Winter Rage (Mountain Times Book 1)

by John Legg

  Finally, Squire, who was itching to be on his way, said, “Anything else ye be needin’ me for, Colonel?”

  “No, Nathaniel. Be on your way. And go safely.” Melton was angry at himself for worrying about the big mountain man, but he worried nonetheless.

  “Bien”

  Chapter Six

  IT took more than an hour for Squire and Train to catch the ferry to transport them across the wide Mississippi to American Bottom. Train was riding one of Homer Bellows’s horses. The trade gun and pistol he carried were from the Colonel’s stores, as were the powder horn, priming horn and shooting bag at his side, and the powder and ball.

  “How long ya been out here, Mr. Squire?” Train asked after they were settled on the ferry.

  “Twenty year or so, lad.”

  “What’s it like in them mountains?”

  “Hard to put into words. It be like nothin’ ye e’er seen afore. Afore ye get into the Stony Mountains, ye got to cross a land as far and wide as ye can see, and then some. Then the mountains themselves—they be the prettiest things . . .” His eyes had a faraway look, and Train could see in them a real longing.

  “But they can be mean, too, boy. Cold that reaches right down into your innards and sucks the life out of ye. Snow more’n belly high to a tall horse. Ye can get snowblind or snowed under afore ye e’en know it.”

  “Ya like it out there a lot, don’t ya, Mr. Squire?”

  “Aye, lad. Bein’ in a city ain’t fit for a man. It be nice for a spell, bein’ able to visit the saloons and bawdyhouses”—he grinned as Train blushed a little—“and all. But there be far too much noise and dirt and people. Ye get up in them Shinin’ Mountains and the air be as clear as can be and there be hardly no sounds ’cept the wind. And no people. That be the best part. Ye can ride for weeks, sometimes months, without settin’ eyes on another man. ”

  “How about the Injuns?”

  “What about ’em, lad?”

  “They as fearsome as people say?”

  “Can be, some of ’em, when they’ve a mind to. It don’t suit too well to put your trust in any of ’em, but some be friendly most all the time. The Nez Perce be mostly peaceable. So be the Shoshone. The Crows be the biggest horse thieves. Generally they won’t be fightin’ with ye, but they’ll steal you blind anytime ye turn your back. They do cut a fine figure, but their women’ll spread their legs for any man with a handful of foofaraw.”

  Again he smiled as Train flushed. “Now, ye take the Blackfoot. They be the most fearsome of all. They ain’t got no likin’ for a white man, though the Britishers seem to get along with ’em some. Ye e’er get close to bein’ took alive by the Blackfoot, ye might want to be thinkin’ of slittin’ your throat first. What they can do to a man ain’t pretty.”

  “What about the Sioux?”

  “Where’d ye hear of the Sioux, boy?” Squire ignored his own question and went on. “The Sioux, and their allies, the Cheyenne, be about the best warriors. They ain’t so fierce mayhap as the Blackfoot, though they kin be fierce when they’ve a mind to. Them Blackfoot is pure devilish mean, I’d be sayin’. But the Sioux fight better, ride better and got a heap more honor.”

  Train was rather surprised to hear the pride with which Squire spoke when he mentioned the Sioux. But there could be no doubting it.

  “Both the Sioux and the Cheyenne be proud people, lad. Mighty proud. But ye can treat with both of ’em if’n ye be fair.”

  “What about Injun women?” Train asked, pink painting his cheeks.

  Squire laughed. “Aye, lad, I knew ye’d be askin’ about that. A young buck like ye, with your blood runnin’ at a boil most times. ” Train’s obvious embarrassment humored Squire immensely. “Like I said afore, keep away from Crow women if’n ye can. ’Rapaho, Snake, Cheyenne, Nez Perce and Sioux be about the best. They all take good care of a man. But leave the Rees be, e’en if’n ye can get close to ’em. They be almost as black-hearted as the Blackfoot.”

  Train nodded dumbly, his mind awhirl. Thoughts of naked, lusty Indian women, fueled by remembering the rumors of his friends back home, burned through his brain. He saw himself thrusting atop a series of beautiful, dusky maidens, who squealed with the delightful pleasures he brought to them. He wanted to try every type of Indian woman he could find—and more than once.

