Thinking it best to leave the well-traveled trail along Lodgepole Creek, because of the high probability of encountering an army patrol, they set out to the south into Colorado Territory. This route would take them south of Cheyenne and any Wyoming lawmen on the lookout for the escaped prisoner. With Dooley as guide, since he assured Cord that he knew the country like the back of his hand, they continued on that course until striking Two Mile Creek. “We’ll head straight west from here in the mornin’,” Dooley said as they set up camp by the creek.
After a supper made from the meager supplies Cord was carrying, the two new partners sat by the fire to finish the last of the coffee. “About that sorrel I’m ridin’,” Dooley said. “Is that mare somethin’ special to you? I mean, is that the first horse your pa gave you, or somethin’, so you wanna keep her for sentimental reasons?”
Cord snorted a laugh. “Not hardly. She was about the only thing I could afford at the time I bought her. When I got the bay, I decided to keep the mare for a packhorse, since I didn’t have one.”
“So you wouldn’t mind tradin’ her for a little younger one. Is that so?”
“I reckon.”
“Good,” Dooley said. “’Cause I was worryin’ that I might end up totin’ her before we get to Rat’s Nest. It just so happens there’s a place between here and Crow Creek where you can get a fair trade for that horse.” He grinned and gave Cord a wink of his eye. “You know what I mean? I’ve done business there before.”
Cord nodded. He knew what Dooley meant. Helluva note, he thought. I’m fixing to become a horse thief. He wasn’t crazy about the idea, but he couldn’t very well refuse to do it, if he expected Dooley to lead him to Levi Creed. He turned his coffee cup sideways and stared at it as he dumped the dregs from it, as if looking up a stream running dry. Two people on his scant supplies were going to use them up pretty quickly. “We might need to hunt somethin’ to eat before long,” he commented. “I’ve seen plenty of sign of deer or antelope.”
“Antelope,” Dooley said. “There’s plenty of ’em in these parts. We’ll take us a day to go huntin’, but it’d be best after we leave Crow Creek, if that’s all right with you.”
“Crow Creek,” Cord asked, “how far is that?”
“Well, we could make it in a day,” Dooley answered. “But we need to hold up for a little bit before we get to Crow Creek so I can trade horses.”
“We’ll be gettin’ pretty low on somethin’ to eat by then,” Cord speculated, “but I guess we won’t starve if we go easy on the little bit of sowbelly I’ve got left.”
Dooley cocked his head to the side and affected a sly grin. “Course, if you’re partial to beef, we could get some of that, too, before we get to Crow Creek.”
Cattle rustling, too, Cord immediately thought. He quickly replied, “To tell you the truth, I’m partial to some fresh venison, but I like beef as well as the next man. The trouble is, I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave a trail across the prairie, from a slaughtered steer to a stolen horse. We might find ourselves with a sheriff’s posse on our tail. Besides, if you’re gonna steal a horse, I don’t think we wanna stick around long enough to butcher a steer.”
“You may be right,” Dooley conceded. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
It was decided then. They would get an early start in the morning and continue on toward the west.
• • •
Late in the afternoon, they found a herd of cattle southeast of Cheyenne where it appeared a crew of cowhands had moved them to new grazing near a small stream, and were in the process of settling them down for the night. Cord and Dooley gave them plenty of room as they circled, looking for the horses. They found them on the western side of the cattle herd. It was a small herd of maybe forty horses, under the care of a single wrangler. “Don’t look like no trouble a’tall,” Dooley said. “We’ll just wait till dark, then walk right in and pick us out a new horse.” With little cover for concealment close up, they withdrew to wait it out by the side of the small stream, far enough away to prevent Cord’s horses from greeting the ranch horses with an inquisitive whinny.
“I expect I’ll just stick with the one I’m ridin’,” Cord said. “I doubt I’d find one I like any better.”
