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Hap & Cal
On the Trail of Stewart Clayton
Chapter Four: No Vacancy
Scott A. Gese

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Chapter Four

No Vacancy

Earlier, Stewart Clayton had planned to bypass the town of Gopher City and head straight for the old cabin. He intended to hide out in the woods until things cooled down. He had no need to stop, and the fewer people who saw him, the better. His hope was that any bounty hunters on his trail would hit a dead end. With no leads, they would soon become discouraged and give up the chase.

But his situation had drastically changed. The predicament he found himself in required him to rethink his plans. The brooch that had started this whole mess was still in his possession. With no clue about its true value, he now needed to trade it for another gun and some supplies. Unfortunately, that meant he had to go into town. This was certainly not what he had envisioned. Any bounty hunters passing through might be tipped off if they started asking questions. Nevertheless, he had no choice; he would have to take the risk.

Stewart waited just outside of town until late in the day, then slipped into the long shadows as he entered. The general store was easy to locate. He slipped in unnoticed and approached the counter, where the clerk was straightening a display of new fabric he had just received.

“Excuse me,” Stewart said in almost a whisper. “I need some supplies, but I don't have any money.”

The storekeeper was about to reply when Stewart continued, “But I do have something to trade.”

Being a bit of a pack rat, this piqued the storekeeper's interest. “And what might that be?” he asked, watching as Stewart dug deep into the front pocket of his pants.

Stewart wrapped his fingers around what he was looking for and pulled the brooch out of his pocket. It caught a long ray of twilight streaming through the store's side window and glistened in his hand.

“Oh now,” exclaimed the storekeeper as he leaned in closer for a better look. “What do you have here? May I see it?” The storekeeper held out his hand as Stewart handed it over.“It’s genuine,” he remarked, carefully setting the piece on the counter as he dug through a nearby drawer for a magnifying glass. He held the brooch up to the light again, examining it closely. The red rubies, blue sapphires, and white diamonds glistened with every turn of his hand. Satisfied with its authenticity, he placed the brooch and the magnifying glass back on the counter.

“How did you come across such a magnificent piece?” he asked excitedly.

“It belonged to my mother,” replied Stewart, attempting to appear sincere. “If she were alive today, she’d be very unhappy with me right now, but I’m in a desperate situation. I was robbed on the trail. The thief took both my gun and my money, and now I need supplies to get home. I’m not looking for cash; I’d like to trade for the items I need.”

“Well, we might be able to work something out,” the storekeeper replied. “Of course, it’ll all depend on what supplies you want.”

Stewart listed his needs and waited for the storekeeper to tally it up. “Yes, I think we can make a trade,” the storekeeper said, looking up from his paper.

Stewart was pleased to hear it. He gathered the supplies he needed, along with a gun and a box of bullets from the display case. He quickly pocketed the bullets and shoved the gun into the waistband of his trousers. The storekeeper tried to make small talk, but Stewart was uninterested. He quietly slipped out the door and rode off, relieved to be out of town with new supplies and a gun. The storekeeper picked up the brooch, admiring it in the last rays of the setting sun. With a satisfied expression, he placed the new arrival in a prominent spot in his display case.

Stewart, meanwhile, was glad to be rid of the brooch. The cursed thing had brought him nothing but trouble since the moment he laid eyes on it.

It was dark by the time Stewart had traveled a few miles from town so he decided to set up camp for the evening. “No sense pushing it,” he thought. He figured he would reach the old cabin by mid-afternoon the next day. For now, a small fire, hot coffee, and a few hours of sleep sounded perfect. The night was clear, and Stewart knew the morning air would be cold before the sun rose. He wrapped himself in his only blanket and fell asleep under the stars.

The early morning confirmed his expectations. It was cold enough for Stewart to see his breath. He rekindled the fire and warmed up his leftover coffee. It wasn't as good as fresh, but it warmed his belly. After a meager breakfast, he broke camp.

With his horse saddled and food in his belly, he was ready to go just as the sun rose. It had been a couple of years since he had visited the cabin, but he had a good recollection of its location.

After several hours of easy riding, Stewart was surprised to see an unfamiliar road. The last time he was here, it had been no more than a game trail. Now it was well-used by wagons. He followed the road for nearly an hour until he reached the spot where he thought the cabin was. The area had undergone significant changes over the past two years, leaving Stewart somewhat confused.

