Crow Creek Crossing (8 page)

“I expect you know best,” Harley started out. “I said I'd take you to Dawson's place, so that I will. And I reckon you know the kind of men you'll most likely run into when you get there. I don't know what you're aimin' to do, but if you're thinkin' about stirrin' up any trouble with that bunch he usually has around him, you're gonna need more men.”

Cole realized then that Harley might be having second thoughts about acting as his guide. “All I'm askin' you to do is to show me where the tradin' post is,” he quickly assured him. “Like I said, I've got no business to settle with Lem Dawson—don't know the man. I just need to find his store. When I find that, I'll know how to get to the place I wanna go.”

Harley scratched his head thoughtfully, confused by the roundabout explanation he had just heard. Why didn't he just say where it was he wanted to go? He thought about Dawson's store. There wasn't any place anywhere around it. That's why outlaws hung around there. Then it struck him.

“Buzzard's Roost!” he blurted. “You're lookin' to find Buzzard's Roost, ain't you?”

“You know it?” Cole asked, surprised. He had figured it to be a secret hideout that only a few outlaws knew about.

“Hell, I know about ever'thin' in this part of the territory. I told you that.” He reined his horse to a stop. “What I don't know is why you're wantin' to go there, and I ain't sure if I wanna take you. If you're part of that sorry bunch that hides out up that mountain, then I reckon we'd best part company right here, and you can find it on your own.” He dropped his
hand to rest on the pistol he wore, just as a precaution against a violent response.

Seeing his reaction, Cole was at once alarmed that he was about to lose his guide. He was already far behind the three men he was after. He couldn't afford to lose more time. From the beginning, he had decided to tell no one that he intended to avenge the deaths of the people who meant the most to him. He still thought that was best, but knowing he might save precious time if Harley accompanied him, he reluctantly told him why he wanted to find Buzzard's Roost.

“There were four of the murderers who left my place on Chugwater Creek,” Cole concluded. “I caught up with one of them at a place called Johnstown. That's where the empty saddle came from. There are three more that I have to catch up with before my wife and the rest of my family can rest in peace.”

“Good Lord in heaven . . .” Harley drew out a long, slow exclamation after hearing of the massacre of Cole's family. He said nothing more for a long moment while he thought about what he had just heard. “That is a sorry piece of news. I'll take you there, if you're determined that's what you need to do. I damn sure don't blame you for wantin' to kill them bastards. I'm just hopin' you ain't bitin' off more'n you can chew, and I'd hate to see you end up in the ground with your wife. These are dangerous men, sounds to me, and you say you've settled with two of 'em. Maybe that's enough to pay for what they done.” He could see in Cole's face that it wasn't. “All right, then, we'll go. We're about half a day from the
North Laramie, and Lem Dawson's place is a short half day upriver from where we'll strike it.”

“I appreciate it, Harley. If you can lead me through these hills between the two rivers, you don't have to take me all the way to the tradin' post. Just head me in the right direction, and then you can be done with me and get along to wherever you were headin' before.”

“I was on my way to Medicine Bear's village,” Harley said. “Figured on winterin' with 'em, instead of spendin' the winter by my lonesome. Them two mule deer was gonna be a present to the old chief, but seems to me that somebody needs to help you get your ass in trouble. So I'll take you to Lem's place.”

•   •   •

It took a bit longer than Harley had predicted, owing to a heavy snowfall during the night. “Well, yonder it is,” Harley finally pointed out when he pulled his horse up short of a sharp bend in the narrow river, just as the sun was sinking behind the mountains to the west.

Cole urged Joe forward a few paces to get a better look at the weathered log cabin sitting in the trees lining the bank of the river. Behind the cabin, there were two outbuildings, and off to one side, a barn with a small corral. Unaware of the tightening of the muscles in his arms and the increase in the beating of his heart, Cole looked hard at the simple building as if he was trying to see inside it.

“There's a stream on the other side of the cabin,” Harley said. “The trail you're lookin' for follows that stream up the mountain.”

