Death Rides Alone (12 page)

Spotted Fawn brought a blanket outside and wrapped Millie's body in it. The two middle-aged outlaws carried the shrouded shape inside and placed it gently on the counter at the rear of the trading post.

Then one of the men said, “Reckon we'll be driftin'. Time was, folks knew it was safe for
hombres
on the dodge like us to stop here. Now, with Pettifer caterin' to star packers, I ain't sure that it is anymore.”

“We'll make sure that word gets around, too,” the other man said.

Pettifer had set his shotgun on the bar. Now, as the two men walked out, he clapped both hands to his head and groaned.

“Ruined,” he said. “My business is ruined, and none of it is my fault!”

“You'll survive,” Luke told him. “Men like you always find a way.”

Pettifer glared at him and demanded, “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean you provide women and liquor, and there'll always be a market for those things.”

“Well . . . yeah, I suppose you're right about that. But it'll take a while, once word about this gets around, for fellas to start trusting me again.”

Luke couldn't muster up any sympathy for the man. He went back outside to drag Hennessy's body away from the front of the place. If Pettifer wanted the deputy buried, he could damned well dig the grave himself . . . although it was more likely he'd make Spotted Fawn do it.

When Luke came back in, he found Tyler sitting at the table where they had been earlier, staring gloomily toward the back of the building where Millie's body lay.

“She's dead because of me,” he said as Luke sat down. “Just like Rachel.”

“You didn't kill either of them,” Luke pointed out.

“But if I'd walked Rachel home that night the way I wanted to, Spence couldn't have gotten her in the woods and killed her. And if
that
hadn't happened, I wouldn't have been on the run, you wouldn't have caught me, and we wouldn't have been here tonight for Millie to get killed.”

“There was a big prairie fire over east of here a while back,” Luke said. “Was that your fault, too? Any time anything happens, you can find some sort of convoluted reasoning to make it your fault, if you want to waste time doing that. It makes more sense to do something about it if you can, though.”

“What can I do about this? They're both dead.”

“You can make sure Spence Douglas doesn't get away with what he did. You can see that justice is served.” Luke shrugged. “As for Millie, we can see to it that she gets a proper burial in the morning. Sometimes that's all you can do.”

“I reckon,” Tyler said, although he didn't sound like he really believed it.

“In the meantime, we'd better see how badly you're hurt. Hennessy shot you, remember?”

Tyler dismissed that with a wave of his hand and said, “The bullet just grazed my side. It hurts some, but I don't care.”

“You'd better care. You don't want to get blood poisoning or have the wound fester. Let me take a look at it.”

Grudgingly, Tyler pulled up his shirt, which had a bullet rip and a bloodstain on the left side. He was right about the injury. The bullet fired by Hennessy had barely struck him, leaving a crimson streak along his ribs.

“Does it hurt any when you take a deep breath?” Luke asked.

Tyler tried it, drawing in air and then blowing it back out again. He shook his head and said, “Nope.”

“That slug didn't break any ribs, then. Probably didn't even bruise them. It ought to be cleaned with a rag and some whiskey, though.”

“That rotgut that Pettifer sells might do more harm than good.”

“I can sprinkle some gunpowder on the wound and light it, if you'd prefer,” Luke said.

Tyler shuddered and shook his head. He called over to the bar, “Pettifer, bring us a bottle and a clean rag, if you can find one in this hellhole.”

“You don't have any call to talk to me like that,” Pettifer said, “no matter what you may think about me.” He sighed. “But I guess I don't have much choice, do I? I'm not likely to get any more customers tonight.”

Pettifer brought the rag and the whiskey. Spotted Fawn walked over from the other part of the building and took the items from him. She poured the liquor onto the rag and cleaned the wound with surprising gentleness.

Luke had a hunch this wasn't the first bullet wound she had patched up. Working at a place like Pettifer's, the Indian woman probably had experience at all sorts of things.

She wasn't talkative, though. Luke hadn't heard a word come out of her mouth so far, and she gave no sign of speaking up any time soon. When she finished cleaning the wound, she cut a strip off a bolt of cloth she took from one of the shelves in the trading post and bound it around Tyler's torso as a bandage.

Pettifer said, “I'll have to charge you for that cloth, you know.”

“Consider it a barter,” Luke said. “You'll be getting a grave dug out of the deal.”

* * *

Since at this point Luke trusted Judd Tyler more than he did Pettifer, the two of them took turns standing guard during the night. Pettifer might decide that he could recoup some of his potential losses from this incident by robbing and murdering both of them in their sleep.