“All right,” Dooley said, apparently with no reason to suspect Cord’s choice was due to a sense of honesty when it came to another man’s property. “It’ll be dark enough in a little while to ride old Grandma here right into the middle of that herd and slip her bridle on another’n—if that wrangler ever goes to get him some coffee or somethin’. He won’t even know what happened till mornin’—if he figures it out then.” He chuckled, amused by the picture forming in his mind. “By the time they figure out they got a new mare, me and you’ll be huntin’ antelope on the other side of Crow Creek.” He sat back down on the creek bank beside Cord. “I swear, it’s times like these that I wish I hadn’t got so damn old. Back when me and your pa and the other boys was ridin’ together, we’da rode in there and run off with the whole herd, and woe be the poor cowhand that tried to stop us.” He paused before adding, “Damn, those were good days.” He said no more then, left alone with memories made sweeter with the passage of time, blaming age for the moisture in his eyes, his emotion unseen by the young man sitting next to him.
Chilled by the evening air, for they could not take a chance on building a fire, the two horse thieves waited for the night to darken. “We’d best get at it,” Dooley finally announced. “It looks to me like there’s gonna be a moon tonight, and we’d best get our business done before she comes up.” So, walking and leading the horses, they made their way back up the wide draw where the remuda was gathered. When Dooley deemed it close enough, they stopped to watch the herd for a few minutes. “Yonder he goes!” he whispered. “Just like I told you, he’s gone to get hisself some coffee or somethin’ to eat.” Cord nodded. The man charged with watching the horses did, in fact, get on his horse and ride off toward the main cattle herd. Dooley turned quickly to Cord and whispered, “You change your mind about another horse?” When Cord said no, Dooley jumped on the mare’s back and headed toward the horses.
• • •
“I believe I picked a good’un,” Dooley boasted, “even if I do say so, myself. The only thing better woulda been if he had a saddle on him. I ain’t all that partial to ridin’ bareback. Got too comfortable settin’ in a saddle over the years, I reckon.”
Cord agreed. Dooley had selected a good, stout horse with little time to look him over. A sturdy buckskin. Cord was confident that the horse was a gelding, but there had been no time, and not very good light, to confirm it at the moment of trade. Daylight confirmed his opinion when a brief inspection revealed the absence of reproductive equipment. “Looks like they gelded him pretty young,” Dooley remarked, “’cause he rides nice and gentle.” Cord tried to pacify his conscience by telling himself that it was Dooley who had stolen the rancher’s horse, but he couldn’t escape the knowledge that he was certainly an accomplice. He didn’t hold himself to be especially innocent in all his thoughts and actions, and surely his intention to kill a man was less than Christian. But in his mind, there were few men lower than a damn horse thief. Bill Dooley’s cheerful, guilt-free attitude, however, made it seem like nothing more than schoolboy high jinks and it was difficult to dislike the man.
Because of their delay to acquire Dooley’s buckskin, they did not reach Crow Creek until late morning the next day. The hardy creek, bordered by trees already shed of leaves, snaked its way across the prairie before them and confirmed Dooley’s prediction of available game—for there was ample evidence of recent deer activity at the very spot the two riders picked to cross the creek. They had obviously found a favorite watering hole. Thinking it a good time, and a perfect place to rest the horses while they tried their luck at possibly getting a shot at a deer, they led their mounts downstream and tied them in the bushes next to the water. Back at the water hole, they found some concealment in the midst of some berry bushes and sat down to wait.
It turned out to be a long wait. Sitting cold and still for over an hour, they were about ready to admit their poor luck when Cord sighted a small herd of deer approaching the creek from the west. At first, it appeared the animals were going to cross the creek a hundred or more yards north of the place where the two men sat huddled against the chill. “Damn,” Dooley whispered, “they ain’t comin’ this way.” It appeared that he might be correct; then the deer turned and came toward them, but stopped after closing the distance to within seventy-five yards. “Are you a good shot with that Winchester?” Dooley whispered.
“I don’t know,” Cord replied, also in a whisper. “I ain’t ever shot it before.”
Astonished, Dooley was about to express it, but Cord signaled for him to be quiet. The leader of the herd, a large buck, seemed reluctant to come closer, seeming to sense danger. At that unfortunate moment, Dooley’s new buckskin decided to call out with an inquiring whinny. Already sensing something amiss, the buck bolted, springing the rest of his herd in flight. Cord didn’t wait. Plunging out of the screen of bushes, he ran up the bank to get a clear shot at the fleeing animals, knowing he would have time for only one before they were out of range. He would have preferred a doe, but the best target he had was a young buck right behind the older leader. Cocking the rifle as he dropped to one knee, he took aim quickly and squeezed the trigger. The buck stumbled momentarily, wobbled drunkenly for a few more yards, before collapsing to the ground.
