Mark of the Hunter (8 page)

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After the horses were taken care of, Cord and Dooley took their gear inside the cabin that Skully and Nate were using since there was already a fire built in that one. Cord would have left his supply of meat out in the lean-to at the back of the small corral, but Nate advised him to store it inside the other cabin, because of the likely visit of a nighttime critter. “There's plenty of coons and wildcats about these woods, and once in a while a bear,” he warned.

This captured Cord's attention. “What about the horses?” he asked.

“Our horses ain't ever been bothered,” Skully replied. “'Specially with four horses in there, a bear most likely wouldn't bother 'em.” Cord took his word for it, but he almost decided to sleep near his horse anyway. He was not that far from the memory of the time when he didn't have a good horse.

There was plenty of room inside the cabin, even though it was small, for the only furniture was a table and four chairs. There were no beds, none of the cabins' many guests over the years having had the inclination to build any. It was just as easy to spread one's blankets on the dirt floor near the fireplace.

After a supper of fresh venison, roasted on a spit in the fireplace, the four men sat close by the fire, finishing the coffee Cord had provided. “You must not have anybody lookin' for you right now,” Skully commented to Cord.

Dooley answered for him. “No, I'm the one had an army patrol on my tail. Cord just came along for the ride.”

“I don't know as how I'd be headin' up in the Black Hills this time of year,” Nate remarked. “Too damn cold. I told Levi the same thing.”

“It ain't gonna be no colder than where you're settin' right now,” Dooley reminded him.

“That's true,” Nate responded. “But I'm holed up in a warm cabin with plenty of firewood and plenty of game.”

“We'd better get on down in the valley and pick up some more supplies before winter really decides to set in,” Skully remarked, also thinking about the approaching winter. “I don't wanna get caught up here snowed in because we didn't get down in time.”

The conversation went on into the evening as the three outlaws reminisced about the glory days gone by when they rode with Sam Bass and the others, and complained about the restrictions put upon them by advancing years. Dooley participated equally in recalling holdups that were successful and some that were not, all the while noticing a hint of impatience on his young friend's part. He decided for sure that Cord might have been sired by Ned Malone, but he was not carved out of the same block of wood. So when Cord got to his feet and announced that he had to empty some of the coffee he had been drinking, Dooley said he had a call, too, and walked out the door behind him. “You two been ridin' together too long,” Nate chided as they closed the door behind them.

Walking to the corner of the cabin, Cord turned to look out toward the valley below as he tended to the business of emptying his bladder. It was a dark, moonless night with millions of stars filling the sky above him. A few yards away, Dooley assumed the same posture, and after a few moments, commented, “There ain't no better feelin' of freedom than to stand at the top of the world and piss like a natural man.” When Cord only grunted in response, he continued. “I already know you good enough to tell when there's somethin' eatin' away at you, and I've been thinkin' about it. And seems to me it's got somethin' to do with Levi Creed. Now before you tell me to go to hell and mind my own business, I just wanna warn you that, if you're goin' after Levi, you need to know that there ain't ever been born a meaner snake than that man. Your pa was the only man I know who would ride with him when it was just the two of 'em, and the rest of the gang wasn't with 'em. Hell, I never would.”

“What makes you think I'm goin' after Levi?” Cord asked.

“Well, then, tell me you ain't,” Dooley challenged at once. “I see you get all drawed up anytime somebody mentions Levi. Listen, what I'm sayin' is you're gonna need some help if you've got anything on your mind about settling anything with that man, whatever it is. And I reckon I can help.”

“What are you sayin'—you wanna go with me?” Nature's call completed, Cord turned to question him. “Why in hell would you wanna go with me?”

“'Cause I know a lot more about the man than you do—where he's likely to show up for one thing. There are some places up there between Custer City and Deadwood where a man on the run can hole up. I know where they are, 'cause we used 'em when I was ridin' with Sam and some of the other boys a few years back. If Levi's holin' up in one of those hideouts, you might be too old to do anythin' by the time you found him.”

“I ain't said anything about lookin' for Levi Creed,” Cord insisted. “You're puttin' two and two together and comin' up with five.”

