by John Legg
“Thankee for tellin’ us, Homer,” Squire said. “It’ll mean a bit more work, but it won’t stop us from buyin’ any good horses ye got.”
Bellows beamed. No, this man was nothing like his reputation, which said he was something of a wild man, vicious and bloodthirsty. This man was quiet and calm, at peace with himself and the world around him. Granted, he was a huge, well-muscled man, of perhaps thirty-five years, but still, he was peaceable enough.
The three men spent most of the day looking over the horses, checking for strength and endurance, haggling over prices and arguing over the attributes of nearly every animal. It was almost dark when they finished their business.
When they left their borrowed horses at the stockyard, Melton went directly to his hotel, while Squire spent the night stalking the many saloons. There were no saloons in the mountains, and he wanted to get his fill of the dark, mean dives—and the women who plied their trade in them—before he headed west again.
At one saloon, the bartender called Squire over to the side. “Ya know that fancy-lookin’ little feller ya hired on with yesterday?”
“Strapp?”
“That’s the one. Can’t say as I like that slicked-up little shit…”
“I ain’t got no likin’ for him neither. What of him?”
“I seen him talkin’ with Meisner last night.”
“Jacob Meisner?”
“The same.”
“So? Ain’t no harm in that little son of a bitch talking with another old coon from the mountains. E’en if’n he be a piece of shit of a Hudson’s Bay man.”
“I hear he’s workin’ for The Company now.”
“Workin’ for American Fur’s even worse, then.”
“They was with some mean-lookin’ cuss and the three of ’em was talkin’ up a storm. And I saw that Strapp feller passin’ ol’ Meisner some coins. Gold they was.”
“Ye hear anything they said?”
“Naw. Thought I heard your name a time or two, but I ain’t certain. I figured ya might like to know it, though. Somethin’ about that fancy-ass dandy sets my teeth to hurtin’.”
“Thanks, Brown,” Squire chuckled. He slipped a small coin across the bar and then turned and walked away, mulling the information as he sat at a table. A chance meeting? Unlikely. Perhaps Strapp, who was no more fond of Squire than Squire was of him, was merely trying to hire on another old hand to guide the group, and probably for less money.
A wide, blowsy strumpet came along and perched on Squire’s lap. Willingly he filed away the information about Strapp and Meisner and turned his attentions to the woman.
Chapter Three
SQUIRE strode through the walnut-paneled lobby of the fanciest hotel in St. Louis. He made his way to the dining room, ignoring the stares of the hotel’s patrons as he waded through like a whaling ship cutting a swath through an angry ocean. He was a vision to most of these people, who had never seen anything quite like him before. The satin-covered chair creaked under his weight as he settled across the table from Melton.
“Mornin’, Colonel,” he said jovially, though his head pounded and his stomach squirmed under his belt.
“Good morning’, Mr. Squire. I hope you passed a pleasant evening.”
Squire grinned. “Aye, mostly. Lost a few too many sou at the monte tables, and drank a cup or two more’n I should’ve. But neither matter none. Out where we be headin’ there ain’t no saloons, and no gaming tables, and no”—he grinned hugely— “white women, so I figured I’d be gettin’ my fill of all of ’em afore we leave out.”
Melton laughed. “Sounds like your evening was a sight better than mine. My backside is telling me that I’m a little out of practice where the saddle is concerned. Too much riding in coaches. I’m beginning to think I’ll be a hindrance on the trail.”
“You’ll be doin’ just fine, Colonel.”
“I hope so, Mr. Squire.”
“I be thinkin’, Colonel, that if’n we aim to work together, ye should be callin’ me somethin’ other’n Mr. Squire. Ye can use Nathaniel, if you’re of a mind to. Or ye can be usin’ what the Injins and the Frenchies be callin’ me: L’on Farouche.” It was said with fierce pride.
“What does L’on Farouche mean? I know some French, but that is unfamiliar to me.”
“It means wild man or crazy man. To some I be lookin’ a wee bit unkempt and more wild than any Injin. Others be thinkin’ I’m touched.” He tapped his temple, staring evenly across the table.
