Crow Creek Crossing (14 page)

“If you ain't got the stomach for it, I reckon the three of us can do the job,” Springer chided Green.

“Hold on,” Leon Bloodworth stepped in. “It don't do no good for you two to have a catfight right now. John, I understand what Douglas is sayin'. It would be a whole lot safer if there were more of us to go take those two down. I'm glad that you're willin' to go after 'em with just us here now, but let's wait a little bit to see who else shows up. I've sent my boy, Marvin, to tell some of the others about the meetin'.”

Some minutes later, Marvin returned with Alvin Tucker right behind him. “I figured we could count on Alvin,” Bloodworth remarked when the rawboned proprietor of the saddle shop walked in, carrying a double-barreled shotgun. Along with Gordon Luck, Tucker had played a leading role in every hanging carried out by the Gunnysack Gang, and he looked eager to stage another one. “What about Swartz?” Bloodworth asked his son.

“I told him,” Marvin said, “but he said he couldn't come right now, 'cause they already stopped in his place before they went to the hotel. And he said he oughta stay there in case they come back.”

“Hell, five of us is enough to take care of two low-down gunmen,” Tucker said.

“That's what I've been tryin' to tell 'em,” Springer said. “We've got enough for a committee. Ain't even no use to wear masks. We're actin' in the name of the law.” He looked directly at Douglas Green to see if he was going to object. When Green did not, Springer went on. “All right, then, let's decide how we're gonna do this.”

The discussion went on for a quarter of an hour, with some difference of opinion over whether to try to take Corbett and Sanchez alive, then hang them, or to surprise them in a blaze of gunfire and be done with it. “You say they're in Maggie's dining room?” Tucker asked Arthur Campbell.

“Well, they were when I left,” Campbell said. “I reckon they're still there.”

“Then I say let's jump 'em while they're settin' there stuffin' their gullets,” Tucker said. “Don't give 'em a chance to reach for their guns.”

“I reckon that's the safest way to do it,” Bloodworth said. “If all five of us go in shootin', I don't expect they'll be ready for that. I'm for it.”

“Anybody got any objections?” Tucker asked, again looking at Green. No one said anything. “All right, everybody's in. It's important that every one of us shoots the bastards. We don't want to give 'em any chance to fight. Agreed?” Everyone nodded. “All right, then, let's go show the sons of bitches who owns this town!”

“I didn't bring my gun,” Arthur Campbell said. “I wasn't sure we were gonna do something like this right away.”

“Well, what the hell did you think we were meetin' for?” Springer blurted. “I swear, Arthur.”

“Never mind,” Bloodworth said. “I've got an extra gun in the feed room. He can use that.”

He hurried to the feed room in the middle of the stable and took a .44 handgun and holster off a peg by the door. Before handing it to Campbell, he checked the cylinder to see if it was loaded. Campbell strapped the gun belt around his waist, looking slightly uncomfortable as he did so, causing Springer to look at Tucker and shake his head in doubt.

“Now,” Bloodworth said, “everybody ready? Let's go.”

•   •   •

The short-staffed version of the Gunnysack Gang had taken longer to make their decision to act than they realized, for the two they came to assassinate had finished their supper and were preparing to leave the dining room.

“You can just run us a bill,” Slade told Mary Lou when she asked them to pay. “We'll settle up at the end of the week.”

“The hell we will,” Mary Lou said. “We don't run credit lines here. You were supposed to pay before you ate anyway.”

“We'll settle up at the end of the week,” Slade repeated emphatically. Then he smiled wickedly and said, “If you've got to have it now, you can come up to the room to collect it. I might even give you a little bit extra.”

His suggestion caused a feeling of nausea in the pit of her stomach. She did not say anything for a few moments, knowing that there was nothing she could do to make them pay for their meal. Mary Lou looked
with contempt from Slade's lascivious grin to Sanchez's crude sneer. Knowing the evil they had done, and what they were capable of when no one was around to stop them, she was suddenly overcome by a deep feeling of fear. Concerned for her safety, she spun on her heel and fled to the kitchen to find Maggie kneeling behind the table, her shotgun aimed at the door. With no gun of her own, Mary Lou grabbed a butcher knife from the table and stood behind Maggie. Prepared to defend themselves, they waited for one of the men to appear in the doorway.