“I'll admit you ain't knowed me long enough to tell the difference,” Dooley said, “but I ain't as dumb as I look. One thing I know for sure, you don't add up to be no outlaw. I've been a thief and a robber long enough to recognize an honest man when I see one, and I'll bet you ain't ever stole nothin' in your life. I'm not even sure you're Ned Malone's son.” He paused to observe the young man's reaction to his comments. “I ain't gonna say nothin' to them fellers inside, so you might as well tell me why you're dead set on trackin' Levi Creed.”

Cord was at a loss as to how to respond to Dooley's accurate assessment of his character. He was not of the opinion that he needed any help to accomplish what he had set out to do. But if the odd little man was truthful about what he knew in regards to Levi's likely haunts, he might help him find him quicker. He decided it was useless to try to maintain the image that he was one of them, at least with Dooley. “Well, the part about bein' Ned Malone's son is true. He was my pa, and he was a no-good son of a bitch at that.”

“I couldn't agree more,” Dooley commented quickly, encouraging Cord to continue.

“Levi Creed murdered my mother and father seven years ago, and that's why I wanna find him.”

“Seven years ago,” Dooley echoed. “So Ned didn't go to farmin' like Levi said, and you waited this long to go after him.” He took a look at the formidable young man standing before him, gaining a new sense of respect for Cord's patience and wisdom. Instead of flying off the handle at age twelve, when he had little chance against a hardened killer like Levi, the boy was smart enough to wait until he was more likely to gain his vengeance. “That scar across your forehead, Levi give it to ya?”

“He did,” Cord replied, “set the house on fire and left us all for dead. His mistake was he didn't hit me as hard as he thought.”

Dooley shook his head slowly as he recalled the man he once rode with. “I ain't surprised none. That sounds like ol' Levi, all right.” He thought about it for a few moments longer until Cord started to turn back toward the cabin. “Lemme help you, son. It'd be better'n you goin' after him alone.”

“It ain't your concern,” Cord insisted, baffled as to why Dooley wanted to get involved in something that might cost him his life.

“I ain't got nothin' better to do right now,” Dooley said with a shrug. “Besides, you need somebody like me to help you—unless you've got a whole lot of money—which you said you ain't. What are you figurin' on doin' when your supplies run out, or you use up your ammunition for that Winchester—you bein' an honest citizen and all? You're gonna need a scavenger to come up with that stuff, and you're lookin' at one of the best.”

It suddenly struck Dooley why he wanted to ride with the young man. It would give him a reason to feel alive again. He had been reluctant to admit to himself that his best days were over. Men like Skully and Nate might offer a chance to provide an extra gun on one bank robbery attempt, but they were really more interested in Cord. As soon as Cord had turned down the offer, there was no more effort on their part to enlist Dooley. Before that, he had almost decided he was at the end of the line while trying to escape the cavalry patrol. And he would not have offered much resistance had Cord decided to turn him in to the army. On foot, with no weapon or ammunition, no supplies, not even a sack of tobacco to roll a smoke, a return to a prison cell had not looked so bad. Now the thought of riding off to the Black Hills with a new partner gave him hope that there might be some good years left in him. Aside from that, he really liked the young man. Able and strong, Cord seemed to possess the one quality lacking in partners he had ridden with in the past: honesty. “Whaddaya say, partner?” Dooley asked, his hand extended.

Not really sure how he felt about the proposition, Cord hesitated for a moment. Bill Dooley was a horse thief and a stagecoach road agent, albeit a semiretired one, and certainly not the kind of partner he would have considered. In fact, he had never considered taking on a partner of any kind. But Dooley was easy to get along with, and as he insisted, he might be of help with his
special
qualifications. He had ridden with Sam Bass when Bass's gang of road agents was making a living holding up stagecoaches and freight wagons on the Cheyenne to Deadwood road. He was probably right when he claimed to know every hideout the outlaws used. “What the hell . . . ?” he finally decided, and shook Dooley's hand.

It was done then, the partnership formed between the tall young man and the stumpy little man with a bald spot on the back of his head, and a shaggy gray beard—an alliance formed to deliver cruel justice to one Levi Creed.

