The Devil's Posse

by Charles G. West

  * * *

  “I was wonderin’ when he was gonna get smart enough to cut over on the road outta Spearfish,” Lonnie said when the others caught up with him. Logan’s trail had been easy to follow up to that point as he had raced across a clean white prairie. But now his tracks were lost in all the other tracks left by horses, oxen, and wagons that traveled the road, which eventually led to Belle Fourche. Many of the tracks were old, but there were enough new ones, going in both directions, to make him unsure which ones belonged to the gray gelding Logan rode. “That horse he’s ridin’ is wearin’ new shoes, too. But I still can’t make out which tracks are his.”

  “Well, it looks like he’s headin’ for that ranch, the Triple-T, so that’s where we’ll head for,” Quincy said. “Keep a sharp eye out in case he decided to leave the road somewhere between here and there.”

  “From the looks of them tracks before he got to the road, it looks like he’s ridin’ the hell outta that horse,” Wormy said. “Ain’t no way of knowin’ how far he rode before he got to Spearfish, and how tired that gray was then, so that horse might be gettin’ pretty damn wore out by now. Maybe we’ll catch up with him before he gets to the Triple-T.”

  “We might at that,” Quincy allowed. “And that would be to my likin’. I’d love to deal with Mr. Logan Cross without no witnesses around.”

  “We’re wastin’ time,” Lonnie said. “Let’s get goin’. It ain’t but about four miles from here.”

  * * *

  Lonnie’s speculations had been right on the mark. Logan had driven Pepper hard and the gelding was badly in need of rest. He did not doubt for a second that the so-called posse was hot on his heels. He gave consideration toward finding a place to ambush them, but the snowy flat plain he was riding afforded very little in the way of protected spots. So when he came to the road to Belle Fourche, he figured his best chance to lose them was to take to the road.

  But instead of going on to the Triple-T, he wheeled Pepper around and took the road back to Spearfish, gambling on the chance they wouldn’t expect him to reverse his flight. After riding for about a mile, he dismounted and walked to give Pepper a little rest. He remembered a long mesa just northeast of the town, and he decided he would give Pepper a longer rest there. There was still no one in sight behind him, so he figured he had been successful in losing his pursuers.

  When he reached a point from which he could see the buildings of Spearfish, he stopped once again to gaze at the tiny town. It was the second time that day, and this time it was from north of the town. He looked to his left at the long, low mesa and the many gullies and ravines leading up from its base. He should find a suitable place to set up a camp on the far side of it to let Pepper rest. Beyond resting the big gray, he was undecided what to do next.

  First and foremost in his mind was whether or not he should make another attempt to see Hannah and tell her why he had no choice in this war with the men set on killing him. From her reaction when he had surprised her in the parlor, she still believed the man he shot was a lawman. So this gang of outlaws was still carrying on their charade, and the whole town was evidently buying it. It boiled down to his word against theirs, and so far, every action he had been forced to take made it difficult to believe he was not the killer they were telling the town he was.

  But why, he asked himself, was it so important that Hannah should know the truth? There was no real reason, and yet the fact that she did not believe his innocence continued to weigh heavily on his mind. Finally he surrendered to his emotions and made up his mind to try to see her again and tell her his side of the story. There would be no better time to do it while the outlaw posse was gone, hopefully still chasing him on the road to Belle Fourche.

  When he came to a little stream running across the road, he decided it a good place to leave the road without leaving tracks, so he climbed back into the saddle to keep his boots dry. Then he turned Pepper off the road and rode up the stream toward the mesa, leaving no trail in the snow. After a couple of hundred yards, the stream led him up a narrow ravine guarded by a sparse growth of stunted pines.

  This’ll do, he thought, and guided the horse out of the water, dismounted, and led him toward the upper part of the ravine.

  “I’d best leave the saddle on you, boy. We might not be stayin’ here long.” He would give the horse about an hour’s rest before riding on into Spearfish. Supper at the boardinghouse would be over then, and the women would more than likely be finishing with the cleanup. It was already beginning to get dark, so that should help. He wasn’t sure how, but he would try to find some way to get to Hannah when she was alone.

