No Justice in Hell

by Charles G. West

  “All night long,” Red replied with a satisfied grin. “And I aim to go back this mornin’, but I got to have some grub first. That little gal can sure drain a man’s strength.”

  Hog laughed. “Well, damned if you ain’t a regular stud horse, all right.”

  “Sounds like it, don’t it?” Red replied, this time with a grin more sheepish than satisfied. “For a fact, I went to sleep after the first ride and I wouldn’ta woke up for the second one if that baby hadn’t set in to bawlin’. I ain’t complainin’, though, I paid her for all night, so that young’un helped me get my money’s worth. I swear, I’d marry that woman if she was to ask me.”

  “You gonna stay here a spell?” Hog asked.

  “For a while, I reckon, at least till Lizzie don’t look so good to me anymore.” He laughed, but then turned serious. “Tell you the truth, I ain’t so sure about splittin’ up like I was. Right offhand, I don’t know where I’d wanna go.”

  “It’s the smart thing to do,” Hog tried to reassure him. “Once you shoot a lawman, you know damn well there’s gonna be lawmen lookin’ for you. And right now, they’ll be lookin’ for three men travelin’ together. It’s best we scatter till they’ve had a chance to give up on us, like they did after that bank holdup. Then maybe we can join up again.”

  “I reckon you’re right,” Red allowed. “Seen Dubose yet?” he asked, forgetting that he had already asked.

  “Nope, but I expect he’ll be draggin’ in here before long—when that whore kicks him out, or asks for more money. But I’m about ready to make some tracks, so tell him I’ll see him sometime.” He got up from the table. “So long, Red.” He turned and walked toward the door, eager to go before Red had a chance to ask to go with him to Coulson. Until that trouble in Helena cooled off, he preferred not to be caught riding with the man who shot the lawman.

  * * *

  It was late afternoon when Hawk rode through an open gate and followed a trail up to the large building in the center of a complex that included four small houses around it. Hawk remembered it from the time he had led a cavalry patrol up to the front door. There was no gate at that time, but everything else seemed as he remembered it. The nerve center of the complex was the saloon, so he guided Rascal up to a crowded hitching rail and dismounted, pulling his rifle as he did. He stood there for a few moments, looking over his saddle at the corral next to a barn beyond the houses, searching for a Palouse among the horses penned up there. There was no sign of the horse, and he at once feared he was too late, they had come and gone. That is, if they had come there in the first place. The obvious trail he had followed since leaving Hound Creek had soon disappeared when he came to an often-used freight wagon track that ran beside the river. He spent some time looking for the print with a notch filed in the shoe, but with no luck. Running on a hunch, anyway, he had come straight to the Hog Ranch. If I’m dead wrong, he thought, at least I’ll have a drink.

  “What’ll it be, mister?” the bartender asked when Hawk stepped up to the bar. Hawk ordered a shot of whiskey and put his money on the bar. “First time in the Big Timber?” the bartender asked as he produced a glass and poured.

  “I was in before, a while back,” Hawk said while he scanned the room from one side of the large room to the other.

  “Our policy musta been different when you were here back then,” the bartender said. “Lotta things have changed, so I reckon you didn’t know we don’t allow no firearms inside the saloon or the dining room.”

  “No, I didn’t know that,” Hawk said as he continued scanning the faces at the tables, looking for any of the men he had seen in Sophie’s Diner. “I’ll leave ’em outside next time.” He brought his attention back to the bartender. “I’m lookin’ for some friends of mine—said they were gonna be here. Maybe you’ve seen ’em—Zach Dubose, Hog Thacker, and Red Whitley?”

  The bartender immediately became cautious. “A lot of men come in here. I don’t ask any of them their names. I didn’t ask you your name. That just ain’t anybody’s business in the Big Timber Saloon.” He paused for a few moments before asking, “Are you a lawman?”

  “Nope,” Hawk replied. When he did, he noticed the bartender’s nod toward the kitchen door. In a few moments more, he was joined by a huge man with a sullen grin on his wide face.