“Hot damn!” Dooley exclaimed. “That was a helluva shot! I swear, I’d already give up on havin’ venison for dinner.” He was satisfied that he would never have to ask again if Cord could handle a rifle. As for Cord, he held no illusions. He chalked it up for a lucky shot under the circumstances, but he saw no reason to volunteer that to his traveling companion. Like Dooley’s, his belly was grumbling for lack of attention and he was relieved that he would not have to hear it for much longer.
“Was you japin’ me when you said you ain’t ever shot that rifle before?” Dooley asked while they were skinning the deer.
“Nope,” Cord replied. “That was the first time. I just traded an old Henry rifle for it, and I ain’t had a chance to see how it shoots till now.”
“Kinda like I just traded for that buckskin,” Dooley said with a mischievous grin.
“Yeah,” Cord replied, “kinda like that.” He thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea to let Dooley think he stole the rifle. It might further satisfy the old outlaw that Cord was of the same stock as his father and the apple had not fallen far from the tree.
They delayed their trip a day to butcher the deer and smoke the greater portion of it over a fire to be tied up in packs. Dooley feasted on the liver and heart, while Cord contented himself with the animal’s flesh. The liver and heart were considered delicacies by most, especially Indians, but Cord would only eat the insides of an animal if starvation was the alternative. By the end of the day, both men were sufficiently sated. With bellies full, they turned in by the fire to give their overworked stomachs time to digest.
Ready to begin anew with morning’s first light, they continued their westward journey, crossing a sizable creek that Dooley called Owl Creek, then another about five miles past that he couldn’t call by name. Lofty mountains loomed in the distance, their snowcapped peaks testament to the fact that winter was already in the higher elevations. In spite of the weighty issues on his mind, Cord could not help a natural feeling of awe and an awakening of a latent desire to know their peaks and valleys. His mind, set adrift by the majesty of the distant horizon, was drawn back to his reality by a comment from Dooley.
“I expect we ain’t more’n a couple of miles from the road into Fort Collins,” he said. “Last chance to get some more coffee beans before we go up the river into the mountains.”
“I reckon we could,” Cord said. “But it might be the last coffee we’ll buy, ’cause I’m runnin’ short of money.”
“I need to do a little shoppin’ myself,” Dooley said. His comment brought an immediate reaction in the form of a questioning face on his partner. “I didn’t say I had any money to buy anythin’,” Dooley quickly explained. “I’m just curious about what’s for sale.” He flashed a wide grin to reassure Cord. “If I had a cent on me, I’da sure kicked in to buy some of the supplies.” Cord’s response was no more than a grunt. He was becoming accustomed to Dooley’s nonsensical remarks. Dooley went on. “It ain’t a good idea to ride on into Fort Collins—too big a risk of somebody wantin’ to ask a lot of questions. But there’s a saloon and a general store on the north end of town where we can make a quick stop and head right back outta town.”
“If you’re afraid somebody might recognize you, I can ride in alone and get coffee beans. You can wait for me on the edge of town.”
“Well, like I said,” Dooley replied, “I need to do a little shoppin’ myself. If we stay outta the middle of town, I ain’t too worried.”
They followed the road toward town until coming to a small store fifty yards from a saloon that appeared to be doing a fair business late in the afternoon. They pulled up in front of the store, but Dooley didn’t dismount. “I’m gonna look around a little while you’re in the store,” he said. “I’ll meet you back the way we rode in, if I ain’t back here when you’re finished.”
“Suit yourself,” Cord said. He could see that Dooley was eyeing the saloon, but he wasn’t about to spend any of the money he had left to buy any whiskey. He thought he knew what the scruffy old outlaw had in mind, but doubted his odds of having one of the saloon patrons spring for a drink. He looped his reins over the rail and went into the store.
“Afternoon,” a thin man with a shock of black hair and a mustache to match called out to him when he entered. “What can I do for you?” He laid a feather duster on the counter to give his full attention to his customer.
