CHAPTER 7
Oscar Jacobs stood in the yard outside his saloon, talking to the working women still gathered there. “Who the hell was that fellow?” Oscar asked, but no one knew.
“He just walked through our cabin, polite as you please, looking for somebody,” one of the prostitutes replied. “When he didn’t find him, he went out the back, just as sudden as he came in.”
“Well, I reckon he found who he was looking for,” one of the other women said. “He shot that little redheaded fellow that was shacking up with Lizzie.”
Oscar shook his head, feeling impotent for not having been able to prevent a threat to one of his customers. It was certainly not an incident he wanted to get around. Customers had always felt a sense of safety within his complex and an occurrence like the one just witnessed could hurt business. He took one look at Ned, still standing by the hitching rail, his head bandaged. He was still unclear as to why Ned had not seen fit to detain the man, or what had happened between him and Ned in the bar earlier. His bartender’s accounting of the incident didn’t make sense, either, so he just shook his head again and went back inside the saloon.
* * *
Rascal and the packhorse had not really had much rest since Hawk had ridden into the hog ranch that morning, so he decided that was the most important thing to do at the moment. He needed time to think about what he should do at this point, anyway, so he rode down by the river until he found a place that suited him. He let his mind work on what had happened so far that morning while he gathered branches to start a fire. One of the three men he hunted was dead—the one who actually shot the sheriff. The one he wanted the most was the man named Dubose, but he had no idea where to look for him. He considered searching up and down the Yellowstone, hoping to run across something or somebody who might help him get on Dubose’s trail. On the other hand, he knew where Hog Thacker was heading, and Hog was equally guilty of the fate that had befallen JoJo. But damn it, he thought, Dubose is the one who pulled the trigger. He worried over it while he filled his coffeepot with water. No matter what, he knew he would find no peace until he settled with Dubose. Even then, it was unlikely he could ever rid his mind of the image he saw on that day. Even at the distance from which he witnessed the shooting, he thought he could see the agony in JoJo’s face when Dubose’s bullet slammed into her chest.
He worried over the decision until it was time to start, then he told himself he would be foolish to abandon a search for Hog, when he knew where to look for him. Once he settled with him, he could spend the rest of his life looking for Zach Dubose, if that’s what it took. He was not bound by any obligations to anyone or anywhere. Major Brisbin might wonder what had happened to him, but he felt sure he had a job with the army whenever he needed it. As long as Lieutenant Mathew Conner was stationed there, he would have a friend who would always vouch for him. So he set out for Coulson, knowing it to be about a two-day ride. By now, Hog had about half a day’s ride on him, depending on how big a hurry he was in. Possibly, he might catch up with him before he reached Coulson. If not, then Coulson was not much more than a small settlement, and it shouldn’t be too hard to find someone like Hog Thacker.
* * *
Ethel Thacker guided her mule between the two-story hotel built by John Alderson and the Paddle Wheel Saloon, following a path that led along Stinking Creek. She was tired. It had been a hard day, like every day at the hotel, where she was lucky enough to work. But today there were two beds destroyed with the contents of some drunken cowboy’s stomach and bowels after a night in the saloons. The rooms had to be mopped as well as the hallway where one of them had tried to make it to the outhouse. She sorrowed in the thought that tomorrow would bring more of the same. Still, she was grateful for the job of cleaning lady for the hotel. Without it, she could not make it. If she were younger, or pretty, she wouldn’t hesitate to sell her services as a prostitute, but the years had taken a toll on her and she had nothing to offer that a man would pay money for. At least she had a shack where she could go for peace and quiet every night. That was one thing Horace had done for her before he left one day and never came back.
She could not say that she missed him, but he didn’t seem so brutal when they married. She was younger and homely, but he was not a man whom women found attractive in the least. So it seemed a workable arrangement for them both. It was such a short time before she became old and homely and Horace turned into the image that inspired his nickname, Hog. When he started running with Zach Dubose, it somehow brought out the brute in him and she knew they were getting more and more involved in illegal activities. Before long, Hog started leaving home for long periods, always returning with no more money than before, having spent in the saloons whatever he had stolen. She soon learned not to ask him why he managed to find money enough to come home drunk, but none to buy them food and supplies. To ask such questions usually brought physical violence upon herself. So when he failed to return after a month, she almost rejoiced.
Why her mind happened to be dwelling upon her abusive husband on this late summer evening, she could not say. Maybe it was an omen of the bad luck headed her way. When she rounded the sharp bend in the creek, she suddenly pulled the mule up short when she saw the strange horse tied up at the front of the shack. Not sure what she should do, she hesitated there for a long while watching the cabin. She pulled the shotgun she carried from the saddle sling. Even with a weapon, she was reluctant to ride on in and inform her visitor that the shack was occupied, for that was who she suspected, a homeless drifter who had discovered what appeared to be an empty shack. With the lock on the door, he should have known it was not abandoned. Maybe she should turn around and go back to the hotel. Mr. Alderson had told her before that he would make room for her behind the kitchen. But she felt like this shack was all she owned and she did not want to lose it. So she resolved to claim what was hers and inform the drifter that he had to leave.
