Devil's Kin

by Charles G. West

  “Uh-oh,” Roach uttered as he and Leach walked back around to the front of the hut to discover a gathering of fifteen or more Choctaw men coming their way. All but a few of them carried weapons, either rifles or bows. “That don’t look like no welcoming committee.”

  “Looks like somethin’ else we can thank Snake for,” Leach replied quietly. He had hoped to hole up in the Choctaw village for a couple of days before moving on. That now seemed unlikely, since a couple of the delegation were leading the white men’s horses. “Don’t appear we’re even gonna get breakfast,” he commented. Then under his breath, he added, “That damn half-breed.”

  Led by Chief Eagle Claw, the delegation approached the hut to be met by Snake standing defiantly before the door, his rifle in hand. For Leach and Roach, however, there was no thought of defiance. The odds were far too great to risk a gunfight. They both hurried inside to collect their rifles, then reappeared to stand with Snake, although not too close.

  “So,” Snake slurred sarcastically, speaking in the Choctaw tongue, “my people have come to welcome me home.”

  Eagle Claw stood glaring at the unwelcome prodigal son for a few moments, then glanced at his two companions before speaking. “Thomas Kicking Horse, you have no home here. Each time you return, there is trouble. Now you have killed this white man in our village. There will be lawmen coming to look for you. Maybe the soldiers will come. You bring nothing but shame to our people and your mother’s lodge. You and your white friends are not welcome here. Leave this village at once, and never come back here. I speak for all the elders of the village.”

  “Oh, you speak for all the elders of the village, do you?” Snake mocked, his eyes flashing contempt as he surveyed the committee. “You’re all a bunch of women huddled together for protection.” Concentrating his gaze upon the chief then, he stated, “I go when and where I want to go. Maybe I do not choose to leave.”

  “Then we will turn you over to the white lawman in Fort Smith,” Eagle Claw responded without hesitation.

  “The hell you will,” Snake shot back in anger, reverting to the white man’s tongue. He made a motion as if to bring his rifle up to a ready position. Before he could raise it, there were at least a dozen rifles pointed at his chest. Both Leach and Roach quickly withdrew a couple of more steps away from their beleaguered partner.

  “The fool is gonna get us kilt,” Roach whispered aside.

  “Hold on, Snake,” Leach pleaded anxiously. “The odds are too damn much. Let’s just get the hell outta here.”

  “I ain’t lettin’ no damn bunch of women—” Snake started before Leach cut him off.

  “I ain’t about to commit suicide for your damn pride,” Leach shot back angrily. “Get on that damn horse or I’ll shoot you myself.” Turning to address Eagle Claw, Leach said, “We’re goin’. We ain’t lookin’ to cause no trouble in your village.”

  Snake fixed his white partner with a gaze that would have blistered most men. Leach recognized the hatred in that gaze, but he was prepared to carry out his threat to shoot the belligerent half-breed on the spot. The two locked eyes for a long moment before Snake gave in and walked toward his horse. Leach and Roach both knew it was something that would have to be dealt with later.

  “Take this dead man with you,” Eagle Claw ordered.

  Leach nodded and, with Roach’s help, lifted the late Johnny Spratte to lie across his saddle. With Choctaw rifles still trained upon them, the three outlaws mounted and rode out of the village. In parting, Snake growled, “I’ll be seein’ you,” as he brushed past the Choctaw chief.

  “Don’t come back here,” Eagle Claw warned.

  * * *

  “Well, that was some visit, weren’t it?” Leach commented sarcastically when the three stopped at a small stream to let the horses drink. Some three miles from the village at this point, those were the first words spoken among them since their impromptu sendoff.

  “Yeah,” Roach replied. “I was lookin’ to lay around there for a while. There was some fair-lookin’ little squaws standing around watchin’ the chief kick our asses outta there.”

  Still seething, Snake didn’t comment for a few minutes. He reined his horse back even with Johnny’s and, grabbing one of Johnny’s boots, dumped the corpse on the ground. “I shot him, so I’m claimin’ his horse.” He looked from one face to the other, daring protest from either man. There was none, both men being wise enough to know this was not the time.

