Crow Creek Crossing

by Charles G. West

  “Maybe if we start out early in the mornin’, we could make that twenty miles to Lodgepole in a day,” Cole suggested.

  “We oughta,” John agreed.

  “Let me take a look at that wound,” Ann interrupted. Cole submitted to her examination, and she had to admit that it looked pretty well into healing. Only then did she approve of continuing their journey, however. “All right,” she said, “we can start in the morning.” So after restocking their supplies, they camped north of the town to wait for morning.

  As they had speculated, the trip to Lodgepole was accomplished in a day’s time, and they made camp that night on the bank of that creek. A shorter day the following afternoon found them at the Chugwater. Upon striking the Chugwater, there was a noticeable air of excitement over the whole party, a sense that they were moments away from their new home.

  However, there was also an uncertain feeling on the part of the adults. For the first time since leaving Lancaster, both Cole and John questioned their decision to follow Walter Hodge to Wyoming. The reason was quite simple. Setting out with a vision of fertile farmland awaiting them, they were now struck with a land that seemed almost desertlike in its appearance. Flat and arid, it looked as if it would present quite a challenge to any man who sought to farm it.

  “I reckon we’d best find Walter Hodge’s farm,” John said. And that was to be a matter of sheer guesswork when it came to deciding in which direction to start their search. “I expect the thing to do is to decide this the way a scientist would,” he joked, in an effort to lighten the tentative mood that was beginning to descend upon them. He then looked in the canvas money bag he kept under the wagon seat for a twenty-dollar gold piece. “Now, it’s important to have a qualified person flip it. I reckon that would be you, Skeeter.” He handed the coin to his youngest. “Heads it’s upstream, tails it’s downstream. You ready, Skeeter?”

  The precocious youngster nodded enthusiastically, feeling the importance of his appointment as the direction-determining official. With a solemn expression on his freckled face, he flipped the coin high in the air and yelled, “Heads!”

  “I knew he’d say heads,” Lucy remarked impatiently. “He didn’t say call it, Skeeter. It doesn’t matter what you call.” The coin landed with tails up, however, so they set out downstream.

  They continued in that direction until darkness forced them to make camp. After no sign of Walter’s farm, or any farm, the decision to be made was whether to keep going in that direction or to assume they were going the wrong way. Everyone was impatient to reach their new home, and there was a tendency to fear that they had somehow failed to follow Walter Hodge’s instructions correctly. “We might be miles and miles away from where we were supposed to strike the Chugwater,” Mabel fretted. “Are you sure that was Lodgepole Creek we camped at last night? Maybe it was some other nameless creek, and that’s the reason we’re so far from where we’re supposed to be.”

  Obviously irritated by his wife’s accusations, John replied sharply, “Yes, that was Lodgepole Creek. Wasn’t it, Cole?”

  “I think it was,” Cole replied.

  “We did just like Walter told me to do. Hell, did you think we were gonna hit it right on the nose?”

  “Well, you don’t have to get up on your high horse about it,” Mabel snapped back.

  Cole couldn’t suppress a grin as he made a suggestion. “I expect we’re not too far from where we’re supposed to be. I think we just got a bad toss of the coin. We shoulda gone upstream. Skeeter tried to tell us to go upstream when he called heads. If we start out in the mornin’, we’ll get back to where we first struck the creek in a couple of hours, and we’ll have the rest of the day to find your friend’s place.”

  “What if we don’t find it upstream?” Ann asked.

  “We will,” Cole insisted. “But if we don’t, we’ll give Skeeter a good lickin’ for leadin’ us wrong.” He grabbed the youngster then and turned him over his knee, pretending he was going to spank him. “Like tryin’ to hold on to a greased otter,” he said when he finally let the giggling boy worm his way free. Grinning, Cole looked up to find Ann’s admiring gaze on him. He knew what she was thinking, picturing him as a father to their child, who might be coming along in seven or eight months, if she could believe the symptoms she was beginning to feel. At that moment, he felt secure in the belief that his life was on the right path, and it occurred to him that it wouldn’t hurt to say a little prayer of thanks when he had a private moment.

