Evil Breed

by Charles G. West

  “You think you’re talkin’ to a damn fool?” Slocum demanded. “The little bitch stays here.” He scalded her with a look that told her she had better do as she was told.

  Lettie took a couple of fearful steps behind Jim. She recognized Slocum as the same menacing stranger who had come looking for Jim before. “You’ve got no call to bother us,” she finally found the courage to say. “Jim shot that lieutenant in self-defense. Why don’t you go away and leave us in peace?”

  Amused by Lettie’s attempt to plead for her man’s life, Slocum smiled. “It ain’t about that little deal with the army no more. No sir, your sweetheart here has caused me to go to a whole lot of trouble. To top it off, he ups and shoots my own brother.” Looking back to focus on Jim then, his smile gone, he said, “That was a big mistake.”

  “I told you that was self-defense,” Jim stated coolly.

  “Yeah, that’s what you said, just like that army officer you shot.” Slocum’s eyes narrowed. “You gun down a lot of people in self-defense, don’t you? A real stud panther. Well, mister, you’ve finally met up with the man that tames all the panthers in the territory.” He motioned toward the trees with his rifle. “Now, I’ve had all the conversation I want. It’s time for you to make a choice. You can chance a play for this rifle and get shot right here. Or you can go peacefully and hope I git careless somewhere on the trail back to Fort Lincoln.”

  While he gave Jim his options, Lettie slowly began to move toward the washpot and the wooden paddle propped against the side. Anticipating some form of attack from the spunky woman, Slocum watched her out of the corner of his eye. And when she suddenly made her move, he was ready for her. Grasping the paddle, she lunged toward Slocum. He waited calmly, the rifle trained on Jim, until she raised the paddle and swung it at his head. In one quick move he blocked the paddle with his rifle, and slugged Lettie square on the nose with his fist. The impact of his huge paw crushed Lettie’s nose and sent her reeling backward to land on her back. The assault on Lettie threw Jim into an uncontrolled rage. With no thought for his own safety, he charged the sneering brute.

  Fully expecting a wild reaction from Jim, Slocum stepped quickly out of the way of his charge and administered a sharp rap on the back of Jim’s skull with the barrel of his rifle. Jim struggled to get to his feet, but was laid out cold by another blow from the rifle barrel. Satisfied with himself, Slocum calmly looked from the motionless body at his feet to the sobbing woman a couple of steps away. “I can’t abide a sassy woman,” he said as he went to fetch a rope.

  Her will to fight having been knocked out of her, Lettie cringed on the hard-packed soil of the clearing, sobbing quietly while Slocum lifted Jim up on Toby’s back and tied him hand and foot. Leaving Jim slumped over on the horse’s neck, Slocum turned his attention to Lettie. Seeing the brute approach, she tried to back away from him. Her face was already swelling as a result of the broken nose. The pain was becoming intense as the shock of the blow began to wear off, and she could feel each beat of her heart pounding in her eyes. Terrified by his appearance, and fearful of his intentions, she tried to defend herself against whatever horrors he planned for her. Shrugging off her efforts as if they were the playful flailings of a child, he grabbed a handful of her dress with one hand and held her while he punched her again with the other. Lettie immediately went limp. Slocum dropped her to the ground, stood over her for a moment to make sure she wasn’t moving, then turned back toward his horse.

  Feeling as if his skull were cracked, Jim gradually began to regain his senses to the point where he realized that he was on a horse. He didn’t remember how he got there. The only thing he knew for sure was that his head was spinning and he felt like he was going to vomit. Struggling to right himself in the saddle, he then realized he was tied to the horse. It didn’t register until later that the horse was Toby and the saddle was his. In the next few moments the events of the prior minutes came rushing back to him, and his first thought was, Lettie! Dreading what he might see, he looked back, searching for her, but he could no longer see beyond the opening of the clearing. Fearing the worst, he turned to look at the massive figure on the horse leading his. Looking to either side of him, he recognized the narrow path between the cabin and the river. I couldn’t have been unconscious for long, he thought, just long enough to get tied to this horse. At the same time, it occurred to him that Slocum was heading for Katie’s cabin. He had to warn them.

