Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4







    O'Malley unsaddled Star gave the stallion a ration of grain and left the horse munching away as O'Malley walked to the front door of Nine Mile's cabin. O'Malley opened the door slowly to give Buck time to recognize him. Buck did indeed raise his head from the floor, but he did not rise. For the first time Buck even wagged his tail at O'Malley. Nine Mile had beans, venison, and coffee cooking on the wood stove when O'Malley walked into the cabin.

    "Good vittles tonight." Nine Mile said, as he stood in front of the wood cookstove and stirred the pot. "Got a fresh killed mule deer and I cut out the backstrap for tonight's supper." Nine Mile said proudly. Nine Mile was proud of his ability to cook, but would never touch a pot or pan if there was a Indian squaw around. An Indian squaw would have no respect for any man who would actually cook when there was an Indian squaw about.
    O'Malley sat down at the table and said, "I almost got dry gulched down near Bear Creek."
    Nine Mile dropped his spoon in the pot and faced O'Malley with a scowl on his face. "How'd it happen? Did you see who it was? Are you OK?" Nine Mile asked in rapid fire succession. 
    "It was a close call. They tried to ambush me with rifle fire, but it cost one of them with his life."      
    Nine Mile sat at the table and did not say a word and listened intently as O'Malley told him what happened. He nodded his head occasionally but didn't even get up from the table to stir the food cooking on the stove.
    When O'Malley had finished Nine Mile spoke. "I knew it would be just a matter of time before there would be trouble. I know Sam Slade knows about you and is out to kill you before you find out who killed your brother." Nine Mile said with some resolve. "I would say your trap has been sprung, but you missed the papa polecat." 
    O'Malley did not reply immediately. He had been thinking what his next step would be every since he had picked up the body of the dry gulcher on the trail. He only reflected on his first plan. Being the bait had worked, but it had not caught the man he sought. 
    O'Malley spoke to Nine Mile. "I guess the plan to find out who shot Tom has got to be modified a bit. They know that I was close to Tom, but what they don't know is just how much I know about the secret information that must have gotten Tom killed. I am going to try a more direct approach. I am going to give Sam Slade a direct challenge." O'Malley rambled on out loud to Nine Mile, as if to share his thoughts. O'Malley hoped that the old Indian fighter would help improve the plan or at least agree with it.
    Nine Mile grunted. Scratched his head, rubbed his bearded chin and grimaced. "Sleeping in a bed of rattlesnakes would be a whole lot safer than going head to head with Sam Slade. He ain't never give a man a fair shake. One of his men would back shoot you for sure."
    O'Malley knew Nine Mile was right. He had to figure a better way. If you were going to get the drop on Slade, it would have to come from his blind side. He decided he would work on the problem later right now he was hungry. "Let's eat."  
     
    Nine Mile finished dishing his beans and venison on the plate, poured a hot, strong cup of coffee and sat down at the table opposite O'Malley.
    O'Malley asked, "How did you get the name of 'Nine Mile'?" he said smiling and genuinely interested.
    Nine Mile looked straight at O'Malley and then looked away at some distant and invisible horizon. He seemed to be wandering back into time within his mind.
    "Well it was back in 1862, when I was in the western part of the Montana Territory. I had left the great divide at the head waters of the Clark's Fork of the Columbia river near a place called Butte. I was doing some prospecting in those days and I was headin' to an area called 'Hells Gate' (later this would become Fort Missoula) a place which was home to the Salish Kootenay Indians sometimes called 'Flatheads' by the white man. It was where the Blackfoot and Bitterroot rivers met the Clark's Fork and near the 'Mullen' road. * There was a place called 'Frenchtown' because some many Frenchies lived and traded at that location, and was the only real settlement in the area in those days. I had prospected for gold most of the summer from Butte to Frenchtown. I got to Frenchtown and bought some supplies with most of the gold I had found along the way, and then prospected a creek nine miles north and west from Frenchtown. I found enough gold to tickle my fancy and was worth working for awhile. I built a small cabin on Nine Mile Creek, worked the creek and spent a winter and a summer there. I was the only white man who lived on the creek and after the winter everyone in that neck of the woods called me 'Nine Mile Bill'. Over the years the name just stuck. Never did get much gold out of the creek though." **

