CHAPTER 8
“That’s two of ’em,” he said aloud as he rocked in rhythm with the big buckskin’s stride. “One to go.” The one remaining was the problem, for he had no idea in which direction to search for him. If he had even one small clue to pursue, he would follow it no matter how long it took him. But he had none.
He had held Rascal to a steady pace for all of that day and the faithful horse deserved a rest, so when he came to a wide stream lined with trees, he followed it back away from the wagon road. He continued up the stream until he found a place that suited him, with grass for the horses and wood for a fire. Early the next morning, he was on his way again, and by five o’clock mess call, he rode into Fort Ellis. “Well, I’ll be damned,” Lieutenant Mathew Conner exclaimed when he walked out the headquarters door to see Hawk tying Rascal at the rail. “Where the hell have you been? I thought you had finally gotten shot by one of those Blackfoot bucks you call your friends.”
“Hello, Conner,” Hawk returned. “I see they ain’t court-martialed you outta the army yet. You must be behavin’ yourself for a change.”
Conner laughed. “Yeah, I figured I’d better lay low around here for a while. The major’s getting a lot of heat from regiment on rounding up all the bands of Indians still refusing to come into the reservations. So I figured it wasn’t a good time for me to cause any trouble.” He grinned mischievously. “I’m about ready to bust out, though. What about you? You’ve been gone for a helluva long time. You musta had trouble finding your friend Walking Owl.”
“I found him, but Brisbin ain’t gonna like what Walkin’ Owl thinks about comin’ in to the reservation. I’m on my way to give him my report right now.”
“He ain’t in right now,” Conner said. “You just missed him. He’s gone home to supper, so you’ll have to wait till morning. Come on, you can eat supper with me at the officers’ mess and you can tell me where you’ve really been for so long. Hell, ol’ Meade’s already saying you’ve gone Injun again. I didn’t say so, but I agreed with him for once. I figured you might have found your Blackfoot friends and decided to go back to living like an Indian for a while just to get the taste of the army outta your mouth. I told ’em you’d be back when you ran outta money to buy cartridges. Where the hell’s your lucky feather?” he blurted, just then noticing it missing.
“I gave it to a young woman, not much more’n a girl,” Hawk said. “She wanted it.” The question brought his mind back to the issue that troubled him. Mathew Conner had been a friend to him ever since he first started working as a scout, but he couldn’t explain to him the frustration he felt at the present time. The pledge he made over a dying young woman to avenge her murder was still the only path he could travel. And with no clue where to start his search, it was a path without light. Any time he closed his eyes, he could still see Joanna’s face and the pain in her eyes.
“Hawk,” Conner charged, “where are you? You looked like you drifted off somewhere in your mind. Damn, man, you’ve been spending too much time alone in the woods with the deer and the bears. What were you thinking about just then?”
“Oh, nothin’ much,” he answered, and quickly changed the subject. “Supper’s a good idea, but I’ll have to take care of my horses first.”
“All right. Why don’t you just come on over to the officers’ mess when you’re done. You won’t be long, will you?”
“Nope,” Hawk answered as he stepped up into the saddle.
* * *
“You’re one of the scouts, ain’t you?” The mess sergeant asked. “Hawk, ain’t it?”
“That’s right,” Hawk replied, and reached for a tray.
“This is the officers’ mess,” the sergeant informed him. “Scouts usually eat with the enlisted men. That mess hall is on the other side, over by the barracks.”
Hawk was about to tell him that Lieutenant Conner had invited him to eat supper with him, but Conner walked up at that point to intercede. “Mr. Hawk is my guest, Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant responded at once. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hawk, I was just trying to make sure everything was proper and . . .” He trailed off, unable to think of what he should say.
Conner laughed, finding the incident humorous. “I don’t blame you, Sergeant. Ol’ Hawk looks like he might be thinking about scalping somebody.”
“Yes, sir . . . I mean, no, sir, he looks just fine.” He looked at Hawk. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Hawk replied.
“Fill your plate and come on over to the table. My food’s getting cold,” Conner said.
