Badlands Legend

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  “Who’ve you got there, Justin?” one of the men shouted.

  Justin lifted a hand signaling Yale to halt. Urging his horse ahead he called, “He’s a friend. Name’s Yale Conover. Saved my life.”

  The men spoke in low tones, and Justin responded.

  One of the men separated from the others and started toward Yale. “Justin says you can be trusted. What do you say?”

  Yale kept both hands where the man could see them. “I guess you’ll have to decide that for yourself.”

  “You could be the law.”

  Yale gave a negligent shrug of his shoulders. “I could be. But I don’t think many lawmen would be foolish enough to come in here alone. What good would it do them?”

  The man nodded. “No good at all. Only a fool would try it.” He drew his horse closer, staring into Yale’s eyes. “And you don’t look like a fool to me.” He wheeled his mount, shouting over his shoulder, “Follow me.”

  Minutes later they drew up to a campsite where more than a dozen men were seated around a fire, eating the remains of a roasted deer.

  While Jason Greenleaf told the others about Yale’s courage during the gunfight, the men listened with rapt attention. When he was finished, one man stepped forward. At once the others fell silent.

  The man’s face was heavily bearded, his clothes filthy and bloodstained. But it was his eyes that held Yale’s. Eyes that seemed nearly opaque, as though absorbing the light. They looked, to Yale, to be as pale as a ghost’s.

  “You want to join up with us, pretty boy?”

  Yale shrugged. “That depends.”

  “On what?” The man wasn’t smiling. Nor were the others now.

  “I’m a gambler, not a thief. I don’t take orders.” Yale glanced around, seeing that he had the attention of everyone. “And I live by my own rules.”

  Those strange eyes were fixed on him with fierce concentration. For nearly a full minute, no one moved. No one spoke. Finally the man nodded. “That’s how I live my life, too. But I want you to know I don’t trust you. Not yet, anyhow. But then, I don’t trust anybody. Especially men in fancy suits with soft hands and pretty-boy faces. My name’s Fenner. Will Fenner.”

  He turned away without a handshake.

  Yale realized that he’d just stumbled into a den of rattlesnakes. The infamous Fenner gang was known and feared by every lawman and every law-abiding citizen in Dakota Territory.

  Chapter Three

  “Where you been?” Will Fenner scowled when he caught sight of Yale dressed as always in his neat dark suit and white shirt, without a trace of trail dust.

  Yale dismounted and strode into the circle of firelight. Up close Fenner and his men seemed even more dirty and ragged than when he’d last seen them.

  It had been more than a month since Justin had introduced Yale to the gang of outlaws. Now, more than a hundred miles from the Badlands that usually offered them refuge, the men appeared even more desperate than usual, causing Yale to question why he’d ever allowed himself to become entangled with such men. For, though he had no scruples about participating in an occasional theft of a horse or cow when food was scarce, he was far more interested in the next hand of poker than in stealing. In fact, the others had grown accustomed to leaving him behind in every small town where he managed to find a willing card partner. He lived, he’d explained, for the thrill of the game. He was simply far more suited to gambling than stealing. And though he was a man who scorned most of the laws made by mere men, he never actually considered himself an outlaw. He preferred to think of himself as a law unto himself.

  His biggest regret was that he’d joined these men hoping one of them might know something about his father. It had been one of his rare gambles that hadn’t paid off.

  “It took me a while longer than I’d expected.” He pulled a roll of bills from his pocket and began counting them out to the eager, outstretched hands. It was his most endearing quality, and the reason Will Fenner tolerated him. Even though this newcomer rarely participated in the crimes they committed, he had a generous heart, always sharing whatever he won. Fenner knew he’d be a fool to send Yale Conover packing. Especially since he seemed to be the only one making money these days.

  Yale looked around. “Why the sad faces? Another robbery gone sour?”

  Justin Greenleaf nodded. “We had it all planned. The time the train would be passing through Twisted Fork. The number of passengers aboard. Figured we’d all be sleeping on satin sheets tonight with fancy women. But we hadn’t counted on Federal troops riding along.”

