No Justice in Hell

by Charles G. West

  This day passed as the day before had, with no sign of anyone: freighters, Indians, soldiers, or anyone else. It was as if the road were for their private use only. Occasionally, upon passing a hill or mesa that offered a good view of the road before and behind, Hawk would climb up to look over their back trail. He finally decided the women were right, Zach Dubose was still somewhere near Fort Benton, unaware that his wife had left him. The end of the day found them less than twenty miles from Helena. A lighthearted spirit prevailed among the women as they went about the business of making camp. “This time tomorrow we’ll be in Helena,” Bertie cheerfully announced when she dropped an armload of dried branches for the fire JoJo was in the process of building. Blossom paused to smile in response. She, who had actually suffered abuse at the hands of Zach Dubose, was feeling free of the evil man’s influence at last. She and her mother seemed to feel they would be safe in Helena, for, according to Bertie, they would have rooms in the saloon as Sam Ingram had promised. And as far as trouble outside the saloon, Helena had a sheriff to take care of that. Hawk hoped everything worked out for them, but he figured he didn’t know Dubose well enough to predict his actions. If he was like the typical drifter turned outlaw, he’d probably get over the loss of Blossom and soon turn his attentions to some other whore. But you never can tell, he told himself. At any rate, he knew he would be glad to see them safely to their destination. He was long overdue at Fort Ellis. Major Brisbin was most likely wondering what had happened to him and what kind of luck he’d had talking Walking Owl into bringing his people to the reservation.

  The only member of the party who was not eager to see the journey end was JoJo Feeley. Having been treated as a cull by boys and men since she was a small child, she was at last feeling the respect that other women received from most men. And she feared that it would end when they reached Helena. Her infatuation with the rugged-looking cavalry scout was hardly concealed, giving both Bertie and Blossom cause for concern for the immature girl. Childlike in her adoration of Hawk, JoJo would be hard to convince that a man like him was not a man for her. Bertie knew that once they reached Helena, Hawk would disappear just as suddenly as he had appeared. She wished that he had not given JoJo as much attention as he had, but it would be difficult to complain to him about his kindness. Well, I reckon she’ll get over it, she thought. Lord knows, she oughta be used to rejection.

  Once the camp was set up, Hawk left them to take his customary scout around the perimeter, just to check out the neighborhood, as he called it. They were a considerable distance from the road, as far as they could get with the wagon, in a forest of fir trees, divided by a busy stream. To the northwest, the rugged peaks of the Rocky Mountains stood, a constant challenge to a man of Hawk’s nature. And had it not been for his feeling of obligation to Major Brisbin, no doubt he would have accepted the call. He reminded himself of the job he had taken on in the meantime and continued his circle around the camp.

  * * *

  “I was wonderin’ if you’d left us,” Bertie joked when he came back into camp. “What’cha got there?”

  He held up the rabbit he was carrying. “I found this one back down the stream a ways,” he replied. “Thought maybe you might wanna throw him in a pot, or roast him over the fire, to add a little something to smoked deer meat. I was expectin’ to find some porcupines. Wasn’t expectin’ a rabbit.”

  “Porcupines?” Bertie responded. “Why’d you want one of them?”

  “I didn’t. I just thought there were some around.” He pointed to several fir trees with bark eaten away. “They like to chew on the bark.”

  Still puzzled, she stared at the trees for a moment before pointing out the obvious. “You sure it was porcupines that did that? Those rings are six or eight feet off the ground, and last I heard, porcupines ain’t near that tall.”

  “You’re right, they ain’t,” he said. “They eat the bark in the winter when food’s scarce and the snow was that high on the tree then.”

  “Hadn’t thought of that,” Bertie said. “I didn’t hear no gunshot. How’d you get him?” He reached in his saddlebag and pulled out a sling made with rawhide cords. He had made it when still a boy, living in a Crow village. “Well, I’ll be . . .” she started. “If that ain’t somethin’.” She grinned wide. “You must be one helluva shot with that thing to hit a rabbit. Ain’t that right, JoJo?”

