Cord was anxious to get moving again, but since it was now crowding suppertime, he realized they would save very little time if they left before morning. Dooley was enjoying himself, so Cord didn’t complain when he said he wanted to stay over for the night. Cause for worry, however, was the fact that Dooley was not confident that they would ever catch Levi since they had not overtaken him at Rawhide Buttes. “I know some places,” he assured Cord, but he didn’t seem as sure of himself. Maybe Levi went on to the Black Hills; maybe he didn’t. Cord was feeling discouraged, but he knew that he had made a promise over his mother’s grave. He had no choice but to keep looking. Events of the next couple of hours changed his plans drastically.
“Somebody’s coming,” Birdie said. Cord was aware of it, too. The horses in the corral told him. He got up from his chair at the table and went over to the corner of the room where he had propped his rifle.
“Hold your horses, Cord,” Mother said. “Let’s find out who it is before you go shootin’ my customers.” She got up and went to the front door.
Lucy went to the window. “It’s just one person,” she said.
Mother Featherlegs opened the door a crack, just enough to see outside. After a moment, she opened it all the way. “Who is it?” Lucy asked.
“Damned if I know,” Mother replied. “I thought at first it was Dick comin’ home, but this feller looks a little heavier than Dick.” She stepped out on the porch and greeted the stranger. “Evenin’.”
“Evenin’,” the stranger returned, and stepped down from the saddle. He looked around him, seeming to be a little unsure of himself. “Uh, ma’am”—he stumbled over his words—“I was lookin’ . . . that is, I was told . . .” That was as far as he got before she came to his rescue.
“Mother Featherlegs,” she said, having witnessed the same scene many times before. “Is that who you’re lookin’ for? Did somebody send you lookin’ for a place to have a good time with a female companion? Well, you’re in the right place. Tie your horse up there and come on in the house. Most of my girls ain’t here right now, but Lucy’s here, so come on in.”
All smiles then, the stranger did as she suggested. “I’m stayin’ over at the Rawhide Buttes Ranch for the night, and a feller over there told me about your place.”
“Well, this is the right place to be,” she said, and held the door open. “What’s your name, young feller?”
“Watkins, ma’am, Henry Watkins,” he said as he stepped inside, only to pause when he saw several people in the room, two of them men. Wondering if he might have stepped into something he’d be better off without, he started to beg their pardon but did not have time to before Lucy stepped up and took him by the arm.
“Come on in,” she said. “I’ll introduce you to the guests here.”
He glanced at Dooley in the corner, who nodded in return. When he shifted his gaze to the man sitting back in the other corner, he was met by a wide-eyed stare. “Slick?” Cord blurted.
“Cord?” Slick answered. “Cord Malone?”
The others in the room went stone quiet before Lucy asked, “You two know each other?”
Still with a look of astonishment frozen on his face, Slick said, “We sure do. We used to work cattle for the same outfit in Ogallala.”
“Slick, what in the hell are you doin’ here?” Cord asked as he got to his feet to shake Slick’s hand. “Did you quit the Triple-T?”
“Yeah, I did,” Slick answered. “I guess there ain’t no way you coulda heard, but a feller moved in on the other ranches around Ogallala, and I reckon he picked the Triple-T to run out. He brought a small herd in and then satisfied himself to takin’ over most of our range. There was a fight. You know Mike Duffy, he wasn’t about to give up Mr. Murphy’s range that he’d been grazin’ for five years to some double-dealin’ crook. Trouble is, that feller—name’s Harlan Striker—ain’t particular who he hires to run his cattle. Hired gunmen is what they are, and there was some cattle killed and brands changed. Half of our crew either got shot or decided to head for healthier country. Then Mike and a couple of the boys caught some of Striker’s crew changin’ the brand on some of our cattle, and a gunfight started. Well, they killed Mike, and Blackie and Jake Scott said they were lucky to get outta there without gettin’ killed theirselves.”
Cord was shocked. “Mike’s dead?”
“Shot him right in the chest,” Slick said. “Stony and Blackie went back and got Mike’s body and brought it home.”
