A Man Called Sunday (17 page)

“No, I ain't,” Sloat replied.

“Well, I reckon you'd best pay him for the coffee,” Luke said to Mary Beth, “and we'll be goin' along. Not much daylight left before we'll have to make us a camp for the night.” He paused to nod a greeting to Pearl when she walked in to join them, then said to Sloat, “We'll be right back.”

Outside the store, he led the packhorse to the side where it could not be seen through the open door. “You want me to untie that knot on your sack of corn, or can you reach it all right?”

His question caught her quite by surprise, for she realized that he had obviously known all along that she had hidden all her money, eight hundred dollars in gold and silver coins, in the sack of corn. She should have guessed that he knew a sack of corn didn't weigh that much, but he had made no further comment on it after his initial statement. Embarrassed now that she had assumed he was too dumb to question it, she made no comment on the matter. Instead she proceeded to untie the sack and dig around in the kernels until coming up with the required amount. “I'll tie it back,” he said.

“Thank you,” she replied politely, her face still slightly flushed with embarrassment, and turned at once to return to the store.

Inside, Lem Sloat, moved quickly back from the wall, where he had witnessed her search through a crack between the boards on the side of the building. “Yes, ma'am,” he offered jovially when she placed the coins on his small counter. “Hard cash, I was hopin' you weren't gonna try to pay with paper. I'da rather had pelts than paper money.” He watched while Luke took the sack of coffee beans and rearranged his packs to make a place for it. “You folks oughta stick around for a while,” Lem suggested. “You could camp right here and Pearl can cook you up some supper—plenty of wood, plenty of grass for your horses, easy to get to the water.”

“Thank you kindly,” Luke replied at once, “but we've got a piece to go before we call it a day, so I expect we'd best move along.” He walked over to stand by Mary Beth's stirrup, waiting to help her up in the saddle.

“Stop by and see us if you're back this way again,” Sloat called after them as they ascended the path to the main trail. He stood there watching until they disappeared near the bend of the river, then beckoned to Pearl. When the stoic Crow woman came to him, he said, “Go find Ben Kirby. Tell him I need to see him.” She nodded and turned to do his bidding.

* * *

It was rapidly approaching dark by the time Luke found a campsite to his liking. Mary Beth was beginning to wonder if he planned to continue on into the night before he finally came to a lively creek that emptied into the river where the bluffs were some six feet high. “This'll do,” he stated simply, and turned the gray to head up the tree-lined creek. After a ride of about a hundred yards, he pulled up and looked around a small clearing in the cottonwoods where the creek made a U-shaped bend. “Here,” he said, and slid off his horse. “We'll build a fire in the crook of that creek.”

She looked at the spot he pointed out. “I'll make the fire while you take care of the horses.” She smiled as she walked past him. “We've got plenty of coffee now. I'll grind some of the new beans.”

He tried to answer her smile with one of his own, but his mind was occupied with the layout of his camp. He had a gut feeling about Lem Sloat that told him the man was not to be trusted. That was his reason for keeping Mary Beth in the saddle for a longer day than usual and also the reason for selecting a campsite far enough removed from the main trail along the river. He decided not to tell Mary Beth of his concerns until after they had eaten. She had already been troubled earlier that day with reports of Sioux and Cheyenne war parties, so he wanted her to be comfortable for a while until bedtime. Then he would tell her of his concerns.

With supper finished, Luke got more wood and built up the fire as he usually did, but when she started to lay out her bedding, he stopped her and led her to another spot farther up in the trees. “I want you to sleep back from the fire a ways tonight,” he told her. “I've got a feelin' that we ain't seen the last of Lem Sloat. Take that big ol' pistol of your daddy's to bed with you, just in case.” He pointed to a willow thicket on the other side of the creek. “I'll be right yonder in those willows, and I'll be keepin' an eye on things. Maybe my hunch is wrong, might not be nothin' at all, but it won't hurt to be sure. If we do get any visitors tonight, you just lie low right here, and I'll take care of it. That pistol is just in case I'm not as smart as I think I am. All right?”

“All right,” she answered after a hesitation that reflected her uncertainty.

“I'm just gettin' spooked a little,” he said, trying to reassure her. “Probably nothin' at all.”

