by J. T. Edson
On reaching the wagon, Scobie climbed in, lowered the covering at the front and lit the lamp. Pauline stirred on the bed, looking up and reaching for the carbine, Then she relaxed and smiled up at Scobie.
‘I had a meal,’ she told him. ‘Some pemmican and honey.’
‘Got you something hot and a can of coffee here,’ he replied. ‘Get up and pour it out, gal.’
‘You’re beginning to sound like a husband as well as act like one,’ Pauline sniffed, but rose to obey.
‘I got two messages,’ Scobie told her after they had fed. ‘One telling me that bear’s been seen up Easter Corner way. This’s the other.’
Pauline read, ‘Dale, Desborough. Hope to catch that one-eyed tom cougar, but will join you and inspect bitch pup first. D. Smith. Two Forks, Utah.’
‘But—’ she began.
‘It’s from Waco. When he first hit Two Forks he didn’t want his name known and folks started calling him Drifter Smith. vi While I was on his place, we ran down a tom cougar that’d been living high off the hog on BM beef, it only had one eye. You can bet Waco sent this to me.’
Even though he spoke casually, Scobie could not help but admire the way in which Waco sent word of his intentions and made sure of giving proof of his identity. Few outsiders, if any, would understand the reference to the one-eyed tom cougar or even know of the incident involving it.
‘What do we do next then?’ asked the girl. ‘Are we waiting here for him?’
‘Nope. I have to hunt that bear and folks’d start to think happen I stayed here instead of going after it’ Maybe I could ask the Reigers to let you—’
‘No!’ the girl snapped. ‘I’d rather take my chances and run. Anybody who helps me’s in trouble, Scobie.’
‘You’re right, gal,’ agreed Scobie. ‘Comes morning we’ll take the wagon and head for Easter Corner.’
Thirteen – The Sign of the Bear Tree
Although Schuster placed men about half-way between Desborough and Easter Corner, they learned nothing. Instead of following the winding trail, Scobie took a more direct route overland. Sure that nobody would be around to observe them, he allowed the girl to sit on the box with him.
That’s a bear-tree, isn’t it?’ Pauline asked, pointing to a lodgepole pine which they approached.
‘It sure is,’ Scobie agreed and halted the wagon. ‘Let’s take a look at it.’
Ordering the pack to stay back, Scobie jumped from the wagon and helped the girl down. Together they walked towards the tree and examined its scarred trunk. A slight frown came to Scobie’s face as he noticed the height of the scratches and then bent down to take and study one of the tom-out chips of wood.
‘I wonder why a bear does it,’ Pauline said. ‘Back home in Kentucky we get trees just like this.’
‘Sure,’ Scobie agreed. ‘Just like it.’ He dropped the chip and looked around him with interest, ‘Reckon you dare stay out here alone for a spell?’
‘While you go after the bear?’ she asked.
‘While I go on into Easter Corner.’
‘I – I reckon I might,’ Pauline said, sounding just a mite dubious. ‘When did the bear do this?’
‘Two, maybe three hours back.’
‘And you want me to stay out here?’
‘Not close to this tree. We’ll move on a piece until we find a better place for you and I’ll leave Whip with you while I’m gone.’
‘That grizzly’s killed and ate one man, hasn’t it?’ Pauline said as they returned to the wagon.
‘So they tell me,’ admitted Scobie.
‘You think I’ll be safe out here?’
‘I reckon you will.’
‘I’ll do it then – but I’m damned if I know why.’
‘You’d best keep the carbine,’ Scobie told her. ‘Just in case.’
‘That’ll be a lot of use,’ sniffed the girl.
‘It stopped a two hundred and thirty pound cougar,’ Scobie reminded her. ‘And happen that grizzly should show, climb a tree, poke the gun down and hit him right between his two eyes.’
‘Bears can climb,’ Pauline stated.
‘Black and cinnamon bears can, maybe a young grizzly will, but not a big full-grown pappy. If you get up a tree, you’ll be safe.’
‘That’s nice to know,’ said Pauline, still sounding dubious.
‘I want you to clear everything you own out of the wagon, keep it with you, gal,’ Scobie went on. ‘Do it as soon as we start moving. I don’t want a single thing to show that you’ve been with me.’