  Seeking to change the subject, Leach said, “Dammit, I’m hungry. We might as well fix us some breakfast.” That suggestion was one that all agreed upon, so they dismounted, and Roach got busy making a fire. There wasn’t much to prepare beyond some bacon and coffee. Since money was not a concern after robbing the bank in Fort Smith, they had planned to stock up on provisions at Bannerman’s. That plan had been altered when they had gotten drunk and Bannerman kicked them out before such basic needs as provisions could be taken care of.

  It was a quiet trio of outlaws who sat around the tiny fire, chewing on the tough bacon and washing it down with bitter black coffee. Roach broke the silence once when he complained that he regretted the fact that they had not bought some sugar at Bannerman’s. Leach thoughtfully sipped the hot liquid from a tin cup, keeping a watchful eye upon the sulking Snake. The brooding savage was deep in his own thoughts, paying little attention to his two partners. Leach knew that he was working something over in his mind, and he was wary that it might be in retaliation for threatening to shoot Snake back in Eagle Claw’s village. In fact, Snake had revenge on his mind, but it was directed at Eagle Claw and the men of the village.

  After they kicked out the fire and got under way once more, they rode off to the northeast. With each mile they rode, Snake thought more and more about the people who had thrown him out. Finally it took total control of his mind, and he pulled up short. Roach and Leach pulled up to see why he had stopped. “I got a score to settle,” he announced. “I’m goin’ back to take care of them bastards.”

  Leach and Roach exchanged glances. They had just been allowed to leave the village unharmed, and it seemed the best thing to do was to simply leave the trouble behind. “I ain’t goin’ back to that village,” Leach said.

  “Ain’t nobody asked you to,” Snake snarled. “I don’t need no help. I’ll catch up with you after I’m done.”

  Seeing an opportunity, Leach quickly nodded, and with a frown toward Roach to caution him to hold his tongue, he said, “All right. Me and Roach are gonna hold to a line toward the edge of them hills yonder.” He pointed out a range northeast of the spot they stood on. “If you don’t catch up right away, we’ll be headin’ for Kansas City.”

  Snake acknowledged him with a simple nod of his head and, without another word, turned back toward the Choctaw village. Roach stared after him for several long seconds before speaking. “What in hell do we wanna go to Kansas City for? We go back to that town, and they’ll hang us for sure.”

  “They might at that,” Leach replied, a sly smile creeping across his unshaven face. It was unnecessary to say more.

  Roach grinned when he realized they had been given the opportunity to rid themselves of the unpredictable half-breed. Kansas City was an unhealthy place for the three outlaws since they had shot a young deputy sheriff and a woman who got in the way of a bank robbery that went bad. Snake should have known at once that Kansas City was the last place Leach intended to visit at this point. Leach was surprised that Snake had not questioned it. But then, the half-breed didn’t think much farther than the length of his nose. “I reckon one of us would have had to shoot him before long,” Roach said. “It was gettin’ so I didn’t wanna turn my back on him.” In complete accord with Leach’s sudden decision to lose their volatile partner, he asked, “Where you think we should head?”

  “I’m thinkin’ west, maybe north, someplace we ain’t been before—find some new pickin’s. We could cut back and follow the river to Fort Gibson. I ain’t never been there, but I’ve heard
tell it’s a thrivin’ little town. Might be a good place to light for a spell. Whaddayou think?”

  “Hell, sounds all right to me.” It didn’t really matter to Roach where they went as long as there were whiskey and women.

  Chapter 7

  John Eagle Claw walked outside when he heard some of the women down by the creek calling out that riders were approaching. Thinking that Thomas Kicking Horse and his friends might be returning, he had picked up his rifle as he left his lodge. Several other men were already gathering to see who the women had spotted. The visitors were still too far away to identify, but Eagle Claw was relieved to see they were coming from the south. Snake and the two white men had ridden out to the north. Thoughts of the belligerent son of Jane Little Bird caused the chief to frown as he stood watching the two riders approach. He couldn’t help but wonder if trouble was to befall his village twice before the sun had completed a single journey across the sky.

