Rampage of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

“Tell them, Smoke,” Sally said. Smoke had obviously shared the story with Sally.

  “Sheriff Carson? What does he have to do with it?” Billy asked.

  “He was umpire, remember?” Smoke said.

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “Sheriff Carson said that our man Jules here was offered the chance to play for the Unions, and to get paid for playing. But they wanted him to strike out his last time at bat.”

  “Strike out? What? They tried to talk him into striking out?” Billy asked.

  “They told him if he would strike out that he could play for them. And he would make a lot of money, more money than he can make being a cowboy.”

  “Why, those dirty bastards,” Hank said. Then, quickly, he looked over toward Sally. “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, for the cussin’,” he said.

  “That’s quite all right,” Sally said. “Anyone who would try and get someone to cheat is a bastard,” she said. The others laughed.

  “Why didn’t you do it?” Mike asked Jules

  “Mike, you aren’t serious,” Billy said.

  “Well, I mean, think about it,” Mike said. “This was just one game that didn’t really mean nothin’. He could’a made a lot of money.”

  “It wouldn’t of been right,” Jules said. “And I don’t think you would’ve done it either.”

  Mike thought for a minute, then smiled. “Well, I reckon not,” he said. “Of course, the question never come up because I ain’t a good enough baseball player. But if it had come up, I reckon I would’a done the same thing as you done. Though I might of stopped to think about it a little.”

  The others laughed at Mike’s admission.

  “Say, Smoke, why don’t you tell us about Matt?” Pearlie asked.

  “Who?” Andy asked.

  “Smoke rode all the way to Denver just to see a fella get some kind of award from the governor,” Pearlie explained. “A fella by the name of Matt Jensen.”

  “Matt Jensen?” Andy said. “I’ve heard of him. They say he’s fast as lightnin’ with a gun. Say, you’ve got the same name. Is he your kin?”

  “He’s not blood kin,” Smoke said. “But I raised him from the time he was twelve. That’s how he came to take my name.”

  “Tell us about when you found him,” Pearlie said. Pearlie looked over at Andy, Mike, Billy, and the Butrum brothers. “This is a good story,” he said. “You’ll like it.”

  “Well, it started in weather just about like this,” Smoke said. “I got caught up in a snowstorm and I needed to be on the other side of the mountain range before the snow closed the pass. So, although every ounce of me wanted to hole up somewhere long enough to ride the storm out, I pushed on through, fighting the cold, stinging snow in my face until I reached the top of the pass. I made it through, then started looking for a place to spend the night when I saw the boy.”

  “That’s when you seen him? In the middle of a snowstorm?” Mike asked.

  “Yes. I almost missed him. There was a big drift of snow so that only the boy’s head and shoulders were sticking out. He was under an overhanging ledge, and his head was back and his eyes were closed, so I didn’t know if he was sleeping or if he was dead.

  “The boy’s face and lips were blue, and there were ice crystals in his eyebrows and hair. The only protection he had against the cold was a blanket that he had wrapped around him, and that blanket was frozen stiff.”

  “Damn, what did you do?” Andy asked.

  “I put my fingers on his neck. It was cold, but I could feel a pulse. But I knew that if he didn’t get him back to my cabin soon, he would die. So I cut some limbs and built a travois. Then, stuffing moss in between a couple of blankets, I made an insulated bedroll, and tying the boy onto the bedroll, started down the other side of the mountain.

  “The snow continued to fall and walking was hard. I knew it was going to be hard enough for the horse to move, even without pulling a travois, so I walked in front of the horse, holding onto his bridle.

  “It was so cold that the air hurt my lungs as I sucked it down. And I didn’t have any snowshoes so, often, I would sink nearly waist-deep into the drifts.

  “Because of the clear air, the unbroken whiteness, and the way distance was contorted, it seemed like I was getting nowhere. I remember once, I had been working really hard for two hours, and yet when I looked back over my shoulder, it was almost as if I had just left—I could still see the rock overhang where I found the boy, and if it had not been for the fact that I knew exactly where I was, and how far I had to go, I would’ve been pretty disheartened. But I knew that I would be to the cabin before nightfall.

