CHAPTER 10
Not sure if his hunch was right or not, Cole pointed the big bay toward the stable at the edge of town. He figured that to be the best place to find out if Troy Womack and the men he had met at the cabin by the river had actually returned to Cheyenne. He was still berating himself for having gone on a wild-goose chase to Iron Mountain when he should have been more concerned about staying close to Mary Lou and the other folks in Cheyenne.
Those were the thoughts that troubled him as he pulled up to the corral beside the stable.
“Cole . . . Damn . . .” Leon started as he strode hurriedly from the stable to meet him. He looked back over his shoulder toward town as if afraid someone might have seen Cole ride in. “I’m damn glad to see you, but I ain’t sure you’ll be glad you came back when you find out what’s happenin’ here.” Before Cole could respond, Leon went on, spewing words in panic. “We thought you mighta been dead. That Womack feller is back in town and he’s brung three gunmen with him. He’s took over as sheriff, at least some feller with him has—”
“Whoa,” Cole interrupted him. “Slow down. Who took over as sheriff? What about John Henry Black?”
“They killed John Henry—said he died on his own—but everybody knows they murdered him. Mary Lou said he was gettin’ better every day till her and Arthur Campbell found him dead with them four gunmen standin’ around his bed.”
“Is she all right?” Cole asked, and when Leon said she was, he asked, “Is Harley still here?”
“No,” Leon answered. “Him and Carrie left here, headin’ for Gordon Luck’s place. I don’t know if they stayed there or not.”
“Him and Carrie?” Cole responded, confused. “Go back and tell me exactly what’s happened.
Leon went back to the beginning when Douglas and Martha Green found out about Carrie’s life before she’d married their son. Like most everyone else, Cole was amazed to learn of Carrie’s past life and was genuinely sorry to hear of the Greens’ reaction toward her. Leon told Cole the circumstances that enabled Yarborough and his men to take over the town and the dire straits the townspeople found themselves in.
“What about the vigilance committee?” Cole asked. “The last time this happened, you folks got together and rid the town of that wild bunch.”
“I don’t know, Cole,” Leon replied. “This time it’s different, I reckon. There’s four of ’em, and they all look like they’d just as soon cut your liver out as say ‘howdy-do.’ Nobody I’ve talked to wants to go up against ’em—and I reckon that includes me.”
“Nobody?” Cole asked. “Beecher, Low, Campbell, Green—they’ve all got families and businesses to protect. What about Gordon Luck? He led the vigilantes before.”
“I ain’t heard nothin’ from Gordon,” Leon said. “When Harley rode out with Carrie Green, he said he was gonna tell Gordon what was goin’ on here in town, but I ain’t seen him. Harley had to get outta town ’cause them four killers were lookin’ for him ’cause they saw that fancy saddle he had on his horse, remember? They think he’s the one who shot Womack’s two brothers.”
Cole paused to consider the situation. It was difficult to imagine that the town was in serious danger of being destroyed by a ruthless gang of outlaws. And he found it hard to believe the men of the town were not going to rise up to drive the unwelcome visitors out. He could understand the reluctance of an individual to stand up to four hardened gunmen alone. He didn’t care for those odds, himself. With safety in numbers, there should be a dozen men who could take up their weapons and overpower the four. Maybe they just needed a leader.
He decided to go talk to Gordon Luck. Gordon had led the citizens before. Maybe he would lead them again. And if he would, Cole would be the first volunteer to go with him. He wasn’t a resident of the town, but there was someone he was concerned for. “You say these four men are stayin’ at the hotel?”
“That’s right,” Leon answered. “They took a couple of rooms there.”
“What about the hotel dinin’ room?” Cole asked. When Leon looked puzzled, Cole asked, “The women who work there, are they all right?” He was reluctant to let on that he was especially concerned for Mary Lou Cagle.
“As far as I know,” Leon said. “Maggie shut it down, since there ain’t nobody in the hotel but them four outlaws, and they eat at the saloon. Leastways, that’s what she told Arthur Campbell, but the truth of the matter is she ain’t fixin’ no food for the likes of them four. Most of Maggie’s business comes from folks here in town, not just the hotel, so there’s more’n a few folks wishin’ she hadn’t closed up.” Leon shook his head when he thought about it. “I know I wish she hadn’t shut it down. It’s gonna make it hard on me. I never did care much for my own cookin’.”
“They ain’t even cookin’ for themselves?” Cole asked, still trying to gain information about Mary Lou.