Hawk took advantage of the opportunity to dine with the officers, an occasion that, like the sergeant had pointed out, was not the usual routine. None of the other officers eating seemed to be bothered by his presence there, with the exception of one, Lieutenant Meade. As far as the chart of responsibility was concerned, the scouts were officially commanded by Meade. But there had been some friction between the lieutenant and the imperturbable scout, ever since they had a disagreement during a search for three bank robbers at the Big Timber Hog Ranch. It seemed ironic to Hawk now that the three bandits were never caught, for he was totally convinced that he had recently seen the demise of two of the three. He noticed that Meade was watching him as he went to Conner’s table and sat down. Conner noticed it, too, and commented, “Looks like your old friend Meade is glad to see you back.”
“Looks that way. I expect he’ll wanna come over and say howdy.” Hawk was well aware that he would be out of a job with the army, if it were up to Meade. He also knew, however, that as long as Major Brisbin commanded the fort, he had a job.
Conner laughed at Hawk’s comment, but in short order Lieutenant Meade got up from his table and headed straight for them. “Uh-oh, looks like you were right. Here he comes.”
“Well,” Meade said upon approaching the table, “I see you finally returned from your trip to find that Blackfoot village.” He nodded toward Conner. “Mathew.”
“Harvey,” Conner returned the acknowledgement.
Returning his attention to Hawk, he said, “Since I command the complement of scouts, I would have expected you to report to me as soon as you got back.”
“That would be my fault,” Conner quickly interrupted. “You weren’t there when Hawk came to report, so I invited him to have supper while he waited for you.”
Well aware of Conner’s friendship with Hawk, Meade favored the indifferent scout with a smug smile. “Is that a fact?”
“Yes and no,” Hawk answered. “I was really lookin’ for Major Brisbin first, since he told me to report directly to him when I got back. Then I reckon I woulda looked for you, to let you know, too.”
“I see,” Meade said. “Well, did you find Walking Owl’s camp?”
“I did, but it wasn’t much use tryin’ to get him to come in to the reservation,” Hawk replied. “All his young warriors have gone north to Canada. There wasn’t anybody left in Walkin’ Owl’s village but old men, women, and children, and he said they’d rather die like free men in the land as they have always known it than go like white man’s cattle to the reservation.”
“It didn’t do much good to send you to find him, then, did it?” Meade smirked.
“Reckon not,” Hawk replied. “I expect the old chief knows what’s best for his people.”
“Damn Indians don’t have a clue about what’s best for them,” Meade said. “I’ll give Major Brisbin your report. There’s no need for you to bother him with it.”
“Thanks just the same, Lieutenant, but I expect I’ll report to him, since he told me to. Sort of a courtesy kinda thing, you know?”
Meade didn’t make any kind of reply. He just stood there, glaring at Hawk for a long moment before glancing at Conner. “Mathew,” he finally said, and turned to leave.
“Harvey,” Conner returned. Then he watched him until he walked out the door before turning back to Hawk. “How the hell did you and ol’ Harvey Meade get to be such big friends?”
Hawk shrugged. “I told him he was a damn fool a couple years ago.”
“That oughta do it,” Conner said. “Listen, I’m escorting the payroll for two quartz mills up in Butte day after tomorrow. I was gonna take Ben Mullins along as a scout, but why don’t you come along instead? I haven’t told Ben yet, so that won’t cause any problem. Five days, there and back, give you a chance to get back to work and I expect you could use a payday. Whaddaya say?”
“What about Meade?” Hawk replied. “He might not okay it.”
“Hell, Meade’s taking a patrol out in the morning to Three Forks. He won’t even know you went with me.”
“All right,” Hawk said. “I’ll ride scout for you—day after tomorrow, right? That’ll give me time to get my horse some new shoes and rest him up a little. I’ve been workin’ him pretty hard for the last few days and he’s showin’ signs of havin’ trouble with one of his hooves.” He thought maybe a routine patrol might be what he needed, might give him some time to decide where to start looking for Zach Dubose. As it was now, he might as well throw a stick up in the air and start searching in the direction it pointed when it landed.
