Charles West - Lawless Prairie

Clayton cocked his pistol again, but knew it was useless to fire. He could only watch as the two outlaws disappeared between the buildings. Still breathing hard, he turned one way and then another, trying to spot his horse, but the sorrel was nowhere to be seen. The street suddenly filled with people, coming from the stores and shops now that the shooting seemed to have stopped. Popwell called out from the other end of the street that he was taking Grady to the doctor. Clayton acknowledged that; then with pistol still in hand, he walked up to the body lying in the dusty street.

He reached down and rolled the corpse over on its back. The face was unfamiliar, one of Ballenger’s gang he supposed. That only leaves three , he thought. He stood up again and stared in the direction Ballenger had fled, fighting off a feeling of frustration over the opportunity he had missed. If he had known beforehand of the planned bank holdup, they could have set a trap to capture the three of them. They might have had time to prepare a surprise party for Ballenger if they had gone to the sheriff’s office as soon as they rode into town. That thought led him to speculate on the origin of the warning note.

It was natural to assume that Clint Conner was most likely the author of the note—especially when he considered the fact that one of the four he chased had cut out the night before. It had to be Conner. He had saved the prison guard’s life. There was no doubt about that. Clayton was beginning to realize that Clint had no choice in the matter of joining the escape. The thought of it bothered Zach Clayton’s regimented mind. He preferred things to be cut-and-dried, black or white, criminal or law abiding, and Conner’s behavior muddied up the situation. In the end, he knew he had to do his job, and that was to catch criminals. Conner might have done the best he could to help the side of the law, but he was still an escaped horse thief. And Clayton reminded himself, he sure as hell didn’t turn himself in again.

“I’m wastin’ time,” he muttered in frustration, knowing that Ballenger was getting away while he stood there speculating. “Run and fetch the undertaker,” he said to a boy who had inched up to look at the dead man. The next order of business was to find his horse. That didn’t take more than ten or fifteen minutes. He found the sorrel behind the hotel where he had joined Popwell’s and Grady’s horses in the shade of a cottonwood tree.

His first impulse was to jump in the saddle and gallop after Ballenger, but with the start they already had, he knew it was back to tracking the two outlaws. In view of that, he decided to take the sheriff’s and deputy’s horses back to Popwell’s office. And while he was at it, he figured he might as well stop by the telegraph office and wire Laramie to keep the warden informed on the progress of his hunt.

The sheriff stepped out of the doctor’s door when he saw Clayton leading the horses back toward his office. “How’s the boy?” Zach asked when Popwell walked out to meet him.

“He’s gonna be all right. Caught one in the shoulder. Doc says he’ll be fine.” He nodded toward the extra horse Zach was leading. “Looks like you got one of ’em. I’d better round up a posse to go after the other two.”

“I’d rather you didn’t, Jim,” Clayton insisted. “I don’t have the time to wait on it, and I think I’ve got a better chance of slippin’ up on ’em without the bother of a posse.” Clayton had never cared to ride with a posse. It had been his experience that a bunch of armed ordinary citizens caused little more than confusion, and was seldom successful in tracking down a seasoned outlaw like Clell Ballenger. They only added to his responsibility to keep them from getting killed.

“Suit yourself,” Popwell replied, “but I’m willin’ to give you all the help I can. After all, I am the sheriff here, and they sure as hell pulled a holdup in my town.” He knew Clayton’s reputation as a loner, but he felt it was his responsibility to offer.

“I appreciate it, Jim. I know I can count on you if I need to.” The issue decided as far as he was concerned, he changed the subject. “There’s a saddlebag full of the bank’s money on that feller’s horse. At least they got part of it back.”

The sheriff nodded, then broke out a grin. “You didn’t draw a little expense money outta that saddlebag?”

Clayton reflected the grin. “I thought about it, but it’s all there. I reckon I ain’t smart enough to be crooked.” He reached down to shake his friend’s hand. “Well, I got to go to work. I’ll be seein’ you.”

“Watch your ass with them two,” Popwell said in parting.

“I always do,” Clayton replied.

Clayton stopped at the spot where Ballenger and Yancey had entered the river, evidently heading south. The thought of the lone traveler he had met on the road north of Fort Collins sprang to his mind. If that man was who he now suspected, it meant that of the three he was bound to bring in, two were heading south while the other was heading north. It was something to think about, but did not make his decision difficult. He would head south after Ballenger.

The river was relatively calm at this point, allowing for an easy crossing. There seemed to be an obvious spot on the far bank to leave the water, so he headed for it. Upon reaching the other side, he stopped to search for tracks. His were the only ones to be found. Not really surprised, he walked the sorrel west along the bank for about a quarter of a mile without success. Turning around, he retraced his steps, noting that the sorrel’s tracks were easily evident. A little farther than a quarter mile past the point where he had left the river he found two sets of tracks.

From that point, leaving the rocky riverbank, he saw there was some effort taken to avoid leaving a trail, but to a skilled tracker like Clayton there was little challenge. Generally they had followed the river east, instead of heading straight south toward Denver. After a couple of miles where the river snaked its way through a thick forest of pine, the tracks led back into the water. This is where they’re hoping to lose me , he thought. He guessed right, for he spent the better part of the afternoon before discovering a faint hoof-print left on a grassy bank some three-quarters of a mile upstream. Scouting in the general direction indicated, he finally found another print to verify that the trail pointed north. Cheyenne , he thought as he led his horse into the dense forest of pine, surprised that they had changed direction. It was almost impossible to follow a trail in the thick bed of pine needles that covered the floor of the forest, so he was forced to go primarily on instinct with an occasional bent branch or rubbed bark to reassure his guess. By the time he left the pines and struck their trail leading up into the hills, it was growing too dark to continue. When he figured he had gone as far as he reasonably could, he made his camp for the night.

Chapter 4

Arthur Conner pulled a burning splinter from the fire and used it for a match to light his lantern. Stepping out onto the small porch, he held the light up before him and called his dog. “What’s the matter with you, Ned? Come here.” The dog had started barking at something fifteen minutes before and wouldn’t stop. Arthur finally decided Ned must have heard something, so he went out to take a look. He had already had a couple of coyotes in the barn this past week, trying to get to the chickens. Thinking of that now, he told himself that he should have brought his shotgun, but when he walked inside the barn, there was no predator to be seen.

“Damn crazy dog,” he muttered, then thought as long as he was at it, he might as well check the horses in the corral. Going out the back door of the barn, he had taken only a few steps toward the corral when he was startled by the sudden appearance of a dark figure leading a horse toward him.