A Man Called Sunday (23 page)

Out the back door he charged, passing Wylie as the wounded man staggered toward their horses still tied up at the corral. Without a word to his partner, Bogart strode to the small log building next to the outhouse. There was no meat hanging inside the smokehouse, and he was about to reverse his steps when he noticed several feed sacks stacked against the wall. His eyes opened wide in anticipation when he remembered what Lem Sloat had said, but could she have still left the money in a sack of grain, as Lem claimed? He wasted no time finding out. Not bothering to untie the sacks, he plunged his knife in each one and ripped them open, spilling feed and grain on the earthen floor. Only one sack held feed corn and Bogart's knife blade struck something hard when he thrust it in that sack. His head was pounding with the rapid beat of his heart as he raked the corn out, uncovering eight small cloth bags. “Hot damn! Hot damn!” he blurted over and over, his fingers fumbling with excitement as he tried to open the bags. “I found it, Wylie! I knew there was money here!” It was too dark to count the money in the smokehouse, so he hurried outside and sat down on the ground to count his treasure. Seven of the bags contained five double eagles each. The eighth one held an assortment of silver coins. The huge man dumped them in his lap and grinned like a child at Christmastime. He enjoyed his find for a few moments more before calling his mind back to reality. Now that he had found what he had come for, the next thing was to get away from there before a posse of angry farmers appeared. Cradling the money up in his hands, he stalked toward the corral. “Wylie,” he called out, “I got what we came for.”

He found the wounded man sitting in the saddle, leaning forward on his horse's neck. “You found the money?” Wylie asked painfully. Bogart's announcement was enough to bring him back from the dead. “How much was it?”

“A couple hundred apiece,” Bogart replied, thinking quickly.

“Gimme mine,” Wylie rasped.

“Gimme a minute to put 'em down before I drop 'em,” Bogart replied, and dropped all but two of the cloth bags in his saddlebag. “There you go,” he crowed as he stuffed the two bags in Wylie's saddlebag. “Now I expect it'd be healthier for us to get as far away from this place as we can.” He climbed up and settled his heavy bulk in the saddle, but hesitated before turning his horse away from the corral rail. “I wonder about them other two women, though. If I had to run for it, I'd sure as hell take anythin' valuable I had. It would be mighty interestin' to find out what they grabbed before they jumped out that window.”

Wylie didn't really care at that point. “We found the damn money,” he mumbled painfully. “You just wanna get your hands on that damn woman. We need to get outta here.”

“Maybe I will get my hands on that pretty little body before this is over,” Bogart said. Wylie was right, he wanted the woman. She had burrowed into his lustful mind like a weevil. The thought that Luke Sunday might have had his way with her brought a greater desire to kill the sandy-haired Indian.

Chapter 13

The night was long and sleepless for the two desperate women huddled together under the steep bank of the river. Afraid to start a fire, even had they the means to start one, they spent the slowly passing hours listening for any sound that might announce the approach of the two killers. The river was quiet, except for the occasional splashing of a fish or a muskrat, or the croaking of a frog, but they were never certain that it was a fish or a muskrat and not something else. It was with mixed emotions that they greeted the first rays of light. They had survived the night, but the breaking day would provide light for anyone searching for them. They both felt that it would be hard to find them, for they had run a long way, making their way through thick patches of bushes and cottonwoods, along the river bluffs, and down countless gullies until they fell exhausted in a washed-out hole in the bank.

“Surely after all this time, they must have ridden on,” Mary Beth said.

“Unless they've been waitin' for daylight to come after us,” Vienna replied. “We shoulda found us a good place close to the cabin to ambush 'em last night, if they were of a mind to come after us.” She was a little disgusted with herself for being so frightened during the night just passed, but she had never been exposed to such conscienceless murder before. Even encounters with hostile Indian war parties did not seem to be so terrifying as these two murderers. Resigning herself to regain her usual bluster, she announced, “I've had enough of this rabbit streak runnin' down my back. I'm goin' back to my cabin.”

“Do you think it's safe to go back now?” Mary Beth replied, not so sure it would be a wise thing to do.

“Safe or not,” Vienna stated, “it's my damn house those murderers are tearin' up, and they've killed an entire family of my friends. I'm goin' back, and if they're still there, well, then there's gonna be hell to pay.” She cocked her rifle to emphasize her resolve. The cocking of the rifle was followed by another sound, this one from the bluff above them. Both women froze, for judging from the rustle of bushes, something or someone had found their hiding place. Vienna immediately backed up against the side of the hole and motioned for Mary Beth to get down. She trained her rifle on the edge of the overhanging bank, determined to shoot at whatever showed itself. They both jumped when they heard the voice.

“Ma'am, be careful with that rifle.”

Crouched on her heels until that moment, Mary Beth sprang up and ran out to the water's edge. Too late to stop her, Vienna could only gape at the woman who had seemingly lost her mind. A moment later, she saw Mary Beth's glad smile and heard her say, “Luke Sunday.”

