Sipping Whiskey in a Shallow Grave

by Mark Mitten

  “Til Blancett, B-Cross-C. Stop.”

  Til thought for a moment while the man tapped away.

  “Well, that should about cover it.”

  The front door opened and another man came inside the dreary shack, wearing a dusty bowler on his head. He nodded at Til and leaned against the doorjamb with a loud dramatic sigh.

  “Mercy me!” he said, removing his hat. The man had a distinct English accent.

  Leaning up to see over the counter, Mr. James saw who it was and sighed unhappily.

  “Another casualty to report, Coke?” Mr. James asked, although he said it blandly.

  “Same cause of death as frequently found here,” Coke informed him. “Miners typically die in the same manner. And as the coroner of a mining town, I have seen it many times: maimed and crippled!”

  Til turned and sized him up. The man’s hair was white and went down to his shoulders — along with his long white wiry mustache. Til looked at it in disbelief. It went from his nostrils all the way down to his chest. Til had seen some big mustaches, but none to rival this.

  “Ain’t why I’m here though, James,” the Englishman continued. “Need to see about burying that fellow from last October.”

  “The one in the snowbank?”

  The eccentric coroner with the longest mustache Til had ever seen, suddenly seemed to realize the stockman was standing there.

  “So we were in the cemetery last October, you see.”

  “Summer tree?” Til asked, unable to follow the accent. “Where’s that?”

  “Cemetery. I’m British. Track with me now. Winter snows already rolling in, but the ground was still soft — soft enough to dig a grave. Couple of Germans digging the grave. Now here’s the fascinating twist. Instead of dirt, up comes shovel-fulls of ore!”

  Inhaling deeply, Til did not try to hide his disinterest. The man was standing right in the doorway. Til did not care to hear a story. He did want to get outside. The cooped up feeling was wearing on him, although Til had only been inside the telegraph shack long enough to send his message. He was done with the telegram now, and he wanted to step out in the fresh air.

  “Well we staked a claim, the Germans and I!” Coke went on. “And the body was left in the snowbank until spring!”

  Mr. James took off his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He could tell that Til Blancett was not interested in the Englishman’s story. For that matter, neither was he. In addition to this, Mr. James considered this his personal office. It was a place of business. Transactions were done and funds were exchanged here. He did not want Coke to chase off his clientele. If Til had a message to send next time, he might very well choose the telephone instead of the telegraph. The new telephone line was going to be a sore spot for Mr. James, he could already guess. It was important to retain all his customers to generate income. In this case, it meant intervening to help Til Blancett get out the door.

  “Let the man go about his business, Coke.”

  The Englishman bowed at the waist, still smiling broadly, and reluctantly stepped out of the doorway. Til scooted by.

  Chapter 32

  Placing the crate gently down in the rear of the buckboard, Terrance Tillamook — the owner of the General Merchandise — turned to Julianna.

  “There’s your order, miss. Drive with care.”

  “Many thanks for carrying this out for me,” she replied. “See you again next month.”

  “See you then,” Terrance said and went back inside. His wife Joyette was waiting for him. Joyette made him feel guilty for not selling the girl any of the colorful linens she had been looking at the night before. But Terrance did not like foisting products on people and told her just that — for the hundredth time. If they liked something, they would buy it. Simple as that.

  Julianna began tying down the crates and sacks. The rope she had was old and knotted, and it took a little effort to cinch it all down. She enjoyed coming to Ward. It was regularly just once a month for supplies, but she usually stayed longer to meet up with friends. Social opportunities were rare in Gold Hill. It was closer to home, but there were not any women her age there.

  The air was fresh! It was already early afternoon. It would take a few hours to get home, winding down the stage road in Lefthand Canyon. She would get home right about supper time. The Commodore had mentioned that he intended to shoot squirrels while she was in town. She hoped he would skin and clean them before she got there. Not that she minded squirrel guts. It was mainly deer or elk that she liked to avoid. The bigger game was full of messy guts — and stank worse, too. It was just this past year that the Commodore finally started asking her to clean all the animals he shot, big or small. His knees and back were just too stiff for all that kneeling and cutting, especially in the winter when his joints gummed up.

