Lovell's Prize Page 7

  He lowered his spyglass and clicked it back to compact. She was very attractive but he had seen handsome nude women before and he didn't like taking advantage of her. He thought too highly of himself to be acting like a peeper. She was young, strong, probably alone and could take care of herself. Nodine could visit her within the hour or it could be months before he showed. Sitting on that bluff waiting for him to show was a waste of time and it wouldn't be long before he was discovered. The place was worth remembering in case the Nodine gang was hit and the law needed a likely place to search, especially if Nodine was wounded. Otherwise, Lovell figured that he was better off allowing the woman her independence and keeping his knowledge of her a secret. The less anyone knew of the place the more likely that Nodine might use it for an emergency. That could be Lovell's ace in the hole.

  It would be dark within a couple of hours and he wanted to be far enough away from the place that he didn't need to run a cold camp. He hated that. Lovell liked his hot coffee in the evening and enjoyed a warm fire for sleeping in the open. He wasn't about to shiver the night away on some bare ridge waiting for a man friend that wouldn't come. As far as Lovell was concerned the whole trip was a bust, except for the chance meeting with Bonny Black. Meeting and getting to know her was worth it all. As far as Nodine was concerned he didn't feel that he was one bit closer to cracking that case. This was one of Pete Syle's whisky leads that just wasn't going to pan out.

  He crept down from the ridge and made his way to his gelding after he was certain she couldn't accidentally see him. He slipped the spyglass into his saddlebags and gathered the reins. Moments later he was slowly guiding the horse down the narrow deer trail that he had followed to the top of the ridge. He knew of a good camping spot along the river three miles to the north and wanted to get there before it was too dark to build a fire.

  Lovell liked riding the woods in the evening. It was still, quiet and peaceful. It was the best time to see game and other wildlife. Catching a squirrel or rabbit unaware could help make a lonely campfire a little more comfortable, with fresh meat on the spit. He carried a squirrel cooker in his saddlebags and used it often on the trail. It was an eight-inch wrought iron square spike with a sharp point on one end and a small loop on the other. If it was driven into the ground next to the fire, a second wrought iron two-pronged fork of equal length could be placed through the loop to act as a spit for small game and fish. He had bought it years before from a traveling Smithy and enjoyed cooking with it more than with his frying pan, especially for fresh game.

  He was nearly two miles from Lucy's when a cottontail bounded into the open of the trail in front. Lovell immediately held up his gelding, pulled his Yellow Boy and placed a round through its head. "Fresh rabbit tonight," he said to himself as he dismounted and tied the cottontail next to the pommel of his saddle. Anything would be better than cold canned beans or dry corndodgers—simple corn meal cookies that he carried in his bags.

  He found his spot, and unsaddled and hobbled his gelding so that it could graze. He built a small campfire and butchered his rabbit. As he watched the rabbit roast on the fire, he boiled a couple of cups of coffee in his billy—a small tin cooking pot with a flat lid and heavy wire handle. Other than a small skillet for bacon, flapjacks or beans, his fork and knife, and his tin coffee cup, that was all the camp equipment he had or needed. When the weather was pleasant, like it was that night, Lovell enjoyed running a solitary camp. He could relax with his coffee, watch the fire and enjoy the night sounds or the flowing of the river. When the weather was bad, he'd normally stay some place for the night and pay for his keep. But when it was like this, warm, still and quiet, he much preferred to be on his own and save some money. Most of the men and women he met on the trail were not to his liking and he didn't welcome a lot of unnecessary conversation with someone he didn't give a damn about. Rather than having to be inconvenienced by some slow head or jabber box, he much preferred his solitary thoughts and the isolation of the night. He liked people well enough but in small doses and on his conditions. Otherwise he would just as soon they went on their way.