“They ain’t even there,” Leon replied. “They decided it wasn’t safe for three women to stay there as long as Womack and his gang were upstairs over ’em. Maggie and Mary Lou went to stay with Beulah in that little shack she and her husband built up on Crow Creek.”
“Good,” Cole replied at once, a great burden having been lifted from his mind. He had been reluctant to ride out to Gordon Luck’s sawmill and leave the women unprotected in town. That problem solved, he could ride out to talk to Gordon about organizing a lynching party for Troy Womack and his three friends. “I’ll get goin’. Maybe Gordon and I can get this thing started and clean your new guests outta here.”
“Watch yourself, Cole,” Leon warned. “You’d best ride out the back. That one called Yarborough has set himself up in the sheriff’s office, and he might see you if you go out the way you came in.”
* * *
“Rider comin’!” Sammy Hill sang out. He dropped the drawknife he had been working with and picked up his rifle. Cooter, his younger brother, ran to the back of the shed to fetch his twenty-gauge shotgun. With all the trouble in town, Gordon Luck had cautioned his two young employees to keep an eye out for strangers. The boys were joined a second later by Harley Branch.
“Where?” Harley asked, having not sighted the rider yet.
“Yonder,” Sammy said and pointed to the willows down by the creek.
Harley squinted, silently cursing his failing eyesight until spotting the lone rider coming up from the creek. A grin spread slowly across his face as he recognized the familiar figure riding in easy rhythm with the bay horse’s gait. He walked out of the shed and stood waiting by a stack of lumber, the grin still in place. “Well, I declare, if you ain’t a sight for sore eyes,” he said as Cole rode up. “How come you’re on that bay? Where’s Joe?”
Cole greeted his friend, then told him about the ambush that took Joe’s life. “I wasn’t sure I’d see you here. Thought you mighta gone back to Medicine Bear’s camp.”
“I was thinkin’ about it,” Harley said, “but I had to change my plans.”
“Carrie?”
“Yeah. You heard?”
“Yeah, Leon Bloodworth told me about it.”
“I decided to stay on here a little while, just in case you showed up,” Harley said. “Tell you the truth, I wasn’t sure you weren’t dead when that other Womack feller rode back in town like he didn’t have nothin’ to worry about.”
“I lost his trail after a little snow covered up his tracks,” Cole said. “Then I made the wrong guess and wound up sayin’ howdy to Raymond Potter up at Iron Mountain while Womack and his friends were headin’ here to Cheyenne.” He went on to tell Harley that he had ridden out there to see if Gordon Luck was ready to get his vigilantes together again and take back their town. “Where is Gordon?” He looked behind Harley to see the two young Hill brothers coming out of the shed to join them, but he didn’t see Gordon.
“Say howdy to Sammy and Cooter,” Harley said and waited until Cole exchanged greetings with the boys before answering his question. “Gordon’s up at the church rebuilding all his pews. I reckon he’s plannin’ on doin’ some high-powered preachin’. Carrie’s helpin’ him with some curtains and stuff.” The grin returned and he winked at Cole. “Looks to me like they’re gettin’ along pretty good.”
Cole nodded, aware of the implication.
Harley’s face turned serious then. “Gordon ain’t plannin’ on ridin’ with the vigilantes again. He said the merchants have to learn to take care of their own business and not count on him to come save ’em every time a drifter shoots somebody.”
“Seems to me this is a little bigger than a drifter shootin’ another drifter in a saloon fight,” Cole said. “I never figured Gordon would try to stay outta the trouble. His business depends on more folks comin’ in to build businesses—just like the stores and the saloons and everybody else.”
“He’s up at the church,” Harley said. “Looks to me like he’s thinkin’ more like a preacher now than he did before. Thinkin’ he’s against hangin’s and such. Too much religion will do that to a feller. Go up and talk to him ’cause you’ll need all the men you can get to go up against that gang of killers.” He shrugged and added, “’Course you know you can count on me.”
* * *
Carrie held up a curtain for Gordon to see and give his approval. “I can make no claim to be a seamstress, but I think they’ll do the job.”
“They’ll do just fine,” a beaming Gordon Luck responded. “That was what was missing—a woman’s touch. Fixin’ up the benches helps, but I never thought about hangin’ curtains on the windows.”
Her smile told him that she was pleased by his approval.
