Massacre at Crow Creek Crossing Page 6

  Troy, still trying to get over hearing that Malcolm was dead, tried to picture the scene Travis described, unable to understand why Travis had to run. He decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, since he had suffered a wound in the attack. “What did this jasper jump you for, anyway?”

  “I don’t know,” Travis said. “Mighta been because of the woman.”

  “You had a woman with you?” Troy asked. “Where’d you pick up a woman?”

  “We warn’t gonna keep her.” Travis went on to relate their attack upon the couple in the wagon and the taking of the woman. “I didn’t wanna take her with us,” he lied, “but Malcolm, he got all sweet on her, and that’s what slowed us down. I don’t like sayin’ it, but if Malcolm hadn’t wanted to make early camp so he could be with that woman, that son of a bitch woulda never caught up with us.” He went on to tell Troy how they had been surprised by the Indian, or half-breed, whatever he was, when they had stopped to make camp.

  Troy listened attentively until Fred interrupted when he brought over an extra glass so Travis could help his brother empty the bottle.

  “Sounds to me like you two were mighty careless to let somebody sneak up on you like that,” Troy concluded after Fred returned to the bar. Still puzzled over the reason for the attack, Troy asked, “Why did he jump you? Was he after the woman?”

  Travis just shrugged and shook his head.

  “You know where to find this feller?” Troy continued. “’Cause he’s gonna have to answer to me for killin’ Malcolm, and that’s a fact. You know where to find him?”

  “I ain’t got no idea,” Travis said.

  “Damn,” Troy muttered, still making an effort to keep his voice low. After thinking about it for another moment, he switched to another subject and said, “Well, we’ve got to make ourselves scarce around this town.” When Travis asked why, Troy began to tell him about the hanging of Big Steve Long and Ace and Con Moyer.

  “I heard about it,” Travis said. “The feller down at the stable told me.” He glanced over at the bar where Fred Wiggins was rinsing some shot glasses and placing them on a tray to dry. “Who owns the Bucket of Blood now? Fred?”

  “Don’t nobody own it. The vigilance committee says it wants it shut down. The only reason Fred’s still here is because he talked ’em into letting him stay till he runs outta whiskey and supplies, then he’s gone. I’ve been stayin’ here for about a week, but they’re gonna close it down. That’s why we’d best move on to another town,” Troy said with more than a hint of impatience for his brother’s lack of common sense. “It ain’t healthy for any friends of Big Steve’s around here no more. And, after that hangin’, I don’t like the way people have been eyeballin’ me ever’ time I walk out on the street. They’ve got that vigilance committee started up. The town’s tryin’ to get respectable. It’s a good thing you got here when you did, ’cause I was fixin’ to move on to another town to wait out the winter.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned if I ever saw this happenin’,” Travis uttered. “I never thought they’d hang Big Steve. Hell, he was the sheriff.” He let that sink in for a few moments, feeling a cautious urge to look around him at the other customers in the saloon, lest they suddenly rise up together and come at him and his brother. “Where was you thinkin’ ’bout headin’?”

  “I figured I’d ride down to Cheyenne,” Troy said.

  “Cheyenne?” Travis asked. “Any particular reason? Everybody left that town when the railroad moved up here to Laramie. It’s most likely dried up by now.”

  “That ain’t what I hear,” Troy said. “Matter of fact, the town’s got a lot bigger since all the railroad workers and the people that follow ’em left. Might be the best place for us to hole up till spring. Leastways, we oughta look it over.”

  “You know they got up a vigilance committee down there, too,” Travis reminded him. “We heard about it, you remember. Called theirselves the Gunny Sack Gang. They’re the ones that run Slade Corbett outta Cheyenne.”

  “I know it,” Troy insisted. “But they don’t know us. We ain’t ever been in Cheyenne. All I know is we’d best get ourselves outta Laramie. Those vigilantes will be watchin’ anybody who was friends with Big Steve Long and the Moyer boys. Cheyenne ain’t that far from here, and I don’t figure on leavin’ the territory before I settle the score with that son of a bitch that killed Malcolm.”