Sanchez had started toward the kitchen when Slade suddenly stopped him. He had taken a quick look out the window to discover five heavily armed men walking around the building toward the back door.

“Hold on, Sanchez,” he said. “I think we got company comin' to see us.” He stepped up closer to the window for a better look. “Ain't that the son of a bitch that runs the hotel?”

Sanchez moved to the other side of the window to see for himself.

“Yeah,” he said, “that's him, and the man that owns the stable. Looks like some of the fine citizens of Cheyenne are plannin' to pay us a little visit.” Like Corbett, Sanchez had no fear of a hastily formed handful of the town's businessmen. They were a far cry from an angry lynch mob.

“Well, now,” Slade said, “that's right neighborly, ain't it? Let's get ready to welcome them.” He watched from the window until they disappeared around the corner of the building. “They're comin' through the kitchen. Let's turn a couple of these tables over.”

They worked quickly, turning two tables over to
serve as barriers. Once that was done, Slade directed Sanchez to one corner of the large room while he went to the opposite one. They both knelt down behind the corner tables and chairs and waited.

Maggie gasped, startled, when the back door opened and Jesse Springer led four of the town's businessmen into her kitchen, signaling her to remain silent. Whispering quietly, she was at once alarmed as she tried to tell him to take the fight outside, even as they tiptoed around her with their weapons drawn, intent upon attacking.

“It's too late now,” he told her. “You and Mary Lou best find you a place to hide till it's over.”

“You're too late to surprise them,” Mary Lou warned. “They saw you through the window and turned a couple of the tables over to use for cover. Why in hell didn't you come up the alley?”

“That woulda been the smart thing to do,” Alvin Tucker whispered. “But we didn't. Anyway, them tables ain't gonna be much cover when we hit 'em all at once.” He turned to the others in the posse. “Hit 'em with everything you've got, as fast as you can shoot.” He looked at Springer and received a nod to show he was ready. “Me and Springer will lead the charge. They won't know what hit 'em.”

They inched up closer around the doorway, taking care not to show themselves through the open door too soon.

“Everybody ready?” Tucker whispered. “Let's go!” he yelled then as he and Springer charged through the doorway, blasting away at the two overturned tables on the other side of the room. Like a cavalry assault on an enemy position, the five-man vigilante posse unleashed a blistering barrage, knocking great
chunks of wood from the two tables and splitting the tops in their fury.

They realized too late that there was no one behind the tables and they had blundered into a trap. Tucker and Springer were cut down almost instantly by gunshots from the corners of the room. The resulting panic to escape the lethal return fire led to a rush to retreat, but not before Arthur Campbell caught a round in his left thigh and Leon Bloodworth was hit in the shoulder. The only member of the posse who escaped with no wounds was Douglas Green by virtue of his tendency to hang behind during an attack. Consumed by fright when the tide of the battle turned immediately in favor of the two outlaws, he sought a place to hide. Seeing the pantry door, he plunged inside where Maggie and Mary Lou had taken refuge. Bloodworth and Campbell, limping along as best they could, escaped out the back door.

As suddenly as it started, the shooting stopped, and in a few seconds, the three hiding in the pantry could hear the sound of heavy boots in the kitchen, walking toward the back door.

“Yonder!” Slade blurted as he caught sight of Campbell rounding the back corner of the rooms behind the kitchen. His exclamation was followed at once by a couple of shots. “Too late, they're gone. Don't matter. We'll find 'em and finish the job.” He saw that as no problem since the vigilantes had not bothered to wear masks. He recognized both men as the owner of the hotel and the operator of the stables.

Inside the pantry Douglas Green squeezed between the two women, trying to hide himself behind them. When they tried to resist his efforts, he
pleaded, “Please, they won't hurt you women, but they'll kill me. I can hide behind your skirts if you'll stand together.” It was easy to feel contempt for the man's cowardice, but difficult not to feel sorry for him, for he was probably right.

So they stood close together while he squatted on the floor behind their skirts, trembling in fright, as the sound of the outlaws' boots could be heard when they walked back toward the dining room. Then they stopped and came back to stand before the pantry door. Suddenly the door was jerked open to reveal Slade Corbett standing there with his .44 aimed at them. There was no shot fired, however, as a cruel sneer spread across his unshaven face.