  “I trudged on through the snow for at least another three hours until, finally, the little cabin came into view.

  “I have to admit that the cabin I lived in then wasn’t much to look at. But considering the alternative at the time, it looked better than finest mansion you could imagine.

  “I picked the boy up from the travois and carried him inside, then deposited him on the bed. Then, after I took care of the horse, I came back in and fixed supper.”

  “Did you make him apple pie?” Pearlie asked.

  “I’m afraid not,” he said. “That was a little beyond my capability.”

  “What did you make him?” Billy asked.

  “Beaver stew.”

  “Beaver stew? Hmm,” Billy said. “I don’t know as I’ve ever et any beaver stew.”

  Smoke laughed. “That’s what the boy said.”

  “That he’d never et beaver stew before?”

  “That’s it,” Smoke said. “He didn’t ask who I was, or where he was, or what was going to happen to him. All he said was that he didn’t think he had ever eaten beaver stew before. I figured then that if he couldn’t be shaken by nearly freezing to death, then winding up in a total stranger’s house eating something he had never eaten before, then he had to be a boy with gumption.”

  “From what I’ve heard of the fella, he’s proved you right,” Andy said.

  “Yes,” Smoke said. “Matt has made me very proud over the years.”

  Smoke stretched and yawned. “I don’t know about you boys,” he said. “But I worked hard today, and I figure I’ll be working just as hard tomorrow, so I plan to get some sleep.”

  “Smoke, do we need nighthawks tonight?” Pearlie asked.

  “I wouldn’t think so,” Smoke replied. “Where would the cattle go? No, you can let everyone sleep in tonight.”

  “Ha,” Mike said. “That almost makes the snow worth it.”

  By daybreak the next day, Smoke and the others were in position. As part of the outfit, every man had two horses in the remuda so as to always have one that was fresh. But on this morning every one of them was using both horses paired as a team, for a total of ten teams. They had tied a log crossways behind each team. All nine teams were abreast, and in front of them was the chuck wagon, its wheels lashed to poles that were running parallel with the wagon. The poles had the effect of creating runners, so that the chuck wagon was converted to a sleigh. In addition to the team of mules that normally pulled the wagon, the two horses that would have belonged to Dooley had been put in harness with the mules.

  “Smoke, maybe you ain’t thought of it,” Andy said. “But if all of us is up here, there ain’t nobody ridin’ to keep the herd goin’ straight.”

  Billy laughed.

  “What is it? What did I say that was so funny?” Andy asked.

  “You ain’t got to worry none about them cows goin’ nowhere,” Billy said. “They’re goin’ to follow the road we’ll be makin’ for ’em.”

  “Billy’s right,” Smoke said. “We’ll be cutting a trail for them and they’ll follow along behind like some old yellow dog.”

  Andy nodded, then smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I can see that. Damn, that’s smart. How’d you come up with that idea?”

  “You don’t have to worry none about how Smoke comes up with ideas,” Cal said. “He’s ’bout the smartest person I kn
ow. ’Cept maybe Miz Sally.”

  In good-natured fun, Smoke threw a snowball at Cal, and Sally, who was close enough to hear the conversation, laughed out loud.

  “Sally, don’t you be paying any attention to him now,” Smoke teased. “He’s just buttering you up for more pie.”

  Sally laughed. “Well, when’s the last time you made him a pie?”

  Smoke laughed as well. “I guess you have a point there,” he said.

  Smoke looked out at all the men. All were standing on the ground behind their teams, holding the reins as if they were plowing a field.

  “Is everyone ready?”

  “We’re ready at this end, Smoke,” Pearlie called back.

  “All ready on this end,” Cal said.

  “Then, let’s move ’em out.”

  Smoke was an active participant for, like the others, he had a team hitched to one of the logs and he urged his horses forward.

  To Smoke’s relief, the horses appeared to be able to pull the logs without too much effort. From time to time a rather large mound of snow would pile up in front of a log and whoever was driving that team would have to clear the snow away before they could proceed.

