Silver City Massacre (23 page)

Holding the buckskin back, Joel watched the fallen rider as he came to a stop against a rock and frantically scrambled to collect himself. Cautious now, as he approached him, Joel dismounted and cocked the Henry. He aimed the weapon at the panic-stricken man, who was desperately looking about him for the pistol he had dropped from his hand when he had been thrown from the saddle. Joel spotted the weapon some ten or twelve yards up the slope as he continued to walk toward the cornered outlaw.

“Wait!” Strong finally shrieked. “Don't shoot! I surrender! Beauchamp's the man you want. I was just doin' what he ordered!” He spotted his pistol then and started edging toward it while trying to talk his way out of the execution bound to be coming. Joel did not reply but kept walking slowly toward him. Strong pleaded as he got a little closer to the weapon on the ground, “Ain't you even gonna give me a chance?”

Joel stopped then. “A chance? Yeah, I reckon that would be fair, wouldn't it? I'll tell you what, I'll give you the same chance you gave that thirteen-year-old girl when you burned my brother's cabin to the ground. Is that enough for you?”

Seeing there was no chance for mercy from the cold-eyed executioner gazing solemnly at him, Strong spat out his defiance. “You son of a bitch, I'll see you in hell.”

With that, he lunged for the pistol, falling several feet short when Joel fired. The first shot knocked him over on his back, and he was looking up at his fate when the fatal shot entered his brain.

Joel stood over the corpse for a few moments as a sudden feeling of fatigue swept over his body, a feeling that it was all over, but he knew it wasn't finished until something was done about Boss Beauchamp, the primary source of the destruction of Boone McAllister's dream. The question was what to do about him. He needed killing no less than any one of the men he had sent to murder innocent people. But Beauchamp was looked upon in Silver City as an upstanding businessman, owner of Beauchamp No. 2 mine, a cattle rancher—and worse, owner of the town's sheriff. Joel would have to think on the matter before acting. He had hopes of carrying on with what Boone had started, and becoming a citizen of the town.

How can that be possible,
he thought,
if I walk up and shoot one of the town's leading citizens?

He walked a few steps up the slope where Strong's horse lay, its eyes wide with pain. “Sorry, partner,” Joel said softly. “There ain't nothin' I can do for a broke leg.” He aimed the Henry at the back of the suffering horse's head and put it out of its misery. Taking his buckskin's reins, he stroked the horse's neck in appreciation for serving him well. “Let's take it easy goin' back,” he told it. “I don't wanna break your leg.” He had gone no more than a mile when he met Red Shirt, riding his bay and leading the others, including Joel's gray gelding.

Seeing Joel coming back with no extra horse behind him, Red Shirt feared Strong had managed to escape. But then he noticed an extra rifle riding behind the saddle scabbard and the gun belt hanging on the saddle horn. He smiled in greeting his friend. “I think you get him,” he said.

“I got him,” Joel replied. “Now let's put these horses somewhere safe.”

He needed time to think, and his wound was giving him some discomfort. Red Shirt had been right when he said it had not healed enough. He decided to take the horses to Walking Eagle's village, before he made his final move against Beauchamp, a move that he was not clear on yet. Beauchamp was his mortal enemy, and he had never even seen the man. If he walked into his office at the No. 2 mine and shot him down, he would most likely be hanged without a trial by the citizens of Silver City. And that would be the end of the dream Boone had, as well as his own, and probably Red Shirt's, too. For he was becoming rapidly convinced that Red Shirt had decided that he was content to stay with him, whatever the path he chose. The thought brought a smile to his face. Though it seemed unlikely at their first meeting, he had turned into a good friend.

By the time they crossed the stream that led to Joel's camp by the waterfall, it was late in the afternoon, so they decided it would be better to camp there for the night. The Shoshoni village was still some distance away, and it would be too difficult to drive the newly acquired horses through the narrow canyons at night. It was just as well, for Joel had promised to pick up the cartridges for the Spencer he had left there and give them to Walking Eagle and Crooked Arrow. The little pocket around the waterfall was a bit crowded after they drove the six horses, plus the two they rode, through the narrow pass.

