The Cassidy Posse (10 page)

“It’s a little further along than probably,” said the Marshal, leaning forward in his chair and smiling almost apologetically. “Butch really messed up this time. I got him out of the jail in Evanston to help you fellas. They arrested him on some trumped up charge of stealin’ a horse. Butch assured me he bought the horse last fall from a fella from Johnson County.”

“Johnson County,” said Patrick. “That’s where the salesman on the train said they were having all the trouble.”

“Now just because the horse came from Johnson County don’t guarantee it’s stolen’,” said the Marshal defensively. “Be that as it may, Butch didn’t have the four hundred dollars to make bail, and I couldn’t see him wastin’ away in jail when you fellas need an expert guide to lead your posse.”

“So what you’re sayin’ is this Cassidy is helpin’ us just to get out of jail,” said Mike.

“There’s more to it than that,” the Marshal assured them. “Butch wants to go straight. This brush with the law really scared him. One of the deputies shot him in the head. Must have caught him at just the right angle cause the slug bounced off his thick skull. Knocked him out though so they took him in real peaceful.”

“I can understand why thet might lead uh man tuh be reconsidin’ uh life ov crime,” Mike conceded.

“Anyhow,” continued the Marshal, “he wants tah do something to set himself right with the authorities before his trial in July.”

“To perform some service for the community,” said Patrick.

“Exactly,” said the Marshal. “I like the sound of that - a community service. You have a knack for turnin’ a phrase, young man.”

“He’d better have,” said Mike. “He’s a damn newspaper rayporter.”

“A reporter,” said the Marshal with some satisfaction. “I been sittin’ here thinkin’ that young fella don’t look like a lawman. He looks too smart for that, right Mike?”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Mike did not know quite how to take the laconic Marshal and that’s the way Marshal Harry S. Parker wanted it. Mike McGahan wasn’t the first big city lawman to cross his threshold.

“You don’t have to worry about Butch,” the Marshal assured him. “Where you’re goin’, you’ll need somebody who knows the country and the people. You can’t get no better man for that job than Butch Cassidy.”

“I’ll have tuh be takin’ yer word on thet,” said Mike. “Who else yuh got goin’ with us.”

“Nobody,” replied the Marshal, surprised. “I got the telegraph from the governor. He said to provide you with horses, supplies, guns and ammo, but there was no mention of deputies. I thought you’d be bringin’ your own boys outah Chicago.”

“Duh boys they were offerin’ weren’t warth duh price ov a train ticket.”

“I can telegraph the governor’s office tomorrow and see if they can requisition some more money for deputies.”

“How long would that take?”

“Don’t rightly know,” the Marshal admitted. “Never had cause to get in touch with the governor before. Probably a couple days.”

“Forget it,” said Mike, “Daugherty could be in Montana by then.”

The back door of the Marshal’s office swung open and deputy George Parker entered followed by a sandy-haired young man of medium height and muscular build. He had deep-set blue eyes that quickly took in everyone in the room. He greeted the marshal with a handshake and an engaging smile. The dog, which they thought to be dead, came alive and began licking the young man’s hand. He called the mutt by name and reached down and scratched it behind the ear.

“Butch, this is Mike McGhan and his nephew Patrick from Chicago,” said the Marshal, making the introductions. “Like I was tellin’ you earlier, they’re under a lot of pressure to find an escaped fugitive that’s supposed to be ridin’ with Red Alvins. They figure he headed this way.”

“We was tipped off by uh railroad porter that five men boarded uh train going West the morning after the escape,” Mike informed them. “He got suspicious cause a couple ov ‘em still had on jailhouse issue pants.”

“They didn’t even break up and go on separate cars?” Butch asked incredulously. “And Red could never figure out why I didn’t want him ridin’ with me. He never did have enough sense to spit downwind.”

Marshal Parker gave Butch a cautioning look and he realized he was thinking out loud.

“I been doing some checkin’ around since you put me up to this deal, Harry,” Butch continued, “Jensen down at the station didn’t see Red get off here. Nobody west of town has seen ole Red yet. Not like him to deny himself western hospitality and not stop at some ranch to eat. Elzy Lay rode out on the south road this afternoon for me. Goin’ to see if Red and his bunch might have stopped at the Hazlett place. Mrs. Hazlett will always kill a chicken and cook it up if company stops by.”

