had ordered.
He watched her closely as she stumbled to a small stream nearby and dropped to her knees at the water’s edge, oblivious to the soaking of her torn skirt. Though flinching with a stabbing pain each time she touched her swollen jaw, she managed to douse her face with water, washing away the remains of vomit and blood. Somewhat revived then, she faced the panic starting again inside her, and she felt she could not endure more of the hell she had just gone through. Raising her head slowly, she turned to gaze across the creek and the trees beyond. How far could she get, she wondered, before he would run her down?
“I wish you would try it,” Starbeau remarked, the familiar malicious grin upon his face. He picked his rifle up and cocked it. When she failed to accept his challenge, he laughed and said, “Get your lazy ass over here. You ain’t gonna have no picnic, just enjoyin’ my company. You’re gonna have to work for the pleasure of takin’ care of my needs.” He waved her over toward his pack mule with his rifle. “There’s coffee, bacon, and flour and such in them packs. You can cook me up some breakfast.” He paused to fix her with his accusing gaze. “You know, like them cakes of pan bread you was always fixin’ for that damn half-breed. And let me tell you right now, it better be good or I’ll whup you till you can’t stand up.”
Afraid to do otherwise, she did as she was told, accompanied by a constant rambling of coarse threats and promises from the belligerent brute. As she went through the motions of preparing a meal for him, she tried to think of some way to escape this hell she had been cast into. Her life’s dreams were all shattered, ruined beyond repair, but thoughts of suicide were replaced with thoughts of escape and retaliation. At the present, however, escape seemed unlikely, so she endeavored to endure whatever abuse awaited her until an opportunity presented itself.
Feeling smug and very satisfied with himself, Starbeau watched his captive closely, admiring the slim hips and tidy bottom he had ogled all the way from Dakota Territory. He smiled when he thought about the taking of that body, violent though it may have been. The fact that she had been utterly reviled by him failed to bother him. He had never had a woman who was not reviled by him, even when they received money for the repulsive
contract. Rather than depress him, it amused him. His foul, oversized body was such a source of intimidation to both men and women that he had always used it to his advantage. He smiled when he recalled the look of fear in Jake Simmons’ eye when he faced him down. I’d like to see that runty little bastard’s face right now, he thought.
Thinking of the girl again, he thought, It’s gonna be a real shame to have to kill her, but I’ll have to before I get to Butte. He would have to cut back to the south in the morning if that was to be his destination. A faint grin appeared at the corners of his mouth when he thought about what must have gone on back in the caves when they discovered him gone. They no doubt formed a posse to come after him, but he sat now by his campfire, taking his time, unworried about the possibility of a posse catching up to him. This ain’t the first time I’ve been chased, he thought. Figuring that Jake and his friends would probably follow the trail through the grove of cottonwoods, he had instead backtracked the trail the Indians had taken, planning to make a wide swing back to the south trail after he was sure they were not on his tail. It had evidently worked because there had been no sign of anyone, even after camping in this spot overnight. “Hurry up with that grub,” he scolded. “I’m hungry.” He leaned back against a tree trunk then to enjoy watching the frightened young girl. Yes, sir, I’d like to see that little runt’s face if he could see his precious little gal right now.
Haggard and weary, Jake Simmons’ face showed the strain of a day of searching that yielded no results. The search party had been unsuccessful in picking up any recent tracks that might give them some place to start looking. It was as if the big man and his two horses had simply disappeared in the thin mountain air. Raymond Chadwick was the first to express the feeling of the whole posse. “It’s a waste of time, Jake,” he said when they stopped at a small stream to water the mules. “I mean, I’ll go out again tomorrow if you want, but we ain’t got a notion where to look. He’s got away clean. That’s just all there is to it.”
The Blackfoot Trail Page 10