  Two riders and three horses—one was definitely a white man; the other, hard to tell. Eagle Claw shielded his eyes with his hand and stared. Fording the creek, where it made a sharp bend toward the west, the riders topped the steep bank and headed straight for the chief’s lodge. Eagle Claw’s frown relaxed, transformed into a broad smile as he recognized the familiar form of his old friend Perley Gates. Even at this distance, the old trapper was easy to identify, slumped forward in the saddle, his bushy white whiskers resting on his chest. Shifting his gaze to the packhorse Perley led, Eagle Claw quickly concluded that Perley was not coming to trade, for the horse was carrying a light load.

  Shifting his gaze then to the rider with Perley, Eagle Claw stared hard in an effort to recognize him. He had never seen this man before. Maybe he was a lawman. He sat straight in the saddle, riding a chestnut horse. Eagle Claw strode forward to meet his old friend, joined by the other men who had also been watching the visitors approach. Perley held up his hand and called out a greeting.

  “Welcome, my friend,” Eagle Claw returned the greeting as the two riders drew up before the rapidly growing welcome committee. Jordan remained in the saddle, quietly watching the cordial reunion. It appeared that everyone there knew Perley and counted him as a friend. The initial greetings completed, Perley stepped back and introduced his companion.

  “This here’s Jordan Gray,” he said, as Jordan dismounted and stood next to him. “We’re tryin’ to catch up with four men that rode this way. I think one of ’em might be Thomas Kicking Horse—figured they mighta stopped here.”

  “They were here,” Eagle Claw said, nodding to Jordan before turning his attention back to Perley. “I sent them away. They were trouble.” Motioning with his head toward Jordan, he asked, “Lawman?”

  “No,” Perley answered and went on to explain why Jordan was trailing the four men.

  Eagle Claw nodded, showing his compassion, as Perley related the sorrowful events that brought the young white man to the Choctaw village. “The four men you search for are now only three,” he said. “Thomas Kicking Horse killed one of them right here in the village. I sent them away and told them never to return.” He placed a consoling hand on Jordan’s arm. “You must be careful. These are bad men.” Jordan nodded. Eagle Claw continued to look into Jordan’s face for a long moment before turning back to Perley. “He does not talk, this friend of yours.”

  “He don’t much—that’s a fact.” Perley laughed. “But he damn sure listens.”

  Jordan’s mind was busy, working on the information just acquired. One of the men was dead. He had confusing emotions upon learning this, almost disappointed that he had been robbed of his desire to take revenge on each of the four personally. Impatient to leave, especially when he learned that the outlaws were barely a half day ahead of them, he conveyed his sense of urgency to Perley. Perley explained that it would be impolite to refuse the invitation to eat with the chief. Considering the grave importance of his mission, Jordan could not understand Perley’s concern for good manners. To hell with manners, he thought. The sons of bitches are getting away! He strongly considered riding on alone, but he realized he needed Perley’s tracking skills, so he resigned himself to curb his impatience. Out of the corner of his eye, Perley watched his young friend, sensing the turmoil stirring in his brain. He was relieved to see Jordan finally relax his stern expression and step away from his horse.

  It was late afternoon before Perley and Jordan thanked the Choctaws for the food and bade them farewell, Perley promising to return for a longer visit. Following the directions Eagle Claw gave him, Perley rode along the northwest creekbank until he picked up the tracks of the outlaws. Following a faint trail up a rocky bluff, they found a more obvious one that led across the grassy prairie. After a ride of roughly three miles, they spotted a line of trees that indicated the presence of a stream.

  Within a couple hundred yards of the stream, Perley pulled up and paused to take a good look at the line of cottonwoods and willows. “Like ol’ Eagle Claw said, these boys is bad. We don’t wanna just go ridin’ into them trees without we take a good look first.”

  After a moment, Jordan nudged the chestnut forward. “If they were in there,” he said, “they would have shot at us by now.” He made directly for the stream, following the trail left in the tall grass.