  “This gentleman was unaware of our policy of no guns, Ned. Maybe you can help him.”

  “Is that a fact?” Ned asked Hawk. Standing half a head taller and wide as the piano over against the wall, he leered down at Hawk. “I’ll take that Winchester and the Colt and put it somewhere safe for you, then you can have ’em back when you’re ready to go.” Accustomed to relying on his obvious powers of intimidation, he continued to grin.

  “Thanks just the same,” Hawk replied, “but I might be needin’ ’em before I’m ready to go.”

  Ned, outwardly surprised by Hawk’s apparent disregard for his imposing physical image, was stumped for a response at first. But after a moment, he regained his sense of authority. “Look here, mister, you ain’t been in here long enough to get drunk, so I reckon you’re just downright dumb. When I say I’ll take your weapons, that ain’t no suggestion, so if you don’t want me to break your back for you, you’d best hand ’em over right now.”

  Hawk looked the menacing hulk over for a moment before replying. “All right, Ned, I understand that you’ve got your job and I respect that. But I’ve got a job to do, too, and I’ve got a hunch I’m liable to need my weapons to get it done. If the men I’m lookin’ for ain’t here, then I’m sure not gonna bother anybody else. And that’s fair enough, ain’t it?”

  Still scarcely believing the stranger’s attitude, Ned replied, “All right, you crazy son of a bitch, you can’t say I ain’t warned you.” He braced himself as if getting ready to attack.

  “Hold on a minute, Ned, there ain’t no need for you and me to get into a tussle over this. These men I’m lookin’ for are outlaws and murderers. They shot a young girl and the sheriff in Helena. You oughta be helpin’ me find ’em, if they’re here.”

  Confused by Hawk’s calm attitude, Ned could only fall back on what he considered his responsibility, and that was to throw troublemakers out. With no further warning, he suddenly lunged, intending to ram his shoulder through Hawk’s midsection. His mistake was in underestimating Hawk’s quick, animallike reflexes, for Hawk immediately sent him reeling with a sharp kick to the brute’s knee while ducking to avoid his bull rush. Before Ned had time to recover, he went crashing headfirst into the edge of the bar. Stunned, he was knocked backward to land on his behind. Like a great cat, Hawk stood ready, watching for his prey’s next move, poised to deliver the deciding blow with the butt of his rifle. He glanced at the bartender briefly to make sure there was no threat from him. There was none, for the bartender was as stunned as Ned, after seeing what he had previously thought unlikely. Hawk turned his attention back to Ned, who struggled as if trying to get up, before sinking back against the bar, unable to clear his head. Hawk again looked at the bartender and calmly said, “Now, that was damn unnecessary.” He turned and walked back out the door.

  Outside, he looked around him. His intention now was to search the four houses. He still saw no sign of the Palouse, but he didn’t discount the possibility that there might be more horses grazing in the pasture behind the barn. He started with the closest house to the saloon and wasted no time in his search, aware there would be some efforts to intercept him. Not bothering to knock, he walked in the door to surprise two women sitting in a small parlor. “Don’t mind me, ladies,” he said, and went through another door that led to a couple of bedrooms, one with an open door, one with the door closed. He opened the closed door to startle a couple in bed. One glance at the confused man and he knew he was not one of the men he sought. “Pardon the intrusion,” he said, and closed the door again. Out in the short hallway, he saw a back door, so he left the cabin through that door.

  Knowing time was his enemy, he hurried toward the back
door of the next cabin. He could not be sure how far he could get before some form of retaliation was set in motion against him. He was counting on Ned being the total protection for the hog ranch, but he could not be sure of it. His results at the second house were like those at the first, with no sight of any of the men he chased. Cabin number three had no customers, which occasioned him to be offered an invitation to have a drink with the two women there. He politely declined, saying he was currently occupied with a pressing endeavor, otherwise, he might have accepted.

