Winter Rage (Mountain Times Book 1)

by John Legg

  “Suit yourself, lad.” Squire turned his face away, so that neither Strapp nor Melton could see his tight grin.

  As they rode along slowly, baking in the stifling afternoon, Squire dropped back a few feet at a time, until he was less than two yards ahead of Strapp. He glanced over at Melton, who rode off a little ways to the side. The Colonel dozed, riding slack in the saddle.

  With his Hawken cradled in his left arm, Squire quietly slipped his right hand into the bag that hung from the saddle horn. He snagged a short piece of rope and, with a flick of his wrist, tossed it to the ground right in front of Strapp’s horse.

  The bay snorted, then squealed in fright as it reared back on its hind legs. Strapp scrabbled for a hold, nearly getting dumped on the ground. With a desperate lurch, he grabbed the pommel and clung to it as the horse bolted and raced wildly away.

  Melton’s eyes popped open at the first sound. He sat his horse, holding the animal tightly in check. He glanced at Squire and saw that the large mountain man was roaring with laughter. It was a side of Squire he had not seen beforehand a rather pleasing one, he thought. So far.

  Squire finally choked off the laughter and dismounted. Walking a few steps, he bent and picked up the short length of rope. He held it out for the Colonel to see. “That hoss thought this here was a snake,” he said, chuckling again. “That ol’ hoss got no likin’ for snakes at all, or so Homer told me. Reckon he was tellin’ true.”

  “You planned this?” Melton asked, not really surprised.

  “Aye, Colonel. That I did. I gave William that ol’ hoss just in case he thought to go makin’ himself a pain in the ass. I was just teachin’ him a lesson.” And, he thought, it wouldn’t hurt to put Strapp in his place.

  Squire did not know it, but Melton felt the same. “Well, I’ll be damned,” the Colonel laughed. He looked out across the slightly rolling land that danced in the heat, and saw only a cloud of dust in the distance. Belly still shaking with the laughter, he asked, “Will that horse ever stop running?”

  “Aye, Colonel. He’ll tire out in a few miles.”

  Squire remounted and the two men rode off, both still bubbling with chuckles.

  They grew quiet, comfortable in the silence and in the solitude of each other’s company. But Squire kept an eye on Melton, who seemed to be lost in thought. “Somethin’ botherin’ ye, Colonel?” the mountain man finally asked.

  “No. ” He hesitated. “Well, yes, but nothing I can quite get hold of. It’s William.” He paused for some seconds before saying, “I would think you have figured out that William has never been a man for an honest day’s labor. Not hard labor, at least. Keeping books, yes. Ordering others about, yes. Politicking and scheming, yes. But hard work? I’m afraid not.”

  He took a piece of jerky from a saddlebag and tore off a piece with his strong, prominent teeth that made him look a little like a horse. “He had no intention at first of going along with us to the mountains. But he suddenly changed his mind, and now he is almost eager to join us in this dangerous enterprise. It seems odd, so very odd . . .’’He trailed off, lost in his ponderings.

  “Don’t ye go worryin’ on it, Colonel,” Squire said softly, though his voice, well suited to the size of the man that produced it, carried far. “We can’t be worryin’ o’er what Strapp is thinkin’ or doin’. We’ll just keep an eye on him and be ready in case he tries somethin’. But for now, we be havin’ more important things to be concerned o’er. Like me gettin’ to meet them goddamn pilgrims ye hired.”

  “But, what about William?” Melton asked.

  “I told ye not to go worryin’ ...”

  “No, that’s not what I mean,” Melton said with a chuckle, waving his hand at the distant landscape.

  “Aye,” Squire said, smiling. “Well, I reckon he’ll be back.”

  Chapter Five

  “MON Dieu, Colonel,” Squire grumbled. “Look at them boys. Goddamn, ye can’t call one of ’em a trapper.”

  Colonel Melton was struck once again by the incongruity of the illiterate, hulking mountain man and his use of fairly fluent French. Combined with the garbled version of English most of the American mountain men used, it made an interesting dialect.

  Melton cleared his throat, looking embarrassed. “It is the best we could do, I’m afraid, Nathaniel. The fellows who have experience were signed by others earlier, as you’ve pointed out more than once.”