When Luke explained this reasoning to Tyler, the young man nodded and said, “Yeah, it's a good idea for one of us to stay awake the whole time we're here. You might ought to let me have a gun, though.”

“I'm not that trusting just yet. If there's any trouble, you just give a shout. I'll be awake in a hurry.”

“All right,” Tyler said with a resigned sigh. “But I hope nobody has to bury
us
in the morning.”

“That's not likely to happen,” Luke said, then added, “Pettifer would just throw our bodies outside for the wolves and the buzzards.”

The rest of the night passed peacefully enough, however, and Luke and Tyler were up early. A groggy, sullen Pettifer told them they could find a shovel in the shed next to the corral. Spotted Fawn had coffee brewing. When it was ready, she gave cups to Luke and Tyler, still without saying anything.

Fortified by the strong, black brew, they went out into the cool morning air and walked to the shed. As they did, buzzards lifted from the other side of the trading post, and Luke knew they'd been at Cue Ball Hennessy's body already.

When they had the shovel, they walked to the top of a little knoll about fifty yards from the trading post. The view wasn't bad, with the Powder River flowing below them and sage-covered flats stretching off into the distance beyond the stream. Tyler looked around and nodded.

“I reckon this isn't a bad place. As pretty as anywhere we'll find around here, I expect.”

“I think Millie will rest comfortably here,” Luke agreed.

Tyler had the shovel, so he started digging, but he hadn't been at it for very long when Luke could tell that the young man was stiff and sore from the bullet graze on his side. He took the shovel from Tyler and said, “I'll finish up.”

“I feel like I ought to—”

“Just keep an eye out for more visitors. Some of Axtell's other deputies could come drifting in.”

While Tyler did that, Luke dug. The sun was up, sparkling on the river, and the temperature rose with it until sweat covered Luke's face and dampened his shirt. The ground up here on top of the knoll wasn't
too
hard and rocky, though, so it didn't take him very long before he had the grave ready.

Leaving the shovel beside the pile of dirt so they could fill in the hole later, the two of them went back down to the trading post.

Spotted Fawn had cleaned Millie's face and body and clothed her in a dark blue dress that went well with her blond hair. A corner of the blanket was turned back so that her face was visible.

“She looks peaceful,” Tyler said with a solemn expression on his face as he stood in front of the counter where the body lay. He held his hat in his hands.

“She is at peace,” Luke said, “probably more so than she's been for quite some time.” His hat was off, too. “Maybe for her entire life.”

Spotted Fawn wore the buckskins of her people now. With an equally solemn expression on her face, she covered Millie and tucked the blanket in.

Over at the bar, Pettifer leaned on the planks and belched.

“Lot of fuss to go to for a whore,” he said. His voice and the deep flush on his face were evidence that he'd been drinking quite a bit.

“You'd better keep your mouth shut, mister,” Tyler told him. “Nobody's in any mood to listen to it.”

“This is my place,” Pettifer said. “I'll talk if I want to, by God, and I'll say whatever I please!”

Tyler took a step toward the bar, but Luke put a hand on his arm to stop him.

“He's just blowing hot air,” Luke said. “It's not worth the trouble. Let's go, Judd. We've got something more important to do.”

“Yeah, you're right.” Tyler clapped his hat on and stood there glaring at Pettifer for a second before he turned and helped Luke pick up Millie's body.

They carried her to the waiting grave at the top of the knoll, followed by Spotted Fawn. After placing the body carefully in the grave, they removed their hats again and Luke recited The Lord's Prayer.

When he was finished, Spotted Fawn began to chant softly. Luke recognized it as a death song, although he couldn't make out the words. He had begun to wonder if the woman was mute, but clearly she just hadn't had anything she wanted to say until now.

Pettifer never came out of the trading post, not that Luke had expected him to.

Once Spotted Fawn fell silent, Luke picked up the shovel and began the grim task of filling in the grave.

It was midmorning before he made it to the blacksmith shop and fired up the forge, and the sun was at its zenith before he had replaced the horse's shoe and they were ready to go.

As they were saddling up, Spotted Fawn came out of the trading post carrying an oilcloth-wrapped bundle.

“Food for the trail,” she said in perfectly good English. “It's just roast beef and biscuits.”

“And it's much appreciated,” Luke told her as he took the bundle and tied it to his saddle. “Are you going to be all right here, Spotted Fawn?”

