Lawless Prairie Page 12

  “So, you’re Frederick Steiner’s brother,” Peter Weber exclaimed, amazed by the visitors at his door. “I should have known without you telling me. You favor him.” He turned to call back in the house, “Martha, come out here and say hello to Frederick’s brother and his daughter.”

  Clint stood by the horses and watched the introductions. Martha Weber made a big fuss over Joanna, and in a few minutes the Webers’ two teenage sons joined the meeting. Then Clint was drawn into the mix, and Karl tried to explain that he was not Joanna’s husband, Robert. The Webers tried to persuade them to come inside so Martha could fix a meal, but understood when Karl insisted that he was anxious to find his brother.

  “Well, you can’t miss Frederick’s place,” Weber said. “Just follow that wagon track along the river. His is the next house you’ll come to.” The whole Weber family stood in the yard and waved them good-bye.

  “Nice folks,” Karl commented as he rode alongside Joanna.

  They rode about three-quarters of a mile before they spotted a sturdy log house where a creek emptied into the river. There was a large garden in front of the house with a man and a boy cleaning out a couple of rows of dead vines. Karl started chuckling as he kicked his horse into a fast lope and headed toward the two. Frederick looked up, startled by the sudden appearance of a man on horseback. He stood up then, seeing two more riders, leading horses, coming along behind. “Hey-yo! Freddy!” Karl sang out as he drove the horse into the corner of the garden.

  “Karl!” Frederick exclaimed, hardly able to believe his eyes. He turned quickly to his son. “As I live and breathe, it’s your uncle Karl!” Dropping his hoe, he ran to meet his brother. Karl jumped out of the saddle and the two brothers embraced with an abundance of back-slapping and bear hugs. “I swear, I never thought you’d come out here. What happened to the gold mining?” Before Karl could answer, he exclaimed, “And you brought Joanna and Robert with you! Where’s Sarah?”

  Karl paused but a moment to shake hands with his nephew, John, before replying, “Well, truth is, I brought Joanna. Robert went back east.” He paused and swallowed hard before going further. “Sarah’s dead, killed by Sioux Indians.”

  Frederick was shocked. “Oh my Lord,” he moaned. “I can’t believe Sarah’s gone. I’m so sorry, Karl.” He paused and shook his head sadly. “And Robert, too?”

  “Like I said, Robert took off after the Indians hit us. Left Joanna to her fate.”

  “Well, who is that fellow with her?”

  Karl explained as quickly as he could before Clint and Joanna rode up to join them. In summary he said, “His name’s Clint Conner, but the truth be told, he’s an angel sent down to bring Joanna and me safely here.” There was no time to offer explanation in answer to Frederick’s look of astonishment.

  “Uncle Freddy!” Joanna gushed, and ran to give her uncle a hug.

  As he had at the Webers’ place, Clint held back and watched the reunion, smiling for the obvious happy occasion while he tried to keep his little herd of horses out of Frederick’s garden. Within minutes, the party was joined by Frederick’s wife when she realized what was taking place in the garden, and the round of hugs was started again. After Frederick told Bertha about the death of her sister-in-law, Karl beckoned for Clint to come forward to be introduced.

  “Welcome to my home, Mr. Conner,” Frederick said, extending his hand. “Karl told me he was owing to you for seeing him and Joanna here safely.”

  “It’s Clint,” he answered awkwardly. “I was comin’ to Montana, anyway.”

  “Well, let’s don’t stand out here in the garden,” Bertha Steiner interrupted. “Come on up to the house and we’ll find you folks something to eat.”

  “I’d be obliged if I could turn these horses out in your corral,” Clint said.

  “Sure,” Frederick replied. “John can help you with those saddles and packs.” His son stepped forward to shake hands with Clint.

  While Clint and John took care of the horses, Karl explained Clint’s presence and the absence of Robert. He told them about the futile attempts to pan gold in the Black Hills, the subsequent attacks by Indians, and the latest attempt upon their lives by outlaws. “But thanks to Clint’s help, we finally made it here.”

  “I hope you’ve come to stay,” Frederick said. “We’ve got a fine little farming community started here.”