Red Shirt was the last in. He looked around him at the steep walls, then dismounted. “Good camp,” he said. “Too many horses now. Two, three days, eat all the grass.”

Joel laughed. “I expect they would, but we're not comin' back to this camp. I'm goin' back to my brother's ranch, and I'm gonna build another house. We'll start runnin' some cattle and horses on those meadows, and we'll see if we can strike that strain of gold Boone was so sure was in that mountain.” Even as he was telling Red Shirt, he realized that he was believing it for the first time. He had spoken of the possibility before, but now he was certain that it was what he really wanted.

Red Shirt listened, then shrugged. “Plan good, need wife.”

“Ha,” Joel grunted, “you or me?”

“You need wife.”

“Well, maybe,” Joel allowed. “I reckon it would help to have a woman around. I'm thinkin' you oughta find you a little Shoshoni gal to cook for you and give you a lot of little babies to bounce on your knee.”

The picture that his mind conjured of the stoic Bannock warrior caused him to chuckle. It was the first time he could remember a lighthearted evening spent by a warm campfire with no threat of an attack for some time.

“You need wife,” Red Shirt insisted.

“I don't know about that,” Joel said. “I might one day, but I ain't got plans no time soon.”

As quickly as his lighthearted mood had struck, it suddenly left him when his mind returned to focus on the unfinished business he had to take care of. For he was certain that as long as Beauchamp was alive, he would take whatever means necessary to take the land held by the McAllisters.

As Boone had said, Beauchamp was convinced there was a major strike that mountain was hiding, and now Joel McAllister was sitting on top of it. So it was only a matter of time before Boss Beauchamp hired another assassin to rid him of the obstacle standing between him and the gold.

When they had eaten their supper of jerky and coffee and turned in for the night, Joel lay awake for a long time, his mind filled with images of Ruthie Ferris, Elvira Moultrie, and Riley Tarver. He didn't know if he could ever forgive himself for their brutal murders. He should have stayed with the women on that night. At least one of the men should have. He was guilty of putting too much trust in the ability of Elvira and Blue Beads, and believing that the house would not be targeted.

Damn,
he suddenly told himself
, let it go or you'll never get any sleep
.

He made himself listen to the peaceful sound of the water tumbling gently over the rocks, accompanied by the soft murmuring Red Shirt made in his sleep. Soon he was drifting toward sleep himself. Just before he fell off, a picture of the angelic face he had seen upon awakening from his wound came again to reassure him.

•   •   •

It was late morning when Joel and Red Shirt drove the seven horses across the wide stream to join the horse herd grazing in the valley. Some of the young men of the village came out to greet them, and Red Shirt told them of the fight with the hired gunmen while Joel took the saddle off Zach Turner's horse, then turned it loose with the others. When they walked into the village, they led their two horses over to the tipi, unsaddled them, and tied them to a stake by the tipi. Joel turned then to see Walking Eagle approaching.

“I welcome you back,” Walking Eagle said. “Your war party must have been successful. I see you captured more ponies.”

“The last two men who massacred my family are dead,” Joel told him, “but the man who sent them is still alive.”

“Beauchamp?” Walking Eagle asked.

Surprised that he knew the name, Joel said, “Yes, that's his name.”

Walking Eagle nodded slowly. “I went to the trading post yesterday and I talked to Beecher. He said he knows of this man, Beauchamp. He says he is big medicine in Silver City, that he might be governor of this territory one day. Any man who kills such a man might bring the soldiers down upon him. That is all I want to say.”

You said a mouthful,
Joel thought, for he recognized a combination of advice and a warning all rolled up in those few simple words.

“What you say is true,” Joel replied. “But this man is too evil to let live. I promise you that should I be the one who kills him, I will not bring the soldiers down on your village. I alone will answer for my deeds. If it works out that I am the one who ends Beauchamp's life, then you will never see me again.”