“This deal we got don’t include Elzy Lay,” the Marshal cautioned. “He may be a charmer and educated and all, but he’s still a thief.”

“Elzy don’t ‘spect nothin’, Harry,” Butch assured him. “He’s just helpin’ out. Nobody knows Brown’s Park like he does. He’s always sparkin’ those Bassett girls.”

That being understood, the Marshal next directed his attention towards Mike and Patrick. He scratched the gray stubble of his two-day-old beard and inspected them thoughtfully.

“George, take these gentleman over to the general store and get them some proper clothes and equipment for the trail,” he said as he rose and walked towards a rack of long guns on the wall. “Those nice suits won’t hold up well in Wyoming in the springtime. We can get a major snow this early in April.”

“Just so we don’t have another like ‘87,” said Butch. “There was four foot of snow layin’ on the flatlands. Cattle froze in their tracks.”

“The winter of death,” the Marshal muttered solemnly to himself. “It wiped out a lot of small ranchers.” He fumbled around for a key and unlocked the chain running through the trigger guards of a row of Winchesters. He selected two and handed them to Mike and Patrick.

“I’m not here to shoot anyone,” said Patrick, holding the rifle by the end of the barrel.

“I can see that,” observed the Marshal. “But if ole Red decides to take a shot at you, you’ll change your mind quick enough.”

“Oh,” Patrick said meekly. He glanced at how Mike cradled the weapon in his arm and attempted to copy him.

“And George,” the Marshal continued. “Get them the best room next door at the hotel. They’ll need a good night’s sleep before settin’ out in the morning. Butch can take care of pickin’ out the horses since he’ll have to sleep outah sight at the livery anyhow.”

“Who’s going to pay for all this, Harry?” asked George in a manner only a deputy who was also a brother could get away with.

“The governor of Wyoming,” declared the Marshal. “He asked me to give them the utmost support. He sure as hell is going to pay for it, ain’t he?”

At that moment the door swung open and a hawkish-featured man in a well-tailored suit barged into the room.

“Hello Douglas,” said the Marshal with a sigh. “I been half expecting to see you.”

“Good,” he replied as he reached out carefully to touch the purplish bump on Butch’s forehead, “I hate to surprise people.”

“Douglas here is an attorney-at-law,” the Marshal announced without enthusiasm.

“Marshal Parker, I would like a written agreement of clemency signed by the Governor before my client embarks upon this perilous manhunt.”

“I’ll just bet you would but you’re not goin’ to get it, Douglas,” said the Marshal emphatically. “This whole thing’s got to be done on the hush-hush. I didn’t even sign the surety bond for the deputy from Evanston releasing Butch into my custody. I got to get re-elected here next term. In case you forgot, Butch and the rest of that wild bunch from Brown’s Park raised a lot of hell in town this winter. People are already down on me cause all I did was take Butch’s watch as a fine. They say I’m soft on him cause he saved my life.”

“Well, as you know, Marshal, he also saved my life in a similar circumstance, so I fervently desire to look out for his best interests,” said Douglas.

“Damn, Douglas where do you come up with those ten dollar words?” laughed Cassidy, amused by all the fuss. “You could talk a cow outah her calf.”

“He can sure put up a big crop of words,” agreed the Marshal.

“You saved his life too?” asked Patrick of Butch, both bewildered and amused. “Then I guess you’re a good man to have along.”

Cassidy just looked at him and gave him a grin that was somehow both sheepish and cocky at the same time.

“You fellers look fresh as a mountain mornin’,” said Butch good-naturedly. He was waiting at the entrance to the livery barn with the doors wide open.

“The clothes I wore were good enough,” Mike complained. He had donned Levi’s and a heavy wool ranch jacket, but still wore his police issue shoes and his Derby hat. Patrick, however, had been talked into the complete makeover. He was now indeed a man of the West. His gangly six-foot frame stood even taller in a pair of cowboy boots with fancy stitching on the sides and toes. He wore a full-length tan duster topped off with a ten gallon white Stetson. If he could have managed a steely-eyed look, he would have belonged on the cover of a Western dime novel.