  “Soldiers?” Yale cocked a brow.

  “Yeah. Thanks to them, we lost Tim and old Frank.”

  Yale’s eyes narrowed. “Dead?”

  Fenner’s scowl deepened. “And Jed here badly wounded.” He pointed to the man who lay nearby, shivering under a bloodstained blanket. “Probably won’t make it to morning.” He studied the worried faces of his loyal followers. “What’s worse, we figure those soldiers are little more than a day’s ride behind us, if that. They’d have caught up with us by now if they hadn’t had to stick around to deal with the passengers.”

  “Couldn’t the conductor handle that?” Yale stuffed the rest of his money back into his pocket.

  “Could have. If he was still alive.” Fenner’s lips peeled back in a smile. “I caught him with my first shot, the engineer with my second. That’s how we managed to take control of the train.”

  Yale felt his heart sink. It wasn’t just a train robbery now. It was murder.

  Fenner’s voice lowered with urgency. “We need a plan. Something that will offer us a place to hide and enough food until we can shake that posse and make our way back to the Badlands, where we’ll be safe.”

  “I might know a place.” A burly man whose face bore the scars of a dozen saloon fights and was known only as Rafe, sipped coffee thick as mud. “While we were waiting for the train, I caught sight of a ranch north of here. Thought it strange that I never saw any wranglers tending the herd. Caught a glimpse of a woman once, though.”

  “Pretty?” Justin asked.

  The others laughed, knowing Justin spent every waking minute thinking about women. That is, when he wasn’t thinking about ways to steal enough money to impress women.

  Rafe shrugged. “Wasn’t close enough to see. But she and a couple of kids are all I ever spotted near the house. If you ask me, she’s probably a widow, or her man ran off and left her. Anyway, she and the kids seem to be running the place by themselves. Ought to be easy marks.”

  Seeing that he had the interest of the others he set aside his coffee. “If she’s alone, nobody’d be wise to us being there. We could hole up until the soldiers give up on us. If they should come poking around her place looking for us, we could find a way to make her tell only what we wanted her to say.” He snorted out a laugh. “And we could have some fun with her before we help ourselves to her cattle and head on back to our hideout.”

  Yale felt his stomach muscles tighten. This just kept getting worse. A conductor and engineer dead. And now they were talking about violating a helpless woman.

  He kept his voice deliberately calm. “What about the kids? You said she had children.”

  Will Fenner swore. “I won’t have any squalling brats around. As soon as they’ve served our purpose, we’ll get rid of ’em.”

  Yale felt a buzzing in his brain, and suddenly the voice speaking wasn’t Will Fenner’s, but that of his uncle Junior, talking in that same contemptuous tone at his grandfather’s gravesite.

  His hands fisted at his sides. He vaguely heard Fenner’s voice droning on.

  “As for the woman, hell, keep her around as long as you please. She can’t do much to stop us.” He gave a chilling smile to the others. “Might as well sample her charms at the same time we’re helping ourselves to her home and herd.”

  The outlaws were still howling with laughter when Yale stood, stretched, then walked slowly to his bedroll.

  Fenner scowled. “Whe
re’re you going?”

  Yale was wearing his gambler’s face now. It was a look he’d perfected over the years. Whatever feelings might be seething inside were now carefully hidden behind the mask, “I’ll grab some sleep and take the midnight watch.”

  “Good.” Fenner nodded. “Slick’s up on the bluff now, keeping an eye out for the posse. He’ll be glad for the break come midnight.”

  Yale pulled his hat over his face to shield the firelight from his eyes. But sleep was the farthest thing from his mind as the others began to drift toward their bedrolls. His mind was racing as he plotted how to slip away under cover of night and warn the widow to take her children to town while she still had time.

  Then he’d have to make himself scarce as well. If there was one thing the Fenner gang didn’t take lightly it was disloyalty.

  Not that he minded. He’d been ready to move on almost from the moment he’d met this band of cutthroats. But he’d held on, hoping one of them would get drunk enough and talkative enough to recall some information about his long-absent father.