He paused to watch her as she walked back to the room behind the rough pulpit to prepare the other curtains. In the short time Carrie had been there, the two of them had become very comfortable together. He couldn’t deny having had concerns about her past, which she openly confessed to. He had prayed on the subject last night, and he decided his God would have already forgiven her for her sins, so how could he not do the same? She had expressed an interest in being baptized to wash away her sordid past so it would be as if she was all new again. He had been hit hard after Mary Lou Cagle first accepted his proposal of marriage, then changed her mind.
For a while, he’d thought he would never consider marriage again, preferring to live without a woman. But the last couple of days had prompted him to think anew about someone to share his life with. Besides, Carrie was younger than Mary Lou. Further daydreaming was interrupted when he glanced toward the open door and saw Cole and Harley approaching the church. He didn’t have to guess the reason for the visit.
“Howdy, Cole,” Gordon called from the doorway. “I’m glad to see you’re alive. Harley, there, was afraid harm had come to you.”
“Gordon,” Cole returned. “Looks like you’ve been workin’ pretty hard on the church buildin’.” He noticed Carrie then, at Gordon’s elbow, having heard his greeting from the back of the church. “Carrie. Glad to see you.”
Feeling that she owed him an explanation, since he had saved her from the fate Malcolm and Travis Womack had planned for her, she immediately came out with it. “I guess you know by now that I wasn’t completely honest about who I was, and I owe you an explanation.”
“I don’t see how you owe me anything,” Cole said. “I’m just glad to see that you’re all right.” He nodded toward Gordon. “Looks to me like you found a good place to light.”
Gordon nodded in return. “That’s what I’ve been tellin’ her.” He was relieved to see there was evidently nothing between Carrie and Cole beyond a casual friendship. He had harbored some concern about the possibility, especially since Cole had rescued her from the men who had killed her husband. He would not have given it any thought had he known what everyone close to Cole and Mary Lou Cagle had figured out long ago—that those two were somehow fated to end up together.
Getting to the purpose of the visit by Cole, Gordon asked, “Are things any better in town? I reckon that’s the reason you rode out here to see me.”
“I reckon,” Cole replied. “To answer your question, no, things ain’t any better in town. Matter of fact, they’re worse to hear Leon Bloodworth tell it. I ain’t talked to anybody else ’cause I’m not ready to let Womack and his friends know I’m back. I figured we’d need to get up a sizable posse, so the odds would be too much for those four to put up a fight. What do you think?”
“I think you’re right,” Gordon said. “You’re gonna need a right sizable posse. Trouble is, where you gonna get it? Jim Low came out to talk to me about the same thing, wantin’ to know if I would lead them. I asked him, lead who? And he said that so far he could count on John Beecher and maybe Leon, and himself. Arthur Campbell and Douglas Green are the main two that want those outlaws run outta town, and neither one is willin’ to put on a gun to help do it. The few folks that attend my church every Sunday don’t have a lot to do with Cheyenne. They’re farmers and ranchers, and they ain’t interested in risking their lives to save that sinful town. So I reckon I ain’t, either. I think the town folk are just gonna have to ride it out and before long those four gunmen will decide to move on before the army or the U.S. marshals come after ’em.”
Cole was disappointed to hear Gordon’s position on an attempt to retake the town from the criminal element that had moved in. And he could see that talk about the murder of John Henry Black would not be enough to change his mind. “Sounds to me like you’ve pretty much made up your mind on the matter.”
“Pretty much,” Gordon said. He hesitated a moment, but decided to offer his advice. “I know the town’s in a bad fix right now, but it looks to me like you and Harley decided to cast your lot with the Crow Indians, anyway,” It was an obvious reference to Cole’s long braids and his buckskins. “You’ve answered the call to help the town folk before and still the town’s in trouble. It ain’t really fair to ask you to fight their fight for them again, and if I was you, I wouldn’t stick my neck out this time.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Cole said. “I’ll think about it.” He understood Gordon’s attitude, but he could not in good conscience abandon the people of Cheyenne to the evil whims of four lawless predators. There were good people in Cheyenne, set on building a respectable town, and some of them were bound to become victims of the vicious killers. “Well,” he said in parting, “I just wanted to see where you stood on the matter. I guess I’ll be gettin’ along now.”
“The least I can do is offer you some food. Or coffee at least,” Gordon said.
“Yes,” Carrie spoke up. “Let me fix you some coffee. If you’re hungry, there’s a couple of biscuits left from breakfast.”
