Lonely On the Mountain (1980)

by L'amour, Louis - Sackett's 19

  “They don’t set no second table.” Orrin Sackett moved up to the table and found a place near the girl who was traveling with them.

  Passing her a platter of beans and rice, he said, “If there is anything I can do, you have only to ask.” “Thank you.” As she did not seem disposed to talk, he said nothing more but finished his eating and went outside. The two men with rifles were standing near the stage in deep conversation with a third man, pants tucked into his boots, a battered hat pulled low so little of his face could be seen.

  Kyle Gavin strolled over and stood near.

  “Those men,” Gavin commented, “something about them worries me.” “It’s the clothes,” Orrin replied.

  “The men don’t look like they belonged in them.” “You mean a disguise?” Orrin shrugged. “Maybe, or maybe just trying to fit into the country.” Then he added, “They

  andle the rifles like they were used to them, though.” The stage rolled on, and again Orrin slept fitfully. Where were Tell and Tyrel? The letter received in St. Paul had stated only that their route would be up the valley of the James, and if they reached the Turtle Mountains first, they would proceed westward, leaving some indication behind.

  They were going into wild country, a land unknown to them. Even now, they would be somewhere in Dakota, the land of the Sioux, a fierce, conquering people who had moved westward from their homeland along the Wisconsin-Minnesota boarder to conquer all of North and South Dakota, much of Montana, Wyoming, and Nebraska, an area larger than the empire of Charlemagne.

  This land through which they traveled was that which divided the waters flowing south toward the Gulf of Mexico from those flowing north toward Hudson’s Bay.

  There were many lakes, for this was the fabled “land of the sky-blue water,” and soon they would be descending into the valley of the Red River of the north.

  Orrin awakened suddenly, feeling a head on his shoulder. It was the young lady, who had fallen asleep and gradually let her head fall on his convenient shoulder. He held very still, not wishing to disturb her.

  The coach was very dark inside, and he could see little but the gleam of light on the rifle barrels and light where the coach lamps let a glow in through a crack in the curtains. All the rest seemed asleep.

  He was about to doze once more when he heard a drum of hoofs on the road behind them. Someone, a fast rider, was overtaking the coach. Carefully, he put his fingers on the butt of his six-shooter, listening.

  He heard the rider come alongside and lifted the corner of the curtain but could see nothing, as the rider had already passed too far forward. The stage slowed, and he could hear conversation between the rider and the driver but could distinguish no words.

  After a moment, he heard the rider go on, listened to the fading sound of hoof beats, but the stage continued at the slower pace.

  A long time later, daylight began filtering through the curtains, and suddenly the girl beside him awakened. She sat up with a start, embarrassed.

  “Oh! Oh, I am so sorry!” She spoke softly so as not to disturb the others. “I had no idea!” “Please do not worry about it, ma’am,” Orrin said. “My shoulder’s never been put to better purpose.” She tucked away a wisp of hair. Her eyes were brown, and her hair, which was thick and lovely, was a kind of reddish-brown. He suddenly decided that was the best shade for hair, quite the most attractive he’d seen.

  He straightened his cravat and longed for a shave. The stubble must be showing. He touched his cheek. Yes, it was. He touched his carefully trimmed black moustache.

  Kyle Gavin was awake and watching him with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Orrin flushed.

  He thought again of the short, blond man he had seen at the first stage stop. He looked to be a good man, and it might be hard to find men with all this Riel affair muddying up the waters.

  Shorty had looked like the kind who would finish anything he started, and that was the kind of man they would need.

  Orrin looked over at Gavin. “What about this Riel affair? What’s going to happen?” “Your guess is as good as mine. The Canadians are sending an army out, but that country north of the lakes is very rugged. We’ve heard some soldiers were lost. Forty of them, according to one story.” “If Riel wanted to make a fight of it,” Orrin suggested, “he could defend some of the narrow rivers through which the army must come. Certainly, with all the woodsmen he would have at his command, that would be simple enough.” “That isn’t my understanding,” Gavin said. “I was under the impression he wished only to establish a temporary government until the Canadians could take over. But no matter what, we’re arriving at a bad time. You, especially, if you want to get men or supplies. What supplies Riel doesn’t have, the army will need. You’d better move fast.” “You’ll find no men in Fort Garry”—one of the other men spoke up suddenly—“nor any supplies, either. They won’t welcome strangers.” “Then you’re arriving at a bad time,” Orrin suggested, smiling, “aren’t you?” The man stared at him. “Maybe it’ll be a bad time for you. I’ve got friends.” Orrin smiled. “Yes,” he said gently, “I suppose everyone has one or two.”

