Mark of the Hunter (16 page)

•   •   •

After following Blue Creek, which ran roughly north and south for half a mile, Mace veered sharply to the north, heading in the general direction of the Roman-3. It was not until he left the tree line that he became aware of someone on his tail. At once alarmed, he pressed his already tired horse for more speed, a command the horse could no longer obey. Instead of increasing its speed, the horse began to falter, finally slowing down to a weary walk, no matter the flogging and cursing it endured. Mace was forced to dismount, and he could hear the sound of hoofbeats drawing steadily closer. Frightened now, with the image of the man with the scarred forehead seared on his brain, he drew his rifle from the saddle sling again. Using the weary horse for protection, he laid the rifle across the saddle, stood behind it, and waited. In a few moments, the rider appeared out of the fading darkness, riding head-on into the fatal ambush. When the rifle spoke, the rider was hit in the chest, causing his horse to run out from under him, dumping his body heavily to the ground.

“Ha!” Mace shouted gleefully. “You chased after the wrong man this time.” To be sure of his kill, he pumped another round into the motionless corpse. Still not certain, he hurried to stand over the body, only to draw back in alarm when he discovered the lifeless face of Ben Cagle staring up at him in eternal shock. Shocked as well, Mace felt his knees go weak for a moment. He had killed two of his own men on this ill-fated night. His first impulse was to look quickly around him to see if anyone had witnessed his latest assassination, even though he was sure there was no one else.

It's his own damn fault,
he thought, anxious to excuse his acts of cowardice.
Come riding up on me in the dark like that, he should have had better sense
. The problem facing him now was what to do next. The night sky was even then melting away to a lighter shade of gray, and looking back over the way he had run, he could see no sign of anyone else trailing him. While deciding what best to do, he took a look at Ben Cagle's horse. A sorrel with white markings on the legs, it was not in much better shape than his own. Both horses needed rest. He took another long look back behind him, wondering just how many men might be scouring the prairie on both sides of the creek with the notion of finishing the job they had started. “I can't stay here,” he decided aloud, but he was not sure which way he should go—back to the Roman-3 to face Striker's wrath—or strike out for parts unknown? It occurred to him that he had no idea how the rest of the men had fared, or how many had survived. Two he had done for himself, and he had seen two other empty saddles.
Of course,
he told himself,
those two might have been casualties for the other side.
It was all perplexing to the simpleminded outlaw, and for want of a better alternative, he decided to go back to the Roman-3 and hope their casualties were not as severe as he feared. He took the time to relieve Ben Cagle of his gun belt, which he hung on the saddle horn. Then he searched his pockets for any money he could find. Lastly, he took a hard look at his late partner's hand-tooled boots, but decided they were too small for his feet. Feeling a little more secure, since there was still no sign of anyone pursuing him, he took the reins of both horses and started walking toward the Roman-3.

Far behind him the large gang created in Mace's imagination had thoughts only of moving their cattle back to a safer location near the Triple-T headquarters. It was a task not easily accomplished by four men—one of them wounded. Events of the night just passed would be remembered and referred to by local ranchers as the Second Battle of Blue Creek. While not on a scale of the first, when army troops attacked a village of two hundred and fifty Sioux over twenty years before that date, the nine bodies found later were hardly insignificant.

The folks at the Triple-T Ranch awoke to find the leading cows of a herd numbering in the neighborhood of two thousand, five hundred head moving into the range close about the ranch headquarters. Already up and about their chores, Stony, Blackie, and Link were preparing to ride back out to Blue Creek to ride herd right after breakfast. “Looks like the cows came to us, instead of the other way around,” Blackie observed casually.

“Looks that way, don't it?” Stony allowed. “I don't know why in hell we didn't move 'em back down this way before. I reckon we just liked gettin' shot at.”

“I expect we oughta ride out and help 'em move 'em on in,” Blackie said.

“Best tell Slop we'll be back a little later for breakfast,” Stony said. “Else he might throw it all to the hogs.”

At the house, Muriel came into the kitchen to find that Eileen had already built up the fire in the stove and had coffee on to boil. “Well, you're up bright and early,” she said to her daughter. “I didn't even hear you leave the room.”

“I didn't see any sense in waking you,” Eileen replied. She had no intention of telling her mother that she was up earlier than usual strictly as a point of pride. She wanted to make sure she was up and stirring about in the kitchen before Birdie got up. This even though she told herself she had no reason to be competitive with their guest. “They drove the cattle in around us last night,” she went on to say. Muriel moved to the window to see for herself. At almost the same time, the door to the other bedroom opened and Birdie came to join Eileen at the stove, seeking its warmth.

“Good morning. Did you have enough quilts last night?” Muriel asked.

“Yes, ma'am, I did,” Birdie replied, still shivering a little.

“I see you put on a dress this morning,” Eileen commented.

Birdie laughed. “I just wanted you to see that I had one. I was getting tired of everyone thinking I was a boy.” She laughed again. “But I've still got those long pants on under this skirt.”

Muriel laughed with her. “I don't blame you for that. It got cold last night. When it really starts getting cold, maybe you'd better crawl in with Eileen and me.”