  “Luke!” he yelled. “Katie! Watch out!”

  Unconcerned by Jim’s efforts to warn his friends, Slocum didn’t even glance back at his prisoner. For he could see the cabin now, and his rifle was cocked and ready. Jim’s warning would save him the trouble of calling them out of the building.

  Dropping the rope he had been weaving, Luke sprang to his feet just as Katie came out the door. They both sighted the two horses at the same time. “Quick!” Katie cried when she realized what was happening. “The rifle!” As soon as she said it, she pulled the pistol from her holster. Looking in the direction Katie had pointed, Luke spied the rifle Jim had left leaning against the wall of the barn. Without hesitating, he sprinted to retrieve it.

  In unhurried motions, Slocum raised his rifle, took careful aim, and cut the young half-breed down before he got halfway to the barn. Before Luke stopped tumbling, Slocum put another slug in his already-dead body just to make sure.

  “Luke!” Katie screamed in horror as Luke finally lay still in the dust. Behind Slocum, Jim roared in frustrated anguish and strained against his bonds. But Slocum was very efficient in tying his knots, and Jim was helpless to come to the aid of his friends. Katie, stunned by the sight of the youngster she had practically raised lying dead in the dusty soil, was unable to move for a few moments. When she recovered her senses enough to use her pistol, it was too late. Slocum pulled Jim’s horse up beside him in order to use Jim to shield himself from Katie’s fire. Then, while Jim watched helplessly, Slocum laid a barrage of rifle fire upon the doorway of the cabin, forcing Katie to retreat inside amid a hailstorm of splintered wood. Keeping Jim between him and the cabin, he headed for the wagon trace that led toward the north end of the valley at a gallop, leading his captive behind him.

  Heartsick and feeling as helpless as a newborn calf, Jim grieved over the death of the young boy. He was afraid to let himself dwell upon what Lettie’s fate might have been. Doubting that he would ever see her again in this life, he deeply regretted the fact that he had not told her he loved her. For he knew now that he did, and always would. After witnessing the cold, emotionless execution of Luke, Jim couldn’t hold out much hope that Slocum planned to take him all the way to Fort Lincoln. He was as good as dead. He could only hope for the sullen beast to make a mistake, and the prospect of that happening didn’t seem promising. He could hardly appreciate the irony of his situation. After all that had happened to him since the last time he left Canyon Creek, he ended up riding Toby and getting his head cracked with his own Winchester rifle. There were many confusing thoughts running around in his head. One among these was the question of how Slocum wound up with his horse and rifle. He had to have gotten them from Johnny Malotte, and judging by what had just happened, Jim had to figure Slocum hadn’t come by them peacefully. Well, it ain’t over till this son of a bitch puts a bullet in my brain.

  After pushing the horses hard for a few miles, Slocum eased back on the pace. Accustomed to calling the shots in every situation he was involved in, he felt comfortable with the present one. He at last had his man, and the only threat of pursuit had been wiped out, leaving him to entertain himself with Jim Culver at his leisure. He had planned to kill the boy all along, knowing he was a threat to follow him. The two women didn’t worry him. They weren’t going to try to trail him. He turned in the saddle to take a look at Jim, who stared back defiantly. Yessir, he thought, I’ve been waiting a long time for this. Chuckling to himself, he picked up the pace a bit, anxious to leave the valley behind.

  Chapter 14

  Clay Culver
pressed on through the night, stopping only when it was necessary to rest his horse. Sleeping for short periods while his horse rested, he had pushed across the open prairie, through South Pass and the mountains beyond. Morning would find him near the pass that led to the small valley called Canyon Creek.

  During the past several days he had sighted three Sioux hunting parties ranging far beyond the boundaries of the Red Cloud and Spotted Tail agencies. And there had been a great deal more sign that told of many Sioux parties moving about the territory. It was unusual for this time of year, when most bands were settling into their winter camps. Had he not been so intent upon the welfare of his younger brother, and in such haste to reach him, Clay might have paused to ponder the significance of so much winter movement between the reservation and the camps of Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse. As it was, the sign served only to warn him to be cautious in the presence of so much Indian activity during the day. As a result, he had made better time at night, setting a steady, ground-eating pace that his surefooted Indian pony could maintain indefinitely.