  • • •

  Cole’s prediction turned out to be accurate, for they sighted a log cabin by the creek early on the following afternoon. It could be none other than Walter Hodge’s cabin. Of that, John was certain. On the other side of the cabin, a barn stood in the early stages of completion. As they approached the cabin, a wiry man with a full mane of snow-white hair and beard came out of the barn. He paused when he caught sight of the wagon with a mounted rider beside it coming up the creek. He immediately broke out a grin and called to the house, “Frances, they’re here!” He was joined moments later by a pleasantly plump woman, drying her hands on her apron.

  It was a joyous reception. Both the Cochrans and the Hodges were glad to be reunited, and the Bonners were welcomed to the party as well.

  “As soon as you folks get rested up and have a little somethin’ to eat, we’ll go take a look at your land,” Walter said. “Your piece joins mine, and you’ve gotten here at a good time. I’ve just finished with the plantin’ of my winter wheat, so I’ll be able to help you get a cabin built before heavy weather sets in. Cole here looks like a stud horse, and my boy, Sammy, will be back from Crow Creek Crossin’ with a wagonload of supplies tonight. You might have even seen him when you were there and didn’t know it was Sammy. Hell, the four of us oughta be able to build a whole town before winter hits.”

  “I reckon,” John said. “And Elliot’s a pretty good worker, too. I’m ready to get started. Tell you the truth, though, I ain’t especially hungry right now. I’d just as soon go on and take a look at my land. How ’bout you, Cole?”

  “Suits me,” Cole replied. So the three men left the women and children to eat and visit while they rode out to view John’s land.

  • • •

  Although it was not the paradise that Mabel and Ann had pictured, it was decent land, they decided, land that hardworking men could make a living on, acres of pasture and land for crops next to the creek. With no delay, they began building a cabin, and by the time the Union Pacific reached the city of Cheyenne that November, they were settled in the cabin and had started work on a barn.

  Cole and Ann had already picked out a site for their home, and when weather permitted, Cole prepared to go into Cheyenne to file on it. A government land office had been built in the rapidly growing town, and as soon as Cole found out about it, he was anxious to make the land legally his and Ann’s. She was already starting to show a little, and they were both anxious to have their own place.

  It was the middle of December when he gave Ann a parting kiss and stepped up into the saddle. “Don’t go wandering into any of those saloons with their prostitutes,” she lectured.

  “Well, I don’t know,” he teased. “I might need a little drink after that long, cold ride.”

  “Is that so?” she said. “If you’re cold, you go to the diner and get a cup of coffee. That’ll warm you up better than anything you’ll find in a saloon.”

  He laughed and gave her arm a little squeeze. Had she been able to see into his thoughts, she would have known that she had nothing to fear. In the few short months since they had married, she had become his whole world, and nothing interested him outside that world. She stepped away from his stirrup and softly whispered, “Hurry home.”

  “I will,” he replied, then turned Joe’s head toward Cheyenne, planning to be back in two days at the most, for he had very little business in town other than registering hi
s claim.

  • • •

  He arrived in Cheyenne after a long day in the saddle to find scant resemblance to the little settlement called Crow Creek Crossing. The town had swollen in population like a wound that had festered with infection. He went to the stables, where he and John had bought some extra grain for the horses back in August, to ask where the land office was, since he didn’t see it when he rode the length of the street. The proprietor told him the office was located on a side street, but that it was most likely closed for the day.

  “Where did all these people come from?” Cole asked, for the street was crowded with men, many of whom were loud and boisterous.

