No Justice in Hell

by Charles G. West

  It was late in the morning when he came to the ashes of a small fire. They had driven their horses a long way before resting them, which didn’t surprise him. By this time, his horses were ready for a rest as well, so he stopped to let Rascal and the roan drink and graze on the many shoots by the water. Realizing he was hungry as well, he dined on some strips of roasted venison, left over from the night before. When his horses were rested, he continued on down the valley.

  * * *

  It had been some time since he had ridden the trail to Virginia City, so Hawk was mildly surprised to sight a small collection of structures in the valley ahead. Some wooden structures and a few tents, the settlement looked to be close to the onetime homestead of a man named Ennis. As he neared the settlement, Hawk determined the largest of the buildings to be a trading post with a stable behind, so he guided Rascal toward it. Maybe he could get some information on the two he pursued and he could pick up some coffee beans, too. He was just about out.

  Rufus Tubbs stood in the doorway of his store watching the rider approaching. He squinted in an effort to make out his features, but he could not recognize him. He was the third stranger to come this way since that morning. Looking to be a sizable man, riding a buckskin horse, he wore his hat square on his head, not cocked to one side or the other. This was an important detail to Rufus. He figured a man that wore his hat cocked to the side didn’t have his mind set on where he ought to be heading. He walked out on the porch and waited until Hawk pulled up by the hitching rail. “Afternoon,” he called out in greeting.

  “Afternoon,” Hawk returned. “Wonder if I might buy some coffee beans from you?” He stepped down from the saddle.

  “Sure can, neighbor,” Rufus replied. “Come on in the store.” He stepped aside while Hawk walked inside. “Don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in these parts before. You just passin’ through, or is Ennis where you was headed?”

  “Just passin’ through,” Hawk replied. “The last time I rode this trail, there wasn’t any town here.”

  Rufus chuckled. “Ain’t much of one here now, but we’re growin’. There’s folks findin’ out that cattle do pretty well in this valley. Where you headed?” He scooped coffee beans into a sack until Hawk motioned for him to stop.

  “Virginia City, I reckon,” Hawk answered after a moment’s pause. At this point, it was hard to guess the two fugitives he trailed could be heading anywhere but the old gold rush town.

  Rufus studied the formidable man wearing a buckskin shirt for a long second before he followed his hunch. “Lookin’ for two men, one of ’em sizable, the other’n wormy—both of ’em with their hats cocked over to the side?” The question caught Hawk by surprise. He had planned to eventually broach that subject, figuring the man might not volunteer the information.

  “Maybe I am at that,” Hawk answered. One of the fugitives was big and the other was a slight little man. That much was right on the money. He hadn’t paid much attention to how they wore their hats, though.

  “They came through here this mornin’,” Rufus went on. “Maybe they was headin’ to Virginia City, they didn’t say. But if I was lookin’ for ’em, I’d most likely head to Nevada City. That’s where most of them outlaws on the run are headed for. What did they do, anyway?”

  Still astonished by the flow of information pouring out of the talkative man’s mouth, Hawk answered the question. “They killed a soldier. What’s in Nevada City?”

  “Not much of anything anymore. A few honest folks still hangin’ on, since the gold played out,” Rufus said. “There’s a saloon and a hotel, a stable, even a general store hangin’ on, but not much else. You bein’ a lawman, I figured you’d know all that.”

  “I reckon that’s the problem. I ain’t a lawman.”

  Rufus looked truly stunned. “You ain’t?” he blurted.

  “Nope.”

  Rufus was speechless for a long moment, so sure had he been. Then the thought struck him that Hawk might be a friend of the other two. “But you said you was lookin’ to catch up with those two fellers. I just naturally thought . . . Dang it! Are you sure you ain’t a lawman?”

  “I’m pretty sure,” Hawk said. “But if I catch up with those two, I’ll turn ’em over to the law. Like I said, they tried to rob a mine payroll up in Butte and they killed a soldier after they’d been captured. I ride scout for the army out of Fort Ellis.”