“Thanks just the same,” Cole replied, “but I’ve got some things to do before dark. So I’d best be on my way.” He nodded good-bye to Carrie and turned to leave. He had maintained a feeling of responsibility for Carrie even after Douglas and Martha Green had graciously welcomed her into their home. He now felt that he could willingly pass that responsibility to someone else. And Gordon Luck seemed to be eagerly stepping up to accept it. It was a good fit for both of them.
With Carrie finally off his conscience, Cole’s thoughts automatically shifted to Harley. His little elf-like friend was wearing a target on his back because of his fancy for Travis Womack’s Mexican saddle. And to make matters more dangerous, Troy Womack thought Harley was the one who killed both of his brothers. It was important to keep Harley out of range of any shooting wars in town. In spite of his bluster, Harley was getting old, and as a consequence, his eyesight was fading and his reactions were slowing down.
As Cole walked back to his horse, Harley fell in beside him. “Whatcha gonna do, partner?” he pressed. “You ain’t still thinkin’ ’bout roundin’ up a posse, are you? ’Cause if you are, I’m afraid you’re gonna find out that Gordon’s right about that. There ain’t but a couple of men that’ll volunteer, and they’ll most likely back out when they find out nobody else is gonna join the party.”
There was no response from Cole. He just continued walking toward his horse.
“Whaddaya think about what Gordon said?” Harley asked. “You think we might as well go on back to Medicine Bear’s village and to hell with Cheyenne?” When there was still no answer from his silent friend, he asked, “You’re goin’ after them four fellers, ain’tcha?”
“I reckon,” Cole finally spoke. “If somebody doesn’t, Cheyenne’s gonna be like Laramie with an outlaw for a sheriff and his gang of killers to back him up.”
“Well, dad-blast-it, I reckon it’ll just be the two of us, ’cause if Gordon Luck ain’t willin’ to lead a posse, ain’t none of them town folk gonna step up.”
“Reckon not, Harley. I’ve got another job for you. It’s important and I need someone I can depend on.” It had come to him that he could kill two birds with one stone. He could keep Harley away from potential gunplay while having someone watch over Mary Lou at the same time.
“You can depend on me,” Harley said. “What is it you want me to do?”
“Leon said that Maggie and Mary Lou rode out to Beulah’s house to stay till things quiet down in town. I don’t know much about Beulah’s husband, but from what little bit I do know, seems to me he’s a little long in the tooth to protect three women. I need to know those women are gonna be safe, no matter what goes on in town. And if you’re watchin’ over ’em, I won’t worry about ’em.” He looked Harley in the eye. “What about it? Can I count on you to take care of ’em?”
Harley wasn’t fooled. He knew the real reason Cole wanted him up on Crow Creek was to keep him out of harm’s way. He also knew that he was getting too old to be going into a situation like the one in town, and might end up costing Cole if his young partner had to worry about him. He could also appreciate the way Cole had said it, in an effort not to hurt his sense of pride, so he responded enthusiastically. “You can depend on me. I’ll make sure them ladies are safe.”
“I knew I could,” Cole replied. “I ’preciate it, Harley.”
They walked to the barn. When he had fled with Carrie, Harley had brought with him Cole’s packhorse and all Cole’s possibles that he had left in town. In addition to his cooking utensils, there were the various weapons Cole had acquired while disposing of Malcolm and Travis Womack, including his bow. Yellow Calf had helped him fashion the bow, and with the task ahead of him, he had a feeling it might come in handy.
When they returned to the front of the church where Cole had left his horse, he asked, “Do you know where Beulah’s cabin is?”
“Not right off,” Harley said. “I mean, I ain’t ever been there, but I expect I’ll find it easy enough if it’s on Crow Creek like Leon said it was.” He scratched his head while he tried to recall if he had ever been far beyond Gordon’s sawmill. “Gordon most likely knows where it is. I’ll ask him.” He took a step back to give the big bay room to turn away from the rail. “Just what are you fixin’ to do?”
“I don’t know yet,” Cole answered. “I’m gonna think about it.” He nudged the bay with his heels and left Harley to stare after him until he disappeared among the willows on the creek bank.
“Lord, partner, I hope to hell you know what you’re doin’,” Harley muttered to himself.
