Mark of the Hunter (12 page)

“I'm not,” she answered emphatically. “I'm just stayin' here for a while till I save up enough money to go to Omaha.”

“What's in Omaha?” he asked.

“I don't know. It's a big enough place to find some work waitressing or tending some rich woman's children, something besides doing what Lucy does.”

“How are you savin' up money, if you ain't whorin'?”

“Mother pays me a little something every month to do the cooking and cleaning. What about you? Are you an outlaw? Why don't you wanna be with Lucy like the fellow you're riding with?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. It ain't nothin' against your cousin. I just don't want to, that's all.”

“How'd you get that scar on your forehead—in a barroom fight or something?”

“No, it happened when I was a kid.” There was a few moments' pause while they stared at their coffee cups. Then he asked, “Do you really wanna look like a boy, like your cousin said? Is that why you cut all your hair off?”

“Huh,” she snorted. “I cut it off because of that slimy rat that lives with Mother, that Dick Davis. He was always playing with my hair, telling me how pretty and soft it was and how he liked to feel it. I know what he had in his rotten mind, so I cut it off.”

“Why didn't you tell Mother, or your cousin, about it?”

“I didn't want to tell Lucy about it,” she said reluctantly. “She might have had words with him and Mother, and it might have caused her to get kicked outta here, and this is all she's got.”

He felt for the girl's predicament, but it was not his affair to interfere with. He could understand her chances of being violated if she remained where she was, but he had his own problems to deal with. Still, he couldn't help feeling a sense of guilt for not trying to help her. Finally he offered. “Is one of those horses I saw in the corral yours?”

“That little chestnut mare is mine. Why?”

“Well, I was thinkin'. I've got some business I've got to tend to, but I could take you over to the stage station at Rawhide Buttes. They've got a dining room and a place for passengers to stay the night. I'll bet you could find some work there. Maybe it'd be better than stayin' here.”

“I've thought about doing that very thing,” she said. “I just never made up my mind to go ahead and do it. I'll think about it some more.” She got up from her chair. “But right now I'd better get up and start fixing supper. I expect your friend will be hungry when he comes out of there. He's been in there long enough to work up an appetite.” She started to go to the cupboard, but stopped and turned back toward him. “Thank you for your offer.”

“Well, you two musta found somethin' to talk about,” Mother commented, coming into the room just then, her hair still wrapped in a towel. “I expect you'd better get about makin' some supper, Birdie.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Birdie replied. “I was just fixing to.”

Cord got up and started back to the parlor just as the door to Lucy's room opened and Dooley walked out, looking pale and a little unsteady on his feet. “Hot damn!” he blurted. “I need another drink of likker, and a cup of that coffee.” Lucy followed him out of the room with a confident grin of satisfaction on her face. Cord speculated that she would have been more pleased with her performance only if she had killed him. “I swear,” Dooley said to Cord, “about one visit like that every six months oughta take care of me, or kill me. There ain't no better way to find out for sure that you ain't as young as you used to be.”

Cord was anxious to get moving again, but since it was now crowding suppertime, he realized they would save very little time if they left before morning. Dooley was enjoying himself, so Cord didn't complain when he said he wanted to stay over for the night. Cause for worry, however, was the fact that Dooley was not confident that they would ever catch Levi since they had not overtaken him at Rawhide Buttes. “I know some places,” he assured Cord, but he didn't seem as sure of himself. Maybe Levi went on to the Black Hills; maybe he didn't. Cord was feeling discouraged, but he knew that he had made a promise over his mother's grave. He had no choice but to keep looking. Events of the next couple of hours changed his plans drastically.

“Somebody's coming,” Birdie said. Cord was aware of it, too. The horses in the corral told him. He got up from his chair at the table and went over to the corner of the room where he had propped his rifle.

“Hold your horses, Cord,” Mother said. “Let's find out who it is before you go shootin' my customers.” She got up and went to the front door.

