Mark of the Hunter (6 page)

“Lord bless you, friend,” the man croaked as he took the cup. After taking a few gulps of the hot liquid as fast as his lips would permit, he paused to look at his Samaritan. “How'd you know I was back there watchin' you? You must have eyes in the back of your head.”

Instead of answering the question, one he had no explanation for, anyway, he made a statement. “You'd be Bill Dooley, I reckon.”

Dooley immediately tensed, certain that he had picked a lawman from which to seek help. “I reckon there ain't no use to run for it now,” he said, discouraged, and eyeing the Winchester still lying across Cord's thighs. “I'm 'bout run out, anyway.” He reached out eagerly to accept the piece of jerky Cord offered. “I'da got away from them damn soldiers if they hadn't shot my horse—and hell, it was the army's horse at that. I rode the poor ol' horse with a bullet wound in his rump till he give out and left me on foot. I doubled back on them soldiers and headed the other way. I saw 'em when they rode past me. I coulda throwed a rock and hit one of 'em, but they just kept on chargin' up the road, just like ol' Custer at Little Big Horn.” He threw up his arm in a “what the hell?” gesture. “I shoulda knowed a marshal would be smart enough to know I'd double back. How'd you know I'd strike the creek about here?”

Cord was amazed by the man's tendency to ramble on. The words fell out of his mouth like spent cartridges from a Gatling gun. When he paused to take a gulp of coffee, Cord answered his question. “I didn't,” he said. “I ain't a lawman.”

“You ain't?” Dooley blurted, barely able to believe it. Relieved for a second, he frowned when it occurred to him. “You a bounty hunter? They already got a reward posted for me?”

“I ain't a bounty hunter,” Cord replied calmly.

Confused, Dooley couldn't talk for a moment. “Well, what the hell . . . ? You ain't?” Unsure now what Cord intended to do with him, he asked, “What are you fixin' to do?”

“I'm fixin' to saddle my horse and get on my way to Cheyenne,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“You ain't got no idea about takin' me back to Fort Sidney?” Dooley could not believe the stoic stranger's indifference.

“I could do that, if that's what you want me to do,” Cord answered.

“No, hell no!” Dooley was quick to respond. “Why do you think I'm runnin' around on this prairie on foot? That's the last place I wanna go.”

“What did they arrest you for?”

“They said horse stealin',” Dooley replied. “But I tried to tell 'em I wasn't fixin' to steal a horse. I just wanted to swap a couple of tired horses for some fresh ones, you know, even swap.” He couldn't help grinning. “I just didn't have the tired horses with me at the time they caught me, but I was goin' to get 'em. I told 'em so.”

“Is that a fact?” Cord responded with an undisguised tone of skepticism. Dooley detected it, but made no attempt to protest. Instead, he shrugged and favored Cord with a sheepish grin, still waiting to see what his fate was to be at the hands of his benefactor. “Now that you've gotten away from the soldiers, what are you plannin' to do? Where are you goin'?”

“I need to get someplace where I know I'll be safe to lay low for a while,” Dooley said. “I know the place, if I can just get there before another patrol runs up on me.”

“Well, I don't like to leave a man on foot,” Cord said, “even a damn horse thief. I'm headin' toward Cheyenne, and you can ride my packhorse if you're headin' that way, too. She ain't much of a horse, but she'll beat walkin'.”

“Why, that's mighty neighborly of you, young feller. I'll sure as hell take you up on that and give you my thanks to boot.” His smile spread all the way across his whiskered face. “What is your name, if you don't mind me askin'?”

“Cord Malone,” he replied as he slipped the Winchester back in the saddle sling.

“Malone,” Dooley repeated. “I used to ride with a feller named Malone. That was a few years back, when I wasn't so down on my luck. Ned Malone was his name, and he was a hell-raiser. There ain't no joke about that—don't s'pose you're any kin?”

“He's my pa,” Cord replied.

“Well, I'll be kiss a pig! You don't mean it! You're ol' Ned Malone's boy? I ain't heard nothin' about Ned for years. Some of the others from the old bunch are showin' up ever' once in a while. We figured Ned decided it was time to retire and just found him a hole somewhere to hide—maybe that little farm he had near that little town in Kansas.”

“Moore's Creek,” Cord supplied, content to let Dooley ramble on.

“Yeah, Moore's Creek,” Dooley continued. “Fact is, I recollect Levi Creed said your pa had gone back to that farm. I expect Levi's the last one of the old gang to see Ned. Him and Ned was pretty good friends, but I reckon you'd know that. How is your pa? Is he still at that farm in Moore's Creek?”

Cord did not flinch when Levi's name was mentioned. He decided to play along with Dooley's apparent assumption that the son of an outlaw was an outlaw, too. He hoped there was a chance to gain some clue as to Levi's whereabouts. “He's still there,” he said, answering Dooley's question.

