The Devil's Posse

by Charles G. West

  “Is that it?” he asked, pleasantly surprised for her sake. She nodded, watching him intensely. “Well, come on outta there before you get your trousers soaked. I’ll tie those bags on the buckskin and they can ride with you.” Having a fair notion of what she was thinking, he added, “You can keep your rifle handy in case somebody tries to steal ’em.”

  Chapter 6

  “You take a look, Wormy,” Riley Stokes said. “Looks to me like he’s just followin’ this old game trail.”

  “Oughta brought us an Injun with us,” Wormy japed as he stepped down to examine the tracks on the path. He looked up at Quincy and grinned, then turned it into a frown when he met Quincy’s cold gaze. This was not a joking matter to the somber outlaw. He had not had a peaceful night since learning of his brother’s death. Wormy wisely turned his full attention back to the game trail. It didn’t pay to rile Quincy when he was in one of those moods.

  “It ain’t changed none, Quincy,” he said. “Tracks of two horses, and they’re the only fresh ones on the trail. I don’t see as how it could be anybody else ’cept the feller Lacey followed to that camp back there.”

  Lacey had taken them to the stream where Logan had killed the deer, the place where he had attempted to kill him before taking a bullet himself. He didn’t admit to Quincy that his sole purpose in following Logan had been the prospect of taking the considerable amount of money Logan had recovered in the saloon. It was better to let Quincy think that he had gone after his brother’s killer solely to avenge Jake’s death.

  “He don’t seem to be headin’ nowhere in particular,” Lonnie offered. “He’s just followin’ this game trail. Maybe he’s got himself a camp up here somewhere and that’s where he’s goin’.”

  “All right,” Quincy said. “Let’s get goin’ before we get any farther behind.” He had just wanted to make sure they were following the same set of tracks they had picked up by the stream. Logan Cross, he thought. The name burned constantly in his mind, and he was obsessed with the need to avenge his brother’s death. Everything else could wait until he took Logan Cross’s life with his own hands. His urgency was mostly due to a fear that, if Cross left the game trails and turned onto one of the well-traveled roads between the towns, his tracks might be lost.

  Under way once again, they followed the game trail until late in the afternoon when suddenly there were no tracks. “What the hell?” Wormy questioned. He dismounted and walked along the path, looking for the hoofprints. After walking several yards, he looked back at the others to report, “We lost him somewhere back there. There ain’t no tracks.”

  They turned the horses around and started backtracking, searching for the place where Logan must have left the game trail. Almost right away, Curly sang out, “Here it is! I found it!” He stood by the smaller trail that branched off to wind up through the thick belt of pine trees. “I found it, Lonnie,” Curly repeated proudly when Lonnie walked back to see for himself.

  “He cut off on this little trail,” Lonnie called back to Quincy. Then he told the simple giant, “You did a good job, Curly.” His remark left the huge man beaming with pride.

  The hunt continued, climbing up the slope until the sounds of a waterfall came to them through the thick pine boughs overhead. As a precaution, Quincy sent Wormy on ahead to take a look. After a few minutes, Wormy returned to report, “We mighta found his camp. Leastways, we found somebody’s camp, but it don’t look like there’s nobody around.”

  Quincy pushed past him to see for himself. He pulled up before the remains of the campfire, dismounted, and knelt to feel the ashes. “At least two or three days ago,” he said. “Whadda you think, Lonnie?”

  “I expect you’re right,” Lonnie said after sifting through the ashes himself.

  “Hey, there’s a tent over here,” Lacey called out. “There ain’t nothin’ in it.”

  “It don’t look like he’s plannin’ on comin’ back,” Stokes said, “’cause he sure didn’t leave nothin’ behind, but the tent. Reckon why he didn’t take it?”

  “Scatter out and find which way he rode outta here,” Quincy said. He could feel the panic building up in his gut with the possibility that Logan might lose them at this point. The rapidly approaching darkness began closing in around the waterfall by the time Wormy found a distinct set of hoofprints starting down the eastern slope of the mountain. “Mount up!” Quincy commanded.