Melton stared calmly back, but his thoughts banged around inside his head. My God, he thought, what have I gotten myself into? In the two short days since he had hired Squire, the Colonel had heard snippets of some very disturbing rumors. Rumors of a savage, bloodthirsty, giant white man who roamed the mountains, slaughtering Indians for leisure, and feasting on the bodies afterward. Rumors of a huge man with white skin and a full, bushy beard who lurked in mountain passes, smiting the unwary down with his mighty fists and—
“Your order, sir?” the waiter asked for the third time.
“Ah, yes. Sonny,” Melton said hastily, shaking himself out of the strange rumination. “My thoughts were elsewhere.” He felt the heat rising on the back of his neck as the waiter and Squire stared at him.
He managed to calm himself during breakfast, stealing surreptitious glances at Squire. Before long, he decided Squire was not really a ghoul, and that the stories he had heard were just that—tall mountain tales that grew and stretched with every telling.
Melton acknowledged that Squire probably could be quite bloodthirsty when called upon to be so. But under normal circumstances, he was just a very large, strong man, who created fear in most people he met.
After the meal, Melton pulled two cigars from a jacket pocket and offered one to Squire. Stirring up his courage, he asked, “What’s your background, Mr. Squire? I mean, Nathaniel. I detect traces of English and French and God only knows what else in your speech.”
Squire sat back and puffed contentedly on the cigar. He was not sure whether to be annoyed. Out here men did not ask such questions of one another. Still, he had seen the fear and worry that splashed across the Colonel’s face when he had mentioned his “other” name, and he knew Melton was looking for some reassurance.
“Well, my father be of English stock, my mother of Irish. I picked up most of my speech ways from them when I was but a lad, of course. Still, I left home when I was young and headed out here. M’sieur Lisa was Spanish, and so I took some ways from him. But a heap of his men were French-Canadians. I took up with some of ’em soon after gettin’ to the Stony Mountains. When I left M’sieur Lisa’s employ, I threw in with the French. That and bein’ out there, winterin’ with other mountaineers and such, I picked up other sayin’s.” He trailed off and shrugged. It was the best explanation he was capable of. It would have to suffice.
Melton nodded in understanding, knowing he had touched a nerve by asking such questions. But he was calmed by the fact that Squire had answered as best he could and had not gone off in a rage. He had not made a mistake in choosing this man, despite the rumors and despite what the wild Indians called him. “Well,” he asked, reassured, “what have you planned for us today, Nathaniel?”
“Reckon we ought to be lookin’ to our supplies, Colonel. We got a heap of things to be done if’n we want to be leavin’ out in two weeks or so. I still got to meet the boys ye hired and see what we be up against. And most of them horses still got to be broke. ”
Melton stood. “Then I think we should be on our way.”
They roamed from store to store, taking stock of what each had to offer. The list of supplies they would need seemed endless: rifles, muskets and pistols, both for trade and because most of the boys would not be expected to furnish their own; bars of lead for balls; kegs of powder; flints; traps; small tools and replacement parts for the guns and traps; lengths of chain; some blacksmithing gear; knives; tomahawks; axes; rope; blankets; flour, salt, bacon and other foodstuffs; and carefull
y wrapped earthen jugs of fiery whiskey.
They also needed trade goods: beads, mirrors, bolts of cloth, awls, tomahawks, knives, pots and kettles, anything the tribes would take in exchange for furs—and to ensure safe passage through their lands.
The mugginess was oppressive and Melton’s covered coach offered little respite. The Colonel looked pale when he finally pulled the coach to a stop to leave Squire off at a small, dingy boardinghouse.
Squire stepped out of the wagon and turned back. “We done a heap of work today, Colonel, and we be near done with the buyin’. If’n I was ye, I’d let William take o’er the rest of the arrangin’ and such. It’d be doin’ his soul some good to this chil’s thinkin’.”
“You don’t care much for William, do you, Nathaniel?”
