Mark of the Hunter (10 page)

“Make it quick,” Cord reminded him. “It ain't gonna stay dark forever.” He led his horse back around to the back of the corral to wait for Dooley.

It seemed to take Dooley longer than necessary, but he finally came out the back door of the stables with his saddle on his shoulder and his bridle in his hand. “Lookee here,” he said to Cord, “they left my rifle with the saddle.” That struck Cord as rather curious. He would have thought the sheriff would take the weapon and lock it in his office. He told Dooley as much. “Oh, they had some feller sleepin' in the tack room, who was supposed to keep his eye on things, I reckon,” Dooley replied.

“Somebody's inside?” Cord responded, immediately alert, confused by Dooley's lack of urgency.

“Yeah, he woke up when I went in the tack room, but he went back to sleep after I gave him a little tap on the head.”

“Damn it, Dooley!” Cord reacted in anger. “You killed him?” He knew there was no chance a man could remain unconscious for any length of time unless Dooley had beaten his brains in.

“Ah, no, hell no,” Dooley insisted. “I never killed him. I didn't have no reason to kill him. I just gave him a little tap with a pair of tongs and tied him up while he was tryin' to figure out which end was up.”

Relieved, but still unhappy with the degree of crime that seemed to increase for him with every turn in the road, Cord hustled Dooley along. As quickly as they could manage, they bridled the buckskin and threw the saddle on him, and in a matter of minutes, they were loping along Eddy Street, heading out of town. As a matter of simple logic, they avoided the common stage road to Fort Laramie, hoping to fool the posse that was bound to be coming after them in the morning. Crossing Lodgepole Creek well west of the road, they headed north where daybreak found them about ten miles short of Horse Creek. With two tired horses needing rest, they stopped by a little stream to make some coffee and get a couple of hours' sleep.

With half of one day taken up to hunt fresh meat near the Chugwater, the two desperadoes continued riding north, covering the ninety miles to Fort Laramie in three days' time. Levi Creed could have camped at any number of different spots on his way to the Black Hills, so all Dooley could offer as help was to take Cord to the usual places of refuge for outlaws. Steering clear of the fort, Dooley led them toward the somewhat famous Three Mile Hog Ranch. However, they did not stop there. Cord had heard of it, a place where soldiers took advantage of the services offered by a bevy of soiled doves. Because it was frequented by the soldiers, it was shunned by road agents and horse thieves such as Dooley and his ilk. “If Levi stopped here, it would be at Bug Eyed Alice's place,” Dooley said. “It's a couple of miles past the Hog Ranch, and if you're lucky, there'll be one or two more women there, and you won't have to settle for Alice.”

Following a narrow trail that led between two ridges, Dooley led them to a rough cabin beside a stream. There was a small corral and a lean-to behind the cabin with a wagon parked nearby. Two horses were tied out by the front porch. “Looks like Alice has got company,” Dooley commented. He looked at the horses. “Don't look like Levi's rig, unless he's changed saddles since I've seen him. Course, that was quite a spell ago. I wasn't ridin' a buckskin then, either.”

When they were about thirty yards from the cabin, a man stepped out on the porch holding a rifle in one hand. Cord figured that he had been watching their approach from a front window ever since they turned in between the ridges. “You know him?” he asked Dooley.

“Nope, never seen him before,” Dooley said, then called out, “Howdy, friend, no need to get concerned. We mean no harm.”

The man did not answer, but continued to eye them carefully. Cord felt certain that the slightest movement toward his own rifle would trigger an instant reaction that would no doubt result in his or Dooley's death. The door of the cabin opened then and a woman walked out on the porch to stand beside the man. She peered at the two riders approaching for a long moment before a sudden smile parted her painted lips. “Bill Dooley,” she said. “Well, if you ain't a sight for sore eyes.” She nudged the man standing next to her. “That ain't nobody lookin' for you, Charley.”

“Howdy, Alice,” Dooley responded. “Damned if you ain't pretty as ever.”

“And you're as big a liar as ever,” she returned, threw her head back, and chuckled heartily. “Come on in the house. It's cold out here. Who's that you got with you?”

“This here's Cord Malone,” Dooley said. “We're ridin' up-country a piece, and I just wanted to stop by your place and let him meet one of the real ladies of the territory.”

“Is that so?” Alice replied, still grinning from ear to ear. “Well, come on in, Cord, and be real careful not to step in any of that horse shit Dooley is talkin'.” Remembering the grim man standing next to her, holding the rifle, she said, “This is Charley Patch. Him and his partner's been visitin' awhile. They just inherited some money and came to share some of it with me and the girls.” She gave Charley a playful elbow in the ribs. It seemed to break him from his distrustful stance, but he still kept his eye on the two callers, especially the younger one with the scar across his forehead.