  “Railroad men and the riffraff that comes with ’em,” Leon Bloodworth, the proprietor, said. He went on to explain, “When they started layin’ the tracks west of here, up Sherman Hill, the bad weather pretty much shut ’em down for the winter. So the railroad told ’em to go home and come back in the spring. Well, a lot of them boys’ homes are too far away to get there and back in time to claim their jobs, so they just moved into town. And the town can’t handle ’em. The saloons and the whorehouses go all night long to take whatever money the railroad men have left. The sheriff can’t keep the peace. One of ’em shoots another one of ’em damn near every night. It got so bad the God-fearin’ men of this town had to take matters in their own hands and form a vigilance committee. So what you see tonight ain’t as bad as it was.”

  “It still looks pretty wild to me,” Cole remarked, “but I’ll take your word for it. I’d like to stable my horse for the night. I’ve got no reason to visit a saloon, but I would like to buy a little supper before I turn in. And if the charge ain’t too much, I’ll just bunk in with my horse.”

  “I won’t charge you no extra, since you and your partner bought grain from me before. And if you’re lookin’ for a quiet place to take supper, there ain’t none. But your best chance is the hotel dinin’ room. Maggie Whitehouse tries to run a respectable place, and the food’s fair to middlin’.”

  “Much obliged,” Cole said. “I’ll give Maggie a try.”

  • • •

  He walked past two saloons on his way to the hotel. It appeared that both were doing a booming business, although it was still early in the evening. Ann’s word of warning came to mind, causing him to smile to himself, and he thought if he was going to spend the price of a couple of drinks of whiskey, he’d most likely spend it on some trinket or doodad for her instead. This would be the first night they would be apart since their marriage, and he had to admit he missed her. I’d better not ever let her know what kind of hold she’s got on me, he thought, although he suspected she already knew.

  Inside the hotel, he headed for a door with a sign over it, identifying it as the dining room. It led to a large room with one long table with benches in the center and smaller tables with four chairs each lined up along the walls. The room was crowded. Only a few of the smaller tables were unoccupied, and all but one of them had dirty dishes on them. There were a couple of empty spaces at the long table, but there was not much room between the battling elbows on each side of them. So he seated himself at the one clean table against the wall, propped his Henry rifle against one of the empty chairs, and waited. After a short time, a young woman, looking bored and weary, stopped before the table. It occurred to him that, in spite of the expression she wore, she looked strong and able. Her hair, raven black, was pulled back from an honest and not unattractive face. It was plain to see that she had no concern for dolling up for the benefit of her customers.

  “Stew?” she asked.

  “What’s the special tonight?” he asked.

  “Stew,” she repeated with a look of undisguised impatience.

  “What kinda stew is it?” he asked.

  “Cowboy stew,” she replied, her expression ap- proaching painful. “Look, mister, you wanna eat or not?”

  “I’ll take it,” he said, anticipating an invitation to leave if he didn’t. “With a cup of coffee,” he added. She turned toward the kitchen without another word.

  Back in a short time, she placed a large bowl of stew before him and a plate with bread beside it. “I’ll be back with your coffee in a minute or two,” she said. “Got a new pot just comin’ to a boil.”

  “Much obliged,” he said to her back as she hurried away again. He turned his attention to the bowl of food before him, tore off a chunk of bread and dipped it in the stew, then bit off a mouthful to test. It tasted a lot better than it looked, so he set into it with a will. He couldn’t identify all the ingredients, but it was some kind of beef stew, which he had already suspected, since she called it “cowboy stew.” By the time she brought his coffee, he had eaten half of the bowl.

  “You musta been hungry,” she commented upon seeing the progress he had made.

  “I sure was,” he responded. “That’s pretty good stew.”

  “Just pretty good?” she asked, teasing him. Then went to work clearing the dirty dishes from the table next to his. “Maggie thinks it’s damn good,” she tossed at him as she filled her arms with dishes.

  “I won’t argue with that,” he said. “Tell Maggie she’s right. It’s damn good.”

  “I’ll tell her,” she said, already on her way back to the kitchen.