The new partnership rode out of the Rat's Nest after breakfast the next morning. Nate and Skully followed them down the series of game trails to the valley below, where they bade them farewell and headed toward Fort Collins to get supplies for the coming winter. Cord and Dooley turned their horses north, toward Cheyenne with Dooley acting as guide, since he was well familiar with the territory. They could have made it to Cheyenne in one long day's ride, had they not waited until after breakfast to leave the mountain. Since they had, Dooley figured they would make camp eight or ten miles south of the town. It made little difference, since their scant financial holdings prohibited them from patronizing any of Cheyenne's hotels. Wearing heavy jackets and bandannas tied over their ears, they left the banks of the Cache la Poudre, prepared for a long, cold day in the saddle. “I'm damn shore gonna look for me some more clothes when we hit Cheyenne,” Dooley declared, “an extra shirt and pair of socks, anyway. When I left those soldier boys back at Fort Sidney, I didn't have time to pack my bags.” He chuckled at his comment. “I reckon I was lucky I had my coat on when I ran.” Cord didn't bother to ask him what he intended to use for money.

After camping for the night by a small stream south of Cheyenne, they were in the saddle again early the next morning. At Dooley's request, they entered the town on the east side. The army's Fort D. A. Russell was located three miles west of Cheyenne, and Dooley wasn't comfortable in passing close by. There was always the possibility, he said, that word of his escape from the Nebraska fort had been telegraphed to other forts nearby. “I'd be surprised,” Cord told him, “since you were runnin' on foot the last time they saw you.”

“I hope you're right,” Dooley said. “But I reckon they'd really love to get their hands on me again 'cause I rode with the Bass gang.”

“Maybe so,” Cord allowed, even though he seriously doubted that the army held Dooley to be important enough to spend much manpower on. He imag- ined they would be content just knowing Dooley had fled the territory. Nevertheless, they rode a few miles out of their way to circle in from the east side, arriving before noon.

Cheyenne was much bigger than Cord had expected, with many stores and shops, one saloon after another, and a few buildings two stories high, among them the Union Pacific Hotel next to the depot, and Dyer's Hotel on Eddy Street. Riding farther into town, they approached a three-story building that Dooley identified as the Inter-Ocean Hotel. The size of the town caused Cord to experience a feeling of discouragement, for it seemed unlikely they could pick up a trace of one man passing through.

“The thing is,” Dooley assured him, “there ain't but a couple of places where Levi was liable to go—Frenchy's Saloon was where he always went when we was in town. They didn't ask no questions at Frenchy's, and they didn't give no information to the sheriff. Besides, that street's where most of the red lanterns are hangin' by the door.” Cord responded with a questioning look, so Dooley explained. “Whores. That's where the whores live. When you see a door with a red lantern hangin' beside it, that means there's a friendly lady there that's ready to offer you some comfort.”

“Oh,” Cord replied, looking astonished.

Dooley studied his young partner's face intently. “You ain't never been off the farm before, have you?” He marveled that a man nineteen years of age had not known what a red-light district was. “I might have a bigger job on my hands than just bein' a guide,” he commented with a chuckle.

“You just help me find Levi Creed,” Cord said. “I don't need you to teach me anything else.” He had no time, and little money, to waste on Cheyenne's places of physical gratification. He was hoping that Levi might have decided to linger in town to partake of them, however.

The statement brought another chuckle from Dooley. “All right, partner. Best place to start is Frenchy's. If they ain't seen him, I know a couple more places to look.”

It was still a little before noon when they tied up at the saloon's hitching post and walked in. As a matter of habit, Dooley paused at the door to get a look at the room before proceeding toward the bar. The only patrons in the saloon were two men sitting at a table in the back corner of the room, so Dooley continued. “Mickey, you old cuss, you ain't got no prettier since I was last in this place,” he called out to a thin little man with a dark drooping mustache working the bar.

Mickey did a double take, then replied, “Well, I'll be damned. . . . Bill Dooley, I thought you'd gone down to Texas with the rest of that wild bunch you rode with.”