Lucy went to the window. “It's just one person,” she said.

Mother Featherlegs opened the door a crack, just enough to see outside. After a moment, she opened it all the way. “Who is it?” Lucy asked.

“Damned if I know,” Mother replied. “I thought at first it was Dick comin' home, but this feller looks a little heavier than Dick.” She stepped out on the porch and greeted the stranger. “Evenin'.”

“Evenin',” the stranger returned, and stepped down from the saddle. He looked around him, seeming to be a little unsure of himself. “Uh, ma'am”—he stumbled over his words—“I was lookin' . . . that is, I was told . . .” That was as far as he got before she came to his rescue.

“Mother Featherlegs,” she said, having witnessed the same scene many times before. “Is that who you're lookin' for? Did somebody send you lookin' for a place to have a good time with a female companion? Well, you're in the right place. Tie your horse up there and come on in the house. Most of my girls ain't here right now, but Lucy's here, so come on in.”

All smiles then, the stranger did as she suggested. “I'm stayin' over at the Rawhide Buttes Ranch for the night, and a feller over there told me about your place.”

“Well, this is the right place to be,” she said, and held the door open. “What's your name, young feller?”

“Watkins, ma'am, Henry Watkins,” he said as he stepped inside, only to pause when he saw several people in the room, two of them men. Wondering if he might have stepped into something he'd be better off without, he started to beg their pardon but did not have time to before Lucy stepped up and took him by the arm.

“Come on in,” she said. “I'll introduce you to the guests here.”

He glanced at Dooley in the corner, who nodded in return. When he shifted his gaze to the man sitting back in the other corner, he was met by a wide-eyed stare. “Slick?” Cord blurted.

“Cord?” Slick answered. “Cord Malone?”

The others in the room went stone quiet before Lucy asked, “You two know each other?”

Still with a look of astonishment frozen on his face, Slick said, “We sure do. We used to work cattle for the same outfit in Ogallala.”

“Slick, what in the hell are you doin' here?” Cord asked as he got to his feet to shake Slick's hand. “Did you quit the Triple-T?”

“Yeah, I did,” Slick answered. “I guess there ain't no way you coulda heard, but a feller moved in on the other ranches around Ogallala, and I reckon he picked the Triple-T to run out. He brought a small herd in and then satisfied himself to takin' over most of our range. There was a fight. You know Mike Duffy, he wasn't about to give up Mr. Murphy's range that he'd been grazin' for five years to some double-dealin' crook. Trouble is, that feller—name's Harlan Striker—ain't particular who he hires to run his cattle. Hired gunmen is what they are, and there was some cattle killed and brands changed. Half of our crew either got shot or decided to head for healthier country. Then Mike and a couple of the boys caught some of Striker's crew changin' the brand on some of our cattle, and a gunfight started. Well, they killed Mike, and Blackie and Jake Scott said they were lucky to get outta there without gettin' killed theirselves.”

Cord was shocked. “Mike's dead?”

“Shot him right in the chest,” Slick said. “Stony and Blackie went back and got Mike's body and brought it home.”

Cord immediately thought of Eileen and her mother. “What about Mike's wife and daughter? I hope Will Murphy is gonna take care of them.”

“Maybe . . . ” Slick hesitated. “Most likely, I reckon. Trouble is, Mr. Murphy ain't even in the country. Went back to Ireland to visit his relatives, and won't be back before spring. Lem Jenkins says he believes this feller, Striker, most likely knew that and figured he could move in while he was gone.”

Cord was almost stunned. What Slick was saying seemed impossible. Mike Duffy gone? He always pictured the tough little Irishman to be indestructible. His thoughts went again to Eileen. What would she and her mother do without Mike to take care of them? He had to pause to think for a moment. Everyone else in the room watched silently while the two of them talked. Cord looked up again when another question occurred to him. “What are they gonna do? Who's in charge now?”

