Thunder Over Lolo Pass

by Charles G. West

  This immediately claimed Cullen’s attention. He wasn’t sure he had heard Sibley correctly. “What did you say? How do you know?”

  Sibley went on to explain. “Hell, Gabe ain’t never been married. You know, he traded with me for supplies from time to time, and he used to joke about wantin’ to find enough gold to buy him a nice woman to keep him warm in his old age.” He chuckled then. “I always told him at his age he was better off without one.”

  “Hell, maybe you think you’d be better off without one,” Rena interrupted, having strolled over to listen in on the conversation.

  Sibley grinned. “Now, you know I couldn’t do without you, Love. Hell, who’d tend bar for me?”

  “Yeah, and who’d cook for you, and wash your clothes, and clean the house, and do everythin’ else around here?” Rena demanded.

  Oblivious to the minor bickering between husband and wife, Cullen felt his mind going into a tailspin of confusion. Surely there was some mistake, some misunderstanding, either on his or Sibley’s part. For if what Sibley said was true, then there was no Aunt Edna for whom Roberta was concerned. After the initial shock caused by this unexpected turn of events had subsided enough to permit him to think calmly again, he admitted to himself how badly he had been duped. Feeling like a prime fool, he could not prevent the anger now rising in his veins. She had played them all—Cody, Jug, his father, even Smoke—but Cullen held himself the biggest fool of all, because he had been led to believe there was something more between the woman and himself.

  The picture of Roberta as she was being led away, the last glimpse of her, returned to his mind and the helpless agony he had felt when he could not get to her. Looking now at the incident from this new, painful perspective, he remembered how somberly she had reacted to her abduction, quietly allowing herself to be taken. Other thoughts came flooding back—her frantic search for Gabe’s hidden treasure, turning his tent upside down—and her quick recovery after learning of her supposed uncle’s demise. God, he thought, it’s all so clear now. Turning again to Sibley, he asked, “You sure about Gabe not havin’ a wife?”

  “Sure, I’m sure,” Sibley responded. “As I recollect, the only family he had was a brother named Jonah, I think.” He turned to his wife then. “You recollect, Rena? You was always listenin’ when Gabe was in here.”

  “All he had was a brother,” Rena responded. “Had a farm somewhere near Coulson, back on the Yellowstone. That’s what he told us.”

  Still somewhat stunned, Cullen barely noticed Brenda when she came from the living quarters behind the store. “Howdy, Cullen,” she said, looking past him to see if he was alone. Disappointed to discover that he was, she had started to go back behind the counter when her mother told her that Jug and Cody had been wounded in a gunfight. The news stopped her immediately. She spun around to face Cullen again, her concern written clearly in her face.

  “He’s not bad hurt,” Cullen said, knowing which brother she was worried about. “Jug’s shot pretty bad, but Cody’s just got a shoulder wound. Your folks will tell you about it.”

  Her face registered immediate relief, her concern apparently no more than skin deep. “If I know him, he probably had his nose stuck into somethin’ it shouldn’ta been,” she commented. “He said he was goin’ to bring us some elk meat. I reckon that’ll be a while if he’s hurt.”

  Cullen couldn’t help shaking his head in response. “Your folks will tell you about it,” he repeated. And I’m sure Cody will be back soon to scratch your itch, he thought. If I was as wild and carefree as he is, I wouldn’t have been such a damn fool about the first woman I thought was interested in me. It was difficult not to be hard on himself, when he had to admit that he had fallen for the woman he thought Roberta was. “I’ll be seein’ you,” he said to Mule and Rena as he picked up his box of cartridges and started for the door. There were a good many more things to think about, now that he was pretty sure that Roberta was no more than a common thief in league with Burdette, out to rob a poor hardworking old man. Maybe they weren’t responsible for ol’ Gabe’s death—he had to give the Indians credit for that—but there was little doubt they would have finished him off once they found his gold. The cold-bloodedness of their intent was enough to cause a sick feeling inside when he remembered the gentle charm with which she had enchanted them, all the while planning for their deaths. Damn, Cullen, he silently scolded, could you be a bigger fool? One thing was certain at this point: The murdering pair had to be run to ground. He was not yet certain that they had not killed Jug. As for the gold, he figured it rightfully belonged to Gabe’s brother, since there was no other family. One thing he knew for sure, it would be an outright sin to let those two get away with it.