“Good!” Conner said, and pushed his chair back to get up. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning when you come in to report to Major Brisbin.” He flashed a mischievous grin and confessed, “I’d invite you to meet me later on for a round of drinks, but there’s this lady friend of mine who’s expecting me to call on her tonight to give her some spiritual guidance while her husband’s away in Helena.”
* * *
As Conner had told him, Lieutenant Meade led a patrol out early the next morning, so Hawk waited until after he had gone to report to Major Brisbin. The major was disappointed to hear the results of Hawk’s journey to find Walking Owl, but was not really surprised. “I thought it was worth a try,” the major said. “If that old chief would listen to any white man, it would have been you.” He thanked Hawk for taking the assignment, leaving Hawk feeling slightly guilty for not having given the chief any argument extolling the wisdom of going to the reservation.
When he left the headquarters building, he saddled Rascal and set out for Bozeman, four miles away. He was afraid he had not been paying enough attention to Rascal during the past few days, with everything else that had been going on. But lately he noticed the horse shifting weight from one leg to another as if to relieve pain or pressure in his feet. That was unusual for Rascal, and Hawk suspected the buckskin might have a “hot nail.” If that was the case, it could be causing the horse a lot of discomfort. He had just recently had Rascal shod in Helena by Grover Bramble, and Grover had always done good work. But he remembered the circumstances on that day when Grover was in a hurry to get home early. He thought about having the farrier there at the fort take a look, but he was partial to the blacksmith in Bozeman. The army blacksmith might do an adequate job, but when it came to Rascal, Hawk preferred something above adequate. And Ernest Bloodworth had been shoeing the big buckskin for the past few years with never a complaint from Hawk. He could have gotten Rascal shod at the fort free of charge, but he felt it worth the money to take him to Bloodworth.
It was in the middle of the morning when Hawk rode into Bozeman. He received a friendly “Good morning” from Ernest Bloodworth when he pulled up at his shop. After they took a look at Rascal’s shoes together, they agreed that the buckskin’s hooves appeared to be in good shape, but Bloodworth suspected that the nails were driven too close to the center of the foot. Hawk decided to walk across the street to Grainger’s Saloon while Bloodworth examined all Rascal’s hooves.
“Well, lookee here,” Fred Grainger blurted when Hawk walked in the door. “Mr. Hawk, it’s been a while since you’ve been in. I thought maybe you weren’t working for the army anymore.” Hawk walked up to the bar. “What happened to that feather you always wore in your hat?”
“I lost it somewhere up near Helena,” Hawk replied, thinking that he was always being asked about that feather now. And every time he was asked, he recalled a vivid picture of the time he had actually lost it and the guilt he felt for not having fulfilled his promise. “I reckon I’ll have to find me another one,” he said, if only to stop the questions. “You got any coffee? I ain’t quite ready to start drinkin’ yet.”
“I sure do,” Grainger replied. While he got Hawk’s coffee he rattled on, “I don’t reckon I’ll ever forget the last time you were in here and that fellow called you out. You sure as hell gave him something he wasn’t expecting. You ever run into him again?”
“Nope, not anymore,” Hawk said, not wishing to discuss his troubles with the cold-blooded murderer Roy Nestor. Grainger was obviously eager to recall the incident in his saloon, but Hawk quickly changed the subject. “You got anything to eat with this coffee, a piece of jerky or somethin’? I didn’t eat breakfast this mornin’.”
“I got some jerky,” Grainger answered, “and some hardtack.”
“That’ll do,” Hawk said. “Just somethin’ to hold me till I get some dinner at Sadie’s Diner.” It was enough to steer Grainger away from rehashing the incident in his saloon, so he ate a couple of pieces of beef jerky and downed a couple of cups of coffee. He paid Grainger and hurried out, saying he had best check on his horse.
On his way out the door, he passed one of Grainger’s regulars coming in and he could hear Grainger greeting him. “See that fellow going out . . . ?” He had no desire to become famous, so he decided that maybe he would go down the street to the Trail’s End Saloon next time.