  He wondered if someone like Bonny Black could deal with a man like him. His past marriages, his love of solitude, the type of people he had dealt with over the years and his resulting jaded perspective had nearly ruined him for much of a relationship. He would always be the loner and he knew it. Being a marshal had isolated him from most others. He held his standards high because they had to be so in order for him to perform his duties. He habitually held judgment over people as he listened to them or watched them go about their business. He was pleasant enough when he had to be but by and large he didn't care about their concerns or fears or problems. Women were especially difficult; they didn't seem to be able to reason as well as men. They let their emotions color their thoughts and actions too much. He needed a woman who was compassionate enough to be a companion and even a lover; but level headed enough to understand his perspective of events and solutions. A woman who could reason through problems with him rather than demand all the answers from him, and a woman with the common sense to be able to look down the road rather than live by the moment. A woman a man could talk to but who would not demand that he would be answerable to her. He needed a partner, not a problem. He smiled and sipped his coffee. He wondered if such a woman existed. If such a woman did, would she be fool enough to take up with someone like him? He doubted it.

  Lovell realized he was lonely. He would like the company of a woman he could call his friend as well as a lover. He just doubted that his loneliness would ever be great enough for him to give up his independence. Any relationship he got into would demand some sacrifice from him, and he understood that. The problem was that in all his former relationships it had been all give from him and nothing from them other than more demands. The demands always proved more than he could provide and eventually they walked away, leaving him alone and in worse condition than before. He was through with that type of relationship. It was for that reason more than any other that he had abandoned his relationship with Sadie, whether she deserved it or not. The price was too high for what she was willing to give. From what he had seen from most women it would always be that way. It was better simply walk away. Better a quick cut than a slow burn. At least he had given Sadie that.

  The night sounds were settling and a cold dampness was settling on the camp. It was time to turn in. He needed to get an early start in the morning. He crawled into his blankets, slipped his Colt next to his saddle pillow and thought of how Bonny Black differed from Leah Walsh. Bonny was at least strong enough to attempt to get out of a bad situation, while Leah seemed to be clinging to it, willing to pay any price for what security she could muster from Banford. He decided that the difference boiled down to self-confidence and pride. At least Bonny wasn't willing to grovel for her security.

  After a while he drifted off to sleep.

  * * * *

  He awoke with a start, snatched his Colt from under his saddle and sat up. "Who's there?"

  A crashing blow struck across the back of his neck and all was darkness.

  * * * *

  He started to open his eyes but the pain of his neck shot to the front of his head.

  "What's the matter, Lovell? I thought you was a tough guy?"

  Lovell knew he ought to recognize the voice.

  "Get up, you bastard, and quit playing the baby."

  He felt himself being jerked to his feet, then a hard blow struck his stomach dropping him to his knees and robbing him of his breath. He gasped for air and couldn't speak. He tried again to open his eyes but the head pain was too great.

  A cruel knock struck across the side of his head and he collapsed to the ground. A boot toe kicked solidly into his ribs, then another and another.

  Lightfoot laughed coldly as Lovell writhed in the dirt, trying to get his breath. "I ought to put a bullet in your head, you son-of-a-bitch. How do you like it? Is one at a time good enough for you now?" He kicked again.
>
  Lovell curled into a ball to fend off the blows, but he realized who it was. The voice and the comment about fighting him one at a time could only come from Chauncy Lightfoot. He felt a tug on the back of his collar as he was again dragged to his feet then a solid blow across his temple sent him back into unconsciousness.

  * * * *

  He opened his eyes and his head ached. He started to roll over but the pain in his ribs wouldn't allow it. He slowly tried to focus his eyes. It was morning but he was unable to make out anything other than the light. He spat the dirt from his mouth and tried to take a solid breath but the pain in his ribs wouldn't allow it. He remained in that position for over an hour as he tried to get himself together. Finally he realized that he needed water. He could hear the river flow and slowly crawled toward the bank.