  The hour passed painfully slowly, but at last he decided it was all right to leave. The ravine the stream had led him to seemed as good a campsite as he was likely to find. It offered some protection from the cold winds sweeping down the mountains to rush across the prairie. If all went well in town, he would most likely return here to camp for the night.

  “I’d put you up in the stable if I could,” he said to the gray. “But I ain’t sure Sam Taylor wouldn’t take a shot at me as soon as I walked in.”

  * * *

  Hannah couldn’t help wondering if she was going to have a severe attack of nerves before this day was over. She and Mae had managed to get through the supper hour without dropping any dishes, although just barely. She envied Daisy’s hard-shell indifference to stressful situations. The outspoken woman claimed she had enjoyed the evening.

  “It was kinda like a little vacation with that pack of coyotes gone chasin’ after Logan,” she had said. But Daisy had not known Logan as Hannah had.

  She could still see the horrific expression on Lacey’s face as Logan’s bullet ripped through his chest. It made her shiver uncontrollably when she brought it to mind. She had not felt that terror since she witnessed her husband’s death. Then the picture of Logan formed in her mind, as he whipped his rifle up to deliver the fatal shot. He had reacted so fast, as if no thought was required, his face expressionless as if he was acting on natural instinct. It was difficult not to assume he had done it many times before. And she had spent days and nights with the man, unsuspecting of the killer inside him. She shook her head violently, trying to rid her brain of the image as she finished her toilet. Upon opening the outhouse door, she found herself facing her nightmare. He was standing in the path, waiting.

  “Oh my God, my God . . . ,” she began to cry helplessly, scarcely able to believe he was there again, ghostlike in the shadows of the lone cottonwood behind the house. Maybe he was an illusion conjured by her frazzled nerves. She hoped that was what was happening to her, but then he spoke.

  “Don’t be afraid, Hannah. You oughta know by now that I’m the last person that would hurt you. I’ll be gone in a minute, but I wanted you to know that I ain’t the man they said I am. And I wanna warn you. That bunch that says they’re lawmen have been lyin’ to you and everybody else in town. They’re friends of the man who murdered my brother. I killed that man and another man who helped him kill Billy. So they’re out to get me for that. The law ain’t got nothin’ to do with it. And whoever’s leadin’ this gang ain’t no marshal, and I thought you and Mae needed to know that, ’cause there ain’t no tellin’ what they’ve got in mind after they get me.” He paused to judge her reaction, realizing after he had said it that it was more confusing than he had intended it to be. “They killed my brother. That’s what started the whole thing.”

  She was unable to say anything for a long moment, not sure she could believe him or not. He seemed sincere, but Quincy seemed equally earnest when he spoke of his duty to capture Logan. True, she thought, Quincy’s posse men were a rough-looking collection of hard-living men, but she understood the necessity for such men in a marshal’s posse. As Quincy had remarked to her, “You don’t go after a mad dog with a switch.”

  Logan stood there waiting while she continued to despair. Finally she spoke honestly. �
�I’m not sure I can believe you. It might have been better if you had not come back.” She paused again, still struggling with whether he was the man she first thought him to be. Then she asked, “Did you kill Curly?”

  “Curly?” he responded in surprise. “No. Who’s Curly?”

  “One of Quincy’s men,” she said, “a big, simple man.” When he shook his head, she said, “The marshal said he was killed when they went after you.” She wanted to hear Logan’s answer, even though there were two different stories concerning Curly’s death.

  “No,” he repeated. “What I’m tryin’ to make you understand is that I’m not the cold-blooded killer they’ve told you I am. I’m just tryin’ to keep from gettin’ killed. Surely you saw that the man I shot in your parlor was reaching for his gun to shoot me.” She did not answer, obviously still confused. “Surely you saw that,” he repeated.

  “I don’t know,” she replied, flustered. “I guess so. Maybe he was just going to try to arrest you. I don’t know.”

  Logan slowly shook his head in frustration. He realized that he might have made this trip into town for nothing. Hannah clearly could not let herself accept his version of the events that had led them all to this confrontation. This imposter, Quincy Smith, or whatever his real name was, had done a thorough job of selling himself and his men to her, and the rest of the town, too.

