Left Hand of the Law Page 11

  “What would you have done if somebody killed your wife and child, and left you for dead—burned your house down, your barn, too?” Ben asked, intent upon searching for any sign of empathy in the big man’s heart.

  “Why, I’da gutted the son of a bitch and strung his entrails on the fence,” Barrett replied, his eyes gleaming with the thought of it. He looked at Ben then and smiled as he walked over to stand close over him. Suddenly, he lashed out, planting one huge fist flat against Ben’s jaw. Caught completely by surprise, Ben was not set to take the blow and ended up on his side, his face in the dirt. “And just so you know, I don’t give a damn whether you had reason to shoot that bastard or not—all the same to me. My job is to take you in and that’s what I’m gonna do, so it ain’t no use in you tryin’ to get friendly with me.”

  Lying there, stunned for a few moments, with his face still flat against the dirt, Ben tried to shake it off, wondering how much abuse his head could take from this brute before his brains were completely rattled. In another moment, his eyes cleared and he sat up, unprepared for what happened next. Towering over him, his malicious grin still in place, then gone in the next second, Barrett uttered a surprised grunt as the shaft of an arrow suddenly appeared in his chest. Staggering backward, he instinctively grabbed the arrow and tried to pull it out as the snap of a bullet passed over Ben’s head to make a small black hole in Barrett’s belly. The big lawman dropped to his knees and remained there, his eyes wide as if staring into the great unknown until two more arrows tore into his body, causing him to finally keel slowly over.

  It all happened in the span of a few dozen seconds. Ben knew the only reason he was not dead was that he was flat on the ground when the attack came. Aware that he probably had moments only to make a desperate effort to keep from joining Barrett, he crawled over to the dying man. Barrett’s eyes stared lifelessly as Ben rolled him on his side to get to the bowie knife the lawman wore on his belt. With no idea how long he had before the Indians would be upon him, he pulled the knife and struggled furiously to cut the rope binding his hands together. More shots passed over his head as he worked away at the stubborn rope, at this point with no choice but to ignore the bullets.

  He heard the pounding of their horses’ hooves bearing down on him as the knife finally cut through his bonds. His heart racing now, he drew Barrett’s .44 from the holster and, without taking the time to aim, rolled over on his back and emptied the gun at the charging ponies. In his haste, his accuracy suffered, but although he didn’t hit one of the three warriors galloping toward him, his sudden barrage caused them to veer from their intended path. With time only to scramble over Barrett’s body, Ben lunged toward the lawman’s saddle and the Winchester rifle in the scabbard. Looking around him frantically, he spotted the three warriors as they pulled up beyond the stream and prepared to charge again. In the small clearing Barrett had selected to make his camp, there was no natural cover, so he used the only protection available. Keeping as flat to the ground as he could, he pulled himself up behind the massive body of the late deputy marshal and laid the Winchester across Barrett’s shoulder. From this macabre redoubt, he sent five quick shots at the three warriors just as they crossed the stream, killing one and wounding another.

  Wolf Kill cried out in pain, “I’m hit!” He jerked his horse’s head around and buried his heels in the animal’s sides. “Get out of his range!”

  Dead Man pulled his horse around to follow, but hesitated to look back at the rifleman in anger. “Nah-zay,” he exclaimed. It was the scar-faced white man who had been his nemesis at the wagon. Infuriated to have been beaten back twice by the white devil, he held his pony back long enough to scream his defiance before wisely galloping after Wolf Kill.

  Finding it hard to believe that he was still alive, Ben got to his feet and watched the two departing warriors until they disappeared from his sight. He looked down then at the body of the deputy marshal at his feet, the arrows buried half the length of their shafts in his chest, and thought, I didn’t kill him, but they’ll probably say I did. He wouldn’t think of the irony of it until sometime later. The marshal had saved his life the first time when he had suddenly knocked him down on the ground. Judging by the number of bullet holes in the corpse, he’d likely saved him again by shielding him with his body. The foremost thought in his mind at the moment, however, was to get his saddle on his horse and get out of there before the Indians returned. He had been given his life back by the three warriors. Too bad he had been forced to thank them by killing one and wounding another. A lot of things in life didn’t make sense. This was just another one of them.