“I will be fine,” she said. Then she added, “But Pettifer would be wise to sleep with one eye open. He will not, though.”

She turned and walked back into the trading post.

As they were riding away, Tyler looked back and said, “That old boy's gonna wake up some morning with his throat cut.”

“No doubt,” Luke agreed. “And it couldn't happen to a more deserving fellow.”

They followed the east bank of the Powder River until they came to a place where the stream shallowed out over its rocky bed, making it easy to ford. Blue sky arched overhead, seemingly endless, and a breeze stirred the air, carrying with it the clean tang of the evergreens that covered the hills to the west. Imposing, snow-capped peaks rose behind those hills.

“Mighty pretty country,” Tyler said as they rode. “Too bad there's so much death in it.”

“You'll find death wherever you go,” Luke said. “So you might as well enjoy the good things when you come across them, like this beautiful day.”

“This so-called beautiful day of yours started with a burial, remember?”

“And who knows how it'll end? But right now, that sky is magnificent, the air is invigorating, and we have good horses underneath us and a purpose in life.
Carpe diem
, my young friend,
carpe diem
.”

“What?” Tyler asked with a frown.

“It's Latin for
seize the day
.”

Tyler looked at him for several seconds, then said, “I haven't run into all that many bounty hunters, but I reckon if I'd met a thousand of them, you'd still be the oddest of the bunch, Luke Jensen.”

“And I'll take that as a compliment, thank you,” Luke said, grinning.

By late afternoon they had covered quite a few miles from the trading post and hadn't seen any other travelers along the way, but Luke knew they had to be fairly close to one of the old immigrant trails that ran through this part of the country.

In recent years, with the railroads spreading out to more and more places, those trails weren't used as much as they had been in earlier times, when tens of thousands of settlers had come west in covered wagons drawn by mules or oxen. That exodus had gone on for decades, and a tumultuous era it had been, as the pioneers battled the elements, outlaws, and Indians to find and keep their new homes.

Luke had seen some of those wagon trains and even traveled briefly with a few of them, but since he'd never had any interest in settling down they held no real appeal for him. Those immigrants were a whole different breed than he was.

If he and Tyler spotted any wagons, it would be wise to steer clear of them, he decided. The two of them were being hunted. They were
quarry
.

He didn't want to bring down trouble on a bunch of pilgrims who would be facing enough problems of their own.

Luke didn't mention any of what he'd been mulling over to his companion. Tyler was easily distracted, and Luke wanted to keep him focused on returning to White Fork and revealing the truth about what had happened to Rachel Montgomery.

As evening began to settle over the landscape, Luke led Tyler away from the river in search of a campsite. The stream attracted wildlife, some of which would be predators.

It might attract human predators, too. Luke figured it would be better to put some distance between the two of them and anybody else who might come along.

They found a spot at the base of a hill with enough boulders scattered around to shield their fire. As they dismounted, Luke told Tyler, “You take care of the horses.”

“Be glad to. I'm just happy you decided not to handcuff me again after we left Pettifer's place.”

“You should've reminded me,” Luke said, although actually it hadn't been an oversight. He had decided to risk leaving the handcuffs off of Tyler.

“Not hardly! It was painful enough riding all day with this bullet graze on my side and all the bruises I've got from the tussle with that son of a bitch. If I'd had my hands cuffed behind my back, too, it would've been pure misery. So I wasn't just about to say anything.”

“Just don't make me regret the decision. Anyway, I may still cuff you tonight and tie you to one of those trees.”

“You don't have to do that,” Tyler said. “I'm not going anywhere. I swear it, Luke.”

“Well, if I'd known you longer, your word might mean something to me. On the other hand, since you're a self-confessed rustler, stagecoach robber, and all-around shady character, I probably still wouldn't trust you.”

“A man can change, you know.”

Luke might have argued about that, but he remembered the way his own life had taken a different trail in recent years. Sure, he was still a bounty hunter, but after spending a lot of time using a false name, claiming no family, and making no friends, he found himself with a brother in Smoke and some friends in the old mountain man Preacher and those two youngsters, Ace and Chance Jensen, who shared the same last name but as far as any of them knew were no blood relation.

He might see those folks only every so often, but in all the ways that counted, they were his family now . . . a family he had believed he would never have again.

So he didn't argue with Tyler. He just said, “I'll get a fire going while you tend to those animals.”

“Sounds good to me,” Tyler said with a smile and a nod.

