No Justice in Hell

by Charles G. West

  Sophie was filling their coffee cups when the man came back to the table, but did not take his seat. Instead, he talked excitedly to his two friends, not so loud as before. Whatever he told them served to excite them as well. They got up immediately and hurried out of the room. Sophie walked the coffeepot over to Hawk’s table. “I wonder what got into them,” she remarked. “They sent me to the kitchen for more coffee, but didn’t wait to even take a sip of it.”

  “Looks like it’s a good thing you make everybody pay in advance,” he said. “Just so you don’t make a trip for nothin’, you can fill my cup. On second thought, don’t fill it. I’ve got to check on something right now.” He pushed his chair back and stood up.

  “You, too?” she protested.

  “’Fraid so,” he said, and headed for the door. “I told Grover Bramble I’d pay him for my horse an hour ago. He said he was leaving early to go home and I forgot all about it while I was talkin’ to you, so it’s your fault. I’ll be back. You’re still the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.” He left her standing there, shaking her head.

  * * *

  Sheriff Porter Willis followed Dewey back to the saloon and met Daisy standing there waiting. “They’re out behind the building,” she exclaimed.

  “You better hurry!” When they hurried to the back door, Daisy grabbed Dewey by the arm. “You stay here. Somebody’s gonna get killed out there.”

  When the sheriff went out the door, he found himself in the middle of a standoff. The three outlaws were standing in the yard, facing two terrified women and Sam Ingram, who were huddled together on the back stoop behind Bertie. Standing defiantly, her Henry rifle in hand, she was determined to protect her daughter. “What’s goin’ on here?” Willis demanded.

  “This ain’t none of your business,” Dubose snarled. “I just come to get my wife and this crazy bitch won’t let her go.”

  “She don’t wanna go,” Bertie said. “So you can climb back on your horse and you and your no-account friends can ride on outta here.

  Willis looked at Blossom. “Is this your husband, ma’ am?”

  “It was,” Blossom answered.

  “See,” Dubose snapped. “I told you this is somethin’ between me and my wife. Ain’t nobody else’s business.”

  Willis returned his gaze to Blossom. “Do you wanna go with him?”

  “No, sir, I don’t,” she replied.

  “Well, mister, you heard her. She don’t wanna go, so she don’t have to go. I expect you and your friends best ride on outta town, unless you wanna spend the night in my jail for disturbin’ the peace.”

  “How about that crazy old bitch standin’ there holdin’ that rifle on me?” Dubose demanded. “You gonna put her in jail?”

  “She’s got a right to protect her family,” Willis said. “Now, get on outta here before I have to lock you up.” He stepped between the two parties to face Dubose, his shotgun up before him. Concentrating his gaze on Dubose, he didn’t even see Red draw his weapon. Moments later, he was doubled over with a .44 slug in his gut. The sound of the gunshot caught everyone off guard, but Hog was quickest to react. He lunged at Bertie, knocking her down before she could raise her rifle to fire. When she tried to retrieve her weapon, he knocked her down again with the butt of his pistol and she lay there, unmoving. He picked up the rifle and with a leering grin on his face turned to face Blossom and JoJo, who were cringing against the back door of the saloon. He shifted his gaze to Sam Ingram, his eyes seeming to invite some reaction from the saloon owner, but none came. Sam was frozen in shock by the sight of the sheriff lying on the ground at the gunman’s feet.

  Dubose stepped forward and grabbed Blossom by the wrist. “Now, you worthless whore, I told you what I’d do to you if you ever tried to run out on me.” He shouted over his shoulder, “Get ready to ride, boys!” Back to the frightened woman, he said, “I’m takin’ you for one last go-around. Then I’m gonna let Red and Hog have a go with you till they get tired of it. Then I’m gonna blow your brains out.” He proceeded toward his horse, dragging Blossom, who was helplessly trying to resist, while crying and pleading for mercy.