‘Scared I’ll ruin your good name?’ she smiled.
‘You might say that,’ grinned Scobie and swung the girl on to the box. Mounting himself, he started the team moving and bellowed at the pack as they showed interest in the tree. Then, while the girl gathered her belongings, he gave her instructions, ‘I’ll be back by nightfall if I can, but take blankets and some food in case I’m not. Let it get good and dark before you make a fire, don’t make it a big one; and, happen I’m not back by dawn, put the fire out before it gets light. Smoke rising in the morning’s given away more hidden men than were ever found by their fire’s light in the night.’
Still looking puzzled, the girl nodded and continued her packings. Quickly she gathered all her property, searching to make sure she left nothing behind, laid in a supply of food and a couple of blankets, then checked the carbine’s loads. With everything prepared, she turned to ask Scobie the meaning of his orders.
‘Here’ll do just fine, gal,’ he said before she could utter a word.
On the face of it, Scobie’s choice did not have the makings of a good campsite. Pauline looked at a barren cluster of rocks, without even a few bushes close by; although a solitary Engelmann spruce tree reared stubbornly up not far from the rocks.
‘Reckon you could climb it?’ Scobie asked, indicating the tree.
‘If I have to,’ Pauline replied, studying the area without favor. ‘Do you want me to stay here?’
Taking Pauline’s face between his big hands, Scobie kissed her gently on the lips, and then looked down at her.
‘Do you trust me, gal?’
‘I trust you,’ she breathed.
‘Believe me, this’s the best place for you to stay until I come back. Whip’ll look out for you and let you know if anything, or anybody, comes around. I’d like to leave Strike as well, but folks’d miss him and start asking questions.’
‘If leaving Whip’ll make you short-handed, you’d best take him along,’ Pauline offered.
‘I reckon I can handle things without him,’ Scobie replied.
During the time she accompanied Scobie, Pauline gained the confidence of his pack and they accepted her as they had no other person. Despite their first meeting, Whip, the big young Plott, took a special fancy to the girl and followed her around in a protective manner. Not that Pauline spoiled any of the dogs, even Whip. When they behaved, she praised them but should one of the pack disobey her, she corrected it straight away.
Although Scobie tied a length of rope around Whip’s neck, the Plott caused no fuss at being left with the girl. Knowing Scobie wanted to be moving, Pauline asked no questions. She collected her property, gathered wood from the possum belly, some food and filled the coffee pot from the wagon’s keg. Taking her load, the carbine and hound to a sheltered spot among the rocks, she watched Scobie drive the wagon away.
‘Damned if I know what this’s about, Whip,’ she said. ‘But I reckon Scobie knows best. Let’s hope he’s back before dark.’
Holding his team and wagon to a steady pace, Scobie continued to Easter Corner. Although originally built as a relay station by the ubiquitous Wells Fargo Company, Easter Corner blossomed into a thriving hamlet of twenty houses – provided one counted the station buildings and saloon. That even twenty houses be required for the population might have surprised some people, but Scobie knew that Easter Corner did not merely rely upon a twice-weekly stage for its livelihood. Cattle herds watered nearby when makin
g the trip to the Laramie railroad’ Members of the Wild Bunch long-riding on the Outlaw Trail found Easter Corner a convenient spot in which to rest tired horses. In fact the saloon’s fittings and equipment often surprised people who did not know the hamlet’s true purpose, being far more luxuriant than one might expect.
With this knowledge of Easter Corner as an outlaw hangout, Scobie had not felt happy about taking Pauline there in the first place. Once he read and understood the message of the bear-tree, he knew that he must leave her behind. Studying several saddle-horses in the visitors’ corral behind the station, he guessed that the precaution would be justified.
A man rose from the seat on the saloon’s porch as Scobie’s wagon entered town, walked to the batwing doors and spoke to somebody inside. Clearly he announced Scobie’s arrival for three men left the saloon and walked towards the wagon. Bringing the wagon to a halt, Scobie swung down without giving any hint of being aware of the approaching trio’s interest in him. Yet he studied them and knew he called the play correctly. Although Schuster had not been with Thorpe on the Governor’s cougar hunt, Scobie recognized him as well as identifying the politician. He did not know Kid Tonopah’s name, but could tell what the other was. Even before the men came close, Scobie knew Tonopah had drunk enough bottled brave-maker to make him dangerously truculent and proddy.