  He was thankful that Barrett had tied the horses close to the camp, so the shooting didn’t cause them to scatter. He quickly saddled the buckskin, and remembering that the marshal had emptied his rifle, he loaded the magazine again and slid it into the scabbard. He paused then to take a long look at the lawman’s Morgan gelding. It was too fine a horse to set free on the prairie, but he wondered about the wisdom of being in possession of a dead marshal’s horse and saddle. I’ll decide later, he thought, and saddled the horse. It made it easier to carry the extra weapons and cartridges, all of which would certainly come in handy. He had an uneasy feeling about searching the marshal’s body for anything else of value, but he reasoned that it made no sense at all to leave anything useful to any scavenger that happened upon the body. His search resulted in the gain of a pocketknife and a small amount of money. When he was finished, he stood up and gazed down at the man who had run him to ground. “I suppose the decent thing to do would be to bury you,” he said. “That’s the least I could do since you saved my bacon.” He lingered a moment more before deciding. “I ain’t got the time,” he said, and turned to leave, only to pause again. As an afterthought, he reached down to pull one of the arrows out of the corpse. The head had managed to attach itself firmly to something inside Barrett’s chest, causing Ben to have to break it off. He examined the arrow briefly before pushing it into his saddle sling with his rifle. In the saddle again, he turned back to retrace the trail they had traveled to this fateful point in the prairie. I hope to hell those damn Indians have finally had enough of me, he thought as he gave the buckskin his heels.

  Leaving Jonah and the women to finish packing up the dried venison, Cleve rode out around the camp on a wide circle, just to see if there was any trouble that might be coming their way. They had stayed at that campsite for two days to take care of the meat that Ben had supplied. Cleve knew that it might not be the smartest thing to do, in view of the fact that they had already been attacked once by Sioux warriors. Still bothered by the circumstances that prevented him from helping Ben escape from the law, he realized how much he missed having Ben’s solid presence in the face of danger. He was about to tell himself to get his mind back on scouting the perimeter of his camp when his eye caught movement to the southeast. He immediately focused on the low ridge where he was sure he had seen something. After a few moments, he found it. At that great distance, it was hard to determine exactly what it was, but as it gradually moved closer, he was sure that it was a rider leading a horse. Indian or white man? He was still too far away to tell. At least it appeared to be only one man, and one man, friend or foe, he felt certain he could handle. Besides, he thought, I ain’t sure he’s heading toward our camp yet. That question was answered within the next few seconds, when the rider swung to a more westerly direction, which would lead him directly to their camp. “Well, hell,” he complained. “Looks like we’re gonna have company.” Figuring he had better return to the wagon to alert Jonah and the women, he remained for one long, last look. “Well, I’ll be go to hell,” he uttered then, scarcely able to believe his eyes. He at once found himself in a quandary of confusing thoughts. While overjoyed at the sight of his partner, he was also concerned with the circumstances of Ben’s freedom. If Cleve wasn’t mistaken, that looked like the deputy marshal’s horse that Ben was leading, and Cleve could think of but one way the horse could find it
self in Ben’s possession. “That might be a helluva mistake,” he muttered.

  He waited until Ben had approached within a hundred yards of the trees, from which he had watched him, before riding out in the open and waving his arm back and forth. Ben pulled up abruptly as soon as he caught sight of him, then recognizing Cleve, started toward him at a gallop. “I swear,” Cleve called out to him as he pulled up beside him, “I never figured I’d see you again.” He didn’t ask what happened right away, not really sure he wanted to know.

  Ben answered his question without being asked. “I didn’t kill him,” he said. “Indians got him—some of the same ones that attacked the wagon, I think.” He went on then to explain what had happened, and how he was able to escape.

  “Thank goodness for that,” Cleve remarked, greatly relieved. “I sure am glad to see you, but I was afraid you’d got to killin’ lawmen as a habit. Don’t a lot of folks care about that deputy you shot in Crooked Fork, but a federal marshal, that’s somethin’ else. They wouldn’t never stop huntin’ you for that.”