  Devastated by the sight of Blossom being dragged across the yard, JoJo ran after her, screaming at Dubose to let her go. He was almost to his horse, but JoJo caught hold of Blossom’s skirt and fought him to a standstill. “Damn you,” he snarled when she wouldn’t let go. In a fit of rage, he drew his pistol and shot her, the bullet slamming into her chest. When she dropped to the ground, he stepped up in the stirrup, determined to drag Blossom all the way out of town if she refused to step up behind him. Suddenly, he released her with the simultaneous sound of a Winchester rifle and his own cry of pain as the bullet ripped into the back of his shoulder. Almost immediately, a second shot was fired, the bullet snapping between the horses.

  “Get outta here!” Hog shouted when Dubose fell forward on his horse’s neck. Not waiting to see if his companions heard him, Hog whipped his horse into a gallop. With no time to do anything else, Red and Dubose followed him, charging down the alley behind the buildings at a full gallop.

  Behind them, Hawk ran from the street in front of the saloon, trying to get to the back alley in time to get off another shot. But he was too late, getting only a glimpse of the rump of the spotted Palouse that Dubose rode, as the outlaws rounded the stables. He had no option to give chase, since his horse was still at the blacksmith’s. His concern was elsewhere, anyway, having witnessed the brutal execution of the young woman.

  He ran back to gather JoJo’s limp body up in his arms and he knew at once that she was fading rapidly. Her white bodice was already soaked with the red stain of her blood and her eyelids fluttered momentarily before remaining open for a brief moment. “Hawk,” she whispered so softly that he could just barely hear her. “I knew you’d come.”

  “I woulda come for you, JoJo. I woulda always come for you.” He paused and listened for her to speak again. After a moment, when there was not another word, he realized she was gone. He felt sick inside, filled with rage that anyone could be heartless enough to shoot an innocent soul barely more than a child. He looked up when Blossom knelt beside him. She told him that her mother was all right, but still groggy from the blow to her head. Hawk nodded, still holding the poor homely little girl in his arms. “What was her name, her real name?” he asked.

  “Joanna,” Blossom answered, tears streaming down her face. “She died trying to save me.”

  “It’s my fault,” Hawk said. “I shoulda stayed with you till I was sure you were all safe.” He looked down at Joanna and made a pledge to himself that the three who did this horrible deed would answer to him and God. He looked up to find Sam standing next to him, his face still drained of color.

  “I didn’t have a gun,” Sam said, apologizing for his lack of action. “I’ll go get Fred Carver.” It was not necessary, for the undertaker was already on his way, one of a small crowd running to the sound of the gunshots.

  “We need to send for Dr. Taylor, too,” Bertie said when she knelt beside the sheriff and found him to be alive. “Sheriff’s hurt bad, but he ain’t dead.” One of the spectators volunteered and was off to fetch the doctor.

  One who was badly hurt, although it was not a wound a doctor could heal, was the man called Hawk. He still held the lifeless body of the young girl known to the saloon crowd as JoJo. So small in the arms of the powerful scout, she looked even more like the child she resembled in life. He could not forgive himself for not having been there when she needed someone the most. Whether or not he might have been able to prevent her death was beside the point. He should have been there.

  “I’ll take her from you,” a man behind him said. “I’m Fred Carver. I’m the undertaker. I’ll take good care of her.”

  Hawk handed the body over to Carver, who, with the assistance of a young boy, laid JoJo carefully on the bed of a hand-drawn cart. “I want her to have a first-class funeral,” Hawk said, “with a decent coffin and a permanent headstone.”
<
br />   “I’ll see to it,” Sam Ingram volunteered. “I’ll take care of the cost. Bertie can help with what to write on the headstone.” He was not sure what the relationship was between the young woman and the rugged rifleman who had escorted the women from Great Falls, but he was obviously greatly concerned.

  “I appreciate it,” Hawk said to him. He started to leave, then hesitated to look at the body on the cart for a moment. He reached up, pulled the hawk feather from his hat, and placed it in her hand. He glanced up at the undertaker and said, “This belongs to her. Make sure she’s holdin’ it in her hand when you bury her.” He waited for Carver to nod his understanding, then turned and walked away.

  He did not get to the front of the saloon before running into Grover Bramble. “I heard the shootin’,” Grover said. “I was at Sophie’s, lookin’ for you. I figured you’d forgot I needed to leave early today.”

