A Man Called Sunday

by Charles G. West

  “There wasn’t but one man,” Sloat explained, “but he looked like he mighta been half mountain lion.” He shook his head at the thought. “He held a Henry rifle in his hand the whole time he was here, and his eyes never missed nothin’. If he’da ever turned his back on me, I mighta thought about it, but he never did.” He tilted his head back and scratched under his beard while he recalled the broad-shouldered scout. “Besides, that’s your job. I’m just supposed to spot ’em for you.”

  “Might do you some good to get out from behind that counter once in a while,” Kirby needled. “Work some of that fat offa ya.”

  “If I did, then you and Gopher would be out of a job, wouldn’t you? Now, I expect if any of us is gonna get any of that woman’s money, you two better start doin’ some trailin’. They’ve already got an hour’s start on you, and mind you don’t take my warnin’ lightly ’bout that feller with the rifle. He was wearin’ a bow on his back—didn’t look like one of the usual pilgrims that come by here.”

  “I reckon we can handle him,” Kirby said. He grinned at his oversized partner, and said, “I’ll let ol’ Gopher tie his ass in a knot. Then I’ll slit his throat and scalp him.” Gopher beamed and nodded in response.

  “Sometime they gonna cheat you,” Pearl said when she came to stand beside Sloat as they watched Kirby and Gopher ride up the path.

  “Maybe,” Sloat replied, “but those two ain’t got brains enough between ’em to pour piss out of a boot. They need somebody to tell ’em which way to go. They’ll be back with the money.” He was truthful when he said he wasn’t worried about them, for he figured they needed him more than he needed them.

  * * *

  “It’s gettin’ so dark I can’t hardly see the damn tracks no more,” Kirby complained.

  “There ain’t no tracks on this side,” Gopher said from the other bank of the creek.

  “You mean you can’t see no more?”

  “I can see good enough,” Gopher answered. “There ain’t no tracks to see over here.”

  “They rode up the creek,” Kirby said, while Gopher continued to puzzle over the disappearance of tracks. “We’d best take it real slow now, till we find out where they made camp. Come on back on this side, and we’ll follow it till we catch sight of ’em.”

  They had gone no farther than about twenty yards when Kirby caught the movement of their intended victims’ horses in the trees up ahead. He signaled Gopher to dismount and be quiet, then dismounted himself. “They ain’t very far up this creek,” Kirby whispered. “Let’s go back a little and wait till it gets darker.”

  It was not a long wait until a hard dark set in the cottonwoods bordering the narrow creek. The conscienceless assassins sat on the ground, each with his back against a tree, impatiently waiting for the proper time to strike the unsuspecting camp. Gopher was eager to get on with it, but Kirby convinced him that it would be far easier if they waited until the man and woman were asleep. “Then all we’ll have to do is walk in and shoot ’em while they’re still in their blankets,” he said.

  “Maybe we’ll catch ’em goin’ at it in the same blanket,” Gopher said, his perverted mind conjuring an image that appealed to him. “That’d be somethin’, wouldn’t it?” His voice trailed off as he pictured it. “I’d like to see that.”

  “I wanna see what’s in that damn sack Lem saw,” Kirby said. “We need to wait till they’ve had time to fall asleep. Don’t make no sense to go in there earlier and take a chance on gettin’ shot. Lem says this feller looks like some kinda stud hoss.”

  “I reckon,” Gopher conceded, unable to rid his mind of the picture he had formed, “but I’d like to see ’em goin’ at it.” Kirby shook his head in disbelief, but he said nothing and Gopher could not see his gesture in the darkness.

  An hour passed and finally Kirby thought it was time. “All right,” he said, “let’s get movin’.” He got to his feet and looked down at his simpleminded partner, who had fallen asleep. Taking him by the shoulder, he shook him awake. “Come on, you big dummy. You was so damn anxious to go a while back. You wanna stay here and sleep while I go do the job?” Gopher scrambled up quickly, his grin wide in anticipation of the pleasure he always enjoyed when falling upon innocent victims.