“Need some coffee beans,” Cord answered, then scanned the shelves while the store clerk went about the business of weighing out the beans. He decided he could also afford some dried beans to go with the smoked venison he was packing, so he told the clerk to weigh him out a couple of pounds.
His purchases completed, he stepped out on the front stoop and glanced at the saloon. He was startled by what he saw. There at the hitching rail where half a dozen horses were tied, he saw Dooley’s buckskin pulled up to the rail in the middle. Hardly able to believe his eyes, he watched while Dooley unhurriedly pulled the saddle off a dun horse and nonchalantly threw it on the buckskin’s back. While he was tightening the cinch strap, a man walked out of the saloon and stood talking to Dooley. After a few short moments, Dooley stepped up in the saddle, turned the buckskin’s head toward the road, and rode away at a slow lope. Looking quickly back at the door of the saloon, Cord expected to see someone charging out to give chase, but there was no one. Dooley touched his finger to his hat as a salute as he rode by the store. After another look back toward the saloon, Cord wasted no time in jumping into the saddle and riding after him.
When out of sight of the store, Dooley kicked his horse into a full gallop. Cord urged his horse to catch him. After about a mile, racing north on the road, Dooley reined the buckskin back to a walk, allowing Cord to catch up to him. “We’d best leave the road now and head for the Cache la Poudre,” Dooley told him. “There’s gonna be some feller lookin’ for his saddle pretty soon.”
“I thought you’d gone loco,” Cord said, “in broad daylight, right out in front of that saloon.”
Dooley chuckled heartily. “Hell, nobody thinks you’re stealin’ somethin’ when you ain’t tryin’ to hide it and actin’ sneakylike.”
“I saw one fellow stop and ask you somethin’. What the hell did you tell him? He just walked away and let you steal that saddle.”
The question brought on an amused response and another chuckle. “He asked me what I was doin’,” Dooley said. “I told him that dun belonged to a feller in the saloon, and I was just leaving him there so he could pick him up. ‘So you’re leavin’ a horse,’ he says. I said I sure am—gonna tie him right here to the rail just as soon as I get my saddle off.”
“And he believed you?”
“I reckon so, ’cause he didn’t go runnin’ back in the saloon to tell nobody. I guess he was concerned about somebody stealin’ a horse, so when I didn’t take one, he figured everythin’ was all right.”
“Damn,” Cord swore, amazed by the blatant theft, performed with the same carefree attitude as his earlier horse trade. “Damn,” he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief.
“How you like my saddle?” Dooley asked then, still laughing at Cord’s amazement. “It came with a Winchester like the one you carry.” He pulled the rifle halfway out of the scabbard so Cord could see it.
“We’d better get the hell outta here,” Cord said, and nudged the bay with his heels.
• • •
They struck the river a little before sundown with enough daylight to set up their camp for the night. Peaceful and wide at this point after it flowed down from the mountains that spawned it, the river was bordered with a thick grove of trees that offered them protection from the chilly night. Once a good fire was going, and the coffeepot chuckling, they settled down in their blankets with time to talk about the events of the day. Dooley related the story of his acquisition of a saddle once again, enjoying it more than the first telling. “A man can get away with a helluva lot more in broad daylight than he would at night. Folks just get naturally suspicious when it’s dark.” He laughed good-naturedly when Cord told him he was crazy. “Me and your pa used to do a lot of things crazier’n that when we was a helluva lot younger.” He took a long swallow of coffee and lay back on his new saddle. “I’m gonna ride a lot better with my feet in the stirrups again. Tomorrow we’ll follow this ol’-lady river up Cache la Poudre Canyon where she’ll start showin’ her feisty side. When we get higher up to where we’re goin’, she’ll turn into a fickle bitch that had just as soon dump your ass as look at you.”
“How far is Rat’s Nest?” Cord asked.
“It’ll take us a day,” Dooley said. “It ain’t that it’s that far. It’s just that there’s a roundabout trail to find it. You ain’t likely to stumble on it accidental-like, and even if you did, there ain’t but one way into the clearin’. So any strangers comin’ in better have an invitation, or they’ll play hell tryin’ to get back out. You’ll see when we get there.”