  Perley held back a few moments longer before going after him. He had not lived to the ripe old age of fifty-eight by riding blindly into a perfect site for an ambush. “Keep your eyes peeled,” he called after Jordan, who was already entering the trees at that point. When there was no sudden eruption of gunfire, Perley nudged his horse and loped along after his impatient companion. He found Jordan still sitting in the saddle, staring down at a corpse on the ground.

  As Perley rode up, Jordan dismounted and turned the body over. “Johnny Spratte,” he uttered softly.

  “Dang,” Perley commented. “Don’t look like they spent much time on a funeral, does it?”

  Jordan explained that this was the only one of the four he could identify. He stood, looking at the body for a long moment, his mind turning over the possible reasons for Johnny’s new friends to turn on him. They had robbed him of the satisfaction of dealing with Johnny personally, but he decided it was just as well. Johnny had not joined the three outlaws until after they had killed Sarah and Jonah. In a way, he was relieved to have had fate take the decision from him. Even with the intense hatred he felt for those men, it might have been hard to kill someone he had known for a couple of years and might have considered a friend. His mind now rapidly returning to focus on the business at hand, he said, “Well, there’s no sense wasting any more time here.”

  Perley, still seated in the saddle, looked all around him, then looked up at the sky. “Sun’s gettin’ pretty low. We might wanna think about makin’ camp. If I recollect, there ain’t no more water for maybe twelve or thirteen miles.”

  As Perley had done, Jordan looked up at the sun. Perley was right; it was settling close to the distant hills, but there were still a few hours of daylight left. Jordan was impatient to push on, even if it meant making a dry camp. Then it occurred to him that it might be more important to consider the horses. They needed water. “Maybe you’re right,” he conceded, although reluctantly. “We’d best camp here and start out early in the morning.” He took another look at the stiffened features of the late Johnny Spratte, the eyes staring blindly beneath the one black bullet hole in his forehead and what appeared to be dried vomit streaking the scraggly new beard. He wondered then that he had even been able to recognize the man. He looked a far cry from the loud-talking, cocky young deputy who had led the posse on a wild-goose chase up through the hills north of Fort Smith. Look at you now, Johnny, he thought as he turned away to follow Perley.

  The old trapper was already walking his horse toward the opposite side of the stream, anxious to get up wind from the corpse. His horse seemed to share the old man’s thoughts. It snorted as if trying to rid its nostrils of the stench already emanating from the ripening body. The snorts tur
ned into one long scream at the same time the crack of a rifle split the air and ripped into the horse’s chest. The fatally wounded horse stumbled several more steps before reeling to the side and falling heavily in the middle of the stream. Perley was barely able to clear the saddle to avoid being pinned beneath the mass of dying horse.

  * * *

  “Dammit,” Snake swore as he ejected the spent cartridge, and tried to quickly sight again. He thought he had the old man dead in his sights, but he had aimed too low, hitting the horse instead. It was too late to get off the second shot. The old man had managed to scramble down the bank of the stream to take cover behind a log. You better run, you old fool, Snake thought, angry that he had cost himself a perfectly good horse when he missed the old man. He had recognized the familiar slump of Perley Gates while the two riders were still trailing along the grassy slope leading down to the stream. He did not recognize the man riding with Perley, but he assumed he was a lawman since the two appeared to be following the trail Snake and his partners had left.

  Moving to a new position several yards away, Snake tried to see where the stranger had managed to find cover. Thinking it might be a clump of willows near the bank, he fired several shots in rapid succession, sweeping the willows from left to right. There was no return fire or cry of pain, so he couldn’t be sure if he hit anything or not. A movement on the other side of the stream caught his attention, and he jerked his rifle around, ready to fire. But it was just Perley’s packhorse seeking safety. Shifting his gaze back to the stream, he kept his eyes on the log Perley had taken cover behind while he reloaded. He didn’t know where the stranger was, but he considered the possibility that the man might be trying to circle around behind him. I ain’t gonna be here, he thought, having already decided that he could cross the stream under cover of the trees and work around behind Perley. Then there would be only one man to deal with, and Snake was confident who the loser of that contest would be.