Mark of the Hunter (7 page)

“Afternoon,” a thin man with a shock of black hair and a mustache to match called out to him when he entered. “What can I do for you?” He laid a feather duster on the counter to give his full attention to his customer.

“Need some coffee beans,” Cord answered, then scanned the shelves while the store clerk went about the business of weighing out the beans. He decided he could also afford some dried beans to go with the smoked venison he was packing, so he told the clerk to weigh him out a couple of pounds.

His purchases completed, he stepped out on the front stoop and glanced at the saloon. He was startled by what he saw. There at the hitching rail where half a dozen horses were tied, he saw Dooley's buckskin pulled up to the rail in the middle. Hardly able to believe his eyes, he watched while Dooley unhurriedly pulled the saddle off a dun horse and nonchalantly threw it on the buckskin's back. While he was tightening the cinch strap, a man walked out of the saloon and stood talking to Dooley. After a few short moments, Dooley stepped up in the saddle, turned the buckskin's head toward the road, and rode away at a slow lope. Looking quickly back at the door of the saloon, Cord expected to see someone charging out to give chase, but there was no one. Dooley touched his finger to his hat as a salute as he rode by the store. After another look back toward the saloon, Cord wasted no time in jumping into the saddle and riding after him.

When out of sight of the store, Dooley kicked his horse into a full gallop. Cord urged his horse to catch him. After about a mile, racing north on the road, Dooley reined the buckskin back to a walk, allowing Cord to catch up to him. “We'd best leave the road now and head for the Cache la Poudre,” Dooley told him. “There's gonna be some feller lookin' for his saddle pretty soon.”

“I thought you'd gone loco,” Cord said, “in broad daylight, right out in front of that saloon.”

Dooley chuckled heartily. “Hell, nobody thinks you're stealin' somethin' when you ain't tryin' to hide it and actin' sneakylike.”

“I saw one fellow stop and ask you somethin'. What the hell did you tell him? He just walked away and let you steal that saddle.”

The question brought on an amused response and another chuckle. “He asked me what I was doin',” Dooley said. “I told him that dun belonged to a feller in the saloon, and I was just leaving him there so he could pick him up. ‘So you're leavin' a horse,' he says. I said I sure am—gonna tie him right here to the rail just as soon as I get my saddle off.”

“And he believed you?”

“I reckon so, 'cause he didn't go runnin' back in the saloon to tell nobody. I guess he was concerned about somebody stealin' a horse, so when I didn't take one, he figured everythin' was all right.”

“Damn,” Cord swore, amazed by the blatant theft, performed with the same carefree attitude as his earlier horse trade. “Damn,” he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief.

“How you like my saddle?” Dooley asked then, still laughing at Cord's amazement. “It came with a Winchester like the one you carry.” He pulled the rifle halfway out of the scabbard so Cord could see it.

“We'd better get the hell outta here,” Cord said, and nudged the bay with his heels.

•   •   •

They struck the river a little before sundown with enough daylight to set up their camp for the night. Peaceful and wide at this point after it flowed down from the mountains that spawned it, the river was bordered with a thick grove of trees that offered them protection from the chilly night. Once a good fire was going, and the coffeepot chuckling, they settled down in their blankets with time to talk about the events of the day. Dooley related the story of his acquisition of a saddle once again, enjoying it more than the first telling. “A man can get away with a helluva lot more in broad daylight than he would at night. Folks just get naturally suspicious when it's dark.” He laughed good-naturedly when Cord told him he was crazy. “Me and your pa used to do a lot of things crazier'n that when we was a helluva lot younger.” He took a long swallow of coffee and lay back on his new saddle. “I'm gonna ride a lot better with my feet in the stirrups again. Tomorrow we'll follow this ol'-lady river up Cache la Poudre Canyon where she'll start showin' her feisty side. When we get higher up to where we're goin', she'll turn into a fickle bitch that had just as soon dump your ass as look at you.”

“How far is Rat's Nest?” Cord asked.

“It'll take us a day,” Dooley said. “It ain't that it's that far. It's just that there's a roundabout trail to find it. You ain't likely to stumble on it accidental-like, and even if you did, there ain't but one way into the clearin'. So any strangers comin' in better have an invitation, or they'll play hell tryin' to get back out. You'll see when we get there.”