  He was rapidly becoming discouraged after leaving the two women and it didn’t help matters when he could see the disruption he had left behind him. Women and customers were outside in the yard trying to find out what was going on. It was becoming apparent to him that he had been wrong in thinking the three had come here. Standing in front of the last possibility, he stared at the door, painted a bright red, thinking it likely another empty cabin. He held the Winchester ready to fire quickly and walked in the door. There was no one in the small parlor, and he paused when he thought he heard someone crying. He stepped into the hallway to find the identical two-bedroom arrangement like the other cabins, and both doors were open.

  With his rifle ready, he cautiously moved up beside the first door to peek inside. The room was empty except for a crib with a baby sleeping inside. He moved along the wall to the second door and he could hear the soft sounds of crying he had heard in the parlor. Making a sudden move inside the door, prepared to shoot, he was surprised to find a woman alone, sitting on the side of the bed. After a closer look, he saw the start of a fresh bruise on the side of her face, and her nose was swollen. When he saw her obvious suffering, he forgot for the moment his disappointment at finding none of the three he hunted in the complex. “Are you all right? It looks like you got some rough treatment.”

  “That redheaded bastard,” she fumed. “He got mad when my baby cried again and took it out on me. He said he was gonna kill my baby.”

  Her statement immediately triggered his reactions. “You say, redheaded? Did he have red hair?”

  His questions seemed beside the point to her, but she answered. “Yes, he’s got red hair.”

  “What was his name?” Hawk asked.

  She looked at him as if he might be simpleminded. “Red,” she answered. “At least, that’s what they called him.”

  “Was his name Red Whitley?”

  “I think so,” she said. “Yeah, that’s the bastard’s name.” She looked up at Hawk and asked, “Are you a lawman?” Hawk said he was not, so she continued. “He went out the window when he heard you come in the parlor. He started acting funny before that and he looked out the front window and saw people standing around the other houses. He thought the law was after him, so when he heard you come in the door, he went out the window. And he didn’t pay me. He owes me for all night and he didn’t pay me.”

  Hawk went at once to the window. There was no one in sight between the house and the barn. He was about to go out the window when a shot was fired and the slug ripped a chunk of wood from the side of the window frame, forcing him to duck back into the room. Another shot sent a bullet whistling through the open window to impact the wall opposite. “Get down on the floor!” he ordered Lizzie, and ran to the front door.

  Outside, he circled around the house to a back corner. He was not sure where the shots had come from, so he was hoping the shooter would throw another one at the back window. A few seconds later, it came, but Hawk was still not sure where it had come from. His guess would have been the barn, but it didn’t seem like it came from there. The only other possibility was a smokehouse beside the barn. He waited for another shot to confirm it, but none came. When, after a long minute with still no more shots, he feared Whitley must be on the run. With thoughts of losing him after coming so close, Hawk left the corner of the house and ran to the barn, thinking he might be in time to stop Whitley from galloping out the back.

  Even in his haste to keep Whitley from escaping, he deemed it not worth the risk to go charging in the open door of the barn. So he stopped short of the opening and inched his way slowly along the wide door, listening for something that might tell him what lay in wait for him. There was no sound. He had to make a move, so he got flat on the ground, rolled over a couple of times, and came to a firing position on his stomach, clear of the barn door. There was no one in the barn, and there was no back door. Stumped, he suddenly thought to look up at the hayloft. Too late, he thought. If he was hiding in the hayloft, I’d be dead right now. He was left standing there, outsmarted, or outmaneuvered, he didn’t know which. There was no place else the shots could have come from. He went back outside the barn and looked behind it at the wide pasture. His gaze settled on the smokehouse. It didn’t seem likely, but it was the only place left, so he went to check it.

  A small log structure, maybe twelve feet square, the smokehouse had no windows and only one door. He went to the door and found it had no lock on it, which struck him as unusual. Maybe there was no meat in it, he thought. He stood aside and suddenly threw the door open wide, waiting a moment for any shots that might come through it. But there was no one in the smokehouse. He went inside and looked around the dark interior. There were a couple of hams hanging there, but otherwise it was empty, so he turned about and started out, but stopped after taking a few steps. He backed up a couple of steps, then started forward again to see if he felt it again. He was sure then. He knelt down and felt around in the dirt that served as a floor until he found it, a slight ridge in the earthen floor that hid a trapdoor. It had evidently not seated itself firmly in place, due, no doubt, to a hasty entrance.