She rode up before the shack, noticing the splintered doorframe, evidence of the door having been kicked in. Frightened by who might be waiting inside, she remained in the saddle and aimed her shotgun at the door. “You in the cabin,” she called out in as husky a voice as she could affect, “come outta there with your hands up.”
A long moment passed before the door opened a crack. “Put that damn shotgun down, Ethel, before you shoot yourself with it,” the voice came back, a voice she recognized at once.
A cold shiver raced up her spine and her fingers went cold on the shotgun. “Horace?” All of a sudden her deepest fears came rushing back to her mind and she felt helpless to stop them.
“Who the hell else would it be?” came the reply from inside. “Put that damn shotgun down, or I’m gonna blow you outta that saddle.” He opened the door wide and stood in the doorway, his ample body outlined by the fire in the fireplace behind him. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been here since this afternoon. I come home and you ain’t here. I wanna know where you’ve been and don’t even think about tellin’ me no lie.”
In spite of her fear of the man, she stiffened her spine at the audacity of the brute. “You’re somethin’, askin’ me where I’ve been. Where have you been? You walked outta this cabin over a year and a half ago to go have a drink with that friend of yours, that Mr. Dubose, leavin’ me with nothin’ to eat. And now you come back here askin’ me where I’ve been. What did you expect? I’d be waitin’ here with open arms?”
“A man with a decent wife expects her to be ready with some supper when he comes home. Don’t matter when he comes home. I’ve been ridin’ hard for two days to get here and I’m hungry, so get down off that mule and fix me somethin’ to eat.”
“What if I ain’t got nothin’ to fix?” she replied as she got down from the mule and walked up to the door. “A woman with a workin’ husband would have somethin’ to fix. Did you bring some food with you, or is it always like it used to be, you don’t come home with nothin’ but whiskey on your breath?” She pushed past him and went inside to see if by chance he had brought some food with him. The only additional thing she saw was a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the table and her pantry looking as if it had been rifled by a bear. She turned to confront Hog, only to be knocked off her feet by a vicious backhand.
“Now,” he commanded, “things are gonna get back to where they was around here. I can see you’ve forgot who’s the head of this family, so I’ll damn sure straighten you out.”
She lay there for a few moments, the dreadful memories rushing to her brain with the throbbing in her cheekbone. Her nightmare had returned and she wanted to scream out against it. But she fought to contain it, having learned in the past that her crying seemed to infuriate him, bringing even more abuse upon her. She got up on her hands and knees while he stood over her like a conqueror over a fallen foe, waiting to deliver the fatal blow. “There ain’t nothin’ in the house to cook but some side meat,” she finally whimpered. “There is some coffee and a little bit of flour. I can fry some of the meat for you.”
He took a step back. “If that’s all you’ve got, then it’ll have to do.” He continued to watch her closely as she got to her feet. “How come you ain’t got no food? What was you gonna eat? You don’t look like you’ve been missin’ any meals.”
“I eat at the hotel,” she said.
“The hotel?” He almost exploded again. “How the hell can you eat at the hotel?”
“I work there,” she explained, “so they let me take my meals there.”
“Doin’ what?” he asked, already thinking the worst and preparing to administer punishment for it.
“Cleanin’ lady and help in the kitchen,” she said. “How else do you think I could make it with you gone and not bringin’ home any money when you were home?”
“Watch your mouth,” he warned, then snuffed contemptuously. “I thought you mighta took to whorin’. You mighta made two or three cents, if you got a man drunk enough.” He chortled over the thought of it. “You think I don’t ever have any money to buy food? Well, I’ll tell you what you’re gonna do tomorrow. You’re goin’ to McAdow’s store and buy somethin’ to put in that damn pantry with money I’m gonna give you. Now that I’m home, I’m gonna need somethin’ to eat. So get up offa the floor and find me somethin’ to eat right now.”
Surprised that he actually had money to spend on supplies, she got up to do his bidding, disheartened to find that he was planning to stay for a while.
* * *
At the time of Ethel Thacker’s unhappy reunion with her husband, the man whose mission it was to track him down was encamped approximately twenty miles west of the little settlement of Coulson. Rascal and the sorrel packhorse grazed on a grassy slope between scattered growths of cottonwood trees, while Hawk sat near his campfire idly watching a strip of sowbelly roast. Come morning, he would ride on into Coulson, planning to first make the rounds of the saloons, thinking if anyone knew Hog Thacker, they would most likely be in a saloon. It had been quite some time since last he rode through Coulson. The town was little more than a post office and a sawmill, plus two saloons then. He had heard that there was now a hotel and another saloon along with a general merchandise store and some other businesses.