“Maybe I'd better,” Birdie joked. “I don't have much meat on my bones. Can I get in the middle?” Her reply evoked another laugh from Muriel, but no more than a polite smile from Eileen.

Being very much a woman, Birdie sensed the slight chill toward her, coming from Eileen, but she could not understand the reason for it.
Hell, I haven't been around long enough to make her mad at me,
she thought.
Maybe she thinks I'm a slut because I was riding with Cord and Dooley. Well, she can think what she wants, it's no skin off my . . .
Another thought occurred before she finished that one.
Maybe that's the problem—Cord
. She smiled to herself then, understanding. Turning to Eileen, she favored her with a warm smile and said, “Can I help you with breakfast? I'm a decent cook.”

•   •   •

Stony and his two partners rode out to meet the four riders following along behind the herd. Catching sight of Billy's bloodied coat, he pulled up at once. “Trouble?”

“Well, I reckon,” Billy answered. “But we brought the herd back home with us. I just got a little nick in my shoulder, but it was a whole lot worse on that bunch of bushwhackers from the Roman-Three. You'll notice ain't none of us ridin' our regular horses but Cord. They shot ours, so we came home on their horses, since they didn't have no use for 'em anymore.”

“I see you even brought back an extra horse,” Stony said. “Does that mean you killed four of Striker's riders?”

“I ain't sure how many were killed, 'cause Cord got most of 'em, workin' on his own while me and Lem and Dooley were holed up in a gully.” Obviously getting more and more pumped up over their successful clash with the Roman-3 crew, Billy went on. “They had the three of us pinned down, but we got two of 'em. Cord got the rest.” He turned to Cord then. “How many did you kill, Cord?” Lem looked quickly at his young friend, immediately concerned about the nature of his response.

Cord didn't answer right away, uncomfortable with Billy's apparent boastful accounting of the night's violent results. When his words finally came, they were quiet and without emotion. “I don't know. We were all shootin' at everything that moved in the dark. I reckon we'll see how many of Striker's men show up durin' the next few days.”

Disappointed that Cord didn't share his triumphant high over such a victory against superior odds, Billy complained, “Come on, you tellin' me you don't know the number you killed? Hell, man, you were a damn killin' machine.”

“It ain't nothin' to brag about,” Cord said.

“Cord's right,” Lem interjected then. “It ain't nothin' anybody should wanna brag about. Best to not talk about it too much.” He knew that it would not do for talk to get around about the number of deaths Cord had accounted for.

Equally aware of the problem that could be caused for Cord, Dooley spoke up when Billy seemed not to understand. “Cord did what he thought he had to do to keep all of us from gettin' killed. It ain't gonna do him no favor to go around braggin' about how many men he shot—give him a reputation he don't need and set him up for every two-bit gunslinger who wants a reputation for hisself.”

The light of understanding shown in Billy's eye and he nodded soberly. “Let's take care of the horses and get us somethin' to eat before Slop throws it out,” Lem said, satisfied that everyone understood the problem that could have been caused for Cord. Turning back to Billy again, he suggested, “Maybe you'd rather have Muriel take a look at that shoulder first.”

“I'd rather eat first,” Billy said without hesitation.

•   •   •

Lem rapped lightly on the back door and waited for one of the women to answer. In a minute, the door opened and Muriel was standing there. “What is it, Lem?”

“I come to ask you if you wouldn't mind takin' a look at Billy's shoulder,” Lem said. “He got hit in the shoulder last night and the bullet's still in there. He ain't hurtin' real bad, but I'm afraid if Slop or one of us other men goes diggin' around in that wound, we'll just make it a bigger mess.”

“Why, of course I'll look at it,” Muriel replied. “Where is he?” She was accustomed to being called on for the more serious doctoring.

“Down at the bunkhouse.”

“Bring him up to the house,” she said. “It'll be easier to tend to him here where I've got everything I need.”

Eileen and Birdie, both in the kitchen, overheard the conversation taking place at the back door. Still feeling a slight chill coming from Eileen, Birdie had made every effort to try to help out, but there was little that she had been able to contribute so far. She saw this as an opportunity, so when Lem left to get Billy, she offered her help. “I can tend to Billy's wound for you. I've got small hands, so I won't make too big a mess of the wound, and I've got a little experience tending bullet wounds.” She hoped they would not ask how she came by her experience, for she had no intention of admitting that it was two occasions when she had helped Mother Featherlegs remove lead from a couple of the madam's outlaw customers.

“Why, that would be very nice of you, Birdie,” Muriel said. “Are you sure you don't mind doing it?” Birdie assured her that she did not, and Muriel chuckled as she added, “I'm sure Billy would prefer it.”

“I'll heat up a pan of water, if you'll show me where some clean rags are,” Birdie said.

“I've already put some water on the stove,” Eileen said. “I'll get you some rags.” She went at once to the pantry.

Eileen pulled some scraps of old shirts from the top shelf of the pantry and turned to find Birdie confronting her. “I wanted to say something to you,” Birdie told her. “I wanted to make sure I wasn't stepping on your toes when I volunteered to take care of Billy.” Eileen met her statement with a puzzled expression. Birdie continued. “I think Billy's kinda cute, but I don't want to make you mad if you've got any notions about him.”