Cord immediately thought of Eileen and her mother. “What about Mike’s wife and daughter? I hope Will Murphy is gonna take care of them.”
“Maybe . . . ” Slick hesitated. “Most likely, I reckon. Trouble is, Mr. Murphy ain’t even in the country. Went back to Ireland to visit his relatives, and won’t be back before spring. Lem Jenkins says he believes this feller, Striker, most likely knew that and figured he could move in while he was gone.”
Cord was almost stunned. What Slick was saying seemed impossible. Mike Duffy gone? He always pictured the tough little Irishman to be indestructible. His thoughts went again to Eileen. What would she and her mother do without Mike to take care of them? He had to pause to think for a moment. Everyone else in the room watched silently while the two of them talked. Cord looked up again when another question occurred to him. “What are they gonna do? Who’s in charge now?”
“I reckon you’d have to say Stony and Lem. They said they were gonna fight Striker’s gang of gunmen. They said they weren’t gonna have Will Murphy come home from Ireland to find everythin’ he’d built over the last five years gone.”
“What about you?” Cord asked then. “What are you doin’ up here in Rawhide Buttes?”
Slick shrugged, a sheepish look upon his face. “On my way to Deadwood where the gold is. Hell, I didn’t hire on to fight in no damn range war. I wasn’t the first one that decided to take off. Stony and the others are crazy to think they can go up against those hired guns. You know me, Cord. I’d be right with ’em if it was a fair fight.”
“Yeah, I know you,” Cord replied, not surprised that Slick had run out on the others.
He didn’t say more at the moment, and after a long pause in the conversation, Mother Featherlegs chimed in to save her opportunity for profit. “Well, sounds to me like a drink could help the bad news of your friends. I’ll open a fresh bottle, and maybe Mr. Watkins would like somethin’ to eat. Sounds like you could use one, too, Cord—hearin’ such bad news and all.”
Cord was already deep in thought. The news had been bad, all right, and he worried over the question of whether or not it should affect him. He planned to go back to the Triple-T someday, if only to return Lem Jenkins’s Winchester, but it wasn’t his business to concern himself with what went on there now. He was on a mission of revenge that was foremost in his mind, and he had to figure that he was getting closer and closer to Levi Creed. Then images began to form in his mind, not just of Eileen, but of Stony and Lem and Blackie. “I need to do some thinkin’,” he said to Lucy when she offered the bottle. “I need some air.” He then went out the door to the porch, leaving the others to do the drinking.
Outside, the cold night air struck his face like a splash of cold water, and he stepped down from the porch to stand in the middle of the yard, looking up at the clear nighttime sky. The decision was never really in question; he knew what he had to do. Lem and the others needed his help, and he needed to know that Eileen and her mother were taken care of. Levi Creed would have to wait; he was going back to Ogallala. Just then he heard the door open behind him, and he turned to see Birdie coming toward him.
“I need to talk to you,” she said. “You’re thinking about going back to that ranch, aren’t you?”
“I think I’ve pretty much got to,” he said.
“You’re always on your way to do something you’ve got to do, aren’t you?” When he failed to answer, she continued. “Well, I wanna go with you.”
“What?” Cord responded, surprised. “You can’t go with me,” he started. “Why in hell would you wanna go with me? I don’t even know what I’m gonna run into, but I guarantee you, if what Slick just told me is true, it ain’t gonna be no place for a girl. I know I said I’d take you to Rawhide Buttes Ranch, and I’ll still do that. I’ll take you there before I start back to Ogallala. I promised and I’ll keep my word.”
“I know you would,” Birdie said. “That’s why I wanna go with you to Ogallala. I don’t wanna go to Rawhide Buttes. And I’m afraid the longer I stay here, the more chance I’ve got for something bad to happen to me, so I wanna go with you. I know you’re thinking about having a girl to look after and slowing you down, but I can take care of myself and you won’t have to slow down for me. I’m pretty tough.” She looked into his eyes and pleaded, “Cord, I can’t stay here. I don’t wanna be here when Dick Davis gets back from Cheyenne.”