‘Settle down, boys,’ Scobie told the pack and they flopped around the wagon.
‘Hello there, Mr. Dale,’ Thorpe greeted in his best “Vote-for-me-and-a-square-deal” voice.
‘Howdy, Mr. Thorpe,’ Scobie replied, lifting the Lightning rifle from the wagon box. ‘You’re a mite off your home range.’
‘You might say that,’ agreed Thorpe. ‘This is Scobie Dale, Mr. Schuster, I told you about that cougar hunt he took me on. Lord, I can still feel the bruises.’
Schuster directed a glance at the front of the wagon, but could not see into it due to the covers hanging closed. Turning his eyes towards Scobie, he studied the scarred face. The big hound dog man seemed quite at ease and unconcerned by finding Pauline’s enemies in Easter Corner.
‘Mr. Thorpe told me about how you’ve got that Rocker ambulance fitted up,’ Schuster said. ‘A regular home on wheels. Mind if I take a look inside at it?’
‘One of my bitches dropped a litter and I’ve been carrying her in the wagon—’ Scobie replied, meaning to go on after seeing how his apparent refusal affected the others.
Moving in front of Schuster and Thorpe, Kid Tonopah thrust his face forward and prepared to show them how to deal with such a situation.
‘The boss said he wants to look in that wagon,’ he stated. ‘And it’ll take more than a ragged pants hound do—’
All the time he spoke, Tonopah watched Scobie’s rifle-filled right hand. If the other took exception to the words, he ought to either let the rifle fall and reach for that single-shooting Remington pistol, or make his play with the Lightning. In either case, Tonopah figured the movement would give him due warning.
Only Scobie did not act in the required manner. An instant too late, Tonopah saw Scobie’s left fist bunch and drive upwards. Gliding in a pace, Scobie threw a beautiful punch which connected under Tonopah’s jaw with all the hound dog man’s weight behind it. Tonopah’s head snapped rearwards. He jerked up on to his toes, then went over to crash on his back in the center of the street. Even without giving the sprawled-out young killer another glance, Scobie knew there would be no trouble from that source for some time to come.
Sage, the man who had been on the porch, gave an angry growl, started to move forward and reached for his gun. From stretching Tonopah unconscious on the ground, Scobie’s left hand circled and caught the foregrip of the Lightning as his right hand swung it upwards. Before he could complete the move, Scobie saw Schuster swing angrily towards the advancing man.
‘Cut it out, Sage!’ Schuster barked. ‘The Kid got what he asked for.’
‘Which same’s the best advice you’ve ever had, mister,’ Scobie went on and nodded towards the wagon.
Following the direction of Scobie’s gaze, Sage saw that the Rottweiler had come to its feet and now stood on stiff legs, its back hair up and teeth showing in a menacing snarl.
‘See what you mean,’ Sage remarked, standing very still.
‘Get this damned fool on his feet and away from here,’ Schuster ordered, then turned his attention to Scobie once more. ‘I’m sorry about that, Mr. Dale. You know what these fool kids are.’
‘I reckon I do,’ agreed Scobie and lowered the rifle.
‘If you don’t want us to look in your wagon—’
‘Shucks, that jasper didn’t let me finish. I was going to say that my Vixen bitch whelped down in it, but I left her in Desborough. Come ahead and take a look inside.’
Throwing a searching glance at Scobie, Schuster advanced and climbed on to the wagon box. He drew up the covers and peered inside, then climbed into the vehicle. Without a glance in Schuster’s direction, Scobie looked at the nervous face of Thorpe.
‘Where-at’s this feller as almost got ate by the bear, Mr. Thorpe?’
‘Hugh?’ grunted the politician.
‘Course, you likely wouldn’t know. I got word there’s a man-hunting grizzly up this way.’
‘We’ve only just arrived,’ Thorpe said, darting nervous glances from Scobie to the wagon.
Relief showed on Thorpe’s face as Schuster appeared at the front of the wagon. Jumping down, the man walked over to Scobie.
‘Mighty comfortable,’ he said.