  “I reckon so,” JoJo answered, not surprised by anything Hawk could do.

  “I don’t know about that,” Hawk was quick to disagree. “It took me four shots before I hit him. And the damn fool rabbit just sat there when the first three missed. I think he thought he was safe as long as he didn’t move. Either that or he figured he was supposed to go in a cook pot, so he didn’t run. He mighta committed suicide if the fourth shot hadn’t accidentally hit him.”

  “Posh,” JoJo exclaimed, certain he was making it up. “I don’t believe you.”

  “You can believe it,” he said. “I’ll skin it and we’ll stick him over the fire. I need to take care of Rascal first.”

  “I can skin a rabbit,” JoJo immediately volunteered. “I’ll help you.”

  “All right,” Hawk said, and started toward the stream with JoJo walking along beside him.

  “Maybe I oughta have a little talk with him about her,” Bertie said to Blossom, who had come up in time to hear the conversation.

  “Maybe so,” Blossom agreed. “It might break her heart for sure, if he was to take advantage of her damn innocence.”

  “Oh, I ain’t worried about that,” Bertie was quick to reply. “I don’t read any mischief in Hawk a-tall. I’m sure he ain’t got nothin’ like that on his mind. He’s just too damn dumb to see she’s got a crush on him. Hell, he oughta know he can have a ride with any one of us whenever he feels like it. He just don’t realize she ain’t the child she acts like.”

  Blossom nodded thoughtfully. “I guess you’re right, and that kinda bothers me a little. Maybe there’s something wrong with us.” She paused, then added, “Maybe there’s something wrong with him.”

  “We’re wastin’ our time tryin’ to figure him out,” Bertie said. “I’m just glad he came along when he did.” She gave a little chuckle. “We were down to one horse and eatin’ the other one. Whaddaya reckon woulda happened if we tried to pull that wagon with one horse?”

  “I don’t know. It mighta pulled the wagon round and round in a circle and we wouldn’t have gone anywhere.” They both laughed at that picture.

  The man they puzzled over was not immune to feminine charms, and he had given some thought to one woman in particular, now that they were so close to Helena. He remembered the dining room next to the Davis Hotel and the little lady who owned it. Sophie Hicks was her name, and she had told him to be sure to call on her again whenever he was back in Helena. And he had gotten the impression it was not because she just wanted to sell him more food. I expect that’s one call I’ll make, he thought. Right after I deliver these ladies to the Last Chance Saloon.

  He figured to make Helena in the afternoon the next day, reclaim his packhorse and all his possibles, then leave the horses in Bowen’s Stable that night. As he usually did, he’d probably sleep in the stable with his horses. I’ll stop by to visit Miss Sophie Hicks for supper tomorrow, then I’d best head out early the next mornin’ for Fort Ellis, or I’m liable not to have a job. His thoughts were interrupted when JoJo came to get him for supper. She greeted him by blurting, “Why do you have that feather in your hat?”

  He was accustomed to being confronted with that question on occasion, usually from a child or a woman. This time it was from a woman who looked like a child. His usual practice was to create a story that might entertain the inquirer, instead of admitting that he just found it by the trail and decided to stick it in his hat. He thought for only a minute before creating one he thought she might like to believe. “I lived with a Blackfoot village a few years back and they had a custom none of the other tribes had. A young warrior would stick
a hawk feather in his headband, or his hat, if he wore one. Then all the young girls would know he was lookin’ for a wife. And if one of the girls fancied him, she would pluck his feather. None of the girls ever fancied me, so I’m still wearin’ a feather in my hat.”

  She looked him in the eye for a long moment before responding, “Posh, I don’t believe a word of it. I never heard of anything like that.”

  He laughed. “Like I said, it was a custom only practiced by that village.”

  * * *

  “We can’t be that far behind ’em,” Zach Dubose claimed. “Those tracks ain’t that old.” He pointed at some deep ridges left by a wagon wheel at a stream crossing.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Hog Thacker said. “It’s damn hard to tell in all that loose rock. But the fact is, if we don’t rest these horses, we’re gonna be on foot.”