When the sowbelly looked to be done, he poured himself another cup of coffee before taking the meat off the spit he had improvised from a green cottonwood branch. As he ate, he pictured the man he had seen in the dining room, Hog Thacker. According to what Ned had told him, Hog had said he was going to visit his wife. In spite of his reluctance to do so, he allowed himself to wonder about the man’s wife and if there were also children. He allowed himself to dwell on that for no more than half a minute before telling himself that all three of the outlaws were involved in the shootings of JoJo and Sheriff Willis. He’d be doing the world a favor if he killed Hog Thacker. He turned in that night with resolve to take care of business.
The next morning, he saddled his horses and rode the remaining twenty miles into Coulson, planning to get some breakfast there. Signs of growth since he had been there were easy to see as he walked his horses the length of the short street. At a glance, he decided the Paddle Wheel was the busiest saloon at this late hour of morning, so he pulled Rascal over and tied up at the rail. He took a good look at a couple of men sitting on a bench outside the door before entering the saloon. There was some concern that he might not recognize Hog again. He had seen him only that one time up close. The next time, he had been flailing a galloping horse, riding low on the horse’s neck on his way out of town.
Inside, he paused at the door to look the dozen or so customers over before walking over to the bar, happy to see a man standing at the end, drinking a cup of coffee. He was talking to a man dressed in a morning coat who was standing behind the bar, and Hawk figured he might be the owner, since the bartender was easily recognized by the apron he wore. Hawk moved down the bar closer to the two men talking. “Name your poison,” the bartender greeted him.
“It’s a little bit early for me to start on the hard stuff,” Hawk said. “Can I get a cup of that coffee those two fellows are drinkin’?”
“Well, I don’t see why not,” the bartender said, “if you’ve got a nickel.”
“That’s reasonable enough,” Hawk responded, and reached in his pocket to find a nickel.
The bartender walked over to the stove, where a large gray pot was resting, and returned with a cup of strong black coffee. “Want some sugar?” When Hawk declined, the bartender said, “Five cents, one refill for no extra charge.” He paused there a few moments, studying the tall man in the buckskin shirt. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in here before, friend. You new in town or just passing through?”
“Passin’ through,” Hawk replied. “It’s been a good while since I was in your town. I used to know a fellow that lived near here—thought I’d look him up, if he’s still here—name of Thacker, Hog Thacker.”
“Hog Thacker,” the bartender repeated. “Can’t say as I know anybody by that name. Little place like this, you’d think you’d remember somebody with a name like that.” He turned to the man standing at the end of the bar. “Say, boss, you know anybody named Hog Thacker?”
His boss didn’t take but a second to respond. “No, sorry. How ’bout you, John? Ever hear of anybody named Hog Thacker?”
John Alderson shook his head. “No, the only Thacker I know is a woman who works in my hotel, Ethel Thacker, but I don’t think she’s married. I don’t really believe she’s got any family at all.”
“Much obliged,” Hawk said. “I reckon ol’ Hog’s moved on. Well, no matter.” He turned back to the bartender. “Know a good place to get some breakfast?”
Overhearing, Alderson answered before the bartender had a chance. “The hotel’s hard to beat for breakfast, dinner, or supper.” He looked at his watch. “Breakfast is about over, but you can still get something to eat if you don’t waste much time.”
“Much obliged, gentlemen,” Hawk said. “I think I’ll hurry right on over there.” He drained the last of his coffee. “Good day to ya.”
Outside, he climbed into the saddle and headed toward the hotel, certain that he was on Hog’s trail. He hadn’t expected anyone in town to know Hog, since he figured Hog wasn’t around that much, and if there was more than one Thacker in town, they surely would have known. The most important thing for him now, except getting some breakfast, was to find Ethel Thacker, for she would lead him to Hog.
* * *
Janet Combs looked up from the table where she had sat down to have her usual cup of coffee, now that the breakfast customers were gone. Her first reaction to seeing the doorway filled with the tall man in the buckskin shirt was to tell him he was too late if he was looking for breakfast and too early for dinner. As soon as he spotted her, he walked over to her table, with a long, casual stride she couldn’t help noticing. “Good mornin’, ma’am,” he said. “I can see I’m too late for breakfast, but I’d sure appreciate it if I could just buy a cup of coffee. I just rode into town. I was hopin’ to make it in time for breakfast, ’cause I’d heard this was the place to get the finest food in the territory.”
She didn’t respond immediately, taking a few moments to decide. He seemed so sincere and polite that she finally gave in. “I guess we can give you a cup of coffee, since you’re new in town.” She hesitated a moment more. “I’m sorry we’re already cleaning up the kitchen.”