Eileen's puzzled expression transformed suddenly into one of pleasant surprise. “Billy?” she responded. “No, I've no notions about Billy one way or the other.” Still astonished to find that Birdie apparently had no designs upon Cord Malone, she sputtered for a moment before giving Birdie a genuinely friendly smile. “You're right. Billy is cute, but don't give it another thought. I'll not be in your way.” She gave her a little squeeze on the arm. “Now, let's get you all set up to take care of your patient.” Birdie returned Eileen's warm smile and followed her back to the kitchen table, smug in the knowledge that she had thawed Eileen's frosty demeanor toward her. Maybe Billy was cute, but she had no particular interest in him. As far as Cord was concerned, she hadn't made up her mind. In the short time she had known him, she had to admit that she naturally looked to him for her protection. It was hard not to.

Within a few minutes, Billy showed up at the kitchen door. As Muriel had suggested, he seemed very pleased to find out that his doctor was to be the sprightly young lady with the short hair. Birdie sat him down at the kitchen table, close to the stove, so he would not be too cold with his shirt off. She made short work of the procedure, probing quickly with a kitchen knife until she felt the nick of the blade on the slug, then grasping it with her slender fingers, extracted it and held it up for him to see. With nothing for the pain except one long pull from a bottle of rye whiskey and a splash on the wound after the extraction, Birdie soon had the wound dressed. Through it all, Billy, although experiencing considerable pain, did his best to remain silent in an effort to impress the ladies. As a reward for his valor, Birdie sat down at the table with him for a cup of coffee.

“Have a cup of coffee with us,” Birdie offered when Eileen walked back in the kitchen. “I was just about to ask Billy if he and the others were heading back out tonight to watch the herd.” She was confident that the question would interest Eileen.

“Not all of us,” Billy answered as Eileen poured herself a cup of coffee and sat with them. “Just Cord—he's plannin' on watchin' the trail down along Blue Creek to see if they're thinkin' about tryin' anything tonight.”

His comment provoked Eileen's attention. “He was out last night with Lem and the new man and you,” she said. “Shouldn't it be someone else's turn tonight?”

“That's what Lem told him,” Billy replied, “but it was his idea. He said he'd catch a little sleep this afternoon and head back out tonight.”

Damn,
she thought, wondering how she was going to accidentally bump into him if he was going to be sleeping most of the afternoon.
Oh well, he'll have to wake up to eat before he goes. I'll think of some way to talk to him
.

•   •   •

“I'm going down to the barn,” Eileen announced casually. “I believe those chickens are finding some new nesting places.” She could think of no other excuse.

“I've got to go down to the smokehouse,” Birdie said. “I can go by the barn and check for you.”

“No, I'll do it,” Eileen said. “I wanna get outside for a few minutes to get some fresh air. Why don't I cut the ham for supper, as long as I'm going anyway?” She had been beginning to fear that Cord was never going to come out of the bunkhouse. So when she had finally seen him walking down to the barn, carrying his rifle in one hand and a cloth bundle that Slop had undoubtedly given him in the other, she had hurriedly picked up her shawl and headed for the door.

“You're gonna need this,” Birdie said, holding out a butcher knife.

“I guess that would be handy,” Eileen replied as she paused to take it, flushing slightly, hoping Birdie didn't make anything of her apparent rush to get out the door. Hurrying through the chilled afternoon air, she went straight to the barn, passing the smokehouse on the way. Inside the barn, there was no sign of anyone, so she went to the last stall on the right, where Cord had sometimes kept his favorite, the bay. The stall was empty. “Damn!” she murmured, and thought,
Where the hell did he go?

“Whaddaya fixin' to do with that knife?”

Startled, she jumped, and turned to see him coming from the tack room with his saddle over his shoulder. “Use it on you, if you come up behind me like that again,” she informed him.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you.”

“You didn't scare me,” she immediately came back, reverting to the stony disposition she usually reserved for him. “I just didn't know you were there.”

“Sorry,” he repeated. “I'm fixin' to get out of your way right now.” He turned toward the door, then paused and turned back to her. “Is there somethin' I could help you with?”

“No. Some of the chickens are building nests somewhere I haven't been able to find, and I thought they might be in some places I haven't looked.”

He cocked his head and attempted a smile. “What were you gonna do when you found 'em, kill 'em?”

“No, Mr. Smart Aleck, this is to cut some ham for supper,” she replied. When he nodded and started to leave again, she stopped him once more. “We haven't seen you up at the house since you came back—Lem and Billy, but not you.”

“Well, I reckon I didn't have any business up at the house,” Cord said.

“I think I should tell you that Mama and I appreciate the fact that you came back to help the other men. I didn't think to tell you yesterday.”

“I figured I owed your daddy that much,” he said. Tiring from holding his saddle while they talked, he dropped it to the ground. “How are you folks gettin' along with your daddy gone? Are you gettin' along all right with Birdie?”