  “That’s the same thing as a lawman in a way, ain’t it?” Rufus replied. “I’m pretty good at readin’ people. I mean, I knew those two fellers were outlaws the minute they walked in my store.” He extended his hand then. “I’m Rufus Tubbs. I own this store.”

  Hawk shook his hand. “Pleased to meet you. My name’s Hawk. Now tell me about this place up in Nevada City.”

  “I can tell you anything you need to know about Nevada City. Anywhere else on that gulch, too. I used to have my store in Nevada City, back before the gold ran out, but it ain’t much more’n a ghost town now. I moved my business down here in the valley five years ago.” He went on to tell Hawk about the arrival of an outlaw element a couple of years before, that soon turned what was left of the town into a hideout for anyone on the run. “A feller I know that had a blacksmith shop up there, came through here about a week ago, headin’ for Bozeman. He said the outlaws walk all over the town like they own it. He said they’ve took over the hotel and the saloon. He figured he’d pack up and git before he caught a stray bullet from one of their drunken brawls.”

  That surely sounded a likely destination for the two he was tracking and not one for him, if he had any choice. It complicated his job only because instead of two outlaws to deal with, it sounded like there might be a hell of a lot more. They held further advantage because they could recognize him before he had an opportunity to get close. By nature, he was a stubborn man when it came to doing something that needed to be done, so it never entered his mind to turn around and go back for an army patrol. The two he was after might well be gone by that time. We’ll just have to see what’s what, he thought.

  Rufus was happy to tell Hawk where the best trail into Nevada City forked off from the one leading to Virginia City. “It’s about ten miles from here,” he estimated, “most of it rough country. Stop by on your way back down, if you make it outta there alive.”

  “Thanks,” Hawk said. “I’ll try to do that.” He thought about what he might have to do and decided he’d be better off without his packhorse. So he made arrangements with Rufus to leave the horse in his stable.

  “I’ll take good care of him for ya,” Rufus promised. “How long should I give you?”

  Hawk understood that he asked the question to determine how long he should wait before claiming the horse and packs as his property. “Better give me about three days, just in case it takes longer than I figure.”

  Rufus grinned. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you a week, and I hope to see you again. You be careful up there with them outlaws.”

  CHAPTER 10

  He rode into Nevada City just as the sun disappeared behind the mountains to the west, leaving the town in the last traces of dusk. He saw the lights of the saloon at the opposite end of the street beyond the darkened doors of empty buildings that had no doubt been thriving shops and businesses in days long past. Near the middle of the street, the two-story hotel stood, the front doors wide open. A solitary figure smoking a pipe sat slouched in a rocking chair. He said nothing as Rascal padded slowly by, but stared openly at the tall rider. Hawk continued along the street, heading for a stable he saw beyond the saloon. A general merchandise shop owner paused to give Hawk a cautious look while closing a padlock on his front door.

  There were two men in a fistfight in the street in front of the saloon. A handful of spectators watched as both men reeled in a circle. They were obviously too drunk to do each other much harm, but were just drunk enough to provide amusement for the spectators, who egged them on. Hawk did not recognize any of them as the two he looked for, and he hoped that the fad
ing light was not enough to make him easily recognized. He continued on to the stables and the corral beside it. The husky man, called Bevo by his smaller partner, had ridden a sorrel with two white stockings on its front legs. Hawk wanted to see if he could spot the horse, so he rode around to the side of the corral before dismounting. As soon as he turned to look over the dozen or so horses milling about, he froze, stunned by the sight of a heavily spotted horse at the water trough. All thoughts of Bevo and Slim were immediately forgotten at the sight of the horse that looked like the gelding Zach Dubose rode. Without realizing it, Hawk tensed, his feet spread wide, his knees flexed, ready to react to attack from any quarter. He turned suddenly when, out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the dark figure of a man approaching from the back door of the stable. He cautioned himself to calm down when he didn’t recognize the man.

  “Howdy,” Loafer Smith called out. “Didn’t mean to startle you. You looked kinda jumpy there. If it’s the law you’re worried about, there ain’t none in Nevada City.”

  Hawk responded with a forced chuckle. “I reckon I just didn’t see you back there. I was just admirin’ that Palouse over there. You don’t see many with that pattern of spots on ’em.”

