BEAR CREEK (SAGE COUNTRY Book 1) Page 16

  He nodded again.

  “They stole the cattle that had been over there?”

  He pondered for a moment then gave his head a little shake. “I don’t know,” he breathed.

  “Ok, I understand. You don’t know for sure what happened to the cattle.”

  He nodded.

  “When your cowboys went out to try to retrieve the cattle, the Thorndyke crew stopped them and accused them of trespassing.”

  He nodded.

  “You were concerned the situation was getting out of hand. You were afraid your cowboys might get into a shooting war with the Thorndyks.”

  He nodded again.

  “I’ll bet you were mostly concerned for Glen, because he and Lacey are getting serious?”

  He smiled weakly and winked, nodding.

  “So, you contacted the Governor. He recommended you hire a range detective.”

  Bill looked startled. “John, I didn’t know what to do…” He coughed again. It tore him up. He grimaced in pain and started sweating. His hands gripped the bed clothes.

  “It’s not a problem, Bill. I know Bob Logan, he’s here now, and we’re working together.”

  After a moment he began to relax. “Thank God,” he croaked.

  There was a quiet knock on the door and Annabelle came in.

  “I’m sorry, John. I’ll have to ask you to stop now. He needs to rest.”

  “Yes ma’am. Don’t worry, Bill; we’ll get this thing figured out.” I reached out and gripped his arm.

  “John, thank you,” he said, his clearest words yet.

  You’re welcome. I’m just doing my job. You get some rest. I’ll see you again soon.”

  When I walked into the sitting room, I found Bob, Glen and Lacey sitting and having coffee.

  I noted that Glen and Lacey were sitting together on a couch.

  “May I offer you some coffee, Sheriff?” Fred enquired.

  “You bet, Fred! Thank you.”

  I sat down and caught Bob’s eye. He raised his eyebrows. I nodded.

  I noticed that Glen had observed this exchange.

  After I drank some coffee and engaged in some brief small talk, Glen, Bob and I, walked back down the hill to talk to the cowboys, Donny and Jim. They said they figured it was probably less than thirty minutes from the time they heard the shot, until they found the place from which the shot had been fired.

  By that time, the shooter, riding fast, could have been two or three miles away.

  They told us how to find the place.

  Bob and I mounted up and pointed our ponies to the east.

  30.

  “That Lacey Courtney is, to phrase it in the parlance of the working cowboy, ‘one cute filly’,” Bob observed.

  “She’s spoken for, Bob.”

  “I don’t believe that is the case.”

  “She and Glen are sweet on each other.”

  “Indeed, I observed that. However, there is no ring on her finger, and ‘There’s many a slip between cup and lip’. I expect she is available, and she was not indifferent to my charm.” He grinned

  “Few women are, Bob, but it’s not a good idea for you to mix in.”

  “Au contrare, mon ami. She is beautiful, single, available and quite rich. I think it is a very good idea, ‘Fortune favors the bold’,” he added.

  I didn’t like it, but it was none of my business.

  When we eventually found the site of the shooting, there was no doubt it had been the same shooter. If the single flat rock, used as a combination rifle rest and display shelf, were not enough evidence, the tracks of the shooter’s horse were. I remembered their size, shape and irregularities. I’d spent some time following them, just a couple of days before.

  I was tired of always being at least a full day behind the assassin.

  We tracked him back out to the road, but again he could have gone either east or west. If he went east, he would eventually come to Thorndyke. If he went west, he would come to Waller first, then on to Bear Creek. Waller was just a couple of miles from this spot on the road.

  “Here’s where we part company, Bob. You go on to Thorndyke. I’ll go into Waller and have another look around. I’ll meet you in Thorndyke.”

  “Wait a minute. I don’t think we should split up here, John. If you have another run in with Jack Slade, you’ll need me to back your play,” Bob said, earnestly.

