CHAPTER 19
Bartender Dewey Smith noticed the two strangers as soon as they walked in the door. It was their manner that caused him to give them a second glance. Cautious was how he would have described it. Before walking into the crowded room, they scanned it from front to back. He was immediately reminded of the reason Hawk gave for being in town, and in Dewey’s opinion, these two looked like they might be the men Hawk was looking for. His next thought was that it was good that Hawk had left the saloon early, or there might possibly have been a second altercation in the saloon that night. As he expected, when the two decided they didn’t see what they were looking for, they walked on inside and headed for him.
“What’ll it be?” Dewey asked, making an effort to greet them as he would any stranger, when they stepped up to the bar.
“Give us a shot of your best whiskey,” Booth said. He figured they would get more of their questions answered if they tried to take a friendly approach. While Dewey poured a couple of drinks for them, Booth said, “It’s been a good while since we’ve been up this way. I expect it’s been a couple of years or more. Wouldn’t you say, Jesse?”
“Yep, I expect it has,” Jesse replied, aware of Booth’s friendly approach. “The town sure has changed a lot.”
“It sure has,” Booth commented. “This is the capital of Montana Territory now, ain’t it?” Dewey said that it was. The conversation continued through a second drink of whiskey. There were aimless questions about the town and the surrounding farms and ranches, until Booth got around to the issue they were concerned with. “We’ve got a friend who’s supposed to be up this way. I hear tell he might be in town now. It’d sure be somethin’ if we could run into him while we’re here. Wouldn’t it, Jesse?”
“It sure would,” Jesse agreed. “I bet he’d be tickled to see us.”
Booth waited for Dewey to ask who that friend was, but Dewey was already suspicious of the ominous pair’s intentions. And when he failed to take the bait, Booth went on. “Our friend’s name is Hawk, big feller, wears a feather in his hat. I’ll bet he’s been in here.”
Dewey hesitated. About to declare that he didn’t know anyone by that name, he thought again and decided against it. If they had been in town any time at all, they would surely know about the shooting only a little earlier that evening. And chances were they knew it was Hawk that did the shooting. “Yes, sir,” he finally answered. “That feller named Hawk was in here earlier, but he left. Too bad you missed him.” He was aware at once that Booth was looking at him as if suspecting he was holding something back. He took a step back from the bar, in case Booth’s next move might be to grab him by his collar and threaten him. At that moment, however, he was relieved to see Porter Willis walk in the door. “Well, well,” he said. “Here’s the sheriff, come in for his nightly visit.” That captured the immediate attention of both men.
Forgetting Dewey for the moment, Booth and Jesse turned their attention toward the sheriff. After looking him over, they silently agreed that he would offer them no problem, if it came to that. Turning back to Dewey, Booth asked, “Where did Hawk go when he left here?”
When Dewey replied that he had no idea, that Hawk didn’t say, Jesse asked, “Where does he stay when he’s in town? Maybe we can catch him there.”
Dewey, who had been trying to signal Porter with his eyes to no avail, answered, “I’m awful sorry. I got no idea where he stays.”
Booth gave him a hard look then. “Is there some reason you ain’t tellin’ me?”
“No, friend,” Dewey exclaimed. “Why would you think that?”
“’Cause of the way you’ve been blinkin’ your eyes at the sheriff,” Jesse answered him.
“Ah no, friend,” Dewey quickly replied. “I didn’t know my eyes were blinkin’. I would sure help you find Hawk if I could, I just don’t know much about him. He don’t hit town very often.” He felt a measure of relief then when the sheriff finally walked over to the bar. “Evenin’, Sheriff,” he greeted him. “These two gentlemen are askin’ about Hawk. I told ’em I don’t have no idea where he stays.”
“That’s right, Sheriff,” Booth said. “My brother and I are just passin’ through your town and we heard that Hawk was up this way. Maybe you know where we might find him. I think he’d be disappointed if he found out we were in town and didn’t even stop to say hello.”
Just as skeptical as Dewey had been, Porter was immediately suspicious that these were the two men that Hawk had tracked from Wolf Creek. His problem was, he wasn’t sure what to do about it, even if there was anything he could do about it. There were no “wanted” papers out for two men meeting their description. All he had was Hawk’s story about the two men, and Hawk was not a representative of the law. He couldn’t arrest them, because there was no law against asking where someone was.
“Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you any more than Dewey has,” Porter said. “John Hawk doesn’t come through here very often. And when he does, he never stays long. He was here this evenin’, got into a shootin’ with some stranger, and killed him. It wasn’t his fault, the stranger came after him, but I told him it would be best if he was to leave town. I ain’t got no idea where he went when he left town.” He glanced at the pained expression on Dewey’s face before looking back at Booth to judge whether or not they believed him. He wasn’t sure, so he hoped Hawk didn’t decide to come back to the saloon for a drink.