  The next morning he started out again on the trail he had followed the day before, his mind still unsettled about what he should do. He was determined to see that justice was done, but he wasn’t sure that he should look to the law to take over the responsibility to bring the outlaws down. George Tyler, the sheriff in Stevensville, might be a good man, but Cullen wasn’t sure of George’s mettle when it came to going after someone as dangerous as Frank Burdette appeared to be. In reality, there was little George was called upon to do in the peaceful community, and as far as Cullen knew, he had never been tested in a really critical situation. We’ll see where this trail leads, he told himself. If it passes through Stevensville or close by, I’ll talk to the sheriff.

  Chapter 5

  It was close to midday when Cullen came upon the pair’s campsite of the night before, about a mile south of Stevensville near a trail that led from the river to the town. There was no real reason to do so, but he felt an urge to take a closer look at the place where Roberta and Burdette had spent the night. He paused momentarily by the ashes of a sizable campfire, kneeling down to feel the lifeless coals—hours old by his estimation. The thought came to mind that if Cody was with him, his brother could probably tell him what the two outlaws had eaten for supper.

  He got to his feet again and looked around the grassy bank by the river’s edge. It was obvious where the horses had been hobbled. It was also obvious by the faint imprint still visible in the soft grass where the pair he followed had slept. There was but one imprint again, obvious evidence that they had shared a common bed, and he could not help scowling as he thought of the implications that suggested.

  After scouting around the perimeter of the camp, he stopped to examine a single set of tracks leading to the common trail to Stevensville. They looked fresh enough to have been left the night before. And even though they were not left by the horse with the twisted shoe, he could be reasonably sure it was one of the horses he was following, so one of the two had evidently ridden into town the night before. This seemed reason enough to involve the sheriff. He decided to take the time to ride in to Stevensville to see what he could find out, since it was no more than a mile, wondering all the while if it had been Roberta or Burdette who rode into town.

  The settlement of Stevensville seemed peaceful enough when Cullen rode in at dusk, which would mislead a visitor to think that the town was unconcerned with the threat of Indian trouble. In fact, however, many of the residents of the area had neglected their fields, instead working all day in a hasty effort to upgrade the long-abandoned structure that was Fort Owen in readiness to defend themselves from the Nez Perce if necessary. Word of the battle with General Oliver O. Howard’s troops against the Nez Perce on the Clearwater River, west of the Bitterroots, had reached the Montana citizens, bringing a new fear that the warriors of chiefs Joseph, Looking Glass, and White Bird might still be in a warlike mood. While General Howard’s soldiers had succeeded in doing damage to the Indians, destroying their lodges and much of their supplies, they had failed to prevent them from continuing into Montana.

  When half-breed scout Delaware Jim, who was married to a Nez Perce woman, first brought word that the Nez Perce chiefs were intent upon reaching the Lolo Trail, General Howard’s failure to immediately pursue the warri
ors had resulted in giving the Indians a healthy head start. The people of Stevensville were afraid of the heretofore peaceful tribe’s intentions upon reaching the Bitterroot Valley, but were unaware that the great exodus of the Nez Perce people was already traveling through the valley and no more than two days from the town. Consequently, the town was quiet enough when Cullen rode in.

  GONE TO DINNER, the sign on the sheriff’s office door declared. Cullen found it fitting, since the sheriff had a reputation for being handy with knife and fork. The only place in town to eat that Cullen was aware of was the saloon at the far end of the short street, so he turned his horse in that direction. As proof of the town’s rapid growth, he came upon a large tent erected just several feet short of the saloon that advertised HOME COOKING. It had not been there the last time he had been in Stevensville. Cullen reined the bay to a halt and dismounted.

  Stepping inside the tent, he discovered a long table capable of seating about fifteen men, twenty if crowded in together. On this day, there were no more than a dozen sitting around the table, with Sheriff Tyler at the end. The sheriff glanced up briefly and mumbled, “McCloud,” when Cullen walked in, then returned his gaze to the mound of potatoes he was in the process of reducing.