A lightly used wagon trail veered off to the left. Thinking that might lead him to the cabin, he decided to take it. He was right; about three hundred yards off the main road, he glimpsed the cabin. However, he stopped well short of it. Something felt off. Someone had worked on the place, fixed the roof, and cleaned up around the building. In fact, smoke was rising from the chimney.

“What in the hell?” groaned Stewart. “This was going to be my hideout. What now?” He rode in closer. “Maybe it still can be. It just depends on what I come up against,” he whispered to himself.

No sooner had he spoken than a dog came running in his direction, barking and growling. Stewart pulled his gun, but before he could shoot, the dog was called off.

“Zeke! Come here, boy!”

The dog immediately stopped, turned, and ran back to the older man who had stepped out from around the side of the cabin.

“What can I do for you, stranger?” he asked.

Stewart slipped the gun back into his waistband. “That's some dog you have there, mister. Looks more like a wolf,” he remarked.

“He is. I raised him from a pup. He sticks around, so I feed him. It's a good arrangement.”

“Seems I remember this cabin being empty a couple of years back. Am I wrong?” Stewart asked.

“It was,” replied the old man. “I bought it about a year ago. It was quite a mess, but I’m getting it back into shape.”

Zeke sat at the old man's side, growling continuously at Stewart. It was a bit unnerving, but the old man didn’t stop him. If the point was to make it clear that he was unwelcome, it was being well taken. Stewart envisioned putting a bullet in the wolf's head, and maybe the old man’s too. He desperately needed a place to hide out.

“You never did answer my question.”

“Question?”

“What can I do for you?” the old man asked again.

“Oh, that question. I've been traveling,” said Stewart. “And I'm looking for a place to stay for a while. I often used this place when I was in the area.”

“Are you trying to tell me you have some sort of hold on this place?”

“No,” replied Stewart. “I just stayed here.”

“Well, I got a legal deed to this place, and there ain't no doubt about that. I’ve got no room for you here if that's what you're thinking,” the old man said as Zeke began to pace nervously in front of him. “Not sure why Zeke is acting this way, but for your own safety, I’d think about movin' on if I were you.”

Stewart decided to take the old man’s advice. He needed some time to think things through. Maybe he would come back after sundown and see about taking over the cabin. “I don't want any trouble. I'll be on my way,” he replied. He turned back up the road and left. The old man stepped behind the cabin and grabbed the shotgun he had leaning against it, just out of sight.

“Didn’t trust him, did you, Zeke? Well, neither did I. Something about him just doesn’t sit well with me. I think we should both sleep with one eye open tonight.” The old man returned to his chores, with Zeke right on his heel.

Stewart traveled up the road for about a quarter mile before turning onto a grassy area. He was disappointed to find his old hideout occupied but figured that would make it all the more comfortable when he moved in. Of course, he would need a plan to successfully take over the cabin. His plan would require dealing with the wolf first, and that, in itself, would prove to be a challenge.

A strategy needed to be devised—one that would handle the wolf first. However, doing so without alerting the old man would be quite tricky. He lay back with his head resting on his saddle, his hat pulled down over his eyes, and thought for a few minutes. Stewart eventually fell asleep and didn’t wake until well after sundown. He had an eerie feeling that he was being watched. Lifting his hat from his eyes, he noted it was a clear night, and the moon was full. Turning to his left, he was startled to find Zeke standing just two feet away, close enough to feel the warm, stale breath on his face. The beast's piercing yellow eyes had a hypnotizing effect on Stewart, leaving him unable to reach for his gun. In an instant, Zeke lunged, his jaws crunching through bone and tissue as he ripped out the young outlaw’s throat. A torrent of blood flowed freely from the open wound as the lifeless body fell backward onto the blood-soaked ground. Zeke triumphantly sat beside his prey, lifted his head, and let out a mournful howl before heading back to the cabin and the old man.

***
The Gopher City saloon was nearly empty when Hap and Cal stepped through the door. It was a small establishment, featuring only half a dozen tables and a short bar. The bartender sat at one end, nursing a warm beer, looking bored. He barely turned his head as the two men walked in. “What can I do for you?” he asked without getting up.

“A bottle of rye and two glasses,” replied Hap.

Without another word, the bartender slowly stood and moved to the back of the bar. He placed a bottle and two glasses in front of them. “That'll be two dollars.”

Hap paid, and he and Cal took a seat at a table in the middle of the room. The bartender returned to his stool and his beer.

“Not a very jovial type, is he?” remarked Hap.