  “Hold on a minute, Quincy,” Lonnie said. “It’s gonna be plumb dark in just a little while, and it’ll catch us halfway down this mountain without a trail to follow. He ain’t on no game trail now, so he can cut in any direction and we wouldn’t catch it. I’m as anxious to catch this son of a bitch as you are, but I’m thinkin’ we’d be smart to camp right here and wait till we can see in the mornin’. Whaddaya say?”

  Quincy scowled. He hated to admit that Lonnie was right. They could very easily lose Logan’s trail in the dark. There was also the possibility of breaking a horse’s leg in the process.

  “All right,” he finally agreed. “We’ll wait here till mornin’.” His decision was met with some relief from the others, for he had pushed them relentlessly throughout the day with little rest beyond what was required to spare the horses.

  “He left his tent here,” Stokes reminded them. “Maybe he is plannin’ on comin’ back. He mighta just gone off to do some more huntin’.”

  “I reckon that’s a possibility,” Quincy said, and paused to think about it. He tried to form a picture of his nemesis in his mind, but found he could not. Frustrated, he called Tom Lacey over to him. “What does this Logan Cross look like?” he asked.

  Somewhat surprised, Lacey answered as best he could. “I don’t know. He’s just a feller like everybody else—a big feller.”

  “Big as Curly?” Quincy asked.

  “Nah,” Lacey said. “He ain’t quite as big as Curly. He’s just bigger’n most men, I reckon.” He scratched his head, trying to recall Logan’s features. He had them clearly in his mind’s eye, but he couldn’t describe them in words. “He rides a gray horse, one of them flea-bitten ones with spots all over it. And he’s leadin’ a buckskin that his brother musta rode.”

  This caught Quincy’s interest. “He’s got a brother? Where is he?”

  “He’s dead,” Lacey said. “Jake shot him.”

  “Jake shot him?” Quincy responded at once. “You never said anything about Jake shootin’ his brother.”

  Lacey shrugged apologetically. “I never thought much about it.”

  “So Jake shot his brother,” Quincy murmured to no one in particular as his mind took hold of that revealing bit of information. The task he had set for himself suddenly took on deeper meaning, and elevated the desire to kill Logan Cross to enormous proportions. It was truly a blood feud at this point. His brother had killed Cross’s brother, and Cross had killed Jake, Quincy’s brother. He was suddenly aware of his heartbeat pounding in his temples and he knew that nothing would stand between him and the task that was his. He continued staring at the tent across the stream, as if seeing through it, oblivious of Lacey still standing before him.

  Confused by Quincy’s sudden distant stare, Lacey gaped openly until he felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked around to see Lonnie standing there. Without a word, Lonnie motioned with his head for Lacey to walk away. This was the second time Lacey had witnessed one of Quincy’s strange fits. It sufficiently brought home the warning never to draw Quincy’s wrath down upon himself.

  Lonnie turned back to his cousin. “We’ll find him, Quincy. Don’t you worry about that.”

  “I wish to hell I knew how far behind him we are,” Quincy replied.

  Lonnie didn’t say so, but he wished the same, because the boys were anxious to get down to the business for which they had gotten the gang back together again.

  * * *

  Logan guided Pepper down a long ravine that opened out into a
deep canyon that he guessed to be Spearfish Canyon. Hannah followed on the buckskin, perched on her makeshift saddle with her gold and Logan’s supplies packed around her. Even under the present circumstances, it was impossible for Logan to ignore the natural beauty of the canyon. The ponderosa and spruce pine that rose from the rocky creek looked in some places as if they were growing right out of the rocks, their roots taking hold in the tiniest crevices. Scattered along the banks of the creek, aspen and birch trees, along with some oaks, invaded the dominant pines. Logan wished Billy could have seen this beautiful canyon. Then he thought of the woman on Billy’s horse behind him, the crumpled hat pulled low over her ears, and the oversized men’s shirt and baggy pants stuffed in her heavy boots. It was unlikely she was enjoying the scenery, with her thoughts probably on the death of her husband. That caused him to wonder again what he would do with her, once they reached Spearfish.