  Squire looked over the ragtag assembly. Most of the men of Melton’s brigade were young, still in their teens. A few were old and grizzled; losers, or they wouldn’t be here. They were uniformly unwashed, unshaven—if they could raise a beard at all—and poorly dressed.

  “Ye put ’em on the payroll yet, Colonel?” Squire asked as he shook his head in disgust and regret.

  It was Strapp who answered. “No, Mr. Squire,” he said with contempt. “We have not. They will not be paid until they have done some work for which they earn pay.”

  Annoyance splashed over Squire’s face as Strapp continued. “These men—boys—are not reliable, Mr. Squire. Given money, most’d probably go off to the nearest saloon or bawdyhouse and spend it all.”

  “So would I, William,” Squire said. “As would any man.n

  The emphasis made Strapp squirm. Squire once more looked over the sad-looking lot of men who, like so many crows, perched on or against the rickety rails surrounding Bellows’s corral. They looked pitiful with their sunken eyes and cheeks, their filthy, torn clothes. He walked over to one of them, a slightly built youth no more than fifteen, he guessed, too young yet to even raise peach fuzz.

  “When’s the last time ye ate, lad?” he asked.

  The youth mumbled something Squire couldn’t hear.

  “Speak up for yourself, lad. I ain’t aimin’ to hurt ye none.”

  “Near to a week since I had my belly full, sir. Had a few crumbs a day or so ago, but it didn’t stick.”

  “Aye, so I thought. What be your name?”

  “Hank, sir. Hank Carpenter.” It was barely a whisper, as if the youth was afraid to use his voice, ashamed that it hadn’t changed, deepened any.

  “Ye look a mite young to be headin’ out for such doin’s as we are, lad. And ye be a scrawny one, too. I ain’t so sure I’ll be lettin’ ye join in this little adventure.”

  The thin, dirty, bare chin came up, and the light green eyes under the raggedy, broad-billed cap snapped with fire. “I can do my share.” Carpenter was angry. “Don’t you worry none about that. I’ll show you.”

  Squire smiled. He was pleased with this one, and his doubts about the youth’s abilities eased. “Aye, lad, I reckon ye will.” He looked down the line of solemn, hungry faces. Only four stood out. Three were nearly as big as Melton, though not yet turning to fat, as was the forty-two-year-old Colonel. Not yet in their prime, they looked as if they could handle themselves and do more than their share of work. The fourth was a barrel-chested man of medium height in his mid-twenties. He had a mean face and flat eyes. He stood off to himself and did not have the hungry look of the others. Squire noted it, knowing instinctively that he would have trouble somewhere with this one.

  Squire spun to face Melton and Strapp. “Colonel,” he said forcefully, “I be wantin’ these lads fed. And fed good. Out of your purse, not their wages.” He ignored Strapp’s attempted retort, plunging on. “They ain’t gonna be of no use to us if’n they ain’t got their strength. When their bellies be full, give ’em a few pesos of their wages to do with what they choose. They’ll be earnin’ it soon enough. Then ye can be findin’ ’em a place to spend their nights till we be settin’ out, e’en if’n it be only a stable with clean straw.”

  “If you think it wise, Nathaniel,” Melton said, skepticism evident in his voice.

  “I do.”

  Melton made up his mind instantly, doubt vanishing. “Then it’ll be done. See to it, William.”

  “I don’t think it wise, Leander,” Strapp argued. “Feed them, yes. Perhaps even help them find a pl
ace to sleep. But to give them wages they have not earned is foolish. A bad precedent.”

  “Don’t ye go worryin’ about your gold, William,” Squire assured him, his eyes as cold as a mountain stream. “I’ll be seein’ to it ye get your money’s worth from these lads. If’n any of ’em takes his coins and runs, I’ll be seein’ to it that ye get paid back from my own wages—if’n they don’t pay ye back themselves.” The towering mountain man turned to face the group of men. “Now ye lads’ve just heard what I told the Colonel. The money you’ll be gettin’ this day be all you’re gonna see till we get back from the mountains. Spend it as ye will.”

  He paused, watching as the men’s faces brightened and an excited babble arose at the prospect of a full belly and a pocket full of coins. “But,” Squire added loudly, commanding attention, “if’n any of ye be thinkin’ to get your money and set to runnin’, ye’d best know that I’ll be comin’ after ye.”