“I understand,” he quickly replied. “I’ll make do on that cup of coffee, and I apologize for botherin’ you this late.”
“How about a cold biscuit with a slice of ham?” she asked, surrendering to his polite respect.
“That’d be like a real banquet,” he said with a wide grin.
“Alice,” she called out, and waited a moment until a plump little woman stuck her head out the kitchen door. “Fix Mr. . . .” She paused and looked at him, questioning.
“Hawk,” he said.
“Fix Mr. Hawk up with one of those leftover biscuits, please, and stick a slice of that ham in it. I’ll get him some coffee.” She gave him a smile as she got up to fetch the coffee.
He watched her as she went to the stove at the end of the dining room, where a pot was still warming, but he was not admiring her obvious feminine charm. He was thinking that he now knew that the cook’s name was Alice and not Ethel. And he had already eliminated the lady getting his coffee. She was too young and much too pretty and polished to be the wife of someone like Hog Thacker. He decided that the woman he wanted to identify must be tending her duties in the hotel. At that moment, another woman came out of the kitchen. She was carrying a load of dishes to set up for dinner. He knew immediately that she was Ethel Thacker. A stout, middle-aged woman, she wore a look of melancholy and fatigue. When Janet came back to the table with his coffee, he asked, “Is that lady with the dishes Mary Simpson? It sure looks like her, but that was a long time ago.”
Janet turned to look to be sure it wasn’t Alice who had come out of the kitchen. “No,” she said, “that’s Ethel Thacker.” She turned back to him. “Who’s Mary Simpson, a friend of yours?”
“She was just a friend of the family a long time ago.” He didn’t know anyone by that name—it was just the first to pop into his head. He took a long look at the woman, making sure he would recognize her outside the dining room. “No, I can see, now that I’ve looked a little closer. It ain’t her, but she sure looks a lot like her. I don’t know why I thought she might be in Coulson in the first place.”
In a couple of minutes, Alice came from the kitchen with a plate containing two biscuits with ham. “I took a look at him,” she said to Janet, “and figured he was gonna need more’n one biscuit.”
Hawk took his biscuits and coffee to another table and sat down to eat. Before he was finished, Janet got up to refill her cup and walked the pot over to fill his. She stayed a few minutes to talk. “You have family with you, Mr. Hawk?” When he said that he didn’t, she asked if he was looking for work.
“No, ma’am, I’m on my way back to Fort Ellis. I work for the army sometimes, scoutin’.” She nodded as if to say she guessed as much. “I sure am glad I stopped in here, though,” he went on. “You ladies sure know how to run a fine dinin’ room, and I’ll say these biscuits are the best I’ve ever had.”
She flushed appropriately. “Why, thank you, sir, we’re glad you think so. I hope you’ll be back to eat with us again. We’ll be open again at noon for dinner.”
“I surely will,” he said. “I’ll most likely see you at noon. How much do I owe you for the coffee and biscuits?”
“I’ll tell you what,” she said, “I won’t charge you anything. We’ll just call it a welcome-to-town gift.”
“That sure is mighty kind of you, ma’am, but I feel like I oughta owe you somethin’—as nice as you’ve been to me. Looks to me like you ladies work pretty hard, runnin’ this place. Been here since before sunup, I expect. What time does your day usually end?”
Janet laughed at his earnest flattery. “Alice and I don’t go home till after all the supper dishes are washed up, the floor swept, and the tables are set for breakfast.”
“What about the other’n, the one that looks like Mary Simpson, doesn’t she stay and help you?”
“Ethel?” Janet responded, amused by his interest in how hard the three of them worked. “She works in the hotel from breakfast till suppertime, then she goes home.”
“Well, I’d best get outta here before you ladies put me to work sweepin’ the floor or somethin’.” He picked up his hat, struck for an instant by a stray thought that it didn’t look right without the feather in the band. It immediately drew him back from the pleasant encounter with the ladies to the reason he was here. “Thank you again, Miss . . . I don’t even know your name.”
“Janet Combs,” she said.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said, then took his leave. Outside, he stood looking at his horse for a few minutes. So far, it looked as if it was going to be easy to find Hog Thacker. He just had to be sure he was there to see Ethel when she went home. That would be about five o’clock when the dining room opened for supper. In the meantime, he would take care of his horses, making sure they were watered good and fed a ration of oats to supplement their grazing.
