The Cassidy Posse (20 page)

Mr. Simms was almost seven feet tall and easily the biggest man Billy had ever seen. He also was now the only man Billy had ever told that he was sorry. That didn’t set well with him at all.

“Maybe I ought to talk to Brooks,” Simms said to the Major.

“Brooks? Who the hell is that?” Billy demanded.

“That’s the Texas Kid’s real name,” said the Major.

“The Texas Kid again. Tell him, Major. That little pecker wart should be around just to clean my six-gun.”

“What your real name?” asked the huge man, ignoring Billy’s jealous outburst.

“Kid Del Rio is what I give when Tom Smith signed me up, and that’s going to have to be good enough,” declared Billy.

“On the run from something,” surmised the big man. “That’s okay. Simm’s isn’t my real name either. I took it from the first man I killed in this country. I thought it had a real American ring to it.” He didn’t say this boastfully but but in a matter-of-fact voice that was chilling.

“I heard you have killed eight men,” said Karl Van Dersel, alias Mr. Simms. “Is that an accurate total?”

“Nine men after this morning,” Billy lied. “Would have been ten if the Major woulda given me Nick Ray.”

“Is this information true, Major?”

The Major nodded affirmatively not wishing to equivocate on the killing of Nate Champion.

“I need a man to lead a little foray who has killed several times before,” said Mr. Simms, turning his attention back to Billy. “It’s not an easy thing, killing a man, but I have found that the more men you have killed, the easier it becomes. In my country I had to learn to kill at a young age or I would not be here. It becomes something you can do. Many men think they can kill, but when it comes to a gunfight, they hesitate. I need someone to lead a group to do a job who will not be afraid to pull the trigger.”

“I’m your man,” Billy said. “If the money’s right.”

“Don’t you want to know what the job is first?”

“If it pays enough, I don’t care.”

“I’ll give you a thousand dollars,” said the big man flatly. “Use it to hire as many men as you think you’ll need. Divide it up as you see fit. The Major has assured me you can have your pick of the Texans as long as you can finish the job in two days.”

“A thousand dollars!” exclaimed Billy, totally losing his usually cool demeanor. “That’s sure as hell better than your five dollars a day and expenses Major.”

“You get a $50 bonus for each rustler killed,” said the Major defensively.

“What do we have to do?” asked Billy.

“It’s understood with that sum of money, it buys your silence too. No one must know of this operation.”

“Mister, I can be silent as a corpse.”

“There’s a posse of five men passing this way,” the big man continued. “The man in charge is a Chicago detective who is pursuing an escaped prisoner. There are important people in Chicago that don’t want to see either one of them again. You’re concern will be Lieutenant McGhan. He is of medium height and stocky build. You should have no trouble picking him out. He has a fondness for wearing a Derby hat even out here on the plains. McGhan must not make it back to Illinois alive.”

“Hell, for the money you’re paying, I’ll kill all five of them,” boasted Billy.

“Unless you can get McGhan alone, you’re going to have to. It’s got to look like they were mistaken for cattle rustlers and killed accidentally. Leave notes on the bodies about cattle rustlers beware.”

“It sounds pretty dangerous,” said Billy. “I want half up front in gold.”

“That’s not a problem,” replied Mr. Simms.

Billy saw no reason to back off on his demands when things were going his way.

“If I got you straight on the money,” he continued, “if I kill all five myself, I get all the money?”

“I don’t want you trying that. Hire some good men. Do not let your greed get the best of you,” he warned. “I lost two men this morning trying to take them. We tried to set up an ambush, but he’s with some locals. Somehow they saw it coming.”

“They won’t see me coming,” the Kid assured them. “Whereabouts are they now?”

“When I left them, they were headed this way.”

“They’re trailing some outlaws who will probably have enough sense to stay the other side of the red wall,” said the Major. “It’s very rugged country. You’ll have to take someone who knows the lay of the land.”

“Who’d that be, Major?” asked the Kid.

“Take Little Jake. He used to cowboy up here til the storm of ‘87.”