  Moving up front, Julianna double-checked the tack on her horse, a well-brushed appaloosa.

  “Are you ready to go home?”

  She rubbed his neck and walked to the side of the buckboard. Holding her skirt off the ground, she cautiously set her right foot on the axle step. It was always hard getting up by herself. She wished the store owner had stayed to help her in. Why these things did not have some kind of hand rail was beyond her. Julianna grabbed onto the seat itself, and managed to pull up past the large spoked wheel and sit down.

  “Impressive! In a skirt and all.”

  Julianna looked around. It was Josephine. She was walking up, and she was not alone. Vera, Hazel, and Ella (who had missed their dinner due to more colorful pursuits) were right behind her.

  “I would’ve needed Samuel to help me up,” Josephine told her cheerfully. “Plus, I require cushy seats.”

  Julianna wagged her finger at them.

  “I thought the lot of you would be trailing after Mr. Holliday, ogling and swooning.”

  “That uncouth lunger?” Hazel asked.

  “Shush your mouth!” Vera growled, and grabbed her friend by the arm. “He could be anywhere, listening!”

  Julianna laughed.

  “Ah, the terrors we tolerate.”

  “Ride safely,” Josephine said. “I suppose we’ll see you again?”

  Josephine had not told the other women about her pregnancy, or the fact that she would be moving to Horseshoe soon. Only Julianna knew that, so far. The two women looked at each other, knowing this might be the last time they would see each other.

  “Indeed,” Julianna replied kindly. “I will see you again.”

  She unwound the reins from the wheel brake, released it, and called to her appaloosa: “Step up!”

  The horse began walking and the buckboard lurched forward. Looking over her shoulder, Julianna waved at Josephine and the ladies of Ward.

  “Step easy,” she cautioned the appaloosa, as the road began angling steeply downhill. The horse moved carefully down the bumpy slope.

  After a few minutes the trees closed in on both sides of the road, and Julianna could no longer see Ward behind her. It gave her a sad feeling, knowing Josephine would most likely be in Horseshoe before the end of the month. She wished they had more time together, especially now that she was going to have a baby. Julianna could easily hear the river running softly, off to her right. She could see it through the trees down in the ravine.

  Several magpies hopped along the road in front of her. They chattered at each other and were picking at something on the ground. As she rode closer, she saw that someone had lost some oats. The road was pretty rutted in places and it would not take much to knock a sack over. She glanced back into her own wagon. The knots were holding. Nothing had come loose or spilled yet.

  The morning was peaceful. Julianna’s heart continued to feel a little heavy, still thinking about Josephine, Samuel and how things change in life. They had been friends for several years. They liked to meet up at the Miser’s Brewery or The Halfway House for meals, tea, or desserts. How many times had they shopped together in the General Merchandise? Julianna knew that once Josephine moved to
Horseshoe, she would be losing a close friend. Her closest friend, really.

  She thought about what Josephine had said about her father. She had apologized later, but there was some truth in it. The Commodore could not make the ride into town anymore. Part of that was age, but part of it was temperament. He was indeed an ornery man, which invited criticism. She hoped that when she got home, there would only be squirrels waiting for her. If the Commodore shot a buck, it would be a messy evening.

  Chapter 33

  Spring Gulch

  Weaving among the aspen and willows, the riders of the B-Cross plodded on slowly through Spring Gulch.

  The final snowstorm of the season was gone. It had melted with the sun. They were all down to their shirt sleeves. Birds were out in numbers, lining the branches overhead. Hopper ran past Casey, hoping to catch one. He never managed to but it was amusing to watch.

  Edwin was still riding point with Casey. It was hard to keep the cows moving, especially with the grass coming up underfoot. All the good stuff was in the bottom of the gulch. It was rich and green. The sleet and wet snow had done a good job making it grow.

  Up ahead, where the trees got thick again, they saw LG. He had only been gone for a short time and was coming back at an easy walk.

