Buell and Twiggs manhandled it off the wagon, and Buell rolled it toward the wall.
An hour later the empty wagons left, and the three men formed a wall of bundled meadow grass, the contraband completely hidden. With a gaping yawn, Twiggs headed for the saloon. “I’ll see you guys later this morning. I’ve gotta get some sleep.”
Simon followed Spud into the house where Simon sank onto the couch and the dog curled up in front of the door. About five minutes later, Buell came in carrying his saddlebags and slumped into the easy chair. Simon avoided Buell’s eyes for as long as he could. “Well, go ahead and say it,” he finally blurted.
“I’m havin’ a hard time findin’ the words. This is exactly what Gus at the store back home was doin’, and it’s what damn near got you thrown in jail. I remember the holy hell you raised about how you couldn’t trust anyone anywhere. Well, now you know why.”
“Are you condemning me?” Simon pulled himself to the edge of the sofa. His face had started to heat up.
“Hell, no—I’m gonna go celebrate. Simon has finally come down here where most of us live. Now you see what it’s like to take care of yourself.”
“I’m not just takin’ care of myself. I have a business to run, and people who depend on me. There are over twenty soldiers who will get a few extra dollars for this. And Twiggs and Barrschott are just that much closer to getting what they need. So it isn’t just for me.”
“Horseshit. You still won’t admit it. Simon did this for Simon. Take a look. You got muck all over ya. Everybody can see it, but nobody minds cuz they got it on them too. This is what it’s like down here, Simon. You’ll learn to live with it. I’ve been here all my life.”
Simon threw his hands in the air. “I’m having a hard enough time with this without you preaching to me, Buell.”
“Preachin’? I’m not sayin’ a thing. You’re the one who’s lookin’ around for reasons to feel better about somethin’ most of us have to do jist to get along. I really don’t care what you do, and care even less about why. I just don’t want ya lookin’ down yer nose at the rest of us while ya do it.” Buell’s eyes glinted in the lamplight.
Simon’s mouth worked itself open and shut a few times, then he swallowed hard. “I guess I’m trying to have it both ways. I apologize.”
“Fer what? I told ya I don’t care.”
“I apologize for the deception. Somehow it made it easier if you didn’t know. Maybe I was dreading to hear you say, ‘I told you so.’ I expected you to gloat. I had no reason to think that. You walked in on me stealing—outright thievery.”
Buell’s face wore a faint smile and he returned Simon’s gaze.
Simon looked down at the floor. “And while you were gone, I watched Lori in the kitchen one morning, and I imagined her naked. To make things worse, she caught me looking.” Simon felt miserable.
“Is this that confessin’ thing at church that Jake used to tell us about? So what, ya didn’t do nothin’ did ya?”
Simon raised his eyes. “She’s married, Buell. I know better than to lust after her.”
Buell looked at him, his face neutral. After a moment he picked up the saddlebags beside the chair, opened a flap, and took out two canvas sacks.
“Oooff,” Simon said as he caught one of the bags in the stomach. He hefted the other one. “You got it all in gold?”
“Yep. And there’s a letter from Mister Lindstrom.” He poked around in the bag and took out a crumpled envelope. “Sorry,” he said as he tried to smooth the creases.
“It’s okay.” Simon opened the envelope and stared at the letter for several seconds. He took a deep breath and looked at Buell. “And now I’m going to take an inheritance my grandfather left me and use it to buy a whorehouse.” He shook his head. “He must be turning in his grave.”
“I’m done arguing with ya, Simon. You do what you need to do.”
“You’re right. To hell with it.” The bags thudded to the floor. Spud raised his head and looked at them.
“So how’s your pa? And your new ma?” Simon forced a smile.
“I’ve never seen him so happy. Reason I’m back so soon, they took off the next day for Saint Louis for two weeks.” Buell’s face spread with a grin.
“Did ya see my folks? Of course you did. How are they?”
“Yer pa give ’em the house as a weddin’ present.”
“That’s good. That’s really good. What do Axel and Abe and the rest of them look like? Has the town gotten bigger?”
Buell held up his hand. “All right, all right, I’ll get to it.”