“What makes you think there’ll be somebody up there now?” Cord wanted to know.
“’Cause there’s almost always somebody there,” Dooley replied. “There is a chance nobody’s there now, with winter comin’ on as close as it is. Most of the time the only fellers holin’ up there in the winter is fellers who’ve got the law hot on their trail.”
• • •
Cord found Dooley to be accurate in his speculation regarding the amount of time it would take to climb up to the outlaws’ hideout. The little man led him up a series of game trails, often coming back to the river, which became more and more defiant as the incline steepened, forming long areas of white-water rapids. Most of the day was spent climbing the mountain before they reached a stone ledge beside a waterfall, where Dooley announced, “Well, we made it. This is it.”
His announcement confused Cord, for he could not see that they had reached anything beyond yet another stretch of rough water, with a lot of mountain still to climb. There were no cabins, no clearing even. With a question on his face, he turned to see a grinning Bill Dooley. “There’s nothin’ here,” Cord commented.
“Ya see,” Dooley said with a chuckle, “I told you nobody ain’t found the Rat’s Nest that ain’t supposed to.” When he was satisfied that his new friend was properly baffled, he turned in his saddle and pointed toward what appeared to be the stone face of a cliff. “See that cliff yonder? We’re gonna ride right through it.” He laughed when Cord looked skeptical, then nudged his horse and rode straight for it. Cord followed, not seeing the narrow passageway hidden behind a large pine until Dooley guided the buckskin around to enter it.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Cord murmured to himself when he entered a crevice wide enough for a man on horseback to pass through, and about twenty yards long. When approaching the other end of the stone passage, Dooley reined his horse to a stop, pulled his rifle from the scabbard, and fired three times in the air in quick succession. “Hold on a minute,” he called back to Cord. They waited for what seemed a long time, standing in the dark passage, and then they heard one lone shot from the other side of the passage. “Somebody’s home, all right,” Dooley said to Cord. Then he called out loudly, “Bill Dooley and Cord Malone.” He was answered by a voice that Cord could barely hear, muffled by the thickness of the rock wall. “Come on,” Dooley said to Cord, and rode out of the passage.
Leaving the crevice, Dooley and Cord rode into a wide clearing surrounded by thick pine forests. There were two log cabins with a corral between them. The clearing itself was a field of stumps from which the logs to build the cabins came. Waiting on either side of the passage, each kneeling behind a stump, two men watched them carefully. “I swear,” Nate Taylor exclaimed, “it is Bill Dooley.” He got up and walked toward them. His partner on the other side of the opening got up as well. “Dooley, you ol’ buzzard, I heard you was in jail,” Nate said.
“Who’d you say this feller is?” his partner, John Skully, asked.
“This here is Ned Malone’s boy, Cord,” Dooley said. Turning to Cord then, he introduced his friends. “Cord, this is John Skully and Nate Taylor.” They both nodded to Cord and he returned the gesture. Dooley continued. “Cord here came along just in time to keep me from havin’ to run all the way up this mountain on foot. How ’bout you two? How come you’re holed up here?”
“’Cause Nate thought it’d be a good idea to hold up the stagecoach at Horse Creek,” Skully volunteered.
“There you go again,” Nate came back. “We both thought the two of us could take that stage, and we coulda if our luck had been a little better.”
“We was lucky to get outta there without gettin’ kilt,” Skully said. “Bob Allen was ridin’ shotgun, and a deputy sheriff from Cheyenne was inside the coach. We had to run for it, but the bad part was Bob recognized Nate, so we had to make ourselves scarce, holed up here on this mountain.”
“It mighta been different if more of the old gang was still together,” Nate said. “We’da most likely shot Bob and the deputy and been done with it. Hell, Levi Creed passed through this way last week. If he’d been here when we held up the stage, it mighta been a whole different story.” A thought occurred to him then, and he said to Cord, “Levi and your daddy used to be big friends back when we had the old bunch together.”
“Most of the boys is dead, in prison, or hidin’ out like us now,” Skully commented. Neither he nor the other two outlaws noticed the slight twitch in Cord’s eye and the clenching of his fists when the name Levi Creed was dropped.