Undecided at this point whether to suspect the sheriff and the bartender of lying about the whereabouts of Hawk, Booth wondered why they would want to protect him. He suspected they might have some reason to, otherwise, they would have given him up without concern. It was then that a woman behind the bar caught his attention. He had paid her no mind when he and Jesse first walked up to the bar. She had been at the other end of the long bar, seeming to pay no attention to them. He realized now that she had gradually moved up closer to them, and when the sheriff came over to the bar, she moved closer still. He was sure it was so she could hear the conversation between them and the sheriff. He suddenly had a hunch she could be of some help to them. He surprised Jesse then when he abruptly declared, “Well, I reckon we won’t get a chance to visit with our old friend this trip. Maybe we’ll just have to have a drink and get on our way.” He motioned to Dewey to pour another drink. “How ’bout a drink, Sheriff? I’m buyin’.”
“Thanks just the same,” Porter declined. “I reckon I’d best keep a clear head.”
Bertie Brown moved back down the bar and walked toward the kitchen. Booth followed her with his eyes until she disappeared into the kitchen. “Come on, Jesse, we need to go.” He didn’t wait to find out if Jesse was ready to leave but grabbed his arm to get him started. As soon as they were out the door, Jesse asked, “What in the hell lit a fire under your behind?”
“Just follow me,” Booth said, and went directly to the corner of the building, leaving Jesse to follow, still waiting for an explanation. Within seconds, they saw Bertie go across the alley between the saloon and the barbershop, walking behind the buildings. “That’s what I thought. We need to follow that woman,” Booth said to Jesse. “I think she’s gonna lead us right to Mr. Hawk.”
They hurried down the alley to the back corner of the barbershop in time to see Bertie striding deliberately behind the buildings. “She’s goin’ to the stables,” Jesse said when Bertie continued past the blacksmith’s shop. “That’s where he is!” They left the corner of the building and ran toward the stable, anxious to get there before Hawk could get away. Fueled by the fact that they were no longer running away from the relentless hunter, they were confident they would put an end to this problem for good.
“Hold up!” Booth whispered when she disappeared into the barn. “We go runnin’ in there wide-open, we’re liable to walk right into an ambush.”
“Circle around to the back of the barn,” Jesse said. “If he’s in there, she’s told him we’re comin’ by now. He’ll be waitin’ for us to come chargin’ in the front door of the barn.”
“You’re right,” Booth declared, and pointed toward a stand of pines behind the corral. They angled off toward the trees at a fast trot, their eyes on the back door of the stable in case Hawk decided to make a run for it. Once they reached the pine trees, they stopped to make sure they hadn’t been seen. When there was no indication that they had been spotted, they moved through the trees to the corral behind the barn, then took cover at the back corner. Kneeling by the corner post, they watched the back door of the barn. There were more than a dozen horses in the corral, and as dark as it was, they provided a screen of sorts. Anyone looking out the rear barn door would not likely see the two men kneeling behind the back rails. After a few minutes with no sign of Hawk sneaking out the back way, their concern turned to wondering if he had gone out the front while they were sneaking around the back. “Maybe he’s gone, maybe he ain’t,” Booth speculated. “He might be hunkered down in there waitin’ for us to come bustin’ through the front door.”
“If we set here, we’re gonna come up empty, that’s for sure,” Jesse said. “Let’s go in there and get him.”
“Take it easy,” Booth told him. “Remember how he got Trip.”
“Yeah, but I ain’t talkin’ ’bout chargin’ in there, out in the open, yellin’ my head off, like that dumb son of a bitch did,” Jesse said. “I say we can use these horses for cover and work our way all the way through ’em till we get right to the barn door. As dark as it is, it’d be pretty damn hard for anybody to see us. Then we can slip inside one of the back stalls till we find out where he’s hidin’ in there. If he’s hidin’ in there,” he added. “The longer we set here, the more I’m thinkin’ he ain’t in there at all.”
“I don’t know, Jesse.” Booth hesitated, thinking that might be pushing their luck.
“I’m goin’,” Jesse insisted. “I’m tired of that bastard on our tail everywhere we go. If he’s in there, he’s gonna have to shoot it out with me. Can I count on you to back me up, in case I have to come back out that door?”
“You know you can,” Booth assured him, “like I always do.”
“All right, let’s get the bastard,” Jesse said, and crawled through the rails of the corral, then started working his way slowly through the horses.
