Charles West - Lawless Prairie

“We been on the run for two days now,” he said, “and ain’t nobody come after us. I think it’s time we count that money and split it.”

“What’s the matter, Pete?” Ballenger replied, joking. “You ’fraid I’m gonna run off with all of it?”

“I been ridin’ with you too long to trust you,” Yancey said, halfway serious, although there was a smile on his face. “Hell, that’s a lotta money in that sack. I’m wantin’ to know just how rich I am.” It was a big score, maybe the biggest they had ever made, and this time there was only a two-way split, unlike the days when there were as many as half a dozen riding with Ballenger. That was before Clell was caught and sent to prison. Yancey was now anxious to hold his share of the money.

“All right,” Ballenger declared. “We gotta rest the horses, anyway, so we might as well see how much we got.”

He took the bag from his saddle and dumped the money out on the ground. “Gawdamn,” he hooted. “Look at that. Ain’t that a sight to rest the eyes?” He raked the banded notes into a stack, and played with them like a child playing with blocks. “Hell, this is twice as much as we took from that bank in Fort Collins.”

“Let’s count it,” Yancey said.

It took a while, but Ballenger counted the bundles and arrived at a total of forty-seven hundred dollars. Both men were amazed, never dreaming it would amount to that much. At Yancey’s incessant prodding, Ballenger divided up the money. Since his arithmetic was not to be trusted, he did it by a simple “one for you, and one for me” method until he got down to one last odd bundle, which he divided the same way, one bill at a time.

Both men sat there awhile, chewing tobacco, spitting, and contemplating their newly acquired wealth. It was a lot of money, and both men afforded themselves the pleasure of thinking of the many things that much money could buy. The two outlaws had ridden together for a good many years, but forty-seven hundred dollars was enough to send the larcenous mind of Clell Ballenger to thoughts of luxuries the money could buy if it were not split down the middle. The idea caused him to glance over at Yancey and smile, wondering whether his partner was thinking the same thing. It was a tempting thought—to put a bullet in ol’ Pete’s head, and ride off with a stake big enough to set him up on easy street. Maybe go to San Francisco or someplace like that , he thought. “I reckon now it was a pretty good thing when that young feller run off with half our supplies,” he said, thinking of the two-way split.

“There’s plenty more little banks like that one to knock over for two good men like me and you,” Yancey said. “Two’s the right number. We don’t need no more men like we had in the old days.” The bigger share of money wasn’t the only reason Yancey was glad Clint ran out on them. He no longer had to worry about that haunting dream about the .44 bullet heading straight for his eye.

Ballenger responded with a smile and a nod. He was still thinking about places he could go with all of the bank money. Putting those thoughts aside for the moment, he became restless to get moving again. “Damn, I need a drink of whiskey. Let’s get the hell outta these mountains.”

“We probably ain’t rested the horses enough yet,” Yancey replied.

“We can take it easy on ’em for a spell,” Ballenger insisted. “They ain’t ready to lay down and die yet, and we’re almost outta the hills. Hell, they’ll make it.”

They mounted the tired horses and pushed on, following the canyon until finally the hills were behind them and open prairie grass before them. With the Crazy Mountains to the east of them, they continued in a southerly direction hoping to strike the Yellowstone somewhere around Big Timber. Late in the afternoon, Yancey, who was leading, pulled up short. “Lookee yonder,” he said, pointing toward a small herd of cattle grazing near a tree-lined stream ahead. Ballenger pulled up beside him, and they sat there for a few minutes looking the scene over.

“I don’t see but one man,” Clell said after a moment more, “unless there’s somebody in the trees by the water. There’s a chuck wagon under them trees. Might be nobody there but the cook.”

Yancey was looking at the remuda with twenty or more horses grazing off to one side. “I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I’d like to pick up a fresh horse.”

“That ain’t a bad idea. Let’s ride on in and see if there’s any more men around.”

Percy Johnson opened his eyes when he heard the horses whinny a greeting to the two horses approaching from the north. Squinting his eyes in an effort to identify the riders, he determined the two to be strangers. “Now, who the hell . . . ?” he mumbled, and got on his feet. Reaching under the seat of the wagon, he pulled his rifle out just in case. It was mostly renegade Indians he was leery of, but two white men called for the same caution.

Seeing the old man pull the rifle, Ballenger called out, “Hello the camp. All right we come in? We mean no harm.” He commented low to Yancey, “He’s by hisself. Ain’t nobody else around.”

“Well, come on in, then,” Percy called back. Holding his rifle ready in case of mischief, he watched his visitors approach. The rest of the boys were out bringing in strays, so he wasn’t pleased to be alone to receive visitors, especially two as rough looking as these. “Where you fellers headin’?” he asked when they were close enough for conversation.

“We’re on our way back toward Big Timber,” Ballenger answered, “just two cowpokes lookin’ to make an honest livin’.”

“Is that a fact?” Percy said, at once skeptical. Neither man was dressed like a drover.

“Where’s the rest of your crew?” Yancey asked, and started to dismount.

Percy brought his rifle up before his chest. “I’ve not asked you to step down,” he stated evenly. “The rest of the boys is close by. I expect ’em any minute.”

Yancey settled back in the saddle. Ballenger smiled and said, “There’s no call to get cross with us, old man. We’re just travelers on our way to Big Timber. We wasn’t fixin’ to ask you for nothin’ except maybe a cup of coffee and a word or two of friendly conversation. Hell, we can pay you for the coffee.”

Percy was left in a quandary, not sure whether he was being overly cautious or just plain unfriendly. “Well,” he said, still unsure, “you’re welcome to a cup of coffee, I reckon. You don’t have to pay for it.” He motioned with his rifle. “Pot’s on the fire there, cups on the tailboard, help you-self.”

“ ’Preciate it, neighbor,” Ballenger said, still wearing a broad smile. “I don’t blame you for bein’ careful. There’s some mean jaspers ridin’ this territory. It pays for a man to be cautious.” He and Yancey helped themselves to the coffee. “This sure hits the spot,” he commented after a sip of the hot liquid. “It’s been a hard day’s ride.”

Feeling a slight bit guilty for his quick appraisal of the two strangers, Percy said, “I’m fixin’ to start supper for the boys. There’s plenty if you two wanna stay around for somethin’ to eat.”

“Why, that’s mighty neighborly of you,” Ballenger replied. “Me and my partner here might take you up on that.” He walked over to stand before Percy. “It’s good coffee,” he said, taking another sip. “You know, we might be interested in doin’ a little tradin’ with you. Our horses is pretty much wore out.”

“I can see that,” Percy responded, “but you’ll have to talk to the boss about that.”

“That’s too bad, ’cause we could really make it worth your while.” He glanced at Yancey, who was standing behind them now. “How’s our horses, fifty dollars, and a bump sound?”