Evil Breed

by Charles G. West

  After they all greeted one another, Jim climbed wearily to his feet, and they went to check on their prisoner. Coming out of his daze minutes before being confronted by his captors, Slocum scowled like a caged grizzly. He didn’t say anything, just glowered menacingly, his eyes darting back and forth under frowning dark brows at the Indians staring curiously at him. Jim was still a little surprised that Clay had not simply shot the beast, but Wolf Paw did not find it surprising at all. The willful murderer of Newt Plummer and three of his warriors should not have been spared a slow, torturous death.

  “Whaddaya wanna do with him?” Jim asked, uncertain what his brother had in mind.

  Clay shrugged indifferently. “I thought you might have a notion on that, since you’re the one he damn near killed.” While Jim was thinking about it, Clay went on. “We can just shoot him right now, but shootin’ might be too good for the likes of him. You might be thinkin’ about taking him back to Laramie and turning him over to the army. But we sure as hell ain’t lawmen or soldiers. The army would probably tell you they don’t want him for anything. They ain’t gonna hang him just because we say he oughta be hung.” He glanced over at Wolf Paw. “I’m thinkin’ we might wanna turn him over to the Crows. They sure as hell know how to take care of scum like him.” Wolf Paw gave him a knowing glance and nodded.

  Slocum had been sitting silently during the discussion of his fate, scowling as each warrior bent close to look at him. Clay’s third option grabbed his attention sufficiently to cause him to speak. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded of Clay, still more than a little surprised that a man that size had been able to move up behind him and knock him in the head without making a sound.

  Clay favored him with a patient smile, but ignored his demand. Instead he turned back to Jim. “Whaddaya say, little brother? Let Wolf Paw take him? I expect you’d want to deal with him yourself if you were in a little better shape, but maybe you’ll be satisfied with a little Crow justice.”

  Jim stared at the man who had tormented him so, harmed the girl he loved, killed the man who nursed him back to health, and killed young Luke Kendall. Yesterday he had been kept alive almost entirely by the will to survive, just for an opportunity to strike back at the animal. Now he only felt tired, and didn’t feel the need for personal satisfaction. He just wanted Slocum’s life to end, to put a stop to a crazed killer. He turned to Wolf Paw. “You take him.” A spontaneous war whoop rang out from one of the warriors, and Wolf Paw immediately directed his warriors to seize Slocum.

  “You call yourselves men?” Slocum roared as two of the Crows jumped to the task. “By God, it’s gonna take all of you bastards to kill me. Let me fight for my life. Any one of you man enough to face me?” He ranted and growled, even as the two warriors untied his wrists and, holding him by his arms, pulled him to his feet. “By God, I’ll fight any two of you.” He glowered directly at Clay. “You’re the big stud here. I claim my right to fight for my life. It’s Injun law.”

  Clay smiled at the belligerent bully. “Now, who the hell ever told you that? There ain’t no rules in the game you’ve been playing.”

  Slocum’s eyes narrowed as he was led past Clay. “I’d break your back for you,” he growled.

  Ignoring him, Clay turned his back, concerned now with his brother. “We’d best get you to Canyon Creek and rest you up a spell.” He had just gotten the words out when he heard a warrior cry out behind him. He turned to discover Slocum charging him like a crazed grizzly. The warrior who had cried out in pain was lying on the ground, his arm broken and hanging at a crazy angle. The other warrior had been slammed into Wolf Paw and the others, knocking them backward. Clay saw the flash of the knife Slocum had pulled out of the Crow warrior’s belt as the desperate bully attacked. With no time to think about it, Clay dropped to his knee, meeting Slocum’s charge with a shoulder placed solidly beneath his rib cage. He narrowly missed feeling the bite of the skinning knife as Slocum took a wild swing and missed. Then, like a huge cat, Clay thrust his shoulder upward, lifting the huge man off his feet and tumbling him head over heels. Slocum landed on his back, knocking the wind from his lungs. Still like a great cat, Clay turned to face his adversary again, crouching, ready to spring, while Slocum strained to get his breath. Clay watched him carefully as Slocum recovered and picked up the knife now lying on the ground beside him. With an enraged roar, the brutal bounty hunter sprang to his feet. With the knife raised to strike, he set himself to charge.

  The shot that split the air startled both participants. Slocum looked stunned, and suddenly stopped. He dropped to his knees, staring but not seeing, as a trickle of blood began from the small dark hole in his forehead and ran down his nose. On his knees for only a moment, he finally fell, face-first, to the ground with a heavy and final impact.

  “You took your time about it,” Clay remarked nonchalantly, still looking at the belligerent monster at his feet.

  “You looked like you were enjoying it,” Jim replied with equal casualness. “I didn’t wanna spoil your fun.”