“As hard as this place is to find, why do they need another hideout up the mountain?” Cole asked.

“Dawson's been here a long time,” Harley said. “The Crows told the army about his tradin' post, and the fact that it was a hideout for outlaws on the run. Ever'thin' was fine till a cavalry patrol paid him a visit one day, lookin' for some fellers that killed some folks over at that hog ranch at Fort Laramie. After that, Lem built him a new place up on the side of that mountain. The army don't know about that one. Ain't no way up but that narrow trail along the stream, and if the law does find it, whoever's up there can go down the other side of the mountain.”

“Much obliged,” Cole said, never taking his eyes off the cabin. “I can go the rest of the way by myself.”

“I don't know if you're plannin' on goin' in the store or not,” Harley said. “But if you ain't, and you don't want Lem to know you're goin' up that trail to Buzzard's Roost, I'd advise you to ride up this ravine, then cut across to strike the trail by the stream halfway up. That way, you'll be above Lem's place, and nobody'll see where you're goin'.”

Cole nodded. “That makes sense to me,” he said, “but I thought you said there ain't but one way up.”

“Well, there ain't for most folks,” Harley said. “But I don't count myself with most folks.”

Cole almost smiled when he turned to thank the crusty little man again for his help.

“I'll tell you what,” Harley said, “I'll ride up this ravine with you, and I'll hold your extra horse while you cut across to Buzzard's Roost. As fast as the snow's pilin' up on that slope, you'll have your hands full without havin' to tend to a packhorse.”

His offer drew a wry smile from Cole. “If things don't go the way I want, then you'll have a good horse, right?”

“Why, I hadn't thought of it that way,” Harley lied. In fact, he gave Cole very little chance of coming back alive, and the buckskin looked like a good horse.

“Well, I'd just as soon you got the buckskin, instead of one of them,” Cole said. “Let's go.” He snorted contemptuously when it occurred to him that the horse had belonged to the late Smiley Dodd. He nudged Joe then and followed Harley up the ravine.

After a climb that brought them to a rocky ledge about one hundred and fifty feet above the trading post, Harley pulled his horses over against the slope to let Cole pass. “I'll wait for you here,” he told him when Cole handed him the buckskin's lead rope as Joe edged past.

Cole paused long enough to ask, “What am I lookin' for up there?”

“There's a little clearing about fifty yards up the trail big enough to graze a couple of horses when it ain't covered up with snow. Over against a rock-faced cliff they've fixed up a place that started out as a tent, but they built a shack at the end of it. So it's half shack and half tent now. At least that's what they had the last time I saw it, about six months ago. That's about all I can tell you about it. I ain't never been no closer to it than that ridge on the mountain above it.” Cole nodded and turned Joe toward the stream. “Boy, you be real careful,” Harley said, genuinely concerned for the young man's safety. “Just because you got right on your side don't mean you ain't gonna end up with your ass shot full of holes.”

Cole didn't reply to Harley's warning, his mind already fixated on the hideout he was stalking. He rode along the ledge until he came to the stream and
the trail beside it. The trail was narrow, but it was not too steep to go up on horseback, so he continued on until first getting a glimpse of the clearing Harley had described before dismounting. Figuring it would be safer to go the rest of the way on foot, he pulled his rifle and looped Joe's reins around a bush.

•   •   •

To keep from burning his fingers on the little red-hot iron stove, Porter Lewis used a stick of stove wood to open the firebox. Thinking how grateful he was that Lem had toted the little stove up the mountain, he put the last few sticks of wood in the fire. Before the stove, all the cooking had to be done over a fire outside the shack. Of course, the added benefit was a warm shack to sleep in. Now it was like staying in a hotel. And there was no charge except, of course, guests were expected to spend a generous amount of money in Lem's store.

With those thoughts in mind, he told himself that he was going to have to go outside and carry in enough firewood to last him through the night. And that reminded him that he was going to complain to Lem Dawson that the last boys who used the hideout didn't replace the firewood they had used. That was a firm rule that Lem had established when he brought the stove up the mountain.