  “Much further?” Casey asked him.

  “No, it’s just up ahead. Keep ‘em moving along,” LG said, and then gave Edwin a look. “Hey, Head Sack. Go help Ima.”

  Edwin regretted ever putting on that flour sack. Instead of saying anything, he just turned his horse around and trotted back down the cowline, his central finger pointed up in the air. LG fell into step next to Casey.

  “Tonight — gonna drag a lead line across his bedroll,” LG said. “You yell rattlesnake.”

  Casey ducked down to avoid a low branch.

  “You think I’m loquacious?” LG asked him.

  “Loquacious?”

  He thought about it.

  “Bromidic, maybe.”

  “And you’re a cantankerous ki-yote with a limp, a lisp and a drippy pecker.”

  “I don’t got a lisp.”

  The gulch narrowed and the trees grew closer together. Casey dropped behind LG and let him lead, since he just rode through here a minute ago and knew the best path. The underbrush was so thick, the cattle were forced to funnel down into single file behind the riders. They channeled around a granite outcropping and down into a small depression. Casey knew any day now, this would be a flowing creek and all the runoff from the high country would come right through here. There was a wet seep running in the depression already. It wouldn’t be much longer until this part of the gulch would be unpassable.

  “If we tried this next week, we’d never make it through here.”

  “Yep,” LG said. “Have to drive them cows straight through downtown Ward.”

  “Thank you, no.”

  LG pointed up ahead.

  “Almost out.”

  The gulch finally intersected the stage road. They emerged from the forest and looked around. The seep they were following trickled straight across and disappeared over the edge into the ravine. LG looked down the slope and could see Lefthand Creek.

  “Welp, here it is pard,” LG said, pleased with his own guiding skills. “We made the canyon.”

  The herd trickled out behind them, one at a time. Casey’s dog ran past them and began sniffing the fresh air. The slope was steep and LG hoped Casey was watching his dog.

  “I ain’t going after him if he falls in that creek.”

  “He ain’t gonna fall in that creek.”

  LG knew right where he was. Ward was just up the road, maybe three or four miles. Taking the herd through Spring Gulch was not the most direct path out of the mountains, but it did route them around the little town.

  “All them clunky miners banging around. Set off one stick of dynamite, which you know they would, and them cows are running.”

  “Well, we did not quite avoid that scenario, now did we?” Casey asked.

  Edwin rode out into the sunshine and joined them.

  “Hold up here for Ima,” LG told him. “Get back on swing.”

  “Ira won’t shut up about grizz, thanks to you,” Edwin mentioned.

  LG grinned and took off down the canyon to get ahead of the lead steer. Casey followed. They heard a horse whinny somewhere up ahead. Casey and LG’s horses both perked up their ears, but they could not see very far ahead. The stage road curved sharply around a bluff.

  Casey shifted in the saddle, angling his head to listen better.

  “Something’s going on.”

  Chapter 34

  Lefthand Canyon

  The bluff turned out to be a tall granite outcropping. There was a mound of hard-packed orange dirt at its base, speckled with quartz bits. Between the outcrop and the ravine, the stage road made a fairly tight turn. When they got around it, LG and Casey saw a stagecoach parked in the middle of the road. It was just sitting there.

  “Bet they busted an axle,” LG said. “Gonna back up this road with 2,000 cattle if they don’t get this thing moving soon.”

  “Must of just happened,” Casey reasoned. “Looks like Gyp made it through here already.”

  They could easily see that the remuda had passed down the stage road. The tracks were obvious and the stagecoach was parked right on top of them. Behind LG and Casey, cattle began pouring around the outcrop. Watching them come, Casey shook his head.

  “I best hold them up.”

  He turned around and planted his bay in front of the lead steer, blocking his path. Both Ira and Edwin came into sight.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Ira called.

  Casey hooked a thumb towards the coach.

  “Boy,” Edwin said. “What dumby parked that there?”

  “Won’t be able to get around with all these cows,” Ira reasoned.