  Chapter 17

  Since Iron Bow’s village was closer than Canyon Creek, Clay decided it would be best to go with Wolf Paw so that Jim could regain his strength before going back. They reached the camp late on a snowy afternoon, leading the horses carrying the bodies of the three slain warriors. It was not a joyous reception because of the loss of the three young men. But Jim and Clay were welcomed warmly. Iron Bow was especially glad to see Jim again, but he could not help but express his amazement that once again his young white friend was recovering after cheating death. “Dead Man,” he called him. “I think you cannot die because you are already dead and you choose to walk among the living.”

  Slocum’s scalp was displayed on a lance that was placed before Newt Plummer’s lodge. The lodge itself had been moved to the edge of the camp and the entrance flap sewn up with the old white man’s body inside.

  In two days’ time, with nourishing food prepared by Iron Bow’s wife, Jim was fully recovered and ready to start out for Canyon Creek. Clay had resisted most of his brother’s inquiries about Lettie, not wishing to give Jim more to worry about. He figured there was plenty of time to deal with that. Jim, however, was not that patient, and pressed Clay to tell him the full extent of Lettie’s injuries. On the day that the brothers took their leave of Iron Bow’s village, Clay finally relented.

  “Jim, there’s no way of tellin’ how much worse or better Lettie is since I left there. We’ll just have to wait and see. But you might as well resign yourself to the fact that Lettie might not ever be right again, at least the way you used to know her. I don’t know what you’ll find when we get back. She was hurt pretty bad. It looked to me like that bastard broke her nose when he hit her with his fist. I reckon there’s been time by now for most of the swellin’ and bruises to go away. But that ain’t the part that worries me.” He paused, seeing the hurt in Jim’s eyes. “I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you about this, but it looks like she got hit pretty hard beside the temple. And I guess that’s the one that did the most damage. When I saw her she would just sit there, staring off somewhere. She doesn’t say a word. She acts like you ain’t even there. It’s gonna be hard for you, Jim. I don’t know what else to tell you. It’s just that the Lettie you knew ain’t there anymore.”

  It was with those sobering thoughts that Jim bade farewell to Wolf Paw, promising to come back in the summer to hunt with him. They left the Crow village, leaving tracks in new snow that had fallen during the night. There was a hollow feeling in Jim’s heart and a sadness at leaving his Crow friends. He was riding Toby, a fact that brought some comfort. And as he followed Clay’s paint up from the river, he reached down and rubbed his fingers over the initials carved in the stock of the Winchester. At least some things were back to where they were before his whole world had turned upside down.

  * * *

  Katie Mashburn straightened up and rubbed the small of her back. At times like these she missed the hell out of Luke. He
used to do most of the woodcutting. She paused to think about the boy for a moment. He had been almost like a son to her. God, she thought, I could sure use his help around here now. Laying her ax aside, she gazed out across the stark white expanse of pasture. Something had caught her eye. Her hand automatically dropped to rest on her pistol as she strained to focus on two dark objects against the snowy background of the far ridge.

  As she continued to watch, the objects took definite shape, and she said a silent prayer that it might be whom she hoped for. It took forever, it seemed, before the two riders were close enough for her to make the decision whether or not she should go back to the cabin and get the rifle. She looked back then at the cabin, thinking of the girl inside. Lettie had taken a turn for the worse. For the past few days she had been more and more lethargic. And two nights ago she went to bed and failed to wake up the next morning. Distressed, Katie had pressed her ear to the young girl’s chest. There was still a heartbeat, but the breathing became fainter on the following day. Katie didn’t know what to do for her. The girl couldn’t go on without food and water. It could only be a matter of time.

  Her eyes constantly on the two riders now, she began to feel an excitement inside and a racing of her pulse, as she realized that it was whom she most wanted to see at that moment. There was no mistaking the imposing figure on the lead horse. Tall and straight, Clay Culver always looked at home on a horse, riding with an easy motion that seemed in tune with the animal’s every move. It was a sight that Katie had become familiar with over the past few years, and one that she secretly admired. It gave her a sense of peace. Behind him, in almost identical fashion, his younger brother rode. At a distance, most folks would find it hard to distinguish one brother from the other. But Katie could tell them apart, even almost five hundred yards away. She immediately turned and started toward the cabin. They would be hungry.

  Inside, she pulled the quilt aside that served as a room divider and looked in on the sleeping girl. Bending close over her, she whispered, “Jim and Clay are back, Lettie. Don’t you want to wake up and see Jim?” There was no response from the young girl, and Katie bent closer to make sure Lettie was still breathing. Feeling helpless, she shook her head sadly, thinking of the moment when Jim would first see her. She straightened up and said, “It’s all right, honey, wherever your poor mind is right now.” With a long sigh she closed the quilt again and went to the stove.

  Taking the dipper, she filled the coffeepot with water from the water bucket and set it on the stove to heat while she ground fresh coffee beans. Looking around to see what else she could provide in a hurry for two hungry men, her eyes settled on the pan of biscuits she had baked that morning. When she had baked them she had intended for them to last for two or three days. They’ll have to do, she thought. I can fry some bacon to go with ’em. Satisfied that it would suffice, she went back outside to greet the brothers.

