Charles West - Lawless Prairie

There was a night clerk behind the counter, fast asleep in a chair tilted back against the wall. Clint considered waking him, but decided against it, preferring to help himself to pen and paper. Tearing a back sheet from the guest register, he wrote a simple note. The bank is fixing to get robbed this morning. Thinking that was warning enough, he walked quietly out of the hotel and returned to the sheriff’s office, where he slid his note under the door. Satisfied that he had done his part for the people of Fort Collins, he climbed back in the saddle, and under a full moon, slow-walked his horse back toward the road he and the three outlaws had taken into town.

With no particular destination in mind, he started back toward Wyoming, undecided about stopping on his way north to visit his father. It might be a risky thing to do. His father’s little ranch might be the first place the law would look for him. He decided to think on it while he rode north. This would most likely be the last chance he could have to see his father again, because he planned never to return to his home once he reached Montana.

Zach Clayton caught himself nodding off in the saddle as his horse plodded slowly along the road leading to Fort Collins. He tried to shake the sleep from his head and stood up in the stirrups to stretch his legs. He and the sorrel were tired of traveling and both looked forward to something to eat and a bed. With the light of a full moon, he could almost read the time by his watch, but not quite. One thing he knew for sure, however, it was getting on toward bedtime. He wondered whether it was too late to drop in on his friend Jim Popwell.

Jim was the sheriff in Fort Collins, and he had worked with Zach before on a few searches. Zach knew he would be welcome to stay with him overnight, so he decided he’d ride straight through town to Jim’s place on the river.

He reached in his saddlebag and pulled out a piece of beef jerky to quell the demands of his empty stomach. A mile later, he saw the faint lights of Fort Collins. Maybe it was later than he thought, for the town showed few signs of life on the north end. One lone rider was the only person he saw, traveling to meet him on the dark road. Probably ran out of drinking money and heading home , Clayton thought as the rider approached.

“Evenin’,” Clayton offered as the rider rode past him.

“Evenin’,” the rider returned with a nod of his head.

Neither man bothered to look back as the distance between them increased to the point where they faded into the moonlit evening. Clayton cast little more than a glance toward the sheriff’s office as he walked his horse up the middle of the lonely street. It was obvious that there was no one in the office. Must not have anyone in jail , he thought. At the far end of the street, he found the only signs of life in the sleepy town, as the saloons were still going strong. He thought about taking a look inside in case he spotted the men he trailed, but decided to wait until he talked to Jim.

“Who is it?” Popwell demanded from the other side of the closed door of the simple frame house.

“I’m bringin’ the word of God to save all the hard sinners,” Clayton replied. “And somebody in town gave me your name.”

“You what?” Jim sputtered. “Who the hell sent you out here?” he demanded as he opened the door and thrust a lantern up before him to reveal the grinning face of the deputy marshal. His deep frown turned instantly to a wide grin. “Zach Clayton!” he roared then. “What in the hell . . . ? Come on in, man!” He threw the door open wide. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, and the last son of a bitch to save anybody’s soul.”

Clayton grabbed his friend’s hand and pumped it enthusiastically while slapping him on the shoulder with his free hand. “Good to see you, Jim. Glad to see you’re still standin’ up. I thought somebody mighta shot you by now.”

“Hell, man, Fort Collins is a peaceful town. We ain’t got no trouble here. What are you doin’ down here, anyway? You chasin’ somebody? You’re ridin’ mighty late at night.”

“Yeah, I’m on somebody’s trail, and it looked like they were headed your way, but I ain’t sure.” He hung his saddlebag over a chair back. “Thought I’d drop in on you for tonight, if it’s all right.” He paused to look around the tiny room. “You ain’t took up with a woman since I last saw you, have you?”

“Hell no,” Jim replied. “I ain’t found one that’d stay for more’n a night, and had to be paid for that.” He pulled a chair back from the table. “Set yourself down, Zach, and I’ll put on a pot of coffee. You hungry?”

“Well, I could eat, if you’ve got somethin’ handy. Let me take care of my horse first.”

Popwell carved a couple of slabs of meat from a haunch of venison he had butchered that afternoon, and while Clayton was eating, he filled him in on the reason he was in town. “Well, no, I can’t really say,” Jim answered when Zach asked whether he had seen anyone resembling the four men he was after. “Like I told you, I took the last two days off to go huntin’ since everything’s been so quiet. But we can take a look around in the mornin’.”

“These are some bad fellers,” Clayton said, “Clell Ballenger and a couple of his boys.”

“Ballenger?” Jim interrupted. “I thought they hung him.”

“They were goin’ to in about a week, but the son of a bitch broke out with two other prisoners. I found one of ’em dead yesterday, and the rest of ’em headed this way. They might not have wanted to be seen in town, but I couldn’t find any sign that they left the road into Fort Collins. I can’t say for sure they didn’t go around, ’cause the last several miles before I got here I was ridin’ in the dark.”

“If there had been any trouble, my deputy would most likely have rode out here to tell me,” Jim said. “He lives in a little room back of the Palace Saloon, so he pretty much keeps an eye on things in town. We can check with him in the mornin’.”

The two old friends sat around the kitchen table reminiscing a little longer than Clayton would have preferred, since he was already sleepy and tired when he arrived. But it had been a while since he had seen Jim Popwell, and the quantity of strong coffee that was consumed served to keep his eyelids up way past time when they normally would have dropped. As a consequence, they didn’t get the early start they had planned, and it was half past eight when they left Jim’s place and headed to town.

Jim only gave his office a glance to confirm that his deputy was not there as they rode past. “We’ll ride on down to the Palace and rout Grady out,” Jim said. “He could be eatin’ some breakfast at the hotel, though. We’d better look there first.” He turned his horse toward the hotel next to the saloon. “I don’t think you know Grady—Grady Jacobs—I believe I hired him since I saw you last.” Clayton replied that he didn’t know the deputy. “Good man,” Jim continued, “young feller, his daddy’s the Baptist preacher.”

Just as Jim had suspected, they found Grady Jacobs hovering over a plate of potatoes and eggs and a generous slab of bacon.

“Mornin’, Sheriff,” the young man greeted Jim when he walked in the back door of the hotel kitchen. He paused briefly a second time when he saw the stranger following behind Jim, only mildly curious. “Did you have a good hunt?”

“Fair,” Popwell answered. “I passed up a shot at a twelve-point buck and took one of his ladies instead. I was looking for meat, and a nice doe is a little more tender than an old buck.” He glanced at Clayton and smiled. “Me and Zach ate a good portion of it last night.” Catching an impatient look in Zach’s eye, he got down to business.