* A road which was built by the US Army under the command of a Lt. John Mullen from Fort Benton to Fort Walla Walla.
** Later in history Nine Mile Creek would give up millions in gold to Chinese miners and other miners who used a large dredge. In time, a stagecoach house would be built at Nine Mile Creek at the Mullen road apply called the “The Nine Mile House”.

Nine Mile smiled, as if he was remembering fond memories as he traveled back in time within his mind.  With a twinkle in his eye, he looked back at O'Malley and said, "I have had one hell of a good life. I have done things that some men will only dream about doin'."
     
    After cleaning up the two decided it might be safer to head north the next morning and check out the land Tom bought around Fort Rockvale. O'Malley could see George Grant later. After Fort Rockvale they would go on northeast to Billings. They could find out what kind of land it was and who Tom may have talked to in Billings. 
     
    The next morning O'Malley and Nine Mile loaded trail supplies on the pack horse for the trip. They mounted up and rode into Red Lodge with Buck trotting along side of Nine Mile. They stopped at the Silver Grill for breakfast, while Buck waited patiently outside. 
    "Good morning." Kate said, and then she suddenly remembered something else and asked, "Are you all right? I heard you found a man shot over by Bearcreek and brought the body in to the sheriff." The concern for O'Malley was evident in her voice.
    "I'm just fine. The shooting was over with before I got there." O'Malley lied, to calm Kate's concerns, and secretly appreciated Kate's apparent concern for him.
    "What happened?" she asked.
     O'Malley told her the same story her that he had given to the sheriff as she poured him a cup of coffee. Kate just nodded and shook her head through out the story and was totally engrossed. 
    "Did the sheriff have any idea who might have shot the man?" she asked.
    "None." O'Malley answered 
    "Two men murdered in almost the same place. Do you think we have a gang of robbers in this area?" asked Kate with much concern.
    "I really don't know what to think." O'Malley solemnly answered.
    "Nine Mile and I are going to be out of town for a few days. We are heading up to Billings." O'Malley offered.
    "Well you two be careful." Kate said, and left to fix their breakfast.
    When they had finished, Kate brought out several fresh biscuits and gave them to Nine Mile and O'Malley for the trail.
    "Thanks for the hospitality. I am sure they will come in handy." Nine Mile smiled.
    O'Malley stopped by the sheriff's office on his way out of town to let the sheriff know he was going to Billings for a day or two, but would be back.
    They followed Rock Creek north out of Red Lodge. The road was well traveled, flat and slightly downhill. A stagecoach had recently began to run from Billings once a week through Red Lodge and on south down the Meeteetse Trail into Wyoming Territory. 
    Around noon Nine Mile suggested they let the horses have a rest. He turned toward Rock Creek and the shade of Cottonwood trees. They dismounted and let the horses drink their fill.
    "We have company." Nine Mile said.
    "How do you know?" O’Malley asked.
     "Buck knows. Someone has been dogging our trail since we left Red Lodge." Nine Mile answered.
    "Have you seen them?"
    "Nope. Probably won't, if they are smart. But after dark things could get a little rougher."
    "Do you think they will try something?"
    "Don't know for sure, but we had better keep a close eye on things. Buck will let me know if anyone tries to come into camp. You know you could be bad for a feller's health. Seems like you draw dry gulchers. I guess I will just have to pick better trail partners in the future." Nine Mile said jokingly.
    "You can bet Sam Slade has something to do with this." O'Malley said.
    "You will have a hard time proving it." Nine Mile reflected.
    They remounted and rode north again keeping a close watch for anything unusual along the trail.
    That evening they camped on the west bank of Rock Creek. Nine Mile and O'Malley fixed supper. 
    As it began to get dark O'Malley asked, "Do you think one of us should sit up and keep a watch?"
    "I ain't about to lose no sleep when I got a wolfdog like Buck along. He will let me know if anyone or anything gets near this camp. If, anyone wanted to do us harm they would already have tried it today. There were plenty of places where we could have been ambushed. I think they are just watching us to see where we are going and what we are up to."
    "I think you might be right. Just the same let's don't take any unnecessary chances or let our guard down." O'Malley said.

