CHAPTER 20
Mutt Crocker heard Booth’s horse when he rode around the house to the corral. He went to the back door in time to meet Booth just as he was coming in. “Did you get him?” Mutt asked. “I heard a couple of shots. Sounded like a shotgun to me. Where’s Jesse?”
“He’s layin’ back there in the stables, dead,” Booth answered as he brushed on past Mutt, in a hurry to get upstairs to his room.
“Jesse, dead?” Mutt blurted. “What the hell happened?” He followed Booth up the steps, scarcely able to believe what he had just heard. In all his years riding with the Corbin brothers, it was always somebody else who got killed. “You takin’ off?” he asked then when Booth hurriedly started gathering up his belongings. “How’d he get Jesse?”
“It don’t matter,” Booth replied, still busy tying his extra shirt and socks up in his bedroll. “He got shot and he’s dead.”
“Two shots from a shotgun,” Mutt insisted. “That’s all I heard. Didn’t you get a shot at him, at all?” He was forming a picture of Booth that he didn’t like, and he suspected Booth should have told him what a wildcat this Hawk fellow was. He wouldn’t have sent Billy in there to call Hawk out. He could have told Billy to set up somewhere and dry-gulch Hawk. He still hadn’t accepted the story as told to him by Fred, who also got it secondhand. Hawk must have tricked Billy somehow, just so he wouldn’t have to square off against him man-to-man. Now it sounded like Jesse tried to stand up to Hawk and he ended up like the three members of Booth’s gang before him. “How come you didn’t stand up to Hawk after he shot Jesse? Sounds to me like you turned tail and ran and hung ol’ Jesse out to dry.”
That remark brought Booth’s head up abruptly. He dropped his bedroll on the bed and straightened up to his full height. “You’d best be careful, old man. You’re about to let your tongue get you in trouble. You weren’t there. You don’t know what happened. You’d do well to just leave it at that.”
Mutt wasn’t satisfied to leave it at that. His first thought had been that Booth had a yellow streak down his back. But on second thought, it occurred to him that Booth was now the sole possessor of whatever score the gang had made that put them on the run. It must have been enough money to cause this fellow, Hawk, to stick on his trail like stink on a sow. He recalled Booth’s remark that Hawk had Tater’s share and should have been satisfied with that. Mutt decided that he should be compensated for the loss of his son. “You fixin’ to leave?” Mutt asked again.
“I reckon I ain’t got much choice,” Booth said. “Hawk’s got too many friends in this town. Every place I go the people alibi for him, don’t nobody know a thing about him, so they say. It was just bad luck we picked a town to light in where he had so many friends.” He smiled smugly and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll pay you for what me and Jesse both owe you.”
“I’m figurin’ you owe me a helluva lot more’n that,” Mutt replied. “And I’m pretty sure you can afford it. You owe me a cut of that money you’re settin’ on, now that there ain’t nobody left to split it with.”
“What in the hell makes you think that?” Booth responded. “What money I’ve got is mine alone, same as it would be if I was the one got killed and Jesse ended up with the money. I don’t owe you squat. You’re lucky I’m willin’ to pay you for what we used in this rattrap you call a saloon.”
“You owe me for the life of my son,” Mutt insisted. “It was on account of you and Jesse wantin’ somebody to do your killin’ for you ’cause you were too yeller to do the job yourself. You coulda told me how dangerous that man is.” He paused and waited for Booth’s reply. When there was none other than the same contemptuous smile, he asked, “How much money did you boys take from that bank? It musta been a helluva lot.”
With a calm voice and a smile still on his face, Booth said, “It wasn’t a bank holdup. It was a mule train with a bunch of Bible-thumpin’ Quakers. They were carryin’ thirty-one thousand and three hundred dollars with ’em, to be exact, hopin’ to get to the promised land.”
“That was you,” Mutt exclaimed, “killed all them folks!”