He dug his tobacco out and rolled a smoke. The flaring match gleamed in his eyes as he leaned back in the chair. Then they talked for the next two hours, the stillness of the night split by laughter as they relived many moments of their boyhood in Carlisle.
The stillness of the cold air amplified the squeak of leather as Simon rode through the light snow cover. Twin blasts of steamy breath blew out the horse’s nostrils as it followed Spud north through the wide valley. The stream meandering down from the heights had not yet frozen over, and to the dog’s delight, ducks, spooked from the beaver ponds, pounded into the air with quacking protests.
“Shouldn’t be long now, boys,” Simon said to his animals. The horse snorted in reply and Spud paused briefly, head cocked to receive his orders. Hearing none, he bounded off in search of more ducks.
They traveled another two miles when Spud stopped and turned to look at Simon. Halting his horse, Simon listened and heard the faint “throck” sound as an ax bit onto cold wood. He smiled. “Go find ’em, Spud.” The dog took off at a dead run.
A squat, square log hut sat amongst the tall trees. One side was stacked front to back, and ground to eaves, with split wood. The black barrel of the stovepipe pointed into the sky, breathless for the moment. Simon rode past as he followed the sound of the ax, and then he heard the rhythmic stroke and retrieve sound of a saw ripping through wood. He found them, Zahn standing on top of a log that lay in a frame, with Daggett underneath in the pit. An eight-foot-long whipsaw worked the length of the log, cutting half an inch with each stroke, twenty-four strokes a minute. He watched for five minutes before Spud went close enough for Zahn to see him.
“Hold up,” Zahn hollered at Daggett and let the saw stay down at the bottom of the stroke. “Looks like we got company, Plato.”
Simon swung off his horse and walked toward the pit. Plato emerged from the end, and Spud started barking furiously. The man was covered with sawdust; only his face under the bill of his cap remained clear of the debris. He shook, and a half a bushel of chips and dust fell away. Spud’s hackles bristled.
“It’s all right, Spud. That’s Plato,” Simon said.
Daggett took off his hat. With a woof, Spud charged across the distance, tail wagging furiously, and nearly knocked the man over.
“What brings ya up here, Simon?” Zahn asked, tugging his gloves off and extending his hand. “How’s Lori?”
“She’s fine. Never met a harder-working woman. She’d keep up with my mother. Actually, I came up out of curiosity. Like to see how this is done. How long did it take you guys to make that frame and dig this hole?” Simon peered into the cutout hillside. The smell of pine resin permeated the air.
“For a couple of fellas who say they’re out of shape, Tay and Plato damn near beat me to death. We dug the hole in a day, and built the frame in two more. Never seen it done that fast. And the cabin—we normally roll the wall logs into place, these guys just lift ’em. I’m careful not to irritate either one of ’em.”
“Where’d you get the material to stuff the cracks?”
“Weren’t hardly no cracks,” Daggett said. “This feller kin ax a line down a log like it was run from a mill. We got mud down at the creek and stuffed some in.”
“There really wasn’t much need to shape,” Zahn said. “With all the trees we had to choose from, nearly all the logs were about the same size. Wished we had a piece of glass though.
Dark as the inside of your dog when the door’s closed. I know from experience that will crawl into ya after a couple of months.”
Spud heard the word “dog” and looked up at Zahn. Then his ears pricked, and he rumbled deep in his chest.
“What do you hear?” Simon followed the dog’s gaze. A moment later Tay came striding out of the trees.
“Thought it went too quiet down here. Leave these two alone for five minutes and they sit down. Drive an old man crazy. How ya doin’, Simon?” He strode up and stuck his hand out.
“Wanted to see how this was done. It’s all very interesting, and looks like hard work.”
“I started out with Plato swamping the trees and Tay in the pit,” Zahn said. “Tay’s too impatient. Ya gotta wait for the saw to be pulled up. He was always pushing. So he went to swamping and bucking the logs into lengths. He can go as fast as he wants out there. Turns out Plato is perfect for this. If I didn’t know it was a man down there, I’d swear it was a machine.”
“So how fast you can produce lumber?”
