by John Hansen
As drunk as he was, or should have been after drinking as much beer as he had, Kregg swayed only slightly from side to side as he looked Hollis hard in the eyes. He was looking for a hint that Hollis was the liar that he suspected him to be. But that evidence was not forthcoming and so Kregg suddenly blurted out: “He didn’t have nuthin’ but fool’s gold. And the Menaghers killed ‘em all for it.” So that was their plan, said Hollis to himself. Playing along, Hollis did his best to express surprise. “Fool’s gold! The hell you say. Woulda been a clever trick had they lived to tell about it.”
“Yeah, I reckon that was what they was ah-thinkin’ alright,” said Kregg in a sinister tone, “but it kinda backfired on’em.” He paused and then he smiled in an evil way, looking directly at Hollis. “You woulda thought that as clever as these boys was tryin’ to be that they woulda had someone else carry the real gold for ‘em. Somebody that wouldn’t attract attention…” Kregg paused briefly, and then he said in a louder voice: “…say like a United States marshal.”
“Well Buster, I hear what you’re saying and you’re dead wrong,” replied Hollis in a stern voice. “I never saw hide nor hair of that fellar.”
“Is that a fact?” said Kregg in a doubting voice.
“It is,” said Hollis. “I rode the full length of Chokecherry Canyon and never saw any sign of this guy.”
Kregg lowered his hand to where it rested alongside of his pistol. “You’re a lyin’ bastard.”
Hollis opened his mouth to speak but Kregg interrupted him. “Stop, don’t say a word unless it’s the truth. You tell me one more lie and I swear as sure as there’s a sun in the sky I’ll kill ya right here and now. So think about it. I’m not shittin’ ya in the least. I’ll kill ya dead if the words coming from your lips ain’t the truth. So, tell me about the marshal.”
Hollis’ mind was racing. Kregg was drunk but maybe not as drunk as he had thought. There was doubt in his mind. If the beer hadn’t slowed Kregg’s reflexes, could he beat him? Would Kregg try to kill him anyway once he found out about the gold?
“Let me prime the pump a little bit,” said Kregg in an evil tone. “I came down Chokecherry on my way back from Sheep Springs. Turkey vultures make a mess outa a man’s face after they peck out his eyes and strip the meat off his cheekbones. Ya can’t really tell who a fellar is at that point but ya know, the hell of it is them damned vultures don’t much care to eat badges. Like I say, Hollis, nothing but the truth or you’re gonna be bleedin’ all over your nice clean floor here.”
“Alright, Kregg, I killed the marshal,” said Hollis, feeling like he was a schoolboy being disciplined. It galled him to tell Kregg what he wanted to know, but to kill him—and he was reasonably certain that he could—right here in his office would raise a lot of suspicion, especially amongst his two deputies. As far as they knew, Kregg was an ally. Obviously, they’d want to know why he had killed Kregg. They knew that he’d gone to kill the marshal but they didn’t know about the gold, and supposedly they were to share everything as part of their business arrangement. That damned fool’s gold is fouling everything up, said Hollis to himself. Eventually the guys will find out about it and want to know where the real gold went to.
“Ain’t you forgettin’ something?” said Kregg with a devious look on his face.
Hollis looked intently at Kregg. He didn’t have any good choices.
Kregg laughed purposefully, as if to show his bravado. “Thinkin’ about it, ain’t ya, Sheriff?” he said almost tauntingly.
Hollis stared back at Kregg. He hated him and his sick little cat-and-mouse game that he was playing. There was little doubt in his mind that Kregg intended to try and kill him once he found out where the gold was. “OK,” said Hollis bitterly. “I’ll cut you in for a fourth. I gotta split with my deputies.”
“Bullshit,” replied Kregg quickly. “I want half, and if that doesn’t suit ya it’d be worth it to me to just shoot your sorry ass right now and walk away with nuthin’ but satisfaction.”
To hell with it, thought Hollis. Might as well just get this little shindig over with ‘cause there’s no negotiatin’ with this dumb sonovabitch. I woulda gave him a quarter and he coulda rode off into the sunset with money in his pockets, but no sir he’s gotta be greedy and dish out all his blow and go at the same time. And so Hollis said: “Alright, Kregg, you win. Half it is but that’s a shit pot full a gold for nothing.”
Kregg laughed with an arrogant satisfaction. “Well now you know how me and the boys felt ever’ time you came around with your hand out wantin’ your share for doin’ nuthin’ but turning your head.”