  But lurking quietly among the carnal daydreams was the desire to find a good woman with whom to spend his life. Still, the mental pictures of lusty, brazen Indian girls would not go away easily.

  Train took a deep breath to settle the pounding and roaring of blood in his veins, before he asked, hoping that his voice did not shake, “How’d ya get out here, Mr. Squire?”

  “Ye’ve asked more’n your share of questions for this day,” Squire said with a smile. He knew exactly what the young man was thinking, could see it in the constricted look on Train’s face, in the youth’s tight voice. But Train would have to work it through himself. “And I’d be more careful from now on, was I ye. Askin’ so many questions of a man don’t shine with most coons out here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I ain’t given to talkin’ much, and I’ve done a heap of it today. I think it best if’n ye was to be tellin’ a little about yourself now. ”

  “Ain’t much to tell to the likes of you, Mr. Squire.”

  “Why’re ye out here, lad? Ye don’t look abused, nor underfed. And I doubt ye be runnin’ from the law.”

  “You ever been a farmer, Mr. Squire?”

  “A long time ago, lad, when I was but a boy. Can’t say as I remember much of it.” The last was a lie, but Train didn’t need to know that.

  “Well, it’s the most godawful thing a man can do. Break your back every day, and for naught more often than not. You’re helpless—at the mercy of the sun and the wind and the rain and the soil and the cold. It was all I ever done, and I just sat there one day knowin’ I’d be doin’ the same thing for the rest of my days. Knew I’d marry the girl on the farm next to us, or the one next to that, settle down and have a heap of younguns, and pass on the farm to them kids some day and . . .’’ He drew in a ragged breath and smiled ruefully. “So I skedaddled.”

  “Lookin’ for adventures in the Shinin’ Mountains, eh, lad? And mayhap some rollin’ under the robes with an Injin woman in a lodge somewhere?” Squire burst into laughter.

  “Guess so,” Train mumbled, face flaming red.

  “Well, lad, there ain’t no call for ye to look sheepish about it. They be better reasons for headin’ west than many folks has. And ye can be findin’ a heap of both out in them mountains. But ye best have a heap of spunk in ye, lad. You’ll be needin’ it.” Squire figured Train had it, but he just wanted to remind the youth. Train nodded as they walked their horses off the ferry. On the Eastern shore, Squire asked a small boy who was playing in the mud if he had seen the two fugitives. The child pointed toward the southeast. Squire handed the boy a copper penny and mounted up.

  “How far along ya think they are?” Train asked as they trotted off.

  “Can’t be sayin’, lad. It be at least three hours since they left town, I reckon. If’n they be pushin’ their horses, they might be four, five hours ahead of us.”

  “Reckon we’ll catch ’em?”

  “Aye.” There was no doubt in the voice.

  They followed the thieves’ trail for the rest of the afternoon. Late in the day Squire killed two rabbits that flushed as the men rode by. He cleaned the animals and hung them from his saddle horn. When the long gray shadows of dusk stretched across the landscape, Squire pulled up.

  “We stopping for the night?” Train asked.

  “Nay, lad. We got to eat, and the horses be needin’ a rest.”

  “How we gonna follow them in the dark?”

  “We’ll make do, lad.”

  “If’n ya say so, Mr. Squire.”

  “I do. And stop callin’ me Mr. Squire.”

  They dismounted and hobbled the horses, allowing the animals to graze. After t
hey had gathered firewood and water, Squire took his flint and steel from the small possible bag that hung from his belt. He dropped just a pinch of priming powder on some kindling, then struck the flint sharply on the steel. With two strokes, a spark ignited the gunpowder. He carefully tended the flickering tendrils of the blaze until they blossomed.

  He opened the large possible sack he had carried on his saddlehorn and pulled out a small sack of cornmeal, one of coffee, a small coffeepot and a cooking pan.

  “Kin ye make cornpone, lad?”

  “Sure.”

  Squire tossed him the sack of cornmeal. “Get to it.”

  As Train worked to make the corn cakes, Squire retrieved the rabbits from the saddle horn and jabbed a thin, green branch through each carcass. He set them over the fire, then tossed the potatoes on the coals.