  Ben reached for the arrow he had jammed in his rifle sling and handed it to Cleve. “I brought you a souvenir in case you were thinkin’ what you’re thinkin’.”

  “Ah, hell, Ben,” Cleve protested, “you know your word’s good enough for me.” He wouldn’t admit it, but the arrow went a long way to enforce his confidence in his partner. He turned the arrow over several times, scrutinizing the markings on the shaft. “Lakota Sioux, I reckon. I’ve seen ’em with these markin’s on ’em before and they were Sioux, but I don’t know one tribe from the other. They’re all Injuns. Some are friendly and some ain’t.” He handed the arrow back to Ben. “Come on, you got here just in time. We’re fixin’ to move outta here and get on our way again. There’s gonna be some surprised folks when they see you.”

  “I’m surprised myself,” Ben said. “I didn’t expect you’d still be here. I thought you’d be long gone.”

  Cleve laughed. “I reckon we woulda been if you hadn’t left us with so much meat to cure.”

  “Surprise” was a mild term for the reaction felt by Jonah’s family when the two partners came riding back into their camp. But what was initially a welcome sight was followed by a feeling of foreboding when they saw the empty saddle on the marshal’s horse, just as Cleve had experienced earlier. As Ben stepped down from his saddle, he was met with questioning faces, with the exception of the expression of joy on Caleb’s face. The boy ran up to greet the ominous-looking man. “I knew you’d be back to take care of us,” he said.

  Ben reached down and playfully tousled Caleb’s hair. “You did?” he responded. “Well, you knew more than I did.” He looked around at the cautious faces confronting him, and guessed what they were thinking. “I didn’t kill him,” he declared softly.

  “It was Injuns!” Cleve blurted, then went on to relate the incident as Ben had told it to him. “Ben’s got one of the arrows he pulled outta the marshal’s body. Show ’em, Ben.”

  He retrieved the headless arrow from his saddle scabbard and handed it to Caleb, who examined it in awe until Victoria told him to bring it to his grandpa. Jonah made a show of looking the arrow over, although he had no idea if it was Sioux or not. Both Victoria and her mother continued to study Ben’s face as Jonah held the arrow. There was a strong desire on the part of both mother and daughter to believe Ben had no part in the marshal’s death. But there were emotions much like their initial feelings when Jonah had first brought the two guides to their wagon in Ogallala. The man just looked capable of violence, even more so with a new swelling on the side of his eye, the result of Barrett’s fist. Had it occurred during a fight that ended with the marshal’s death? It was difficult not to think of such possibilities.

  There was no time for discussion now, since the wagon was packed, the horses hitched, and the fire extinguished, so they pulled out of camp to continue the trek to Deadwood. With Ben and Cleve out front, they rolled into Dakota Territory during the afternoon, and both scouts turned their attention to finding the next campsite. Cleve came upon a small stream some seventy-five yards west of the trail they had ridden. He called Ben over to see.

  “Looks okay to me,” Ben said. “You got water and enough trees to hide in. It beats everythin’ I’ve found east of the trail.” That settled, they rode back to meet the wagon and led it to the campsite. The women immediately set to gathering firewood and setting up the camp while Jonah, with Caleb’s help, unhitched the team and took them to water. Everyone was so accustomed to the routine that there was little need for oversight on anyone’s part. In less than an hour’s time, they sat down to supper. Sitting a little more apart from the others, in comparison with nights passed, Ben ate his meal in absolute quiet. There was none of the normal light conversation that had become a regular part of the day’s end. Ben was certain he knew the reason why, so he finished his supper and got up from the circle around the fire. “I’m gonna take a little ride around this valley and just take a look at where we’ll be goin’ in the mornin’,” he announced. When Cleve started to get up to join him, Ben told him to stay put and help Jonah finish the pot of coffee. Cleve needed no more encouragement than that. He settled back in his place.

  “Can I go, Uncle Ben?” Caleb asked, jumping to his feet.

  “I don’t care,” Ben said, “if your mama says it’s all right.” Seeing the look of indecision on Victoria’s face, he said, “I won’t be out long. We’ll be back before his bedtime.”