  He hesitated again, letting the words settle. He could see on their faces that the men, for the most part, knew he meant it. He figured it would keep almost all the men in line. “And don’t ye lads be doubtin’ I’ll be doin’ it, neither. Aye, lads, I will. And when I be catchin’ up with ye . . .” He finished by spitting a huge gob of tobacco juice into the dust.

  “Who in hell are you?” shouted one of the three big men Squire had noticed. The young man pushed himself away from the fence.

  Squire gazed at him in bemusement. “I be Nathaniel Squire, and I be the meanest devil this side of the gates of Hell, boy. I’ll be leadin’ this here shivaree.” His eyes traveled along the gaunt faces arrayed before him. “Now, if’n any of ye lads be takin’ a dislikin’ to that, ye’d best be sayin’ your piece now so’s we can be settlin’ it.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, the big youth stepped forward. “I can’t rightly say that I don’t like you leadin’ this here adventure, but I’m damned sure I don’t take kindly to the way we’ve been treated so far.” He nodded in self-importance as the men behind him grumbled in agreement.

  “Would ye like to be doin’ somethin’ about it, lad?” There was dark menace in the words, though they were spoken calmly.

  “Well, now, Mr. Squire, I just might.”

  “C’mon, then, lad. Do your worst.”

  The youth inched forward. He flexed and rolled the muscles in his back and shoulders, loosening them, as if he was trying to impress the others—or build up his courage.

  He was maybe eighteen, Squire thought, and powerfully built. Squire figured the youth to be almost six feet four and about two hundred twenty pounds. He’d be a real big one, Squire thought. Once he fully filled out. He had a broad, open face topped by a wild thatch of light brown hair. He had little hair on his face, and what was there was so light in color as to be invisible. His clothes were homespun, tattered and patched, and could barely contain his bulk.

  Outwardly the youth looked confident, as if he was accustomed to winning. But fear lurked in his heart. He was having second thoughts now that he had moved closer to Squire and took in the size of the man. Combined with the smell of old whiskey, tobacco, sweat and crusted buckskins, the mountaineer was an imposing figure. The youth was more attuned to dealing with fellow farm boys who were feeling their oats, looking for a good fight. Squire looked like a man who might kill people for fun.

  Squire waited calmly for a few moments before saying, “Don’t be takin’ the whole goddamn day about it, lad.” He spit more tobacco juice. “There be others here just waitin’ to sit to a full table.”

  The youth crouched and sprang in what he thought was a surprise move. Squire was ready. As the young man attacked, Squire curled his massive right hand into a ball that resembled the head of a good-sized blacksmith’s hammer. He dodged to one side and swung the gnarled fist as the young man roared in on him.

  The calloused knuckles caught the charging youth square in the forehead. The young man snapped straight up and then toppled backward, without a sound. As he sprawled in the dirt, Squire faced the others. “Any of ye others care to be arguin’?”

  The others mumbled among themselves, shaking their heads, quite awed and decidedly cowed. It was obvious they wanted no part in tangling with this giant.

  “Then I’d be sayin’ ye lads best just set here peaceable till the arrangin’ for your food and wages is done.”

  Under Melton’s watchful eye, Strapp paid the men. Then the two of them escorted the trappers to a nearby cafe. After arranging with the cafe owner to pick up the tab for the meals, Melton and Strapp left the men, who were shouting happily at their newly gained fortunes.

  Squire remained at the stockyard to tend to the unconscious young man. It was more than half an hour before the youth awoke. He sat up slowly, as if afraid to move his head.

  “Well, lad,” Squire soothed as the youth did so. “How’re ye feelin’?”

  “Like I was kicked by one of my daddy’s mules. ” The boy held his head in his hands. “What’n hell did you hit me with anyway?”

  Squire held up his fist, and the youth flinched. The mountain man opened the fist and stroked his lush beard. “What be your name, lad?” he asked, astounding the youth with the gentleness of his voice.

  “Abner Train, sir,” the subdued youth answered.

  “Glad to be makin’ your acquaintance, Abner.” Squire stood and offered Train his hand, pulling the youth to his feet. “Ye still plan to be ridin’ out with us?”

  Train looked up at the mountain man with respect, all his cockiness gone. “Sure,” he said happily. “If’n you’ll have me.”