Before the Kid left, Mr. Simms cautioned him. “Don’t bring me back a Derby hat that blew off the head of some Eastern dude and expect the rest of the gold. Bring me back McGhan’s badge if you can manage that. There are men who have double-crossed me before but none of them are alive.”

After coming through Jack’s pass through the mountains, they entered territory known only to Butch and Elzy. Jack relinquished the lead, but he wasn’t comfortable riding drag. He dropped back a ways and was sulking in the saddle.

The small posse had been riding next to the great red wall that ran through the southeastern part of Wyoming. The towering stone escarpment rose to heights of over two hundred feet and was covered only by an occasional hardy greasewood that found enough soil in a crevice to feed its roots. It seemed to stretch indefinitely before them in the afternoon sunlight, appearing to be as constant and uniform as if it were man-made like Great Wall of China.

“Something’s been bothering me since that little fracas in the mountains,” said Elzy.

“What’s that?” asked Butch.

“How many shots did we get off? Mike shot the guy that got on the wagon. Think the rest of us fired five shots from our positions.”

“I know I fired twice,” said Butch.

“How could I forget? Two direct hits by Butch Cassidy the famous buckboard killer. At least you knocked the seat out from under that oversized bastard so he would have a rough ride home.”

“That’s what I was aiming at,” Butch said curtly and nudged his horse to move ahead of Elzy.

Elzy grimaced and threw up his hands in exasperation. He whipped his pony to catch up with Butch.

“Hey, sorry, just kiddin’ around,” apologized Elzy. “I know we had this talk before, and you ain’t gonna kill anybody unless you have no other choice. I respect you for that, Butch, but you know, in our business, that day is gonna come.”

“Your business, Elzy. Did ya forget that I quit?”

“Easier said than done, pardner.”

Their discussion was interrupted by a voice from the rear.

“Hey, how much farther is this outlaw hole?” shouted Jack. “We been ridin’ the better part of the day next to this wall, and I ain’t seen no break in it.”

“Comin’ up pretty soon,” Butch assured him.

Elzy looked back towards Jack, who had now moved ahead of Mike and Luke and was leaning impatiently forward in his saddle, his hands resting on the saddle horn.

“So what do you make of him?” asked Elzy softly.

“You mean Mr. Two-guns?” asked Butch. “He’s a good bottle shooter.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. You fired two shots, I shot the skinny guy, and Luke blew the horse apart with his cannon. There’s no mistaken that. What did our best marksman in the county hit?”

“There was one shot didn’t hit anything but the ground.”

“That’s my point,” said Elzy. “I’d sure like to know how many guns we can count on before we catch up with Red Alvins’ bunch.”

They followed Buffalo Creek as it meandered lazily towards the great rock wall. Butch held up his hand to bring the posse to a halt.

“This is it,” Elza announced. “The Hole-in-the-Wall. Only murderers and thieves are welcome from this point.”

“Well, thet’s uh fine howdy-yuh-do,” said Mike. “I suppose we can’t just explain tuh them that we’re offeecers of the law servin’ a little warrant.”

“That’s a fine idea if you think this is pretty country to be buried in,” said Elzy.

“We need some story we can all stick to,” said Butch as the others circled their horses around him. “Simple but believable so no one screws it up.”

“How about we say were looking to buy some stolen cattle?” suggested Jack.

“That would be real good, Two-guns,” said Elzy sarcastically. “We’re outlaws. If we wanted stolen cattle we would just steal some.”

Jack gave Elzy a dirty look and nudged his horse away from the group.

“We gotta come up with some good reason we’re here,” said Butch. “Somebody always wants to know.”

“Let’s use the regulator situation,” said Elzy. “We come cause we figure our names are on the list.”

“That’s a reasonable enough story since our names most likely are on the damn list.”

“Yuh might be the first two names from all the stories I’m hearin’,” said Mike.

“Yep, you’re probably right about that,” Butch concurred. “So that’ll be our story. The easiest story not to screw up is the truth.”