  “That’s what we had in mind,” Karl said. “I hoped that I could find some good land and go back to farming.”

  “I’d take it as a godsend if you’d think about staying here with us,” Frederick said. “To tell you the truth, I took on a bigger piece of land than I can handle. With just John and me, it’s more than I can keep up with. I could sure use some help. Whaddaya say, Karl? We can build onto the back of the house so you and Joanna could have your own space, and we’ll run this place together.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Karl quickly agreed, and they shook on it while Bertha and Joanna beamed their approval.

  “You couldn’t have come at a better time,” Frederick said. “I’ve got a field full of oats that are just about ready to harvest. John and I were gonna ask Weber next door if he could give us a hand. Now we won’t have to.”

  Feeling a strong need to clean up before sitting down at the supper table, Clint borrowed a bar of soap from Bertha, picked up his saddlebags from the barn, and walked up the creek until he was out of sight of the house. After stripping down to his underwear and applying the soap liberally to his body, he rinsed in the cool water and returned to the bank to dry off. Thinking it had been too long between shaves, he rummaged through his belongings until he found the razor he had brought from his father’s house. With no strap to sharpen the instrument, it produced a pretty rough shave, necessitating a second pass across his face. Although it left his face feeling raw and sensitive, he felt clean for the first time in a while. Changing into his cleanest dirty shirt, he pronounced himself fit to dine in genteel company.

  Conversation in the kitchen stopped when he walked in, and he immediately felt a sudden flush of embarrassment as he witnessed the startled expressions on the faces of the women. “I thought I’d best clean up a little bit,” he explained apologetically.

  Bertha glanced at Joanna and grinned before turning back to behold the minor transformation of their guest. Joanna’s look of astonishment slowly turned to a pleased smile. “Sit yourself down at the table—we’re about ready to eat.”

  When he was told of the plans for the two brothers to go into partnership on the land, Clint felt that his obligation to Karl and Joanna was completed. His main concern was for Joanna, and now he felt she was safe and with people who cared for her. “I reckon I’ll be movin’ on in the mornin’,” he told them as they sat around the supper table.

  Joanna tried to hide the look of distress that suddenly registered upon her face. No one noticed it except Bertha, who smiled her understanding. Flushing slightly, Joanna quickly looked away before asking, “What are you going to do?”

  Clint shrugged. “I guess I’m just goin’ to see what I can see,” he said.

  “Which way you heading?” Frederick asked.

  “I expect I’ll look around this part of the country for a little bit, and then head west. I’ve got a strong notion to see the Rocky Mountains, maybe find me a spot on top of a mountain someplace where there’s plenty of game for food and hides.”

  “And just live like a wild man?” Joanna blurted, unable to hide her disappointment.

  “I reckon,” was all he replied. He could not tell her that he felt he had no choice. The image of Zach Clayton entered his mind when the deputy marshal vowed to come after him. Then it suddenly hit him, like a punch in the solar plexus. For the first time since his escape from prison he wished with all his heart that he had served his sentence, that he was free to do whatever he wanted without fear of running into a lawman. He looked up then to discover Joanna’s gaze fixed upon him. “Maybe it ain’t the way I want it,” he offered in lame defense.


  “Don’t feel like you have to go right away,” Frederick said. “You’re welcome to stay on awhile until you get rested up and maybe get a few good meals in you. Bertha’s a pretty good cook.” He didn’t express it, but from what Karl had told him about the young man’s skill with a rifle, he might be handy to have around for a while. Ever since the news of the Custer massacre on the Little Big Horn, there had been reports of stray bands of Indians moving through the Yellowstone Valley.

  “I wouldn’t wanna be a bother,” Clint replied.

  “It’s no bother,” Bertha said. “Seems to me we owe you more than that.”

  Joanna said nothing, but watched Clint’s reactions closely, waiting for his response. When he allowed that he might stay on for a couple of days if Bertha was sure he wouldn’t be a burden, she quickly turned and busied herself with the supper dishes, afraid they might read the relief in her face.