  “I’ll go see,” LG said.

  He hoped to squeeze through the narrow gap between the coach and the ravine. There was a row of pine trees along the edge right where the road dropped off, and LG had to hunch down to get under the branches. It was like a little tunnel and he hoped Specter would just go on through without blowing up. The horse was pretty young — probably three years old. He liked to try and unseat LG whenever an opportunity arose. In LG’s mind, this was one of those opportunities. He glanced down uneasily. If he did get chunked, the only place to go was down. It was a steep slope and a nasty tumble that ended in the running water far below.

  The herd was bunching up. Ira and Edwin waded their horses through the cattle and sided up next to Casey. Between the three of them, they could block the width of the road. To Edwin, this was like watching a water tank fill up. The cows kept coming around the corner but there was nowhere for them to go.

  “Like holding back the ocean,” Edwin said.

  “You can’t hold the ocean,” Ira told him. “It’s all watery.”

  Casey hoped Steve and Rufe would figure out what was going on, and keep the cattle from turning up the road towards Ward. After going to all the trouble to avoid that town, Casey would hate to have to search for strays up there. If the McGonkins could just hold them in Spring Gulch until the road cleared, things would work out.

  Coming around from the opposite side of the stagecoach, Bill Ewing, Ned, Poqito and Caverango filed out on foot. Bill glanced around curiously. He saw Casey, Edwin and Ira holding back the herd. The cows moaned and lowed, swishing their tails.

  “Told you I herd beeves,” Bill Ewing told Ned.

  Chapter 35

  Edwin was annoyed. His hat was gone. His scalp was sunburnt. And LG kept ribbing him about everything from girls to grizzly bears. Now all these cows were bunched up, noisy, and all he could smell was cow stink.

  “Gotta get through here,” Edwin called to Bill, raising his voice above the lowing. “Move that damn wagon!”

  Bill turned to look at Ned, and Ned raised his eyebrows.

  There was something about their demeanor that made Cas
ey uneasy. The four of them lined up in a row. Casey twisted around in his saddle so he could face them better and wondered where LG went.

  “You deaf? I said move that damn thing!” Edwin shouted again.

  Casey gave the boy a stern look, but he did not notice. Edwin had taken to squinting since he lost his hat.

  It made Edwin mad that LG took the herd through Spring Gulch. They could have trailed right down the canyon through Ward — it would have been twice as fast and Edwin could have bought a new hat in town. Plus he would not have to put up with Ira’s constant fears about a grizzly bear that did not exist. But Edwin did not have a new hat. And he had to squint all day. And now these dummies were blocking the road.

  “That’s quite brazen,” Ned said to Bill.

  “Certainly is,” Bill replied. “Quite brazen.”

  Poqito and Caverango stood there quietly, staring darkly at the cowmen of the B-Cross-C.

  “Hey, little turnip. Recognize this fella?” Bill asked Edwin. “This here is Ned Tunstall.”

  “Ain’t heard of him and don’t care to,” Edwin replied. “Ain’t no turnip!”

  Casey had a Colt .45 in the middle of his coat, which was unfortunately tied in a roll behind him. He started thinking about it. He noticed all four of these men wore gunbelts. All of them. Didn’t Edwin see that? Maybe if he saw they were wearing guns he would shut his mouth so things wouldn’t get worse and they could get their cattle down the mountain. Denver was still a fair distance away.

  Ira sat his horse, listening, shaking his head. He twisted the end of his droopy mustache. He liked Edwin for the most part. The boy was mouthy and had a salty tongue, of course, but sometimes Ira thought that was pretty funny — since the kid had a pudgy baby face. Without a hat, Edwin looked about twelve years old. Ira smiled to himself and barely held back a chuckle. A twelve year old with a salty tongue! What a thought. Of course, the kid was older than that, Ira knew. But the thought still made him want to chuckle.

  “Ain’t heard of Ned Tunstall?” Bill wondered. “Well…if I’m being honest, that don’t surprise me none. Ned ain’t his proper given name.”