  “Ye fixin’ to give me any more trouble?”

  “No, sir, I ain’t. I’ve learned my lesson proper.”

  “Aye, then, lad. Now let’s see about gettin’ ye somethin’ to fill your meatbag, boy.”

  “Meatbag?” Train stood wondering.

  “Your stomach, lad.”

  As they turned to leave, Squire almost smiled. He liked this young man already, and realized that in Abner Train he saw himself almost twenty years ago. With some teaching and seasoning, Train would, Squire decided, be a good man to have at one’s side.

  The two men, similar in size and temperament, though years apart in experience and age, walked the short distance to the cafe, where they found that the other hired hands had finished and departed. Like most mountain men, Squire had a bodacious appetite, and he ate huge portions of buffalo steak, potatoes, beans, squash and com. Train matched the trapper forkful for forkful, much to Nathaniel’s humor. They washed the food down with pitchers of fresh milk and after the food they drank black coffee dosed heavily with sugar.

  “Best be gettin’ your fill of sugar and such things, lad,” Squire said as he sat back and filled a small clay pipe. “You’ll not be gettin’ such things where we be headin’.”

  Train nodded and poured more coffee, scooping in the sugar. When they were finished, they strolled to the hotel. Melton, who was sitting on the porch digesting his own substantial dinner, opened his purse strings. Strapp, who must have been watching from inside, hurried out as Melton doled out Train’s wages, to Strapp’s annoyance.

  “Nathaniel,” Melton said after Train had been paid. He seemed embarrassed, as if he did not want to mention this but had to. “I’m afraid William’s concerns have proved true.”

  “How so?”

  “At least two of the men we hired were seen riding out of town shortly after they got their money.”

  “That’s right,” Strapp said accusingly. He seemed rather smug.

  “Maybe they was just lookin’ for a little quiet,” Squire said. “Get away from all this here bustling about.”

  “They were riding stolen horses, and were seen making their way toward the ferry,” Melton said solemnly.

  Squire stroked his beard. “Who was it?”

  “John Breen and Samuel Belknap. Breen’s a shifty, unpleasant-looking fellow. Belknap’s a large man. About the size of Abner here.”

  “I remember ’em.
” Squire nodded. “I’ll be seein’ to it, then, Colonel. Ye be keepin’ the men busy here. I don’t expect to be gone more’n a day or so.”

  “We’ll see to things, Nathaniel, but don’t be gone long. If you cannot catch them quickly, let it be. It’s more important that we keep to our schedule.”

  “I’ll be keepin’ it to mind.”

  Train spoke up. “I’d like to go with ya, Mr. Squire. I could be of help, maybe.”

  “That be a nice offer, but I’ll attend to these doin’s on my own.”

  “You’d be outnumbered, Nathaniel,” Melton said.

  “Two to one?” Squire chuckled. “Hell, me’n ol’ LeGrande once stood off a whole Blackfoot band all to our lonesome, Colonel. I don’t need no one’s help here.”

  “I won’t be in your way, Mr. Squire,” Train insisted.

  “How be your head, boy?”

  “Still atop my shoulders,” Train said straight-faced. “It’ll not slow me any.”

  Squire stared at him. “Why are ye so all-fired set on goin’ with me, lad?”

  “Well, sir, I reckon I’m beholdin’ to ya for not sendin’ me packin’ after what I done against ya. Besides,” he added, grinning, “it’ll be a heap better’n carin’ for the animals or some such work.”

  Squire laughed. His respect for the youth grew considerably. Yes, definitely this youth was a much younger version of Squire himself—full of grit, passion and honor. “All right, then, Abner, ye can be ridin’ with me. We’ll be settin’ out soon. Go o’er to Homer’s and tell him I said to set ye up with a horse. I’ll meet ye there in a spell.”

  Train nodded and ran off, almost bouncing in his joy, the potential danger of what he would be doing never entering into his head, his throbbing skull almost forgotten.

  When he was gone, Squire turned to Melton, anger flashing briefly through him when he saw the self-satisfied smile on Strapp’s face. He forced it back and talked quietly with Melton, assigning duties for the Colonel, Strapp and the other men— buying the last of the supplies, trying to purchase a few more mules, learning how to pack some of the supplies, helping the farrier shoe horses and mules, and more.