“It’s a good thing you brought this horse in,” Bloodworth said when he returned to his shop. “I found one nail too close to the center in his left front foot. It was startin’ to irritate him, but we got to it before it caused an infection.”
Hawk waited and watched while Ernest Bloodworth finished shoeing Rascal, then went up to Sadie’s Diner for dinner. Sadie remembered him as the customer who had said that her cooking was the best in the territory. It was good for an overly generous plate of beef stew. She even sat down to chat for a few minutes when she had the time. He paid her and told her again that it was by far the best stew in the territory.
Back at Fort Ellis, he turned Rascal out to graze while he checked over the packs he had stored in a corner of the tack room where he usually kept his saddle. He wouldn’t take his packhorse on this patrol because he could carry enough food and his small coffeepot in his war bag on his saddle. The troopers riding in the patrol would be ordered to take rations for five days, the same for Lieutenant Conner. They could do it in five days if there was no trouble along the way, even though a good portion of the trip would be through a lot of mountain country. When all was ready, he spread his bedroll on an empty cot in the enlisted men’s barracks after supper in their mess hall. The seven-man patrol pulled out the next morning right after “Stable and Watering” call at six o’clock on the way to pick up the courier with the payroll at the Bank of Bozeman.
* * *
The patrol pulled up at the bank long before it opened for business, and Lieutenant Conner dismounted to go and meet the courier. A slightly built man wearing a business suit and riding boots walked out of the bank to meet Conner. His first comments were to express surprise to see an officer, seven soldiers, and a scout when he just expected Major Brisbin to send a couple of guards. He was carrying an oversized pair of saddlebags, which he placed on a horse tied at the rail after he greeted the lieutenant. He introduced himself as John Durham, a special assistant to W. A. Clark, the owner of several quartz mills. He questioned Conner on the wisdom of an escort of this size, wondering if it might trigger suspicions from anyone with a mind to steal. Conner assured him that it would take a sizable raiding party to pull off such a raid. Durham didn’t appear to be pacified by Conner’s assurances, but he climbed on his horse and the escort was under way. After that, there was very little said between Durham and the lieutenant, since Mr. Clark’s courier seemed intent upon the trail ahead and behind, and less interested in passing idle chitchat. Hawk wondered if the fellow had been held up before, or if he was just naturally nervous and no doubt feeling the weight of his responsibility.
Following Hawk’s recommendation, Conner pushed the column a few miles farther than usual before stopping to rest the horses at the forks where three rivers met. Hawk went on ahead to scout the riverbanks to make sure no hostile Indian hunting parties were camped there. Blackfoot hunting parties had been reported in the mountains surrounding Butte, along with Kutenai and Flathead. Of these, the lieutenant was more concerned about the Blackfoot. In spite of Hawk’s close ties with them, their reputation as a warring tribe was enough to give Conner reason to be cautious.
Hawk had selected a good spot to rest the horses by the time the escort caught up with him. “I figure when we make camp for the night, we oughta be near the Jefferson River,” Hawk said to Conner when the lieutenant had dismounted. “You can give the men a good break here to fix some breakfast and rest up, then you’ll have an easy half day to the Jefferson. That’ll get us to Butte plenty early tomorrow afternoon.”
“Sounds good to me,” Conner said. He studied his friend’s face for a long moment. It seemed to him that Hawk’s mind was somewhere else ever since he came back. He was doing his job as a scout, there was no complaint there, but his mood appeared to be unusually serious. “What’s eating at you?”
“Nothin’,” Hawk replied. “What makes you think somethin’s eatin’ at me?”
“You ain’t been the same ever since you got back two nights ago, but I guess you just don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Reckon not,” Hawk said. “Right now, I expect we’d best see about the horses and get a couple of fires goin’, so we can eat breakfast.”