  Approaching the valley from the south pass just before sunup, he passed the burned-out remains of the Cochran place. As he rode silently by, the chilled night sky gradually began to fade away from the blackened comer posts of the cabin, leaving four eerie monuments to mourn what had happened there. Clay did not pause to reflect on the savage massacre of John and Ruth Cochran at the hands of a band of outlaws posing as Indians. He did not know the couple, but knew that they had been good people—this according to his old friend Monk Grissom. It seemed that Canyon Creek had suffered more than its share of tragedy. The thought served to increase his impatience to reach Katie Mashburn’s cabin. With the Cochran place now behind him, he should reach the cabin well before noon.

  Just as he figured, the sun was still climbing toward noon when he spotted the cabin that he and Jim had built for Katie. He pulled back on the reins sharply when he rounded the corner of the cornfield. Something was going on at Katie’s. There were several wagons and saddle horses tied up before the cabin. As a natural habit, Clay paused to look the situation over before riding in. There was no sign of anyone outside the cabin. If it was a social gathering, there would be children running around outside playing. Looking toward the tiny corral, he spied the buckskin pony Jim had been riding when he last saw him. That was somewhat reassuring. Nudging the paint pony with his heels, he proceeded toward the cabin at a slow walk. As soon as he passed the new garden plot, he saw people gathered down near the river. He guided his horse in that direction.

  He spotted Katie at almost the same time she turned to discover him. “Clay,” she uttered under her breath. The sight of the tall, broad-shouldered scout very nearly brought a tear to the eye of the normally composed young woman, for she had prayed nightly for his return.

  His gaze lingered for a moment, engaging hers, before he took notice of the others and realized what the gathering was. There was a fresh grave next to that of Katie’s father. Clay was immediately alarmed. The others, aware of his presence now, turned to greet him. He stepped down from the saddle, accepting the quiet handshakes and greetings, all the while trying to question Katie with his eyes. Seeing the distress in his gaze, she made her way to him as quickly as she could. “It’s Luke,” she whispered.

  He could not hide the relief he felt upon hearing the name, for he had feared it might be Jim. Relief immediately replaced by concern once more, he responded, “Luke? How?” He could see the pain in Katie’s eyes as she pulled him aside to relate the tragedy of the past two days.

  The news was not good. It was what he had feared he might hear. The cold-blooded bounty hunter had taken Jim, leaving an injured woman behind him and a young life snuffed out. Luke was a fine boy and one person whom Katie had depended upon. It was difficult to believe the brave young Shoshoni lad was no longer there for Katie to lean on. At least she still had Lettie, or so he thought until he took a closer look at the young girl.

  The physical injuries were obvious. Lettie’s face was still swollen with dark purple and yellow bruises. The poor girl’s nose had been broken, but Katie felt sure Lettie would look like herself in a few more days. Undetectable were the internal injuries suffered at the massive hand of the savage bounty hunter. Clay had been somewhat surprised that Lettie had not come to greet him, since he and Jim had worked along with her and Katie to build the cabin. Instead she had remained seated on a stool beside the grave of Katie’s father, smiling vacantly at him. He was stunned to learn that the young girl had never been the same since receiving the brutal blow from Slocum’s fist. Katie very nearly lost her composure when she told Clay of the attack. He walked over to Lettie and bent down close to her. Lettie’s smile faded and she looked at him with a vacant stare.

  “Lettie,” Clay said softly, “it’s me, Clay.” She continued to stare at him, giving no hint that she understood. “You know me, Lettie,” he tried again. “Can’t you talk to me?”

  The girl gave no indication that she heard a word he said, nor any sign that she was even aware of his presence; her only response was to gaze into his face as if watching a sunset. Looking at Clay, Katie’s eyes told him of her desperation as she stroked the frightened girl’s hair. “Well,” she said, “you see what she’s become. She hasn’t uttered a word since I found her lying on the ground by the washpot. I thought she was dead at first; she wasn’t moving. Now it’s like she isn’t even here. I don’t know what to do for her.”

