The meal and then the bath regenerated Case Steelgrave to where he almost felt himself. This would not be the first town where he had gotten that same information only to find that Oakerlind had ridden on, and Mexico was close, really close. The border really offered to problem for Case, it was just a line that one never actually saw unless there was a marker of some sort.

For Case this could well be the one town where this Oakerlind was content to hold up for a while, at least he hoped so. However, this town, this Tombstone, was as far as Steelgrave was willing to chase the Osage Kid. So, what remained was to head up the boardwalk to this Palace Saloon, which actually sat one building in on Third Street. Not quite on Allen Street where most would look, if he had a fear of being hunted. Of course a man in his line of work, that was a real possibility, other than being hunted by Case.

The way Case figured it, the Kid would still have most of the money, he was not the type to get himself rolled in some floozies room, no, far from it. He would be on guard constantly, protecting not just the money, but his life as well. Perhaps he had been on both sides of this situation before, as the roller as well as the victim, and one only needed that experience once.

Case stepped inside the adobe block building with the wooden front. It was a one-story affair, that appeared to sit a full block deep, and cool inside. There would be rooms in the back and most likely a kitchen as well. he let his eyes adjust as he looked about and dropped into a chair at a vacant table as nonchalantly as a man could, showing little interest in anyone in the place.

But Okerlind stood out like a drunk's red nose. He sat with a girl across his lap, a shief of bill weighted down by a stack of coins on the table. A bottle of whiskey and two half-full glasses, a plate with the remnants of a meal pushed aside, now home to the flies. So, he had reached the end of the trail, the quarry sitting close by, unaware of the man who casually looked him over as one would do. He was, after all, making a spectacle of himself.

Now the thought was, as a bar girl came over to take his order, what to do about this.

Case ordered a beer, just to order something. This close to the border there were a number of Mexicans to be found working almost everywhere, and he had no problem with that. In fact he like them as a people. He had found them to be a warm, friendly, welcoming people anytime he was around them in those days in Texas.

But this was far from a warm friendly situation he found himself in. Okerlind, and he did not know the man's first name, he had never asked his father for it, did not matter. Should he confront the man here in this saloon and be forced to kill him? Should he leave them and the place and wait to waylay him as he left, but what if he didn't leave, what if he was to spend the night with the woman on his lap? And although waylaying him seemed cowardly, had he not waylaid Guyer? Sort of just deserts.

Now, perhaps he could face him, get the drop on him where he sat and there would be no gunplay, but then there was the woman, and what could she be counted on to do? Panic? Quite possibly. Disrupt the scene and force the two of them to trade shots, killing who? Him? Her? Okerlind? No none of those options were good. Case knew that yes, he in fact could get the drop on the Kid, easily enough, it was what he could not foresee that bothered him.

The barkeep, and the others in the room, were there confederates of the Kid's present? If he had any, that is. No, this was not a place he knew or a situation he was comfortable with. He wanted to take Okerlind back to Kalispell alive, if there was to be gunplay odds were that one or both of them would end up dead and justice, such as it was, would not be served. Not that Case ever professed to be a just man. This was simply personal. If any man was going to kill Speed Guyer it would be him, not some tinhorn dry-gulcher! He was no better than a back-shooting coward!

The beer was well, beer. One from south of the border, which was of no concern, it was as good as any. This was an odd situation he had found himself in, what with his quarry some twenty feet away and no way of gauging the room other than there were several vaqueros and maybe a dozen men in the place. Other than the girl on his lap it seemed no one paid Okerlind much mind. Maybe he had caused some problems none of these men wanted to be a part of, maybe he was loud, boisterous, and rude, so folks just naturally kept their distance.

Or that was simply the way of it in this town, as no one seemed to pay much mind to the dusty stranger sitting at what was a vacant table before his arrival. Oh, they all turned when he walked in and then turned away again. So who could tell what were the feelings in the place for him, or the Kid, or anyone for that matter?

It then that the bartender started toward him, a bowl of chili in his hands. This was truly odd, as Case saw it. He reached the table and set the bowl and a spoon down and then in low tones said;

"Senior, thees ees on the house, are you here for thees one?" Was the question, even stranger? "You are the law? No? He has cause prolems weeth the customers, the girls, everywon for the last two days."

"Not the law, no. But yes, I have an interest in him. Does he have friends in this place, or in town that you know of?" Case asked, watching the other table for any reaction from the Kid or the girl, but no, they were busy with other matters.

"I see, bo no one weel want to step een, should your interest, say, take a different turn I have a twelve gauge to ensure you're safety eef that becomes necessary." The man stated coldly.

"We'll see what develops." Case answered and the barman scurried away, the Kid oblivious to anything but attempting to manhandle the girl.

A manhunt was not really Case Steelgrave's forte, though he had hunted men before, this one was different. The usual manhunt for a gunman left either one or both wounded or dead, depending on the skill of the men participating. Speed of course was fine, but accuracy was everything. It was simple, you had one chance to down your opponent or be downed. It was not unreasonable for men facing one another to fire several shots before the outcome was determined.

