Mark of the Hunter by Charles G. West Page B

here for about a week—I think he was a friend of Collins. They sat down at that table in the back corner and bragged about the train holdup. I reckon they didn’t think anybody could hear ’em, but Danny Green—young feller who works for me—was sweepin’ out the storeroom and he overheard ’em talkin’ about holdin’ up the Union Pacific. When he told me what he’d heard, I sent him to Fort Hays to get the law.”
    Far too engrossed in Wally’s account of the apprehension of the two outlaws they had trailed, neither Lem nor Hughes noticed the immediate tensing of their young companion when the name Levi Creed dropped from the bartender’s lips. Shocked, as if struck by lightning, every muscle in Cord’s body was clenched, his heart pounding. He forced himself to calm down enough to control his emotions while Wally went on with the story. When finally able to speak calmly, he asked, “Levi Creed, is he still here?”
    â€œLevi? No. He took off as soon as the soldiers showed up. He didn’t have nothin’ to do with the train robbery, but he was wanted for a bunch of other things, so I reckon he figured it weren’t too healthy to hang around. Collins and Heffridge musta figured those soldiers hadn’t come for them.”
    â€œDo you know which way he ran?” Cord asked, his face expressionless, giving no indication of the fire burning inside him.
    â€œWhy, no, I ain’t got no idea,” Wally answered, “but I’m damn glad he did. He’s a right mean son of a bitch when he’s drunk, and he stayed drunk most of the time.” He paused for a moment to study the young man with the jagged scar across his forehead. “You thinkin’ ’bout goin’ after Levi?” Cord didn’t answer, so Wally continued. “’Cause if you are, you’d best be awful damn careful. That man’s got a mean streak a mile wide. There’s some men that’s best just to step around, like you would a rattlesnake.”
    Lem was alerted now to the sudden pall over Cord, and was prompted to ask a question. “You know this feller Creed?”
    â€œYeah,” Cord replied, his voice low, almost in a whisper, “I know him.” He turned his attention back to Wally then. “You have any idea where he might have been headin’?”
    â€œWell, come to think of it, the first day Collins and Heffridge came in and saw Levi, he told ’em he was fixin’ to head out to Cheyenne,” Wally said. “But, hell, I don’t know nothin’ about the man, and like I said, I sure as hell wasn’t sorry to see him go.”
    â€œCheyenne, huh?” Cord echoed, his mind already working on how far and in what direction Cheyenne was from where he now sat. Like an old wound, the memory of his mother’s tragic death was throbbing in his brain, and the demand for justice flamed anew in his soul. There was no decision for him to weigh. He had no choice. There was only one way to free his mind of the burden of guilt he carried for not protecting his mother. He turned to Lem and said, “Then I reckon we can head for home right away.”
    â€œI reckon,” Lem replied, still waiting for an explanation for Cord’s sudden sense of urgency. When there was still none forthcoming, he asked, “What’s workin’ on your mind so heavy?”
    â€œNothing,” Cord answered. “Just no sense wastin’ time around here when there’s plenty to do back home.”
    â€œIt’ll get done without us,” Lem insisted. “We can take a little time to rest up our horses before we start back.”
    â€œSuit yourself,” Cord told him. “I’m headin’ back right now. It’s a good four days’ ride back and we’ve got about two more hours of daylight today. I’ll rest my horse when I make camp.”
    â€œAll right,” Lem