  Hawk got to his feet and backed away from the trapdoor. With his rifle aimed at it, he spoke out. “All right, Red, you can come outta that rat hole now. You’ve run as far as you’re gonna run.”

  There was a long silence before he heard the muffled response from inside the hole. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Somebody who saw you shoot Sheriff Porter Willis down in Helena,” Hawk answered.

  “You a lawman?” Red called back.

  “Nope. But if you come on outta there peaceful-like, I won’t shoot. I’ll take you over to Bozeman and turn you over to the army at Fort Ellis.”

  “So I can hang for killin’ that son of a bitch? That don’t seem like a good bargain for me. If you ain’t a lawman, why don’t you just mind your own business and get the hell away from here?”

  “You might not hang,” Hawk said. “Sheriff Willis ain’t dead, so you got a chance to live if you come on out. I ride scout for Major Brisbin. He’ll take my word for it, if I tell him Willis ain’t dead.”

  “Is that so?” Red replied sarcastically. “You tryin’ to take me for a fool? He’s dead, all right. I shot him right in the gut. I’ll tell you what, why don’t you come down here and get me?”

  This wasn’t going well, as far as Hawk was concerned. He meant what he said when he offered to take Red to Bozeman, but he glanced over his shoulder at the small crowd of people that had gathered about fifty yards away in front of the saloon. “I could just starve you outta that hole. I doubt you took any grub in there when you jumped in, but I ain’t got the time to fool with you that long. So I reckon I’ll just set this smokehouse on fire and burn it down on top of you. You oughta roast just fine, just like a ham, baked in the oven.”

  Red took some time to think about that, but he still was not of a notion to surrender without a chance to save his life. “All right,” he finally said. “I’ll come out, but you’ll have to help me. That damn door’s so heavy I can’t lift it by myself, not from in here. You need to grab that ring and help me lift it. All right?”

  “All right,” Hawk said. He hadn’t seen a ring before, but he dug his hand in the loose dirt and, sure enough, there was a ring. This must have been what I stepped on, he thought. “I found it. Let me get my feet set in front of it and I’ll raise it up.” Then he tested the weight a few times to see how heavy it really was, lif
ting it no more than an inch or two, just enough to define the four edges of the door. Now that he knew the width, he quietly moved to the rear of the door where he guessed the hinges to be, propped his rifle against the wall, and checked to make sure his Colt was riding loose in the holster. Straddling the door, he bent forward and took hold of the ring. “All right,” he called out. “You ready? Here we go.” With one mighty tug, he jerked the door open wide. The result was as if he had opened the door to hell, itself, when a barrage of .44 bullets roared up out of the opening. Using the door for protection, Hawk waited until he counted six shots. A thought was triggered in his mind of something he had noticed on that day in Sophie’s Diner, the first time he saw the three. When Red and his friends left the dining room and picked up their firearms at the door, one of them slapped on a belt with two guns. He couldn’t be sure, but he was going to bet that it was Red who wore two guns. Most men only load five cartridges in their handgun, leaving the hammer resting on an empty chamber, so they don’t accidentally shoot themselves in the foot. So he was going to assume that Red emptied one gun, thinking Hawk was standing in front of the door. When he discovered that he wasn’t, he fired one shot from his second gun, so Hawk would feel sure he was empty. “You’re wastin’ my time, Red,” Hawk said. “If you wanna live, throw both of those guns outta there, then climb on out.”

  “I ain’t got but one gun,” Red persisted, “and I just emptied it.”

  “Is that a fact?” Hawk came back. “And you didn’t even think about reloadin’ it? Like I said, you’re wastin’ my time, so if you don’t throw two pistols outta there right now, I’m gonna empty my rifle into that hole and you can take a chance that none of the bullets hit you.” He cocked his rifle so Red could hear it.

  “All right, all right,” Red quickly replied. “I’m comin’ out.” He tossed his two pistols out of the opening. “I give up.”