Before they rode into the valley of outlaws, Mike hit them with another concern.

“There could be uh problem down there. I was sent here cause I know Sean Daugherty. There’s nothing tuh say he won’t recognize me.”

Butch pondered that a moment. “Well, one thing don’t help is that thin-brimmed pot that you got strapped to your head. If he recollects your face at all, that thing will get him thinkin’ east. Why don’t we just change hats? My hat’s got a lot more brim to hide your ugly kisser under if you keep it tipped down.”

Mike agreed and exchanged his stylish Derby for Butch’s trail-worn cowboy hat. Butch made a mock ceremony of the exchange placing it on his head like a crown.

“What do you think?” he asked Elzy.

“You look good in that Butch,” Elzy concluded. “It suits the shape of your face.”

“You look like a genuine Eastern dude, Mr. Cassidy,” said Luke.

Butch beamed a gleeful smile at this news. The others fell in behind him and rode down from the hills towards the outlaw cabins.

“When’s duh last time yuh been in this den of thieves?” asked Mike looking at the many vantage points for a rifleman in the valley strewn with large boulders.

“I haven’t been here in a year or so,” Butch confessed.

“How will we know if they still remember you?” asked Jack nervously.

“Depends on if they shoot us or not,” laughed Butch. He waved his new hat to a solitary man standing with a rifle on a ledge above them. The wave was returned.

“See,” said Elzy. “No need to worry. Everybody knows Butch.”

“Well, I don’t get it,” said Luke. “Why is this the Hole-in-the-Wall? We ain’t gone through no hole in that big ole long wall.”

“That’s cause we come in from the west. The Hole-in-the-Wall is at the end of that canyon that narrows to a V. The long one that’s right in front of the main cabin.”

“It really ain’t a hole either,” Elzy assured him. “It’s just a notch that has a narrow trail going down it.”

“Narrow, hell,” said Butch. “That trail is as slippery as a grass rope on a wet morning. Rocks slide out from under your hoss’s feet. This time of year it can be plugged with snow. That’s why we took a chance on you two’s pass through the mountains. We saved a good days ride comin’ in from the west.”

“The top of that whole wall slopes downward into a valley on the other side,” explained Elzy. “A man with a Winchester at the top has quite a commanding view.”

“I remember the first time I went through the Hole-in-the-Wall,” reminisced Butch. “I was with Nate Champion and we had about a dozen head of beeves we had found running loose.”

“That happened a lot to ole Nate,” Elzy chimed in. “Always findin’ mavericks.”

“Anyhow,” continued Butch, “Nate told me to stay with the cattle for a minute and he would go on ahead. After a while I got tired of waitin’ and tried to find where he had went. It was a dead end. It was as though he had vanished leaving me with all these beeves. Then a rock begins to move and out he steps just laughin’ his ass off. They used to have this rock they rigged so they could move it over the narrowest part of the gap. They would brush out the cattle’s hoove prints with sagebrush after they drove them through. It looked like the cattle just upped and vanished. It would drive a posse nuts. Course ole Nate couldn’t just tell me about it. He had to show me.”

They descended from the low-lying hills into a grassy valley watered by the meandering Buffalo Creek. There were several rough-hewn shelters around a larger cabin that appeared to be the center of activity.

“Damn,” said Luke, looking about in amazement. “I heard Jesse and Frank James was the first to find this place.”

“I don’t know if they were the first but they surely were here,” Elzy assured him.

“How would yuh be knowin’ thet as uh fact?” Mike challenged. Having the viewpoint of a lawman, he was already tiring of outlaw lore.

“Shorty Wheeler told us and that’s good enough for me,” said Elzy. “He’s the unofficial proprietor of this place. Been here for as long as anyone can remember.”

“If I have kids, I can tell them I was inside the Hole-in-the-Wall,” said Luke enthusiastically.

“What girl’s gonna marry you?” Jack cut him off.

“There might be one,” Luke countered. “You don’t know everything Jack. If I can’t get no regular woman, maybe I’ll get a squaw.”