  “You might have a point, but I don’t intend to have a run in with him, yet. If he is wanted, I’ll have to arrest him eventually, but today won’t be the day. I have bigger fish to fry. You said he uses aliases?”

  Bob nodded.

  “He goes by John Sloan, Jim Sloan, and of course, Jack Sloan. Jack Slade is his real name. You’ll find wanted posters for Jack Slade, AKA Jim Sloan, out of Idaho. He’s probably wanted elsewhere too.”

  “And you know all this, how? Is he also in the same line of work as you?”

  Bob smiled slightly, with kind of a faraway look in his eyes.

  “No John. He is just a name on a list of wanted criminals. There is a reward associated with his being found and brought to justice, dead or alive.”

  “Dead or alive! Are you saying you hunt men for the bounty?”

  Bob sighed.

  “I do whatever comes my way, to make a living. You were quite correct on that point.”

  I thought about that.

  “It’s none of my business. The plan stays the same. We split up and go in to Thorndyke separately, me wearing the badge, and you under cover. You go on east from here, and I’ll go into Waller.”

  He reluctantly agreed.

  A moment later, we were headed in opposite directions, on the same road.

  Just before I got to Waller, I rode past a huge two story house. It had a covered porch all the way around it. It reminded me of Lora’s house. It turned out it was a boarding house of sorts, as well. There was a sign hanging above the front steps that said “Mrs. Poole’s Boarding House.” There were a couple of buckboard wagons tied out front and five saddle horses. Off to the side were a couple of freight wagons.

  “That’s an unusually busy place.” I thought.

  I noticed there were people out on the porch. A couple of those people were women who appeared to be…in their underwear!

  I figured it out quick.

  I dismounted and started examining the saddle horses. I was hoping to identify the one who had left its tracks at the murder scene. As I was checking the feet of the last horse, a man came hurrying down the front steps.

  “Get the hell away from my horse, mister.”

  I recognized the voice.

  I straightened up.

  “Howdy, Sheriff Sloan,” I said.

  He jerked to a stop.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Well, it appears to be a popular establishment.”

  “Don’t matter, you aint welcome here.”

  “I believe everyone is welcome to come…and go, as they please, unless of course this is your place.”

  He shook his head.

  “No, it belongs to Mayor Wilson.”

  “I guess I’m not surprised.”

  “What were you doing with my horse?”

  “I thought maybe I knew your horse, but after we shook hands, not so much. I’m disappointed. He isn’t the horse I thought he was.”

  He scowled.

  “You’d better just be passing through. You got no jurisdiction here. This is Chaparral County.”

  “Right you are. I’m actually on my way to Thorndyke. I just need to go into Waller for a minute. I’ll be going now.”

  “Damned right you will!” He yelled loudly, clearly for the benefit of the people on the porch.

  I swung up into the saddle.

  “You get the hell away from here, and don’t come back!” He screamed.

  I fixed my eyes on his.

  “Oh, I’ll be coming back. Sooner or later, I’ll be coming for you, Slade.”

  He froze. For about on
e second he thought about reaching for his gun. He changed his mind and spun away, nearly running, as he headed for the house.

  I gave a little wave as I rode away.

  31.

  I found nothing of interest in Waller. Mayor Wilson wasn’t in the saloon, and it only took me a few minutes to look over the few saddle horses tied in front of the saloon.

  When I went back past the “Boarding House,” I noticed Jack Slade’s horse was gone. He hadn’t come into Waller. I wondered where he was.

  Shortly later, as Dusty and I were headed east, trotting down the road, headed for Thorndyke. The road passed through a narrow defile between two rocky hills. I was fully alert and scanning the hillsides, when I heard a rifle shot at the exact second I saw a flash and puff of smoke.

  I was surprised to realize I had been shot.

  The road was very hard when I landed on it, but the pain associated with the impact indicated I was still alive. I was pleased to discover I could move my legs and body. The pain of the gunshot wound itself hadn’t fully arrived yet.

