Crow Creek Crossing

by Charles G. West

  Cole took a good look around him as he dismounted before the log structure. The aging logs were in need of attention in several areas of the walls, where the clay chinking had fallen away. There had been a couple of additions built onto the original and it was easy to tell which one was the latest. There appeared to be no one around, no other horses at the hitching rail, so Cole followed Harley into the store, ducking his head to keep from bumping it on the lintel.

  Inside, the room was as dark as a cave, and it took him a few minutes to adjust his eyes. There were two men in the store, one leaning against the counter, the other sitting in a rocking chair beside a tall iron stove. In no hurry to greet them, the man sitting in the chair spoke after a few moments.

  “Harley Branch, it’s been a while since you’ve showed up around here. I thought maybe you was dead, maybe you was scalped by some of them Sioux Injuns.” He got up and walked over to stand by the counter with Zeke.

  “I just come by to see if the soldiers had burned this place down,” Harley returned.

  “Huh,” Lem grunted. “There ain’t nothin’ here the army’s interested in—just an honest businessman tryin’ to get by.” He turned his attention toward Cole. “Who’s your friend?” Not waiting for an answer, he said, “Mister, you ain’t particular who you ride with, are you?” Cole made no reply, so Lem turned back to Harley. “What can I do for you, Harley? You lookin’ to trade off some pelts?”

  “Nope,” Harley said. “I’m just ridin’ along with Cole. He’s tryin’ to catch up with some of your friends.”

  “Is that so?” Lem replied. “And who might that be?” He took a closer look at Cole then, his natural suspicion aroused.

  “Slade Corbett,” Cole answered quickly, lest Harley might blurt the real reason he was looking for Corbett. “I was supposed to meet him here, but I got held up when Smiley Dodd and I ran into a little trouble in a place called Johnstown. We had to run for it when they got up a posse after us, and Smiley didn’t make it. That’s his horse out there beside mine.”

  Lem scratched his chin under his whiskers while he considered what Cole said. The story sounded like a reasonable explanation for the empty saddle Zeke reported when they first rode up. Still, he was cautious about supplying strangers with any information regarding his customers. “You didn’t miss Slade by much,” he said. “He was here, all right, but he didn’t stay—him and Tom Larsen and Sanchez came in one night and they was gone the next mornin’.” He watched Cole’s reaction closely. “Funny, he didn’t say nothin’ about meetin’ anybody.”

  Sanchez, Cole repeated to himself. Now the Mexican had a name. It was time to think fast. “He wasn’t likely to have said anything about it till I showed up. We were gonna talk over a little piece of business that didn’t include Tom and the Mexican, and he wasn’t sure what they’d think about that.” Cole could see that Dawson was chewing that over in his head. “I reckon I’ll catch up with him somewhere. Where did he say he was headin’ when he left here?”

  Still cautious, Dawson said, “He didn’t say where he was headed. He just lit out.”

  “Yeah, he did, Lem,” Zeke began, before Dawson cut him off with a sharp elbow in his ribs.

  “He didn’t say where he was goin’,” Dawson insisted. “It wasn’t no business of mine, anyway.”

  “That’s a fact,” Zeke said. “Come to think of it, they didn’t say where they was headin’.”

  “You boys needin’ some supplies?” Dawson asked. He pointed to Cole’s rifle. “I’ve got cartridges for that Henry you’re carryin’.”

  “Reckon not,” Cole said. “I’m pretty well supplied right now, and we need to get on our way.”

  “Damn,” Dawson said. “It’s hard for a man to make a livin’ offa boys like you and Slade.”

  “Reckon maybe we could take time for a little drink, couldn’t we, Cole?” Harley had been eyeing a full bottle of whiskey sitting on a shelf behind the counter. “I swear, it’s been a while since I’ve had any of that poison Lem sells.”

  Cole had no interest in a drink. His mind was working on where to look for Slade Corbett and his two friends. But he realized that he at least owed Harley a drink of whiskey for bringing him to the trading post.

  “Sure, why not?” he replied. “We ain’t in that big a hurry.”