“I swear,” Dooley exclaimed in wonder for the coincidence. “If this ain't somethin'—me hightailin' it for my life, and runnin' into Ned Malone's son. And Ned Malone gone to farmin'.” He shook his head, chuckling at the picture. “But not you, huh, boy? Looks like you ain't no more for farmin' than I am. You're more suited to the high life like me and your daddy was before we got too damn old.” Then an idea struck him. “You said you was headin' to Cheyenne. You got some particular reason for goin' to Cheyenne?”

“Nope, just thought I'd see what was what,” Cord replied.

“Well, if you're lookin' to get in with some boys that are still livin' the easy life, where there ain't no mules or plows, then you need to go where I'm headin'.”

“Where's that?” Cord asked, thinking that he might have stumbled onto a road that would lead him to Levi Creed.

“Rat's Nest on the Cache la Poudre,” Dooley announced grandly. He waited for Cord's reaction, but when there was nothing more than a blank stare on the face of the young man, he asked, “Didn't your pa ever tell you about Rat's Nest?” Cord shook his head, so Dooley went on. “Rat's Nest is a couple of log cabins back up in the mountains where more'n a few outlaws has hid out when the law got too hot on their heels. Your pa's been there many a time. Levi Creed, Sam Bass, Joel Collins, Jim Murphy, Jim Berry, and a lot of the old gang that me and your pa rode with—they all used Rat's Nest. It ain't easy to find, and the Cache la Poudre is a pretty rough river to go up.” Seeing a definite spark of interest in Cord's eyes, he continued. “Whaddaya say? Wanna go there with me?”

“Might as well,” Cord answered in as indifferent a tone as he could manage. Inside, he could feel an increase in his heartbeat for what might result in a face-to-face meeting with Levi Creed.

“Hot damn!” Dooley exclaimed. “Now you're talkin'. We'll lay up in the mountains for a spell and maybe you can catch on with some of the younger fellers that are workin' the stage road from Cheyenne to the Black Hills.”

“Fine,” Cord said. “Where is this place?”

“From where we are here, I'd say it's about three and a half days south and west.” He laughed. “It was gonna be a helluva lot farther on foot. It was a lucky day when I ran into you.”

Yes, sir, Cord thought, it was a lucky day, all right.

Thinking it best to leave the well-traveled trail along Lodgepole Creek, because of the high probability of encountering an army patrol, they set out to the south into Colorado Territory. This route would take them south of Cheyenne and any Wyoming lawmen on the lookout for the escaped prisoner. With Dooley as guide, since he assured Cord that he knew the country like the back of his hand, they continued on that course until striking Two Mile Creek. “We'll head straight west from here in the mornin',” Dooley said as they set up camp by the creek.

After a supper made from the meager supplies Cord was carrying, the two new partners sat by the fire to finish the last of the coffee. “About that sorrel I'm ridin',” Dooley said. “Is that mare somethin' special to you? I mean, is that the first horse your pa gave you, or somethin', so you wanna keep her for sentimental reasons?”

Cord snorted a laugh. “Not hardly. She was about the only thing I could afford at the time I bought her. When I got the bay, I decided to keep the mare for a packhorse, since I didn't have one.”

“So you wouldn't mind tradin' her for a little younger one. Is that so?”

“I reckon.”

“Good,” Dooley said. “'Cause I was worryin' that I might end up totin' her before we get to Rat's Nest. It just so happens there's a place between here and Crow Creek where you can get a fair trade for that horse.” He grinned and gave Cord a wink of his eye. “You know what I mean? I've done business there before.”

Cord nodded. He knew what Dooley meant.
Helluva note,
he thought.
I'm fixing to become a horse thief.
He wasn't crazy about the idea, but he couldn't very well refuse to do it, if he expected Dooley to lead him to Levi Creed. He turned his coffee cup sideways and stared at it as he dumped the dregs from it, as if looking up a stream running dry. Two people on his scant supplies were going to use them up pretty quickly. “We might need to hunt somethin' to eat before long,” he commented. “I've seen plenty of sign of deer or antelope.”

“Antelope,” Dooley said. “There's plenty of 'em in these parts. We'll take us a day to go huntin', but it'd be best after we leave Crow Creek, if that's all right with you.”

“Crow Creek,” Cord asked, “how far is that?”

“Well, we could make it in a day,” Dooley answered. “But we need to hold up for a little bit before we get to Crow Creek so I can trade horses.”

“We'll be gettin' pretty low on somethin' to eat by then,” Cord speculated, “but I guess we won't starve if we go easy on the little bit of sowbelly I've got left.”

Dooley cocked his head to the side and affected a sly grin. “Course, if you're partial to beef, we could get some of that, too, before we get to Crow Creek.”