  “I’m sorry, Grover,” Hawk said. “I was on my way when I heard the shots, and things got busy after that.”

  “No matter,” Grover said. “I saddled your horse and left him tied in front of my place with your packhorse.” Hawk paid him for the shoeing and went to get his horses. He had one thing on his mind and that was to get on Dubose’s trail. And then he remembered Sophie and the fact that he had left her very abruptly, promising to come back right away. It caused him to pause to decide. He cared enough to let her know that he had something very important that had to be taken care of, so he led his horses back up the street to the diner.

  “Well, I was wondering if you were coming back,” Sophie greeted him at the door. “I heard the shots and I thought somebody might have shot you,” she joked. “I don’t go running out every time some drunken cowhands start shooting at each other.” It was then that she noticed the grave expression on his face. “Did those shots have anything to do with you?” she asked in all seriousness now.

  “Yes, ma’am, they did,” he answered. “And I have to go now, but I didn’t wanna leave without comin’ back to tell you I’m sorry I have to. I was lookin’ forward to visitin’ with you a little longer. But I ain’t got no choice.”

  She hesitated, not sure how she should respond. “Well, maybe next time you’re in town, you can stay longer,” she finally managed.

  “I hope so,” he said, and left.

  Strange man, she thought, and just when I was thinking I wanted to know him better. I guess it’s lucky I didn’t get too involved with him.

  CHAPTER 5

  Making no attempt to hide their trail, the three outlaws urged their weary horses on, their hooves pounding on the rocky stream bank, throwing small pebbles and sand flying in their wake. Finally, Hog threw up his hand, signaling a halt. When his two partners pulled up beside him, he warned, “We’ve got to rest these horses, else we’re gonna be walkin’.”

  Red dismounted and started leading his horse along the bank. “Let’s walk ’em for a little way, then let ’em rest.”

  “Good idea,” Hog said, and stepped down. “How ’bout it, Dubose, can you walk? How bad are you hurt?”

  “I can’t walk,” Dubose replied, angered by the suggestion. “I’m shot, damn it! I’ve got a damn bullet in my back.”

  Hog walked over and looked at the wound. “It’s more in your shoulder than your back,” he pronounced. “You oughta be able to walk.”

  “Well, I ain’t,” he said defiantly. “I need a damn doctor.”

  Hog had little patience for him. “Well, we ain’t got one real handy right now.” He paused, waiting for a response. When there was none, he shrugged and said, “Suit yourself. Maybe that fancy Palouse of yours don’t need no rest.” He and Red walked, leaving Dubose to follow, still on his horse.

  “You reckon they’ll come after us?” Red wondered aloud.

  “Maybe . . . I don’t know,” Hog replied. “They wouldn’t have had time to get up a posse, especially with the sheriff dead.” He assumed Red’s shot was fatal. “Maybe you shouldn’ta shot that sheriff. That’ll get all over the territory. There’ll be wanted posters out on that.”

  “Hell, he was fixin’ to bring that shotgun to the party,” Red replied. “If I hadn’t shot him, he’d most likely be raisin’ a posse right now.” He paused a moment to relive the scene. “He was sure one surprised-lookin’ son of a bitch when that .44 slug doubled him up,” he said with a satisfied grin raising the tips of his mustache. “With him dead, it’ll take a little more doin’ to get enough men to ride after us.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Hog pushed on. “This stream oughta meet the river pretty soon and when we strike it, we better start thinkin’ ’bout hidin’ our trail. If they do get up a posse, that son of a bitch with the rifle will most likely ride with ’em. We’re damn lucky he wasn’t close enough to get a better shot.”

  A couple hundred yards farther and they came to the Missouri River, still with no sounds of anyone chasing them, and they decided they’d best not push the horses any farther. Red and Hog helped Dubose off his horse and the three of them sat down to decide what they should do. “One thing for sure,” Dubose said, grunting with pain with every other word. “It ain’t gonna be healthy for us to stay around this territory, with Red shootin’ that sheriff.”