Butch had to look away for a moment and when his gaze returned to them, he had only a slight hint of a smile. “First time out West for you gents?”

“Why, ah, yes,” said Patrick, not sensing the humor.

“Well, all we gotta do now is find you each a decent horse,” Butch concluded.

A thin, unkempt old man limped around the corner and stopped in awe of Patrick.

“Damn, I never saw that much new gear on one body afore. Well, I’ll take that back. Saw one of those manny-cans once in a store window in St. Louie…”

“Gus,” interrupted Butch, “never mind your gawkin’. We got to get these gentlemen fixed up with some proper mounts. They’re from back East and we got to get them set up right for the trail.”

“No, I thought theys was from here in town,” said Gus in a mocking tone. He walked slowly towards the corral, dragging his bad leg in tow. Gus threw open the gate and eyed the six horses milling about within.

“We got ‘em from broken in to broken down,” Gus declared. “Was you boys lookin’ for a little spirit or did you want a comfortable ride? Gertrude here is like mountin’ a fat whore.”

Patrick looked at the horses in bewilderment while Mike maintained his stoical countenance.

“Give them the dappled gray and that white-booted sorrel over there,” Butch interceded.

“Now did you gents want a Denver saddle or a Texas rig?” asked Gus playfully.

“Damn it, Gus!” yelled Butch. “You can tell they ain’t horsemen. Just give’m what’s best and let us get out of here.”

Gus cursed and spat some more as he waded into the herd to rope the two horses that Butch had selected.

“Those two mounts should be okay,” Butch said. “They been saddle broke a few years but still have some life left in them.”

“I can handle ‘em,” Mike assured him. “I was in duh horse patrol for me farst year startin’ out.”

“Good,” said Butch. “How long ago was that?”

“About ten yars ago if it makes any difference.”

“It shouldn’t,” said Butch. “Nobody’s improved them any since then. How about you there, Patrick?”

“Well, I use to ride on the back of Uncle Mike’s horse when he stopped by.”

“Oh,” said Butch, surpressing a smile. He turned back to old Gus. “Put our gear on your best pack horse. We gotta get goin’. The sun’s already up.”

A rider galloping down the street towards the stable interrupted their selection of horses. He jerked back on the reins and his horse slid to a stop in front of them like it was a ballplayer stealing a base. The rider leaped off the horse and, with a flourish, removed his hat in a gallant fashion.

“This jasper be Elzy Lay,” said Butch, shaking his head and turning away from him.

“What? Did I overdo the entrance?” Elzy asked. He was tall and handsome and seemed to know it. “They told me we had visitors from back East, Butch. I wanted to impress them.”

“You tend to overdo everything, Elzy,” said Butch.

“Elza Lay,” declared the rider, ignoring Butch and presenting his hand to Mike and then Patrick. Mike took a dislike to him as fast as Patrick took a liking to him.

“You’d be best to stop and count your fingers after shakin’ with that saddlebum,” Butch cautioned them. “You might have a few missin’.”

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” Elzy advised. “Butch has become like an old spinster since he turned straight. I don’t think it agrees with him. To my way of thinking, a man has a certain nature. He’s born with it. And when he tries to go against it, that just upsets his whole …ah.”

“Personality?” offered Patrick.

“Exactly!” shouted Elzy in gratitude. “It’s nice to meet another educated man out here in this God forsaken wilderness.”

“Oh, Sweet Jayzus,” exclaimed Mike. “Now we got two of them spoutin’ off.”

The large door to the stable swung open pushing up a cloud of dust. Old Gus emerged leading the two horses Butch had specified.

“About time,” said Butch. “The bullshit was gettin’ deeper out here than in that stable you never clean out, Gus.”

Mike took the reins of the sorrel with the white stockings and swung into the saddle with relative ease. Patrick stood hesitantly in front of the gray. He put his foot in the stirrup and tentatively swung his leg over the saddle, catching it on the cantle. He started to fall backwards, but Butch caught him and he made the seat on his second effort. Butch then mounted his black mare and turned towards Elzy.