“Well, well,” he said, smirking, “lookee here, Sanchez. The ladies didn't run out on us after all.” He took a step backward and holstered his pistol. “Come on outta there, ladies. We wouldn't want nothin' to happen to you.”

“Shoot them!” Sanchez insisted. “We don't leave no witnesses.”

“Why not?” Slade replied. “Hell, we need witnesses. They saw that bunch try to kill us. We just defended ourselves. We didn't start it.” He found it amusing that it was actually the case. “Besides, we don't wanna kill the cook, and we might find some better use for 'em, too.” Turning back to the women, he repeated, “Come on outta there.” He took another step back when the two women hesitated. “We ain't gonna hurtcha.”

Conscious of the frightened man trembling behind them, they moved out of the pantry, staying as close together as possible, hoping to shield him from view.

“Make us some coffee, and cut a big slice of that
pie on the counter there. Shootin' cowards makes me hungry,” Slade declared, confident that there would be no further attacks from the citizens of Cheyenne, and riding high after repelling the citizens' attack. Mary Lou and Maggie stepped quickly out of the pantry and closed the door behind them. Too busy enjoying the confrontation just finished to think about taking a closer look inside the pantry, the two outlaws pulled a couple of chairs up to the kitchen table to await their dessert, unconcerned about the crowd of spectators gathering outside the hotel, curious to see what the gunshots were about.

“Ain't none of 'em got brass enough to come in to find out what the noise was,” Slade gloated, knowing that he and Sanchez had just destroyed the only semblance of law and order in the whole town. “We'll let them three that got away set on it for a while. We got all the time in the world to settle with them—let 'em sweat for a spell.”

Forced to sit there in the kitchen while the two outlaws had pie and coffee, Mary Lou and Maggie could only hope that they would eventually finish and leave them in peace. Realizing just how defenseless she was if the depraved monsters decided to press her beyond the harmless flirting stage, Mary Lou wanted to run. But she could not in good conscience leave Maggie to deal with them alone.

After consuming his dried apple pie, Sanchez drew a long skinning knife and began cleaning his fingernails with the tip of it, all the while leering at her as if undressing her with his eyes. Suddenly she was surprised by a question from Corbett.

“Where do you sleep? I know you ain't got
no
husband. I reckon I'll bunk in with you tonight. Where do you live?”

“I don't remember giving you an invitation,” Mary Lou replied, as boldly as she could affect.

“I don't need no invitation,” Slade said. “You'll be better off when you get it straight in your head that you're lucky I claimed you. Sanchez here, he don't leave 'em in too good a shape. Now, me, I know how to treat a lady, long as she don't give me no hard time. So you might as well tell me where you live so I won't have to beat it outta you.”

“All right,” Mary Lou said. “I live two miles north of town on the Lodgepole Creek Road.”

Slade smiled smugly. “Now, you know that's a damn lie. You live right here in town. Where? In the hotel?” Mary Lou didn't answer. “That's what I thought,” he said. “Which room number?” Still, she refused to answer. “Listen, you damn bitch, I ain't got time to play games with you.” He grabbed her by her wrist and pulled her up close to him, his fist drawn back to strike her.

“Wait!” Maggie yelled. “She lives upstairs in the hotel, room number four at the back of the hall.” She knew that room was vacant, and had been since the last guest knocked the stove over and burned a big patch in the floor.

Slade backhanded Mary Lou, almost knocking her down. “If you had just told me that, you wouldn'ta got smacked. That ain't but two doors down from my
room. That'll be real handy.” She steeled herself to keep her mouth shut, afraid that Maggie had put herself in danger by trying to help her. “Now, let me tell you how things are gonna be while I'm in town,” Slade continued, convinced that he now owned it. “I like to do a little drinkin' and playin' cards. And when I'm done with that, I want my woman waitin' for me. So I'll be knockin' on your door tonight, and if you ain't there, I'll track you down. And, missy, when I find you, it ain't gonna be pleasant. Do you understand me?” When she didn't answer, he grabbed her by her throat and shook her. “Do you!”