“All right,” Conner said, giving up for the moment. “But I’ll get it outta you by and by.” He turned and handed his reins to Corporal Johnson, who promptly handed them off to one of the other men with instructions to take care of the lieutenant’s horse. There was no opportunity to press Hawk further because of the presence of John Durham, who naturally had his coffee at the lieutenant’s fire. That suited Hawk just fine because he didn’t want to discuss his problems with Conner, or anyone else. To take his mind off Zach Dubose, he occupied it with a study of the nervous little man with the huge payroll. Maybe it was the size of that payroll that caused Durham to be so jumpy. A pale man of almost delicate features, he was clean-shaven except for a neat mustache so thin that it looked as if it had been drawn with a pencil. Hawk would have bet he had never seen the outside of a clerk’s office. He wondered how he had ever drawn an assignment like the one he was now on.
When the horses were thought to be sufficiently rested, the escort moved out again, headed for Three Forks, where they went into camp for the night. To satisfy Mr. Durham, Conner sent Hawk out to scout the area around the campsite to make sure there were no would-be bandits about. Conner was more concerned with a coincidental encounter with a Blackfoot war party. When Hawk returned with a report that there was no sign of anything within a wide circle around them, Durham was only partially placated. Hawk was reminded of his thoughts upon first meeting the little man and his obvious nervousness at the time. It was almost like he expected to be ambushed, even though he had commented that he thought his escort was composed of more soldiers than he had thought necessary. He decided to take another look around after everybody was in bed for the night, just for the hell of it, he told himself.
Shortly after dark, everyone turned in with the exception of the one soldier who drew the first two hours of guard duty. Conner had seen no reason to post more than the one sentinel, primarily to make sure a party of Sioux raiders had no opportunity to steal the horses. After the camp quieted down with the exception of a small chorus of snoring, Hawk rolled out of his blanket and walked over to the private posted near the horses. “Can’t sleep?” the sentry asked him when he approached.
“A little too much on my mind, I reckon,” Hawk replied. “So I thought I’d look around down the creek bank, see if there’s a muskrat lookin’ to find a cook pot.”
“Hell,” the private said, “you coulda took my place. I wouldn’t have any trouble sleepin’.”
“I reckon I could have at that, but Lieutenant Conner most likely trusts you not to go to sleep more’n he’d trust me. I’ll give you a little whistle when I come back so you don’t shoot me.” He walked past the guard and soon faded into the darkness under the trees.
I don’t know why he needed that rifle, the private thought. He’ll sure as shooting raise hell if he shoots at a muskrat and draws everybody outta their blankets.
Halfway of the opinion that he was wasting good sleep, Hawk circled back to scout the column’s back trail. He was curious to see if there might be a chance they were being tailed. If they were, and their followers’ intention was to steal the mine payroll, they would have to be a large party of bandits to even think about attacking a patrol of soldiers. Thinking his suspicions confirmed after scouting the path they had ridden into their camp and finding no sign of anyone, he decided to start back.
* * *
“That snivelin’ little bastard didn’t know what he was talkin’ about,” Bevo Brogan complained. “How many you make it?”
“I’m countin’ seven sleepin’ and that one standin’ guard by the horses,” Johnny Dent replied. “Is that what you make it, Slim?”
“That’s about right,” Slim answered. “What are we gonna do?”
“He said there would be a couple of guards and that’s all,” Bevo said. “And it looks like they sent half the damn soldiers from Fort Ellis. We can’t go down there and take all them on.”
“That little shit is totin’ a helluva lot of money in those saddlebags he’s usin’ for a pillow,” Johnny reminded them. “I swear, it’s hard for me to turn tail and ride away and leave all that money behind.” The three of them remained there on the opposite bank of the creek, watching the sleeping camp for a while longer, reluctant to give up on such a prize, but not eager to engage a cavalry escort. They didn’t know the exact amount of the payroll Durham carried, but they had been promised a thousand dollars each to kill the guards and steal it. “You know, they may have us outnumbered, but we oughta be able to fix that. We could shoot most of ’em before they could get outta their blankets. We could cut them odds down till we outnumbered them before they know what’s goin’ on.”
“Maybe,” Bevo said, giving it serious thought. “I don’t know. We’d have to be damn sure on every shot.”