Porter sat down on the roughly fashioned bunk to pull his boots on, and as he did, he wondered if the authorities were still looking for him in Colorado. He figured they would have given up by now, but since that damn fool bank teller had to make a play to stop him—and wound up getting himself shot—they might have sent a marshal and posse into Wyoming. Fort Collins was not that far away.

They'd play hell finding me in this place
,
he told himself. There ain't but a handful of people who know about Buzzard's Roost, and they're all outlaws
.

“I'll hole up here for a couple more days. Then I'll head back down to Cheyenne,” he said. “That's a good place to ride the winter out, and I've got plenty of money, thanks to them generous folks at the bank in Fort Collins.” He laughed at his joke, got to his feet, and went out to get the wood.

“Lazy sons of bitches,” Porter muttered as he picked among the last of a stack of firewood. He was going to have to cut more than his share in the morning.

“Hold real steady. This Henry rifle has got a hair trigger.” The low warning came from out of the darkness.

Porter froze, still holding an armload of wood. Caught in a helpless position, he naturally thought the law had tracked him down.

“Take it easy,” he pleaded. “There ain't no call to shoot nobody.”

“Turn around so I can get a good look at you. Do it nice and slow.”

Porter turned slowly around to face Cole and the Henry rifle aimed at him. There was no recognition on the part of either man. Porter was still left with the thought that he had been caught by a marshal, while Cole realized he was not one of the men he sought.

“Who else is here?” Cole demanded, although there were only two horses tied in the trees.

“Ain't nobody here but me,” Porter said.

“I'm lookin' for Slade Corbett,” Cole said. “You know him?”

“Yeah,” Porter answered, wondering what
this
had to do with him, “I know him, at least I know
of
him.”

“Has he been here?”

“Hell, I don't know,” Porter replied, getting more confused by the moment. “Not since I've been here, he ain't.” He remained frozen, with an armload of firewood, while Cole tried to decide what he should do now. Finally Porter became perplexed to the point where he felt compelled to ask, “Are you arrestin' me, or not?”

“I'm not a lawman,” Cole answered matter-of-factly. “Go on and take your wood in the shack.” He turned abruptly and went quickly down the path to retrieve his horse, leaving a totally astonished bank robber behind him.

•   •   •

Since night had fallen quickly over the mountain, Cole did not step up into the saddle, deeming it safer to lead Joe down the darkened trail. When he got to the ledge, he found Harley waiting there as he had promised. “Damned if I ain't glad to see you,” the little man said. “I'm 'bout to freeze to death. I'da built me a fire, but I was afraid somebody'd see it down below.” He waited for Cole to report his findings, but not for more than a few seconds before asking, “What happened up there? I didn't hear no gunshots or nothin'.”

“They weren't there,” Cole replied.

“Whaddaya gonna do now?”

“I don't know,” Cole said, factually. “Maybe I'll go see this Lem Dawson feller. See if I can find out anything from him.”

Harley shrugged. “Don't know if it'd do you any good or not. Worth a try, I reckon, but let's wait till mornin', get offa this mountain, and make camp. Even if you found out somethin' tonight, you couldn't do nothin' about it till mornin'.”

“I reckon you're right,” Cole said, somewhat surprised that Harley was still planning to stay with him.

“Somebody's comin',” Zeke Pritchard announced. Standing in the door of the trading post, he watched the two riders approaching. “Two riders leadin' two horses,” he continued. A small-time horse thief and cattle rustler, Zeke didn't suspect the law was after him, but it was always best to identify visitors to Lem's store. When they got a little closer, he was able to recognize one of them. “That's that old coot that roams all over these parts. What's his name?”

“Harley,” Lem Dawson said. “Harley Branch?”

“Yeah, that's him,” Zeke said. “I don't know who that is with him. I ain't never seen him before, and that buckskin he's leadin' is totin' an empty saddle. You don't reckon he's a lawman, do ya?”