  When it was time for bed, Bertha suggested that Clint could sleep in the kitchen by the stove since the cabin was lacking in enough rooms for everyone. Clint graciously declined, saying he would be fine in the barn with his horses. Being an astute woman, as well as an observant one, Bertha said, “Joanna, why don’t you take a lantern and go out with Clint so he can see to spread his bedroll?”

  “John can do that,” Frederick suggested.

  “I want John to help me set up some beds for you,” Bertha insisted. “Joanna can do it.”

  “You don’t need to bother with that,” Clint said. “I reckon I can—”

  “Come on,” Joanna interrupted. Taking the lantern Bertha offered, she started for the door. “You don’t wanna spread your bedroll over something one of the horses left on the floor.”

  She held the lantern for him while he untied his bedroll from his saddle and spread it on some hay in a corner of the last stall. “Well, I reckon that’ll do just fine,” he said. “I appreciate the help.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said. “I haven’t really had a chance to tell you how much I owe you—we owe you, Papa and I—for coming with us.” When he started to protest that it wasn’t necessary, she stopped him. “Clint, I owe you my life. I will always be grateful. I’ll never forget what you did for me.”

  Embarrassed, he stared down at his feet and mumbled, “I’m just glad I came along when I did.”

  “So am I,” she said. He looked up to meet her gaze. She whispered, “Thank you,” and quickly reached up and kissed him lightly on the lips, then spun around and left him standing confused in the dark.

  He went to bed, but he did not sleep for some time, his mind laboring now with thoughts new to him, the memory still lingering of her lips on his. He could not deny that he had come to look upon the woman fondly, but he had attributed his feelings to compassion for her misfortunes. He tried to recreate the incident in his mind. Her kiss had been quick, and maybe really only on the corner of his lips. She might have intended to kiss him on the cheek, as a sister would kiss her brother, and accidentally came too close to his lips. Perplexed, he told himself to forget about it. She was just grateful to him for saving her life.

  Chapter 10

  Three days out of Fort Laramie, Zach Clayton followed an old trail that the army often used when heading north through the Powder River country. He didn’t particularly like the idea that the three fugitives he was after had a sizable head start, but it didn’t cause him excessive worry, either. A man confident in his ability to do his job, he knew he would strike their trail somewhere, and that he would prevail in the end. He didn’t have to continue his pursuit of the three escapees into Montana. The job could have been passed off to the marshal in that territory, but he had volunteered to go after them to finish the job he should already have completed. He had never failed to bring in a fugitive he had been sent after, and he didn’t want these three to be on his record. Aside from that, he felt a strong desire to rid the world of Clell Ballenger and Pete Yancey. The other one, the young man, he almost wished he could let go, but he knew that he couldn’t.

  He quickly put those thoughts aside when he spotted a single rider crossing a low mesa directly ahead of him. At that distance, it was impossible to determine it to be Indian or white, but it paid to be cautious until finding out which. There was a narrow ravine to his right, so he decided to take advantage of it until he could identify the rider.

  Leading his horse down into the ravine far enough to get it out of sight, he dismounted, drew his rifle, and knelt at the rim. Seeming to be in no particular hurry, the rider came down from the mesa to intercept the trail Clayton was following. Instead of crossing it, he turned onto it, now heading straight for the deputy marshal. Resting his rifle across his knee, Clayton watched the rider carefully. As he came closer, he at first thought it to be an Indian. But when the rider approached within a hundred yards, a grin crept slowly across his face. “Billy Turnipseed,” he murmured.

  He returned to his horse and mounted. Then he waited until Billy was just about even with the mouth of the ravine before suddenly riding up out of it to startle the unsuspecting little man. Billy pulled his horse to a stop while fumbling with his rifle in an attempt to pull it from his saddle sling. He had it barely halfway out when he recognized the laughing deputy riding toward him. “If I was a Sioux warrior,” Clayton said, “you’d already be buzzard bait.”

  “Damn you, Zach Clayton,” Billy fumed. “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you.” Trying to quickly regain his composure, he said, “I ain’t worried about no Sioux warriors, anyway. I ain’t got no trouble with Injuns.” With his nerves settled once more, he grinned smugly. “I knew there was somebody hidin’ in that ravine from way back yonder.”