This particular situation was not something as simple as drawing and shooting it out, though Case had done so several times. No, this one would be different, the Osage Kid who sat cavorting with the female on his lap, was blatantly unaware of of what was about to transpire as his pursuer sat conjuring up what he was going to do, and how he would do it.

The Kid would not be killed if Case could prevent it. No. The Kid was going back to Kalispell and stand trial right before they decorated the oak tree at the north edge of town with his corpse. A good, proper hanging, that was what was in store for this cold-blooded killer, even though he had failed in his mission. He deserved it, had earned it, and Case would see he got it!"

"So what are you lookin' at, Mister?" The Kid barked, noticing that Case was indeed looking at him.

"Sorry friend, was daydreaming, guess in your direction." Case replied with a lie, his hand moving closer to his Colt. "Didn't mean nothing."

"Uh, well keep yer daydreamin' to yer ownself!" The Kid responded and went back to fondling the prize for the evening. That had been close. Many a man drew and fired for less. Though he would take him back over the saddle should he be forced to. "Matter of fact, stranger, best you finish that chili an' be on yer way before there's trouble!"

"I'll do that. Sorry." That left a bitter taste in his mouth, backing down from a man he was certain he could take. But he finished off the chili, got to his feet, turned, and walked out of the place. Pausing just under the overhang he wondered what his next move would be. Shaking his head he walked along when he noticed a staircase that led to the second floor of the place, meaning, rooms. Cribs for working ladies, of which he only saw the one.

"Mister," A voice called out, "Ain't no other wimmen in the place, but that four flusher'll be takin' Lulubelle to her room pretty quick now, I reckon. First door at the right when you open that door up there. He harangued about ever'body what comes inta the place." The man walked on without another word.

This was a chance to take him without gunfire.

Mature Content

Ned Okerland, better known as the Osage Kid, was just into the throws of his climax when the cold, nickel-plated barrel of Case’s six-shooter slammed into the back of the Kid’s head, causing him to topple off of the saloon girl to an unceremonious landing on the hard plank floor, unconscious.

“Now missy, you get yerself dressed and lend a hand getting this man dressed. Taking him back to face a rope.” Case said easily.

Much to his surprise the woman didn’t flinch, in fact, she hurriedly dressed herself, such as it was, and hustled over to the prone form, then with her boots planted one in his crotch, and a second to his upper chest, barely missing his face, the intended target.

Case grabbed her arm, “Need him to be alive when they string him up.”

“Couldn’t help it, the smelly bastard!” She barked, “Cheap too!” Case had already picked up the heavy money belt, there was plenty of the fifteen thousand dollars left that his father had paid him. He would deal with that small fact later, once Elias was in the clear on this deal. Which would be no small feat in and of itself.

”He pay you?” Case asked.

“Oh hell no!” She snapped and went to kick him again when Case grabbed her.

“Easy now, here take this.” He handed her a pair of double eagles as she finished dressing Oakerland. “Know that he’ll pay, I promise you that!”

“You be sure he does!” Was her retort. “I can’t get his boots on, you’ll have to do it.” And out the door she went.

Case shook his head, then shoved the Kid's feet into his boots. Jerked the dead weight upright, rammed his shoulder in the man's gut as he hoisted him up for the trip down the back stairs and onto his horse. He figured it was his animal as the flashy saddle and bridle were unlike any of the other horses tied to the hitch rail. As swiftly as possible, he tied the kid onto his mount, then tied the lead rope to the horn of his saddle and the lead rope to his pack animal to his own saddle horn as well, one to each side, it would be a long trip north.

The Osage Kid was on his way to Kalispell, where a noose waited, for he had been ‘on the cuidado’ far too long.

The ride from Tombstone had been long and burdensome with Ned Okerlind in tow. There were things that a man of Cases experience simply would not do, thus the ‘Osage Kid’ was bound to his saddle, wrists firmly tied and looped over the saddle horn, but not so the man could get it off.

Camp had been on the difficult side, challenging at times, demanding at others. His quarry was tied at all times, allowing Case to sleep. A man like Okerlind could not be trusted otherwise. The chance that he could get lose would mean the death of his captor.

They seldom spoke as they rode north. Ned was under no delusions about his fate, there was a rope awaiting him, he knew that. He would, without hesitation implicate Elias Steelgrave as the man who paid him to kill this Marshal Guyer, hoping to take the old rancher with him.

Case knew that his father was as deep in this as a man could get without actually pulling the trigger, in actuality, according to what both had said, Elias had never actually hired him, and paid the money based on a note that Okerlind may have scribbled himself, if he could write, or read for that matter, tho he must have been able to at least figure out the note, or was told what it said, and believed it. Sometimes Case thought that his father was not the sharpest knife in the drawer, this might well be proof of that.

What Case wanted to figure out, was what he could do the get the Kid to keep his mouth shut, short of cutting out his tongue. Shooting him was certainly a solution to this problem, and he also thought that it may just come to that to protect his father. Bringing the kid in over his saddle may be the only alternative available, no matter how badly Case want to see the man hang!

Thirty miles to go, and a decision to be made.