“Hell, we can get close enough, so we can’t miss and they won’t know where it’s comin’ from, dark as it is,” Johnny Dent insisted. “I say we can do it.”
“And while we’re at it, we can put a bullet in Mr. John Durham and thank him for puttin’ us onto this little job,” Bevo said. “I’m thinkin’ if he’s willin’ to give us a thousand dollars apiece, there’s gotta be one helluva lot of money in those saddlebags.”
“And then it’s off to Texas,” Slim said. “Hell, I’m for it.”
“All right,” Bevo crowed. “It’ll be the three of us against the U.S. Army. That sounds like a fair matchup to me.” He got serious for a moment then and warned his partners. “We’ve got to be damn good and sure we don’t miss with our first shots. We’ve got to make sure there’s three less soldiers when they come outta them blankets. If we do that, we’re bound to get a couple more before they know what hit ’em.”
“We need to get a little bit closer, so we can’t miss,” Slim said, and pointed to a mound of grass close to the edge of the water. “Maybe behind that hump yonder. That’d give us protection from anythin’ they throw at us.” The other two agreed, so they moved cautiously down to the mound and got set to aim their rifles at the unsuspecting soldiers.
“We need to all fire at the same time, so pick your targets, so nobody’s shootin’ at the same one,” Bevo said. “I’ll take that one standin’ guard. We gotta take him first, for sure. Go ahead and pick your target.” Slim and Johnny each picked one of the sleeping targets. “All right,” Bevo went on. “Soon as you shoot, cock and shoot another’n as fast as you can and we might get the whole bunch before they can fire a shot. Remember, everybody at the same time on the first shot. I’ll count to three and we’ll cut loose.”
“Do we shoot after you say three, or at the same time you say three?” Slim wanted to know. Slim was known to be simpleminded, so the question didn’t surprise the other two.
“You rest your finger on that trigger and when you hear the word three, you squeeze it, all right?” Bevo said. When Slim said, “All right,” Bevo started the count, “One . . .” was as far as he got before the lethal warning.
“You say three and you’re a dead man.” The deadly promise came from behind him, causing Bevo to freeze.
Confused, Johnny turned and fired his rifle, but his shot screamed harmlessly up through the trees when a slug from Hawk’s Winchester slammed solidly into his chest. Reacting then, Bevo spun around, but not before Hawk had cranked another round into the chamber and stood with his rifle pointing squarely at the startled man’s face. “Hold on!” Bevo shouted, and dropped his weapon. If Slim Perry had any notions about taking a shot, they were promptly rejected when the sentry came running to investigate. Slim dropped his rifle and stood with his hands up.
“Everythin’s under control,” Hawk called out to the rapidly approaching guard. “We’ve got a couple of prisoners here with their hands up.” His only concern at the moment was the prospect of getting shot by the sentry. By this time, there was a minor state of chaos in the camp behind the sentry, as the other soldiers scrambled out of their blankets, thinking they were under attack. “Everythin’s under control!” Hawk repeated, but this time it was a yell.
“Is that you, Hawk?” Lieutenant Conner called out from the small tree he had taken cover behind. “What was the shooting about?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Tell your men to hold their fire.” He looked at the sentry. “What’s your name, soldier?” The sentry responded, still excited about what had just taken place, although he was not yet sure exactly what that was. Hawk called out again. “Me and McQueen are bringin’ in a couple of prisoners, so hold your fire.”
“Come on, then,” Conner called back, and he and the other men gathered back at the campsite they had just abandoned. That is, all but one soul. The courier, John Durham, never left his bedroll, but had remained cowering there throughout the attack gone bad. He crawled out of his blankets only when all the soldiers returned from the various trees and logs they had scrambled to for cover. He still lingered behind the men as Hawk and Private McQueen marched Bevo Brogan and Slim Perry into the camp. “Well, I’ll be damned,” Conner swore, then turned to the soldier closest to him. “Build up that fire, so we can see a little better.” While the soldier jumped to obey, being as anxious to see as the lieutenant, Conner kept his eyes on the prisoners. “Is that it?” Conner asked. “Where are the rest of them?”