  He reassessed his impression of his waitress. He had first thought she was grumpy. He decided now that the poor girl was just tired. Looking around him at the crowded room, he thought the reason was obvious. She needed help. His stew finished, he took a few tentative sips of the steaming-hot coffee. It was still a bit too hot, so he took a chunk of the bread left on the plate and dipped it in the coffee and ate the soggy mouthful.

  He didn’t pay much attention to the trio of men when they ambled into the dining room a few minutes later, except to note that they probably weren’t railroad workers. Most likely, he wouldn’t even have noticed that, but they sat down at the table next to his, which the waitress had not finished cleaning. He glanced up to meet the eye of one of the men, who favored him with a smile that more closely resembled a sneer. Cole gave a polite nod, and it was answered with a cold, unblinking stare. Friendly cuss, Cole thought, and returned his concentration to his coffee cup.

  It didn’t register in his mind right away, but several diners got up abruptly from their tables and left the dining room. The waitress came from the kitchen then and, seeing the three men at the table, hesitated for a few moments before coming over to finish clearing it. When she did, she made it a point to first ask Cole if he wanted more coffee. When he said he did, one of the men spoke. “Never mind his coffee, Mary Lou. You’d better see about gettin’ us somethin’ to eat first. We’ve been settin’ here a helluva long time.”

  “Humph.” She uttered a little snort, as if wondering how he knew her name. “You just walked in,” she said. “You ain’t been here two minutes.” Pointedly turning to Cole again, she said, “Soon as I wipe this table off, I’ll get you some more coffee.”

  “’Preciate it,” Cole said. He took another look at the men at the table. All three wore long raincoats, and the one doing the talking wore a black flat-crowned hat with a band that looked like a silver belt. It seemed to Cole that the waitress was accustomed to dealing with the likes of the three leering men, so he saw no need to stick his nose in it. He concentrated on draining the last gulp of coffee from his cup while the young woman started wiping the table with a damp rag. The door opened then and three more men walked in to stand looking around the room.

  “Tom,” one of the men at the table called out. “Over here.”

  It occurred to Cole then that he might find himself in a spot he’d rather not be in, especially when a couple more patrons suddenly got up and hurried out the door. Not a good sign, he told himself. They must know something that I don’t. But he was not inclined to get up and leave before he was ready. I’ll just mind my own business and let the six of them mind
theirs, he thought.

  The man called Tom and his two friends walked over to join the three seated at the table, openly surveying the waitress’s behind as she finished cleaning the table. “Thought you’da already et by now,” Tom said.

  “Well, we ain’t yet,” the man wearing the black hat replied. Then he suddenly grabbed the waitress’s wrist. “’Cause Mary Lou ain’t brought no food yet.”

  Cole felt the blood getting hot in his brain, and the muscles in his forearms tensed. It did not go unnoticed by the defiant young woman. Well acquainted with the kind of men she was dealing with, and with no wish to cause Cole to become involved, she jerked her hand free, causing the man to laugh. “Don’t you worry yourself, mister,” she whispered aside to Cole. “I can take care of myself.”

  “That’s right, mister.” The antagonist sneered, having overheard. “Ol’ Mary Lou can take care of herself. You don’t need to worry none on her account. You’re leavin’ now, anyway.” He shifted his eye to his friend again. “Tom, we need more room. Why don’t you pull that table over next to ours and we’ll make it one big table?” There was no doubt he was referring to Cole’s table.

  “You can use one of the other tables,” Mary Lou said.

  “I want that one,” he said, his tone no longer civil.

  The whole dining room went suddenly silent, and all eyes shifted to focus upon the lone young man, who now knew there was no peaceful option available to him except to slink cowardly out of the saloon. And that just wasn’t his style—never had been, no matter the odds. But six to one didn’t promise much success for him in a fistfight, and a couple of the men, grinning at him in anticipation of his reaction, were pretty stout-looking fellows, eager for a tussle. Cole looked up from his cup and smiled when he spoke. “You gentlemen are welcome to this table right after I have another cup of coffee.” He turned to Mary Lou then. “I’d appreciate that coffee whenever you get a chance.”