“Are you all right, ma'am?” Luke asked.

“Now that I'm looking at you, I am,” Mary Beth admitted.

Vienna came out from under the bank to join them. “I've never been so glad to see someone in my entire life,” she exclaimed when the tall white warrior made his way down through the gully. “I guess you saw what happened at my cabin.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Luke replied. “I'm real sorry for your friends. I didn't see anybody around, and I found your tracks leadin' across the field, so I came lookin' for you. I didn't see anybody's tracks chasin' you.” His typical unemotional speech belied the anguish he had experienced when coming upon the ghastly scene at the cabin, as well as the joyous relief he felt upon finding Mary Beth safe.

“Is my house still standin'?” Vienna asked, afraid that the two assailants might have burned it down. Luke assured her that both houses were intact although there appeared to be quite a bit of destruction to the furnishings. “Well, at least they left us a roof over our heads,” she said.

Answering his question, the women told him of the two men who had appeared at the edge of the road, and the futile attempt they had all made to defend themselves after John was shot down in cold blood. When Mary Beth described the two men, and said that the big one reminded her of one of the scouts she thought she had seen at Fort Fetterman, Luke had no doubt who the killers were. “Bogart,” he muttered, for the huge man came to mind immediately. But how, he wondered, did Bill Bogart happen to be here on the Yellowstone, and not with the soldiers now chasing the splintered parties of Sioux and Cheyenne? Mary Beth told him about the demands they had made for the money they said they knew was hidden somewhere in the house. It seemed more likely then that someone at Fort Fetterman had found out about Mary Beth's sack of corn. And from her description of the men that attacked them, that man had to be Bogart. Still showing no outward emotion, he said, “Well, they're gone now, so we best be gettin' back. We've got bodies to bury.” He took a long look at Mary Beth's eyes, now somewhat strained and weary, and said, “I expect you two could use some rest and maybe somethin' to eat.”

“I could eat,” Vienna replied immediately.

At Luke's insistence, the two women rode back to the cabin on his horse while he ran a few yards in front, trotting at a pace that dictated a fast walk for the paint gelding. It was a distance of a little over two miles, but it had seemed twice that in the darkness of the night before. Upon reaching the cornfield, Luke halted the horse, telling the women to remain there until he took a precautionary look around. “A man like Bogart might take a notion to come back lookin' for you,” Luke said.

“Well, that's comfortin', ain't it?” Vienna asked facetiously.

“Don't hurt to be careful,” Luke said, realizing then that it might not have been the right thing to say.

After a brief look around, Luke signaled for them to come in. Mary Beth and Vienna went directly to the bedroom, where they found Doris's body just as it had been when they escaped through the window. In the doorway of the bedroom, they found young John Edward Freeman Jr., called Jack by his parents, his body drawn up in the fetal position, a result of two gunshot wounds in his gut. A third wound in the side of his head must have slammed death's door on the dying boy. “Those bastards,” Vienna spat. “They couldn't just rob us and leave us in peace. What kind of animal does this?”

“You women do whatever you want to get 'em ready to bury,” Luke said. “I'll go up by the road and get John's body. Then I'll dig a grave.”

“I'll take care of this,” Vienna told Mary Beth. “Why don't you get a fire goin' in the stove and see if you can find something to cook? We're all about to starve.” She looked through the doorway toward the kitchen. “They sure made a mess of the place. They probably didn't leave us a mouthful of food.”

“I've got plenty of meat on my packhorse in the barn. I was bringin' it to you,” Luke said as he was going out the front door.

“You always do,” Mary Beth remarked. “Whenever we need food, you find a way to get it.” Luke was not sure how to respond, so he didn't. Mary Beth watched him as he stepped off the front porch on his way to get John's body. She turned and started toward the kitchen, only to think of the one thing she had not checked on. She passed through the kitchen and out the back door, an anxious frown fixed on her face. Frozen in the door of the smokehouse, she stared at the gutted sacks against the wall. The one she was most concerned with sat almost empty, a pile of corn before it, the top of the bag collapsed upon itself, a signal to her that everything she had was gone. Knowing it to be a useless endeavor, she rushed to kneel before the gutted sack and scattered the pile of corn in desperate hope they might have missed a bag or a coin.
What a fool I am,
she silently berated herself for having thought the sack of corn the perfect hiding place. After a few moments of chastising herself, she told herself,
What's done is done. There's nothing I can do about it now
. And she once again despaired over David's and her fatal decision to come west in the first place. Pulling herself together, she got up to return to the kitchen to see what she could find to feed them, dreading to tell Vienna that the money she planned to spend on their farm was gone.