  “Well,” he said, defeated, “looks like I’ve wasted my time, but I wanted to tell you my side of it.” He turned to leave but was stopped by a voice behind him.

  “Just hold it right there, ’less you want a load of buckshot in your behind.” He turned to see Daisy standing near the back steps, aiming a double-barreled shotgun at him. “You all right, Hannah?”

  “Yes,” Hannah answered.

  “I’ll be goin’ now,” Logan said. “I’ve said my piece.”

  “You just hold it right there,” Daisy repeated, this time with more authority. “Maybe we oughta hold you till the marshal gets back.” She cocked the hammers back to emphasize her authority.

  “I reckon you’ll just have to shoot me,” Logan replied calmly, and turned to walk away. “I’d rather have you shoot me in the back than one of those killers in that crooked bunch of outlaws.”

  Daisy held the shotgun to her shoulder for a few moments before pulling it down and carefully releasing the hammers. “Just get the hell outta here before one of Quincy’s coyotes puts a bullet in your back,” she called after him.

  Without stopping, he threw up his hand to acknowledge her advice, then disappeared behind the smokehouse where Pepper was tied.

  “Hell,” Daisy admitted to Hannah, “I couldn’t have shot him. I like him better’n any of that bunch of posse men.” She waited until Hannah walked up the steps, and then asked, “What was he doin’ here? He acts like he just wants to get himself killed.”

  “He wanted to tell me that Quincy is not really a marshal,” Hannah said, still shaken, “that they’re all just a gang of outlaws.”

  “Huh,” Daisy snorted. “It wouldn’t surprise me none atall. It’s gettin’ where you can’t tell the chickens from the fox. Whadda you think?”

  “I honestly don’t know what I think,” Hannah answered truthfully.

  Daisy gave her a serious look, suspicious that there were some deeper, more complex thoughts troubling Hannah’s mind. “Quincy’s a better-lookin’ man, but I reckon I like Logan better,” she stated simply. “It’s cold out here and I’m about to pee in my britches.” She handed Hannah the shotgun. “Here, take this back in the house. I gotta go to the privy.”

  * * *

  Logan returned to the ravine at the foot of the mesa to make his camp. He was tired and hungry, and more than a little bit downtrodden, a result of his unsuccessful attempt to persuade Hannah to reject Quincy’s story.

  “I don’t know why I give a shit,” he complained to Pepper, then went about the business of gathering enough wood to build a fire. He told himself that he would be able to decide what to do next a whole lot better with a cup of hot coffee and some jerky inside him.

  A smart man would ride out of these parts and head back down to Texas, he thought. Maybe hire on with another outfit driving longhorn cattle up to Ogallala. He paused to consider that possibility.

  “I’ve got to go get Billy’s horse first,” he said aloud. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. “This is pretty country, but it’s bad for your health,” he said to Pepper when he fed him the last of the bag of oats he had bought in Rapid City. “We’ll head for the Triple-T in the mornin’ and pick up Billy’s buckskin.”

  Chapter 12

  “Riders comin’ in,” Bob Whitley announced when he walked out the barn door and looked toward Towson’s Creek. He pointed them out to Jim Bledsoe, who was walking out of the barn with him. They both stopped to try to make out who might be coming to call this late in the evening. “Looks like four of ’em.”

  There was no reason to be concerned, but it never hurt to be cautious, so without saying another word, both men turned around, went back into the tack room, and fetched their rifles from their saddles.

  With rifles in hand, they walked back out to the front of the barn to watch for their visitors, who were now within a hundred yards. “I’ll go tell Jace,” Bledsoe said, and went at once to the bunkhouse, where Jace Evans and some of the hands were playing cards.

  In a couple of minutes, Jace, along with Bledsoe, Lou Cheatam, and Ox, came to join Bob. Within fifty yards now, Quincy yelled out, “Howdy, Triple-T. It’s Marshal Smith.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Jace muttered. “I wonder what he’s doin’ back here.” He raised his voice to yell back, “Howdy, Marshal, come on in.” He turned to Lou and said, “They look like they’ve been ridin’ a spell. Go back and tell Spud to put on a new pot of coffee and see if there’s anything he can scare up to feed ’em.” Quincy and his men rode into the barnyard, looking every bit as weary as Jace had speculated. “What brings you boys back up this way?” he asked. “And pretty late in the day at that.”