  After a moment, I became aware there was nothing between me and the shooter except Dusty. He was standing stock still in the middle of the road, looking down at me.

  I could see my rifle in the scabbard hanging on the saddle, right there! It was just a few feet away.

  I knew that if Dusty didn’t move, the rifleman above me would either shoot him, to get a shot at me, or move to where he had a clear shot. Either way, my horse and I were sitting ducks.

  I figured I had one chance to save Dusty, and myself.

  I leapt up and ran out from behind Dusty, then stopped and reversed direction.

  A bullet struck the road, right where I had been a split second ago.

  As I ran past Dusty, I grabbed my rifle out of the scabbard and dove behind a pile of rocks at the edge of the road. Another bullet hit those rocks, ricocheting away.

  Now, I had good cover and the opportunity to fight back.

  Dusty continued to stand in the road, looking over at me hiding behind the rocks, like I had lost my mind.

  I took inventory.

  My whole left side was on fire. My left arm was getting very stiff and didn’t want to work. On that side, my shirt and vest were saturated with blood. I was surprised there wasn’t even more blood. As I examined the damage, I saw how blessed I was. The bullet had torn through part of the bicep on my left arm and grazed along a rib on my left side, passing through the thick muscle behind my arm pit.

  I was hurt, but if I got treatment soon, possibly not fatally.

  I needed to get medical attention, and I couldn’t do that with a killer in the rocks above me.

  I had lost my hat, there was sweat in my eyes and I wasn’t thinking very clearly.

  I knew exactly the spot from which the shots had come. I couldn’t clearly see up there without exposing myself. I crawled painfully a few feet. I peered through a narrow gap between the rocks. He was only about sixty yards above me, but at that range, the other rifleman couldn’t see me through the crack. I eased my rifle forward and sighted in on the spot where the shots had come from.

  I fired three shots in rapid succession and raced across the road. With my back against a boulder, I put three new shells from my gun belt into my Winchester. Somewhere behind me I heard the other man climbing over the rocks, just a few yards above.

  I ducked out from behind my cover and saw a figure move out of sight, over the top of the hill. Very weak now, I raced up the hill as best I could. From the top of the hill, I saw the man jump on his horse.

  I shot the horse. It was the best I could do under the circumstances.

  The horse pitched forward, flinging the man to the ground. I kept my rifle on him as I eased down the hill toward him. He was up on his feet in a hurry, so I shot him. The first shot dropped him; the next two bullets were just to be sure he stayed down.

  When I staggered down through the rocks to where he lay, I recognized the shooter. It was Jack Slade. He and his horse were both dead. I picked up his rifle and ejected a shell. I was disappointed to see it was a 30-30 round, and not a 44-40.

  I left the bodies of horse and man, lying under the sun, and struggled back over the hill to where Dusty still stood in the middle of the road. With all that shooting, he had never spooked or jumped.

  Somehow, I managed to get up on Dusty. I was so very weak and tired I needed to rest from the effort. I wasn’t able to think clearly. I just sat there.

  From somewhere off to the east I heard a horse coming fast. For a moment I thought I heard Bob talking to me. I was dimly aware we were moving and he was helping me stay in the saddle. Then I passed out.

  For some hours after that, things swam in and out of focus. At one point I was aware of riding in a wagon.

  I woke up in a feather bed. I was all bandaged up and could barely move. I was incredibly thirsty. I had no idea where I was. The room was filled with light and smelled vaguely of sweat and cedar. Still, it was a very nice room.

  The door opened and in walked Annabelle Courtney and Doctor Johnson. Doc Johnson smiled. Annabelle looked drawn and worried.

  “Well, well,” Doc Johnson said. “It’s good to see you back among the living. I expect he’ll be ready to eat something,” he said to Annabelle Courtney.

  She rang a bell.

  Fred, the butler, appeared almost instantly.