* * *

What Bogart and Wylie had not stolen, they had destroyed, but Luke supplied the women with enough meat, coffee, and beans to tide them over for a few days until they could go to town for more supplies. The money to buy those supplies was also furnished by Luke, who volunteered the balance of the one hundred dollars Mary Beth had paid him, sixty dollars to be exact. Mary Beth made a mild protest, but knew that she and Vienna had little choice but to take his money. Luke insisted that he was accustomed to being broke, so he would hardly miss it. “If I ain't got it, I won't have to worry about losin' it.”

Mary Beth would always remember the sadness of the day when they buried John, Doris, and their son in one common grave. It had been a gray day from the beginning, and as soon as Luke had finished digging the grave, a light rain began to fall. It was as if God saw fit to personally express His sadness over the brutal murder of a young and promising family. There was little ceremony. Vienna beseeched God to please accept them lovingly. “They're good people,” she implored, “the kind we need more of.” She ended her prayer with one more request, since she had the Lord's ear, and that was to strike down the devils who had destroyed the family.

“Amen,” Mary Beth offered.

The meal that followed was almost as sad as the funeral with all three eating in silence until Vienna commented that at least the rain had let up. “It wasn't enough to do the corn any good, but at least we got John and his family in the ground.” Her comment seemed to end the mourning period and signal the need to plan for the future. “We need to get all that deer meat in the smokehouse and start drying it. Then we'd best get this place straightened up. After that, we can take care of John and Doris's house.”

“I'll be leavin',” Luke announced quietly.

“Why?” Mary Beth quickly responded, her fears at once returning. “Where are you going?”

“I need to go while I've still got a trail to follow,” he replied. “They didn't bother with coverin' their tracks.”

Mary Beth was at once alarmed. “We need you here.” She paused when both Vienna and Luke gave her a look of astonishment. “For a while, anyway,” she continued. “What if those men come back?”

“That's why I've got to go after 'em,” Luke said, “to make sure they don't.” He glanced at Vienna, and she nodded in agreement. “One of 'em's hurt. I found a lot of blood on the ground back of the house. Maybe they'll be travelin' slow. I need to get after 'em before we have more rain and I lose the tracks.”

“What about the law?” Mary Beth asked. “Shouldn't that be the law's responsibility?”

Her questions drew expressions of astonishment once again from both Luke and Vienna. “What law?” Vienna responded. “There ain't no law closer than Bozeman, and that's about a hundred and fifty miles from here. An eye for an eye, that's the law in this territory, and it's up to ordinary folks to protect themselves from predators like the ones responsible for our trouble.” She left little doubt where she stood regarding punishment for the two men who had killed John, Doris, and Jack. “Ain't no different from shootin' a couple of coyotes raidin' the chicken coop.”

“I guess you're right,” Mary Beth conceded, “when you put it like that.” She frowned and shook her head. “It's just that there's so much killing.”

“That's just the way it is out here, ain't it, Luke?” Vienna remarked. “And it's the way it's gonna be until Coulson gets big enough to hire a sheriff. So good huntin', Luke,” she blurted. “I hope you find 'em quick and send 'em to hell, where they belong.” Seeing the concerned frown still in place on Mary Beth's face, she said, “We'll be all right. We'll get this place back in order, and me and my rifle will take care of anybody tryin' to bother us. Ain't that right, Mary Beth?”

Mary Beth smiled sheepishly. “That's right. We'll take care of ourselves.” Her frown returned momentarily. “But, damn it, Luke, you be careful. Those men are dangerous.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said as he turned to leave. They stood by the door, watching him until he disappeared into the barn to saddle up.

* * *

From the trail leading from the back of the barn, Luke could see that the two he followed were each leading a packhorse, making the tracks that much easier to follow. In addition, all four horses were shod, which helped as well. They led him to the common trail referred to as the river road by the settlers, and although there were many old tracks, those he trailed were much more recent than the others. As he rolled with easy grace to the paint's steady pace, he thought about the men he pursued. There was no doubt that the huge man the women had described was Bogart, and he wondered why fate seemed intent upon crossing their two trails again and again. It seemed that fate, or whatever, had decided that it was up to him to rid the world of the menace that was Bogart, so the sooner he could get it done, the better. He thought of the family he had just buried, and he knew there would be other innocent people to receive the same fate if he didn't stop Bogart.

When he reached the trail that forked off the river road and led into Coulson, he pulled his horses to a halt. The tracks he followed indicated that Bogart and Wylie had stopped here for some reason, telling Luke there was some discussion between the two. One of them had dismounted, for there were boot prints as well, large boot prints. Luke guessed they were Bogart's. Then the horses' tracks split, one set left the river road and headed down the trail to Coulson. The other set continued along the river. A small spot of blood on the ground told him that the wounded man took the trail to town. Luke had a feeling that the wounded man was Wylie, and not Bogart. He had a decision to make. If he chose to go after Wylie, it would give Bogart more time to put distance between them. It was a tough decision to make, because Bogart was the man he wanted most to stop. But, he told himself, Wylie was every bit as guilty, and since he was wounded, he should be easier to trail.
I'll go after him first,
he decided.