Lem wasn't interested enough to get up from his chair by the stove and go to the door to have a look for himself. There were none of his usual guests at his establishment at the present—only Zeke and Porter Lewis, who was up in Buzzard's Roost. So he wasn't
concerned about warning anyone. Porter said he had shot a bank teller, but Lem doubted any law enforcement officers in Colorado Territory would come this far, even if they knew about his place. He was only slightly curious about who might be riding with Harley Branch. And as far as Harley was concerned, he was probably looking to trade some ragged old pelts for whiskey. It was unusual that he had someone with him, however, since Harley was always a loner. When the two riders pulled up in front of the store, Zeke left his position by the door and walked back to stand by the counter.

Cole took a good look around him as he dismounted before the log structure. The aging logs were in need of attention in several areas of the walls, where the clay chinking had fallen away. There had been a couple of additions built onto the original and it was easy to tell which one was the latest. There appeared to be no one around, no other horses at the hitching rail, so Cole followed Harley into the store, ducking his head to keep from bumping it on the lintel.

Inside, the room was as dark as a cave, and it took him a few minutes to adjust his eyes. There were two men in the store, one leaning against the counter, the other sitting in a rocking chair beside a tall iron stove. In no hurry to greet them, the man sitting in the chair spoke after a few moments.

“Harley Branch, it's been a while since you've showed up around here. I thought maybe you was dead, maybe you was scalped by some of them Sioux Injuns.” He got up and walked over to stand by the counter with Zeke.

“I just come by to see if the soldiers had burned this place down,” Harley returned.

“Huh,” Lem grunted. “There ain't nothin' here the army's interested in—just an honest businessman tryin' to get by.” He turned his attention toward Cole. “Who's your friend?” Not waiting for an answer, he said, “Mister, you ain't particular who you ride with, are you?” Cole made no reply, so Lem turned back to Harley. “What can I do for you, Harley? You lookin' to trade off some pelts?”

“Nope,” Harley said. “I'm just ridin' along with Cole. He's tryin' to catch up with some of your friends.”

“Is that so?” Lem replied. “And who might that be?” He took a closer look at Cole then, his natural suspicion aroused.

“Slade Corbett,” Cole answered quickly, lest Harley might blurt the real reason he was looking for Corbett. “I was supposed to meet him here, but I got held up when Smiley Dodd and I ran into a little trouble in a place called Johnstown. We had to run for it when they got up a posse after us, and Smiley didn't make it. That's his horse out there beside mine.”

Lem scratched his chin under his whiskers while he considered what Cole said. The story sounded like a reasonable explanation for the empty saddle Zeke reported when they first rode up. Still, he was cautious about supplying strangers with any information regarding his customers. “You didn't miss Slade by much,” he said. “He was here, all right, but he didn't stay—him and Tom Larsen and Sanchez came in one night and they was gone the next mornin'.” He watched Cole's reaction closely. “Funny, he didn't say nothin' about meetin' anybody.”

Sanchez,
Cole repeated to himself. Now the Mexican had a name. It was time to think fast. “He wasn't likely to have said anything about it till I showed up. We were gonna talk over a little piece of business that didn't include Tom and the Mexican, and he wasn't sure what they'd think about that.” Cole could see that Dawson was chewing that over in his head. “I reckon I'll catch up with him somewhere. Where did he say he was headin' when he left here?”

Still cautious, Dawson said, “He didn't say where he was headed. He just lit out.”

“Yeah, he did, Lem,” Zeke began, before Dawson cut him off with a sharp elbow in his ribs.

“He didn't say where he was goin',” Dawson insisted. “It wasn't no business of mine, anyway.”

“That's a fact,” Zeke said. “Come to think of it, they didn't say where they was headin'.”

“You boys needin' some supplies?” Dawson asked. He pointed to Cole's rifle. “I've got cartridges for that Henry you're carryin'.”