Even knowing what he planned to do, he was still undecided about the best way to accomplish it. When he left the Big Timber Hog Ranch, his thinking was no more complicated than finding the man and shooting him down. Now that he was here in Coulson and had seen the sad, mournful countenance of the simple woman he intended to make a widow, he began to question the justice in the execution he had planned. There was no doubt in his mind that Hog deserved killing for his part in the death of JoJo Feeley. But did Ethel deserve to be made a widow? In his opinion, she’d be better off, but she might not think so. “Damn it to hell,” he spat, bothered more than a little. Maybe he was wrong in saddling Hog with equal amounts of guilt in the shootings. Maybe he wouldn’t have shot the girl, or the sheriff, if he could have prevented it. Maybe he should try to take Hog to Bozeman and hand him over to the army, like he had offered to do with Red Whitley. Let them decide what he deserved. “I’ll think on it,” he told Rascal. “But I might as well have another crack at that dinin’ room at noon. It might be a long time before I get another chance for a good dinner.”
* * *
“How long you thinkin’?” Waylon Burns asked when Hawk rode up to the stable.
“Maybe overnight,” Hawk answered. “I ain’t plannin’ on bein’ in town long. I wanna leave my packhorse here right now, but I’ll need my buckskin.”
“Whatever you say,” Burns said. “I’ll put him in a stall and you can stow your packs in there with him.”
“How much for me to sleep in there with my horses?”
“A dollar extra,” Burns replied.
Hawk thought that was a bit steep, but he didn’t complain. He was operating on money he had found on Red Whitley, so he paid Burns and left the sorrel there while he killed time looking the town over until the dining room opened again. He was one of the first to enter when Janet turned the OPEN sign around. “Well, well,” she greeted him, “you meant it when you said you’d be back.”
“I surely did,” he replied. “I stayed in town just so I could eat here again.”
“Sit down at the long table,” she said. “We serve dinner and supper family style, so you’ll get more to eat at that table.” He did as she suggested, pulling a chair back near the middle of the table. She caught his arm before he could sit down and led him to the end of the table. “The meat platter starts at this end and today it’s pork chops and sometimes there aren’t any left but the small ones when it gets to the other end.”
“Much obliged,” he said.
“You want coffee or water?” She went to get it when he chose coffee. After that, when patrons started arriving, she and Alice became too busy for any more visiting. He marveled that the two women could manage it, but they kept the bowls filled and the coffee hot. It was well worth the charge of fifty cents. When he finished, he paused only a moment to catch Janet coming out of the kitchen with a tray and told her he enjoyed the meal. “You coming back for supper?” she asked.
“I reckon not,” he said. “I wish I could, but I’ve got some business to tend to this evening. I ain’t used to eatin’ two big meals like that in one day, anyway.”
“Well, it was nice to meet you, Mr. Hawk. Maybe you’ll have occasion to pass this way again. I hope you’ll come back to see us, if you do.”
“You can surely count on that,” he said as he started for the door.
* * *
At a couple minutes after five, according to his watch, Ethel Thacker walked out of the hotel. He watched her as she walked down the short street to the stable and went inside. After a few minutes passed, he decided to move from the bench in front of the post office in case she went out the back of the stable. But she appeared at that moment, walking with Waylon Burns, who was leading a mule. At the door, Burns handed the reins to her, but did not offer to help her up into the saddle. Instead, she exchanged a couple of words with him, then walked back up the street, leading the mule. Thinking it best not to let her see him sitting in front of the post office, he started to get to his feet, but she stopped at the general store, tied her mule at the rail, and went inside. She remained in the store for what seemed a long time before she came back outside, carrying a couple of sacks that appeared to be full. He continued to watch as she tied her purchases to her saddle and waited until she climbed on the mule and turned it away from the rail. He let her get out of sight when she turned from the road to pass beside the stable before he climbed aboard Rascal and followed.
He caught sight of her as soon as he turned at the stable, and had to rein Rascal back to allow her to extend her lead, although he would not have expected her to be wary of someone following her. Plodding slowly on her mule, showing no sign of being eager to get home, she rode away from the river until she came to a creek. Instead of crossing, she turned and followed a path that ran beside it. He estimated a distance of about two miles when he lost sight of her again when the creek made a turn around a formation of rocks. When he got to the bend, he pulled up sharply, for he could see the rough shack about fifty yards ahead. Very slowly, he backed Rascal up until concealed by the rocks, where he dismounted and tied the buckskin to a bush growing out of the rocks.
Shadows were already lengthening as he moved up close enough to the shack to see Ethel slide off her mule and lead it to a lean-to attached to the back of the cabin, where a couple of horses were tied. The door of the shack opened wide, but no one came out to help the woman unsaddle her mule or to carry her purchases inside. With no plan for his approach, Hawk decided to wait until it became a little darker before he crossed the opening between the cabin and the cottonwood he now took cover behind. He was counting on surprise to make his attack easier.
* * *
“Where the hell have you been?” Hog met his wife at the door. “I thought you mighta took that money I gave you and run off somewhere. Much longer and I was fixin’ to saddle my horse and hunt you down.”