Hawk directed the prisoners to sit down, so Bevo and Slim did as he ordered and sat down by the fire, which was rapidly gathering strength. “There’s another one back on the other side of the creek I had to shoot.”
“Another one?” Conner asked. “And that’s all? You mean you’re telling me three men were planning to attack an army escort more than twice their number?”
“Looks that way,” Hawk answered.
“See, we figured we could cut down the odds if we was to shoot most of you while you was asleep,” Slim volunteered.
“Shut up, Slim,” Bevo blurted out, shocked by his simple partner’s confession.
Addressing Bevo, Conner asked, “How did you know this payroll was going to Butte on this particular day?”
“Ask him,” Bevo answered, pointing at Durham, who was trying not to be conspicuous. Everyone turned to stare at him.
Obviously flustered, Durham emitted a small choking cough before responding. “Why are you looking at me? I’ve never seen this man before.”
“Lyin’ son of a bitch!” Bevo exclaimed. “I ain’t takin’ the blame for this all by myself!” His anger rising now, he charged, “You said there’d likely be two guards ridin’ your ass up to Butte, not a whole damn patrol. And Johnny Dent layin’ dead back on the other side of the creek,” he added. Finding the story more than a little interesting, Hawk recalled his initial thoughts about Durham’s nervousness from the beginning. Then he remembered how Durham, himself, had commented that he hadn’t expected so many in his escort when they picked him up at the bank.
Barely able to talk above a squeak now, Durham insisted, “The man obviously has a mental problem. I’ve never set eyes on him before and he certainly doesn’t know me.”
“Is that so?” Bevo replied, determined that if he was going to pay for the attempted robbery, the man who planned the whole thing was going to share the blame. “I know your name is Mr. John Durham and you were a whole helluva lot more anxious to know me and Johnny Dent when you set yourself down at the table in the Trail’s End Saloon back in Bozeman.”
“That’s right,” Slim piped up again. “I wasn’t with ’em that night. They came to get me later to help ’em out.”
Hawk almost laughed. If they got those two in front of a judge, it would be a helluva job to keep the simpleminded one from confessing every detail, and possibly owning up to several other crimes. “This is downright entertainin’,” he said to Conner, “but I think I’ll go back and check on that fellow I shot and see if I can round up their horses.”
“You want me to send a man to help you?”
“No, no need,” Hawk replied. “I’ll be back shortly.” He whistled softly and in a few seconds, Rascal walked up to be saddled. Hawk didn’t bother with the saddle, however, but jumped on the buckskin’s back. He figured it would be easier to find the three horses with Rascal’s help and this time he’d cross the creek on horseback. His trousers were going to be a long time drying out as it was, since he walked Bevo and Slim across before.
He found Johnny Dent’s body in roughly the same position he had left it. It appeared that Dent had made a few futile efforts to get up, but he hadn’t made much progress before the devil called him. Hawk relieved the body of its weapons and cartridges, with an eye toward selling the weapons. He had an idea that Connor would not insist that they be confiscated by the military, knowing that Hawk had to count on resources outside his modest pay as a scout. He would leave it up to Conner as to whether or not to bury the body. If it was up to him, he’d leave it for the scavengers to feed on.
Knowing the horses couldn’t be far away, he rode back away from the creek until he heard one of them give an inquiring whinny to Rascal and he found them tied in a clump of bushes. When he led them back to camp, he saw that Conner had given orders to tie the two would-be assassins hand and foot and leave them by the fire to dry their trousers. Conner was in the process of deciding what to do with Durham. As far as sleep was concerned, it was apparent that this night was shot, for there was already coffee boiling in the ashes of the fire. None of the soldiers were inclined to go back to bed as long as there was so much going on.
With a thought toward picking up an extra horse, Hawk wanted to identify the one that belonged to the dead man. He was pretty sure where he would get an honest answer, so he stopped by the fire long enough to ask Slim which horse belonged to the dead man. The red roan, he was promptly told. With any other officer, the horse would become government property, but with Conner, there was always a chance he might let Hawk take possession of it. He took the horses over with the army mounts and pulled the saddles off the three he had picked up.