  They had gone no more than twenty-five yards when Smoke turned to look behind them. His plan was working. Not only was there a wide swath through the snow behind him—the cattle were following along.

  They plowed their way through the snow for the rest of that day and halfway through the next, until they came to an area where the snow was so sparse that vegetation was showing through. By then the cows, hungry after two days of not being able to graze, began to feed.

  That night the cowboys celebrated with some of Sally’s bear claws.

  “So, LeRoy,” Billy said. “What do you think about drivin’ cattle through snow now?”

  “Ah,” LeRoy said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I knowed all along that we could do it.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Salcedo

  It was nine o’clock on a Tuesday morning and Trent Williams was in the barbershop getting his weekly shave.

  “Have you seen Jason Adams yet?” Cook asked as he applied the razor to Williams’s face.

  “No, not yet,” Williams said. “But I expect to be seeing him today.”

  “Yes, sir, I expect you will,” Cook said. “Jason is one happy man.”

  “Well, I’m glad he is taking it so well,” Williams said. “When I first offered him the deal, he seemed a little hesitant. But as I explained to him, it is the only way he can save his ranch.”

  “Hesitant? Why would he be hesitant?” Cook asked.

  “Well, let’s face it. In order to keep from having his ranch go into foreclosure, he is going to have to give up his entire herd. That’s quite a sacrifice to make, but at least it will save his ranch.”

  “Oh, he isn’t going to have to give up his ranch,” Cook said. He made another stroke across Williams’s face. “He isn’t going to have to give up anything. He’s coming in to pay off the loan.”

  “What?” Williams shouted, sitting up so fast that Cook cut his face. “Damn it, man, you have cut me!”

  “I’m sorry, sir!” Cook said, chagrined at his mistake. He began wiping off the lather to examine the cut. “You rose up so quickly that…”

  “Here, give me that!” Williams shouted, grabbing the towel. He wiped off his face and examined the cut. It was very small and was barely bleeding.

  “Fortunately, it doesn’t look very bad,” Cook said, reaching up to touch it.

  “Just leave it alone,” Williams said irritably. Williams treated his own cut for a moment; then, when it was obvious that it wasn’t going to bleed anymore, he looked over at Cook.

  “What do you mean Adams is going to pay off the loan? How the hell is he going to pay off his loan?”

  “Well, after old Mr. Devaney died, Jason said it seemed like the right thing for him to do.”

  “Devaney? Abner Devaney?”

  “Yes, sir, that’s the one.”

  “What does Devaney dying have to do with whether or not Adams pays off his note?”

  “Well, sir, as I’m sure you know, Mr. Devaney was Millie Adams’s father. When he died, he left all his money to her.”

  “All his money?” Williams shook his head. “What are you talking about? That old fool didn’t have any money.”

  Cook chuckled. “Oh, yes, sir, he did. Turns out he had quite a bit of money. I’m surprised you didn’t know that.”

  “But how could he have money? He didn’t have as much as one dime in the bank.”

  “No, sir, he didn’t, but that don’t mean he didn’t have no money. He said he didn’t believe in banks. He always kept his money in a jar, buried out back of his place.”

  “How much money was it?”

  “According to Jason, it was a little over three thousand dollars. I don’t know how much he owes, but he says that’s enough to pay off his note.”

  “Yes,” Williams said in a low, growling type voice. “Yes, that is quite enough.”

  Cook smiled broadly. “Well, there you go then. I know you told me that you bought the note. You must be happy, knowing that you aren’t going to be stuck with the note.”

  “Yes, very happy,” Williams replied, though the expression on his face indicated that he was anything but happy. Where would he get his cows now?

  With Walking Bear

  Walking Bear stood on the rock and looked far down into the valley at the two wagons moving slowly along the road that paralleled Wind River. Four soldiers rode in front of the wagons and four soldiers rode behind. One who had stripes on his sleeves rode alongside. Walking Bear knew that a soldier who had stripes on his sleeves was a soldier chief, and that could only mean one thing. Something very valuable was being carried by the wagons.