“Plato and I can make twenty-four sixteen-foot planks a day, that’s two twenty-four-inch logs. We can lay down in a day enough to keep us busy for a week. And Tay chews ’em off for length ’bout as fast as we cut ’em. We make a hell of a crew.”
“We gonna call it a day, Zahn?” Tay asked.
“I think we can. You go get the mule, and we’ll meet ya at the cabin. Plato, go pull the wedge on that last cut and we’ll leave the saw there.”
Simon and Zahn started for the cabin.
Even with the door wide open, the inside of the cabin was gloomy, the front corners completely hidden. The sawyer lit one lamp, then the second, to reveal the orderly interior. Four low box-like affairs stood hard against two walls, eight feet long and about two and a half feet wide. Three were filled with pine boughs. A black stove sat angled in the corner with lengths of firewood stacked on either side. A simple split-plank table with four legs was bounded on two sides by equally stout split-log benches. A stack of shelves stood along half the width of the back wall, four fifteen-inch-wide planks separated vertically by short lengths of squared-off log. A more conventional table stood alongside with a washbasin and water pail on top. About two inches of sawdust covered the dirt floor.
“Does it get warm in here?” Simon glanced at the stove.
“It will. With another twenty inches of snow on top and some more drifted against the front, you’d survive without any heat if you could stay in bed.”
Simon inspected the cabin construction carefully. The notching of the corners was nearly perfect. The only light showing through was around the door. Zahn noticed him looking.
“A couple moose hides lapped over the door, and you’d never feel a draft. We used moose a lot at home. They’re plentiful and stupid.” He grinned. “The stupid part is important.”
“Is everybody getting along up . . . uh . . . no other way to say it. How’s Daggett’s drinking coming along?” Simon asked.
Zahn smiled. “It’s not. He come up here without a thing. I thought for sure he’d put something away, but he didn’t. He had several bad nights and even worse days, but I think he was going to prove something, and he has. We haven’t talked about it, but I can see he’s proud of gettin’ through it.”
“I was hoping that would happen. I’m really pleased. Plato is a good worker and a genuinely good man. Odd, now I think about it, but when I was in school I had a teacher who encouraged me to read the Greek philosophers. One of them was Plato. He said, ‘In the world of knowledge, the idea of good appears last of all, and is seen only with an effort.’ I thought then, and I told her so, that none of what they wrote could have much to do with how we live today. And now I see Plato proving Plato.”
The door opened and Tay and Daggett came in, followed by Spud. The dog did a survey of the place and lay down by the door.
“Didn’t hear you guys come up,” Simon said. “Thought I would have heard the mule.”
“Nope, it’s a real snug place,” Tay said. “The wind gets to blowin’ hard you’ll know it, but, otherwise, you can’t hear a thing. So how’s things at the ranch?”
“Nothing much to say. Lori more or less runs the dining rooms and kitchen, and Twiggs the saloon. Doesn’t leave much for me to do. Been playin’ cards more.”
“Did you see anyone at my place when you rode by?”
“Nope. Looked closed up to me. I didn’t even think to check. Should I?”
“Not really. I asked Walks Fast to stop by every once in a while just to chase the critters out. Thought maybe he mighta been there.”
“We better get you something to sleep on while we still got light,” Zahn said. He pointed at the empty box. “Tay had the notion you’d come up for a look. C’mon.” He opened the door and went out.
About twenty minutes later they came back, arms loaded with pine boughs. They stuffed them into the spare box.
“Go get your horse blanket, and we’ll find something for ya to sleep under. Don’t need much, Tay keeps the stove goin’ all night.”
The evening passed quickly as Tay impressed them with stories of his scouting days in Kansas and Oklahoma. Daggett, it turned out, had been a stagecoach driver for the Overland Stage and had been robbed three times. And the three prairie dwellers were fascinated by Zahn’s account of cities with five and six thousand residents, five-story buildings and streets with lights that stayed on all night. It was nearly midnight before the last man came back in from one final trip outside.
Simon woke to someone shaking his shoulder. His eyes fluttered open to see Tay standing over him.