‘Hey, Scobie!’ called a voice and the Wells Fargo agent came trotting up with a telegraph message form in his hand. The man darted a calculating glance at Schuster as he handed over the paper. ‘This just come in from Desborough for you.’
Accepting the form, Scobie read its message and slowly raised his eyes to look over the men before him. ‘Who was it got chased by that grizzly here?’
‘Hell, that was my roustabout,’ the agent answered, again glancing at Schuster and clearly signaling a message. ‘Only I don’t reckon it was a grizzly at all right now.’
‘How do you mean?’ asked Schuster, just a hint of warning and menace in his voice.
‘This message from Desborough says the grizzly’s killed a cow and a prize bull up there,’ explained the agent.
‘That’s what it says,’ Scobie agreed. ‘Where-at’s this roustabout?’
‘Sleeping off a whiskey-jag right now,’ the agent answered. ‘Hell, Scobie, I didn’t even know he’d sent that message until this morning.’
‘That’s too bad!’ snorted Thorpe, feeling called upon to make a contribution to the conversation. ‘Mr. Dale is a busy man and shouldn’t have his time wasted on wild-goose chases.’
‘Feller like me gets used to that,’ Scobie drawled. ‘I’d best be getting back to Desborough.’
‘Won’t you stay here for a meal at least, Mr. Dale?’ asked Schuster. ‘I think that Wells Fargo owes you something for your trouble.’
‘They pay me regular to hunt their stock-killers,’ replied Scobie. ‘That grizzly’s got to be stopped, too. But I’ll rest my hosses and have a meal.’
Over the meal, Schuster sought for some hint that Scobie knew of Pauline and came to the conclusion finally that he did not. While discussing the trouble with Skerrit, Scobie declared himself unable to think why he butted in and commented that the calico-cat who started all the fuss did not even stick around to thank him for his help. The meal over, Scobie stated his intention to start back for Desborough. He used his run-in with Kid Tonopah as an added reason for going, although the young man had been taken to the hamlet’s doctor – longrider trade made it possible for a medical man to make his living in Easter Corner – who now worked to weld together the broken jaw bones.
‘He’ll not forget that I bust it for him,’ Scobie stated. ‘So I’ll head out now and save fuss.’
‘She’s not with him after all,’ Thorpe declared as he stood with Schuster and watched the wag
on leave town.
‘I’m just about ready to believe it,’ Schuster replied. ‘There wasn’t a thing in the wagon to show that she’d been there.’
‘He’d’ve brought her with him, even if he kept her hidden,’ insisted Thorpe. ‘He couldn’t have known we were waiting here.’
‘There’s no way he could,’ Schuster agreed. ‘That was quick thinking on the agent’s part, the way he handled the message from Desborough. I’ll see he gets paid for it.’
Although Schuster went along with his employer in hating to think any man could out-smart him, he was prepared to admit that it might be done. However, after balancing up the situation, he concluded that it would be in keeping with Pauline’s ways to lay a false scent; just as she did by getting a friend to take a stage East in her place. Knowing Scobie’s popularity with certain high-up members of the Wild Bunch, Schuster felt relieved to know he would not need to order the hound dog man’s death.
‘What do we do now?’ asked Thorpe.
‘Go back to Cheyenne,’ Schuster replied and led the way into the saloon. ‘Only we’ll go through Desborough. Dale might just be playing it tricky.’ He looked to where his men sat at the bar. ‘Where’s Joey Stinks?’
‘Under the table there,’ Sage replied. ‘Want for me to trail after Dale?’
‘No. It’ll be dark soon and only the Indian might have been able to keep close enough to Dale to do any good, without being caught at it.’
‘I only asked hoping you’d say “no”,’ grunted Sage.
‘Tell the boys we’ll not be riding until morning,’ Schuster ordered and walked towards the bar.
When the sun went down, Scobie fastened the wagon team’s reins to the brake handle and allowed the two horses to keep moving. He knew he could rely on them to continue at the same leisurely pace for a time and so freed the zebra dim. Leaving his riding horse standing with a trailing hackamore, he moved back a short way accompanied by the dogs. In the shelter of a rock, he waited until sure that nobody followed. When certain, he rose and returned to the waiting dun, mounted it and caught up to the wagon.