Feeling the increase of his heartbeat and the tightening of the muscles in his arms, Cord cautioned himself to calm down enough to play his part. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Levi Creed,” he said. “Did he say where he was headin’?”
“Well, not exactly,” Skully replied. “He was talkin’ about maybe headin’ back up in the Black Hills—said he’d had pretty good luck before up there, and he didn’t see nothin’ around Cheyenne any better. I think ol’ Levi don’t realize he’s gettin’ old, just like the rest of us. He asked me and Nate if we wanted to go with him. I know you and your daddy mighta been friends with Levi, but to tell you the truth, I never felt easy riding with that man. He’s liable to take a notion to shoot you, just ’cause he ain’t got nothin’ else to do.”
With his emotions more under control now, Cord asked, “Was he ridin’ a chestnut sorrel? He was ridin’ one the last time he came home with my pa. I think he always rode a chestnut.”
Skully looked at Nate and shrugged. “I never knew Levi to be partial to chestnuts or any other color horse. Did you, Nate?”
“Nope,” Nate replied. “He was ridin’ a dapple gray when he was here last week.”
“Well, like I said, it was a long time ago when I saw him,” Cord said. “I reckon I just don’t remember that well.”
“How is your pa?” Nate asked. “Ain’t nobody heard much about him. Levi said he went to farmin’ over in Kansas.”
“He’s still there,” Cord said. “He ain’t likely to leave. I’ll bet ol’ Levi is gettin’ kinda gray around the muzzle, just like my pa.”
“Yeah, a little,” Nate said, “mostly in his beard, though.” Ready to talk about more important things, he abruptly left the subject of Levi Creed. “You fellers bring any coffee or sugar with you? We’re about outta what we brung with us.”
“No sugar,” Cord said, his mind already occupied with thoughts of taking leave of Rat’s Nest, now that he knew where Levi was heading, the horse he rode, and a general notion that his mother’s murderer hadn’t changed a great deal. “We’ve got a little coffee and some sowbelly, and a good bit of smoked deer meat.”
“We’ve got plenty of venison,” Skully remarked. “Nate shot a doe and butchered it yesterday. I’d sure love to have some coffee to go with it. We figured one of us was gonna have to go down the mountain to that tradin’ post this side of Fort Collins, but if you’ve got some to spare, we can wait a day or two longer.”
“I reckon I can spare enough to last you a couple of days,” Cord said.
“Much obliged,” Nate said. “You know, you and Bill mighta come along at just the right time. Me and Skully have been talkin’ about that little bank over in Fort Collins. We could handle it, just the two of us, but if you boys want a piece of it, it might make the job a whole lot easier.” It was obvious that his offer was directed at Cord. “Big ol’ strong buck like you oughta come in handy.” He grinned at Dooley, teasing, “Might even find some use for an old cuss like you.”
“Huh,” Dooley snorted. “I ain’t that much older’n you or Skully, but I reckon I could handle my end of it, if I was wantin’ to. But I’m old enough to know I ain’t as fast as I used to be, so my days of robbin’ banks in the middle of town and gettin’ shot at by everybody on the street are over.” He nodded toward Cord. “Cord here is his own man. He might wanna join in the fun.”
“Reckon not,” Cord said. “I’m leavin’ in the mornin’.”
His remark surprised Dooley and caused him to cast a questioning gaze in Cord’s direction. When Cord offered nothing more, Dooley asked, “Where you in such a hurry to get to?”
“I’m thinkin’ about headin’ out to Cheyenne, maybe follow the stagecoach road up to Fort Laramie and the Black Hills.” Dooley continued to favor him with the look of surprise, so Cord reminded him that he had been on his way to Cheyenne when the two of them first met.
“Matter of fact, you were,” Dooley replied. “I recollect now.” He was disappointed to hear that the quiet young man had no plans to linger in the Rat’s Nest. “Well, hell,” he finally said after a pause in the conversation, “let’s take care of the horses and help Nate and Skully eat up some of their deer meat.” He had known the young man for only a few days, but he sensed that something had occurred to make him suddenly in a hurry to move on. He had given no indication of that hurry before they arrived at the hideout.