“I reckon you'd have to say Stony and Lem. They said they were gonna fight Striker's gang of gunmen. They said they weren't gonna have Will Murphy come home from Ireland to find everythin' he'd built over the last five years gone.”

“What about you?” Cord asked then. “What are you doin' up here in Rawhide Buttes?”

Slick shrugged, a sheepish look upon his face. “On my way to Deadwood where the gold is. Hell, I didn't hire on to fight in no damn range war. I wasn't the first one that decided to take off. Stony and the others are crazy to think they can go up against those hired guns. You know me, Cord. I'd be right with 'em if it was a fair fight.”

“Yeah, I know you,” Cord replied, not surprised that Slick had run out on the others.

He didn't say more at the moment, and after a long pause in the conversation, Mother Featherlegs chimed in to save her opportunity for profit. “Well, sounds to me like a drink could help the bad news of your friends. I'll open a fresh bottle, and maybe Mr. Watkins would like somethin' to eat. Sounds like you could use one, too, Cord—hearin' such bad news and all.”

Cord was already deep in thought. The news had been bad, all right, and he worried over the question of whether or not it should affect him. He planned to go back to the Triple-T someday, if only to return Lem Jenkins's Winchester, but it wasn't his business to concern himself with what went on there now. He was on a mission of revenge that was foremost in his mind, and he had to figure that he was getting closer and closer to Levi Creed. Then images began to form in his mind, not just of Eileen, but of Stony and Lem and Blackie. “I need to do some thinkin',” he said to Lucy when she offered the bottle. “I need some air.” He then went out the door to the porch, leaving the others to do the drinking.

Outside, the cold night air struck his face like a splash of cold water, and he stepped down from the porch to stand in the middle of the yard, looking up at the clear nighttime sky. The decision was never really in question; he knew what he had to do. Lem and the others needed his help, and he needed to know that Eileen and her mother were taken care of. Levi Creed would have to wait; he was going back to Ogallala. Just then he heard the door open behind him, and he turned to see Birdie coming toward him.

“I need to talk to you,” she said. “You're thinking about going back to that ranch, aren't you?”

“I think I've pretty much got to,” he said.

“You're always on your way to do something you've got to do, aren't you?” When he failed to answer, she continued. “Well, I wanna go with you.”

“What?” Cord responded, surprised. “You can't go with me,” he started. “Why in hell would you wanna go with me? I don't even know what I'm gonna run into, but I guarantee you, if what Slick just told me is true, it ain't gonna be no place for a girl. I know I said I'd take you to Rawhide Buttes Ranch, and I'll still do that. I'll take you there before I start back to Ogallala. I promised and I'll keep my word.”

“I know you would,” Birdie said. “That's why I wanna go with you to Ogallala. I don't wanna go to Rawhide Buttes. And I'm afraid the longer I stay here, the more chance I've got for something bad to happen to me, so I wanna go with you. I know you're thinking about having a girl to look after and slowing you down, but I can take care of myself and you won't have to slow down for me. I'm pretty tough.” She looked into his eyes and pleaded, “Cord, I can't stay here. I don't wanna be here when Dick Davis gets back from Cheyenne.”

He averted his eyes to escape her intense stare. As much as he wanted to turn her down, he found he could not. Looking into her eyes again, he said, “All right. I'll take you. Can you be ready to ride in the mornin'?”

“I can be ready to ride tonight,” she said.

“In the mornin' will do,” he said. “I've gotta talk to Dooley now.”

“Thank you, Cord. I promise I won't be a bother.”

•   •   •

“I can't say as I'm surprised,” Dooley said when told of Cord's decision to abandon his search for Levi Creed. “After that feller told you about the trouble back at that ranch, I could tell you were studyin' on it—looked like it was botherin' you more than a little bit.”