“What?” Simon mumbled as he freed his arms from the heavy buffalo coat that lay on top of him. He gripped the edge of the box and sat upright.
“We got us a storm comin’ and I think you got a decision ta make.” Tay moved over to the stove and fed it another short piece of wood.
Simon struggled to get his legs over the edge of the bed. “Is it snowing?”
“Not yet, but the wind shifted during the night and now it’s still as death. Might be an hour or might be half a day, but it’s comin’.” He rubbed his leg. “Guaranteed.”
“What time is it?” Zahn asked as he sat up and stretched.
“Figger six hours since we all finally shut up and went to sleep,” Tay said. He filled the black coffeepot with water from the bucket and set it on the stove.
Simon sat on the bench and tied his shoes. “You hear what he said about the weather, Zahn?”
“Yeah. I don’t have any experience with mountain storms.”
“Well, yer gonna get some,” Tay said. “Soon’s it’s light I kin tell a little more. I’m gonna go string a line to the mules.” He opened the door and left.
“String a line?” Zahn asked.
“Sometimes it snows so hard you can’t see two feet,” Simon said. “I remember one time at home my father had to dig us out of our house. We were completely covered. First time I was ever scared in spite of being with my folks.”
Simon and Zahn were dressed when Tay returned. They left as he came in. The air outside didn’t feel as cold as when they had gone to bed, and the air stood calm. Spud disappeared into the morning gloom. Finished with their morning call, they went back into the cabin. Daggett sat on the edge of his bunk scratching at his beard. Tay stood, beating a batch of pancake batter into shape.
“See what ya mean by calm. It’s almost . . . I dunno, ghostly,” Zahn said.
“That’ll change,” Tay said. “First it’ll start to snow, big flakes, then the wind will pick up and the flakes git smaller. Ya feel that hard, gritty stuff hittin’ yer face, look for a place to hunker down.” He grinned at the discomfort showing on the flatlanders’ faces.
Steam swirled off the coffeepot. Tay shook out two hands full of ground beans into the boiling water. The aroma filled the cabin in the time it took for Tay to settle the foaming coffee. Two cast-iron skillets came off the shelf, and he unhooked a ham hangi
ng from a rafter above the back wall. Soon, several large slices were sizzling. Scratching at the front door gained the dog entrance, and he padded through the sawdust to sit by the stove.
Tay stacked the hot ham steaks on a tin plate, salvaging the grease in a used milk can. The first pancake came off the stove about three minutes later, and for the next half hour a steady stream of batter poured into the smoking skillets transformed into the golden disks that the men subconsciously urged out of the pan. Satisfied, the three men, elbows set on the table, breathed the coffee smell off the cups they held.
“That was wonderful, Tay,” Simon said. “You ever need a job, you got one in my kitchen.”
“T’ain’t likely.” Tay cooked five more cakes and lay the skillet on the woodpile to cool. Picking up a full serving of ham, he put the slice between two pancakes and laid the improvised sandwich on the overturned kindling box. Zahn’s eyebrows went up in surprise as Tay smooched Spud away from the door, and pointed at the food. “There ya go.” He met Zahn’s surprised expression with a chuckle. “Ya don’t think he ain’t hungry too?”
“Just never seen a dog fed in the house, I guess.”
“Out here a dog is more’n a dog, he’s a partner. Person who don’t see it that way shouldn’t have one. Personally, I find ’em a nuisance, but this’n is special. He’s earned his keep.”
Tay poured molasses over his own pancakes and ate standing up. When he was finished, Daggett gathered up the dishes, put them in a beat-up pan and grabbed the water bucket. Tay followed him out the door.
“Sure glad he agreed to come along,” Zahn said. “I’m a terrible cook, and Plato can’t even get out of bed unless he smells coffee. Tay had all the groceries boxed and ready when we picked him up. Half the stuff I would have never have thought of.”
“Buell and I spent some time with him when we first came to Fort Laramie. He’s an amazing man, full of talents you’d never dream he had. You ought to hear him whistle. He can actually warble like a bird. He grumps and huffs a lot, but he’s as good as they come.”
Laramie Page 13