“I heard that,” the bartender replied without looking up.

“So what's your trouble?” asked Cal.

The bartender finally looked up and directed his response to the two men. “Trouble? I'll tell you what my trouble is. It's this town.” He waved his arm in a sweeping arc. “It's dying. Nobody comes this way anymore, and a lot of the folks who settled here have either left or are seriously considering it. Half the storefronts are empty, and the rest are barely hanging on. You're my first two customers in as many days. Seth down at the livery says he's pulling out as soon as he sells those two paints he has.”

Hap couldn't bring himself to tell him that Seth was now down by one.

The bartender continued. “Drake over at the general store does okay. People gotta eat, you know? But at some point, he'll move on too. A fella's gotta make a profit, and as soon as enough people leave this town, that'll be it for him as well.

This area isn't going to amount to much. I should have never left Kansas.”

“If it’s as bad as you say, maybe you should go back,” suggested Hap.

“Yeah, well, I'm thinkin' on it. I'm thinkin' on it real hard-like.” The bartender turned back to his beer, and the two men began discussing their next move in the hunt for Stewart Clayton. They knew they were close; they just didn't know how close. A couple of drinks and a half-hour later, they headed out to gather their supplies.

“Good luck to ya,” called Hap as he and Cal walked out the door.

The bartender raised his hand in acknowledgment but never looked up.

Hap and Cal made their way to the general store. As they stepped through the open doorway, Hap greeted the storekeeper, who was busy sweeping the floor. “Afternoon, mister. We’re in need of a few supplies.”

The storekeeper leaned the broom against the wall and gestured with his hand. “Step this way, gentlemen,” he said with a smile as he moved behind the counter.

“You got any bacon?” Cal asked.

The question took the storekeeper by surprise. “Bacon? Err, I got salt pork. Will that do?”

“I guess that'll work,” replied Hap.

Hap and Cal went about gathering their supplies, including staples like coffee, flour, hardtack, and lard. They also picked up a few items they knew they'd need down the road. Once they finished going through their list, they placed their goods on the counter. As the storekeeper busied himself wrapping the salt pork, Hap admired the guns in the display case at the far side of the counter. While doing so, he noticed a butterfly brooch.

Remembering that Stewart Clayton had shot a woman over a similar piece of jewelry, he remarked, “That's an interesting-looking piece you have here.” He pointed at the brooch. “How did you come by such a thing?”

The storekeeper walked over to the case and removed it. He breathed on it and rubbed it on his apron before handing it to Hap. “That, sir, is genuine precious gems set in pure silver. A fellow traded it for a gun and a few supplies. I got the better end of the deal, but he was desperate. Said he had been robbed, and this was all he had left—a keepsake that once belonged to his dear deceased mother.”

“You don't say,” remarked Cal as he leaned in to inspect the brooch more closely. “When was this, and what did this fellow look like?”

The storekeeper looked upward while stroking his chin. “Well, let me see now. I guess you could say there was nothing unusual about the fellow. Oh, except for his hair. He had long hair worn in a braid—kinda like a woman's. I thought it was a bit funny, but I didn’t make any comment. This was yesterday, right around sundown, just before I closed up for the night.”

“Did he say where he was heading?” Hap eagerly asked.

“No, sir, he just kind of slipped out the door, but I did notice he was heading west.”

“Thanks for the information,” said Hap as he handed the brooch back to the storekeeper and picked up the supplies.

He and Cal headed out the door.

“I'll make you a real good deal on it if you’re interested—only thirty-five dollars. It's genuine.”

The offer went unanswered as the two men unhitched their horses.

“We lost valuable time hanging around here,” Hap grumbled as they climbed into the saddle.

“Well, let's not waste any more time complaining about it,” retorted Cal as they urged their horses into a canter, heading west out of town.

It was already late in the day. The two men stayed on the road, such as it was, until dark. They made camp and called it a day, with an early start on both their minds.

As usual, Hap was ready to move out before the sun was up. Cal, however, wanted breakfast before saddling up, and for once, he convinced Hap to do the same. They quickly prepared fried pork, biscuits sopped in grease, and coffee. They mounted their horses just as the sun crested the horizon. Back on the road, they encountered one rider and one wagon. They stopped each one to ask if they had seen a lone rider with long hair along the way. Neither had seen a man, but both mentioned a horse tied up just off the road. They had noticed it in the early morning hours and thought it must belong to someone who hadn’t broken camp yet.