  As soon as she emerged from the cabin, Jim held up his arm and waved. She waved back, thinking, Would it break your arm to wave, Clay Culver? As was his nature, Clay displayed no emotion beyond the faint hint of a smile as he and Jim rode past the corral and pulled up before Katie. He took his time dismounting. Jim, on the other hand, jumped down quickly and gave Katie a friendly hug. “Well, I came back from the dead,” he said, smiling.

  She gave his arm an extra squeeze. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again.” Then she turned to face Clay.

  “Katie,” was Clay’s simple greeting.

  “Clay,” she returned, determined to match his detached air. She met his gaze and couldn’t help but feel his eyes had so much more to say to her. “I put some coffee on as soon as I saw you,” she said.

  “Much obliged,” he said. Then his eyes glanced toward the cabin door. “Lettie?”

  In answer, she shook her head slowly. Turning to Jim, she took his arm again. “Jim, I wish I could tell you some good news, but I can’t. Lettie’s alive, but she’s gone from this world. You just have to accept it. That bastard’s killed her just as sure as he took a gun and shot her.”

  Jim didn’t speak for a moment, his emotions prohibiting vocal response. He nodded his head to indicate he understood, then said, “I need to see her.”

  She released his arm and stepped back to stand beside Clay. “I’ll take care of the horses,” Clay said softly. Katie took Toby’s reins and walked with Clay to the corral so Jim could be alone with Lettie.

  * * *

  Seeing the bruised face of the young girl stunned him for a brief moment as he stood over her bed. In spite of Clay’s efforts to prepare him, Jim was shocked by the deathlike scene he now witnessed. The shock lasted for only an instant before giving way to grief-stricken compassion. He caught a dry sob in his throat as he gazed at the fragile lines of her sweet young face, still showing faint scars from the blows delivered by the evil Slocum. The sight of it filled his heart anew with the anger he had experienced on that day, when he was helpless to protect her. Looking at her now, he saw that she seemed to be in a deep sleep, far away from this rough frontier cabin, perhaps too far to ever return.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, feeling the guilt of failing to protect her from Slocum’s vicious attack. He knew at that moment that he wanted her to live more than anything he had ever wanted in his life. He could not bear the thought of losing her. He took her hand in his and whispered, “Lettie, honey, it’s me, Jim.” It was more than he could bear. Kneeling down beside her, he buried his face in her limp hand, wishing that he could cry. There were so many things he should have told her. He cursed himself for his fear of being tied down. He should have told her he loved her when he had the chance. Now it was too late. He had been a fool.

  “Jim?” The voice was weak, barely above a whisper.

  Not sure he hadn’t imagined it, he raised his head to look at her. He had imagined it, he thought, and his heart sank again. But then her eyelids flickered slightly and opened. “Jim?” she repeated.

  “Yes, I’m here,” he said, unable to control the emotion in his voice. “I’m here, honey.”

  Her voice faint, barely above a whisper, she said something, but it was too weak for him to understand. He bent low over her, his ear close to her mouth. “I knew you’d come back to me,” she whispered.

  “Nothing could have stopped me,” he said tenderly. “I love you.”

  Her face relaxed in a gentle smile. “I know,” she whispered contentedly. “I’ve always known.” She closed her eyes then. “I’m very tired.”

  “You need to rest. You’ve been through a real bad time. I’ll be here when you wake up.” He kissed her lightly on her lips and stepped away to look at her while she went to sleep. Hearing Clay and Katie come in then, he turned and motioned for them to be quiet. “She’s gonna be all right. She woke up and talked to me.”

  With a look of great relief transforming her face, Katie beamed at Clay, then hurried to check on Lettie herself. There was a change in the young girl’s face, one that seemed to indicate an inner peace. But she was so still that Katie bent low to listen to her breathing. At once alarmed, she pressed an ear to Lettie’s heart. It confirmed what she feared. Lettie was gone.

  * * *

  The settlers of Canyon Creek gathered on a snowy winter afternoon for yet another funeral at Katie Mashburn’s farm. This time it was to say good-bye to one who had not been long among them, but had already firmly established herself as one who belonged. As Reverend Lindstrom offered the final prayer, Clay Culver urned and gazed toward the mountains beyond the north pass. There, on a distant ridge, he could just make out the outline of a solitary figure on horseback, standing motionless for a few moments before turning and disappearing slowly into the tall pines. Clay understood. His brother could not bear to watch Lettie being lowered into the frozen ground. Jim would come back and say his final farewell over Lettie’s grave when the two of them could be alone. Right now Jim could find the solace he desperately needed only in the high, rocky bosom of the mountains.


  CHARLES G. WEST lives in Punta Gorda, Florida, and was the proprietor of a commercial typesetting and printing business. He now devotes his full time to writing historical fiction.