“What makes you think there'll be somebody up there now?” Cord wanted to know.

“'Cause there's almost always
somebody
there,” Dooley replied. “There
is
a chance nobody's there now, with winter comin' on as close as it is. Most of the time the only fellers holin' up there in the winter is fellers who've got the law hot on their trail.”

•   •   •

Cord found Dooley to be accurate in his speculation regarding the amount of time it would take to climb up to the outlaws' hideout. The little man led him up a series of game trails, often coming back to the river, which became more and more defiant as the incline steepened, forming long areas of white-water rapids. Most of the day was spent climbing the mountain before they reached a stone ledge beside a waterfall, where Dooley announced, “Well, we made it. This is it.”

His announcement confused Cord, for he could not see that they had reached anything beyond yet another stretch of rough water, with a lot of mountain still to climb. There were no cabins, no clearing even. With a question on his face, he turned to see a grinning Bill Dooley. “There's nothin' here,” Cord commented.

“Ya see,” Dooley said with a chuckle, “I told you nobody ain't found the Rat's Nest that ain't supposed to.” When he was satisfied that his new friend was properly baffled, he turned in his saddle and pointed toward what appeared to be the stone face of a cliff. “See that cliff yonder? We're gonna ride right through it.” He laughed when Cord looked skeptical, then nudged his horse and rode straight for it. Cord followed, not seeing the narrow passageway hidden behind a large pine until Dooley guided the buckskin around to enter it.

“Well, I'll be damned,” Cord murmured to himself when he entered a crevice wide enough for a man on horseback to pass through, and about twenty yards long. When approaching the other end of the stone passage, Dooley reined his horse to a stop, pulled his rifle from the scabbard, and fired three times in the air in quick succession. “Hold on a minute,” he called back to Cord. They waited for what seemed a long time, standing in the dark passage, and then they heard one lone shot from the other side of the passage. “Somebody's home, all right,” Dooley said to Cord. Then he called out loudly, “Bill Dooley and Cord Malone.” He was answered by a voice that Cord could barely hear, muffled by the thickness of the rock wall. “Come on,” Dooley said to Cord, and rode out of the passage.

Leaving the crevice, Dooley and Cord rode into a wide clearing surrounded by thick pine forests. There were two log cabins with a corral between them. The clearing itself was a field of stumps from which the logs to build the cabins came. Waiting on either side of the passage, each kneeling behind a stump, two men watched them carefully. “I swear,” Nate Taylor exclaimed, “it
is
Bill Dooley.” He got up and walked toward them. His partner on the other side of the opening got up as well. “Dooley, you ol' buzzard, I heard you was in jail,” Nate said.

“Who'd you say this feller is?” his partner, John Skully, asked.

“This here is Ned Malone's boy, Cord,” Dooley said. Turning to Cord then, he introduced his friends. “Cord, this is John Skully and Nate Taylor.” They both nodded to Cord and he returned the gesture. Dooley continued. “Cord here came along just in time to keep me from havin' to run all the way up this mountain on foot. How 'bout you two? How come you're holed up here?”

“'Cause Nate thought it'd be a good idea to hold up the stagecoach at Horse Creek,” Skully volunteered.

“There you go again,” Nate came back. “We both thought the two of us could take that stage, and we coulda if our luck had been a little better.”

“We was lucky to get outta there without gettin' kilt,” Skully said. “Bob Allen was ridin' shotgun, and a deputy sheriff from Cheyenne was inside the coach. We had to run for it, but the bad part was Bob recognized Nate, so we had to make ourselves scarce, holed up here on this mountain.”

“It mighta been different if more of the old gang was still together,” Nate said. “We'da most likely shot Bob and the deputy and been done with it. Hell, Levi Creed passed through this way last week. If he'd been here when we held up the stage, it mighta been a whole different story.” A thought occurred to him then, and he said to Cord, “Levi and your daddy used to be big friends back when we had the old bunch together.”

“Most of the boys is dead, in prison, or hidin' out like us now,” Skully commented. Neither he nor the other two outlaws noticed the slight twitch in Cord's eye and the clenching of his fists when the name Levi Creed was dropped.