  When would he stop this foolishness? He’d spent a lifetime chasing after smoke and shadows. Now he’d have to pay the price.

  Because of his association with this gang, he’d be wanted by half the lawmen in the territory. But what was even worse was that after tonight, he’d be wanted desperately by the Fenner gang. The only trouble was, their justice would be swifter and deadlier than anything a judge would impose.

  When he left here tonight, he would be a marked man. And if he didn’t play his cards exactly right, he’d be a dead one.

  “Hey, Slick.” Yale slid from the saddle and tethered his horse, taking care to move sluggishly, as though he’d just dragged himself from sleep. “I’ve got the midnight watch.”

  “Luck of the draw.” The stick-thin cowboy got to his feet, using his rifle for a crutch. “Glad my time’s up. These old bones are getting too stiff for this.” He limped toward his horse and pulled himself into the saddle, thrusting his weapon into the boot before leaning down to say softly, “Better stay alert. Those soldiers were mad as a nest of hornets. They’ll come in with guns blazing.”

  “Yeah. That’s the way I figure it, too.” Yale stood watching as the old man nudged his horse into a trot, eager for his bedroll.

  Minutes later the sound of the horse’s hooves faded, leaving only the silence of the night.

  Yale stood on the high ridge for half an hour more, just to be certain that Slick’s return to camp hadn’t awakened any of the others. When he was assured that nobody was stirring, he caught his horse’s reins and picked his way down the steep trail on the far side of the high ridge of rock. When he reached the valley below he pulled himself into the saddle and headed north, determined to find the widow’s ranch before he was missed.

  He used the time in the saddle to go over his plans. He would rouse the woman and her children and send them off to the nearest town, with orders to stay there. Then he’d head in the opposite direction, putting as much distance between himself and the Fenner gang as he could.

  Even though Fenner would be hot for revenge, he’d have to put his feelings aside until the problem of the soldiers was solved. His immediate solution would be to hole up at the widow’s ranch and stay out of sight until he was certain the posse had given up. That could take weeks. By the time he and his men were free to follow Yale’s tracks, it would be too late. Yale intended to be halfway to San Francisco. He’d given this a lot of thought. He was tired of the dusty little towns and the smoke-filled saloons. They no longer offered any challenge. There was nothing to keep him here in Dakota Territory. What he craved now were the pleasure palaces that could only be found in the big cities. And San Francisco had the best. He’d been there several years ago, and had stayed until the wanderlust had taken hold of him, forcing him back in the saddle. Back to the Badlands.

  No more.

  This time, Yale thought with a smile, he’d put himself up in the biggest and best pleasure palace of all, and sit in on high-stakes poker games until he walked away a millionaire or a pauper.

  As he crested a ridge he thought he saw the flicker of lantern light in the distance. Just as quickly it was gone. He urged his horse into a run. There was no time to waste. He needed to be long gone by morning.

  Yale heard the lowing of the cattle first, alerting him that a ranch was nearby. The herd seemed small; not much bigger than the one he’d once tended for Aaron Smiler.

  The thought of the old man who’d opened his home to Yale and his brother and sister brought a quick, unexpected flash of pain. He hadn’t seen any of them in more than a year. How was that possible? Where had the time gone? He’d dropped by unannounced one day, after a successful poker game in a nearby town, his saddlebags filled with presents, which had brought murmurs of appreciation from all of them. Aaron had been unable to hide his pleasure at the box of fine cigars. Kitty, now grown and unexpectedly beautiful, despite the buckskins she wore to tend her herd of mustangs, had laughed delightedly at the store-bought gown. Even Gabe’s usual scowl had turned to a smile when he’d unwrapped the Winchester rifle. To a lawman like his brother, there couldn’t have been a finer gift.

  Gabe, a lawman.

  Yale shook his head, considering. They were so different, it was hard to believe they were brothers. Gabe, the dour, serious loner, determined to follow the straight and narrow, no matter what it cost. Yale had no doubt his brother had become a lawman just to make up for all the laws he figured his younger sibling was bound to break.