“You keep forgetin’, Kregg,” said Hollis smugly. “I’m the law and I coulda saw to it that you and your boys did a little jig on the gallows. So you might wanna figure out how much avoidin’ that little affair was worth to ya ‘fore you go spoutin’ off.”
Kregg shot Hollis an angry look. “So where’s the gold?”
“I buried it a little ways outside of town.”
“Well, we got ‘bout an hour or so a daylight left today,” said Kregg. “Can we get there ‘fore dark?”
“I reckon,” said Hollis, “if we get started here right shortly.”
“I gotta fetch my horse,” replied Kregg. “It’s over in front of the Gold Strike.”
“I don’t think it’ll do for us to be seen ridin’ outa town together,” said Hollis. “I’ll meet you at the mouth of Spring Creek. It won’t take long to get to the gold from there.”
Kregg gave Hollis a dirty look. “I’m warning ya, Sheriff. You better be on the up and up here or it’s gonna go real bad for ya.”
Hollis shot Kregg a look of total indifference. He was fed up with his threats. “I gotta saddle my horse.” And with that he turned his back on Kregg and walked towards the back door and the corral behind the sheriff’s office.
It was dusk. The sun was but a faint orange glow beyond the western horizon when Hollis arrived at the mouth of Spring Creek. The landscape was enveloped in shadow—nightfall was not far away. Hollis reined his horse in and looked for Kregg. He was nowhere in sight, and the image of Kregg lining up his rifle sights on Hollis’ chest flashed through his mind, but then momentarily Kregg stepped out from the aspen trees that lined the creek. “Where to?” he said.
Hollis gestured with his free hand. “Up the creek a ways,” he said as he nudged the sides of his horse. Hollis continued on, the rhythmic squeaking of his saddle leather being the most dominant sound in his mind. He was in no mood to listen to any more of Kregg’s bullshit. And so on they went, single file in virtual silence, each wondering what the outcome would be once they reached the gold. Day was rapidly giving way to night and each man, deep down, feared that he might not be alive to see the return of the day. But a man had to believe in himself and his abilities, especially men like these, and so each of them was confident that he would see the sunrise. Finally, Hollis turned up a short draw that was crowded with ponderosa pine and dismounted.
“This the spot?” asked Kregg rhetorically.
“Right over yonder,” said Hollis, nodding his head towards a small rock outcrop.
Kregg got off his horse. He eyed Hollis suspiciously. “Lead the way,” he said.
The adrenalin pulsated through both men, neither trusting the other. Neither wanted to be the one to remove the rocks covering the small opening hiding the gold. There was no trust between the two—not now nor would there ever be. Still, the two of them moved on, side by side, each anticipating the move of the other. And then Hollis saw it—possibly his chance for survival. A small jack pine was directly ahead; it would separate the men for probably two steps—Kregg on one side of the tree, Hollis on the other. And then they were there. Kregg’s gun cleared its holster first with Hollis’ a split-second later. Kregg’s pistol roared, and almost on top of its sound was the blast of Hollis’ gun. There were three echoes as the sound cascaded away from the men further into the mountains and then it was lost. Only Hollis had heard the
echoes, but just barely above the pounding of his heart in his ears. He took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself, and then with his pistol still aimed at what he hoped was Kregg’s lifeless body, he stepped to the other side of the tree. He’d been lucky: the bullet from his .44 had made its way through the morass of limbs and found its mark in Kregg’s heart. Kregg, on the other hand, had not been so lucky. His .36-caliber Navy Colt bullet had entered the trunk of the small tree, and then after penetrating the three to four inches of wood it exhausted its remaining energy when it exited dead center into a branch. An uncontrollable but momentary trembling swept over Hollis’ body as the realization of how close he had come to dying registered. It was a reality check: he hadn’t been the fastest.
Chapter Twenty
It’d been a chance sighting and just some incredibly bad luck for Ira Moyer as he and Josh walked by the livery on the opposite side of the street at the same time that the Menaghers were there. The Menaghers had decided to not push their luck by staying in Idaho City looking for Ira and possibly run into the deputy marshal that had come to town asking about them. And so there they were quietly saddling their horses inside the livery. In the fading light of day, it made it difficult to see into the shadows of the livery. However, this was not true for the reverse, as the Menaghers had no trouble making out Ira in the better light of the open street. The only question now was what to do about Ira, for he had obviously confided in the law, but as Billy pointed out to Jethro, “It wasn’t before a judge and jury.” Still, Ira was the only one, now that Jenkins was dead, who could say in a court of law that they’d brought in a lot of fool’s gold shortly after the Stevenson party was murdered. If they went before Judge Higgins in Boise, they’d get their necks stretched for sure. And so, keeping his distance, Billy shadowed Josh and Ira to see where it was they were going. As it turned out, it wasn’t all that difficult for Billy to get a fix on Willy’s cabin before breaking off and going back to the livery. He was pretty smug with his sleuthing abilities, and was going on about it to Jethro, when they heard a commotion at the far end of the street near the boardinghouse. A dog was barking and there were several people shouting—some at the dog and others at apparently someone else. Jethro was certain that he’d heard the words “get the sheriff” from amongst the garbled racket. The brothers looked at one another; they knew exactly what the commotion was about. “We best be makin’ tracks,” said Jethro.