“I ain't lost nothin' in Texas,” Dooley replied.

“Well, times has changed a little around here since you were in town,” Mickey said. “Cheyenne's gettin' downright respectable, so I'd recommend you better keep your head down and cast a small shadow.” He paused then to ask, “Whiskey?”

“You offerin' one on the house for old times' sake?” Dooley asked.

“No, I ain't,” Mickey replied, causing Dooley to look inquiringly at Cord.

“I'll have a glass of beer,” Cord said, “and whatever he wants.” His comment brought an instant smile of appreciation from his thirsty partner.

“Who's your friend?” Mickey asked as he drew a glass of beer and poured a shot for Dooley.

“Cord Malone,” Dooley answered, then tossed his whiskey down. Banging the glass down on the bar, he smacked his lips loudly and sighed as if lamenting a long-lost friend. “Whaddaya mean, the town's gettin' respectable?”

“There's a lot of honest businesses movin' into town,” Mickey said. “There's more law than we used to have when you boys were runnin' so free. Hell, half the whores and gamblers have left and gone up to Deadwood. That's the hot spot now, and a better place for fellers in your line of business. Friend of yours passed through here a few days ago. I told him the same thing.”

“Levi Creed?” Dooley asked.

“Yeah, Creed,” Mickey replied, surprised. “You fellows tryin' to catch up with him?”

“Yep,” Dooley said. “We were hopin' to catch up with ol' Levi right here in Cheyenne.”

“Well, you're about three days too late. He's already gone. At least, he ain't come back in here. It might be just a coincidence, but a masked man stuck a gun in Jack Thompson's face and made him open the hotel safe. He cleaned out a pile of money and some valuables, then pistol-whipped poor Jack and left him lying in front of the safe with a cracked skull. Sheriff didn't have no idea who to go after, but it happened the night Levi left here, and like I said, he ain't been back in.”

“Did you tell the sheriff that Levi had been in town?” Dooley asked.

“He didn't ask me,” Mickey said. Dooley nodded his approval.

“Where did Levi say he was headin'?” Cord spoke up for the first time.

Mickey glanced at Dooley to get a nod from him before answering, “He didn't come right out and say where he was goin', but he talked a lot about Deadwood and all the folks headin' up that way. Does he know you're tryin' to catch up with him?”

“No,” Dooley drawled, “we just thought we'd surprise him, since we're headin' up that way, too.”

Suspecting that there was an underlying reason they were trying to overtake Levi, Mickey remarked, “If I remember right, you and Levi were never real close friends—I mean, like him and Ned Malone were.” As soon as he said the name, he remembered then, and looked quickly back at Cord. “Did you say your name was Malone?” Cord did not speak, but nodded slowly. Concerned then that he might be asking too many questions, the bartender said, “Ain't none of it any of my business, but I hope you catch up with Levi. He didn't have no cause to crack Jack Thompson's head like that.” Seeming to have a sudden change of heart, he volunteered, “Why don't you fellows have another drink? This one's on the house.”

“Well, now, that's bein' right neighborly,” Dooley said. “We'll take time for one more, won't we, partner?”

“I reckon,” Cord replied. None of the three noticed one of the men at the table in back when he quietly got up and slipped out the back door of the saloon.

Outside the saloon afterward, Dooley said, “Levi's headin' for the Black Hills, all right, and it sounds like he picked up a little money while he was here. Ain't no use hangin' around any longer. The horses are in good shape. We can get halfway to Horse Creek before sundown before we need to rest 'em again.”

That suited Cord. He was anxious to close the distance between Levi and himself. He shoved his rifle back in the saddle scabbard and had one foot in the stirrup when he heard the voice behind him in the street. “Let's just hold it right there, fellows.” He turned to see Sheriff George A. Draper and one of his deputies come from behind his horse. Although they both had guns drawn and leveled at them, the sheriff addressed them in a civil tone, almost approaching apology. “You'll be Bill Dooley,” he said. “I've got paper on you, for stealing horses and escaping U.S. Army custody, and stealing a horse belonging to the army in the process. If I ain't mistaken, I believe I've got some old papers that link you to the Sam Bass gang of stagecoach robbers.” He looked at Cord then. “As for you, young fellow, I don't know if you're wanted or not. I'll have to look into it.”