“Reckon not,” Cole said. “I'm pretty well supplied right now, and we need to get on our way.”

“Damn,” Dawson said. “It's hard for a man to make a livin' offa boys like you and Slade.”

“Reckon maybe we could take time for a little drink, couldn't we, Cole?” Harley had been eyeing a full bottle of whiskey sitting on a shelf behind the counter. “I swear, it's been a while since I've had any of that poison Lem sells.”

Cole had no interest in a drink. His mind was working on where to look for Slade Corbett and his two friends. But he realized that he at least owed Harley a drink of whiskey for bringing him to the trading post.

“Sure, why not?” he replied. “We ain't in that big a hurry.”

This was not exactly true. He was in a desperate hurry, but he didn't know where to search for those he sought. One thing he was certain of, however, was that both Lem Dawson and Zeke Pritchard knew where Slade was heading when he left the trading post. There was little doubt that Zeke was the weak link in the chain of silence that outlaws abided by. “I'll stand good for a couple of drinks for my friend here,” Cole told Lem.

“What about yourself?” Lem asked, reaching behind him for the bottle.

“Nothin' for me,” Cole said.

“Nothin'?” Lem echoed, as if finding it hard to believe. A man who didn't want a drink of whiskey was a man you couldn't trust, as far as he was concerned. “Don't you need a snort of somethin' to warm your insides on a day like this?”

“Reckon not,” Cole replied.

“Well, I need somethin' to warm my insides,” Zeke spoke up. “I'm fixin' to go out to the barn and fork some hay down for the horses, and it's cold out there.”

“You've already run up an account that you ain't paid for,” Lem said. “I'm cuttin' you off till you come up with what you owe me.”

“I swear, Lem, you know I'm good for it,” Zeke whined. “Come spring, I'll catch up with it.”

“Come spring, you'll still be settin' around here talkin' about what you're gonna do while you're still forkin' hay and sloppin' the hogs just to pay for your grub,” Lem told him, and poured Harley's drink.

“I'll stand good for one drink for your friend,” Cole said, and motioned for Lem to pour another.

“Why, that's mighty neighborly of you, mister,” Zeke said. He picked up the glass as soon as Lem poured it, tossed it back, and smacked his lips in appreciation. “Damn, I needed that. Thanks again, mister.”

“Don't mention it,” Cole said. He looked at Harley then and said, “I reckon we're ready to leave now.”

Mystified by his young friend's generosity, Harley finished his second drink and turned to follow Cole, who was already walking toward the door.

Outside, Harley asked, “I thank you kindly for the whiskey, but I'm kinda buffaloed on why you bought a drink for that piece of horse dung in there.”

“I bought you a couple of drinks because you've done me a big favor. I bought him a drink because he's
gonna
do me one.” He offered no further explanation as he stepped up into the saddle and turned Joe away from the hitching rail. Harley followed as Cole rode up the trail that had led them to the trading post earlier, not waiting for the stumpy little man to lead as usual. When they had turned onto the river trail and were out of sight of the store, Cole reined Joe back and waited for Harley to catch up.

“Where are you headed?” Harley asked.

“I'm goin' to cut back down there by the barn,” Cole told him. “That fellow—what was his name, Zeke?—said he was fixin' to go down to the barn to fork some hay. I wanna have a little talk with him.”

Harley didn't have to ask why. “I reckon I'll hold the buckskin for you while you have your talk.” He figured he wasn't going to be of any help in whatever Cole had in mind, so he had just as soon wait it out.

“That's what I figured,” Cole said. “Maybe I won't make you wait as long as last time.”

•   •   •

“He don't have to treat me like a damn loafer Injun,” Zeke Pritchard muttered to himself as he swung the barn door open and climbed up into the hayloft. He had come upon some hard times lately, and he had tried to explain to Lem that he was just waiting for some of the old regulars to show up. Then he'd join up with them and be working again. But nothing was going to happen until spring. Lem should know that as well as anybody. Then the stage lines would be running and settlers coming. There would be plenty of opportunities for an experienced road agent like himself to come into some money. And he wouldn't have to do chores just for grub.