“To tell you the truth, Durham,” Conner was saying when Hawk walked up to listen, “I’ve never quite had a situation like yours before.” He was obviously not sure what he should do with W. A. Clark’s trusted assistant, whether to tie him up with his accomplices, or trust him to be on his good behavior until they reached Clark’s offices at the quartz mill. Whereas it might seem fit to let Clark deal with him, it might be protocol to place him in jail and notify the U.S. Marshals Service to send a deputy to transport him back for trial. To his knowledge, there was no jail in Butte, however. As for Bevo and Slim, their crime was an assault on a U.S. Army patrol. They would be taken back to Fort Ellis to stand trial.
“I tell you, Lieutenant, you’re making a huge mistake,” Durham pleaded. “It’s my word against the word of two craven outlaws, who obviously intended to steal this payroll and kill every one of us. Surely you won’t take the word of an outright outlaw over one who was trusted enough by my employer to carry this money. This is not the first time I have been entrusted to carry the payroll.” He looked with pleading eyes from Conner to Hawk and back again.
“There’s always a first time, I reckon,” Hawk commented, firmly convinced that Durham was guilty of the conspiracy to steal the payroll.
“Here’s what I’m gonna do,” Conner finally decided. “I’m taking your two accomplices back with me to Fort Ellis to stand trial. If you’ll give me your word that you won’t try to escape, then I won’t put you in restraints. But I’ll be taking possession of those saddlebags holding the money. When we get to Butte, I’ll turn you and the money over to your company and they can do whatever they think best.” Durham looked sort of sick about the decision, but had to figure it was better than being trussed up like his conspirators for a full day of riding ahead of them before they reached Butte.
* * *
Upon reaching the headquarters of W. A. Clark’s quartz enterprise, Lieutenant Conner, along with two troopers, escorted Durham into the office, where they were met by Clark’s second-in-command. “Well, hello, John,” Marshall Talbot greeted Durham. “I see you made it all right. With that escort, I can see why there wasn’t much danger of trouble.” He flashed a wide smile toward Conner. “Thank you for your help, Lieutenant. We’re always grateful for the army’s protection on these payroll runs.” It struck him then that something didn’t seem right. Instead of responding to his greeting, Durham remained silent and continued to stand behind the lieutenant and between the two soldiers.
“There was a little trouble on the ride up here,” Conner began. He introduced himself, then went on to inform Talbot about the attempted payroll holdup. He handed the astonished Talbot the saddlebags carrying the money. “Like I said, we have two of the three accomplices in our custody and I see it as my responsibility to take them back to Fort Ellis for trial. I’m turning Mr. Durham over to you to punish as you see fit. I don’t know of any precedent for his actions, so I’m not interested in taking him to a court.”
Durham pleaded to the obviously flabbergasted Talbot. “Marshall, this is all some terrible mistake. I don’t know why these outlaws who attempted to steal the payroll said that I was a part of it. It’s such an absurd accusation, I would hope you know me better than to believe such a tale.”
Totally at a loss as to what action he should take, Talbot was struck speechless for a long moment. Who could he believe? He wasn’t sure. It was inconceivable to think John Durham capable of such a crime, but the accusations made by the lieutenant were hard to refute.
Knowing the quandary he had created for the milling company, Conner found the situation almost amusing. For his part, he didn’t really care what the company did about Durham, he just wanted to be rid of him. So he said, “The army’s responsibility ends with the delivery of the payroll and your employee. Good day, sir.” He turned and walked out.
Outside, he climbed on his horse and laughed when he said to Hawk, “We sure left that fellow in a pickle. He doesn’t have a clue about what to do with ol’ Durham.” He wheeled his horse and started back. “Let’s get the hell away from here before they try to give him back to us.” Hawk heard him chuckling to himself as he nudged his horse to lope away from the mill. Hawk followed, leading the red roan that had belonged to Johnny Dent. Behind him, the troopers escorted Bevo and Slim, their hands tied together behind their backs.