  When he got to the water he started to dip a bit but realized that he couldn't open his right hand. They had used a rock or pistol butt on his fingers and knuckles. His hand was black and swollen, his trigger and long finger were broken. He lowered his face to the water and sucked a drink. It was good and he took another. He remained there by the water for several more hours drifting in and out of consciousness.

  * * * *

  He opened his eye and after a while realized that a full day and night had passed. It was morning but not the same as before. He reached to his left eye and felt the bloated softness of his wound. He realized that the eye was swollen completely shut. His head still ached but nothing like the day before. He drank from the river and forced himself to sit up. His left arm was almost useless and his ribs felt like they'd taken a mule kick. He slid his butt back against a willow along the riverbank and tried to focus on his camp. Everything was gone. He looked down at his feet.

  "Well, at least you left me my boots, you son-of-a-bitch. That was right neighborly of you."

  He reached for his gun. It was gone, along with his gunbelt. "That's alright, Chauncy. I can get another."

  A gentle shower of rain began falling. Lovell looked skyward. "Oh, great! I can be soaked to the bone as well. This ought to be a great gott-damned day." He looked around for his hat. "Hell, they've even taken my Stetson."

  He gathered his thoughts and tried to develop a plan. It was at least ten miles to Black Fork. It was three back to Lucy's cabin but if she knew who he was she'd probably cut his throat. He wondered if he could even get to his feet, let alone stand and walk. Lightfoot had done a thorough job on him. He thought for a moment. There were two of them. Someone else was there. He thought of that day in the bar. Ace Beeman, Boyd Manion and Indian Joe Slowheels. Those were the three. It was probably one of them but he couldn't be certain.

  "Hell, it could have been anybody, even old Tom Duncan or Too-Tall Mitchell." He hesitated and smiled. "It could have been Delta for that matter. He didn't need much help." He nodded and silently thanked the lord for even being alive. "All these years and I've never been waylaid like this. Some lawman."

  The rain became heavier and he could feel cold water puddling in the seat of his pants. As beat up as he was, he needed to get to a dry place. He was going to be weak and pneumonia was not something he wanted to experience again. He'd damn near died of that when he was twelve. He slowly worked his back against the tree and shoved down along the trunk with the heel of his right hand to get to his feet. He tried to straighten but his ribs wouldn't allow it. His vision faded and he tried to get his bearings. Finally, he slid to the ground and leaned back against the willow.

  "You ain't going nowhere for a while so make the best of it," he muttered to himself.

  The rain increased to a downpour. He could feel the water soothing his swollen face. He thought of Chauncy Lightfoot's face, his mocking laugh, his cowardly demeanor and the threat he made in Fort Smith. Suddenly, it didn't matter how wet he was going to be, or the pneumonia, or his pain, or his swollen eye. "You're going to die, Lightfoot. One piece at a time." He closed his eye and tried to sleep.

  Chapter 10

  He felt a hand shaking his shoulder.

  "Mister? You alright, Mister?

  He opened his eye and looked into the face of Levi Walsh.

  "What are you doing here?"

  Levi watched and nodded. "I had to pee. I came down here to pee so the girls wouldn't see me."

  "Where's your mom?"

  "At the wagon."

  "Is she alone?"

  "No, Rosie is with her."

  "What about Banford?"

  "He went to see someone. He told us to wait for him here. What happened?"

  "Do you think you could get your mother for me? I need some help."

  Levi nodded. "Sure, I can get her." He ran into the trees.

  Moments later Leah Walsh stepped into the clearing following Levi. Rosie was close behind. "Oh, my God! Who did this?" she asked as she rushed to him.

  "I'm not sure," Lovell said. "Do you think you could help me?"

  "Certainly. Levi, go to the wagon and clear out a space for this man."

  Amid groans of pain, Rosie and Leah helped him to his feet and supported him to the wagon fifty yards into the trees. He struggled to sit on the tailgate and swing his feet up. After some effort Leah had him resting comfortably in a makeshift bunk. She raised the tail of his shirt, opened the front of his long johns and gasped.