  “Hell,” Dubose retorted, “my horse ain’t even worked up a sweat yet. We can’t stop now. We’ve almost caught ’em.”

  “Is that a fact?” Hog replied. “Well, my horse needs to rest, so I reckon you’ll be goin’ on by yourself. I ain’t aimin’ to kill my horse just so you can catch that woman.”

  “Hog’s right,” Red Whitley said. “My horse is about done for the day and so’s yourn. It don’t make no sense to kill the horses and walk into Helena.”

  “I thought you boys were tougher’n that,” Dubose mocked. “I reckon I shoulda just come on alone.” He knew they were right—his horse was exhausted, too. He just couldn’t stand the thought of quitting when he felt they were so close to overtaking them.

  “Suit yourself,” Hog said. “This stream right here looks like a good place to camp, so I’m throwin’ my bedroll down right under them trees yonder.”

  “Looks good to me,” Red said. “Let’s get us a fire goin’.” They both turned their weary horses toward the bank Hog had pointed to and left Dubose to steam over it for a while. Long accustomed to riding with Dubose, neither man feared him and they knew he would not go on without them, no matter how much he threatened. One big reason was that horse he was so proud of, a spotted horse with unusual markings. Dubose had shot the previous owner after a fight broke out over a card game. The horse was called a Palouse, named for the Palouse River, where it was supposedly bred by the Nez Perce Indians, and Dubose was not likely to run that horse till it foundered. As they expected, in a few minutes’ time, he came along after them, still mumbling insults under his breath.

  “How far do you think it is to Helena?” Dubose asked when he dismounted.

  “Hell, I don’t know,” Hog answered. “About fifteen miles or so,” he said, and looked at Red for confirmation.

  Red shrugged indifferently, already wishing he had stayed in Great Falls and let Dubose go chasing after his wife by himself. Blossom was a fine-looking woman, but she was still just another whore as far as he was concerned. He was tired after a long, full day of hard riding and he wished he had a drink. “Helena ain’t even a full day’s ride from here,” he offered. “What we need to know is how far ahead of us that wife of yours is.”

  “That’s right,” Hog agreed. “And we don’t know for sure that’s where she’s headin’.”

  “Where else would she be goin’?” Dubose blurted, unwilling to accept the possibility that Blossom had tricked him into thinking she was heading to Helena. He couldn’t help thinking that it might be the case, however. “Damn it,” he fumed, “we shoulda caught up with ’em by now.”

  “Maybe we did,” Hog said, more as a way to aggravate Dubose. He winked at Red. “Maybe they pulled off somewhere to make camp and we passed on by ’em.”

  “Damn, you could be right,” Red said as he pulled the saddle off his horse. “I bet they’re behind us. They’re chasin’ us now. That was a fair-sized stream we passed about three miles back. They mighta pulled off there and hid up in them trees for the night. It was too dark to see any tracks, if that’s where they went. Maybe we oughta go back there and find out.”

  “Go to hell, both of you,” Dubose blurted, finally catching on to the japing he was a victim of. It was no secret that he had trouble controlling his temper, and they were obviously intending to amuse themselves at his expense. “We ain’t caught ’em yet, but we’ll catch ’em tomorrow. If we don’t, I’ll just find ’em in Helena. One way or the other, she’s gonna pay. You just be ready to ride early in the mornin’.”

  * * *

  As he had warned, Dubose roused Red and Hog out of their blankets at the first sign of daylight. Amid a minor protest of grumbling, he threatened to shoot both of them if they delayed his quest for vengeance another minute. Well aware of the crazy streak that ran through Dubose’s brain, they decided it unwise to push him any further. So they saddled up and started out for Helena, knowing that if they didn’t catch the runaway wife before reaching town, at least it was a short ride to breakfast.

  Approximately three miles behind them, the woman Dubose pursued brought Hawk a cup of coffee as he was hitching the horses up to the wagon. “I know it’s a little too far to drive the horses on in to Helena without stopping to rest them,” she said. “So we’ll make breakfast then. All right?”