Walking Eagle smiled at the tall young white warrior. “You are a good man, Joel McAllister. Your heart is strong, but you are walking a path that is dangerous and might lead you to a sad place. You have stilled the hands of those who struck your brother and your friends down. Maybe it would be good if you leave your trail of vengeance now. That is all I want to say.”

“I hear your words,” Joel replied solemnly, “and I will think hard on what you have said, because I respect your counsel.”

The Shoshoni chief left him then to think about what he had told him. Walking Eagle was right, Joel had to admit. If he continued with his intention of killing Boss Beauchamp, he would no doubt wind up at the end of a rope, or spend the rest of his days running—and he could say good-bye to his ownership of the homestead Boone had established.

He thought of all of the bodies scattered about the mountain and valley of his brother's land. Maybe he had fulfilled the promise to avenge his family's death. He was certainly sick of the killing. If he called an end to it now, maybe he could live the life that he had told Red Shirt he intended to, rebuild the cabin, use the money he had accumulated to buy seed stock for cattle and horses. It was a pleasant thought, but he quickly told himself that as long as Beauchamp was alive, there would always be the possibility of more bloodshed. Of greater concern, if Beauchamp went on as he planned, to become a major player in the development of the Idaho Territory, it could not bode well for the people who settled here. The man was eaten up with greed, and was absent of morals. He should be stopped, and Joel could see no one to stop him except himself. So be it.

He was not concerned about the men who had been killed by Red Shirt and him. They were all wanted men, hired gunmen. No one of authority would care enough to investigate their deaths, and for the most part, they would probably be glad they were dead. But it would be a different story where Beauchamp was concerned, and for that reason, he intended to do the job alone. He had no desire to place a bounty on Red Shirt's head. His Bannock partner was already settling in with his Shoshoni friends, and Joel thought it the best thing that could have happened for the loner Indian. So he decided to stay in the village for one night only, and then start out on the final leg of his avowed journey. He would not tell Red Shirt of his decision to go alone until morning. He would no doubt protest that he should accompany him, but he would not permit him to go.

After a supper of venison, fresh from a hunt by some of the men of the village, Joel and Red Shirt shared some coffee with two of the hunters. Several of the other people came to sit at the fire and visit, both men and women, to hear details of their fight with the outlaws. Noticeable by her absence, at least to Joel, was White Fawn. He couldn't help wondering why she had not come to ask about his wound, or to scold him for not taking care of it properly. It concerned him, although he could not explain why. Once he saw her come from her mother's tipi, and he thought she was coming to see him, but she turned and followed the path to the stream instead, not even looking toward him.

Strange,
he thought,
but she'll probably show up when she sees me getting ready to leave in the morning
.

With the arrival of morning, there was the anticipated protest from Red Shirt when Joel told him that he was going to settle with Beauchamp alone.

“This is for me to do alone,” he told him. “I am going to face just one man, and I made a promise to myself that it would be my hand that strikes him down, my hand alone. Only then will I know my medicine is strong.”

That statement was enough to gain Red Shirt's reluctant forgiveness, and he finally said that he understood.

Joel saddled the gray and packed food and ammunition in his saddlebags. He wasn't sure how long he would be gone, or if he was actually coming back, so he supplied himself to be gone several days. Ready to ride, he glanced around the circle of tipis, but there was no sign of White Fawn. He shrugged and stepped up on his horse, asking himself why he even cared.

With a nod of his head to Red Shirt, he wheeled the gray around toward the stream and gave him a gentle nudge of his heels. He nodded again to Walking Eagle, who stood gravely watching him as he passed by the chief's lodge. He guessed that the old man figured that he had decided against his advice. Crossing over the stream and setting out on the path that led to the valley where his camp was located, he did not see the Shoshoni maiden watching him depart from the edge of the pines.