  “Yeah, I could tell,” Clayton chided him, “by the way you damn near fell offa that crow bait you’re ridin’.”

  A bit embarrassed, and eager to change the subject, Billy asked, “What are you doin’ up this way? Chasin’ after some poor soul, I reckon.”

  “That’s a fact,” Clayton replied. “I’m lookin’ for two lowlifes all right. One of ’em broke outta prison, name of Clell Ballenger, and his sidekick, Pete Yancey. You ain’t run into ’em, have you?”

  “Nah. I ain’t seen ’em. I ain’t seen no white men for a spell. I been livin’ with Angry Bear’s folks on the Horn up until he moved his village to join up with ol’ Sittin’ Bull. Just come from the Big Horns. The only folks I’ve seen was three folks headin’ to some settlement on the Yellowstone.” He paused to chuckle over the thought of the encounter. “A young couple and an old man—I think the old man was the woman’s pappy. Anyway, I wouldn’t bet on them makin’ it. They didn’t know where they were or which way they were headin’. I had to tell ’em which way to go. They’ll be damn lucky if they don’t meet up with a Lakota war party.”

  “Is that so?” Clayton asked, only mildly interested. “It’s a helluva time for three white people to be travelin’ this territory alone. Did you catch their names?”

  “Nah,” Billy replied, then tried to recall. “The pappy’s name was Claude or somethin’ like that.” He scratched his chin for a moment before remembering. “The other’n, the young one, his name was Clint.” He shook his head confirming his memory. “Yep, Clint somethin’.”

  Clayton’s interest was immediately triggered. “Clint Conner?”

  “Mighta been,” Billy said. “That sounds right.”

  “Ridin’ a buckskin?”

  “Matter of fact,” Billy replied.

  The deputy’s mind was racing. The young fugitive just kept crossing his path. Billy might not have remembered the last name correctly, even though the old fellow seemed pretty sure. But who were his companions, the man and woman? “Where’d you meet these folks? How long ago?”

  “Two or three days ago,” Billy replied. “Have you got any tobacco? I swear I ain’t had nothin’ decent to smoke for five months.”

  Clayton smiled. He had never met Billy Turnipseed when the odd little man didn’t ask for something. “Yeah, I’ve got a little bit
of tobacco.” He stepped down from his saddle and dug into his saddlebags. “Now, tell me exactly where you met up with these folks, and which way you sent ’em.”

  While Billy lit up his pipe, he told Clayton all he remembered about his overnight visit with the three travelers he met on the Little Powder. When he had finished, there was no doubt in Zach’s mind that the young man Billy had camped with was Clint Conner. Still, it left him in a bit of a quandary. He was much more concerned with capturing Ballenger and Yancey than he was with Conner. He was convinced that Clint was not likely to cause anyone any trouble, while the other two were apt to murder and steal. To be considered, however, was the fact that he could only guess where Ballenger and Yancey were, and he knew now where Conner was, or thereabouts. He was sworn to bring all three in, so the sensible thing was to go after Conner before he took off somewhere else. He wasn’t happy about it, but he decided to go after the bird in hand.

  “I’m much obliged, Billy,” Clayton said. “I reckon I’d best get goin’ if I’m gonna catch up with Conner. You got your pouch? I can let you have a little more of this tobacco to hold you till you get to Fort Laramie.”

  “Yes, sir, I shore do,” Billy replied at once. He pulled out his tobacco pouch and loosened the string. Peering down into the pouch, he expressed surprise. “Well, my stars, I didn’t know . . . Why, there is a little bit of tobacco in there after all.” He handed the pouch to Clayton.

  Zach just shook his head and chuckled as he accepted the bag. Shaking a generous pinch of tobacco into it, he then handed it back to the grinning little man. “You take care of yourself, Billy.”

  It was a pleasant time for Clint Conner, the first such time in several years. At Frederick and Bertha’s insistence, as well as because of his personal desire, he stayed on for longer than the couple of days he first proposed. The Steiner brothers were happy to have his help harvesting the oats, and he gained a constant admirer in the person of thirteen-year-old John.