“Every damn one of ’em,” Booth replied, arrogantly, “’cause there wasn’t any reason to let ’em live—same as you.” As he said it, he drew the .44 from his holster and aimed it at Mutt. “Say hello to Billy for me when you get to hell.” He pulled the trigger as Mutt tried to back out of the room.
Mutt stumbled out into the hall before doubling up and collapsing to lay helpless on the floor. Booth walked out in the hall and stood over him as he casually cocked his pistol again. “Me and Billy’ll be waitin’ for you, you son of a bitch,” Mutt gasped before the fatal shot to his forehead quieted him forever.
In a hurry to get out of the saloon now, what with the delay just caused by having to deal with Mutt, Booth picked up his few belongings and walked out the door. At the top of the stairs, he stopped when he saw Fred coming up, having heard the gunshots. Fred stopped at once, his head just about even with the second floor. He glanced at Mutt’s body lying on the hallway floor, then back at Booth gazing down at him, and backed slowly down the steps without saying a word. “Looks like you just inherited a saloon,” Booth sneered, and started down the steps. A frightened bystander, Loretta stood by the bar, her eyes wide with the sight of Booth, a mocking smile still firmly in place, as he came downstairs. She didn’t have to guess the explanation for the two shots just heard. Fred continued slowly backing away until he was stopped when he bumped into the end of the bar. The two of them stood frozen with fear as Booth casually came down and started toward the back door.
Relieved that Booth had no intentions of killing him and Loretta, Fred finally permitted his brain to free him up. Mutt had speculated more than once about the large amount of money he was sure Booth and Jesse had amassed. It occurred to him that the money was now walking out the door, with Booth’s back turned toward him. He had no need to think further. He spun around the end of the bar and grabbed the shotgun propped there. Before he got the butt of it up to his shoulder, Booth turned and fired. For one instant, Fred looked down in disbelief at the hole in his shirt before he crumpled to the floor. Anticipating just such a move, Booth had pulled the extra six-gun from his belt before he reached the back door. Looking now at Fred to make sure he was no longer a problem, he then glanced at Loretta. “How ’bout you?” he asked. “You got any ideas?”
Loretta immediately threw her hands up. “No, sir!” She exclaimed, “I’ve got no part in this.” He stuck the pistol back under his belt and went out the door.
* * *
Making his way cautiously up to the front corner of the corral, Hawk stopped when he heard gunshots from inside the saloon. While he paused to wonder what they might mean, he glanced at the black Morgan tied there. He’s planning to leave, he thought, since the horse was still wearing the saddle with the fancy etched designs on the skirts. While he thought to decide how best to approach his target, he then heard a third shot, this one from a different part of the saloon. He took another second to ponder what that might imply. It was still in his mind that he would have to deal with Mutt Crocker as well as possibly the bartender and anyone else who worked for Crocker. He decided his odds were better if he waited to ambush Booth when he came for his horse, instead of going into the saloon after him.
There were other thoughts that interfered with his mission to put a permanent stop to the cruel life of David Booth. He had given Porter Willis half a promise to capture Booth if at all possible, with all intent that it would not be possible. Porter was no doubt thinking of the prestige he might gain in his town by the arrest of the boss of the gang that massacred the Quakers. Aside from that, Hawk now had thoughts that it might be a better lesson for other outlaws of Booth’s nature to see him tried and hanged. I’ll give him a chance, but if he doesn’t surrender right away, he’s dead. With that decided, he waited.
The wait was not for long. In a few minutes, the back door from the kitchen opened and Booth stepped out on the low porch. About to step down he was stopped when he heard Hawk’s warning. “You can hold it right there.” Gripped by the fear that had caused him to run, even as his brother was calling for his help, Booth was unable to move. Even more frightening was the fact that, due to the darkness behind the building, he could not see the man who haunted him. Then the voice came again from the dark. “I’m gonna give you a chance to surrender, so decide now. If you don’t surrender, you’re a dead man. So, what’s it gonna be?”
Facing sudden death only a moment before, Booth realized that Hawk’s intention was not to shoot him down as he expected. Hawk wanted to arrest him. Although Booth’s situation was still desperate, he figured the odds were now in his favor. “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot! I’ll give up!” he blurted, dropped the belongings he was holding, and raised his hands.