* * *

Luke kept the fire small and used it only to boil coffee since they had the food Spotted Fawn had given them for their supper. He extinguished the flames as soon as they had eaten. They sat in the dark, nursing cups of coffee and listening to the night.

“You think it might be a good idea for us to take turns standing guard again?” Tyler asked.

“It won't hurt anything.”

“But you still don't want to give me a gun.”

“That's right. I don't believe in leading anybody into temptation.”

“So you've read the Bible, too, and not just those old Roman fellas.”

“Of course.”

“Being the son of a saloonkeeper, I never made it to church much. And when I did, all the things the preachers talked about sort of went in one ear and out the other. I might've paid more attention if they'd all had daughters who looked like Rachel. But none of 'em did until the Reverend Mr. Montgomery.”

“I don't really consider myself a religious man,” Luke said. “My mother was a churchgoing woman, but it never seemed to take with me and my brother. I think Smoke and I finally came to terms with a sort of spirituality that suits us, though. It's just not the organized kind.”

“What about your sister?”

Luke shook his head and said, “I haven't seen Janey in almost twenty years. Don't know where she is. My brother saw her a few times after we all left home, but the last time was some years back. Actually, I don't even know if she's still alive.”

“That's a shame, I reckon.”

Luke nodded and dashed the dregs of his coffee into the campfire's ashes.

“It is, but it's another of those things I can't really do anything about, so I try not to let it worry me.” He stood up. “Why don't you go ahead and turn in? Get a few hours' sleep and then I'll wake you to spell me.”

“All right.”

Luke tucked his Winchester under his arm and walked slowly around the camp, peering through the shadows and listening intently for anything that might indicate trouble was brewing. The night was quiet and peaceful. The only sounds he heard were the horses moving around a little, now and then.

Tyler crawled into his bedroll and was soon snoring.

Luke sat down with his back against a rock and the rifle across his lap. He knew he could stay awake because he had done so in similar situations many times in the past. When a man's life often depended on staying alert when he needed to be, he either acquired that skill—or died.

Luke was still here and intended to be around for a long time to come.

Time passed slowly. The stars wheeled through the ebony sky overhead. Luke sat there, awake but not actually thinking about much of anything, just a bundle of muscles, nerves, and bones.

But he was fully alert in less than a heartbeat when the distant popping of gunfire drifted through the night air.

He came to his feet like a snake uncoiling. His hands tightened instinctively on the rifle even though he could tell from the sound of the shots that they weren't close. A mile to the north, he judged. Maybe more.

But that was still close enough to bother him. He snapped, “Tyler.”

The young man snorted and mumbled but didn't wake up. Luke said his name again, sharper and louder this time. Tyler sat up, looked around wildly, and said, “What? What? Is it Axtell's deputies? Are they after us?”

“Take it easy,” Luke said. “Listen.”

“Listen to what?”

“Something other than the sound of your own flapping gums. Be quiet, damn it.”

Tyler was quiet, but only for a moment. Then he stood up and said, “Sounds like a war going on.”

Not quite a war, Luke thought . . . but at least a pretty good-size skirmish. The rapid and continuous
pop-pop-pop
told him numerous guns were going off. Nobody could shoot and reload a single weapon, or even a few weapons, that fast.

“Saddle up,” he told Tyler. “We're going to see what all the commotion's about.”

“Wait just a minute. Whatever it is, it doesn't have anything to do with us. I don't know anybody in this part of the country except you and Axtell's deputies, and I sure as hell don't want to ride right up to them!”

“You're probably right about it not having anything to do with us, but somebody's in a lot of trouble over there, and I wouldn't be able to sleep well knowing that I just ignored it.”

“Well, that's mighty noble of you, especially coming from a bounty hunter.”

Anger boiled up inside Luke. He said, “I thought we'd gotten past some of that.”

“I haven't forgotten how you had to make a deal with me for that loot before you'd agree to help me.”

“I agreed to help you so that justice would be done,” Luke said. “But I don't see any reason not to make a profit on it as well.”

“Well, then, where's the profit in getting mixed up in whatever that ruckus is?”

“Like I said, being able to sleep at night. Now shut up and get your saddle on one of those horses. Unless you'd rather I handcuff you again and do it for you. Then I'll throw you on the horse and you can ride in where there's a bunch of lead flying around with your hands fastened behind your back.”

“No, no, no need to do that,” Tyler muttered. “But I still think you're loco!”

“You're hardly the first to believe that,” Luke said.