    The night was quite, cool for sleeping and peaceful. Just as dawn was breaking they started breakfast and were on the trail by sun-up. They rode into Fort Rockvale before noon. Nine Mile had a map he had got at the land office in Red Lodge that showed where Tom had bought the land. 
    They spent about an hour finding the land and then looking around to see if there was anything unusual about it. The land was west of Rock Creek about a mile. It was flat and full of sagebrush. There wasn't any streams or springs anywhere to be found. Nine Mile said no one had ever found any silver or gold in the area. The land didn't even look good for cattle without water, and there wasn't any natural streams anywhere.
    After riding all over the land, they finally gave hoping to find anything unusual about the land. 
    "Why would Tom go to so much trouble to buy this land?" O'Malley asked, Nine Mile.
    "It is so useless that it would be real cheap to buy, but I don't know what you could use it for. Cattle maybe, if you had access to water." Nine Mile guessed.
    Frustrated, O'Malley said, "Let's ride on to Billings, maybe, that will tell us more."
    The trail turned northeast, where Rock Creek emptied into the Clark's Fork of the Yellowstone. They continued their trip along the west side of the Clark's Fork. They kept a close watch, but never saw anyone following. Buck seemed to be the only one who knew for sure that someone was there.
    They forged the Yellowstone River and late that afternoon they rode into Billings. It was a railroad and a cow town. The Northern Pacific had brought a railroad from the east running up the Yellowstone River valley.
    They found a livery stable and left their horses overnight. 
    "Let's get a beer at the Golden Palace Saloon. I have an old friend who works there. Besides, I need to wash the trail dust out of my throat." Nine Mile suggested.
   The Golden Palace was near the railroad tracks, which is normal for a large and busy railroad town. 
   They walked into the saloon which was alive with cowhands and railroad men alike. There was the Faro table and plenty of saloon girls. The bartender was a giant of a man who looked to be nearly seven feet tall and weighed three hundred pounds or more. He had a full beard and mustache. He was pouring whiskey at the other end of the bar.
    Nine Mile pounded his fist on the bar and demanded, "Give me a beer you big buffalo!" 
    The bartender looked at Nine Mile, turned and walked to their end of the bar. "I don't serve anyone who looks as ugly as you and smells as bad as you do."
     "Ugly? Smells bad?" Nine Mile sounded astonished. "Why I wouldn't let a nasty, ill tempered, worn out, old buffalo skinner like you serve me, even if you had the last drop of watered-down whiskey in this Territory." Nine Mile growled.
     The saloon suddenly became deathly quite. The local patrons knew the disposition of the big bartender. Surely there would be trouble.
    "Now apologize, you old has been." The bartender ordered.
     "I apologize, Cheyenne." Nine Mile smiled and extended his right hand.
     The big bartender smiled from ear to ear and said, "Where have you been hiding? I haven't seen you since last spring?" 
     "Still up in Red Lodge country. I want you to meet a friend of mine from up in Smith Valley. Names, John Roberts. He is a neighbor of old Lonnie Butcher."
     He shook O'Malley's hand and said, "The hell you say. You know Lonnie Butcher, hell, we go back almost as long as white men have been in this Territory. Me? The names Cheyenne McAllister."
     "Cheyenne McAllister. I've heard of you, but you are bigger than the stories go." O'Malley said admiringly.
     "Well all this lazy livin' has caused me to put on a pound or two." Cheyenne said. "How about a drink?"
     "Two beers, and he's buying." Nine Mile spoke up. "Now this here fellow hands are so big he still has to give two drinks instead of one for a pinch of gold dust." Nine Mile said. 
     "Why two?" O'Malley asked.
     "Show this pilgrim your right fore finger Cheyenne." Nine Mile requested. "See the size of the finger and the long fingernail. Well it has always been a practice of a bartender to take a 'pinch' of gold dust for a drink. Most bartenders grow their fore finger nail long so they get all the gold dust they can in a "pinch". This here fellar has fingers so big that he has to give two drinks for a 'pinch'" Nine Mile laughed.
    "What brings you to these parts?" Cheyenne asked. 
    "Just a few supplies and my partner has to check on a few things here in town."
    "Women? How about splittin’ the blanket with a squaw?" Cheyenne smiled.
    O'Malley spoke up, "Maybe next trip, but not this time."
    "Well if there is anything you need while you here let me know. It was good meetin' you John. Anyone who knows this old coot and Lonnie Butcher is always welcome in the Golden Palace." Cheyenne said, he turned and went about his business.
    "You know Cheyenne was raised by the Cheyenne from the time he was just a pup. They found his Ma and Pa scalped along the Bozeman trail. He left the Cheyenne and became a trapper, a scout and one hell of a mountain man." Nine Mile said with some admiration. "We trapped the Yellowstone country together when this was all Indian country. His legs started going bad on him, so he took up bartending. Don't never seem to have much trouble where Cheyenne McAllister is the bartender, and if it does start, it don't last long."  
    They finished their beer and told Cheyenne goodnight and left to get a steak for supper.
    They found a hotel and rented a room for the night. Nine Mile had to sneak Buck into the room up the back stairs.
 