  “That’s a fact,” Loafer said. “That gelding belongs to me, so I hope rustlin’ horses ain’t your line of work.”

  “Nope,” Hawk replied. “I ain’t got any thoughts about stealin’ horses. Ya just don’t see one like that very often.”

  “They ain’t as rare as you might think. A couple of weeks ago, a fellow came through town with a horse that was the spittin’ image of mine. I swear, if we’da took their bridles off, we coulda swapped horses without even knowin’ it.”

  Thoughts were bouncing around in Hawk’s brain like bullets ricocheting inside a rain barrel. There couldn’t be that many horses that looked exactly like the one he was looking at now. He cautioned himself to be casual. “I knew a fellow that had a horse like yours—thought maybe it was his. That’s the reason I stopped to admire yours. Zach Dubose, I ain’t seen him in I don’t know when. But it couldn’ta been Zach. He’s up around Great Falls.”

  “Coulda been him, I reckon,” Loafer said. “I don’t rightly recall his name.” He paused, then said, “Like I said, that was a week or more ago. I don’t know if he even told me his name. He wasn’t here but a couple of days.”

  Hawk couldn’t help wondering if Loafer was purposefully losing his memory, just as a natural precaution, but he decided to continue pressing for information. “I’ll bet ol’ Zach woulda hung around a little longer, if he knew I was comin’ this way. He’da been glad to see me. I owe him some money from a little business we did a couple of years back.” He affected an amused chuckle and winked at Loafer. “Course, maybe I’m just as glad I missed him, ’cause I spent that money a long time ago. He didn’t say where he was headed when he left here, did he?”

  “Not that I recall,” Loafer answered, then thought about it for a few seconds. “He did ask me how to get to the old Montana Trail. I told him most any trail you took outta Nevada City that was headin’ west would strike the Montana Trail, just dependin’ on how far you ride.”

  “I expect you’re right,” Hawk agreed. He didn’t know for sure, he had never ridden the Montana Trail, but he had heard of it. It was a wagon road that a lot of folks used to haul freight before the railroads ran track into the territory. It ran north and south, starting in Salt Lake City, passing through eastern Idaho, and into Montana, up as far as Fort Benton. Along with the freighters with their mule trains and oxen, many settlers drove their wagons on the road. “I hope he’s got some of the boys with him. They’re havin’ some trouble with the Bannocks up that way, aren’t they?”

  “Not no more,” Loafer said, “not since the army went up there and massacred about half of ’em. The Nez Perce ain’t causin’ no trouble right now, either. You thinkin’ ’bout headin’ up that way? That feller you’re talkin’ about, Zach Dubose, was that his name? I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t cut across the mountains to pick up that trail. A lotta boys on the run have found ’em a new place to hide out down in Utah Territory.”

  “No,” Hawk quickly assured him. “I ain’t headin’ that way at all.” The longer he had talked to Loafer, the more he became convinced that he had nothing to fear from him, but there was no use in telling everyone what you were going to do. He might be completely wrong, but he had a strong feeling that the man Loafer talked about might be Zach Dubose. Maybe his hunch was so overpowering because it was the first sign of Dubose he had struck. So convinced was he that during the conversation with the stable owner he had all but forgotten what had led him to Nevada City in the first place. He immediately brought his mind back to the problem at hand. “No,” he repeated. “I sure ain’t goin’ over that way. I’m supposed to meet a couple of fellows here. One of ’em’s ridin’ a horse like that one yonder with the two white stockin’s.”

  Loafer paused for a moment to look at the horse Hawk referred to before he responded. “Yep, two fellers brought that sorrel and another’n in this mornin’. S’posed to leave ’em here for a couple of days.” He paused again to study Hawk carefully then asked, “Are you a lawman?”

  “That’s the second time today I’ve been accused of lookin’ like a lawman,” Hawk replied. “No, I ain’t a lawman.”