* * *

“All silver,” Lem said, “she paid me in silver coins, had 'em hid in a sack of somethin'. It looked like a sack of grain, or corn, or somethin' like that. She went diggin' around in that sack and pulled out a handful of money.”

“I swear,” Ben Kirby exclaimed. “And there wasn't but the two of 'em, a man and a woman?” A lean, lanky man of average height, clean-shaven except for a drooping mustache that formed almost a full circle around his chin, he pursed his lips to shoot a stream of tobacco juice toward the porch post.

“That's right,” Lem replied, “just the two of 'em.”

Kirby grinned and worked his chew around to the other side of his mouth. “Sounds to me like me and ol' Gopher here oughta go see what the lady has in that sack. Whaddaya think, Gopher?” He shot a stream of tobacco juice in the direction of his partner's foot, but the simpleminded brute's reactions were quick enough to jerk it out of the way, causing Kirby to chuckle. Gopher simply grinned in response to his partner's question, his swift reactions being confined to physical, rather than mental, agility. Kirby turned back to Sloat then. “Hell, if there wasn't but two of 'em, and one of them a woman, how come you didn't just do the job yourself?”

“There wasn't but one man,” Sloat explained, “but he looked like he mighta been half mountain lion.” He shook his head at the thought. “He held a Henry rifle in his hand the whole time he was here, and his eyes never missed nothin'. If he'da ever turned his back on me, I mighta thought about it, but he never did.” He tilted his head back and scratched under his beard while he recalled the broad-shouldered scout. “Besides, that's your job. I'm just supposed to spot 'em for you.”

“Might do you some good to get out from behind that counter once in a while,” Kirby needled. “Work some of that fat offa ya.”

“If I did, then you and Gopher would be out of a job, wouldn't you? Now, I expect if any of us is gonna get any of that woman's money, you two better start doin' some trailin'. They've already got an hour's start on you, and mind you don't take my warnin' lightly 'bout that feller with the rifle. He was wearin' a bow on his back—didn't look like one of the usual pilgrims that come by here.”

“I reckon we can handle him,” Kirby said. He grinned at his oversized partner, and said, “I'll let ol' Gopher tie his ass in a knot. Then I'll slit his throat and scalp him.” Gopher beamed and nodded in response.

“Sometime they gonna cheat you,” Pearl said when she came to stand beside Sloat as they watched Kirby and Gopher ride up the path.

“Maybe,” Sloat replied, “but those two ain't got brains enough between 'em to pour piss out of a boot. They need somebody to tell 'em which way to go. They'll be back with the money.” He was truthful when he said he wasn't worried about them, for he figured they needed him more than he needed them.

* * *

“It's gettin' so dark I can't hardly see the damn tracks no more,” Kirby complained.

“There ain't no tracks on this side,” Gopher said from the other bank of the creek.

“You mean you can't see no more?”

“I can see good enough,” Gopher answered. “There ain't no tracks to see over here.”

“They rode up the creek,” Kirby said, while Gopher continued to puzzle over the disappearance of tracks. “We'd best take it real slow now, till we find out where they made camp. Come on back on this side, and we'll follow it till we catch sight of 'em.”

They had gone no farther than about twenty yards when Kirby caught the movement of their intended victims' horses in the trees up ahead. He signaled Gopher to dismount and be quiet, then dismounted himself. “They ain't very far up this creek,” Kirby whispered. “Let's go back a little and wait till it gets darker.”

It was not a long wait until a hard dark set in the cottonwoods bordering the narrow creek. The conscienceless assassins sat on the ground, each with his back against a tree, impatiently waiting for the proper time to strike the unsuspecting camp. Gopher was eager to get on with it, but Kirby convinced him that it would be far easier if they waited until the man and woman were asleep. “Then all we'll have to do is walk in and shoot 'em while they're still in their blankets,” he said.

“Maybe we'll catch 'em goin' at it in the same blanket,” Gopher said, his perverted mind conjuring an image that appealed to him. “That'd be somethin', wouldn't it?” His voice trailed off as he pictured it. “I'd like to see that.”