***

The afternoon was growing late as they approached the area where the cabin was located. Although it wasn't visible from the road, the sound of hammering echoed in the distance. As they neared the trail leading to the cabin, they paused.

“Do you think we should check it out? Maybe someone has seen something?” Cal asked.

“Well, it doesn't hurt to ask,” replied Hap, stepping toward the sound of hammering. As they got closer, the cabin came into view. The two men halted, and Hap called out, “Hello in the cabin!”

The hammering ceased, and an old man emerged from the rear of the cabin, standing his ground. Then Zeke appeared, slowly moving a little past the old man to scrutinize Hap and Cal. As if to warn them off, Zeke let out a menacing growl, turned, and returned to stand beside the old man. “What can I do for you fellas?” he asked.

Cal spoke up. “Sorry to interrupt your work, sir. We're looking for a man who may have passed by here yesterday. We were wondering if you might have seen him?”

“Why do you ask?” the old man replied.

Cal hesitated, then reluctantly said, “He's a wanted man.”

The old man continued his line of questioning. “Are you the law?”

“Well, not exactly,” Cal answered.

“Bounty hunters?”

Once again, Cal hesitated before replying, “Yes, we are.”

“And why are you after this fella?”

“Murder and robbery,” Cal said.

“And what does he look like?”

“He's pretty ordinary-looking, except he has long hair, usually tied back in a braid.”

“I see,” replied the old man. He refrained from saying he had seen Stewart because he was still unsure of the two men's intentions. He continued to ask questions. “How do I know he's not innocent and that you two are not after him for reasons other than what you claim?”

“Well, you don't. The best we can offer is that we've both worked on the right side of the law in the past, and we still do now. My partner here was a deputy, and I was a sheriff. I still carry my badge. Here, I'll show you.”

Cal reached back to his saddlebag to retrieve his badge. Zeke sensed the movement as hostile and took several steps forward, growling ferociously. Startled, Cal quickly stopped and raised his hands to show they were empty. Hap, who stood on the other side of Cal, drew his gun.

“Hold on there, young man,” the old man shouted. “He's just watching out for me.”

“I know a wolf when I see one,” replied Hap. “I don't know how you tamed him, but I don’t trust him.”

“If you trusted him, you'd both be dead men right about now. It's the uncertainty that keeps you at a distance.”

Hap was becoming impatient and responded hastily, “Listen, old man, just tell us what we want to know, and we'll be on our way.”

“I want to see your partner's badge first,” he replied. “Then I'll tell you what you want to know.”

“Good Lord,” squawked Hap. “We'll never get out of here.”

Cal slowly reached into his saddlebag and pulled out his badge, tossing it toward the old man, who snatched it from the air with ease.

The old man examined the badge. “It says here Sheriff, Junction City. Would that be Junction City, Kansas?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Cal. “Do you know of it?”

“Never been there, but I do know of it. Do you know a man named Andrew Mason?”

“Andrew Mason was a deputy of mine. How do you know him?”

“He's my little sister's husband. He's still there. You must be Cal?”

Hap grew more impatient by the minute. “Well, it's a small world, isn't it? Now that we’re all friends and such, can you please tell us what we want to know? Have you seen a man with long hair?”

The old man ignored Hap, walking up to Cal and handing back his badge. “Andrew spoke highly of you when you were there. The man you're looking for was here, all right. He rode in just about dusk yesterday. He seemed surprised to see someone in this place. I got the impression he was planning to stay, but I sort of foiled that plan. I slept lightly last night, thinking he might return, but he didn't show. He rides a black horse.”

“Thank you for the information. Do you mind if we camp nearby for the night, just in case he shows up?” asked Cal.

“You can stay as close as you like. Don’t worry about Zeke. He tends to prowl at night, but he won’t bother you.”

Hap and Cal didn’t light a fire that night. They stayed close enough to see the cabin and took turns keeping a sharp lookout. It was another clear night, and the moon provided enough light to reveal that the only movement was Zeke. He would surely warn them if someone approached.

It was a long, frigid night. The two men were relieved to see the first hint of daylight cresting the horizon. Only then did they kindle a fire, just long enough to put something warm in their bellies. As they saddled up to leave, the old man came out to see them off. “Cal, if you ever make it back to Junction City, do me a favor and look up Andrew. Tell him Jeb is doing just fine.”

“I’ll do that for you, Jeb, if I ever make it back,” promised Cal.