“Not the least littlest bit, Colonel. He ain’t much of a man the way I see it. Too fainthearted for my thinkin’, and he be havin’ some curious ways about him.”
“That he does,” Melton said in resignation. “But he’s a good businessman.”
Squire grinned. “That ain’t gonna help him where we be headin’.”
“We must try to help him then. ”
“I know ye be puttin’ your trust in him, Colonel. I’ll ...”
“I do not trust him,” Melton hissed with more vehemence than Squire had ever heard him use. Normally the Colonel was a calm, jovial man, much involved in life and all its little byways. Squire was surprised—pleasantly—at the fire that glittered in him now.
“No,” Melton said a bit more calmly. “Never would I trust him.” He looked around furtively. “I have my suspicions about William and his connections to my backers. Indeed, I sometimes think he was sent to keep an eye on me, to report to my people in the East. I can’t prove that, of course, and there are times when I think that notion foolish.”
“Then leave him here, Colonel,” Squire said conspiratorially. “He ain’t with us in the mountains, he can’t make no reports on ye.”
A light glimmered in Melton’s eyes for a moment before dying. “My wife would never forgive me for not doing my best by her brother. Sometimes I think it foolish that anyone should marry someone who has a family ...”
He did not see the glint of recognition and sympathy that passed briefly across Squire’s face. All the giant mountain man said was, “Well, I’ll be doin’ what I can for him. I just hope—for your sake, and for his—that it be enough.” He straightened, pulling his brawny torso away from the carriage. “G’night, Colonel.” Squire shook his head as he watched Melton ride away. He did not like it. Not one bit. There were pieces that did not fit together in all this: the bartender’s tale of Strapp dickering with Meisner and the rough-looking man; Strapp’s desire to go west into the wilds when everyone knew he was not suited for it; Melton’s suspicions. It stewed in the back of Squire’s mind, bothering him.
He was not afraid for himself, but he liked and respected Melton. He shook his head in annoyance, but finally he decided, as he headed for a saloon, that he would just have to be extra wary. He smiled. That was second nature to him. If trouble arose, he would be ready.
Chapter Four
MORNING broke just like the last several—hot and muggy. St. Louis squatted in the humidity like a crawfish at the bottom of a Cajun cooking pot. Through the steaming city walked Nathaniel Squire, Colonel Melton and William Strapp, all growing more irritable as they made their way toward Homer Bellows’s stockyard. Strapp was especially petulant at having been dragged along.
“I have many things to do if we are to leave on time,” the slim, thirtyish Strapp complained. “I do not need to go looking at a bunch of infernal animals.”
“It’ll do ye a heap of good,” Squire said, still good-naturedly, though his patience was wearing thin.
Melton walked along quietly, wondering at why Squire had insisted that Strapp come along. But there was no good opportunity to question the mountain man, and worrying over it would do no good. Melton instead turned his mind toward the myriad things that still had to be accomplished before they could leave. He often thought these days that they would never be able to get going.
“I’m really sorry, Mr. Squire,” Bellows said nervously after the three men arrived at the corral. “But I ain’t got no mules. Not a goddamn one. The farmers round here like their mules. Won’t hardly part with ’em for nothin’. Nope.”
“Ye know where we might be findin’ some?”
“Not for sure. But there’s a few farmers northwest of here that’s got a bunch of prime mules. Got money troubles, too, from what I hear. They might be willin’ to get rid of some of ’em for some cash money.”
“Where?”
“Eight, maybe ten miles up the way. Toward Franklin. I ain’t certain they’ll part with any, ya understand, but no harm in askin’.”
Squire nodded.
“Thank you, Mr. Bellows,” Melton said. “If you hear of other good mules for sale, I would be in your debt if you kept me in mind.”
“Sure thing, Colonel.” Interest flickered in his eyes, and he thought this might be a way to curry some favor with Melton and Squire. He would make an extra effort to find these two men some mules, if that’s what they wanted.
“I aim to be usin’ my own horse this day, Colonel,” Squire said. “Ye got a horse?”
“Only those pulling the carriage.”
“I reckon Homer here can accommodate us, eh, Homer?”