  This was not exactly true. He was in a desperate hurry, but he didn’t know where to search for those he sought. One thing he was certain of, however, was that both Lem Dawson and Zeke Pritchard knew where Slade was heading when he left the trading post. There was little doubt that Zeke was the weak link in the chain of silence that outlaws abided by. “I’ll stand good for a couple of drinks for my friend here,” Cole told Lem.

  “What about yourself?” Lem asked, reaching behind him for the bottle.

  “Nothin’ for me,” Cole said.

  “Nothin’?” Lem echoed, as if finding it hard to believe. A man who didn’t want a drink of whiskey was a man you couldn’t trust, as far as he was concerned. “Don’t you need a snort of somethin’ to warm your insides on a day like this?”

  “Reckon not,” Cole replied.

  “Well, I need somethin’ to warm my insides,” Zeke spoke up. “I’m fixin’ to go out to the barn and fork some hay down for the horses, and it’s cold out there.”

  “You’ve already run up an account that you ain’t paid for,” Lem said. “I’m cuttin’ you off till you come up with what you owe me.”

  “I swear, Lem, you know I’m good for it,” Zeke whined. “Come spring, I’ll catch up with it.”

  “Come spring, you’ll still be settin’ around here talkin’ about what you’re gonna do while you’re still forkin’ hay and sloppin’ the hogs just to pay for your grub,” Lem told him, and poured Harley’s drink.

  “I’ll stand good for one drink for your friend,” Cole said, and motioned for Lem to pour another.

  “Why, that’s mighty neighborly of you, mister,” Zeke said. He picked up the glass as soon as Lem poured it, tossed it back, and smacked his lips in appreciation. “Damn, I needed that. Thanks again, mister.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Cole said. He looked at Harley then and said, “I reckon we’re ready to leave now.”

  Mystified by his young friend’s generosity, Harley finished his second drink and turned to follow Cole, who was already walking toward the door.

  Outside, Harley asked, “I thank you kindly for the whiskey, but I’m kinda buffaloed on why you bought a drink for that piece of horse dung in there.”

  “I bought you a couple of drinks because you’ve done me a big favor. I bought him a drink because he’s gonna do me one.” He offered no further explanation as he stepped up into the saddle and turned Joe away from the hitching rail. Harley followed as Cole rode up the trail that had led them to the trading post earlier, not waiting for the stumpy little man to lead as usual. When they had turned onto the river trail and were out of sight of the store, Cole reined Joe back and waited for Harley to catch up.

  “Where are you headed?” Harley asked.

  “I’m goin’ to cut back down there by the barn,” Cole told him. “That fellow—what was his name, Zeke?—said he was fixin’ to go down to the barn to fork some hay. I wanna have a little talk with him.”

  Harley didn’t have to ask why. “I reckon I’ll hold the buckskin for you while you have your talk.” He figured he wasn’t going to be of any help in whatever Cole had in mind, so he had just as soon wait it out.

  “That’s what I figured,” Cole said. “Maybe I won’t make you wait as long as last time.”

  • • •

  “He don’t have to treat me like a damn loafer Injun,” Zeke Pritchard muttered to himself as he swung the barn door open and climbed up into the hayloft. He had come upon some hard times lately, and he had tried to explain to Lem that he was just waiting for some of the old regulars to show up.
Then he’d join up with them and be working again. But nothing was going to happen until spring. Lem should know that as well as anybody. Then the stage lines would be running and settlers coming. There would be plenty of opportunities for an experienced road agent like himself to come into some money. And he wouldn’t have to do chores just for grub.

  After tossing a pile of hay down to the two stalls in Lem’s barn, Zeke climbed down the ladder. As he stepped off the last rung, he turned to encounter the formidable presence of Cole Bonner. His natural impulse was to try to step back, but the ladder to the hayloft was there to stop him, and he found his nose on a level with the bigger man’s chest. “What the hell . . . ?” he exclaimed, and tried to move to the side, only to be grabbed by the collar and held firm.