  Clay shook his head in a gesture of helplessness. He had seen people knocked senseless before, but they usually either came out of it in a short time, or they died, depending on how hard they were hit. According to Katie, Lettie had been like this for two days. Judging by the marks on her face, it appeared that she had received more than the blow that broke her nose. It was his guess that the blow that left the bruises near her temple was the one that did the serious damage.

  As he stood there, gazing at the injured girl, a quiet rage was boiling within him. So engrossed was he in thoughts of his brother, no doubt suffering at the hands of this same ruthless animal, that he was unaware of the people pressing close around him until Nate Wysong spoke.

  “Clay, if you’ll lead us, some of us men are ready to go after Jim.”

  “That’s right, Clay,” Reverend Lindstrom said. “We oughta be able to round up half a dozen for a posse.”

  Lost moments before in his unspoken fury, Clay brought his mind back to deal with the group of men assembled to bury Luke Kendall. Looking now from one face to the other, storekeeper and farmers, Clay’s calm demeanor did not change as he considered their proposal. It seemed to him that the time for the men of Canyon Creek to form a posse would have been two days ago. “I reckon not,” he finally stated.

  The reverend’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. “What?” he exclaimed. “You’re not going after him?”

  “I didn’t say that. I’m going after him. I just ain’t gonna lead a posse after him.”

  “You’re plannin’ to go alone?” Lindstrom still found it hard to believe. “You might not appreciate the evil beast you’re going after,” he insisted. “You’re gonna need all the help you can get.”

  “That’s where we differ, Reverend. I think I’ve got a pretty fair idea of the grizzly I’m trackin’. I appreciate you folks wantin’ to help Jim, but I’d rather you stayed here and looked after your farms. If you want to make up a posse, I sure can’t stop you. But I ain’t gonna lead it, and I’d appreciate it if you’d stay the hell outta my way.”

  Lindstrom and Nate Wysong exchanged looks of surprise. Clay didn’t wait for further discussion, turning on his heel and briskly walking toward his horse. Taking Katie by the arm, he pulled her along with him. When he got to his horse, he turned to face her, his voice low so the others could not hear. “I’m gonna need some food, if you can spare some bacon or something. I’ll be leavin’ after dark. I’ve got to rest my horse first. He’s been rode pretty hard for the last few days.” Katie nodded her understan
ding. She knew Clay could move faster and considerably more quietly without half a dozen of her neighbors tagging along.

  “I’ve got to see my neighbors off,” she said. “Unsaddle your horse and go on in the house. You can get some rest yourself before you start out after Jim.”

  He paused a moment while he studied her face. “Will you be all right?” She would be alone now, a thought that had not really struck him until that moment. She couldn’t even count on Lettie as a helping hand.

  “Hell, yes,” she immediately replied. “Don’t waste any time worrying about me. Just find Jim before that maniac kills him.”

  He nodded, holding her gaze a moment longer before she abruptly turned and went to see the funeral party off. Clay watched her as she walked away. Then he glanced again at Lettie, still seated by the grave, oblivious to the people milling around her. He knew then that something would have to be done to help Katie. She couldn’t run this place by herself. But that would have to wait for another time. The job ahead had to occupy all his concentration now. Turning his attention to his horse, he threw the stirrup up and loosened the girth strap, his mind already working on the possible trails Slocum might have taken.

  * * *

  Katie stood in front of her cabin, thanking the neighbors as they climbed into their wagons and mounted their horses. She appreciated the support they had shown in mourning the death of the half-breed son of John Kendall. Like Katie herself, Luke had been somewhat of an enigma to the folks in the isolated little valley. In actuality, they knew very little about the boy, except the fact that he was more Shoshoni than white, and he was fiercely devoted to Katie. To some, their attendance at the funeral might have more likely been a memorial for Jim Culver, for there was general speculation among the settlers that Jim was as good as dead. It was with that thought in mind that Reverend Lindstrom lingered after the last wagon turned to leave. Fairly confident of what was on the preacher’s mind, Katie turned to him and waited for him to speak.