  “I don’t see any harm,” Victoria said after a moment’s hesitation.

  He placed Caleb behind the saddle, then climbed on board himself and they started out of camp at a gentle walk. Ben had an idea that there needed to be some discussion among the others in regard to the circumstances of his return. He had sensed a difference in their attitude toward him all during the day’s travel and he figured this would give them the opportunity to decide if they were better off without him. He couldn’t say that he blamed them if they were a bit concerned about it.

  Ben’s notions about a definite coolness toward him were not a creation of his imagination, with the exception, of course, of Cleve Goganis. In the short time since they had become partners, Cleve was secure in the knowledge that he could count on Ben Cutler one hundred percent in word and deed. Jonah and the two ladies were not as certain. Their concern was not that he would do them any harm. They were more troubled about their association with someone who might have killed a federal law officer. Mary turned to Cleve and asked point-blank, “Do you think Indians really killed that deputy marshal? Ben may have had that arrow all along.”

  Cleve didn’t hesitate to confirm that he believed Ben’s story without doubt. “As for that arrow,” he said, “I been livin’ with him night and day ever since Wichita, and I can tell you he ain’t never had no arrow. I’da seen it.”

  Victoria spoke up then. “I’m sure Ben would never do anything intentionally to harm us. I think what we’re concerned about is what the law might do when they find out their deputy is dead, and whether or not we would wind up in trouble because we’re with him. They might think we had something to do with it.”

  “Or even punish us for harboring a criminal,” Mary interjected.

  Cleve was astonished to learn of their concerns, considering the fact that without Ben and him, these folks would be lying out there on the prairie without their scalps. Well, he thought, I suppose it’s up to women to worry about everything. A glance in Jonah’s direction, however, told him that the frail little man had much the same worried expression that adorned his ladies’ faces. “In the first place,” he explained patiently, “it’s gonna be one helluva long time before the marshal in Topeka knows that somethin’ happened to one of his deputies. By the time he figures out his man ain’t comin’ back, there won’t be nothin’ left of that deputy to find—even if he knew where to look for him. If we run into any more marshals between here and Deadwood, they’d have to come from the moon. So I think you’re wastin’ you
r time worryin’ about associatin’ with an outlaw.” He paused to spit in the fire. “And I’m damn glad he showed up again, ’cause we’ll likely meet up with a helluva lot more Sioux between here and Deadwood than we do deputy marshals.”

  No one commented for a couple of minutes while they rethought the situation. Then Jonah spoke. “Cleve’s right. We’ve got no call to question Ben’s word. He’s been nothing but a friend to us. I don’t think he’s guilty of anything but having bad luck.” He turned to look accusingly at his wife and daughter. “What was he supposed to do when the Indians killed that marshal? Ride all the way back to Kansas and turn himself in?”

  “Of course not,” Mary responded. “Don’t talk foolishness. Of course we’re glad to have Ben back with us.”

  Victoria smiled to hear her mother’s complete reversal. She was genuinely thankful to have his strong presence with them again. They had a long way to go yet before reaching the Black Hills and Deadwood, traveling over country that the Sioux still believed rightfully theirs, guaranteed to them forever through treaties broken by white men. She felt a lot safer with Ben along with them. When Ben and Caleb returned from their scout, she met them at the campfire. “I saved you a cup of coffee,” she said to Ben. “And you, young man,” she told her son, “can get yourself ready for bed.”

  Ben glanced at Cleve, sitting comfortably with his back against a young cottonwood, a smug smile upon his grizzled face. He took the coffee cup from Victoria, then shifted his gaze to glance at Jonah and Mary standing near the wagon, each wearing compassionate smiles. At that moment, he felt that the jury had come in and he had been acquitted of his crimes. It was a feeling of mixed emotions, for he wasn’t aware that he was guilty of any crimes. He welcomed the change, however, for he had developed a genuine fondness for these people, and he had regretted the uneasiness they had recently felt over his unexpected return. He sat down next to Cleve to drink his coffee, leaving his horse to wait before being unsaddled.