Hap and Cal set out down the road. They were about fifteen minutes from the cabin when Hap noticed something up ahead. It was in an area just off the road where a grassy patch met the treeline. They stopped, dismounted, and secured their horses before moving closer to get a better look. They soon spotted a horse—a black one. The saddle and blanket had been removed, and a piece of rope had been used to hobble it. Was this the horse Jeb had mentioned yesterday? Everything pointed to it being Stewart Clayton’s horse. However, it didn’t make sense that he would be camped out here for two days. With their guns drawn, they spread out and cautiously approached. They heard the flies before they saw them, and as they got closer, the unmistakable, gut-wrenching smell of death hit them hard. The body of a man with long raven-black hair lay just a few yards in front of them. His throat had been torn out—death would have been quick—and painful.

“Good Lord, what in the hell do you think happened here, Hap?” Cal wondered.

Hap’s answer was short. “Wolf.”

“But wolves hunt in packs. They would have torn him to pieces,” Cal replied, removing his hat and waving it in front of his face to keep the flies away.

“No, I'm not talking about a pack of red wolves like the ones around here. I'm talking about a lone wolf. A big timber wolf, like Zeke,” remarked Hap.

“You think?”

“I think Zeke instinctively knew Stewart Clayton meant Jeb harm, and he protected him.”

“Well, don't that beat all,” Cal said grimly. His demeanor suddenly changed. “Well damn, that does beat all. Stewart Clayton is dead, and we needed to bring him back alive. We tracked him all this way for nothing. We won't get a red cent.”

“Well, if nothing else, we have his horse and gear. That might cover our supplies if we can sell them,” suggested Hap.

“That horse won't be worth much if we don't get it some food and water,” Cal added. “Let's strap this body on it and head back to Gopher City. We'll stop by Jeb's to get this animal something to eat.”

“The only direction I'm moving that body is down,” replied Hap as he began waving his own hat.

So it was agreed. The two men buried Stewart Clayton along the side of the road in an unmarked grave.

Jeb was surprised to see the two men returning, but even more surprised to see they had the black horse with them.

"That horse looks familiar," remarked Jeb.

"It ought to," replied Hap. "It belongs..." He corrected himself. "Belonged to Stewart Clayton. We found him dead not more than a mile up the road. He was attacked by some sort of animal, I'm guessing. His throat was ripped right out. It looked like it happened while he slept. The man didn't stand a chance."

"You don't say," responded Jeb, not wanting to voice what they were all thinking. "Let me get that horse some feed. Take him over to the trough and give him some water."

Jeb disappeared to get some feed before Zeke's name came up.

When he returned, he asked Hap, "You two have any plans for that horse?"

"We'll probably sell it to recoup some of our expenses. Are you interested?"

"As a matter of fact, I am," replied Jeb as he took a closer look at the animal.

"We'll let you have it at a fair price. We'll even throw in the gear," offered Cal.

Jeb examined the horse closely. “Gear included, you say?” he asked, inspecting its teeth. “I already have a horse, but she's getting long in the tooth and doesn't want to stray too far from home. I need something that can take me where I need to go. It's a sound animal, so I'll give you a fair price.”

The two men negotiated a more than fair deal, and Cal wrote up a bill of sale that he figured would satisfy anyone who might inquire.

“Well, that was easy,” said Hap. “Now what?”

“I've got half a bottle of whiskey, and I need a drink. Anyone else?” asked Cal as he retrieved the bottle from his saddlebags.

The three men finished off the bottle, and then Hap and Cal said their goodbyes to Jeb and mounted up.

“I'm heading back to Wichita,” remarked Cal. “You with me?”

“I'll go that far with you,” replied Hap. “I'm planning to head toward Fort Scott. I have an old friend there who I owe a favor to. He's been on my mind lately. I hear he owns a small spread just outside of town. I think I’ll see if I can find him and maybe hire on with him if he needs a hand. His name is Mac, Mac Shepard. Ever heard of him?”

“Nope, can't say that I have,” replied Cal.

The two men rode off as Jeb watched them disappear around the bend.

Once they were out of sight, Jeb headed toward the barn to check on his new horse.

“Well, Zeke, it looks like it's just you and me again. I don't know about you, but I've had enough company to last me a month of Sundays. Let's see if we can come up with a name for our new friend.”

Zeke followed closely behind. He seemed content but always alert. Jeb didn't realize how lucky he was to have Zeke as his constant companion.

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