  Looking behind him, Walking Bear saw twenty mounted warriors awaiting his orders. He felt a swelling of pride because so many had left the camp of Red Eagle to follow him. Red Eagle was an old man whose time had passed. Walking Bear was young and strong and unafraid of the white man. Soon, all in Red Eagle’s camp would follow him, and perhaps other camps as well. He would lead not twenty, but many times twenty, a mighty nation of warriors, and they would drive the white man away from the ancient land of the Cheyenne once and for all.

  He came back down from the rock.

  “What did you see, Walking Bear?” one of the warriors asked.

  “Two wagons,” Walking Bear reported. “They are heavy with things the white man values.”

  “Are there soldiers?”

  “Yes, soldiers in front and in the back. A soldier chief rides alongside.”

  “Perhaps we should let the wagons pass,” one of the others suggested.

  “If you are a woman, too frightened to do battle, you may stay,” Walking Bear said. He beat his fist against his chest. “I will attack the soldiers and take what is in the wagons. Brave hearts will go with me, cowards will stay behind.”

  The Indian who suggested that they should let the wagons pass was shamed by Walking Bear’s words and, to redeem himself, he rode to the front, then turned to face the other warriors. He held his rifle over his head.

  “I, Little Hawk, will ride by the side of Walking Bear when we attack the soldiers!” he shouted.

  The others let out a shout of defiance and held their rifles aloft as well.

  Walking Bear nodded in appreciation, then turned and started riding behind the ridgeline, approaching the wagons and soldiers in a way that kept the warriors out of sight.

  When he reached the end of the valley, he led them up to the top of the ridgeline. As he had planned, the wagons were now beyond so that, as the warriors came down the hill, they would be approaching the wagons from the rear.

  Lifting his rifle to his shoulder, Walking Bear aimed at the soldier riding at the end. He fired, and the soldier tumbled from the saddle.

  “Eeeeeyaahhh!” Walking Bear yelled, and the shout was picked up by the other w
arriors.

  “Indians!” one of the soldiers called, his voice cracking with fear.

  The wagon drivers urged their teams into a gallop, but the wagons were too heavily laden and Walking Bear and his warriors overtook them easily. Walking Bear divided his men into two columns, sending one to one side of the wagons and the other to the other side. Recognizing the leader of the soldiers by the stripes on his sleeves, Walking Bear shot him.

  With their leader down, the remaining soldiers seemed unsure of what to do. Half of them slowed their horses and attempted to give battle, but the others galloped away, abandoning their fellow soldiers and the wagons.

  Little Hawk, perhaps in a attempt to make up for his earlier hesitancy, rode up close enough to leap from his horse into one of the wagons. He killed the driver with his war club, then, even as he was holding up his hands, whooping in victory, was shot. He tumbled from the wagon and was run over by the wheels.

  The second wagon driver was killed. Then the two remaining soldiers, realizing that they were now alone, tried to flee, but they were both run down and killed.

  The Indians overtook the lumbering wagons and brought them to a halt.

  Walking Bear beamed with pride over the tremendous success of his adventure. Behind him in the road lay seven dead soldiers, including the soldier leader and the two drivers. Only four of the soldiers had gotten away, and they had not even attempted to give battle. As for the losses Walking Bear suffered, Little Hawk was the only warrior killed.

  “Get the food from the wagons,” Walking Bear said. “We will take it to the village of Red Eagle. Let us see him tell the people they cannot take food from us.”

  Several of his warriors leaped up onto the wagons and rolled back the tarpaulin cover. Both wagons were filled with boxes and the Indians proceeded to break into the boxes.

  “Iron!” one of the Indians said in exasperation when he saw that the box contained nothing but large pieces of blued iron. “Why would they put iron in boxes?”

  “No food, Walking Bear,” one of the others said in disgust. “You said there would be food, but there is no food.”

  Walking Bear stared at the boxes, nearly all of which had been opened now. There was white man’s writing on the outside of the boxes, but he was unable to read it.