Charles West - Lawless Prairie

“I’ll go out the front,” Yancey volunteered. “I doubt they’ll shoot until they see us both come out, especially you. You go around the back and see if you can catch ’em before they can get off a shot.” He didn’t tell Ballenger that he wasn’t worried about getting shot because neither one of the drifters looked like the assassin in his dream.

Just as they suspected, the drifters were lying in wait outside. Yancey had to dive for cover when a rifle shot ripped a sizable chunk out of the door frame only inches from his head. Scrambling on hands and knees, he made it to the protection of the low stoop. Ballenger, sneaking around the building, arrived at the front of the saloon in time to see the rifle blast from the corner of the stable. He immediately returned fire with his pistol. The range was a little too great for accuracy with a pistol, but the repeated fire from Ballenger was enough to surprise the bushwhackers, and they decided not to push their luck. In a few seconds, Ballenger heard the sound of horses galloping away in the night. “Come on, Yancey!” he yelled as he ran after them, trying to load his pistol on the run. A man his size on foot was no contest for two fast horses, so it wasn’t much of a contest. The drifters contented themselves with that one shot, and then wisely headed for parts unknown.

Chapter 15

Deputy Marshal Mack Thompson paused to take a precautionary look at the chuck wagon parked beside Fiddler’s Creek. A modest-sized remuda was roped off near the wagon and a couple of men were standing near the campfire. They did not notice the lone rider approaching them from the other side of the creek until he had advanced to within a hundred yards.

“Uh-oh,” Percy Johnson said, and hurried to the wagon to get his rifle.

“Who the hell is that?” Floyd Berry asked, squinting in an effort to identify the rider.

“It ain’t one of our boys,” Percy said, “and I ain’t takin’ no chances after them last two.” He walked over to position himself behind a corner of the wagon. Taking the hint, Floyd took cover at the front of the wagon.

“Hello the camp!” Thompson called out. “I’m comin’ in.”

“Come on, then,” Percy replied, and held his rifle ready to fire at the first indication of foul play.

When Thompson came closer, he identified himself. “I’m U.S. Deputy Marshal Mack Thompson.”

Floyd relaxed a bit, but Percy still held his rifle ready before him, watching the stranger closely as he pulled up next to the wagon and dismounted. “Howdy, boys,” he said, and pulled his coat open to show them his badge. “Is there any coffee left in that pot?”

“Why, sure, Marshal,” Percy replied after seeing the badge. “I’ll fetch you a cup.” While he pulled a cup from his cupboard, he went on to explain. “Sorry we didn’t show you much hospitality, but the last strangers that come into my camp left me with a mighty sore bump on the back of my head.”

This immediately snared Thompson’s interest. “Much obliged,” he said when Percy handed him his coffee. “I’m trailin’ two outlaws that I’m guessin’ mighta come this way. They held up the bank in Helena.”

“Well, I expect you’re on the right trail,” Percy responded. “It was two fellers that jumped me, and they was ridin’ some wore-out horses—stole two of our horses after they sneaked up behind me and knocked me in the head.”

“Can you tell me what they looked like?” Thompson asked, already feeling certain that it was Ballenger and Yancey.

“Sure. One of ’em, the one that did most of the talkin’, was a big feller with black bushy hair in the back. Had a kinda flat nose, like somebody had slammed a board across it.” Thompson nodded. Percy continued. “The other’n was a lanky, kinda skinny feller that didn’t say much, but looked like he’d eat your liver if you gave him a chance.”

Thompson was certain that Percy had just described Ballenger and Yancey. His description was pretty much the same given by the witnesses at the bank. “That sounds like the two I’ve been trailin’,” he said. “Which way did they go?”

“Yonder way,” Percy said, pointing toward the southeast. “They had me hog-tied, but I seen ’em ride off.” Then he remembered what Ballenger had said when they first rode up. “They said they was headin’ to Big Timber. I don’t know if they was or not.” He shook his head and added, “I mighta knowed they was bank robbers or somethin’.”

“Yep, that they were,” Thompson said. “They managed to get away from the sheriff and a posse outta Helena. I guess I was just lucky to scout out this way for ’em.” He finished his coffee quickly and stepped up in the saddle. “Much obliged, boys. Thanks for the coffee.”

“I hope you catch the son of a bitches,” Percy called after him as he rode out past the remuda.

“I ain’t takin’ another bath, and that’s for damn certain,” Clell blurted. “It’s downright unhealthy for a man to take two baths in four days.”

“Then don’t come scratchin’ around my door,” Maggie replied stubbornly. “I don’t want you rubbin’ your dirt off on my sheets.”

“To hell with you and your sheets,” Clell shot back. “I ain’t takin’ no bath, and I ain’t payin’ no fifty dollars for a ten-dollar tussle with you, either. You done made enough money offa me.”

Incensed, but also reluctant to lose the recent source of money, Maggie shot back, “Well, you’re not gettin’ a free one if that’s what you’re thinkin’.”

“Hell, I ain’t thinkin’ about a free ride. You’re lookin’ kinda flabby and wrinkled. Maybe you oughta be payin’ me.” It was not the money alone that had smothered Clell’s flame of passion. He had been eyeballing Corrina more and more, and the half-breed woman looked a hell of a lot younger than her mistress. The fact that it would save him a considerable sum of money was a bonus. He figured like Yancey now, they all looked the same with their skirts up. “You can keep that old thing you’re so proud of till it dries up,” he said in parting.

“Why, you ol’ flat-nosed son of a bitch,” Maggie fumed, “I wouldn’t let you have no more if you offered a hundred dollars!”

Chuckling to himself, he headed for the kitchen in search of the maid. Finding the kitchen empty, and no sign of the woman out the back door, he went upstairs to look for Yancey. Finding Yancey’s door locked, he banged on it and yelled for him.

“What is it?” Yancey yelled back.

“Open the damn door,” Ballenger replied impatiently.

“In a minute,” Yancey came back. “I’m ’bout finished.” True to his word, in a little more than a minute, he came to the door, pulling his trousers up. The door opened and Corrina slipped by him, and hurried down the hall.

“Damn,” Ballenger grunted. “That takes care of that.” Then he called after her, “I’ll be talkin’ to you later on this evenin’.” He turned back to Yancey. “Get your pants on and we’ll go get us a drink and maybe scare up a card game.”

Lem Turner had seen the solemn deputy marshal on a couple of occasions when Thompson had passed through the little settlement before. Once he had boarded his horse in Lem’s stable and slept in the stall with it. “Yep, Marshal, them four in the corral, the chestnut and that palomino, and the black and the gray belong to two fellers that rode in a few days ago. They’re stayin’ with Maggie Pitts.” In answer to Thompson’s question, he replied, “A big man with a flat nose, and his skinny sidekick. Tom Pullen said they pistol-whipped some feller pretty bad in the saloon a couple of nights ago.”

“Much obliged,” Thompson said, and went on his way, confident that he had caught up with the bank robbers.