Hawk walked out of the shadows and ordered, “Turn around.” When Booth turned around, with his back to him, Hawk stepped up and removed the. 44 from his holster. Then he stepped back again and ordered, “All right, unbuckle that gun belt and let it drop.” While Booth’s back was still turned toward him, Hawk took a few steps to his right. Even though it was dark, he had seen the extra handgun Booth had stuffed under his belt. Expecting a desperate move on Booth’s part when he told him to turn back to face him, Hawk moved to make Booth’s attempted shot more difficult. He stood ready to execute the heartless killer when he made his move. Booth dropped his hands and unbuckled his gun belt and let it drop. Then his hand dropped to the extra gun and pulled it out of his belt. Behind him, Hawk leveled his rifle at him, ready to cut him down. He never got the chance. In the next instant, the blast from both barrels of Fred’s shotgun, through the open kitchen door, knocked Booth off the porch and dumped Loretta on her backside on the kitchen floor.
Startled, Hawk took a quick look at Booth to determine he was dead. Then he moved quickly up the steps and through the kitchen door, in an effort to get there before there was time to reload the shotgun. His haste was unnecessary, however, for he was met with a now-frightened Loretta, still seated on the floor, the shotgun lying several feet away. She started explaining before he said a word. “I killed that son of a bitch before he could shoot anybody else,” she uttered excitedly. “I saw him pull that gun he had stuck in his pants, the same way he killed Fred. He shot Mutt, and Mutt and Fred were the only men who ever gave a damn about me. And that son of a bitch killed everybody who took care of me. Now what am I gonna do?”
“What are we both gonna do?” The voice came from the pantry door, which had been firmly closed until that moment. Cora walked out of the hiding place she had chosen when the shooting started and walked over to comfort Loretta.
At a loss for something to tell them, Hawk came out with the first thing he could think of. “I reckon the two of you are partners in this saloon now.”
His suggestion struck a chord in Cora’s brain. “Hell, why not?” She helped Loretta to her feet. “Anybody can run a business better’n Mutt Crocker.” The idea was already taking wings in her mind. “Hell, Loretta, Billy was Mutt’s only heir, so that means he’s left the saloon to me and you. Too bad about poor Fred, though, we coulda used his help. Whaddaya say we give it a try?”
“I don’t know,” Loretta answered. Nothing could be farther from her mind. She looked at Hawk. “I reckon it has to do with what he has to say about it.”
“Ain’t none of my business what you ladies do with this place,” Hawk said. “My business is with Booth, and it looks like that’s been pretty much taken care of. I will take charge of his possessions, because he’s got some money that belongs to a church group up at Fort Benton. That’s the only interest I have here. I wish you luck in your new business.”
While the women were talking seriously about the possibility of the two of them operating a saloon, Hawk went back to the porch to pick up Booth’s belongings, dropped there. With no interest in anything but the saddlebags and a canvas bag, he left the personal items for the women to deal with. He was relieved to find the saddlebags filled with money and the canvas bag carrying what cash couldn’t be stuffed in the saddlebags. He didn’t take the time to count it but took it to the corner of the corral and tied it on his horse. He admitted to feeling a small sense of fulfillment of a promise he made to himself. But he knew his mission was not complete until he returned the money to Donald Lewis and his church.
Ready to depart, he went back inside the kitchen. “You said Mutt Crocker was killed, too. Where is his body?” Loretta said it was upstairs, so he went upstairs to find it sprawled on the floor in the hall. Lucky, he thought, he ain’t a big man. He managed to stand the body up long enough to let it fall across his shoulder. Then he carried it downstairs and out the back door and continued on to drop it by the stable door. He made a second trip with Fred’s body. As he walked back to the porch to get Booth’s body, he thought about the two women already planning for their business. Ain’t much chance, he thought, but miracles happen. It was difficult not to think about the large sum of money he had just recovered and how much the two of them needed money. He couldn’t in good conscience donate any of that church money to help them get a saloon started. In the first place, it was for a saloon, and in the second place, it wasn’t his to give. When he got to the porch, he stopped and looked at the body of the man he had come so far to kill. It gave him an idea. On your way to hell, I hope you can help out a couple of desperate women.