•   •   •

Boss Beauchamp arose from his bed in a cross mood, which was his usual mood since the events of the past week. He had slept very little during the night just past, even after he summoned Lena to his bed in hopes of diverting his mind from his troubles. The diversion had been unsuccessful, and he blamed the reluctant Ute woman for his displeasure. The disagreement following resulted in a profane tongue-lashing with a sharp kick to the poor woman's backside as she left his bed. He had reason to be angry. It had been two days since Mike Strong and Zach Turner had gone to settle with Joel McAllister once and for all, and they had not yet returned.

“Lena!” he yelled out for her.

In a minute, she appeared at the bedroom door. “What do you want now?”

“Go down to the bunkhouse and see if Strong and Zach rode in last night.”

“I'm fixing your breakfast,” she replied. “If they came in, they'll come tell you. I'm busy.”

In no mood for her sass, he responded by picking up his boot and throwing it at her. She deftly stepped aside and watched it bounce against the wall, which only served to fuel his anger. Recognizing the indications of a beating in the making, she quickly left the room to return to the kitchen. He continued to dress, then came into the kitchen. Grabbing the broom propped in the corner, he administered a sharp crack across her back as she bent over the oven.

“Now, damn you, you ignorant savage, get down to the bunkhouse like I told you, and send Fuzzy up here.” He drew the broom back for another blow, prompting her to hurry for the door.

She found the belabored cook in the barn, where he was busy forking hay down for the milk cow. It had been his lot to inherit the responsibility for all the chores around the ranch since there was no one left of the crew hired to do them. It was more than he could keep up with, but Beauchamp expected him to get them all done.

When Lena told him that Boss wanted to see him, he replied, “What for? I ain't got time to go listen to his bellyachin', if I'm gonna get everything done today.”

She didn't answer. He didn't expect her to.

She walked back in the kitchen door to find him sitting in the dining room, waiting for his breakfast. “He's on his way,” she told him.

“Finish fixing my breakfast,” he said, somewhat calmer. “Bring me a cup of coffee first and be sure you fix it the way I like it.”

“Yes, sir,” she muttered, and went to do his bidding. She took the pot from the edge of the stove, poured it in his favorite cup, and dropped a heaping teaspoon of sugar in. She went out on the back porch, where a pan of milk was cooling, and dipped a spoonful of cream off the top. Then, for good measure, she worked up a mouthful of saliva and spat in the cup, stirred it up, and said to herself,
And that's the way I like it
.

Answering the knock at the back door, she let Fuzzy in and directed him to the dining room. “You want a cup of coffee?”

“Why, yessum,” he replied, “that would be mighty fine.”

He was the only one of the men who worked for Beauchamp that Lena was civil to. He figured it was because he was only a cook, and not a hired gun. He was not to enjoy a cup of coffee, however, because Beauchamp overheard her offer.

“No, he doesn't have time for a cup of coffee,” Beauchamp called out.

“No, sir,” Fuzzy echoed upon entering the dining room. “I ain't got time for a cup of coffee.”

“When did Strong tell you he'd be back?” Beauchamp asked Fuzzy.

“He didn't say exactly,” Fuzzy said, surprised that Boss asked, since Strong was more likely to have told him. “But I'm pretty sure he wasn't expectin' to be gone overnight. They didn't take any grub with 'em. They was most likely figurin' on bein' back here for supper that night. I expect they mighta run into some trouble.” He stood there shifting from one foot to the other while Beauchamp remained silent, letting what he feared had happened sink in. After a few more moments, Fuzzy asked, “Is that all you wanted?”

“Yes, that's all. You can go now and get back to work. By the way, I still see those two boards that need to be replaced on the side of the barn.”

“Yes, sir. I'm tryin' to get to it just as fast as I can,” Fuzzy said as he walked through the kitchen, where Lena was cooking Beauchamp's breakfast. She gestured to him with a shake of her head. He answered with a weak smile. He had always had compassion for the poor Ute woman and the abuse she suffered from Beauchamp.