  “I reckon you’re right,” Travis conceded, even though he didn’t know who the man was who shot Malcolm, or where he was heading. It seemed pretty good odds that they would never find him. His appearance left Travis with the impression that he must live with some tribe of Indians.

  “Let’s get outta here,” Troy said.

  They got up from the table, Troy grabbed the bottle, and they stopped at the bar on their way out. Troy paid Fred Wiggins for the bottle and followed Travis out the door. He found him standing at the hitching rail by his horse.

  Confused by the other horses tied at the rail, Troy asked, “Are those your horses?” He pointed toward the four next to Travis’s bay gelding, one with a saddle, one without, and two carrying packs.

  “Yep,” Travis answered, then went on to explain the circumstances that caused him to lose their packhorses and return with different ones. “It was hard luck gettin’ jumped by that bushwhacker. I lost my saddle and Malcolm’s horse and that fancy saddle of his. But all my luck wasn’t bad, ’cause two fellers came along at the right time. So I ended up with a pretty good swap.”

  Troy, by that time, was already giving the horses a closer examination. “Well, you mighta made a swap, but I think you mighta come up with the short end of it. That one horse looks pretty good, but them packhorses and that other ’n don’t look like they coulda stood up to the two you and Malcolm rode off with.” He shook his head slowly and continued. “And you sure-God got skunked on the saddles. Both of them two saddles ain’t worth the one you rode, and they sure as hell ain’t worth that Mexican saddle of Malcolm’s. I reckon I shouldn’ta let you two ride up to Bozeman without me to keep you outta trouble.”

  That was the reaction Travis had anticipated from his older brother, and one he was prepared to defend against. “Hell, wouldn’ta made any difference if you’da been with us or not. He was on us before we had a chance to set up our camp. You’d best be glad you weren’t with us. You might be dead, too. It was just a miracle I got away.”

  Troy didn’t reply for a few long moments while he studied his brother’s face. He couldn’t deny a faint suspicion that things didn’t happen exactly as Travis told it, and his brother didn’t want to admit that he had run without trying to fight. When he finally spoke, it was with a hint of sarcasm in his tone. “You didn’t make much of a trade when you gave up your Winchester for them Sharps ridin’ on the saddles, either.”

  “I ain’t sayin’ we wasn’t hit with some hard luck,” Travis responded. “I’m just sayin’ I didn’t come away empty-handed. Besides, that Sharps is a fine rifle, might be better ’n my Winchester at huntin’ buffalo.”

  “You figure on huntin’ a lot of buffalo, do ya?” Troy asked, still sarcastic. When Travis declined to reply, Troy said, “Come on, let’s go pick up my horse. We’ll sell off what we don’t need and get the hell outta this town. I wanna meet the son of a bitch who’s a big enough grizzly bear to kill Malcolm and send you runnin’ for me.”

  “That ain’t the way it was. I told you,” Travis protested again.

  * * *

  “Where you goin’?” Cole asked, somewhat surprised when Harley led his horse up to the tipi where he had just saddled Carrie’s horse and was in the process of adjusting the packs on his packhorse.

  “Where do you think?” Harley replied. “Goin’ to take Carrie to Cheyenne.”

  Completely surprised, Cole said, “I figured you’d wanna stay here. Hell, I thought you were in a hurry to get back home, so you could warm those old bones of yours by the fire.”

  “Well, you thought wrong,” Harley said. “I was just
ready to leave them mountains after we got more meat and hides than we could carry without killin’ our horses.” He was not willing to admit that Cole was correct in his assumption. He had been missing the comfort of a warm tipi, and he had intended to stay in the Crow camp while Cole took Carrie to Cheyenne.

  Over the last year or so, however, he had gotten accustomed to being the tall white warrior’s right-hand man. Consequently, when it came time for Cole to ride off without him, he didn’t like the thought of being left behind. Father Time was creeping up on him. He realized that. It happened to all men, but he also suddenly realized that he wasn’t ready to remain in camp and sit by the fire, waiting out the slow death so many men accepted. Besides, he told himself, I think I’d kinda miss riding with my partner. “You need me to make sure you don’t get lost on your way down there to Crow Creek,” he japed.