He looked inside the kitchen door and called out, “You ladies wanna come on out here for a minute?” They promptly came out the kitchen door, both looking somewhat concerned. “I’m fixin’ to drag his body over by the stable with the other two. It’s kinda late now, so I expect I’ll have to see Fred Carver in the mornin’ to have him pick ’em up. I’ll pay him for it, so don’t you worry about payin’. Before I drag this one away, you might wanna go through his pockets to see if he’s carryin’ anything valuable. I expect you’re gonna need some cash if you’re really gonna run this saloon.” They eagerly jumped to the opportunity. As Hawk expected, Booth was carrying several hundred dollars. He figured the Quakers could spare that contribution. As the women were gleefully counting the money, Hawk said, “I think he’s got a pocket watch. That’ll be worth something. I’m gonna take one of those horses in the corral for a packhorse, but I’m leavin’ the rest of ’em with you. They oughta be worth a little money, especially that big black one he rode. The saddle oughta bring a good price, too.”
* * *
He walked in the dining room soon after it opened in the morning. “Good morning, John Hawk,” Martha greeted him. “Looks like you’re getting an early start.” She had glanced out the window when he rode up and noticed the packhorse. “You leaving town again?”
“I expect so,” Hawk replied, “after I make a few stops here this mornin’.” He gave her a smile and added, “The first one, and most important, was to stop here for some coffee and the best breakfast in the territory.”
She left to fetch his coffee, passing Sophie on her way out of the kitchen with a stack of plates. “Well, good morning,” Sophie sang out. “I wondered who Martha was talking to.” She placed the plates on the long table in the center of the room, then came back to visit with him. “Whatcha got good to say for yourself?” she asked playfully.
“Nothin’ much,” he answered, “except I’ll be leavin’ town after I make a few stops after breakfast.”
The smile on her face seemed to freeze in place and she shook her head as if perplexed. “Gone again, skip to my Lou,” she slowly recited the words to a popular children’s song. “You think you’ll be back this way anytime soon?” This time her tone was serious. At least, it seemed so to him, but he wasn’t sure. He never was about her.
“To be honest, I don’t know for sure. I get up this way every chance I get. I just don’t get as many chances as I want.”
The smile returned to her face and she said, “John Hawk, I don’t reckon you’ll ever land in one spot and stay there, will you?”
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “It doesn’t look like it, does it?” He would like to have told her that he was quitting the army and settling down, but he didn’t know what he could do to support a family.
“No, I guess not,” she answered his question. “Well,” she sighed, “I’d best see if Martha has your breakfast ready.” With that she turned and went to the kitchen.
Martha read her face when she took Hawk’s plate from her. “You don’t look too happy to see him,” she couldn’t help commenting.
“He’s not ever gonna settle down in one spot,” Sophie said. “No use wasting time thinking he will.”
“A man like that might be a lot better than one that’s hanging around under your feet all day. If you’re giving up on him,” Martha joked, “can I have him?”
Sophie shook her head. “Not quite yet.”
* * *
After a quiet breakfast, Hawk reported to Porter Willis at the sheriff’s office and told him the whole story about the happenings of the prior night. After that, he went to the undertaker and paid him to pick up the three bodies behind the Capital City Saloon. It was well after noon when he bought the supplies he needed and settled up with Grover Bramble at the stable. But he started back up the Mullan Road to Fort Benton, anyway, anxious to make this final journey to finish this quest. A journey of over one hundred miles, he planned to make it in two and a half days, barring any trouble along the way. There was none, and he made his camp on the Missouri River just twenty miles short of Fort Benton at the end of the second day of travel. He rode into the town of Fort Benton shortly before noon and went directly to the First Baptist Church. At first, he started to pull up in front of the church, but upon noticing a small collection of army tents behind the church, he rode around behind it. As he had thought, it was a temporary camp of the survivors. One of the men recognized him and ran to fetch Donald Lewis.