  Leaving their horses tied in the trees, they drew their rifles and advanced upon the camp on foot. In a short distance, they spotted the flames of the campfire. A gentle breeze rustled the branches of the low bushes that grew between the cottonwoods, causing the flames to flicker nervously. Inching a few yards closer, they stopped to look over the camp before walking in. As they had planned, there was no activity in the camp. All was quiet except for a few inquiring whinnies from the horses. To make sure this was not enough to wake the sleeping couple, they continued to wait a few minutes more before advancing once again. Still there was no sign of movement.

  “Where the hell are they?” Kirby whispered, for he had expected to see two sleeping forms close to the fire. “You see ’em?”

  “Nope,” Gopher replied.

  “Well, they gotta be here somewhere,” Kirby said, and proceeded to make his way to a closer position. “You step across the creek and head toward them willows. They musta figured to bed down outta sight. I’ll go up this side. One of us is bound to spot ’em.”

  “All right,” Gopher said, and stepped into the waist-deep water, causing a soft splash as he did so. Kirby grimaced at the sound, but still there was no evidence of alarm in the camp. Gopher grinned sheepishly for his clumsy step while he continued across to the other bank. Pulling his heavy body out of the water was not without a slight sound, but not as loud as his entry had been. In silence now, save for the singing of frogs along the creek bank, he moved toward the willow thicket. Suddenly he spotted what he searched for, a form rolled in a blanket. He did not wait. Pulling his rifle up to his shoulder, he fired, cocked it, and fired again to be sure. At that distance, he did not miss. “I got one, Kirby!” Eager to see which of the couple he had shot, he ran into the willows.

  Kirby did not answer. The only sound he could make was a choking gurgle as his throat was cut from ear to ear. When released from the powerful grasp that had held him, his body dropped lifeless to the creek bank. Luke wiped his knife blade clean and returned it to its scabbard. He reached over his shoulder and drew an arrow from the quiver. Notching it, he stepped up in the shadow of the trees and waited. In a few seconds, Gopher lumbered out into the clearing after finding he had killed an empty blanket. “Kirby!” he yelled. “They ain’t here.” With no answer from his partner, he started to yell again, but was stopped abruptly by a solid blow to his chest. Confused by the sudden pain, he looked down to discover the arrow shaft protruding from his body. He staggered backward, still on his feet when the second arrow struck, piercing his abdomen. Like a wounded buffalo, he snorted, dazed, unable to defend against an antagonist he could not see. There were no muzzle flashes to tell him from whence his assailant struck, only the silent missiles from somewhere in the darkness of the trees. Helpless against the assault, he tried to escape and turned around to go back to the creek, but found that his steps were uneven and awkward, causing him to drop his rifle and clutch a willow trunk to keep from going down on his knees. The final arrow, shot from a much shorter distance than the first two, struck him in the back, piercing his lung, and the simple brute collapsed face forward in the creek.

  Luke walked slowly to the creek to make sure of the kill. He reached for Gopher’s foot and pulled the heavy body to the bank of the creek, where he stripped it of its gun belt. He took a good look at the man, just as he had done with his partner. Neither of the two was Lem Sloat, which surprised him. Even so, he felt that Sloat had a hand in it, but there was no way he could know for sure. Thoughts of vengeance filled his mind as he tried to pull his arrows out of Gopher’s corpse, but there was the possibility that Lem Sloat had nothing to do with the attempt on their l
ives, that it was just coincidence.

  He was able to recover only one of his three arrows. The other two broke when he tried to extract them, having been driven too deeply into the carcass. He heard Mary Beth call behind him. “Luke,” came the cautious cry, “are you all right?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied.

  “I heard the shots and then there was nothing,” she said, her voice trembling. “I didn’t know who did the shooting. I was afraid you might have been shot.”