“I had to go to the store to buy all the food you wanted,” she explained, casting a wary glance in his direction to determine how much he had been drinking. She was disappointed to see a new bottle on the table beside the empty one that had been half-full when she left that morning. He tended to become abusive when he got drunk. From the first, he had been a mean drunk, never a happy drunk like Mr. McAdow. And as the years went by, his mean drunks only got worse. If he went that way tonight, it was going to be even harder for her, since he had been away for such a long time and she had enjoyed his absence. She dreaded the thought of it and hoped that she could avoid the worst of it, if she could get some food in him before he finished that bottle.
“Well, get your ass goin’,” he ordered. “I ain’t had nothin’ to eat but them biscuits you made last night and a few little ol’ strips of bacon.”
“It won’t be long,” she said, trying to sound cheerful. “I’ll cook up those beans that have been soakin’ since this mornin’. I bought some cornmeal. I can make you some corn bread, and I bought a quarter of a ham. We’ll have a fine supper real soon.” She put more wood on the fire in the fireplace. “I need to split more wood for the fire, too,” she muttered under her breath. To him, she said, “Maybe you won’t drink any more of that whiskey, so you can enjoy your supper.”
“How much likker I drink ain’t none of your business,” he immediately responded, his nostrils seeming to flare in anger.
“I know, I know,” she quickly cried. “I’m just wantin’ you to enjoy your supper.”
“Well, get at it, and damn quick,” he ordered. He sat down at the table and poured himself another drink. The whiskey he had already consumed began to have a numbing effect on his brain now and he began to close his eyes frequently for short periods. Noticing, she stole glances at him, hoping that he might fall asleep, but he would suddenly jerk his head up, his eyes blinking open to stare stupidly at her. Seeming to be awake again, he said, “I swear, you was always a homely woman, but damned if you ain’t got worse-lookin’ every year. Thank God for whorehouses.” The thought of it made him laugh. “There’s this little bucktoothed gal at the Big Timber Hog Ranch that ol’ Red gets all hot and bothered over. She ain’t no bigger’n a willow switch—got yeller hair. I get up that way again, I think I’ll take a ride—see if she’s as good as Red says she is.”
She said nothing, suffering his insulting rantings in silence. At least, it was preferable to the times when he felt the urge to pummel her purely for his entertainment. She had endured both before, but it was just so much harder now since his recent absence. She hoped that he would just pass out, as he had done so many times before. But each time he nodded off, he would jerk upright several moments later until finally his chin dropped to rest on his chest and he began to snore. She went to work on the corn bread, thinking that a good plate of beans and corn bread would help sober him when he woke up. She didn’t notice when the cabin door came open until she felt the cold draft of air. When she turned to go and close it, she was confronted with the formidable figure standing in the doorway. She started to scream, but couldn’t make a sound, her voice was so constricted. Then she realized where she had seen him before. “You,” she said, “at the dinin’ room. What do you want?”
“Him,” Hawk said, pointing at the unconscious Hog at the table.
“Are you a lawman?” she asked when her fright over his sudden appearance subsided to the point where she could again talk.
“No, ma’am,” he said. “I’m just wantin’ to see justice done. I’m awful sorry to break in on you like this, but your husband and two friends of his are responsible for the murder of a young woman named Joanna Feeley and shootin’ the sheriff in Helena.”
She could not prevent the horrified gasp that escaped her lips. She had long suspected the three outlaws were capable of uncontrolled violence, but now it was no longer speculation. Hog had finally brought it home with him. “Was the young woman close to you?” Ethel asked.
“Yes, ma’am, she was,” Hawk replied, his gaze concentrated on the still-sleeping outlaw. “She was very special.”
“What are you going to do with Horace?” Ethel asked.
“Well, to tell you the truth, I wasn’t sure. I planned to kill him till I saw you and talked to your friends at the dinin’ room. Then I decided I didn’t want you to lose your husband, so I decided the best thing to do is for me to take him back to Helena to let him stand trial. The sheriff that was shot ain’t dead, so maybe they’d go a little easy on your husband, especially since he ain’t the one that killed the girl. That was Dubose.” She seemed so calm, now over her initial fright, that he wasn’t sure what to make of her. Perhaps she was at peace with the turn of events, maybe expecting this day to ultimately arrive. But his attention had to be returned to Hog because he was making snorting noises in preparation to waking up. “I promise you, I won’t be hard on him, but I’m gonna have to tie his hands.” She nodded, her eyes seeming to focus on something or some time far away. Satisfied that she was going to be calm, he propped his rifle against the wall behind him, took a coil of rope he had brought with him, and began to fashion a loop to put over Hog’s wrists.
Suddenly Hog woke up when Hawk removed the .44 from his holster. “What the hell . . . ?” he demanded.
“Just hold still,” Hawk said, “and there won’t be any need to get rough.”
