The Devil's Posse - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Charles G. West is the author of numerous books, including Trial at Fort Keogh, Wrath of the Savage, and Crow Creek Crossing. He lives in Ocala, Florida. His fascination with and respect for the pioneers who braved the wild frontier of the great American West inspire him to devote his full time to writing historical novels.

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A SORE LOSER

SIGNET

Chapter 1

“Here you go, boys!” Oscar Bradley called out as he approached the group of men waiting at the corner of the corral, their saddles and other gear on the ground beside it. “It’s payday.” He picked a saddle to sit on and set the leather bag, in which he kept his notebook, on the ground in front of him. “Like I told you when you signed on back in Ogallala, this is gonna be my last drive, and I promised I’d pay you a bonus if we made it here in less than twenty-three days.” He paused to look around at the expectant faces. “Well, we made it in twenty-one, with the cattle in good shape. But the price for cattle is down, so I ain’t gonna give you that bonus.” He paused again to witness the looks of shock and disappointment, but unable to play the joke out any further, he cracked, “I’m just joshin’ ya. I got top dollar for the cattle, but you oughta see the look on your faces.” The silence that had descended upon the drovers immediately erupted into a burst of cackling relief. “Like I said, you can each pick one horse outta this bunch in the corral, too. Now, who’s first?”

“I reckon I am,” Smoky Lewis volunteered, and stepped forward. The cook on the drive, Smoky owned his chuck wagon and the team of horses that pulled it. He had a separate arrangement with Oscar, since he had come along as an independent contractor to do the cooking. “You might not really be japin’, so I’ll get my money before you run out.”

His remark, made in jest, brought a few chuckles from the other men. Oscar Bradley was a fair man. Each of his drovers knew that he would lose money on the sale of the cattle before he would go back on his word to them. Their only regret was the fact that this was Oscar’s last drive.

One by one, the men stepped up to receive their pay. Oscar marked each man’s name off in his notebook with his pencil and shook the man’s hand. He paused briefly when the Cross brothers stepped up. Billy, the younger, was first. He and his brother, Logan, had been working for Oscar since they were teenage boys, and they had proven to be his most dependable drovers.

“I’m sorry I don’t have something else for you fellers, but like I told you, I’m headin’ back to Omaha to sit in a rockin’ chair on my daughter’s front porch. I know I’d sure as hell give you a good recommendation, if anybody was to ask me.”

“Thanks, Oscar,” Logan replied.

“What are you plannin’ to do, go back to Ogallala with the rest of the boys?” Oscar asked.

“I reckon so,” Logan said. “We ain’t talked about doin’ anything else.”

“Except gettin’ a drink of whiskey first thing,” Billy piped up. “That’s about as long as I wanna stay around this place.”

He and Logan had already decided that there was no future for them in Fort Pierre. It seemed the only sensible thing for them to do was to return to Ogallala with the others in hopes of signing on with another cattleman. Herding cattle was all they knew.

“Hang around till I get everybody paid,” Oscar said. “There’s a little somethin’ I’d like to run by you.”

Billy glanced at his brother, and Logan responded with a shrug. “Sure thing, Oscar,” Logan said. “I’m gonna go throw my saddle on that flea-bitten gray standin’ over by the fence before somebody else has the same idea.” The gray had been his favorite and the one that he had most often ridden. It was the only one he had named, calling it Pepper. Having already set his sights on a buckskin, Billy followed him.

After every man had selected a horse and saddled it, Smoky Lewis motioned to Logan and said, “We’re goin’ over to the Cattleman’s Saloon. You and Billy comin’?”

“You go ahead,” Logan said. “We’ll be along.”

When the others had gone, Oscar put his notebook away and picked up his leather bag. “I was talkin’ to a feller at the cattle sale, and he said he was lookin’ to hire a couple of men to help him drive some horses over to Sturgis in the Black Hills. He’s got two men who work for him, but he could use a couple more, since he wound up buyin’ more than he planned.” Oscar smiled and winked. “I sold him the rest of the horses here in the corral at such a good price he couldn’t pass it up.” He paused for their reaction before continuing. “Anyway, I told him I knew two good men who might be interested. Whaddaya think? You wanna drive some horses over to the Black Hills? There’s a helluva lot goin’ on up that way ever since the government opened the hills up for prospectors. This feller said there’s a heap of travel on the roads between here and Sturgis—mule trains, bull trains, wagons, and everything else that rolls or trots. Might be somethin’ else over that way for you boys.”

As usual, Billy looked at his older brother for his reaction. “How long a drive would it be?” Logan asked.

“He said it’s about a hundred and fifty miles from here,” Oscar said. “It’d take a week or more, I expect. I told him I’d see if you were interested.”

Again, looking to Logan for his opinion, Billy shrugged and joked, “I don’t recollect any appointments we’ve got. Whadda you think, Logan?”

“Wouldn’t hurt to talk to the man,” Logan replied. “Where do we find him?”

“He said he’ll be in O’Malley’s place in about an hour from now. It’s that little saloon down the street from the hotel. His name’s Matt Morrison—seems like a reasonable feller.”

“Okay, we’ll go talk to him,” Logan said. “That all right with you?” he asked Billy. When his brother shrugged indifferently, he turned back to Bradley. “Much obliged, Oscar. We appreciate it.” They shook hands again, and then he and Billy climbed into their saddles.

Oscar stood there and watched them as they rode off toward the town of Fort Pierre. I wish I was as young as those two, he thought. I’d ride to the Black Hills with them.

*   *   *

Fort Pierre was settled on the west bank of the Missouri River, on a level plain that provided easy access to the river. It was a pleasant setting for a town, but it held no attraction for the Cross brothers. They rode past the Cattleman’s Saloon, even though there was plenty of time to have a drink or two with the rest of Oscar’s crew before Mr. Morrison was supposed to be at O’Malley’s. They both agreed that it might cause some resentment if the others found out that Oscar had favored them with his recommendation.

There were a few horses tied up in front of O’Malley’s, though not as many as those at the larger saloon’s hitching rail. Dismounting, they pulled their rifles from the saddle slings and walked in the door. They paused to let their eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, a sharp contrast to the bright summer sunshine outside. After a moment, they started toward a table against the opposite wall, thinking it a good place to watch the door and spot Morrison when he walked in.

They had taken no more than a few steps when they were stopped by the bartender. “Howdy, gents,” he greeted them cordially. “If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if...