  “I reckon that is a possibility,” Cole came back. He was pleased that Harley had decided to accompany him. He could use his help in handling the extra horses. About to direct a few more sarcastic comments Harley’s way, he was interrupted by the arrival of Moon Shadow and Carrie. “Well, you look like a proper Absáalooke maiden,” Cole said to her. “I don’t think anybody will take you for a boy now.”

  Carrie answered with a smile, extended her arms to each side, then slowly turned a complete circle so they could admire the doeskin garment Moon Shadow had sewn for her. She was obviously pleased to be rid of Travis Womack’s clothes. “I tried to pay Moon Shadow for my dress, but she would not accept my money.”

  Moon Shadow shook her head. “I tell her she need that money. Spend it quick in that town.”

  “I expect you might be right,” Cole said, thinking of the forty-seven dollars he had given her. “Maybe we can do some tradin’ with Leon Bloodworth at the stable when we get there and get you a little more money for those two packhorses. He’s always interested in buyin’ horses. Then you could get rid of that fellow’s coat, too.”

  “And maybe that mule, too,” Harley added, “if it keeps taggin’ along behind them packhorses.” Without encouragement, the mule had followed along behind them, all the way from the camp where they had found Carrie. He would be interested to see if the mule was content to stay with the Indian ponies or would continue to follow the packhorses from the Crow camp.

  Cole turned his attention back to Carrie. “I expect we’d best get started. It’s a good two days’ ride to Cheyenne, and we’re startin’ out a little later than I had planned.” He cupped his hands together to provide a step for her and lifted her up into the saddle. Yellow Calf, who had come out by then, joined with his wife to wish them a safe journey. Carrie expressed her appreciation to them both and received an invitation to come back any time. Had Cole been paying a little closer attention, he might have noticed a trace of sadness in Carrie’s face that hinted of a reluctance to leave the gentle Crow woman.

  * * *

  With the late start, Cole decided that it might be necessary to spend two nights on the trail instead of the one he had originally planned. Had it been only Harley and him, he would probably have pushed on into the night, but every time he thought to look at Carrie to see how she was doing, she looked as if she was having a hard time of it. When they made their first stop to rest the horses, she was obviously very stiff, in spite of now having a saddle. And he could see that she was making a big effort not to show the effects of her ride.

  When she saw Harley gathering wood for a fire, she asked Cole, “Are we going to eat now? Do you want me to slice some meat to fry?”

  “No, ma’am,” Cole replied. “We’ll just have a little coffee. We won’t be here long. Just gonna rest the horses for a spell, then we’ll ride on down till we strike the Chugwater. That ain’t but ten more miles from here, and it’s a better place to camp for the night. Think you can make that all right?”

  “Oh, certainly,” she quickly answered. “Whatever you want to do is fine with me.”

  “I thought it might be gettin’ a little hard on you. I mean, you not bein’ used to so much ridin’. I expect you musta been plum-nigh wore out from that ride to Medicine Bear’s village, and now maybe this trip to Cheyenne might be tirin’ you out some more.”

  “No, no,” she insisted. “I’m doing just fine.”

  “Good,” he said. “It might be easier on you if you can relax a little bit more. You look like you’re kinda stiff, like you’re tryin’ to stand up straight in the saddle. That sorrel you’re ridin’ has got a nice easy gait, but you’re fightin’ him. If you relax and let your body move with the horse’s body, you’ll be a whole lot more comfortable.”

  She realized right away that her attempts to hide her discomfort had not been convincing. There was no sense in trying to fool them, and she had only tried because she didn’t want to appear to be so much trouble. “I’ll try,” she said. “It seems like the horse and I have totally opposite motions. Every time I go up, the horse goes down, and when I go down, the horse goes up. My bottom is so sore,” she finally confessed, “and my back feels like it’s broken in three places. I’m so stiff I can hardly move.”