“Yep. I got riding horses. Yep. Ya want one, Colonel? Or two?” His eyes twinkled, and Squire’s estimation of Bellows rose considerably.
“Two, I think. It’ll do William good to sit a saddle for the day. ” He smiled when he saw the grin on Squire’s face.
“But, Colonel,” Strapp objected, his face screwing up as if in pain. “There’s much to be done here. I see no reason for me to go riding off across this barren countryside to meet with a bunch of farmers for the use of some goddamn mules.”
“That will be enough, William,” Melton snapped. His patience was stretched thin by the heat and the many things left to be done. “You’ll be astride a horse almost constantly when we leave. It’ll do you good to sit one now. It’ll toughen you up in the right places.”
Strapp glowered, then looked away as Melton, Bellows and Squire laughed.
“I got some things to get at my room, Colonel,” Squire finally said. “I’ll fetch up some horses here and meet ye back at your hotel, if’n that suits ye.”
“That’ll be fine, Nathaniel. William and I will await you there.”
Thirty minutes later, Squire gave a rambunctious boy a penny to run into the hotel and get Melton and Strapp. The two men stepped out into the heat a few minutes after the boy had charged into the lobby, bringing forth several angry shouts from the innkeeper. Melton stopped and his mouth fell open when he spotted Squire sitting on the biggest horse he had ever seen.
The pure black stallion stood nearly seventeen hands high, and Melton figured he must weigh close to thirteen hundred pounds. Not a speck of color broke the glossy, ebony coat of the horse, and the flowing mane and tail glistened like crows’ wings in the blistering sunlight.
“That’s some piece of horseflesh you have there, Mr. Squire,” Melton said with awe in his voice.
Squire nodded proudly. “Aye, Colonel. The best. You take this here roan. It be a good horse, if’n we can believe Homer, and more suited to your height and weight.”
Melton mounted the roan.
A grumbling William Strapp pulled himself onto a rangy bay that seemed to eye him as nervously as he did the horse.
Squire moved out fast, glad to be free of the bustle of St. Louis. As he jogged his horse past the last house and onto the open land, he wished they were already on their way to the mountains. And once again he had a flash of regret at having signed on with the Colonel. He liked Melton all right, but still . . . if he had not signed on, he would have left several days ago. Indeed, the night Melton had found him in the saloon probably would have been his last in
St. Louis. He had planned to be on the trail the next morning.
He grew more and more angry at his situation. “Merde” he finally muttered, annoyed that he had wasted so much of his time in useless wishing. “Come on, boy,” he shouted at the midnight black stallion. The horse burst forward, racing across the wide swath of browned grass.
Within minutes Squire was grinning into the rushing of the wind, and he finally slowed his horse, waiting for Melton and Strapp to catch up. He felt much better for having done this, and the horse seemed to prance, also happy to have encountered some freedom after too long in the stables of the city.
The three riders ranged far and wide that day. At their first stop, a group of farmers were, indeed, cash poor and willing to part with nearly a dozen prime mules for some hard specie. Their next stops were less fortuitous. They bought one mule here and maybe two at another place, not more than one or two at any farm.
It was a long, tedious day, and less than an hour after they had left the confines of St. Louis, Strapp began to complain about his fate, and the heat, and his sore behind, about the uselessness and tedium of all this, of the amount of work that still faced him back in town. He grumbled and whined throughout the day, blaming first Squire, then Melton, then God and anyone else whose name came to mind, for his ordeal.
By the time they had finished buying mules and were headed back to St. Louis, Melton was hot, tired and sore. His tolerance was exhausted. “William!” he snapped. “Will you please stop that infernal complaining? Your lamentations do you no good and are draining on us all.”
“The Colonel be right, William,” Squire said. “Ye ain’t but makin’ things worse. Homer told me your horse has a testy nature, and he be gettin’ weary. He just might see to be givin’ ye a hard time.”
“I can handle my mount, Mr. Squire,” Strapp snarled, anger at Squire growing. “You need not worry yourself about me.”