  After they ate, Squire pulled out his pipe and sat back to relax. Soon, though, he stood and knocked the ashes from his pipe into the fire. “Put out the fire, boy, and fetch up our things,” he said. “Where’re you goin’?”

  “Fer a looksee.”

  By the time Squire returned, Train had the fire out and their few supplies packed. “Find anything?” Train asked.

  “I know which way they be headed. I reckon if’n we ride the night through, we’ll catch up to ’em come mornin’.”

  They mounted and headed into the night’s blackness. Train followed Squire’s nearly invisible dark hulk, and at times, even from five or six feet away, Squire’s massive horse seemed to vanish into the gloom. In the dead hours near dawn, Train yanked hard at the reins to keep from running into Squire and his horse. At the same time, he reached forward and clamped a hand over the horse’s nose so it would stay quiet.

  He edged up to Squire’s side. “What do ya see?” he asked in a whisper as he peered into the blackness.

  “Nothin’. But them two niggurs be out there. Not far, either. I reckon we’d best be leavin’ the horses here and commence to creepin’ a little closer on foot. ”

  “Ain’t ya worried they might be awake and know we’re followin’ ’em and swing back to steal our horses?”

  “They be sleepin’, lad.”

  “How do ya know? I ain’t even sure they’re there.”

  “They be there, lad. I can smell the smoke from their fire. If they was real cautious, they wouldn’t be usin’ a fire. It be too goddamned hot for one anyway. But they be thinkin’ they’re safe now.”

  “Supposin’ the fire’s a trick? They could’ve set that fire and then moved off a little ways to see if’n they was followed.” Squire grinned, his teeth gleaming out of the darkness of mustache, beard and night. His opinion of Train rose considerably. The youth might not have his senses working to their full capacity, but he certainly had enough sense. Most youths his age would have just accepted what Squire had to say, without questioning. But Train had showed that he was thinking of the many possibilities. Squire was glad he had brought the youth.

  “Ye be learnin’, lad,” he whispered. “It could be as ye say. But it ain’t. If’n ye be listenin’ real hard ye can hear one of ’em snorin’. Ye can hear the horses, too.”

  Train cocked his head, listening intently. Then his shoulders slumped. “I can’t hear nothin’ but the babblin’ of the brook yonder.”

  Squire smiled. “It be there, though, boy.”

  They were in thick forest, surrounded by large hickories, oaks and ashes. The undergrowth was heavy, especially near the brook that rippled to their left.

  “Ye’d best be quiet whilst we sneak up on them two,” Squire cautioned. “Think ye can do that?”

  “I was born out this way, Nathaniel. Been in woods like this since I was a tyke. I’ll have no trouble.”

  They looped their horses’ reins to a bush and then slipped quietly forward. Squire glided like a ghost through the woods. The mountain man was happy to see that Train was as good as his word. As they stole through the forest, the smell of the hickory smoke filled their nostrils, and the soft snoring of the two men became louder. Finally they stopped behind a screen of shrubbery overlooking a small clearing amidst the trees and brush, a few yards back from the stream.

  “We’ll be waitin’ here till there be more light,” Squire whispered.

  Chapter Seven

  THEY lay unmoving, listening to the sounds of the night. As daylight began to filter in, Squire saw the two sleeping men begin to stir.

  “Best see to your primin’, lad,” Squire said, voice barely audible. He pulled up his priming horn—a small powder horn attached by rawhide strings to the thong of the main powder horn—and poured a small quantity of the fine-grained powder into the pan of his rifle. He eased it shut and pulled back the hammer to full cock.

  Train did the same with similar ease of motion.

  It was light enough now to see the two deserters plainly. Squire slid his rifle forward. “Set your sights on Breen, lad,” he said. “I’ll be lookin’ to the other.”

  “You ain’t aimin’ to kill them two fellers, are ya?”

  “Not ’less’n I have to.” He peered ahead and settled the gun butt until it rested comfortably against his shoulder. Only the very tip of the barrel protruded beyond the foliage. It would not be seen.

  “Belknap!” Squire bellowed suddenly, shattering the easy chirping of the morning birds, who fell silent for an instant before fleeing in a winged explosion of chattering flight.