    The next morning Nine Mile and Buck went to the general store for supplies and O'Malley went to the land office.
    The clerk was helpful and remembered Tom coming into the office to register the purchase of his land in Fort Rockvale. He did recall that Tom had asked about other cheap land for sale southwest of Billings. Tom had never come back to register any other purchases of land after that. 
    "Has Sam Slade registered any land purchases in the last six months?" O'Malley asked.
    "As a matter of fact he has registered several pieces of land."
    "Could I see a list of them?"
    "They're all in this book. You may look through it if you like." The clerk said handing O'Malley the large book.
    O'Malley took the book to a desk nearby and began to write down the locations where Slade had recently bought land.
     O'Malley returned the book, thanked the land office clerk and went looking for Nine Mile and Buck. Buck was still sitting outside the General Store waiting.
    Nine Mile came out the door with his arms full of packages. "Here make yourself useful." Nine Mile handed some of the packages to O'Malley. "What did you find out at the land office?"
    They walked toward the livery stable to get their horses. O'Malley said, "Tom only registered one piece of land but I got a list of land Slade has registered in the last six months. I would like to compare it with the list you got in Red Lodge."
    The got the horses saddled and the packhorse loaded, they headed toward Red Lodge not really knowing very much more about the cause of Tom's death. They did know that Slade had bought land between Billings and Red Lodge in the Rock Creek Valley.
    They spent the night on the trail near Fort Rockvale on the way back. They did not see their "shadow" on their way back but Buck seem to know for sure he was still with them. From time to time he would stop and look back and growl. Then again he would sniff the wind and stare at some unknown object, that only Buck could seem to see.
     The next morning they moved out before dawn as the last leg was going to be a long haul. They got to Nine Mile's cabin long after dark, and it was much later when they had taken care of the horses, unloaded the supplies and fixed something to eat. They were all very saddle weary by the time they got to bed about midnight.
  