He averted his eyes to escape her intense stare. As much as he wanted to turn her down, he found he could not. Looking into her eyes again, he said, “All right. I’ll take you. Can you be ready to ride in the mornin’?”
“I can be ready to ride tonight,” she said.
“In the mornin’ will do,” he said. “I’ve gotta talk to Dooley now.”
“Thank you, Cord. I promise I won’t be a bother.”
• • •
“I can’t say as I’m surprised,” Dooley said when told of Cord’s decision to abandon his search for Levi Creed. “After that feller told you about the trouble back at that ranch, I could tell you were studyin’ on it—looked like it was botherin’ you more than a little bit.”
“Those are good people I left back there,” Cord tried to explain. “They helped me when I needed help. Now they need help. I’ll get back on Levi’s trail one day, but I’m headin’ back to Ogallala in the mornin’. So I reckon you’ll be goin’ your own way. I ’preciate the help you gave me. I don’t know how I got talked into it, but I told Birdie I’d let her go with me.”
“Is that a fact?” Dooley reacted, surprised. “What’s she wanna go to Ogallala for?”
Cord shrugged. “I don’t think she wants to go to Ogallala as much as she just doesn’t wanna stay here.”
“I reckon I can understand that. She don’t look like she’s really cut out to work with Lucy and the others at a hog ranch. You think there might be a little somethin’ goin’ on between the two of you? She wouldn’t look half bad if she let her hair grow out and put on a dress.”
“No,” Cord replied emphatically. “She just wants to get shed of Ol’ Mother Featherlegs, and she ain’t got no place else to go.”
“You know,” Dooley said, tugging at his whiskers thoughtfully, “I can’t say as how I ain’t just as glad you’re gonna give up trackin’ ol’ Levi. That’s one son of a bitchin’ evil man, and he’s as quick with a gun as anybody out there, unless the last few years have slowed him down. Sometimes it don’t pay to go after a snake like that. Chances are you’re liable to get bit.”
“I won’t ever be satisfied until that man meets with what he’s got comin’,” Cord said. “I’m lettin’ him get away right now, because I have to, but I’ll find him one day, even if we’re both old and gray by the time it happens.” With that settled, he changed the conversation. “What do you think you’ll do now?” Dooley shrugged, having had no time to think about it. “I reckon you could ride on up in the Black Hills with Slick where they’re screenin’ all that gold outta the streams,” Cord suggested.
Dooley grimaced, which he always did when he made an effort to think really hard about something. “No,” he finally said. “If I was of a mind to go up to Deadwood or Custer, I’d most likely go by myself. I don’t cotton much to ridin’ with a man who run out on his friends when the goin’ got a little rough.” He paused to think again. “You know, if it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon ride on down to Ogallala with you.”
Almost as big a surprise as Birdie’s request to accompany him, this, too, was something he had not anticipated, although he should have suspected that Dooley had become comfortable in their partnership. “Are you sure about that? We might be ridin’ into the middle of a range war with a bunch of hired guns.”
Dooley shrugged indifferently. “Hell, Cord, I ain’t foolin’ myself no more. I’m too old to raise hell like I used to. My days of robbin’ and rustlin’ are over and done. But I ain’t dead yet. I reckon I can still steal a horse now and again, if I need one, and I can shoot at somebody who’s shootin’ at me. From what that feller said, you might need an extra gun, and I wouldn’t run out on you.”
Cord studied the contrite little man for a moment before commenting. It struck him that Dooley was seeing the end of his life in his mind’s eye, and it scared him. He seemed to be pleading for an opportunity to avoid loneliness in the years rapidly approaching. “You ever think about an honest livin’ workin’ cattle?” he asked.
“I don’t know . . . ” Dooley hesitated. “It’s been a helluva lotta years since I’ve thought much about anythin’ but makin’ money without workin’. But I’ve worked cattle. I came up to this country with a cattle drive outta Texas. But, hell, who the hell would hire me?”
“You never can tell,” Cord said. “Sounds to me like the Triple-T is gonna need some men. Might be a job there for the both of us. Won’t hurt to go find out—right, partner?”
“Right,” Dooley replied, a wide grin parting the whiskers again.