Just a couple of days, maybe a day and a half, until they would be in town and Case was even more concerned about the Kid implicating his father in the shooting of Guyer, but that had been a concern since they rode north out of Tombstone. And here they were so close he could almost see the ranch.

The two had been mutually quiet with each other, both thinking of what chance the Kid would have to make a break for it, but Case had been ever vigilant on the Kid’s every move, especially when Case had to untie him for using sage or another bush as a privy. Watching a man doing his business was not high on Case’s list of things to do, but it was necessary.

As they set up camp, meaning, Okerlind was tied to a tree, and Case was laying out his bedroll, starting the evening fire, putting on the coffee, and getting the skillet and the bacon, of which there was not much left. Bread and beans were already gone. That was when the Kid spoke up,

“Steelgrave! Gotta crap, bad!” He announced.

Hold on, be right there.” Case responded, that he hated. He rose and turned, looking at the man, “Make it fast. Got more important things to do than watch you.” He walked to the tree and untied the rope that bound him to the tree, dropping it to reuse later. “C’mon, on feet.”

Okerlind waited for his hands to be untied, they were behind him and would not be in front unless he was sleeping or in the saddle. He was tied both times. There was a length Case used as a leash, long enough he did not have to be right next to him, and far enough to avoid most of the goings on. It had worked well on the ride up from the Arizona Territory.

Case was surveying the country, there were Indians on the prowl and he was watchful for sign. This was something had done countless times along the way, Okerlind Had looked to be squatting, but jumped up suddenly jerked the rope with Case off balance, and tumbled to the ground, Okerlind on him!

They wrestled the Kid trying for Case’s Colt and Case tried to prevent that as well as gain the upper hand when the kid hit him square in the jaw and jumped up the pistol in his hand when he stiffed as Case kicked him in the kneecap. He fell the pistol flew from his hand and Case dived after it, As Ned Okerlind started for his feet, Case got off a shot, the bullet hit the Kid in the neck, and blood exploded from the severed carotid artery, he grasped at it as if to stem the flow of blood but crumpled to the ground. Case got to his feet, the gun aimed at the man who almost had gotten the best of him, Case Steelgrave.

However, problem solved.

Fifteen miles, and two to three days south of Kalispell, a rain storm that swept up out of the southwest found a tired and beleaguered rider struggling to get under his poncho as Case saw the dark clouds rolling in, which then decided to stall over him and his charge, the wrapped body of the deceased Osage Kid. He thanked a God he neither worshiped nor understood, that Okerlind was wrapped in his own ‘fish,’ the oilskin slicker almost every rider carried.

This was a delay he didn’t need, as Okerlind was starting to get ripe. If he could have only made his move later during this trip, but, it was how it was. And, as he thought it over, he might not have survived. But on the bright side, he had most of his father's money back, two nickel-plated, ivory-handled Colts, and the rig he wore them in. And then there was the horse, fancy tack, and saddle.

A good deal of time had been wasted chasing this man, and that was not who he was. Yet, it was what he had to do. One because his father would have been implicated in the shooting sooner or later. Men like the Kid would eventually brag about killing the Marshal in Kalispell and the man who paid him, Elias Steelgrave, And two, as much as he respected Guyer, even after the he had been treated that night in the street, he would have to kill him and anyone who tried to prevent his breaking his father out of the Kalispell jail. Which led to the question of why he respected the Marshal.

It was that night, and how Guyer was willing to go toe to toe with him, be it fists or guns, He had sand, and he knew that Kalispell needed a Marshal with sand enough to stand for the town, no matter what happened. That was Guyer, and Pike, Pike who he considered short a few rounds of a full load, and of the two, the most dangerous. He had to admit, reluctantly, that the prospect of facing Pike, who might be faster than he was, might not end well, and Pike would likely take some killing.

He shook his head, what the hell was he thinking? Facing either one? What could he gain from that? There was no proof that Elias had anything to do with the shooting, that died with Okerlind. The rain picked up and turned to hail as the temperature dropped. A cold wet night ahead with no fire, no hot meal, and no coffee.

The morning of October ninth dawned cold and partly cloudy, finding Case Steelgrave was already in the saddle with the corpse trailing behind on a lead rope over his own saddle. He had been on the trail almost two months after the money belt and the man who wore it, because that would be the man who shot Marshal Guyer.

This particular morning, Case was wondering why he had gone to such lengths to find this Ned Okerlind. Yes he respected Guyer, and yes it had been cowardly to dry gulch a man, any man, but to bring the body into town, well that was the question, now wasn't it? More than once since killing the would-be assassin he had thought to leave him to the buzzards, but he had to deliver the body in person, to let Guyer and the rest of Kalispell know the man had been caught.

So he was a little better than five miles out from town and would have the body to the undertaker in a matter of hours. There would be only one stop, the marshal's office, that is, if Guyer was back to work, knowing that anything might well have happened even with the best of care and the Marshal had passed. Just the same, the town needed to see the body delivered.

The problem would be if anyone realized that his father was involved, not because he ordered the killing, and that was what it was supposed to have been, but because he paid Oakerlind after the fact. They would hang him for it.