“John Hawk, right?” Lewis asked as he walked to meet him. “I didn’t expect to see you again. Lieutenant Sessions told us the Fort Ellis patrol had returned to base without finding the outlaws. What brings you up this way again?”
“I just wanted to drop off a little something you and your folks lost,” Hawk replied. He went to his packhorse and untied the extra saddlebags and the canvas bag. “I know this ain’t all of what you lost, but I think it’s most of it.”
Not certain what Hawk was talking about, Lewis untied the laces holding the canvas bag closed and peered inside. His knees almost buckled when he saw what the bag held. “My Lord, My Lord,” he uttered, thinking it couldn’t be true. Hawk opened one side of the saddlebag, so Lewis could see that, too. It was almost too much for him.
“Brother Lewis!” the man who had first greeted Hawk, cried out. “What is it?” Seeing Donald in distress, or so he thought, he ran to help him.”
Lewis waved him off. “It’s a miracle,” he said, then shouted it out for all the tent camp to hear. “It’s a miracle!” Soon the little group of survivors of the massacre were gathered around them. Lewis held the sacks up for them to see. Remembering Hawk standing watching the celebration then, he said, “You must have caught the men who did this. I hope they did not have to be killed.” When Hawk made no comment, Lewis asked a direct question. “Did you kill David?”
Knowing the Friends’ position on the taking of another man’s life, Hawk answered truthfully, “No, I didn’t, but him and the rest of his gang have all gone where they won’t bother anybody no more.” That seemed to satisfy Donald’s conscience.
Although eager to start back to Fort Ellis, Hawk agreed to stay and share a meal with the overjoyed Friends. He figured they might be hard up for food, but Donald told him the people of Fort Benton had been more than generous in supplying them. During the dinner, plain but filling, there was much talk about going on with their original plan to journey to Helena to find the land to start their own congregation of Friends. At one point, Donald asked Hawk if he would be available to lead them there. “Ah, I don’t reckon so,” he started. “I’ve gotta get on back to Bozeman and Fort Ellis to see if I’ve still got a job. You shouldn’t have much trouble gettin’ there without a guide, just follow the Mullan Road. But thanks just the same.”
“Well, it’s gonna take us a while yet to get organized again,” Lewis said. “This time, I expect we’ll go in wagons, instead of a mule train. Is there some way I can get in touch with you when we’re ready—just in case you change your mind?”
Hawk shrugged, not wishing to be rude. “I reckon you could wire a message to me at Fort Ellis. I expect I’ll be there.” If Lieutenant Meade hasn’t got me fired again, he thought.
“Good.” Donald beamed. “The Lord has been most gracious to us when he sent you to cross our path. Who knows? He might have one more miracle in store for us.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Hawk stammered, “but I wish you folks all the luck in the world. Thank you for the dinner, but I best be on my way.” He nodded good-bye to them all as they followed him out to his horses. Aboard Rascal, he wheeled the big buckskin away from the hitching rail and headed for Fort Ellis. He had to pick up his pay for the patrol just finished and he had work to do on his cabin. He didn’t get a chance to plug that hole near the back door and the last time he was away for a while he found a raccoon in the cabin. If the critters kept working at that hole, he might find a bear in the cabin one day. After he crossed the river and pointed Rascal toward the Big Belt Mountains, he caught sight of a hawk as it flew across his path and lit on the limb of a tall pine. The sight brought a smile to his face and he thought about Donald Lewis’s interest in having him lead the Quaker survivors to Helena. You ain’t trying to tell me something, are you? He reached up and touched the feather Winter Flower had exchanged with him. Trying to be sensible about the possibility of accepting Lewis’s offer, he thought, I’ve got a lot of friends in Helena. But when he concentrated on it, all his mind could conjure was the image of Sophie Hicks, and that brought another smile to his face.