Feeling the increase of his heartbeat and the tightening of the muscles in his arms, Cord cautioned himself to calm down enough to play his part. “It's been a long time since I've seen Levi Creed,” he said. “Did he say where he was headin'?”

“Well, not exactly,” Skully replied. “He was talkin' about maybe headin' back up in the Black Hills—said he'd had pretty good luck before up there, and he didn't see nothin' around Cheyenne any better. I think ol' Levi don't realize he's gettin' old, just like the rest of us. He asked me and Nate if we wanted to go with him. I know you and your daddy mighta been friends with Levi, but to tell you the truth, I never felt easy riding with that man. He's liable to take a notion to shoot you, just 'cause he ain't got nothin' else to do.”

With his emotions more under control now, Cord asked, “Was he ridin' a chestnut sorrel? He was ridin' one the last time he came home with my pa. I think he always rode a chestnut.”

Skully looked at Nate and shrugged. “I never knew Levi to be partial to chestnuts or any other color horse. Did you, Nate?”

“Nope,” Nate replied. “He was ridin' a dapple gray when he was here last week.”

“Well, like I said, it was a long time ago when I saw him,” Cord said. “I reckon I just don't remember that well.”

“How is your pa?” Nate asked. “Ain't nobody heard much about him. Levi said he went to farmin' over in Kansas.”

“He's still there,” Cord said. “He ain't likely to leave. I'll bet ol' Levi is gettin' kinda gray around the muzzle, just like my pa.”

“Yeah, a little,” Nate said, “mostly in his beard, though.” Ready to talk about more important things, he abruptly left the subject of Levi Creed. “You fellers bring any coffee or sugar with you? We're about outta what we brung with us.”

“No sugar,” Cord said, his mind already occupied with thoughts of taking leave of Rat's Nest, now that he knew where Levi was heading, the horse he rode, and a general notion that his mother's murderer hadn't changed a great deal. “We've got a little coffee and some sowbelly, and a good bit of smoked deer meat.”

“We've got plenty of venison,” Skully remarked. “Nate shot a doe and butchered it yesterday. I'd sure love to have some coffee to go with it. We figured one of us was gonna have to go down the mountain to that tradin' post this side of Fort Collins, but if you've got some to spare, we can wait a day or two longer.”

“I reckon I can spare enough to last you a couple of days,” Cord said.

“Much obliged,” Nate said. “You know, you and Bill mighta come along at just the right time. Me and Skully have been talkin' about that little bank over in Fort Collins. We could handle it, just the two of us, but if you boys want a piece of it, it might make the job a whole lot easier.” It was obvious that his offer was directed at Cord. “Big ol' strong buck like you oughta come in handy.” He grinned at Dooley, teasing, “Might even find some use for an old cuss like you.”

“Huh,” Dooley snorted. “I ain't that much older'n you or Skully, but I reckon I could handle my end of it, if I was wantin' to. But I'm old enough to know I ain't as fast as I used to be, so my days of robbin' banks in the middle of town and gettin' shot at by everybody on the street are over.” He nodded toward Cord. “Cord here is his own man. He might wanna join in the fun.”

“Reckon not,” Cord said. “I'm leavin' in the mornin'.”

His remark surprised Dooley and caused him to cast a questioning gaze in Cord's direction. When Cord offered nothing more, Dooley asked, “Where you in such a hurry to get to?”

“I'm thinkin' about headin' out to Cheyenne, maybe follow the stagecoach road up to Fort Laramie and the Black Hills.” Dooley continued to favor him with the look of surprise, so Cord reminded him that he had been on his way to Cheyenne when the two of them first met.

“Matter of fact, you were,” Dooley replied. “I recollect now.” He was disappointed to hear that the quiet young man had no plans to linger in the Rat's Nest. “Well, hell,” he finally said after a pause in the conversation, “let's take care of the horses and help Nate and Skully eat up some of their deer meat.” He had known the young man for only a few days, but he sensed that something had occurred to make him suddenly in a hurry to move on. He had given no indication of that hurry before they arrived at the hideout.