* * *
He had not been lying when he told Harley he didn’t know what he was going to do. He knew, however, that he had little chance of getting all four outlaws if he chose to seek them out in a saloon or hotel when they were all in one spot. In an out-and-out shoot-out, he might get two of them, and that was if he was lucky. He was going to have to take them on one by one and the first thing he needed to know was which saloon was their favorite. He needed to talk to Leon Bloodworth again. Leon seemed to have an eye on most of the activity going on in town.
It was past sundown when Cole got back to town. He thought it wise to come in behind the stable and enter through the back door, anyway. The odor of burned bacon told him that Leon was cooking his supper on the little stove behind the tack room. After dropping the bay’s reins to the ground outside the door, he walked into the darkened stable to find Leon hovering over a small frying pan, tending his bacon. “Smells like you burnt it a little,” Cole said as he approached.
“Whoa!” Leon exclaimed, startled. With the frying pan still in his hand, he almost knocked his coffeepot off the flat surface of the stove. He looked around, spotting Cole then. “Cole!” he blurted, relieved when he saw who it was. “Damn, you scared the shit outta me! You’ve been livin’ with those Injuns too long. Didn’t nobody see you come in, did they? That bunch’ll be down here in a minute if they did.”
“Nobody saw me,” Cole assured him. Then he couldn’t help remarking, “I figured I oughta come by to help you cook some bacon that’s fit to eat.”
“I like it a little crisp,” Leon claimed. “I wish to hell Maggie hadda kept the dinin’ room open. I’m always cookin’ everything too done or downright raw. You want some of this bacon?”
“No thanks. I’d enjoy a cup of coffee, though. You any better at makin’ coffee than you are fryin’ meat?”
“Well, it ain’t hurt me none so far, so I reckon it won’t kill you.”
It just occurred to Cole that he had eaten nothing since breakfast that morning. He often forgot to eat when he had his mind on something important. Now that it was brought to mind, he decided that he was hungry. “I’ve got some dried deer meat in my packs. If I can borrow that fryin’ pan, I’ll cook some of it—enough for you if you want some.”
Done with the small talk, Leon cut straight to the topic that mattered most to everyone in town. “Whaddaya gonna do, Cole? Is Gordon gonna round up a posse?”
“Reckon not,” Cole replied between sips of hot coffee. “He doesn’t see that it’s his problem. What about here in town? Is anybody willin’ to fight yet?”
Leon shook his head. “I don’t know. Right now everybody’s kinda keepin’ their head down.” He stroked his beard thoughtfully, then commented. “I figured Gordon would be one of the first to help out. Hell, he was the main one when we had that deal with Slade Corbett.”
“Well,” Cole continued, “I really can’t say as I blame him. From what you’ve told me, that’s a pretty rough bunch to tangle with. Besides, I think he’s got other things on his mind.” He paused to turn the meat in the pan. “I need you to tell me where the four outlaws usually hang out.”
“That’s easy enough,” Leon said. “This time of night they’ll be at the Cowboy’s Rest, eatin’ and drinkin’ and raisin’ hell.”
“All four of ’em?”
“Usually,” Leon answered. “That big ’un, the one they call Tiny, will be upstairs with one of the women most of the time. Louella’s the one he likes best. She said it was like ’rasslin’ with a horse, said he ain’t got a brain in his head. He claimed he was the one who killed John Henry, laughin’ about how John Henry tried to fight, but he grabbed hold of his neck and wrung it like a chicken. Got big hands, Louella said. Said she could set her whole fanny in one of his hands.” He shook his head when he recalled the conversation. “Louella told him to call on one of the other girls, ’cause she didn’t like the way he was gettin’ rough with her. She said he warn’t too happy about that and left a good-sized lump on the side of her face.”
“What about the Womack fellow?” Cole was especially interested in him for a couple of reasons. He was the one who put the two bullets into John Henry Black’s chest and laid him up helpless in his room. And he was out to kill Harley, blaming him for the shootings that Cole had done. Losing Womack’s trail had also caused him to ride a hell of a long way to a dead end at Iron Mountain. That hadn’t set too well with Cole, either. Womack alone had been the only one Cole had a score to settle with. He knew nothing about the three Womack had hooked up with, other than what he had learned about them since they rode into Cheyenne.
“Womack’s as bad as the other three rattlesnakes,” Leon said. “But the king snake is the one they call Yarborough.”
“Yarborough?” Cole reacted at once. “Did you say Yarborough?”
“Yeah, that’s what they called him. He’s the one callin’ the shots. You can tell the others jump when he opens his mouth. And he’s the one doin’ all the talkin’ about takin’ the sheriff’s job and protectin’ the town.