Cord was equally wary of the man she called Charley until he suddenly seemed to relax. Only then did Cord turn his attention to Alice. She was a tiny little woman of uncertain age, her most striking feature being the obvious reason for her nickname, for her eyes bulged noticeably as if coming out to greet you. He and Dooley dismounted and tied the horses to a porch post while Alice stood holding the door open for them. Before they stepped up on the porch, a female voice from inside shrilled, “Close the damn door before we freeze to death!” Alice ignored her, and held the door till all visitors had entered.

Inside, Cord saw the reason for the outburst. Sitting in a ladder-back chair in a corner of the small parlor, a young woman wore nothing more than a thin night shift. Seated at a table near the window, Charley Patch's partner studied Dooley and him warily. Sensing the tension between the men, Alice made some quick introductions. “Bill Dooley, and who?” She had to pause for Dooley to remind her. “Cord Malone,” she went on. “Charley you met out on the porch. This is his partner, Ford Wilson. Him and Darlene here just had a little party in the playroom. Ruby's in there now, fixin' herself up a little. She'll be out in a minute.”

“Well, we don't wanna interfere with you boys' little social thing here,” Dooley began. “Me and Cord is on our way up toward Deadwood. We just stopped in to say howdy to Alice. We'll get right on outta the way in a minute or two.” Seeing the look of disappointment in Alice's face, he confessed, “Me and Cord are flat broke right now, so it's just a neighborly call. We're supposed to meet somebody and we ain't caught up with him just yet.” Both of Alice's customers smirked at his remarks.

Quick to recover her balance, Alice playfully remarked, “Dooley, you're too damn old to harvest my two girls, anyway. I didn't even have Darlene the last time you were here, but you might know Ruby.”

“I wish we had the time and money to get acquainted,” Dooley said, “but you know how it is.” He turned to Wilson and repeated it. “You know how it goes in this business, don't you, boys?”

“What business?” Wilson replied sarcastically. “I don't know what business you're in.”

Dooley gave him a knowing grin. “Oh, that's right. Alice said you boys inherited some money.”

“That's right,” Wilson said, and winked at his partner. “My uncle died suddenly. He was a prospector, and he left all his gold to me and Charley.”

Alice saw in a hurry that the conversation had excellent prospects for building into a little trouble, so she was quick to butt in. “How'd you and Dooley get together?” she asked Cord. “You don't say a whole lot, do you?”

“Don't have to,” Cord replied. “Dooley takes care of that.” She laughed and nodded.

“Cord is Ned Malone's boy,” Dooley told her. “You remember Ned Malone, don't you?”

She grimaced as she searched her memory. “Name sounds familiar, but I can't place him.”

“He was one of the old gang,” Dooley continued, “him and Levi Creed and the rest of us.”

This got an immediate reaction from the bug-eyed little woman. “Levi Creed,” she exclaimed. “I remember that son of a bitch, all right. That ain't who you're tryin' to catch up with, is it?”

“Matter of fact, it is. Have you seen him?”

“Yeah, I've seen him, all right. He was here three days ago. Ask Ruby. She's in there now, changin' the bandage on her nose.” As if on cue, the door to the bedroom opened and a tall, lanky woman came out, a piece of cloth tied around her face, holding a bandage in place over her nose. “There,” Alice said, “don't that look like that bastard's callin' card?”

“Let him show up here again,” Ruby vowed. “I'll geld the bastard. I've got a .44 Colt revolver, and the only reason he's still alive is because I didn't have it handy when he left here.” She touched her bandaged nose gingerly. Her deep-set green eyes, flashing with anger, were made darker by the bruises around them, already turning yellow.

Dooley looked at Cord and noticed the sudden tightening of his jaw and the deep frown lines over his eyes. His tense young friend was anxious to get on Levi's trail. “Well,” he offered, “don't sound like ol' Levi's changed much over the years.” He turned back to Alice. “I don't reckon he gave you no idea about which way he was headin' when he left here.”

“Who cares where he was headin',” Ruby answered for Alice, “just as long as it's away from here?”

Dooley shifted his gaze back to Alice, questioning. She responded much as Ruby had. “I don't know why you'd wanna do any business with that man. If he ain't the devil, he's his first cousin.”

“But do you know which way he was headin'?” Cord finally spoke up.

“No, I don't,” Alice replied. “He didn't say.”

The conversation had gone on long enough to suit Charley Patch. He didn't know who Levi Creed was and he didn't care. What he knew for sure was that he and his partner were the only ones who showed up with money to spend, and he wasn't inclined to cool his heels any longer. “Well, she's told you what she knows, so why don't you boys get on your horses and get the hell outta here, so the payin' customers can get down to business?”

“Just hold your horses,” Dooley said. “We'll be goin' directly.”

“You heard him,” Charley's partner interjected. “He said to get on your horse and scat.”

Dooley glanced at Cord again, but there was no indication in his partner's face that he was inclined to respond. Dooley, however, didn't care much for Wilson's tone. “You know,” he said, “we was fixin' to leave, but I don't cotton much to bein' told to leave, 'specially by some blowhard saddle tramp who's bushwhacked some poor miner up in the hills. So I reckon we'll stay awhile and visit with the ladies.”