  I had to follow that damn game trail up the mountain, he complained to himself, then immediately felt ashamed for having thought it. The woman would most likely have perished, had he not happened along. Maybe she can find some place in Spearfish, he speculated. Hell, she’s carrying a small fortune in those canvas bags she’s sitting on. She ought to be able to snag a husband for herself with that dowry.

  Bored with worrying about the woman, he returned his thoughts to concentrate on what his own prospects might be. There should be someone in Spearfish, he figured, who could tell him who some of the large cattle ranchers were, and how he could find them. If something there didn’t work out for him, he would go back to Sturgis and work for Matt Morrison.

  “Whaddaya say we stop up ahead by those rocks to rest the horses?” he called back to Hannah. “And we’ll fix a little something to eat.” She didn’t give him an answer, and he didn’t expect one. She usually did whatever he suggested without questioning.

  The place he had pointed out seemed an ideal spot to make a camp. The creek was forced to rush through a narrow gorge, formed by huge boulders, creating a large pond above it. Logan discovered tracks of deer as well as raccoons and porcupines around the pond, suggesting a hunter’s heaven. Were it not for Hannah, he might have decided to camp there for a couple of days.

  Hannah did not wait for him to dismount before she slipped down from her horse and immediately started gathering wood for the fire. He let her, and turned his attention to the unsaddling of his horse and taking the packs off the buckskin. Using his flint and steel, she started the fire. “I’ll cook the meat,” she said, her first words since earlier that morning. She stood waiting for his response.

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll make the coffee.” She hesitated until he told her to go ahead and get whatever she needed out of his packs. “There ain’t nothin’ in those packs that I don’t want you to see.”

  Bacon, deer jerky, and coffee—it was simple fare, but it almost seemed like a picnic in such a delightful setting. The only thing out of the ordinary was the lack of conversation between the participants. But that was the typical routine at each campsite as they followed the winding canyon’s snakelike path through the towering mountains. They sighted the first rough structures of a town two long days later.

  * * *

  “Howdy, folks,” Fred Ramsey greeted the strangers when they walked in the door of his store. “What can I help you with?”

  “Howdy,” Logan returned.

  The sign on the front of the building advertised groceries and dry goods, so Logan had decided it a proper place to get some information. When he and Hannah rode into the small settlement, he saw a saloon, a stable, a blacksmith, two buildings with no signs, and Fred Ramsey’s store.

  About fifty yards from the stables at the north end of town was a large two-story house. There were also some tents between some of the buildings. It had all the appearances of a newly born town. Logan had hoped it would be a more established community, and before inquiring, he had his doubts about leaving Hannah there.

  When Logan seemed hesitant to talk, Fred asked, “You folks ain’t ever been to Spearfish before, have you?” It was unusual to see new settlers arrive with no more possessions than could be carried on two horses. “You lookin’ to settle here, or are you passin’ through?”

  “So this is Spearfish?” Logan responded. “I’m glad to hear it, ’cause back yonder a ways I was beginnin’ to wonder if that canyon had a mouth. Tell you the truth, though, I thought the town was a little bigger than this.”

  Fred chuckled. “We think we’re pretty big right now, and we’re still growin’ pretty fast. Some of us thought this little spot in the valley would make a perfect place for a town. And I guess we were right, ’cause a little over a year ago the first store was built, and a post office, and that’s all. Look at us now. So if you folks are lookin’ for a place to settle, there’s still some good land here, and you can get anything in Spearfish that you can get in Sturgis or Deadwood.”

  “We ain’t lookin’ for a place to settle,” Logan said.

  After he had told Fred the circumstances that had resulted in their traveling together, Fred shook his head in sympathy for Hannah’s plight. “You poor thing,” he said to her. “You’ve been through a bad time, haven’t you?” He walked over a few feet toward the end of the counter and called out through a door leading to another room, “Martha! Come in here, honey.”