  “Sheriff,” Cullen returned, and pulled an empty chair over beside him.

  Seeing that Cullen had evidently come specifically to find him, Tyler paused to remove a tough piece of thoroughly chewed steak from his mouth. “This steak’s got more gristle than meat,” he commented. “I believe Hattie’s slippin’ some mule in the fryin’ pan.” After holding the stringy morsel up to observe it, he placed it on the edge of his plate and wiped his fingers on his trouser leg. “What brings you to town? You worried about the Injuns?”

  Unconcerned about trouble with the Nez Perce at this point, Cullen related the events of the past few days. Tyler seemed genuinely alarmed, even to the extent of pausing between bites when told of the gunfight that resulted in the death of one man and the wounding of Cullen’s brothers, as well as the later death of John Crocker. “A man and a woman, you say,” he remarked. “Do you think they’re on their way here?”

  “One of ’em mighta already been here last night,” Cullen replied, “and that’s what I wanted to ask you. Did you see any strangers in town last night?”

  “I can’t say that I did,” Tyler answered. It was obvious that the possible involvement with the man Cullen described was upsetting his appetite and he placed his knife and fork down on the table.

  “There was a feller in the saloon last night I ain’t never seen before,” one of the patrons who was seated to Tyler’s left volunteered. “Kind of a tall feller, wearin’ a rain slicker, long black hair, and a mustache,” he went on. “That sound like the feller you’re lookin’ for?”

  “Yes, it does,” Cullen replied. He knew then that Burdette had made the trip to town, leaving Roberta in camp.

  “Did you talk to him?” the sheriff asked.

  “Nope, he didn’t talk to nobody, just bought a bottle of whiskey from Tom and went on his way. Wasn’t in the place more’n two minutes.”

  Tyler looked relieved and picked up his fork again. He shook his head as if seriously thinking. “Well, I reckon they’ve passed on by us,” he said. Then pausing to direct a question at Cullen, he asked, “And you say there ain’t nobody at their camp by the river?” When Cullen replied that this was true, Tyler frowned and said, “Well, that’s that, I reckon. No harm’s come to Stevensville.” He attacked the potatoes on his plate again.

  “What are you gonna do about it, Sheriff?” Cullen wanted to know. “I’ve been followin’ the two of them, but I expect the law oughta be doin’ the job—maybe a posse or somethin’.”

  “I don’t reckon I’m gonna do nothin’ about it,” Tyler said. “As long as they keep on goin’, they ain’t no problem for me or Stevensville. I ain’t got no jurisdiction outside of town, anyway. Hell, I got bigger things to worry about right now. There’s about a thousand Injuns that might come chargin’ through town in a few days. My advice to you is to forget that pair you’re chasin’ and go on back home, ’cause like as not, those Injuns will run through your pa’s ranch. Whatever them other two done, they’re gone now. Just be glad you didn’t get shot.”

  “You mean to tell me you’re not willin’ to go after murderers and thieves when they were camped right on your doorstep?” Cullen demanded.

  “Like I said, I was hired to protect the town. If you want the law to help you hunt all over the territory, you can try the deputy marshal over in Butte.”

  Cullen was rendered speechless by the sheriff’s attitude.

  “You gonna eat?” came a voice behind him.

  He turned to discover a short, stout woman cradling a large mixing bowl in the crook of her arm—Hattie, he presumed. “No,” he answered, still astonished by the total disinterest exhibited by the sheriff and everyone else in the tent. “I lost my appetite when I came in here.”

  “Suit yourself,” Hattie responded, her voice as apathetic as the sheriff’s.

  “Say hello to your daddy for me,” Tyler called after Cullen when he turned and made for the door. “I always had a lot of respect for Donovan McCloud.”

  “Yeah, I’ll do that,” Cullen replied. “I’m sure he feels the same about you.”