  “I reckon that was the plan,” Luke said. “It might be best if you go on over closer to the fire while I take care of these two. I’ll take a look back down the creek just in case, but I don’t think there was anybody else with ’em.” He had thought to keep her from seeing the bodies of their assailants, but it was too late.

  “Oh my dear Lord,” she gasped when she saw the huge body lying on the creek bank. “Oh my Lord,” she said again. “Why would they come to kill us?”

  “I expect they found out what was in that sack of corn of yours,” he replied.

  “But why kill us for it? Why not just rob us and be on their way?”

  He was surprised by her naïveté, especially in light of the suspicions that she had harbored for him in the beginning, but he chose not to remind her. “That’s just their way of makin’ sure nobody comes after them,” he said. “You go over by the fire now, and I’ll be back when I’m done with this one and his partner over in the trees.”

  She did as he said, suddenly feeling a chill about her shoulders that was not totally a result of the night air. There was no doubt in her mind that sleeping was out of the question for the rest of that night. And even though he had said there were no others to fear, she knew that she would be afraid until he returned. What a fool I was, she scolded herself. I should never have agreed to go to Montana. The few friends she had made in Cheyenne had told her of the harsh reality of trying to carve out a life in that wild territory, but David’s brother had told them that it was no rougher than life in Wyoming Territory. Well, she decided, my friends were right, and now look at me. David’s gone and there’s been nothing but murder and savagery at every turn. She was suddenly struck by the stillness of the dark trees along the banks of the creek, and she could not help feeling that someone, or something, was watching her every move. She shivered once again and thought, I wish Luke would hurry back here.

  When Luke had found the horses tied in the trees, after a short walk back down the creek, he was positive that the two men he killed were the only assailants he had to worry about. Having pulled Gopher’s body halfway up the bank, he had decided that hauling the hulking carcass away from the clearing was work better suited to a horse. He got on one of the horses and led the other back to the camp, where he tied a rope around Gopher’s ankles and looped the other end around the saddle horn. He dragged the body well out of the way past the edge of the trees, then repeated the chore with Kirby’s corpse. “Well, boys,” he said upon completion of the chore, “I expect the buzzards will be right glad to see you in the mornin’.” He paused again to consider whether or not he should pay Lem Sloat a visit. It bothered him to think the grubby little man might have set these two upon them, but there was no way he could know for sure. I reckon I’d best just forget about it and worry about getting Mary Beth to her folks, he told himself. He wondered now if he could believe Sloat when he had told him that Coulson was three days west of his store.

  When he returned to the clearing, he found Mary Beth making a pot of coffee. When she saw the look of surprise on his face, she informed him that she was positive that she could no longer sleep, although it was in the wee hours of the morning. “This place is just too creepy,” she said. “I just want to get away from here as fast as we can, and I can tell by the expression on your face that you’re thinking about waiting until morning. So it’s a good thing I made some coffee. It’ll help me keep my eyes open, because I have no intention of closing them again in this place.”

  Astonished by her long and frank statement, Luke paused, still holding the reins of the horses that had belonged to the men just killed. He guessed that she must have really been frightened by her rude awakening to gunshots only a few dozen steps from her bed. But he could not understand why she was still afraid now that the danger was past. “Both of them fellers are dead,” he reminded her, hoping that would ease her fear. She looked at him as if she thought he was insane.

  “Yes,” she exclaimed, as she would have if trying to explain something to a child. “They’re dead! They came to kill us, but you killed them instead!” Her voice became louder and louder as she released her emotions. “The Indians tried to kill us, but you killed them. Everyone in this territory is trying to kill everyone else! My God! What’s wrong with you people?” In an attempt to vent her frustration, she began kicking dirt on the fire. Luke could only stand and watch while she threw her tantrum. He had never seen a woman behave in such fashion, and he had no idea what was wrong with her, but she was going to put out the fire if she kept kicking dirt on it. So he realized something must be done to settle her down. He dropped the reins he had been holding, moved quickly toward her, and in one swift motion, he swept her up in his arms. While she fought helplessly against him, he calmly walked to the edge of the creek and dropped her in the middle of it. Then he stepped back and watched as she thrashed about furiously in the cold current, gasping for air while spitting blasphemous oaths. Still straining to catch her breath, she struggled to climb out of the creek, only to slip and tumble back to sit down once again in the chilly water.