  “That would be best,” Hawk agreed.

  She started to leave, then hesitated. “I don’t know if I’ve told you enough how much I appreciate what you’ve done for us. You’re one of the most decent men I’ve ever met. I know you were on your way to Fort Ellis, and I hope we haven’t messed up any plans you had before you were unlucky enough to run up on us. But you’ve made this trip a whole lot easier for the three of us.”

  Her words of gratitude left him a little uncomfortable, since his thought upon first meeting them had been to regret his bad luck. “Well, I’m right glad I was here to help,” he fumbled. “But we ain’t got to Helena yet.”

  “But we’re not that far, are we?”

  “No, ma’am,” he said. She smiled, confident that she had gotten away from Zach Dubose. “I expect I’d best get your wagon hitched up,” he said.

  She hesitated again when she saw JoJo hurrying toward them. “And I guess I should thank you for not taking advantage of JoJo,” she said quickly, in an effort to say it before the young girl was close enough to overhear. His puzzled expression caused her to say, “I reckon you know she’s pretty much taken by you.”

  “Ah no, ma’am, I didn’t,” he replied honestly. “I just thought she was bein’ friendly.” There was no time to say more before JoJo walked briskly up to them.

  “I was fixin’ to bring you a cup of coffee,” JoJo announced, “but I couldn’t find your cup. I see why now.” She forced a smile in Blossom’s direction.

  “You three women are gonna spoil me for good,” Hawk said, unable to think of anything better. “I’d best get you on up the road to Helena.”

  “You need any help?” JoJo asked. “Want me to go get Rascal for you?”

  “Ah no, ma’am,” he said. “He’ll come when I call him.” She almost looked disappointed and it struck him that maybe Blossom was right. “Thanks anyway, I appreciate it.”

  She shrugged and turned to go back to the wagon, then stopped and turned around again. “How old do you think I am?” she asked.

  Thinking it best to make light of the situation, he answered, “Oh, I don’t know—about seventy-five.”

  She glared at him for a long moment, obviously not amused. “My mama wasn’t but thirteen when she got married,” she informed him, and turned again to go to the wagon.

  He could not recall if he had ever met any woman or girl who was “taken” with him before, even one that looked as young as JoJo. He wondered if Sophie Hicks had been “taken” with him when she invited him back. He shook his head to clear it of nonsense and went back to work hitching the team.

  * * *

  It was still early when the three outlaws rode along Last Chance Gulch, looking for the saloon by the same name. “Yonder it is,” Dubose declared, and pointed toward a weathered sign hanging on a building next to a
dry goods store. “That’s gotta be the place where Bertie Brown knows the owner. Last Chance Saloon—Blossom said somethin’ about it one time, said Bertie always had a job there, if she needed one.” Dubose turned toward it immediately, certain this was the place the women were running to. Hog and Red followed his lead and pulled up to the hitching rail beside him. Dubose was already at the door before Hog and Red had tied their horses. “I hope they got somethin’ in there to eat,” Hog said as they stepped up on the narrow porch.

  Inside, they found Dubose talking to the bartender and it didn’t appear that he was getting answers to his questions. At least none that seemed to please their hotheaded partner. “I told you, mister,” they heard the bartender say, “Mr. Ingram ain’t here right now. He don’t usually come in till later in the morning.” It was obvious that Dubose was heating up pretty rapidly and that was usually a source of entertainment to Hog. He grinned at Red as they walked over to the bar.

  “Has Bertie Brown or Blossom Dubose been in here?” Dubose demanded.

  The bartender, a normally mild-mannered little man named Dewey Smith, was beginning to lose his patience with the overbearing stranger. “Like I’ve been trying to tell you, I ain’t been working here but a few months. If the two women you’re looking for have been in, I wouldn’t know it.” Already near the end of his tolerance, he couldn’t resist a little sarcasm. “The kind of women who wander in here ain’t likely the kind that introduce themselves.”