  “Zeke,” Cole said, his voice low and threatening, “I’m here to collect on that favor you owe me for that drink of whiskey.”

  “What favor?” Zeke blurted, quivering with uncertainty.

  “Let me explain somethin’ to you, Zeke. I’ve got somethin’ I’ve got to do, and I’m gonna kill any man that stands in my way. Now, all I want from you is just a little piece of information. That’s all, but if I don’t get it, then I’m gonna be mad as hell, and that ain’t gonna be good for anybody I’m mad at. So you think about that when I ask you one simple question.”

  Uncertainty gave way to full-blown terror as Zeke was struck with the thought that he was in the clutches of a conscienceless killer. “I don’t know nothin’ about anything, man! I swear to God!”

  “It’s real simple, Zeke. I ask you one question, you answer it, and I’ll be gone. And nobody will know you said anything. Ain’t that simple enough?” He tightened up on the frightened man’s collar. “But if it turns out that you told me a lie, then I ain’t gonna be this friendly when I come back for you.” He paused a few moments to let that sink in. “Now, Slade Corbett told Lem where he and his friends were headin’ when he left here. Where was it?” Zeke’s eyes looked about to pop out as he stared speechless in fright, causing Cole to jerk him up closer to his face. “I’m about to lose my patience with you. It’s a simple question.”

  When Zeke still did not answer, seeming to be rendered mute by a fear of retaliation by Lem Dawson if he did, Cole threw him violently to the stable floor. “That’s it,” he said. “I’m done with you.” He leveled his rifle at the terrified man and cocked it.

  “Wait!” Zeke gasped, finally finding his voice. “Crow Creek Crossin’! They said they was goin’ to Crow Creek Crossin’!” Cole made no sign of relenting, still holding the Henry on the frightened man. “They said that was a good place to wait out the winter,” Zeke pleaded. Cole released the hammer on his rifle, turned away, and started for the door. Realizing that the threat to his life was evidently over, Zeke implored, “You ain’t gonna say nothin’ to Lem, are you? I answered your question.”

  “I hope to hell I never see the son of a bitch again,” Cole growled as he passed through the barn door.

  • • •

  “Hell, I ain’t surprised,” Harley said when Cole told him where Slade Corbett and his friends went. “Crow Creek Crossin’, huh? They don’t call it that no more.”

  “I know,” Cole said. “It’s Cheyenne now.”

  “That’s right. I forget,” Harley replied. “Like I said, I ain’t surprised that bunch went there to winter. They got ever’thin’ three outlaws are lookin’ for. From what I’ve heard of that place, the railroad people had to stop when the cold weather set in. They couldn’t get up the first big hill west of the crossin’, so they quit till spring. Most of the railroad men are still there with no place to go, and every gambler, saloon keeper, whore, outlaw, and drifter in the territory are holed up there, too.”

  “What you heard is a pretty accurate picture of the town,” Cole said. He thought of the first encounter he had had with Slade Corbett and his gang.

  “I reckon we didn’t have to waste your time askin’ Zeke where Corbett went,” Harley said. “Shoulda figured that’s where he’d head for.”

  “Maybe so,” Cole agreed, although he had to admit he was a little surprised, for the last time Corbett was in Cheyenne, he had fled with a posse on his tail. Cole supposed the fact that the three outlaws were bold enough to return lent credence to the reports that a lawless breed had overrun the town that winter. “But that’s where I’m headin’ now,” Cole continued. “What are you gonna do? Go to that Crow village you started to before you met up with me? It ain’t that far from here, is it?”

  “No, it ain’t far,” Harley said. “It’s where the Laramie and the North Laramie come together—half a day, maybe more. But to tell you the truth, I’m thinkin’ ’bout ridin’ on down to Crow Creek Crossin’ with you. I ain’t been there since they changed it to Cheyenne. I ain’t never been to a circus, and I reckon that’s about as close as I’ll ever get to one.”