  He waded part of the way out to her and extended his hand. “Here, take hold and I’ll pull you outta there.” She eagerly grasped his hand.

  “I’m freezing,” she exclaimed when she gained her footing on the grassy crest of the creek bank. Drained of her anger and frustration, she shivered uncontrollably.

  “You’d best get outta them wet clothes,” he said. “You’ve got some dry things to put on, ain’t you?”

  “In the packs,” she replied, and hurried to find them. She paused for just a moment to ask, “Why did you do that?”

  “I saw a dog throw a fit one time in a Crow village. It was kinda like the one you just threw, only the dog didn’t say all them things you did. The Indian the dog belonged to grabbed him by the hind legs and threw him in the river. He came out of the river and slinked off in the woods—seemed to be calmed down. I thought maybe the same thing might work on you.”

  She shook her head in exasperation as she gazed at him, finding it hard to believe what had just happened. “Well, I’m calm now,” she said, “freezing, but I’m calm. I’ve just got to get out of these wet clothes before I catch pneumonia.”

  “I’m glad you’re calm, but I’ll still be keepin’ my eye on you for a while.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “’Cause a couple of hours after that Crow threw his dog in the river, that dog came outta the woods growling and foamin’ at the mouth. He came after one of them Indians and they had to shoot him.” A slight smile threatened to appear on Luke’s face. “I was hopin’ it wouldn’t come to that with you.”

  Shocked, by his casual manner, she didn’t know how to react for a few moments until it struck her. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, the smile expanding to a grin. “I wouldn’t have shot you. Fact is, I was afraid you mighta shot me after I threw you in the creek.”

  She found that she could not be angry with him, and she realized that this was the first time he had ever joked since she had known him—about anything. She could not help uttering it. “You actually joked with me. I can’t believe it, Dead Man.”

  It was his turn to be surprised. “How did you know my Crow name?”

  “Oh, I know a lot of things,” she teased as she pulled some dry clothes from the pack. “Women know a lot more things than men suspect.
”

  “I wouldn’t know about that,” he said. “I’d have to take your word for it. You’d better get outta them wet clothes, though. I’ll take a walk back down the creek if you wanna stay by the fire.”

  “No,” she said. “I’ll go back in the trees to change. You stay by the fire.” Where I can see you, she thought. She was willing to trust him with her life, but she didn’t rule out the natural curiosity that men seemed to be born with.

  While she changed, he took a more thorough look at the horses they had just acquired. Fairly sturdy, he decided, but nothing special; both were sorrels. At least he could use one of the saddles and would no longer have to ride bareback. His first thought was that he would get his horse back now, with two saddled horses to choose from for Mary Beth. But after thinking about it for a moment, he decided that he had better leave her on the paint. She had become accustomed to the horse, and with possibly only about three days left to Coulson, maybe it was a good idea to let her be. Next, he considered the possibility of putting a saddle on the spotted gray pony he had been riding. It was a good horse, but had obviously never had a saddle strapped on its back. A spirited pony, the gray might not be willing to accept the saddle without a lively protest, and he wasn’t willing to take the time at this point to saddle-break a horse. I reckon I’ll just ride the one with the best saddle, he thought, and worry about breaking the gray when we get to wherever we’re going. His decision made, he yanked the saddles off both horses and let them rest with his three Indian ponies, for in spite of Mary Beth’s tirade, he did not intend to leave until daylight.