“Those are good people I left back there,” Cord tried to explain. “They helped me when I needed help. Now they need help. I'll get back on Levi's trail one day, but I'm headin' back to Ogallala in the mornin'. So I reckon you'll be goin' your own way. I 'preciate the help you gave me. I don't know how I got talked into it, but I told Birdie I'd let her go with me.”

“Is that a fact?” Dooley reacted, surprised. “What's she wanna go to Ogallala for?”

Cord shrugged. “I don't think she wants to go to Ogallala as much as she just doesn't wanna stay here.”

“I reckon I can understand that. She don't look like she's really cut out to work with Lucy and the others at a hog ranch. You think there might be a little somethin' goin' on between the two of you? She wouldn't look half bad if she let her hair grow out and put on a dress.”

“No,” Cord replied emphatically. “She just wants to get shed of Ol' Mother Featherlegs, and she ain't got no place else to go.”

“You know,” Dooley said, tugging at his whiskers thoughtfully, “I can't say as how I ain't just as glad you're gonna give up trackin' ol' Levi. That's one son of a bitchin' evil man, and he's as quick with a gun as anybody out there, unless the last few years have slowed him down. Sometimes it don't pay to go after a snake like that. Chances are you're liable to get bit.”

“I won't ever be satisfied until that man meets with what he's got comin',” Cord said. “I'm lettin' him get away right now, because I have to, but I'll find him one day, even if we're both old and gray by the time it happens.” With that settled, he changed the conversation. “What do you think you'll do now?” Dooley shrugged, having had no time to think about it. “I reckon you could ride on up in the Black Hills with Slick where they're screenin' all that gold outta the streams,” Cord suggested.

Dooley grimaced, which he always did when he made an effort to think really hard about something. “No,” he finally said. “If I was of a mind to go up to Deadwood or Custer, I'd most likely go by myself. I don't cotton much to ridin' with a man who run out on his friends when the goin' got a little rough.” He paused to think again. “You know, if it's all the same to you, I'd just as soon ride on down to Ogallala with you.”

Almost as big a surprise as Birdie's request to accompany him, this, too, was something he had not anticipated, although he should have suspected that Dooley had become comfortable in their partnership. “Are you sure about that? We might be ridin' into the middle of a range war with a bunch of hired guns.”

Dooley shrugged indifferently. “Hell, Cord, I ain't foolin' myself no more. I'm too old to raise hell like I used to. My days of robbin' and rustlin' are over and done. But I ain't dead yet. I reckon I can still steal a horse now and again, if I need one, and I can shoot at somebody who's shootin' at me. From what that feller said, you might need an extra gun, and I wouldn't run out on you.”

Cord studied the contrite little man for a moment before commenting. It struck him that Dooley was seeing the end of his life in his mind's eye, and it scared him. He seemed to be pleading for an opportunity to avoid loneliness in the years rapidly approaching. “You ever think about an honest livin' workin' cattle?” he asked.

“I don't know . . . ” Dooley hesitated. “It's been a helluva lotta years since I've thought much about anythin' but makin' money without workin'. But I've worked cattle. I came up to this country with a cattle drive outta Texas. But, hell, who the hell would hire me?”

“You never can tell,” Cord said. “Sounds to me like the Triple-T is gonna need some men. Might be a job there for the both of us. Won't hurt to go find out—right, partner?”

“Right,” Dooley replied, a wide grin parting the whiskers again.

•   •   •

They left early the next morning, the determined avenger, the sometimes reformed outlaw, and the short-haired waif, an unlikely trio of traveling companions. With Dooley once again directing the line of travel, they set out to the southeast, planning to strike the North Platte River within a day and a half. They fell short of that goal, owing to a chance meeting with a herd of antelope. With no thoughts toward passing up the opportunity to gain a good supply of meat, they took half a day to hunt the lightning-fast animals. Each man killed an antelope, and any notions that the girl would be a burden on the trip were immediately dispelled when Birdie jumped right in to help with the skinning and butchering. She then assumed the responsibility for doing the cooking.