  Seeing Cullen’s obvious irritation, Tyler said, “Don’t you go gettin’ yourself shot, boy. You’d best just let it be. Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

  “I suppose,” Cullen called back, “but it ain’t outside my jurisdiction.” I don’t know why I expected anything different, he thought as he climbed on his horse and wheeled the bay back toward the river. Mad as hell, he was determined more than ever to find the treacherous pair and deliver the justice they so sorely deserved. He picked up the trail again at the riverbank and followed it north. It appeared now that Burdette and Roberta intended to continue up the valley to Fort Missoula, probably planning to have Gabe’s gold dust assayed. Thoughts of concern weighed on his mind for Jug. His brother’s wound had seemed to be serious, and even as strong as he was, the damage might have been too much for even a bull like Jug to recover. He had to make a choice, and the image of Jug lying helpless on the travois while one of the three murderers still rode free was the deciding factor that spurred him on to seek the vengeance he felt was demanded.

  The object of Cullen’s concern was not recovering as they had all hoped. Smoke did all he could for Jug, but the bullet had done more damage than he could repair and he hesitated to dig deeper for it. With Jug’s decline during the next two days, Donovan McCloud decided his son had to see a doctor, and that meant a trip into Stevensville to see Dr. Brandon Elrod. So they loaded Jug up in a wagon and Donovan and Cody started out for town, leaving Smoke in charge with instructions to call on the Bailey boys for help if the trip took longer than planned.

  They arrived at Dr. Elrod’s office at a little before noon. The office consisted of two rooms in the front of his house—one his examining room, the other a makeshift surgery. Mrs. Elrod was just about to call her husband to the noon meal when the solemn McCloud men rolled up in the yard. She glanced out the window at the threesome and shook her head sympathetically upon seeing Jug lying in the wagon bed. It seemed that the seriously ill or injured always managed to arrive at mealtime, so she put her husband’s dinner in the oven to keep warm. She could hear him talking as he stepped out on the porch to meet them.

  “Donovan, Cody,” Dr. Elrod said in greeting. “What have we got here?”

  “It’s Jug, Dr. Elrod,” Cody blurted before his father could answer. “He’s shot bad, and he looks like he’s gettin’ worse. He don’t do nothin’ but lie there with his eyes half closed—won’t eat nothin’, don’t want nothin’ to drink.”

  “Well, let’s get him inside so I can take a look at him,” Elrod said.

  They carried him inside and put him on the bed in Dr. Elrod’s surgery room. Jug seemed to be out of his head the whole time, mumbling
something none of them could understand, waving his arm in the air from time to time as if signaling to someone. Once he was settled on the bed, he seemed to calm down a bit. “He’s burning up with fever,” Elrod said, and called for his wife to bring him a bucket of cool water and a cloth. After a cursory examination, he said, “I’m afraid you’ve come all this way hauling a dead man.”

  “Whaddaya mean?” Donovan demanded. “He ain’t dead!”

  “He’s on his way,” Elrod replied, then knowing he was being a little too frank in his preliminary diagnosis, he softened his tone. “I’m sorry, Donovan. I’m just trying not to sugarcoat it for you. I’ll look into that wound more thoroughly, but I don’t want you to get your hopes up. We’ll see what happens after I get the bullet outta there—see how much damage has been done—then we’ll see.” Even before probing for the bullet, he knew there had to be extensive damage. It surprised him to know that Jug had held on for two days in his present state. “He must have the constitution of a buffalo,” he remarked. “It’ll take a little while, so why don’t you boys go on into town, get you some dinner or something, and come back in a couple of hours?” When Donovan appeared to be undecided, Elrod added, “You’ll just be in my way here.”

  “Maybe I oughta go find the sheriff,” Cody suggested. “Cullen mighta come through here after that pair.”

  “Well, this time of day you’ll likely find him at Hattie Moore’s place eating dinner,” Dr. Elrod said as he walked them to the door. When there was a question in both faces, he said, “It’s a tent next to the saloon. A woman set it up a little while back.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Donovan told his son. “Might as well eat while we’re at it.”

  Louise Elrod walked up to stand beside her husband as he stood in the doorway watching the wagon pull out of the yard. “I put your dinner in the oven to keep warm,” she said. “Are you gonna be a long time?”