Completely confused, Hog’s first thought was that his wife had betrayed him. He looked at her and wailed, “Ethel!”
Equally confused, Ethel found herself thrown into a whirlwind of events and questions of loyalty. Seeing Hawk, now with Hog’s pistol in hand, she wasn’t sure of his intentions. “That’s enough! Stop right there,” she cried. Startled, both Hawk and her husband turned to see her standing there with the shotgun she had brought in from her saddle. It was leveled at Hawk. “Put the pistol on the table,” she ordered calmly. Caught flat-footed, Hawk didn’t want to do that, but it was obvious that she meant business. “On the table,” she repeated sternly.
“Ma’am, you don’t wanna do this,” Hawk pleaded, but there was no wavering in the intense look in her eye as she motioned with the shotgun toward the table. He placed the pistol on the table.
The events having just taken place were enough to sober Hog. “Hot damn! Good work, Ethel. Shoot the son of a bitch.”
“No,” she said. “He wasn’t gonna shoot you, so he’s just gonna get on his horse and ride back the way he came.”
Hog was stunned. “The hell he is!” He snatched his .44 off the table and turned in time to catch the full blast of the shotgun in the chest. His eyes wide in disbelief, he dropped the gun as he stumbled backward to land on the floor.
Not sure if he was next, Hawk stood dumbfounded, trying to read the intent in the woman’s eyes as she continued to stare down at her dying husband. He was not sure if she even remembered he was there. After a long moment, she looked at the shotgun she was holding and, seeming confused, she handed it to Hawk. He propped it against the wall beside his rifle, then turned back just as her knees gave way. He caught her by the elbow to keep her from falling and guided her to one of the two chairs at the table and she sank down onto it, drained of energy. “I should have done that a long time ago,” she said softly. Hawk understood her words were to herself and not directed at him. He could only imagine the hell it must have been for her, living with a man like Hog.
He knew he should do something for her, but he didn’t know what. Seeing the whiskey bottle on the table, he poured some of it in the glass beside it and handed it to her. She stared at it for a moment, then drank it, only to spew half of it back out of her mouth. “That ain’t gonna work,” he decided. “How ’bout some coffee?” She nodded vigorously. He went to the fireplace, hoping the pot sitting in the coals was not empty. He was in luck, but it smelled as strong as iron. She sat there for a long time, sipping the hot coffee, before turning to look at the body of her husband for a few moments. Then she turned back to stare at the cup in her hand. Hawk studied her face more closely, noticing then the many old scars, evidence of past violence at the hands of her husband. “Are you gonna be all right now?” She nodded. “I swear, I didn’t come here with the intention of killin’ your husband unless he didn’t give me no choice.”
“You didn’t kill Horace, I did,” she said. “I believed you when you said you’d take him in for trial. He was gonna shoot you and I couldn’t let him do that. He was an evil man and there have been many times when I wanted to shoot him for the way he treated me. But I didn’t have the courage, till now, when he was fixin’ to shoot you. I’m done, he’s the devil’s problem now.” She uttered a long, weary sigh. “So now I reckon you can tell the law that Hog Thacker’s dead and turn me over to the sheriff, or whoever you were gonna turn Horace over to.”
Hawk found it difficult to believe she felt deserving of punishment for ridding the world of Hog Thacker. He knew he had bungled this whole encounter with the outlaw and it was primarily because he had felt empathy for his widow. “I don’t intend to take you anywhere,” he said to her. “Does anybody know about your husband, I mean here in Coulson?”
“No. They think I’m a widow. It was one of the reasons Mr. Alderson gave me a job. Horace didn’t want anybody to know about him.”
“Good,” Hawk said. “Now you really are a widow and rightfully so. We’re gonna bury your late husband and then I’ll take you anyplace you wanna go away from here. Have you got family somewhere you can go back to?”
“No,” she said. “No family. I don’t wanna go anywhere. I wanna stay here and keep my job and my house. This is the only place I’ve found peace when Horace was gone.”
“All right, if that’s what you want,” he said. “I’ll dig his grave away from the cabin, so you don’t have to see it every day. You need to go through his pockets to see if there’s anything you wanna keep. I’m thinkin’ he might have a good bit of money on him, or in his saddlebags. His partner Red did.” He paused and waited for her to respond, but she was obviously hesitating. “You want me to search him?” he asked. She nodded at once. So he quickly unbuckled Hog’s gun belt and pulled it out from under him. He picked Hog’s .44 up, returned it to the holster, and placed it on the table. “If that shotgun is the only weapon you’ve got, you might wanna keep this handgun, too.”