  He remembered the day his brother, no more than sixteen, had returned to the ranch wearing that shiny new badge. He’d been bursting with pride, until he learned that his first arrest would have to be his own brother. Lucy Fairfax had accused Yale of stealing her prized filly, and selling it to a snake oil salesman passing through Misery on his way to Montana. Yale had protested his innocence, but Gabe felt honor-bound to arrest him until he could get to the truth. In the end Gabe had ridden over two hundred miles before returning to turn his brother loose and arrest Buck Reedy for the crime. But it was too late to undo the damage. Most people in Misery didn’t care who stole the filly. They knew only that Yale Conover had spent time in jail, and no doubt had done plenty of things to deserve it.

  Was that when he’d stopped trying to please others and had begun caring only about himself?

  He shook his head at the thoughts that had suddenly begun crowding his mind. There hadn’t been any one defining moment. In fact, he’d been breaking the rules since he was born. Hadn’t his ma always called him her little rebel?

  It was in his blood. There was no stopping it.

  Like my pa.

  Up ahead he could just make out the roofline of the barn, and then the small ranch house, all in darkness.

  He’d been debating the best way to handle this. But now that he was here he realized that the urgency of the situation left little time for formalities. With a frown of impatience he slid from the saddle and strode to the front door, where he rapped loudly before leaning a hip against it. He’d expected the door to be secured. But he was surprised by the ease with which he was able to force it inward.

  “Hello.” Even while he shouted a greeting, he was striding across the room.

  The fire on the hearth had burned to glowing embers. But even that faint light was enough to reveal a ladder leading to a loft. On the far side of the room was an open doorway.

  He stepped into the small bedroom and glanced around. A second fireplace gleamed with hot coals, revealing a chair, a small table on which rested a pitcher and basin, and beside it, a crude bed. The figure in the bed sat up, staring in dazed surprise.

  “Who…? What…?” A woman’s voice gave a gasp of surprise. “Oh, sweet heaven.”

  Before she could cry out he was beside her, clapping a hand over her mouth. “I’m not here to rob you or hurt you. I’m here to warn you. A gang of outlaws is heading here to take over your ranch. You and your children have to l
eave here right now. This minute.” The mattress sagged as he pressed her back against the pillows, determined to drive home his point. “I’m going to remove my hand now. When I do, I’ll take a step back. You understand?”

  She gave a slight nod of her head.

  He lifted his hand and moved quickly to reassure her that he meant what he said. When he did, he felt the press of a rifle against his back and a small voice that quavered with nerves.

  “Don’t move, mister, or I’ll have to shoot.”

  “Oh, thank heavens, Cody.” The woman tossed aside the blankets and started to step around Yale.

  As she did he caught her by the shoulder and dragged her close, wrapping an arm around her throat. In the same instant he turned, so that the rifle that had been pressed to his back was now pointed at her stomach.

  “Just put away your weapon, son.” Yale deliberately kept his voice calm when he saw how young the boy was. No more than seven or eight. And shaking like a leaf. He was apt to pull the trigger without even meaning to. “You wouldn’t want someone to get hurt, would you?”

  “N…No sir. But you have to let my mama go.”

  “I will, son. Just as soon as you lay down that rifle.”

  “No, Cody.” The woman’s voice was soft, breathy, and it occurred to Yale that she seemed much younger than the image of the widow he’d been carrying in his mind. “If you do what this outlaw tells you, we’ll be helpless.”

  “I’m no outlaw, ma’am. I’m here to help you and your children.” To prove it, he released her.

  As soon as she was free she hurried to her son’s side and took the rifle from his trembling hands.

  “Light the lantern, Cody,” the woman said.

  “Yes’m.” The boy hurried to light a candle from the hot coals, before holding it to the wick of the lantern.

  As he did, a little boy of perhaps five or six scurried down the ladder and rushed over to stand silently beside his mother.

  Minutes later the little cabin was filled with light. As the older boy carried it close, the woman gave a cry. In that same instant Yale recognized the spill of midnight curls. The warm, honey eyes.