• • •
After the horses were taken care of, Cord and Dooley took their gear inside the cabin that Skully and Nate were using since there was already a fire built in that one. Cord would have left his supply of meat out in the lean-to at the back of the small corral, but Nate advised him to store it inside the other cabin, because of the likely visit of a nighttime critter. “There’s plenty of coons and wildcats about these woods, and once in a while a bear,” he warned.
This captured Cord’s attention. “What about the horses?” he asked.
“Our horses ain’t ever been bothered,” Skully replied. “’Specially with four horses in there, a bear most likely wouldn’t bother ’em.” Cord took his word for it, but he almost decided to sleep near his horse anyway. He was not that far from the memory of the time when he didn’t have a good horse.
There was plenty of room inside the cabin, even though it was small, for the only furniture was a table and four chairs. There were no beds, none of the cabins’ many guests over the years having had the inclination to build any. It was just as easy to spread one’s blankets on the dirt floor near the fireplace.
After a supper of fresh venison, roasted on a spit in the fireplace, the four men sat close by the fire, finishing the coffee Cord had provided. “You must not have anybody lookin’ for you right now,” Skully commented to Cord.
Dooley answered for him. “No, I’m the one had an army patrol on my tail. Cord just came along for the ride.”
“I don’t know as how I’d be headin’ up in the Black Hills this time of year,” Nate remarked. “Too damn cold. I told Levi the same thing.”
“It ain’t gonna be no colder than where you’re settin’ right now,” Dooley reminded him.
“That’s true,” Nate responded. “But I’m holed up in a warm cabin with plenty of firewood and plenty of game.”
“We’d better get on down in the valley and pick up some more supplies before winter really decides to set in,” Skully remarked, also thinking about the approaching winter. “I don’t wanna get caught up here snowed in because we didn’t get down in time.”
The conversation went on into the evening as the three outlaws reminisced about the glory days gone by when they rode with Sam Bass and the others, and complained about the restrictions put upon them by advancing years. Dooley participated equally in recalling holdups that were successful and some that were not, all the while noticing a hint of impatience on his young friend’s part. He decided for sure that Cord might have been sired by Ned Malone, but he was not carved out of the same block of wood. So when Cord got to his feet and announced that he had to empty some of the coffee he had been drinking, Dooley said he had a call, too, and walked out the door behind him. “You two been ridin’ together too long,” Nate chided as they closed the door behind them.
Walking to the corner of the cabin, Cord turned to look out toward the valley below as he tended to the business of emptying his bladder. It was a dark, moonless night with millions of stars filling the sky above him. A few yards away, Dooley assumed the same posture, and after a few moments, commented, “There ain’t no better feelin’ of freedom than to stand at the top of the world and piss like a natural man.” When Cord only grunted in response, he continued. “I already know you good enough to tell when there’s somethin’ eatin’ away at you, and I’ve been thinkin’ about it. And seems to me it’s got somethin’ to do with Levi Creed. Now before you tell me to go to hell and mind my own business, I just wanna warn you that, if you’re goin’ after Levi, you need to know that there ain’t ever been born a meaner snake than that man. Your pa was the only man I know who would ride with him when it was just the two of ’em, and the rest of the gang wasn’t with ’em. Hell, I never would.”
“What makes you think I’m goin’ after Levi?” Cord asked.
“Well, then, tell me you ain’t,” Dooley challenged at once. “I see you get all drawed up anytime somebody mentions Levi. Listen, what I’m sayin’ is you’re gonna need some help if you’ve got anything on your mind about settling anything with that man, whatever it is. And I reckon I can help.”
“What are you sayin’—you wanna go with me?” Nature’s call completed, Cord turned to question him. “Why in hell would you wanna go with me?”
“’Cause I know a lot more about the man than you do—where he’s likely to show up for one thing. There are some places up there between Custer City and Deadwood where a man on the run can hole up. I know where they are, ’cause we used ’em when I was ridin’ with Sam and some of the other boys a few years back. If Levi’s holin’ up in one of those hideouts, you might be too old to do anythin’ by the time you found him.”
“I ain’t said anything about lookin’ for Levi Creed,” Cord insisted. “You’re puttin’ two and two together and comin’ up with five.”