It struck Cole then that Leon had mentioned one of the outlaws called Tiny. And he didn’t even take notice. “What about the other one? Is his name Red?”
“Yeah,” Leon replied, surprised. “How’d you know that?”
“I’ve had the pleasure of meetin’ those three before,” Cole said, not surprised that Yarborough would try to take over a whole town.
“That Yarborough feller’s got a crazy streak in his head about Carrie Green, too, lookin’ for her all the time, only he calls her Corina. He asks me if I’ve seen her every time he comes in here and I tell him every time that Carrie’s gone from Cheyenne and ain’t comin’ back.”
Leon started shifting from one foot to the other as he became more and more worked up about the siege the four villains had placed the town under. “And they ain’t paid a dime for anything they buy. They order horse feed and hay like them horses belonged to the king of England and pay for it with promises. Douglas Green told me they’ve about stripped his shelves bare, and he ain’t got paid a nickel.”
By the time Leon had finished lamenting the certain demise of their town, Cole had gotten an accurate picture of the evil that had fallen upon them. He was more aware than ever that the town had to come together to stop the rape of the growing community.
“The killin’s already started,” Leon continued. “I ain’t just talkin’ ’bout John Henry Black. Day before yesterday, that one they call Red shot Harvey Settles down—said Harvey pulled a gun on him.”
Cole pictured the meek telegraph operator at the train station.
Leon cocked an eyebrow at Cole. “Harvey Settles ain’t never pulled a gun on nobody, especially a murderin’ out-and-out gunman like Red Swann. Arthur Campbell said he figured Red went there to make sure nobody sent any telegrams asking for help from the U.S. Marshal Service or the army. Harvey likely told him he couldn’t hardly refuse to send a telegram if somebody wanted one. That was enough to cost Harvey his life. He shoulda just told that murderin’ son of a bitch that he wouldn’t send any. Arthur said he was fixin’ to wire Fort Laramie for some help, but he didn’t get to it before that feller got to Harvey.”
There was little doubt what Yarborough and his friends had in mind. It was to clean the town out of everything they could with no hesitation to shoot anyone who protested or got in their way. And to Cole’s way of thinking, they didn’t plan to take long in doing it. Leon said they had killed the telegraph operator, but surely Yarborough had enough sense to know that the railroad would investigate the loss of contact with their operator. It was clear to Cole the looters had to be stopped right away before more innocent people were killed. Hell, he thought, it’s not my responsibility. If the folks in this town don’t care enough to fight to save all they’ve built, it’s not up to me to do it for them.
He shook his head. There was no sense in thinking such thoughts. He knew he couldn’t turn his back and walk away. Too many good people called Cheyenne home—Mary Lou and Maggie were foremost in his mind. But also the many people who had invested in the future of the town and built businesses to accommodate the growing population.
As if reading his thoughts, Leon asked, “Do you know where Jim Low’s cabin is?” Low owned the saddle shop next to John Beecher’s forge.
Cole said that he did not.
“It’s about a mile down the creek just past the spot where it forks to go around a big rock. If you’re wantin’ to help, Jim’s holdin’ a meetin’ there tonight with a few of the others to talk about gettin’ rid of Yarborough and his gang.”
It came as a surprise to Cole, since he had been told repeatedly that there was no longer anyone in town willing to risk going up against the outlaws. Maybe Low and the others were just smart enough to keep it quiet. They were going to need all the help they could get, so he decided to ride down there and see what they had in mind. “I’ll leave my packhorse with you for a little while,” he said to Leon. “I’ve got what I’ll need for the time being and I’ll come back if I need anything else.”
“I figured with the way things are goin’ around here, you and Harley might be thinkin’ about goin’ back to that Crow village. I don’t know what you’ve got in mind, but you’d best be careful if you’re gonna stay in town.”
“All I’ve got in mind right now is to see how many men show up at Low’s place tonight, and hear what they’re plannin’ to do. What about you? You goin’?”
It was fairly obvious the question made Leon uncomfortable, since he had taken a bigger role in organizing the vigilantes before. “Ah, no, I reckon not,” he stammered. “One or two of them fellers usually show up here after supper to make sure I’m takin’ care of their horses. I expect they wouldn’t like it if I weren’t here. Might cause some trouble.”
Cole nodded, but made no reply. It was his guess that a lot of the other men in town had their excuses as well.