Booth followed a few yards behind him, trying to calm the horses as he went, afraid their milling about would alert anyone inside the barn. His six-gun in hand, he took cover behind a big buckskin gelding to watch Jesse crawl between the rails and quickly press his body against the wall of the stable. He signaled for Booth to come ahead. Still reluctant, Booth left the cover behind the buckskin and made his way to the corral rails and crawled through. When he moved up behind his brother, Jesse pointed to the back stall, which he could just see in the darkness through the open doors. “I’m gonna make a run for that stall,” he said. “When I get in there and make sure everything’s all right, I’ll signal you. Then we’ll work up to the front of the stable, stall by stall.”
“Watch yourself,” Booth cautioned. “He’s a tricky bastard.” He was not sure this was a good idea, and gradually, that nagging feeling that he and his brother had crossed paths with an avenging disciple of the Quaker religion returned to trouble him. More likely he’s just another outlaw who wants that money for himself, he thought, just like we figured all along. “I’ll be right behind you,” he said to Jesse as his brother inched closer to the edge of the barn door.
“Wait for my signal,” Jesse whispered, then pushed away from the edge of the door and ran across the open doorway. He made it to the middle of the opening before the blast of a shotgun broke the silence and knocked him down. Frozen by the shock of seeing his brother flat on the ground, Booth was unable to move for a long few seconds, the explosion of the shotgun blast seeming to continue ringing in his ears. The Colt .44 he held in his hand felt heavy and cold, and he thought he heard Jesse calling his name. After another moment, he heard it again.
“Booth,” Jesse cried out in agony as he struggled to pull himself up on his hands and knees. “I’m hurt bad,” he wailed painfully, bleeding from his face and chest, as he tried to pull himself back out of the open doorway. “Help me, Booth.”
Booth had no intention of exposing himself to the same reception Jesse had run into. Undecided what to do, all thoughts turned to saving himself from the same fate. Still, he stood beside the back wall, frozen, while he heard Jesse’s pitiful pleas for help. Then there was another shotgun blast and Jesse’s cries were no more. Terrified at that point, he turned and ran as fast as he could, down the side of the corral, expecting a bullet to find him at any second. When he reached the pine trees, he remained in them, running until he thought he could safely leave them. Only then would he cut back to the alley that ran between the saloon and the barbershop, his fear driving him until he reached the horses tied at the rail. He untied the horses, climbed into the saddle, grabbed the reins of Jesse’s horse, and galloped off down the street toward the Capital City Saloon.
Back at the stables, Grover Bramble broke his double-barreled shotgun and reloaded with two new shells. He suffered no qualms for having taken the man’s life. He might have given any intruder a dose of buckshot if they came sneaking into the back of his stable under the cover of darkness. But this time, he had been warned by Bertie Brown about the two men who were hunting Hawk. And Hawk was a friend of his. “You can come out now,” he called back over his shoulder. “The other one ran off behind the corral. I reckon I’d best shut this door now, seein’ as how it’s attractin’ vermin when it’s open.”
Bertie came out of the tack room, where she had taken cover when Grover told her to hide. After Grover pulled the two doors together and dropped the bar to lock them, he took a lantern that was hanging on a post and lit it. She walked over beside him to look at the body. “That’s one of ’em, all right.” She felt a shiver over her whole body as she gazed down at the mutilated corpse. “That shotgun made a real mess out of him.”
“At that range, buckshot usually does,” Grover commented. “Wonder how they knew Hawk was stayin’ here with his horse.” He thought about it for a moment, then said, “You didn’t hear Dewey say anything about it when he was talkin’ to ’em, did you?”
“No,” she answered. “Dewey didn’t tell ’em anything. They musta followed me when I ran over to warn Hawk. Where is Hawk? I thought he was sleeping in the stall with his horse.”
“He is,” Grover said. “He was here a little while ago, but he said he needed to go talk to Porter about somethin’. I reckon I need to talk to Porter now.” The words had no sooner left his mouth when they heard Hawk calling his name from the front of the barn. “Speak of the devil,” Grover quipped, then yelled in answer, “Back here in the stables.”
In a few seconds, Hawk hurried into the stables with Porter Willis right behind him. “You all right, Grover?” Hawk asked. “Bertie?” he questioned, surprised to find her there. “We heard the two shots and came runnin’ to see if somebody shot Grover.” Then he saw the body lying just inside the back door and went at once to see who it was, even though he already had a good idea who it might be. “It’s one of the two I’ve been followin’,” he said. “I wonder how they knew I was here.”
“I reckon you can thank me for that,” Bertie volunteered. “I ran down here to warn you that him and the other one was in the Last Chance askin’ Dewey all kinda questions about you. They were tryin’ to find out where you were.” She looked at him with a sheepish expression on her face. “I reckon I oughta learn to mind my own business.”
“Who is this feller, Hawk?” Porter asked, still looking at the mess Grover’s shotgun had made of Jesse’s face. “And why was he after you?”