“I’ll admit you ain’t knowed me long enough to tell the difference,” Dooley said, “but I ain’t as dumb as I look. One thing I know for sure, you don’t add up to be no outlaw. I’ve been a thief and a robber long enough to recognize an honest man when I see one, and I’ll bet you ain’t ever stole nothin’ in your life. I’m not even sure you’re Ned Malone’s son.” He paused to observe the young man’s reaction to his comments. “I ain’t gonna say nothin’ to them fellers inside, so you might as well tell me why you’re dead set on trackin’ Levi Creed.”
Cord was at a loss as to how to respond to Dooley’s accurate assessment of his character. He was not of the opinion that he needed any help to accomplish what he had set out to do. But if the odd little man was truthful about what he knew in regards to Levi’s likely haunts, he might help him find him quicker. He decided it was useless to try to maintain the image that he was one of them, at least with Dooley. “Well, the part about bein’ Ned Malone’s son is true. He was my pa, and he was a no-good son of a bitch at that.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Dooley commented quickly, encouraging Cord to continue.
“Levi Creed murdered my mother and father seven years ago, and that’s why I wanna find him.”
“Seven years ago,” Dooley echoed. “So Ned didn’t go to farmin’ like Levi said, and you waited this long to go after him.” He took a look at the formidable young man standing before him, gaining a new sense of respect for Cord’s patience and wisdom. Instead of flying off the handle at age twelve, when he had little chance against a hardened killer like Levi, the boy was smart enough to wait until he was more likely to gain his vengeance. “That scar across your forehead, Levi give it to ya?”
“He did,” Cord replied, “set the house on fire and left us all for dead. His mistake was he didn’t hit me as hard as he thought.”
Dooley shook his head slowly as he recalled the man he once rode with. “I ain’t surprised none. That sounds like ol’ Levi, all right.” He thought about it for a few moments longer until Cord started to turn back toward the cabin. “Lemme help you, son. It’d be better’n you goin’ after him alone.”
“It ain’t your concern,” Cord insisted, baffled as to why Dooley wanted to get involved in something that might cost him his life.
“I ain’t got nothin’ better to do right now,” Dooley said with a shrug. “Besides, you need somebody like me to help you—unless you’ve got a whole lot of money—which you said you ain’t. What are you figurin’ on doin’ when your supplies run out, or you use up your ammunition for that Winchester—you bein’ an honest citizen and all? You’re gonna need a scavenger to come up with that stuff, and you’re lookin’ at one of the best.”
It suddenly struck Dooley why he wanted to ride with the young man. It would give him a reason to feel alive again. He had been reluctant to admit to himself that his best days were over. Men like Skully and Nate might offer a chance to provide an extra gun on one bank robbery attempt, but they were really more interested in Cord. As soon as Cord had turned down the offer, there was no more effort on their part to enlist Dooley. Before that, he had almost decided he was at the end of the line while trying to escape the cavalry patrol. And he would not have offered much resistance had Cord decided to turn him in to the army. On foot, with no weapon or ammunition, no supplies, not even a sack of tobacco to roll a smoke, a return to a prison cell had not looked so bad. Now the thought of riding off to the Black Hills with a new partner gave him hope that there might be some good years left in him. Aside from that, he really liked the young man. Able and strong, Cord seemed to possess the one quality lacking in partners he had ridden with in the past: honesty. “Whaddaya say, partner?” Dooley asked, his hand extended.
Not really sure how he felt about the proposition, Cord hesitated for a moment. Bill Dooley was a horse thief and a stagecoach road agent, albeit a semiretired one, and certainly not the kind of partner he would have considered. In fact, he had never considered taking on a partner of any kind. But Dooley was easy to get along with, and as he insisted, he might be of help with his special qualifications. He had ridden with Sam Bass when Bass’s gang of road agents was making a living holding up stagecoaches and freight wagons on the Cheyenne to Deadwood road. He was probably right when he claimed to know every hideout the outlaws used. “What the hell . . . ?” he finally decided, and shook Dooley’s hand.
It was done then, the partnership formed between the tall young man and the stumpy little man with a bald spot on the back of his head, and a shaggy gray beard—an alliance formed to deliver cruel justice to one Levi Creed.