  “And you shootin’ that little girl,” Red reminded him. He didn’t like the insinuation that all their troubles were the result of his shooting the sheriff.

  “Hell, nobody cares about that little whore,” Dubose retorted, “but you shoot a lawman and they’ll have the U.S. Marshals and everybody else out after us. We’ve got to make ourselves scarce.” His frustration at having had Blossom in his hand only to have to let her go would come back to take full control of his mind. But for now, the risk of a posse after them was foremost in his thoughts.

  “I’m thinkin’ it’d be best if we split up, especially if they get up a posse in Helena right now,” Hog said.

  “Not till we get me to a doctor and take care of this damn bullet hole in my shoulder,” Dubose was quick to protest.

  “We can’t take you to no damn doctor,” Hog blurted. “There ain’t no town near here big enough to have a doctor, but Helena, and I don’t think it’d be the smartest thing we ever did to go back there right now.”

  Ignoring the sarcasm, Dubose insisted, “Great Falls—there’s a doctor there. We’ve gotta go back there, anyway, to get our horses and everything else. We can split up after we get there.”

  “Damn, I reckon you’re right,” Red said. In the confusion of running for their lives, he had forgotten that most everything the three of them owned was in Great Falls. When they had raced down the Mullan Road to overtake the three women, they didn’t bother to take packhorses, supplies, or cooking utensils, other than a coffeepot and some coffee and bacon. Dubose had not been willing to waste any time, confident that they would overtake the women before they reached Helena. There was also the matter of a substantial sum of cash hidden under the floor in Dubose’s shack. “Yep, we gotta get back up to your place to get our stuff.”

  That settled, they waited until sure their horses were ready to travel, since there had been no sign or sound of anyone on their trail. “Ain’t nobody comin’ after us,” Red commented. “Might not be any need to split up.”

  “That’s what you say,” Hog was quick to differ. “There ain’t been time yet. Before the week’s out, they’ll be telegraphin’ all over the territory, on the lookout for three gunmen, one of ’em with a bullet hole in his shoulder. You and Dubose can stick together if you want, but I like my chances better by myself.”

  “I reckon you’re right,” Red said, changing his mind again. “If we split up in three different directions, they won’t know which way to look for us.” So that was settled. Even Dubose agreed, as long as they stuck by him until he was able to get medical treatment. When the horses were rested, they started out for Great Falls, with still no sign of anyone following them.

  * * *

  Although anxious to get after the three gunmen, Hawk knew it
was in his best interest to prepare for a long chase. So he went to Chad Benton’s general store to replenish his supplies and ammunition and loaded them on his packhorse. Satisfied that he was supplied for whatever occurred, he stepped up into the saddle and turned Rascal toward the north road out of town. He felt sure the three men he chased had no intentions of hiding their trail at first, their immediate concern being to put distance behind them. To be sure, he went to the stable and picked up the tracks they had left when they came out of the alley and struck the road. As he expected, he found them and there had been no effort to hide them. It was an easy job to pick out the tracks of three galloping horses amid the older tracks of the usual traffic.

  After a few miles, he crossed a busy stream and realized after only fifteen or twenty yards past it that he no longer saw the tracks he had been following, so he turned around and went back to the stream. As before, there was no attempt to hide their trail, so he had no trouble seeing it along the rocky bank. There was plenty to indicate that Dubose and his partners were heading back toward Great Falls, but he could not discount the possibility that they were taking the trouble to lead a posse in that direction while they intended to actually head off in another.

  He followed the stream out until it connected with the Missouri and he determined it the place where they had rested their horses. Although he had not ridden Rascal as hard as the men he chased had driven their horses, he decided to give the buckskin a little rest, anyway. He found the idle time disturbing because it gave him opportunity to think about the tragic death of an innocent girl. And she was just a girl, he thought, even though she tried to play the part of a woman. Pretty soon, he started blaming her death on himself again, no matter that no one else held him responsible. “This ain’t doin’ me no good,” he told himself after a while. “I’d best get my mind back on my business.” He reminded himself that, if they decided to double back to see if a posse was after them and discovered there was only one man, they might wait for him in ambush.