After tossing a pile of hay down to the two stalls in Lem's barn, Zeke climbed down the ladder. As he stepped off the last rung, he turned to encounter the formidable presence of Cole Bonner. His natural impulse was to try to step back, but the ladder to the hayloft was there to stop him, and he found his nose on a level with the bigger man's chest. “What the hell . . . ?” he exclaimed, and tried to move to the side, only to be grabbed by the collar and held firm.

“Zeke,” Cole said, his voice low and threatening, “I'm here to collect on that favor you owe me for that drink of whiskey.”

“What favor?” Zeke blurted, quivering with uncertainty.

“Let me explain somethin' to you, Zeke. I've got somethin' I've got to do, and I'm gonna kill any man that stands in my way. Now, all I want from you is
just a little piece of information. That's all, but if I don't get it, then I'm gonna be mad as hell, and that ain't gonna be good for anybody I'm mad at. So you think about that when I ask you one simple question.”

Uncertainty gave way to full-blown terror as Zeke was struck with the thought that he was in the clutches of a conscienceless killer. “I don't know nothin' about anything, man! I swear to God!”

“It's real simple, Zeke. I ask you one question, you answer it, and I'll be gone. And nobody will know you said anything. Ain't that simple enough?” He tightened up on the frightened man's collar. “But if it turns out that you told me a lie, then I ain't gonna be this friendly when I come back for you.” He paused a few moments to let that sink in. “Now, Slade Corbett told Lem where he and his friends were headin' when he left here. Where was it?” Zeke's eyes looked about to pop out as he stared speechless in fright, causing Cole to jerk him up closer to his face. “I'm about to lose my patience with you. It's a simple question.”

When Zeke still did not answer, seeming to be rendered mute by a fear of retaliation by Lem Dawson if he did, Cole threw him violently to the stable floor. “That's it,” he said. “I'm done with you.” He leveled his rifle at the terrified man and cocked it.

“Wait!” Zeke gasped, finally finding his voice. “Crow Creek Crossin'! They said they was goin' to Crow Creek Crossin'!” Cole made no sign of relenting, still holding the Henry on the frightened man. “They said that was a good place to wait out the winter,” Zeke pleaded. Cole released the hammer on his rifle, turned away, and started for the door. Realizing that the threat to his life was evidently over, Zeke
implored, “You ain't gonna say nothin' to Lem, are you? I answered your question.”

“I hope to hell I never see the son of a bitch again,” Cole growled as he passed through the barn door.

•   •   •

“Hell, I ain't surprised,” Harley said when Cole told him where Slade Corbett and his friends went. “Crow Creek Crossin', huh? They don't call it that no more.”

“I know,” Cole said. “It's Cheyenne now.”

“That's right. I forget,” Harley replied. “Like I said, I ain't surprised that bunch went there to winter. They got ever'thin' three outlaws are lookin' for. From what I've heard of that place, the railroad people had to stop when the cold weather set in. They couldn't get up the first big hill west of the crossin', so they quit till spring. Most of the railroad men are still there with no place to go, and every gambler, saloon keeper, whore, outlaw, and drifter in the territory are holed up there, too.”

“What you heard is a pretty accurate picture of the town,” Cole said. He thought of the first encounter he had had with Slade Corbett and his gang.

“I reckon we didn't have to waste your time askin' Zeke where Corbett went,” Harley said. “Shoulda figured that's where he'd head for.”

“Maybe so,” Cole agreed, although he had to admit he was a little surprised, for the last time Corbett was in Cheyenne, he had fled with a posse on his tail. Cole supposed the fact that the three outlaws were bold enough to return lent credence to the reports that a lawless breed had overrun the town that winter. “But that's where I'm headin' now,” Cole continued. “What are you gonna do? Go to that Crow
village you started to before you met up with me? It ain't that far from here, is it?”