Cattle rustling, too,
Cord immediately thought. He quickly replied, “To tell you the truth, I'm partial to some fresh venison, but I like beef as well as the next man. The trouble is, I don't think it's a good idea to leave a trail across the prairie, from a slaughtered steer to a stolen horse. We might find ourselves with a sheriff's posse on our tail. Besides, if you're gonna steal a horse, I don't think we wanna stick around long enough to butcher a steer.”

“You may be right,” Dooley conceded. “I hadn't thought of that.”

It was decided then. They would get an early start in the morning and continue on toward the west.

•   •   •

Late in the afternoon, they found a herd of cattle southeast of Cheyenne where it appeared a crew of cowhands had moved them to new grazing near a small stream, and were in the process of settling them down for the night. Cord and Dooley gave them plenty of room as they circled, looking for the horses. They found them on the western side of the cattle herd. It was a small herd of maybe forty horses, under the care of a single wrangler. “Don't look like no trouble a'tall,” Dooley said. “We'll just wait till dark, then walk right in and pick us out a new horse.” With little cover for concealment close up, they withdrew to wait it out by the side of the small stream, far enough away to prevent Cord's horses from greeting the ranch horses with an inquisitive whinny.

“I expect I'll just stick with the one I'm ridin',” Cord said. “I doubt I'd find one I like any better.”

“All right,” Dooley said, apparently with no reason to suspect Cord's choice was due to a sense of honesty when it came to another man's property. “It'll be dark enough in a little while to ride old Grandma here right into the middle of that herd and slip her bridle on another'n—if that wrangler ever goes to get him some coffee or somethin'. He won't even know what happened till mornin'—if he figures it out then.” He chuckled, amused by the picture forming in his mind. “By the time they figure out they got a new mare, me and you'll be huntin' antelope on the other side of Crow Creek.” He sat back down on the creek bank beside Cord. “I swear, it's times like these that I wish I hadn't got so damn old. Back when me and your pa and the other boys was ridin' together, we'da rode in there and run off with the whole herd, and woe be the poor cowhand that tried to stop us.” He paused before adding, “Damn, those were good days.” He said no more then, left alone with memories made sweeter with the passage of time, blaming age for the moisture in his eyes, his emotion unseen by the young man sitting next to him.

Chilled by the evening air, for they could not take a chance on building a fire, the two horse thieves waited for the night to darken. “We'd best get at it,” Dooley finally announced. “It looks to me like there's gonna be a moon tonight, and we'd best get our business done before she comes up.” So, walking and leading the horses, they made their way back up the wide draw where the remuda was gathered. When Dooley deemed it close enough, they stopped to watch the herd for a few minutes. “Yonder he goes!” he whispered. “Just like I told you, he's gone to get hisself some coffee or somethin' to eat.” Cord nodded. The man charged with watching the horses did, in fact, get on his horse and ride off toward the main cattle herd. Dooley turned quickly to Cord and whispered, “You change your mind about another horse?” When Cord said no, Dooley jumped on the mare's back and headed toward the horses.

•   •   •

“I believe I picked a good'un,” Dooley boasted, “even if I do say so, myself. The only thing better woulda been if he had a saddle on him. I ain't all that partial to ridin' bareback. Got too comfortable settin' in a saddle over the years, I reckon.”

Cord agreed. Dooley had selected a good, stout horse with little time to look him over. A sturdy buckskin. Cord was confident that the horse was a gelding, but there had been no time, and not very good light, to confirm it at the moment of trade. Daylight confirmed his opinion when a brief inspection revealed the absence of reproductive equipment. “Looks like they gelded him pretty young,” Dooley remarked, “'cause he rides nice and gentle.” Cord tried to pacify his conscience by telling himself that it was Dooley who had stolen the rancher's horse, but he couldn't escape the knowledge that he was certainly an accomplice. He didn't hold himself to be especially innocent in all his thoughts and actions, and surely his intention to kill a man was less than Christian. But in his mind, there were few men lower than a damn horse thief. Bill Dooley's cheerful, guilt-free attitude, however, made it seem like nothing more than schoolboy high jinks and it was difficult to dislike the man.

Because of their delay to acquire Dooley's buckskin, they did not reach Crow Creek until late morning the next day. The hardy creek, bordered by trees already shed of leaves, snaked its way across the prairie before them and confirmed Dooley's prediction of available game—for there was ample evidence of recent deer activity at the very spot the two riders picked to cross the creek. They had obviously found a favorite watering hole. Thinking it a good time, and a perfect place to rest the horses while they tried their luck at possibly getting a shot at a deer, they led their mounts downstream and tied them in the bushes next to the water. Back at the water hole, they found some concealment in the midst of some berry bushes and sat down to wait.