  “I ain’t as dumb as I look,” Loafer said. “These two fellers you say you’re supposed to meet, I got an idea they ain’t wantin’ to meet you. I need to tell you there’s a few honest folks still in this ghost town, folks that ain’t on the run for committin’ a crime. I’m one of ’em. I’m still here because, so far, I get paid for takin’ care of whoever comes in here wantin’ to board their horses. I ain’t got no family to worry about, so I’ll stay here as long as I do get paid. Those fellers you’re askin’ about are two of the sorriest-lookin’ jaspers I’ve seen come into this town. And I expect you’ve got good reason to be lookin’ for ’em. It ain’t none of my business what your reasons are, so I don’t wanna know. What I’m tryin’ to tell you is I ain’t gonna tell anybody that you’re lookin’ for somebody. I’m an honest man. I don’t cheat anybody, outlaw or lawman. I’m just tryin’ to make a livin’, but I hope you do what you came here to do, young feller.”

  Hawk was astonished. He hadn’t expected such a lengthy speech from the simple stable owner. Loafer was obviously convinced that Hawk was a lawman, regardless of claims to the contrary, and he wanted to make sure he understood that his was an honest business, regardless of his customers. He was also convinced that despite his eloquent denials Loafer was a willing source of information. “These two that just rode in, are they at the hotel?”

  “Ain’t but two places they all go,” Loafer said, “hotel and the saloon. Some of ’em will hole up in an empty shop or somewhere when the hotel’s full. But right now, there ain’t enough of the bastards in town to fill the hotel.”

  “Much obliged,” Hawk said, and extended his hand. “What do folks call you?”

  “Folks call me Loafer. My given name’s William Smith,” he replied, shaking Hawk’s hand.

  “Pleased to meet you, Loafer. My name’s Hawk.” He stepped up into the saddle, his mind still not made up as to what he should do. When he rode into town, he was not sure how he was going to be able to capture Bevo and Slim, then ride out of town with them without having to battle a gang of outlaws. Lieutenant Conner’s instructions to simply locate the fugitives, then let the army or the Marshals Service take over the arrest, seemed to make more sense, considering the odds in the outlaws’ favor. Dynamiting the whole operation was the chance discovery of Zach Dubose’s trail, which was far more important to Hawk than settling with Bevo and Slim. He wasn’t sure where the closest telegraph was, even if he decided to wire Fort Ellis, so that would be more time lost while Dubose was going who knew where. He had to caution himself before deciding what to do. It was definitely an extremely long shot to ride off into Utah Territory with nothing to go
on but the word of this man. I need time to think before I make the wrong move, he told himself. “I need somethin’ to eat, too,” he said aloud. “I just remembered I ain’t had anythin’ since sunup. How ’bout that little diner back up on the other side of the hotel? Who runs that?”

  “Belle Lewis,” Loafer replied. “She’s been here since the first tent went up in this gulch—used to be a whore, till she got too old. She’s a pretty good cook. I eat there, myself.” He paused, watching Hawk’s reaction, then he added, “She don’t get much business from many of the other boys. They mostly eat at the saloon. Don’t wanna get too far from the whiskey, I reckon.” He chuckled in appreciation of his humor.

  “Much obliged,” Hawk said again, and wheeled Rascal to head back up the street. There was much he had to work out. Maybe he could think better with a little grub in his belly. Although finding himself in a quandary, he counted himself lucky to have run into Loafer Smith, not only for putting him on Dubose’s trail, but for giving him at least one man in town he could trust. There was still the matter of Bevo Brogan and Slim Perry, the original reason for his landing in Nevada City. According to what Loafer told him, they were probably holed up in the hotel with no telling how many other men on the run from the law. At the moment, he didn’t know how he might catch them apart from their fellow outlaws. He decided to come up with a plan over a hot meal, hoping a full stomach might activate an empty brain.

  The light was rapidly fading now as he rode past the saloon again, his hand resting on the butt of the Winchester in his saddle sling. The fistfight had ended and the spectators had filed back into the saloon to talk about it over drinks. He continued past the hotel and pulled up in front of the small building with the sign over the door proclaiming it to be a diner. There were no horses at the rail where he looped Rascal’s reins, causing him to wonder if he was too late for supper. He pulled the Winchester out and went in the door.