  "You must have several broken ribs. The whole side of your chest is black."

  "What else?"

  "Your nose is broken. That eye looks terrible and there's a long gash along the left side of your head. That hand is bad. I think they broke a couple of your fingers."

  "Where is Rance Banford?"

  "He rode into Black Fork. I doubt he'll be back for several days."

  "Why are you here?"

  "He didn't want to leave me at the house. He told us to wait for him here. He doesn't trust me to stay alone when there's a man in the cabin."

  "My friend is still there?"

  "Yes. I need to clean these wounds. If you're up to it, that gash in your head could use some stitching."

  "You can do that?"

  She smiled. "I've done it many times. I'm afraid all I have is some black thread and sewing needles but I need to do it to close that wound."

  "Do the best you can. I appreciate it."

  "Rosie, I want you to heat some water on the campfire. Use the wash pan. I don't have any whisky to help you with the pain. It is going to sting a little."

  He nodded. He was so glad that someone was able to help him that a few stitches seemed irrelevant. "Are you certain that Banford won't be back for a few days?" he asked.

  "I've been through this before. Sometimes it's three days, sometimes five. He'll get drunk at the fort and stay drunk. I just hope," she hesitated.

  "Hope what?"

  "I hope he's sober when he gets back. He can get pretty mean when he's been drinking. He won't like you being here."

  "I don't have a hell of a lot of choice."

  "It won't matter to Rance. He won't like it."

  As she cleaned his wounds he considered his options. It was at least forty miles to Fort Smith. "Do you have any extra mounts?"

  "Rance took them with him."

  "What the hell for?"

  She shook her head. "That way he knows I'll stay where I'm left."

  "What kind of a gent would leave a woman and children stranded in this country with no mounts?"

  "It's not so bad. Black Fork is only ten miles or so."

  He watched her threading the needle. "Lady, you can do better."

  "I believe I've heard that from you before. Watch now, this is going to sting." She pushed the needle into the wound.

  He flinched and winced.

  "If you want a nice job, you're going to have to be still."

  He watched her draw up the thread. "I'll try but it's pretty tender."

  She smiled. "I'll bet." She put the needle through again. "Only about four, maybe five, more and I'll be through."

  He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "I n
eed to get back to Fort Smith."

  "It'll be a day or so before you can make it. Even then you might not be up to it."

  "They left me my boots. If I have a little something to eat, I can make it."

  "That's all they left you." She finished closing the wound. "Those fingers are going to need setting."

  "You know how?"

  "I've seen it done. If I don't try the doctor will have to re-break them when you get there."

  "Go for it," he said and looked away.

  She took hold of his trigger finger and wrist, giving it a sharp tug.

  "Oh, my Jesus!" he stammered.

  "It came back straight. One more time with the middle finger."

  He took hold of a large stick and nodded.

  She jerked and he took a deep breath.

  "Levi, fetch me a couple of small green sticks about the size and length of this man's fingers," she said as she examined his hand. "If I can stabilize them, I think they will be alright. Neither was broken in a joint."

  "You live with a doctor sometime in your past?"

  She smiled. "A Kiowa medicine man. I learned a lot from him, especially setting broken bones and dislocations. He was pretty good at that. I've seen him close many a wound with nothing more than a bone needle and horse tail."

  "Did he adopt you when you were a prisoner?"

  "No, he was my husband for five years. He was Rosie's father."

  "What happened to him?"

  "They hung him when they found me. I tried to tell them that he was a good man but they wouldn't have any part of it. They choke lynched him right in front of me and Rosie's eyes. It was horrible. She still has nightmares."

  "Who did it? The army?"

  "My father's church congregation. They were a Baptist group near a new settlement called Coffeyville. They hung him and banished me for having a child with him. I think they would have killed Rosie if I hadn't fought for her."

  Levi returned with the sticks while she tore out narrow strips of cloth from a shirt.