  “We’ve been on Logan Cross’s trail,” Quincy said. “And it was leadin’ up this way. Looked like he was headed here.”

  “Logan?” Jace responded, surprised. “You think he’s come back here?”

  Quincy and his men stepped down. “Like I said, he was comin’ this way. Don’t suppose he’s holed up around here somewhere? Maybe he figured he’d come back home to hide out. He’s still a wanted man, and we got him now for two more counts of murder.” He looked around him in the darkened barnyard as if looking for Logan to appear.

  “Damn,” Jace swore. “You are short two men since the last time you showed up here. I still can hardly believe we’re talkin’ about the same man who worked here. But if he’s holed up around here somewhere, I don’t know it.” He turned to Bledsoe. “You boys know anything about Logan?” They all shook their heads.

  Aware that Ox had for some reason formed a special allegiance to Logan, he asked the simple man directly. “Ox, have you seen Logan since he ran off from the line shack?” The big man slowly shook his head, his eyes still wide with the excitement of the news.

  “I’m afraid he’s give you the slip again, Marshal,” Jace said. “He ain’t come back here.” He could see that the marshal was not pleased to hear he had reached another dead end. “You fellers look like you’re a little wore out. Why don’t you unsaddle those horses and turn ’em out in the corral? Then we’ll go on up to the bunkhouse and find you something to eat.”

  “That sounds mighty fine to me,” Wormy said, without waiting for Quincy to say yea or nay. His vote was seconded by Stokes, and they started unsaddling their horses.

  Only slightly perturbed by their actions, Quincy looked at Lonnie and shrugged. “Why, that’s mighty neighborly of you,” he said to Jace. “We could sure use some grub.”

  Jace waited for Quincy to take the sa
ddle off his horse, then walked with him up to the bunkhouse. “Killed two of your men,” he pondered aloud. “That’s still hard for me to picture that man doin’ something like that.”

  “He’s a dangerous killer,” Quincy said. “You’re mighty lucky he didn’t cause any trouble while he was workin’ for you. I expect he was just tryin’ to keep his nose clean, ’cause he knew the law was after him.”

  “Just goes to show you, you can’t always judge a man. That’s what riles me. Hell, I was really fooled by that man. I’ve gotta give him credit, though, he was a helluva good cowhand. It’s just a shame he broke bad. Say, why don’t you and your men stay here tonight? You ain’t got no idea about tryin’ to track him in the dark, have you?”

  “That’s a right good idea,” Quincy said, thinking it would give him a better chance to look around the place in the daylight. He wasn’t sure he’d put it beneath Jace to cover for Logan.

  * * *

  After spending the night in the bunkhouse as guests of the Triple-T, Quincy and his men were treated to a big breakfast of eggs and bacon and biscuits and gravy, all washed down with plenty of strong black coffee. “I swear,” Wormy joked to Stokes, “I might wanna leave you three to go on after Cross, and I’ll sign on with the Triple-T.”

  “What makes you think they’d hire a scrawny little feller like you?” Stokes asked. “You know about as much about herdin’ cows as the hog they sliced that bacon off of.”

  “The hell I don’t,” Wormy protested. “I drove a sight more’n the three of you, I’ll bet. Course, they was all rustled, but I drove ’em just the same. If I hadn’t met up with Quincy and Lonnie, and got led astray, I mighta been set up on a ranch like ol’ Towson here.”

  “You mighta been flyin’ all around like that hawk up there, if you’da sprouted a pair of wings, too,” Stokes slurred, “instead of a forked tongue.”

  Poised to continue the nonsensical banter, Wormy was interrupted by the arrival of Quincy and Lonnie from the ranch house, where they had supposedly gone to thank Towson for his hospitality. The actual purpose for seeking Towson early that morning was mainly to gain access to the inside of the house, alert for any signs that Logan Cross might have been hiding there.