“Why, you old wore-out son of a bitch,” Wilson spat, “somebody needs to teach you some manners.”

Not about to back down now, Dooley replied, “And who would that be? One of you two jug heads?”

“Yeah, one of us,” Charley Patch said as he leveled his rifle at Dooley. “Now get the hell outta here before I put a couple of air holes in you and your deef and dumb friend.” When no one moved right away, he cranked a cartridge into the chamber, threatening.

As they had once before, in the Crystal Palace in Ogallala, Cord's instincts took charge of his body. Without conscious thought about what he was about to do, he launched his body into the startled Charley, his shoulder into the man's midsection, while grabbing the barrel of the rifle with one hand. Ruby screamed and just managed to jump out of the way of the hurling bodies before they crashed against the wall. The rifle fired, sending a bullet into the ceiling and causing the women to scurry for cover. It was the only shot Charley was able to get off. There was a brief struggle over possession of the weapon before Cord wrenched it out of his hands, pulling Charley up from the floor with it before he was slammed back down from a solid blow from Cord's left fist.

Like a lightning strike, it had all happened so fast that both Dooley and Wilson were stunned into a momentary paralysis. When they recovered enough to take action, Wilson lunged for the table and his gun belt, where he had left it before his visit with Darlene. He was not quick enough, for Dooley was able to act in time to pick up a chair and break it over his back, landing him flat on the floor. “Is this what you was lookin' for?” Dooley taunted as he drew the pistol from Wilson's holster and held it on him. Charley gamely tried to get up from the floor again before being met with another blow from Cord's fist. This time, he stayed down.

With the altercation under control to both men's satisfaction, Cord and Dooley backed away from their assailants while keeping a steady eye on them. Meeting back to back in the middle of the room, they prepared to take their leave. The decision was seconded by the trio of women standing near the bedroom door, with Ruby holding her pistol, and Alice a double-barrel shotgun. Darlene had no weapon, but was holding a broom in a menacing fashion. “I'm always happy to see you, Dooley,” Alice said, “but I think it'd be best if you and Cord left now, and came back another time.” She paused, then added, “When you got some money.”

“I reckon you might be right,” Dooley said. “It was nice meetin' you, ladies,” he said to Ruby and Darlene. “Make sure they give you some money for that chair.”

Cord cocked Charley's rifle continuously until all the cartridges were ejected, then tossed it aside. “Ma'am,” he said to Alice, picked his hat up from the floor where it had landed during his tussle with Charley, and followed Dooley outside. When he got to the horses, he found him hurriedly rummaging through the saddlebags on the other two horses tied up at the porch. He held up a small canvas bag and grinned at Cord, then climbed into the saddle. There was no time for discussion, so Cord stepped up and followed Dooley, who was wasting no time in riding out of the yard toward the path between the ridges.

They held their horses to a hard gallop for about a mile before letting up on them. “I don't know if they'll come after us or not,” Dooley said. “It might depend on whether or not one of 'em looks in his saddlebag for this little sack.” He pulled it out of his coat pocket and hefted it in the palm of his hand. “Hard to tell. Might go five or six ounces.” He chuckled at the picture he formed in his mind when it was discovered missing. “Might be a smart idea to try to cover our tracks.”

“Might be at that,” Cord agreed, still a bit uncomfortable at having stolen the gold dust.
Something else to add to horse thief and jailbreaker,
he thought.

Dooley, having come to know his young partner by then, sensed the guilt Cord felt. “Ain't no cause for you to trouble your mind about this little sack of gold dust. I figure they owed us this much for the trouble they put us to. Hell, they stole it from some prospector somewhere, and most likely left the poor soul dead or dyin'. Besides, gold don't really belong to nobody. You just hold it for a little while. Then you give it to somebody else to hold for a little while. You grab it when you get a chance, 'cause it'll be in somebody else's hand right quick. It don't belong to nobody, and sure as hell, not them two we just left behind us.”

Accustomed to his partner's logic on nearly every subject, Cord figured it useless to argue. They walked the horses until reaching a wide stream, where they rode them into the water, hoping to lose anyone coming on behind. After a good quarter of a mile, they left the water and rode up a grassy bank. Dooley pulled up to let Cord come up beside him. “Partner, damned if you ain't a ball of chain lightnin' when somethin' lights your fuse. That ol' boy back yonder didn't know what hit him. I bet he thought a mountain lion had lit into him.” Cord shrugged, but made no reply. Dooley didn't express it, but he felt a great sense of confidence knowing he was riding with a raging bull when the going got rough. Knowing what Cord was thinking, he continued talking. “We ain't got a helluva lot of daylight left, so we'll have to rest these horses before much longer. But we ain't but about twenty-five miles from Rawhide Buttes. That's the next place to look for Levi. There's a stagecoach layover there, and there's another place like Bug Eyed Alice's—Ol' Mother Featherlegs. Her place ain't as fine as Alice's—ain't much more than a dugout, but she's always been friendly with the outlaws.”