• • •
They left early the next morning, the determined avenger, the sometimes reformed outlaw, and the short-haired waif, an unlikely trio of traveling companions. With Dooley once again directing the line of travel, they set out to the southeast, planning to strike the North Platte River within a day and a half. They fell short of that goal, owing to a chance meeting with a herd of antelope. With no thoughts toward passing up the opportunity to gain a good supply of meat, they took half a day to hunt the lightning-fast animals. Each man killed an antelope, and any notions that the girl would be a burden on the trip were immediately dispelled when Birdie jumped right in to help with the skinning and butchering. She then assumed the responsibility for doing the cooking.
The third day found them riding along the North Platte, traveling a path beat out years before by covered wagons on their journey to Oregon, and that night was spent within sight of the formation the settlers called Chimney Rock. The next morning they awoke to find a thin covering of snow that hid all but the deep ruts left by the settlers’ wagon wheels. It would be two more days before they reached range land that Cord was familiar with, prairie he had ridden for the Triple-T. They camped one more night by the river, planning to reach the ranch by noon the next day. While Cord and Dooley took care of the horses, Birdie set about gathering wood among the trees by the river, and soon had a warm fire blazing in a deep gully where there was some protection from the wind sweeping the prairie. In a short time, there was meat roasting over the flames and the coffeepot resting in the coals.
Bill Dooley settled himself as close to the fire as he comfortably could without setting his clothes on fire, watching Birdie tend the meat. “I swear,” he declared, “it seems to me that the weather gets colder than it used to. I reckon my blood must be gettin’ thinner the older I get. When I was your age, Cord, I used to be able to lay down on the prairie without no fire and sleep like a baby.”
“Is that a fact?” Cord replied, somewhat skeptical. “Maybe your blood is gettin’ thinner. I don’t know, but I think your memory has sure as hell rotted away.”
Dooley chuckled at Cord’s response, encouraged by the fact that the always stoic young man had actually made a joke. His expression turned a bit sheepish then and he asked a favor of them both. “You know, when we get to that ranch you worked for, there ain’t no use in tellin’ everybody that I’m wanted by the law, is there? I mean, I’d sure like to maybe get a fresh start with folks who don’t know about my outlaw days.”
“I don’t see why anybody needs to know about your past,” Cord said. “I don’t think anybody on the Triple-T has any business askin’ any questions. You can tell ’em you’re the president of the United States for all I care.”
“Maybe I’ll do that,” Dooley said, and poured himself another cup of coffee. “Who the hell is the president, anyway?”
“Damned if I know,” Cord replied, scratching his head. “Grant?”
“No,” Birdie said. “Rutherford Hayes.”
“I don’t believe I ever heard that name before,” Cord said. “Better remember that name, Dooley, if you’re gonna be the president.”
“If we’re gonna do that,” Birdie added, “let’s don’t tell them you found me in a whorehouse, either. We can tell them I’m the president’s daughter.” Her remark caused them all to laugh.
The joking caused Cord to try to remember the last time he had experienced a lighthearted evening with friends. He could not remember one—maybe there were times with his mother when he was a small boy; he couldn’t recall. That thought caused him to return to the somber vow of vengeance he had taken, and had now put aside, for how long he couldn’t know. A sudden nickering from the horses brought his mind back to the present, and he became immediately alert. Hearing it as well, Dooley rolled over the edge of the gully into the shadows, a reaction formed after many years on the fugitive end of a deputy marshal’s posse. Cord motioned for Birdie to get down near the narrow head of the gully. She did so at once, pulling the .44 Colt she had taken to wearing from her holster. Silently berating himself for becoming careless, Cord drew his rifle up beside him and hugged the side of the gully. There was something out there in the darkness—there always was—but this something had come close enough to make the horses inquire. A few more moments passed; then the silence was broken.
“Looks like we got us some squatters, Bo, or maybe some cattle rustlers. Whaddaya think?” Mace Tarpley walked up to the side of the gully to stand just outside the firelight, his rifle carried casually in one hand.