It turned out to be a long wait. Sitting cold and still for over an hour, they were about ready to admit their poor luck when Cord sighted a small herd of deer approaching the creek from the west. At first, it appeared the animals were going to cross the creek a hundred or more yards north of the place where the two men sat huddled against the chill. “Damn,” Dooley whispered, “they ain't comin' this way.” It appeared that he might be correct; then the deer turned and came toward them, but stopped after closing the distance to within seventy-five yards. “Are you a good shot with that Winchester?” Dooley whispered.

“I don't know,” Cord replied, also in a whisper. “I ain't ever shot it before.”

Astonished, Dooley was about to express it, but Cord signaled for him to be quiet. The leader of the herd, a large buck, seemed reluctant to come closer, seeming to sense danger. At that unfortunate moment, Dooley's new buckskin decided to call out with an inquiring whinny. Already sensing something amiss, the buck bolted, springing the rest of his herd in flight. Cord didn't wait. Plunging out of the screen of bushes, he ran up the bank to get a clear shot at the fleeing animals, knowing he would have time for only one before they were out of range. He would have preferred a doe, but the best target he had was a young buck right behind the older leader. Cocking the rifle as he dropped to one knee, he took aim quickly and squeezed the trigger. The buck stumbled momentarily, wobbled drunkenly for a few more yards, before collapsing to the ground.

“Hot damn!” Dooley exclaimed. “That was a helluva shot! I swear, I'd already give up on havin' venison for dinner.” He was satisfied that he would never have to ask again if Cord could handle a rifle. As for Cord, he held no illusions. He chalked it up for a lucky shot under the circumstances, but he saw no reason to volunteer that to his traveling companion. Like Dooley's, his belly was grumbling for lack of attention and he was relieved that he would not have to hear it for much longer.

“Was you japin' me when you said you ain't ever shot that rifle before?” Dooley asked while they were skinning the deer.

“Nope,” Cord replied. “That was the first time. I just traded an old Henry rifle for it, and I ain't had a chance to see how it shoots till now.”

“Kinda like I just traded for that buckskin,” Dooley said with a mischievous grin.

“Yeah,” Cord replied, “kinda like that.” He thought it wouldn't be a bad idea to let Dooley think he stole the rifle. It might further satisfy the old outlaw that Cord was of the same stock as his father and the apple had not fallen far from the tree.

They delayed their trip a day to butcher the deer and smoke the greater portion of it over a fire to be tied up in packs. Dooley feasted on the liver and heart, while Cord contented himself with the animal's flesh. The liver and heart were considered delicacies by most, especially Indians, but Cord would only eat the insides of an animal if starvation was the alternative. By the end of the day, both men were sufficiently sated. With bellies full, they turned in by the fire to give their overworked stomachs time to digest.

Ready to begin anew with morning's first light, they continued their westward journey, crossing a sizable creek that Dooley called Owl Creek, then another about five miles past that he couldn't call by name. Lofty mountains loomed in the distance, their snowcapped peaks testament to the fact that winter was already in the higher elevations. In spite of the weighty issues on his mind, Cord could not help a natural feeling of awe and an awakening of a latent desire to know their peaks and valleys. His mind, set adrift by the majesty of the distant horizon, was drawn back to his reality by a comment from Dooley.

“I expect we ain't more'n a couple of miles from the road into Fort Collins,” he said. “Last chance to get some more coffee beans before we go up the river into the mountains.”

“I reckon we could,” Cord said. “But it might be the last coffee we'll buy, 'cause I'm runnin' short of money.”

“I need to do a little shoppin' myself,” Dooley said. His comment brought an immediate reaction in the form of a questioning face on his partner. “I didn't say I had any money to buy anythin',” Dooley quickly explained. “I'm just curious about what's for sale.” He flashed a wide grin to reassure Cord. “If I had a cent on me, I'da sure kicked in to buy some of the supplies.” Cord's response was no more than a grunt. He was becoming accustomed to Dooley's nonsensical remarks. Dooley went on. “It ain't a good idea to ride on into Fort Collins—too big a risk of somebody wantin' to ask a lot of questions. But there's a saloon and a general store on the north end of town where we can make a quick stop and head right back outta town.”

“If you're afraid somebody might recognize you, I can ride in alone and get coffee beans. You can wait for me on the edge of town.”

“Well, like I said,” Dooley replied, “I need to do a little shoppin' myself. If we stay outta the middle of town, I ain't too worried.”

They followed the road toward town until coming to a small store fifty yards from a saloon that appeared to be doing a fair business late in the afternoon. They pulled up in front of the store, but Dooley didn't dismount. “I'm gonna look around a little while you're in the store,” he said. “I'll meet you back the way we rode in, if I ain't back here when you're finished.”

“Suit yourself,” Cord said. He could see that Dooley was eyeing the saloon, but he wasn't about to spend any of the money he had left to buy any whiskey. He thought he knew what the scruffy old outlaw had in mind, but doubted his odds of having one of the saloon patrons spring for a drink. He looped his reins over the rail and went into the store.