    O'Malley couldn't sleep, he got up at dawn. He quietly got dressed as Nine Mile was still snoring gently. Buck quietly watched O'Malley as he slipped on his boots, picked up his coat and hat. The cabin was very cool that morning as the stove had burned out during the night.  O'Malley buckled on his six gun, unlatched the cabin door and slipped outside. A north wind was blowing and was sharp indeed. The wind held the promise that winter would soon come to the high country of the Montana Territory. O'Malley pulled his hat down against the cold and persistent wind and tugged his coat up around his neck and snuggled down inside the coat attempting to ward of the biting cold. He could see his smoky breath stream away with the wind. 
     Star stood at the corral fence with his ears pointed forward and watched as O'Malley strolled away toward the main part of Red Lodge. 
     O'Malley walked slowly toward town and was deep in thought as to what his next move should be. Nine Mile was right. He shouldn't come at Sam Slade head-on, at least, not yet. He had to tie Tom's death to Slade, then a rope would do just fine for Slade. The vigilantes around Virginia City and Alder Gulch had a sure cure for murders and had reportedly hung over a hundred men who would never murder and rob again. O'Malley remembered the vigilantes had hung the sheriff named Henry Plumber and many of the members of the "Plumber gang". So much for trusting the sheriff of Red Lodge. O'Malley had heard of the three numbers "3, 7, 77" used by the vigilantes.  No one outside the vigilantes really knew what the numbers meant. Some had speculated when it was scrawled on someone's door it would mean "straighten up you act or we will find a hole 3 feet wide, 7 feet long, and 77 inches deep for you". *
The smell of freshly brewed coffee broke through to O'Malley's mind. He suddenly realized he was at the Silver Grill cafe and it was already open for business.
 
*  The Montana Highway Patrol still has "3-7-77" on their uniform patch to this day. 

     O'Malley stepped on the boardwalk and then through the door. The warmth of the room and aroma of coffee and bacon enveloped O'Malley. The cafe was empty except for Kate. He saw her coming from the kitchen in a quick stride. 
     She looked up a bit surprised and stopped, placed her hands on her supple womanly hips and asked, "Just what are you doing out and about so early?" Not waiting for an answer, "When did you get back from Billings." 
     "We rode in after dark." 
     "Well it is good to have you back. How about some coffee?" she smiled.
     "I sure could use a cup."
     Kate poured a fresh cup for O'Malley.