“Sure looks that way,” Bo Denton agreed. “On Roman-Three range, too, after Mr. Striker said not to let no drifters camp on his land.” He appeared on the other side of the gully. “Whaddaya reckon we oughta do with ’em?”
Trapped between the two men, Cord was not in a position to do much about it. They might have evil intentions in mind, or they might just be thinking about having some entertainment by rawhiding some drifters. The longer he could keep them talking, the better his chances of coming out of this alive, he figured. He hoped that Birdie would stay huddled down in the narrow head of the gully. A moment later, that thought was answered.
“Look up here at the top of this gully,” a third voice said as Benny Sykes moved up to stand over Birdie. “Looks like a boy hidin’ up here.”
There was nothing left for Cord but to try to talk his way out of the situation. “This ain’t nothin’ but a little misunderstandin’,” he said. “We thought we were on Triple-T range.”
“Well, you ain’t,” Mace said. “You’re on the Roman-Three, and Harlan Striker don’t allow no riffraff on his property.”
“That so?” Cord replied, getting madder by the moment, but trying to control his anger for fear he might get Birdie hurt. “Well, if you back off a little, we’ll move on across the river.”
“That ain’t gonna do no good,” Mace said. “The other side of the river belongs to the Roman-Three, too. So I reckon we’re just gonna have to teach you and the boy a little lesson so you don’t forget whose land this is.”
“There’s another’n here somewhere, Mace,” Bo warned. “There’s three saddles here.”
Mace became alert at once and pulled his rifle up in both hands. “Where’s the other one?” he demanded of Cord.
“Right behind you, you sorry piece of shit,” Dooley informed him from the shadow of the trees, “with this Winchester aimed at the center of your back.”
Bo’s hand immediately dropped to the handle of his Colt. “Pull it and you’re a dead man,” Cord warned him, his rifle now leveled at him.
“I’ve got the other one,” Birdie announced, trying to make her voice as husky and deep as she could.
“Looks like there’s a standoff,” Cord told Mace. “That kinda changes things, don’t it? I figure you’ve got two choices. You can take a slug in the back, and your two friends get one in the gut, or you can back outta here real slow and get offa Triple-T range. What’s it gonna be?”
“Mister, I don’t know who you are, but you’re makin’ a helluva mistake. Harlan Striker owns this range, and we’ll hunt you down,” Mace threatened.
“That’s about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard somebody say when we’ve got the drop on ever’ one of you,” Dooley opined from the deep shadows behind Mace.
Mace was smart enough to see that the advantage had been reversed, and chances were he and his partners would lose if he pushed a gunfight. The situation infuriated him, knowing that he had been careless in scouting the camp before walking in on them the way they had. They should have accounted for the third man. It was too late now for anything but threats. “All right,” he said. “There ain’t no need for anybody to get shot tonight. But if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get offa Roman-Three range first thing in the mornin’, ’cause there’ll be more’n three of us next time.”
“You tell your boss that there won’t be any more crowdin’ in on Triple-T range and no more cattle missin’ from Will Murphy’s herd,” Cord told him. “Tell him he’s been warned and there won’t be no more warnin’s.”
“Mister,” Mace said, “you’re talkin’ like a man that don’t know what he’s up against.”
“I’m tired of hearin’ your mouth,” Cord responded. “Get on your horses and get outta here.” He raised his voice then. “Dooley, keep your eye on ’em. Make sure they don’t change their minds.”
“I’ll watch ’em,” Dooley assured him.
“Come on,” Mace called to his two companions, and started to back away toward their horses. Benny Sykes, who was standing over the narrow end of the gully, had other ideas. During the standoff, he had been trying to get a better look at the “boy” huddled in the trench below him. He didn’t look to be a very big boy. The hand holding the pistol aimed at him looked a little unsteady. He felt sure it was worth a try, but he hesitated to make the move. When Mace and Bo started backing away, he felt that the time was now, if he was going to do it. Suddenly he reached for the .44 at his side, setting off an explosion of gunfire. He never cleared his holster, doubling over when the bullet from Birdie’s pistol tore into his side at the same time a slug from Cord’s rifle smashed his breastbone. Almost in one move, Cord swung his rifle back in time to stagger Bo with a shot in the hip when the unfortunate man pulled his pistol. The pistol dropped to the bottom of the gully.