There was no use to think about resisting. The two lawmen had them at a distinct disadvantage. Dooley looked at Cord with an expression that could almost be described as pride in the knowledge that he had a name that was recognized. He turned to address the sheriff. “You're right, Sheriff. I rode with Sam and some of the old bunch, but that was a while back. I've reformed since then, and I ain't never killed nobody. Now, this boy here, he ain't no outlaw. He just hired me to take him up to Fort Laramie. That's the kinda work I do now. I've give up my sinful ways, and that's a fact. Ask anybody. Ask Mickey in the saloon. He'll tell you that I ride on the right side of the law now. I was just foolish in my younger days.”

A smile slowly formed on Draper's face. “Is that a fact? Well, I'm mighty pleased to know that you've mended your ways, but I think it'd be a good idea for you to spend a little time in my jail till we find out a little bit more about what you've been up to lately.” He nodded toward his deputy. “Put them irons on him, Fred, and put him in the storeroom while I find out a little bit more about his partner. After you lock him up, take his horse down to the stable.”

Cord watched helplessly as the deputy led Dooley away. “Now, young fellow, let's start with your name.” When Cord told him, Draper paused as if trying to remember. “Cord Malone, huh? I don't recall any recent notices on you.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “And you're too young to have run with Sam Bass when they were workin' this part of the territory. “Where'd you hook up with Bill Dooley?”

“Fort Collins,” Cord said. “Like he said, I paid him to guide me to Fort Laramie.”

“You didn't know you were dealin' with an outlaw?”

“No, sir,” Cord answered respectfully.

“Where you from?”

“Moore's Creek, Kansas Territory,” Cord said.

“Hell, Sheriff,” Dooley said, “he didn't have no idea who I was. He sure as hell ain't done nothin' to go to jail for. He don't even know how to get to Fort Laramie without a guide.” He looked over at Cord then and said, “I'm sorry, Cord. I shoulda told you I was wanted by the law, but if I had, you might notta hired me to take you to Fort Laramie.”

His soulful apology was convincing enough to sway Sheriff Draper's opinion toward giving the young man the benefit of the doubt. Draper took another long look at Cord while he made up his mind. Finally he released him. “All right, young fellow, I reckon I ain't got nothin' to hold you for, so I'm gonna let you go on about your business. It'd be a good idea to mind who you're dealin' with from now on.” He started to follow his deputy, who was herding Dooley toward the jail, but stopped to make one more comment. “If you're still goin' to Fort Laramie, you don't need a guide. Just follow the stagecoach road. It's about ninety miles from here, give or take a few miles.”

“Yes, sir,” Cord replied politely. “Thank you, sir.” He stood there, holding the bay's reins, and watched the two lawmen march Dooley off to jail.
Now what the hell am I going to do?
The sheriff was right, he didn't need a guide to find Fort Laramie, or to ride all the way to Deadwood, for that matter. What he needed, however, was his guide to take him to the outlaws' favorite haunts and hideouts. He had a decision to make and he didn't have to think about it for very long. He needed Bill Dooley more than the law needed to hold him. He felt that he knew Dooley well enough by now to know that the aging outlaw was no threat to anyone as long as that person wasn't careless about keeping an eye on his possessions. So the real problem was how to free him without causing serious harm to anyone.
I'll have to think about this,
he told himself as he stepped up in the saddle, and started out in the opposite direction when the sheriff glanced back at him.

He didn't know where the jail was, so when he got almost to the end of the street, he turned between two stores and rode back up the alley until he caught sight of the three men and the horse between the buildings. Holding the bay back by the corner of a dry goods store, he watched when the sheriff led his party down a side street toward a one-story building boasting a sign that said S
HERIFF'S
O
FFICE
. Instead of taking Dooley inside the jail, however, the deputy took him around behind the building to a small log building.
That must be the storeroom,
Cord thought, remembering the instructions the sheriff had given his deputy.
Why didn't he put him in the jail?