  “Fred, would you please bring the Sheriff some of that good soup?”

  “Indeed. May I say it is good to see you doing so well, Sheriff,” Fred said.

  “Thank you, Fred.”

  I was surprised I could speak, my mouth was so dry.

  I tried to sit up. Everything, everywhere, hurt.

  Doctor Johnson helped me up into a sitting position and sort of held me like that as Annabelle put some pillows behind me. I felt a little better.

  Doctor Johnson poured some water from a pitcher into a cup, and handed it to me.

  I drank, marveling at how good the water was, and at the strength in my right arm.

  “How did I get here?”

  “Mr. Logan brought you here in the back of a buckboard.” Annabelle answered.

  “When?”

  “It was late yesterday afternoon. I had been here checking on Bill. I was just leaving when he drove up,” Doc Johnson said.

  “I don’t remember much.”

  “That’s the laudanum Sheriff. I gave you enough to knock you out, while I stitched you up. You slept all night.”

  “I think I killed Jack Slade.”

  “You did,” Bob said, from the doorway. “I’m on my way to go collect his body now.”

  “Hey, Bob. I guess I owe you my life. Where did you get a wagon?”

  “Yeah, about that, I’m afraid I stole the horse and wagon from a whore…uh...boarding house, over near Waller.”

  Annabelle nodded. “Mrs. Poole’s, everybody around here knows the place,” she blushed.

  “Anyway, I stole the horse and wagon and brought you here. It was just luck that the doctor was still here.”

  “I don’t believe in luck.”

  “OK. I stole it and now I’m going to use it to go retrieve Slade’s body.”

  “Where’s Dusty?”

  “He’s here. I tied our horses to the back of the wagon and brought them along. You stayed on him, till we got to the, uh…”

  “Mrs. Poole’s,” Annabelle offered.

  “I’ll go with you,” I started to try to swing my legs off the bed. I instantly realized two things. The first was it hurt too much and my head was pounding. The second was that I was naked under the sheets.

  “No,” Doc Johnson said. “You’re in no shape to be going anywhere, at the moment. I sewed up the bullet gash through your arm and both holes through your back. If you try to move around much, you could tear them open. Bob here, bandaged you up enough to stop the bleeding, but you lost a lot of blood. I had to clean the wounds and sew you up. You’ll need some time to recover.”

 
“Swell,” I said, “how long?”

  “We’ll see. If all goes well you can probably walk some, later today. You won’t have much use of that left arm for a couple of days, though.”

  This called for a change of plans.

  “Bob, you might do better to take Sloan’s body to the Sheriff of Chaparral County, the county in which he was killed. I believe you said he was a wanted man.” I suggested.

  Bob was quiet for a moment.

  “Yes, I think I follow your line of thought. I have some credentials as a bounty hunter. My bringing his body in for the reward would sort of support my bona fide. Would it not?”

  “…Exactly.”

  “But, surely you understand, if I am credited with his demise, I would have lawful claim to the reward money.”

  “That can’t be helped.”

  Bob beamed. “Right then, I’ll be off.”

  “I’ll see you in Thorndyke.” I called.

  The doorway was empty.

  Fred showed up with a tray, on which were a bowl of soup a spoon, some fresh bread, and a napkin.

  It was the best soup I had ever eaten in my life. It made me want a steak.

  Later, Annabelle came back into the room with a suit of clothes.

  “I understand your suit coat, vest and shirt were ruined. You and Bill are about the same size. He has kind of outgrown this suit, though. He told me he wants you to have it.”

  Other than the formal wear the governor had gifted me with, it was a far nicer suit than I had ever owned. I planned to get married in the suit the governor gave me.

  “Fred will help you get dressed whenever you’re ready. Your other garments have been washed and are now dry.”

  I knew she was referring to my formerly blood soaked union suit and my socks. I remembered my left boot had started to fill with blood.

  With Fred’s help, I was walking before lunchtime.