  He didn’t express it, but there was also some curiosity about what Cole was going to do when he got there. He had to admit that he felt a fascination about the seldom-smiling man he had joined up with, who professed to have only one purpose in his life. According to what Cole had reluctantly confessed, three of the original six men who had destroyed his world were dead, two by his hand. And he seemed to look no further into the future than the deaths of the remaining three.

  Harley considered himself a good judge of men, and Cole Bonner struck him as having been made of good stock. It was a waste of life to dedicate himself to vengeance, especially when the odds might favor those he sought to execute. The thing that bothered him about the young man was his lack of a fear of dying. It was one thing to be fearless and brave, but even for the bold there was a natural desire to survive. He sensed that Cole’s loss had been so great that he no longer cared if he lived or died, as long as he could survive long enough to kill those who destroyed his life. Ordinarily Harley would let a man insistent upon committing suicide go his own way, but he felt that Cole Bonner was worth salvaging.

  “Course, you might not want no company,” Harley finally allowed.

  Cole looked at the gnarly little man wearing buckskins, and wondered for a few moments why he would want to tag along with him. This quest was his business alone, and he couldn’t understand why Harley would want any part of it. He shrugged after a moment and said, “I don’t see any reason why you can’t go with me, if that’s what you wanna do—as long as you know somebody’s gonna end up dead before I’m through. Might not be a good idea to stay close to me.”

  “I’ll cut out if it gets too hot for me,” Harley said.

  “Fair enough,” Cole concluded. “Let’s get movin’.”

  • • •

  Two and a half days of hard riding brought them to the outer buildings of Cheyenne, some of them still under construction. The street, filled with people, had been churned into a quagmire of snow and mud as horses and wagons plowed up and down past the saloons and shops, general stores and brothels—the toddling town of Cheyenne had them all. Amazed by the growth of the town since he had last been there, Harley sat on his horse, taking in the busy scene on that cold winter day. If ever a town looked like a hotbed of the wild and wicked, Cheyenne was it. He wondered if he should have elected to ride on up to Medicine Bear’s camp, instead of partnering with Cole. He glanced over at the relentless searcher, his face a mask of granite, as he glared at the busy street, looking as if he was peering into every door.

  “Whatcha aimin’ to do now?” Harley asked.

  “I expect we’re gonna have to stable our horses first thing,” Cole told him. When Harley confessed that he didn’t have the money to pay for that luxury, Cole said he didn’t expect that he did. “I’ll pay for boardin’ the horses while we’re here. I wanna get Joe and the buckskin some grain and rest ’em up ready to go when I need ’em. I expect you want the same for your horses.”

  “Well, I reckon,” Harley replied, “although my ho
rses ain’t used to gettin’ grain to eat. And I didn’t expect you to pay for me. I figured we’d camp outside town somewhere.”

  “I need to be in town, and the horses need decent feed for a change.” Cole ended the discussion. He nudged Joe with his heels and started down the street toward the stables at the other end.

  • • •

  “Well, I’ll be . . . ,” Leon Bloodworth started when Cole and Harley led their horses inside the stable. “I wondered if I’d see you back in town again, after the way we treated you the last time.” He grinned at Harley. “He had to shoot his way outta the hotel dinin’ room, and then Jim Thompson threw him in jail for the night.” He turned his attention back to Cole then. “I expect you’ve been workin’ pretty hard on that piece of land you bought up on the Chugwater.”

  “I see you took to wearin’ a gun,” Cole said in reply, having no desire to relate the tragic events that had destroyed his life.

  “Had to,” Bloodworth said. “Had to wear it for my health. It ain’t only the railroad crew that’s causin’ all the trouble. It’s the dad-blamed riffraff that follows ’em. I swear, it seems like every road agent and murderer has headed to Cheyenne this winter. What brings you back to town?”

  “I’m lookin’ for some old friends of mine,” Cole said. “I heard they’re back in town.”

  Bloodworth knew right away who Cole was referring to. “They’re here, all right—big as life, like they own the town—but if I was you, I believe I’d stay clear of ’em. They ain’t nothin’ but trouble, and they ain’t likely to forget that you shot that feller that was with ’em.”