  About half a minute later, a short, round, pleasant-looking woman came through the stockroom door. “This is my wife,” Fred said, then went on to explain to Martha. “This poor woman has just lost her husband—murdered by claim robbers—and she was lucky that this young feller happened to come along to help her.”

  “You poor dear,” Martha exclaimed after she had heard the story. She took a longer look at Hannah. “You look like you’ve had a really hard time of it. What are you going to do?”

  Hannah shook her head. Logan answered for her. “I reckon Hannah’s lookin’ for a place to stay till she can decide what she’s gonna do.”

  “Mae Davis,” Fred said right away, and looked at his wife for confirmation.

  She nodded in agreement. “Fred’s right. You should go talk to Mae Davis. She owns that big house at the end of the street, beyond the stable. Mae’s a widow. Before he died, her husband built that big place as a rooming house and dining room. Mae’s been running it by herself since Roger got thrown off a horse and landed on his head. That would be the best place for you to stay until you decide what you’re gonna do.” Judging by Hannah’s appearance, Martha thought she might suggest something further. “Mae’s only got one woman helping her cook now, a young woman named Daisy. She had another one, a girl named Violet, to help with the house.” She laughed then and said, “Folks here in town say that Mae had two flowers in her kitchen till somebody came along and picked one. Violet met a young cowhand and left to get married. Moved to . . . Where’d Violet and that young fellow move to, Fred?” Fred shook his head. “Anyway, Mae might need some help since Violet left.”

  Logan glanced at Hannah to see how she responded to Martha’s suggestion. She seemed interested, which was a good sign as far as he was concerned.

  “Thank you for your help,” Hannah said. “I’ll go down and talk to Mrs. Davis.”

  The response from the heretofore silent woman surprised Martha. It fairly astonished Logan. She had not spoken until that moment. Logan thanked the Ramseys as well, and they led the horses down the short street, past the stables, to the house pointed out by Martha Ramsey.

  * * *

  “Howdy, folks,” Mae Davis greeted them at the door. “You’re a little bit early for supper. Won’t be serving for another hour yet.” A large-framed woman with a pleasant smile, she took a long look at the pair of strangers at her front door before deciding to ask, “Are you looking to rent a room?”

  “Well, yes, ma’am,” Logan answered, “maybe. What I mean is, she might be interested in rentin’ a room.”

 
; “Oh,” Mae responded, somewhat put off by Hannah’s appearance. “You two aren’t together?”

  “No, ma’am,” Logan replied, then went on to explain the events that led them to her door.

  Much as Martha Ramsey had, Mae immediately expressed compassion for the tragic circumstances that had befallen Hannah. She was even moved to give Hannah a vigorous hug, in spite of the woman’s dingy attire.

  “You poor darlin’,” she cooed, motherlike. “Not only your dear husband, but everything else was lost, I expect. Well, you’ve come to the right place. You can stay here while you decide what to do. As a matter of fact, I need someone to help Daisy and me, if you’re interested. That way you could earn your room and board while you’re here. Whaddaya say? Can you cook?”

  Hannah nodded, then answered, “Yes, ma’am, a little, I guess.”

  “All right, then,” Mae said. “We’ll give it a try, and see how it works out. Have you got any more clothes with you?” She shrugged. “I mean women’s clothes? If you ain’t, then I guess you might borrow some from Daisy. She’d be closer to your size.” She laughed and winked at Logan. “Can’t have you serving the folks in your knee-high boots.” She continued to inspect her prospective employee for a moment more before making another suggestion. “My late husband, Roger, built me a jim-dandy washhouse out back. You might wanna try it out before you get started.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I would,” Hannah said. “Thank you for your help, but I can pay for my room and board until you see if you really want to hire me to work for you.”

  Her offer took Mae by surprise. She glanced up at Logan, looking for confirmation, and he nodded. “Well, that’s even better, but we’ll talk about that later on.” She punctuated her remark with a final nod of her head. “Now, let’s get you settled in, and I’ll take you back to meet Daisy. She’s gonna be glad to see some help.” Looking back at Logan again, she said, “Like I said, supper will be in an hour, if you wanna come back then to eat.”