“I don’t know who he is, for a fact,” Hawk said. “I just know what he’s done, him and the four outlaws that rode with him. And I expect he came after me because him and this Booth fellow finally got tired of runnin’. He’s definitely one of the two I was tellin’ you about when we heard Grover’s shotgun. I ain’t got no idea what his name is.”
“Jesse,” Bertie volunteered. “That’s what the other one called him, and I heard him say this fellow was his brother.”
“That’s right,” Porter said, just recalling. “He did say he was his brother.”
This was Booth’s brother? Hawk’s mind was turning rapidly, thinking it critical that he get after Booth right away. According to what Grover just told them, Booth took off running, leaving his brother behind to die. “I need to saddle my horse,” he said. “If Booth is off and runnin’ again, I need to try to find him before he leaves town. He and his brother had to be stayin’ somewhere here in town.”
“The Capital City Saloon,” Porter said quietly. “That feller you just shot was Billy Crocker. He was Mutt Crocker’s son, fellow that owns the saloon.” When Hawk looked a little startled, Porter quickly claimed, “I was gonna tell you that when we were talkin’ in my office, but that’s when we heard the gunshots and came runnin’.”
“How long have you known that?” Hawk asked, more than a little irritated.
“Not long,” Porter said. “Jim McDonald just told me. Said he was in the barbershop the other day when Billy Crocker came in to get a shave and a haircut. He was braggin’ to Alan Greer, said he was the fastest gun in the territory. I knew that Mutt Crocker mighta been on the wrong side of the law, but I never had any trouble with him. There mighta been some shady-lookin’ drifters that did business with him. But I didn’t know he had a son, and I sure didn’t know he was in town till today.” Porter could see that Hawk was thinking hard and fast, so he asked, “What are you fixin’ to do?”
“I’m fixin’ to saddle my horse,” Hawk replied. “I hope to hell I can find him before he skips town.” Based on what Porter had just told him, he figured if he didn’t see that black Morgan gelding tied up anywhere on Main Street, it was a good bet Booth had been staying at the Capital City. Already a step ahead of him, Grover opened the back doors again and hurried to the corral to get Hawk’s horse. If it had not been for the visit from Jesse and Booth, Rascal would have already been inside his stall.
Porter walked beside Hawk when he went into the tack room to get his saddle. “Maybe I’d best come along with you,” he said, “since I’m the sheriff. And maybe we can make an official arrest. Avoid more killin’, you know. Whaddaya think?”
Hawk was short of patience at the moment. When he had gone to talk to Porter earlier, it was with the thought in mind that maybe he should ask for Porter’s help in apprehending the last two members of Booth’s gang. He was not at all comfortable as the self-designated assassin of Booth’s gang. He had been thinking that now that he might have the last two of them in a town with a sheriff, maybe it was time to bring an official lawman in and arrest them. And now, with Porter’s weak suggestion to do just that, he changed his mind. He was not confident in Porter’s ability and feared he might just be in the way.
“I think you’ve got the responsibility of protecting the town from any more harm from this one man, and you might be best utilized by keepin’ a sharp watch on the town. Why don’t you deputize me and I’ll do my best to arrest Booth.”
“Well, I hadn’t thought about that, but I reckon I could,” Porter said. “Like you said, it would be better if I keep my eye on the town. After all, that’s what I’m paid for. If I was to go with you, chasin’ after this fellow, somebody else might think they can get away with somethin’ ’cause I wasn’t here.” Feeling a great deal more comfortable now, he said, “I’ve got a deputy’s badge in my desk. We can make it official.”
“Never mind the badge,” Hawk said, and stepped up into the saddle. “I’ve already wasted too much time.” He rode Rascal out of the stable.
Porter called after him, “Don’t forget, arrest him if you can.”
“Right,” Hawk bellowed. “But it’ll be up to him.” I hope to hell he refuses to be arrested, he thought as he cut Rascal toward the back street and the Capital City Saloon. First, he reminded himself, he had to find Booth. It was nothing more than an assumption that Booth and his brother were staying at the Capital City. But it was a good bet since the saloon seemed to be the usual hangout for any outlaws passing through town. Had he known that when he first got to town, he would have checked that saloon first, instead of the two on Main Street.
As he rode up to the two-story frame building sitting back on the lower side of town, he held Rascal to a fast walk while he looked the saloon over. There was a barn and a small corral behind the saloon, but there were no horses at the hitching rail out front. Doesn’t look like he’s got much business, he thought, which was a good thing in his opinion. A crowded bar wouldn’t be a good place to do what he had to do. David Booth was not his only problem, however. There was the matter of facing a father whose son he had just killed. Maybe I shoulda brought Porter, he thought.