“I reckon you’re right, little brother,” replied Billy. And with that they led their horses to the livery entrance, pausing as they checked up and down the street for people. There were some folks out and about, but most of these appeared to be drifting up the street to see what all the fuss was about. The livery man, having been paid earlier, had gone for a beer. But most importantly, there was no sign of any lawmen. It was getting to be on the dark side of dusk as the brothers casually rode out the south end of town and away from the excitement to the north. They’d not gotten very far out of town, however, when Billy reined in his paint horse. He sighed heavily. “Ya know, little brother, it just ain’t sittin’ good with me the fact that we’re leavin’ that old man in an upright position when his word could send us to the gallows.”
“I don’t know, Billy,” replied Jethro with concern in his voice. “I say we just keep on ridin’. Get completely outa this damned country, Billy. It’s gone bad, we’re pushin’ our luck.”
Billy pondered for a moment what Jethro had said. He appeared to be someplace else in thought, just staring straight ahead. And then he said, without looking at Jethro: “Sometimes a man’s just gotta make his own luck.”
“Maybe so,” replied Jethro, “but I’m thinkin’ the deck is stacked against us this time. Ya can’t make luck where there’s none to be made.”
“We’ll see,” said Billy.
“What are ya fixin’ to do, Billy?” asked Jethro nervously.
“I can’t let that old man run his mouth to some judge ‘bout all the times he seen us in that assayer’s office, and especially not about this fool’s gold business,” said Billy. “Sure, it’ll be a risk to get rid of him, but the way I got it figured it’ll be a bigger risk not to.”
“I don’t like it, Billy. This deputy marshal snoopin’ around puts a whole different spin on it for me,” replied Jethro. The fear was evident in his voice.
“I ain’t askin’ ya to help,” said Billy. “In fact, it’d probably be better if ya rode out tonight and we meet up later. I figure one person can do better at throwin’ a person off his trail than two people can.”
Jethro remained quiet. In the near darkness Billy couldn’t read his body language. He couldn’t see the tears forming in his brother’s eyes and the anguished look on his face. And then Jethro said: “Billy, I’m done in with this life. It don’t set good with me at all anymore.”
Billy was taken aback by Jethro’s words. “So whaddaya sayin’, little brother?”
It was hard for Jethro to say what he knew must come next. They’d been together their entire lives. They’d depended upon one another, especially after their folks had been killed by Indians when they were just kids. Billy, being the older and bigger of the two, had always seemed to be the one who decided where they were going and what they were doing. And for a long time Jethro had looked to his older brother to make these decisions, but now things were different. Now, there just didn’t seem to be any common sense in Billy; even more, there wasn’t a shred of good in him. He was just plain evil. Jethro took a deep breath to steady his voice before speaking, but it was to no avail. “Billy, I think it’s time…”—and then the emotion welling up in his throat forced him to stop.
“Time to what?” asked Billy a little impatiently.
“It’s time that we part company, Billy,” said Jethro quickly.
“Ya mean for good?” asked Billy with just a hint of sadness in his voice.
Jethro nodded his head and said: “Yeah, I reckon so. I wanna take a new trail in life, Billy, and I just don’t see you going there.”
Billy felt anger, even betrayal. First it had been Kregg going his own way and now his own brother. Screw’em, he said to himself. Billy laughed. “Little brother, what you don’t understand is that you’re on the only trail in life that the good folks of this world is gonna let you be on. It’s too late for you and me. We done what we done and we are what we are.”
“Billy, I ain’t ignorin’ what we done in the past but I just can’t do it anymore. I’m tired ah always having to be lookin’ over my shoulder. I wanna settle down and have a family.”
“Why sure, Jethro, I can see it now,” said Billy in a mocking tone. “You and the missus and a bunch a kids livin’ on some patch a dirt somewhere. The missus cookin’ and sewin’ all day whilst you’re out on your dirt patch starin’ at the ass end of a mule pullin’ a plow. Yes siree, sounds like heaven to me.” And then Billy laughed.