  They both laughed.

  “When we get goin’ again, just relax and try to move with the horse’s gait, and pretty soon you’ll get where you can go to sleep in the saddle.”

  “I don’t know,” she said, and rubbed her bottom for emphasis. “I hope you’re right.”

  “What are you two laughin’ at?” Harley asked when he walked over to join them.

  “Carrie’s bottom’s sore,” Cole said with a rare chuckle.

  Harley paused for a moment, unaccustomed to much humor from his partner. “I ain’t surprised,” he finally declared. “She’s settin’ so stiff in the saddle, it’s a wonder her back ain’t broke.” He stared at them, astonished, when his comment caused them both to laugh again.

  “I’ll get some coffee started,” Carrie said, and went at once to the stream to fill the coffeepot. Since the horrible death of her husband, it was the first time she had felt at ease enough to allow herself a healthy chuckle. She was aware of how fortunate she had been to have crossed paths with Cole and Harley, and she realized how easily she had come to feel safe in their company. Instead of the comfort she might have felt in knowing she would be safely taken to Cheyenne, however, it brought a dread of leaving them. It certainly isn’t the first twist my life has taken, she thought, as her mind recalled the unlikely events that led her to the rolling plain in Wyoming Territory.

  CHAPTER 4

  They rode the length of the main street in Cheyenne, heading toward the stables at the far end.

  “This place is growing like a boil,” Harley declared as they walked the horses slowly past a saloon that was not there the last time he and Cole had been in town. “The Cowboy’s Rest,” he read aloud. “Maybe we oughta pay ’em a visit after we get Carrie settled. I ain’t no cowboy, but I could use some rest.”

  He looked at Cole for his reaction, but his tall friend was evidently lost in thoughts of his own as he gazed up the street toward the hotel. It was not difficult to guess what those thoughts might be. For his young friend’s sake, Harley hoped they had been away from Cheyenne long enough for Cole to forget about the bad things that had happened there and only remember the good folks they had known.

  When Cole finally spoke, he directed his question to Carrie. “This is Douglas Green’s dry goods store. You sure you don’t wanna go there first?” He reined Joe to a stop in front of the store and waited for Carrie to pull up alongside.

  She caught up to him, being careful to guide her horse so as to have Cole between her and the store. “No,” she said. “Let’s go on down to the stable. I’d like to take a minute to run a brush through my hair before I meet Mr. and Mrs. Green for the first time. With this dress I’ve got on, I’m afraid they’ll think I’m an Indian.”

  Overhearing, Harley blurted, “What’s wrong with your hair? Hell, ain’t nothin’ wrong with your hair. I doubt they’d care if there was.”
He looked back and forth from Carrie to Cole, but neither answered him. He shrugged when Cole simply nudged Joe with his heels and the big Morgan started up again.

  “Cole Bonner,” Leon Bloodworth greeted them as he walked out of the stable to meet the riders. “I ain’t seen you in I don’t know when. Harley, I see you’re still kickin’.” He grinned as he tipped his hat to Carrie. “Who’s this you got with you?” Without waiting for an answer, he said, “Ma’am, most likely nobody’s told you, but you’re ridin’ in mighty questionable company.” He chuckled loudly in appreciation of his humor.

  “I swear, Leon,” Harley answered him. “I can see you ain’t got no smarter since we was last in here. Pay him no mind,” he said to Carrie. “He don’t know how to act in a lady’s presence.”

  “You musta struck it rich since you left here,” Leon commented when he took a good look at Harley’s new saddle. “That’s a mighty fancy rig for a fanny poor as yours.”

  “Might be a little too high class to park in a run-down stable like your’n, come to think of it,” Harley fired back.

  Ignoring the usual japing between Harley and Leon, Cole stepped down and went to help Carrie dismount. “This is Carrie Green,” he said to Leon. “She was married to Douglas Green’s son, and she’s come to deliver the sorry news that her husband was killed by bushwhackers on their way from Bozeman.”