When he had finished searching the body, he dragged it out of the shack, which was no small task. Hog had been a large man and the job of getting his body up on Ethel’s mule was even more difficult, but Hawk managed it and took the body down the creek to find a burying spot. Digging the grave was a considerable job with the small spade he found in the lean-to with the horses, so he went no deeper than what he figured enough to keep predators from digging it up. When he returned to the shack, he was astonished to find Ethel cooking supper. “You must be hungry, after all the work you’ve been doin’,” she said. “I’ve got some beans and ham in the pot, and the corn bread’s about ready.”
“I hadn’t even thought about eatin’,” he replied, amazed that she was so calm, after what she had just gone through. “But since you’ve already cooked it, I reckon I could eat and thank you very much.” She motioned toward the table and he sat down while she filled a plate for him. After pouring him a cup of coffee, which he noticed was from a fresh pot, she sat down with a plate for herself. They ate in silence for a while until Hawk, feeling uncomfortable with it, commented, “This is good eatin’. You’re a mighty fine cook.”
She paused and looked up at him. “You think so? Horace said I was the worst cook he’d ever seen.”
“Well, he was wrong,” Hawk said, and pointed his fork at her. “It’s a damn good thing that man is out of your life.”
“I agree,” she said with a slight smile gracing her homely face.
He was still amazed by her attitude, but he was convinced that she truly felt the freedom she had longed for, to be released from a grave mistake she had made when she was younger. He no longer worried about her—she was going to be all right. After supper, he fixed the door Hog had damaged as best he could with the few tools she had.
* * *
He spread his bedroll in the front corner of the tiny shack and stayed the night at her insistence. “There’s no sense in you sleepin’ in the woods somewhere when I’ve got a warm fire and a roof here,” she said. It seemed awkward to him, but somehow it didn’t seem wrong.
They were both up early the next morning, she to go to work, and he to head back down the Yellowstone. Even though she ate her breakfast in the hotel dining room, she offered to fix him something before she left. But he declined, saying that he would get breakfast at the hotel as well. “I’ll have me one more big meal before I start back. I’ll ride into town with you. I’ve gotta pick up my packhorse at the stable, anyway.” It occurred to him then that Ethel had now acquired two horses and a saddle that might be hard to explain. He would have suggested she tell folks that he had brought it to her, but Waylon Burns knew that he had only the one packhorse with him and no extra mounts.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I won’t ride a horse to town for a while after you’re gone. And I’ll make up some story to suit everybody. I ain’t worried.” He couldn’t help noticing her uplifted spirit, even cheerful. He guessed that maybe she felt finally free after so many years in her abusive marriage.
He rode with her until they reached the point where she would normally leave the path by the creek and head toward the stable. They agreed it best to arrive at the dining room separately, so he paused there for a while and let her go on alone. “Don’t you worry about me, John Hawk,” she said in parting. “I think the Lord sent you here to set me free and I’m grateful. You be careful goin’ after Zach Dubose. That man’s ten times as evil as Horace was.”
“You take care of yourself, Ethel,” he said. Then he paused there to watch her as she rode on into the stable to give her time to turn her mule over to Waylon Burns, before riding in to get his packhorse ready to travel.
* * *
“Well, look who’s here, Alice,” Janet Combs remarked when Hawk walked in the door of the dining room. “I guess our cooking hasn’t scared him off, after all. He’s back to try it again.” She made it a point to speak loud enough for him to hear it.
“Good morning, ladies,” Hawk greeted them. “I had to see if that was just a good day in the kitchen yesterday, or if the food’s that good every day.” He expected to see Ethel sitting there eating, but she was not. Then it occurred to him that maybe she ate with Janet and Alice after the dining room was closed. As happened the day before at the noon meal, Janet and Alice became too busy with the breakfast crowd to have much opportunity to make small talk with him. That was just as well, he thought, because he didn’t want to spend a lot of time jawing. He was ready to shake the dust of Coulson off his feet, now that the question of Hog Thacker was settled, and get on with the search for Zach Dubose. The problem now was where to start looking for Mr. Dubose. He hadn’t a clue. Where would he head? Where was he from?
“You look like you’re doing some really deep thinking.” The comment came from behind him, startling him for a moment, enough to make him flinch. Janet walked around to take a seat in the chair opposite him and placed her coffee cup on the table. “Your breakfast all right?”
“It was just fine,” he said. “I’m gonna rate your dinin’ room the best in the territory.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said sweetly. She took a sip of coffee while eyeing him intently over the rim of her cup. “The word should get around, if you tell everybody you meet about us, as much as I’ll bet you travel.” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “You’re getting ready to leave Coulson right now, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am, I reckon so,” he said.
“Well, you be sure and stop by to see us when you’re next in Coulson.” She got up, picked up her cup, and went to the kitchen.
Alice was already starting to clean up the kitchen. She cocked an eyebrow at Janet when she walked in. “Well?” Alice asked.
“He’s just another drifter.” She paused and looked back through the door at him as he pushed his chair back and grabbed his hat. “Probably got a wife and six kids somewhere.”