Not fool enough to try anything with a rifle already aimed at his back, Mace threw his hands up in the air. “Don’t shoot!” he cried. “We’re done! We’re goin’.”
“Drop that rifle and back outta here,” Cord ordered as he climbed up on the side of the gully. “Birdie, you all right?” She said that she was, although her voice was shaky. Back to Mace then, he said, “Pick up that body and you and your friend get the hell outta here.”
Down on his hands and knees, Bo called out to Mace, “Mace, I’m shot. I can’t walk. You gotta help me!”
“Help him,” Cord said.
Still burning inside by the total reversal of what had promised to provide some entertainment at the three campers’ expense, Mace swallowed the bile rising in his throat and moved to help his wounded partner. He glanced down at his rifle lying on the ground, only to hear Dooley’s words behind him. “I wish you would.” It was enough to hurry him along to help Bo back to his horse. Standing by the horses now, Dooley pulled the rifle out of Bo’s saddle scabbard and held the horse’s bridle while Mace struggled to get Bo up in the saddle. “Now get over there and pick up the other one,” he said.
With Cord following him and holding his rifle on him, Mace went over to the head of the gully where Sykes’s body lay. Sykes was not a small man, and after a couple of attempts to pick him up, Mace complained, “I’m gonna need help to get him on his horse.”
Impatient with the clearing of his camp, Cord handed his rifle to Birdie and said, “If he makes a move, shoot him.” Then he grabbed the corpse by the shirtfront and jerked it to its feet, got his shoulder under his midsection, and hefted him up. “Come on,” he barked, and walked over to Sykes’s horse and dropped the body across the saddle. Taking his rifle back from Birdie then, he watched while Mace climbed in the saddle. “Now git,” he said, and stood back. Mace didn’t have to be told again. He rode up from the riverbank, furious and humiliated, vowing silently to avenge his defeat, holding the reins of Sykes’s horse. Behind him Bo rode, lying on his horse’s neck in an effort to ease the pain caused by sitting in the saddle.
Cord and Dooley followed their departing visitors on foot for a few hundred yards before turning back to their camp by the river’s edge. “I reckon we’d best move from here,” Cord said when they got back to the fire where Birdie was waiting.
“That’s just exactly what I was thinkin’,” Dooley replied. “Those fellers might come sneakin’ back around here to take a couple of shots at us.” There was no way of knowing if they had extra pistols in their saddlebags or not, or how far away their home base was. At any rate, it wasn’t worth gambling on a peaceful night if they remained where they were.
Cord looked at Birdie. The young lady looked as if she was still shaken from the traumatic experience of shooting someone. He readily understood the shock to her whole system, for his adrenaline was still racing as well. “Are you all right?” he asked. “That was a pretty brave thing you did.”
Her eyes seemed to get even wider as she grappled with her emotions over having shot someone. After a moment, she responded, “Yes, I guess so.” She paused again. “I didn’t even know I was going to do it. The gun just went off. It scared me, and now I can’t seem to stop shaking.”
“We’re gonna move on in closer to the Triple-T,” he told her, “and try to find somethin’ a little safer. Why don’t you gather up the cookin’ utensils and see if you can pack up as much of that meat as you can. Dooley and I will saddle the horses and get ready to pull outta here.” He figured she’d snap out of it a little quicker if she busied herself with something. She nodded and began kicking snow over the fire as he left to help Dooley.
In a short time, they were packed up again and ready to ride. What meat they could carry was wrapped in the two antelope hides and tied on behind Dooley and Cord. The cooking supplies rode with Birdie on her mare. They rode for close to an hour before they began to see numbers of cattle in separate bunches, which told them they were well within the boundaries of the Triple-T. So they began to scout out a campsite that would afford some protection in the event they had any more guests that night. They settled on a small island in the middle of the river where they could see the approaches from either side. Cord and Dooley decided to take turns keeping watch until daylight. Birdie insisted that she could stand a watch as well as they, but the men wouldn’t hear of it.