     The door to the cafe opened and a man came through the door with a gust of cold wind. Kate's face became stern and her body stiffened. The man walked to a table in the corner of the cafe and sat down.
     "Trouble!" Kate whispered under her breath to O'Malley.
     Kate did not approach the table, but asked from across the room, "Can I get you something?"
     The man ordered breakfast and coffee.
     O'Malley looked at the man's face. He knew the face, but where had he seen it before? "Snake eyes!" It was the man in the jail cell in Meeteetse. His name was Catman and Kate was right, he was trouble. He worked for Slade. O'Malley looked away, sipped his coffee and understood the uneasiness he now felt. 
     Kate returned with Catman's breakfast. She set the plate in front of Catman from the opposite side of the table. 
     Catman leered at Kate. "What's the matter? Afraid to get close enough to a man who will pat that nice bottom of yours? I know you widow women like that sort of thing."
     Kate's face turned crimson with anger and contempt. "You useless excuse for a man, you aren't good enough to be a swamper in a saloon, so you have become a drunken hired gun."
     Catman's eyes looked holes through Kate. The black snake-like eyes did not blink. He stood up slowly, took his breakfast plate and threw it to the floor, shattering the plate and splattering food. His eyes never left Kate's eyes. He took a step toward Kate, drew back his arm to hit her.
     "Don't do it! It'll be the last thing you ever do on this earth, except die!" O'Malley said loudly.
     Catman froze his backswing. His eyes darted to O'Malley, who was now standing and facing Catman.
     "You man enough to carry out that threat?" Catman said in a rather quiet, even and pleasant voice as he slowly lowered his arm to his gun side. 
     O'Malley had seen men like Catman before. A cold blooded killer. No emotion. This man thought no more about killing someone than spitting in the street. Over time, if they lived long enough his type grew to enjoy the killing. O'Malley knew it was too late for talk. There was going to be gun play. His heart pounded, his mouth was dry. Time seemed to drag. Seconds seemed to strangely turn into minutes.
     "Prepare to die!" Catman said with an evil demented smile. He faced O'Malley with his hand just above the butt of his low hung pistol.
     O'Malley was not a gunfighter. He was a good shot, but he knew Catman could clear leather before he could. It was time to think of some way to even the odds.  Either that, or die. O'Malley wasn't exactly afraid to die, but right now just didn't seem to be the best time.  He knew Catman's draw would be one quick movement. Catman would draw using his thumb to cock the single action revolver as the palm of his hand brought the butt up. His finger would move to the trigger. As the revolver cleared the front of the holster, the barrel would arch up and level at O'Malley's heart, an instant later the bullet, which would send O'Malley to the hereafter as the bullet tore through his heart. Not what O'Malley had in mind when he got out of bed this morning. It could spoil a man's whole day. 
     O'Malley knew some things about how gunfighters honed their skills. They would spend hours practicing their fastdraw, then hours drawing and firing hundreds of rounds at a target.
     That's it! They fire at a stationary target! Maybe, just maybe, there was a way to even the odds. When Catman made his move, O'Malley would move to his right. O'Malley was betting his life on the repeated practice of a gunfighter to draw and fire in one movement at a 'stationary' target. With so much practice in that manner it would be next to impossible to change the technique for a moving target if he didn't expect O'Malley to move. If Catman did miss the first shot, a second shot would be deadly. O'Malley would have to make his first shot count, before Catman got off his second shot. O'Malley shifted most of his weight to his left leg and bent his right knee slightly in preparation for the move.
     Catman's smile faded away and the black snake-like eyes glared. O'Malley saw Catman's right hand move. O'Malley moved to his right as he reached for his Colt. Catman's movements were a blur. O'Malley saw the flash and the smoke billow from the barrel of Catman's gun. Searing pain and shock impact hit his left arm. O'Malley fired and shot for the heart. Catman's face showed surprise and his jaw dropped. A small black hole had appeared in the center of his chest. Catman was dead before he hit the floor as his knees buckled. Smoke was thick and the smell of death and gunpowder filled the cafe. O'Malley felt weak and sick to his stomach. Pain tore through his left arm and he felt warm wet blood flow down his arm and begin to drip from his fingers to the floor.  
     A scream from Kate startled O'Malley back from the edge of unconsciousness.  O'Malley looked at Kate who stood as if she were cast in stone.
     "My God, you have been shot!" Kate exclaimed as she moved to O'Malley's side. She saw the crimson red blood pattern on the coat about half way between the left shoulder and the elbow.
     "Sit down and take off your coat!" Kate ordered.
     A man came through the cafe door.
     "Get Doc. Carpenter and the Sheriff!" Kate yelled. She was now firmly in charge of the situation and appeared to have total control as she issued her latest order. Kate slowly removed O'Malley's coat and ripped his left shirt sleeve up to the shoulder exposing two holes on the outside of the arm. Blood oozed from both openings and flowed down the arm. Kate ordered, "Sit still!" and left for the kitchen to get a towel and water. 
     She returned moments before the doctor arrived.  
     The doctor checked Catman for any signs of life, he shook his head and turned to a man in the crowd which had gathered outside the cafe. "Get the undertaker." Doc. Carpenter checked O'Malley's arm. "Missed the bone, went clean through, in and out." 
     Kate cleaned the wounds and applied a bandage under the doctors supervision. The doctor added a sling and said, "Come by my office tomorrow, and don't use the arm for a while. It will be very sore tomorrow and will probably throb tonight."
     The sheriff pushed through the crowd as the doctor finished talking to O'Malley. 
     "One dead; one winged. Catman was shot once in the chest. From the front. This man over here is just plain lucky." the doctor said as he was leaving.
     The sheriff looked at the man lying on the floor, "I'll be damned. It's Bob Catman!" He turned and walked to O'Malley and asked, "What happened here?" 
     Kate answered first. "Catman went for his gun and Mr. Roberts shot him."
     The Sheriff looked suspiciously at O'Malley, but didn’t say a word. He looked from O'Malley to Catman and back to O'Malley. Not really believing what he saw. "You a gunfighter?" the sheriff asked pointedly.
     "Nope." O'Malley answered.
     The sheriff didn't like O'Malley's answer. How could a "cattle buyer" kill a fast gun like Catman in a fair gunfight? The sheriff pulled his revolver, held it on O'Malley and took his Colt. "You two come with me. You have a lot of explaining to do until I get to the bottom of this. You, Mr. Roberts, have given me two bodies in less than a week. Now let's go."