Jethro could see that it was pointless to try and explain himself to Billy. It’d taken him a long time to come to this decision—or maybe more correctly, it’d taken a long time for him to be able to ignore the guilt that he felt in abandoning his brother. But Billy had made that possible when he stabbed Harold Jenkins to death behind the boardinghouse. The look in Billy’s eyes had scared him—not just because of the pure wickedness that he saw, but because he feared that he might one day become what Billy had. It had become quiet as the two brothers sat there on their horses in the early darkness. The moon was up, a new phase, just a sliver. Down the road to the west lay darkness; in the opposite direction were the lights of Idaho City. Jethro leaned in his saddle towards Billy and extended his hand. “Good luck to ya, Billy.”
It didn’t seem right to Billy to be shaking hands with his brother but he couldn’t fathom exactly why that was, not even as he grasped Jethro’s hand. “Hope ya find what it is you’re lookin’ for,” said Billy solemnly.
“Me too,” said Jethro.
And then once again silence filled the space between the two bro
thers. Both knew that there was nothing that could be said that would change things. Billy’s horse snorted and stomped its right front hoof several times. And then from the darkness came a sniffle from the direction of Jethro. “Be seein’ ya,” he said quietly. And with that Jethro nudged the sides of his horse and headed west into the darkness; Billy, on the other hand, went east towards the lights of Idaho City and some unfinished business with Ira Moyer.
Chapter Twenty-One
As Billy rode along in the dark, he pondered his decision to stay and kill the old man. On the surface it was a cold and callous thing to do, but what choice did he have—run and wait for the day when the law finally caught up to him? He could do like Jethro, he told himself, and hang up his gun to become a farmer. But there’d come a day when his neighbors, the good people, would discover his past, and they’d no doubt be right there in the crowd watching and waiting for him to drop through that trapdoor to hell. “No sir,” he whispered defiantly, “when I leave this world it’ll be with a gun in my hand.”
It was a cloudless night and the sky overhead was filled with stars. They were of some help to Josh as he picked his way through the brush and rocks on the hillside above Willy’s house in the early morning darkness. First light was still more than an hour away, but it was Josh’s intention to hide himself well before then in a patch of quaking aspen that overlooked Willy’s cabin. He wouldn’t be more than about a hundred and fifty yards from the cabin, and three to four hundred yards from decent hiding and escape cover to the east. It was here that Josh reasoned a guy would want to hide himself if his intent was to ambush old Ira Moyer as he emerged from Willy’s cabin to attend to his morning constitutional at the privy nearby. He knew from having visited the livery man late last night that the men who were likely the ones that had taken the fool’s gold to the assayer’s office had retrieved their horses and left town. But it made no sense, reasoned Josh, to risk killing Jenkins, whose murder was now common knowledge in town, when Ira could do you about as much harm. And so Josh found himself hidden in a small aspen grove above Willy’s cabin, waiting for daylight. It was chilly in the darkness amongst the trees, and it caused him to periodically shiver uncontrollably for a moment and then it would go away. He kicked himself for not having dressed warmer, especially for what he might have to do. It would be even colder at first light, and shivering while trying to make a long shot would not be good. Add to this the fact that he would be shooting with a .50 caliber Sharps rifle that he’d borrowed from Lester and it made for the distinct possibility that if the need arose in about an hour, he could be just punching holes in the air. On the other hand, the guy who’d murdered Harold Jenkins might have lost his nerve. He’s gotta know that Ira has probably talked to the law by now, but then again maybe not, thought Josh. With nothing but time on his hands, Josh’s mind continued to analyze the possibilities, not the least of which was that no one would try to bushwhack Ira this morning. Josh shook his head. “That’ll make me look pretty stupid to the sheriff in town,” he whispered aloud. “But, I told ‘im this was just a hunch I had.” Josh yawned. And still the night dragged on, enveloping Willy’s cabin and the town beyond it in silence, save for the occasional dog barking. There were two pale yellow lights visible in the town. Josh stared at the lights and tried to imagine why whoever had lit them had done so at such an early hour. Random images of these people and the room where the light came from flashed through his mind. He was unable to decide who was most likely to be up at this hour. He knew one thing though: it would be warm there. And then Sarah came into his mind; it was inevitable, he supposed, as she filtered in and out of his thoughts most all of the time. He wished that he was with her now, at Lester’s, secure in one another’s arms instead of here on this cold mountainside, waiting to possibly kill a man.