* * *
Low’s cabin was not hard to find, even after the sun went down. East of the town of Cheyenne, Cole remembered having seen the cabin before, but he had never had the opportunity to find out who it belonged to. The cabin was a simple affair with just two rooms, a main room with a stone fireplace that served as a parlor as well as a kitchen and bedroom. Being a bachelor, Jim had no need for anything of a fancier nature. Seeing several horses tied at the corral beside the cabin, Cole guided his up beside them.
“Evenin’, Mr. Bonner.” A soft voice belonging to young Sonny Campbell greeted him from the shadow of the cabin. He stepped out of the shadows as Cole dismounted.
“Evenin’, Sonny,” Cole returned. “I see you got the job as lookout.”
“Yes, sir. I volunteered. Daddy’s inside with the others, so I told ’em I’d keep a watch out to make sure none of those gunmen surprised the meeting.”
“Good idea,” Cole said. “And you’re doin’ a good job, too. I didn’t know you were there till you said something.” His comment pleased the young boy, as evidenced by his wide smile. Without thinking about it, Cole pulled his rifle from the saddle sling and went in to join the meeting.
There was a pause in the discussion when the door opened and Cole walked inside. It resumed immediately with greetings of welcome from some of the men gathered before the fireplace.
“Evenin’,” Cole responded and settled himself on the floor on one side of the fire, the three chairs having been claimed by the early arrivals.
“I’d offer you some coffee, Cole,” Jim said, “but you’ll have to wait till somebody finishes with their cup.”
“No, thanks,” Cole replied. “I helped Leon Bloodworth empty his pot just before I rode out here.” He looked around the half circle of men. There were only five—Harold Chestnut, Arthur Campbell, John Beecher, Douglas Green, and Jim Low. Of the five, Cole knew Chestnut, Campbell, and Green could not be counted on to participate in any gunplay. That left three possible guns, counting himself, and that was not enough for the job at hand.
“Glad you showed up, Cole,” Jim said. “I wasn’t sure you were comin’ back.” Guessing what Cole was thinking, Jim went on. “I was hopin’ there’d be a few more showin’ up. Maybe they’ll show up yet. It’s still early.”
“Suppose they don’t,” Cole said. “You plannin’ to go against those four outlaws with the six of us here? . . . seven if you’re countin’ Sonny outside.”
The question brought a quick response. “No,” Arthur Campbell replied at once. “You can’t count Sonny in on this. He’s too young. I promised his mother that he would not be involved in any kind of gun violence.”
No one objected, since Campbell’s son Claude had been killed by a cold-blooded murderer named Sanchez only a little over a year earlier.
“We have to be realistic,” Harold Chestnut, the postmaster, said. “I’m here to support you in any way I can, but I’m no good with a gun. Arthur and Douglas are in the same boat. We’re not gunmen, and frankly, we’re too old to try to act like we are. I doubt we’d scare any of those animals.”
“I understand what you’re sayin’, Harold,” John Beecher said. “But if we don’t stop those bastards, they’re gonna wipe us all out. Now, with Cole here, we’re got a helluva lot better chance to overpower ’em and lock ’em up in the jail—maybe hold ’em till the marshal in Omaha sends a deputy to haul the lot of ’em to prison, or a cavalry patrol from Fort Laramie comes after ’em.”
“Why bother with putting them in jail?” Douglas Green asked. “Why not just hang them? Hell, they’ve already killed the sheriff and a telegraph operator.”
“Well, you’re right,” Beecher allowed. “We’d be justified in hangin’ the four.” He looked around the gathering, nodding enthusiastically. “But we need to be strong in numbers. If there ain’t but three of us that goes after ’em, they ain’t likely to back down, and somebody’s gonna get hurt.”
Cole said nothing as he listened to the discussion while it went back and forth. After an hour or more, it was easy to see that Beecher and Low were not going to be successful in persuading the other men to participate in an armed confrontation with the four hardened criminals. Finally, he decided he had heard enough, so he got to his feet. “Gentlemen, I reckon I’ve heard all I need to hear, so I’ll be sayin’ good night to you.” With no further explanation, he walked out, leaving them to wonder.
He was already stepping up into his saddle when John Beecher came outside after him. “Cole,” Beecher implored, “Are you sayin’ just let the bastards gut the town and do nothing to stop them?”
“I didn’t say that at all,” Cole replied, turned the bay’s head away from the corral, and rode back toward town.