“I wanna see what's in that damn sack Lem saw,” Kirby said. “We need to wait till they've had time to fall asleep. Don't make no sense to go in there earlier and take a chance on gettin' shot. Lem says this feller looks like some kinda stud hoss.”

“I reckon,” Gopher conceded, unable to rid his mind of the picture he had formed, “but I'd like to see 'em goin' at it.” Kirby shook his head in disbelief, but he said nothing and Gopher could not see his gesture in the darkness.

An hour passed and finally Kirby thought it was time. “All right,” he said, “let's get movin'.” He got to his feet and looked down at his simpleminded partner, who had fallen asleep. Taking him by the shoulder, he shook him awake. “Come on, you big dummy. You was so damn anxious to go a while back. You wanna stay here and sleep while I go do the job?” Gopher scrambled up quickly, his grin wide in anticipation of the pleasure he always enjoyed when falling upon innocent victims.

Leaving their horses tied in the trees, they drew their rifles and advanced upon the camp on foot. In a short distance, they spotted the flames of the campfire. A gentle breeze rustled the branches of the low bushes that grew between the cottonwoods, causing the flames to flicker nervously. Inching a few yards closer, they stopped to look over the camp before walking in. As they had planned, there was no activity in the camp. All was quiet except for a few inquiring whinnies from the horses. To make sure this was not enough to wake the sleeping couple, they continued to wait a few minutes more before advancing once again. Still there was no sign of movement.

“Where the hell are they?” Kirby whispered, for he had expected to see two sleeping forms close to the fire. “You see 'em?”

“Nope,” Gopher replied.

“Well, they gotta be here somewhere,” Kirby said, and proceeded to make his way to a closer position. “You step across the creek and head toward them willows. They musta figured to bed down outta sight. I'll go up this side. One of us is bound to spot 'em.”

“All right,” Gopher said, and stepped into the waist-deep water, causing a soft splash as he did so. Kirby grimaced at the sound, but still there was no evidence of alarm in the camp. Gopher grinned sheepishly for his clumsy step while he continued across to the other bank. Pulling his heavy body out of the water was not without a slight sound, but not as loud as his entry had been. In silence now, save for the singing of frogs along the creek bank, he moved toward the willow thicket. Suddenly he spotted what he searched for, a form rolled in a blanket. He did not wait. Pulling his rifle up to his shoulder, he fired, cocked it, and fired again to be sure. At that distance, he did not miss. “I got one, Kirby!” Eager to see which of the couple he had shot, he ran into the willows.

Kirby did not answer. The only sound he could make was a choking gurgle as his throat was cut from ear to ear. When released from the powerful grasp that had held him, his body dropped lifeless to the creek bank. Luke wiped his knife blade clean and returned it to its scabbard. He reached over his shoulder and drew an arrow from the quiver. Notching it, he stepped up in the shadow of the trees and waited. In a few seconds, Gopher lumbered out into the clearing after finding he had killed an empty blanket. “Kirby!” he yelled. “They ain't here.” With no answer from his partner, he started to yell again, but was stopped abruptly by a solid blow to his chest. Confused by the sudden pain, he looked down to discover the arrow shaft protruding from his body. He staggered backward, still on his feet when the second arrow struck, piercing his abdomen. Like a wounded buffalo, he snorted, dazed, unable to defend against an antagonist he could not see. There were no muzzle flashes to tell him from whence his assailant struck, only the silent missiles from somewhere in the darkness of the trees. Helpless against the assault, he tried to escape and turned around to go back to the creek, but found that his steps were uneven and awkward, causing him to drop his rifle and clutch a willow trunk to keep from going down on his knees. The final arrow, shot from a much shorter distance than the first two, struck him in the back, piercing his lung, and the simple brute collapsed face forward in the creek.

Luke walked slowly to the creek to make sure of the kill. He reached for Gopher's foot and pulled the heavy body to the bank of the creek, where he stripped it of its gun belt. He took a good look at the man, just as he had done with his partner. Neither of the two was Lem Sloat, which surprised him. Even so, he felt that Sloat had a hand in it, but there was no way he could know for sure. Thoughts of vengeance filled his mind as he tried to pull his arrows out of Gopher's corpse, but there was the possibility that Lem Sloat had nothing to do with the attempt on their lives, that it was just coincidence.