  Belknap and Breen rolled out of their cheap blankets in unison and reached for their muskets. Their eyes searched frantically, trying to find the person who had issued the bellow.

  “Toss down them weapons, boys,” Squire shouted. “And be standin’ fast. The first of ye that makes a move’ll find himself dead.”

  “Who’re you?” Belknap snarled, worry cutting through his voice.

  “I be Nathaniel Squire.”

  “What d’ya want with us?”

  “Take ye back to St. Louis to answer for your thievery. Now ye coons be wastin’ my time. Drop them weapons. Now!”

  “Don’t shoot me, mister,” Breen cried fearfully as he eased his rifle to the ground.

  At the same time, Belknap snapped off a quick shot wildly in the direction from which he thought the voice had come. Then he dove for the cover of the woods.

  Squire almost squeezed off a shot, but his target was gone, hidden by the thick foliage.

  “Merde,” he muttered, leaping up. It was rare that he would stall long enough to miss getting a shot, but he had wanted to give the two men a chance to surrender. Normally he would have just shot one of the two down if they hadn’t dropped their guns immediately. But he thought Melton would have preferred that the two be brought in alive, if possible. Now he was angry with himself for not going with his instincts.

  He eased the hammer down to half-cock. “Take care of Breen,” he snapped in Train’s direction as he raced off. He flew across the clearing and plunged into the woods as Train closed in warily on Breen.

  Squire heard Belknap crashing through the underbrush. He chased after the thief with his usual stalking silence, slipping though the forest like a shadow.

  Belknap ran south, then east, then back northward toward the river.

  Squire ran along, following the sounds. He heard a splash, then nothing. With more caution, he approached the river, keeping behind the wall of greenery. He peered out from behind a tree trunk on the water’s edge and saw Belknap clamber up the bank about thirty yards downstream.

  “Merde” he mumbled again. He yanked his powder horn off and held it and his rifle above his head as he waded into the swirling, waist-deep water. Twice he slipped on moss-covered rocks but found his footing and pushed on, hurrying to get across in case Belknap had enough sense to double back and try to catch him in the water.

  He scrambled up the bank, slipping behind a tree, his senses probing the world around him. There, off to the east, was the soft scrape of a gun barrel on tree bark. He waited, watched, listened.

  He caught a movem
ent, a glimpse of brown that was different from the surrounding tree trunks. It was the sleeve of a woolen shirt. Now that he knew where Belknap was, Squire stalked quietly from tree to tree, circling around. Finally he had a good, clear view of Belknap, who stood tensely looking the other way, musket ready, watching the river.

  Squire slid his rifle up. “Drop your rifle, lad,” he ordered, knowing Belknap had reloaded. He thought of just shooting Belknap, but once again he wanted to do right by Melton, if he could.

  Belknap stiffened.

  “I ain’t aimin’ to tell ye again.”

  The thief started to run. He got two steps before a ball from Squire’s Hawken ripped through his right shoulder. The impact sent him spinning. He fell, yelping in pain.

  Squire reloaded quickly and then walked up to the wounded man. Belknap surged up from the ground and rammed his head into Squire’s stomach. The fury of the lunge drove the huge mountain man back a few steps but did not topple him. Squire dropped his rifle and thumped punches on Belknap’s back and shoulders as the injured man tried futilely to wrestle him to the ground.

  “Ye ain’t got no goddamned sense, do ye, boy?” Squire muttered as he pounded on Belknap.

  The thief thrust himself away from Squire, stumbling and falling as he did. With a yell, he pulled a pistol from his belt and fired wildly. The ball scorched through the side of Squire’s calico shirt, barely nicking him.

  “Now that weren’t very friendly of ye, Samuel,” Squire said calmly. “Nay, and this ol’ coon don’t take a shine to such doin’s.” He slid one of the small knives from its sheath and stalked forward.

  Belknap scrambled up and backed away. Favoring his right shoulder, from which blood still poured, he pulled his own knife.

  Without a word, Squire grabbed the knife hand. With a twist and a yank, he snapped it, wrenching a scream from Belknap. Squire released the thief’s arm. The mountain man’s knife flashed forward and buried itself deep in Belknap’s chest. The thief slumped against Squire with a groan, then collapsed.