     The sheriff put O'Malley in a cell and questioned Kate for over an hour. He then turned Kate loose and had O'Malley come into the office. The sheriff questioned O'Malley over every detail several times and compared O'Malley's version of what happened against what Kate had told him. At long last the exasperated sheriff said, "Here is your gun. You are going to need it. Once the word gets out Catman was killed in a fair gunfight you will have fast guns from all over the Territory coming to town to try you.  If, I knew who caused the two other murders, I would run you out of town. Until I say different. Don't leave these parts."
     At that moment, Nine Mile stormed into the sheriff's office carrying a double barreled shotgun. "What in thunderation is going on here? Why is this pilgrim under arrest? I hear tell he shot a no account, killer, polecat in a fair gunfight, so why is he under arrest?"
     The sheriff scowled at Nine Mile. He looked at O'Malley and said, "You are free to go. And as for you." Looking back at Nine Mile, "Get the hell out of my office with that scatter gun."
     Nine Mile and O'Malley left the office together. "What were you planning to do with the shotgun?" O'Malley asked.
     Nine Mile didn't answer. "Kate wants to see you at the cafe Mr. Smarty Pants Roberts." He grumbled on, "Luckiest damn pilgrim I ever seen. Winged in the arm, and actually kills the 'fast gun.' Now I'm a totin' a shotgun all over town. It must be the company I have been takin' up with lately. Just got to keep better company."

     There was a "Closed" sign in the window of the cafe. Kate was scrubbing blood stains from the wood floor. 
     Seeing Nine Mile and O'Malley she said, "Sit down. I'll get some coffee." She pulled the curtains closed and got the coffee. She poured each of them a cup, wiped her hands and sat down. "You were set up and lucky to be alive." Kate said flatly. "Bob Catman came in here to get you in a gunfight and kill you." She said with certainty.
     "How do you figure?" O'Malley asked.
     "Simple. Bob Catman has been in here many times, but he has never touched me or said anything out of the way. I didn't like Catman and he seemed to know it, but I always served him and kept my distance. He knew you and I were friends and probably wouldn't let him hit me without getting involved. And; Catman knew you were in the cafe."
     "How do you know that?" O'Malley asked.
     “I saw Catman walk by the cafe several times this morning after I was open, but he did not come in. I think he was watching and waiting for you. The fact is he came in right after he saw you come in.” Kate said with certainty.
     “I think you may be right. Now that I think about it I agree with you. Slade must have put him up to it.” O’Malley said.
     “With Catman dead, you will never be able to prove that Slade had anything to do with the shooting.” Nine Mile reflected.
     “John, you have lost a lot of blood. You need to get some rest. Nine Mile, you take him to your cabin and have him get some rest.” Kate ordered in a firm voice.

Nine Mile looked at O’Malley and nodded. O’Malley did not feel like discussing the order from Kate. He got up slowly and walked on his own to the door. Slowly, but steadily Nine Mile and O’Malley walked to Nine Mile’s cabin.
Proceed to Chapter 5