  Chapter VII

  By the evening of the second day, the stage rolled up to a stockade near the Ottertail River.

  Orrin stepped down and stretched, then extended a hand to the young lady and, after her, to the older woman.

  “It isn’t much of a place,” Orrin said, “but let me look around. I will see what can be found.” “Not much,” Gavin admitted. “Last time I was here, it was a good deal more comfortable to sleep in the haymow than inside.” “And the mosquitoes?” “They’ll find you either place. They call this place Pomme-de-Terre, but I can think of several other names for it. Tomorrow we should reach Abercrombie.” “Are there accommodations at the fort?” “No, but there is in McCauleyville. A chap named Nolan has a fairly decent hotel there.” “And the boat?” “Probably down river from there.” Gavin was watching the two men with rifles. They had gone into the fort at once and disappeared behind some buildings. It was obvious they knew where they were going and what they were about.

  Inside the fort, the man behind the bar shook his bald head and rubbed the back of his hand across a stubbled chin. “Mister, we sure ain’t set up for ladies. Don’t often get womenfolks hereabouts.” He jerked his head toward an inner room. “Five beds yonder. Men will sleep three to a bed, mostly, and they ain’t finicky.” He was honestly worried. “I seen ‘em get off the stage, and I seen trouble. I mean, settin’ ‘em up. Such womenfolks are expectin’ more’n we can offer.” “How about the barn? There’s fresh hay, isn’t there?” “Hay? Plenty o’ that. Say! Come to think of it, there’s the tack room—harness room.

  Cavalry officers used to keep their horse gear in there.” “How about blankets? And mosquito netting?” He shook his head. “I got ‘em, but only for sale, not for use.” They would need blankets and mosquito netting, too.

  “How much for six blankets and netting enough for four?” He scratched his head, then worried at a piece of paper with a pencil. The figure was excessive but not so much as he’d expected.

  Nor was the tack room as much of a mess as it might have been.

  “We had better eat,” Orrin warned them, “and get bedded down before dark. The mosquitoes are coming now.” The younger woman suddenly put out her hand. “I am Devnet Molrone, Mr. Sackett. And this is Mary McCann. She is going to Fort Garry.” “And you?” “I shall be meeting my brother. He will be at Fort Carlton.” Gavin was surprised. “At Fort Carlton?

  Is your brother with Hudson’s Bay Company?” It appeared, after some conversation, that her last letter from him had been from Fort Carlton, and she assumed he was located there.

  Later, he said to Orrin, “Sackett, if you’re going west, you’d best try to keep an eye on that girl. I am afraid she’s in trouble.” He paused. “You see, Carlton’s a trading post, but there aren’t too many white men there, and I know most of them. A good lot, on the whole, but unless her
brother is employed by the company in closing up some of their operations, I can’t see how he’d be there for more than a few days.” Later, over supper, Orrin said, “Tell me about your brother.” “Oh, Doug’s older than I am, three years older. He always wanted to hunt for gold, and when he heard of the discoveries out west, nothing would hold him. He wrote to us, told us all about it, and it sounded very exciting. Then, when Uncle Joe died, well, there was nothing to keep him in the East, and Doug was the only living relative I had, so I decided to join him.” Orrin glanced at Gavin. “He knows you’re coming?” “Oh, no! He’d never approve! He thinks girls can’t do anything! It’s a surprise.” Her eyes were wide and excited. Obviously, she was pleased with her daring and thought he would be equally pleased and surprised.

  “Ma’am—Miss Molrone,” Orrin spoke carefully. “I think you should reconsider.

  If your brother was hunting gold, he’d be in British Columbia, and that’s a long way, hundreds of miles, west of Fort Carlton.

  “Fort Carlton isn’t a town, exactly, it’s a trading post with a stockade around it. There are a few buildings inside, mostly quarters for those who work there.” She was shocked. “But I thought—I—to was “Fort Garry is only a small town,” Kyle Gavin said, “but I’d suggest you stop there until you locate your brother.

  “There’s no regular mail, you know. Most of the gold camps are isolated, trusting to someone who brings mail in by boat, horseback, or snowshoes, depending on the situation. And only rarely is there a place where a decent young woman can stay. Your brother probably shares a tent or a small cabin with other men.” Her lip trembled. “I didn’t know. I wanted to surprise him. I thought—” “We can make inquiries at Fort Garry,” Gavin suggested. “Some of the m`etis may know him. Or they may remember him.” Suddenly, the realization of what she had done came to her. She put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my!” Pleadingly, she looked at Gavin, then at Orrin. “I wanted to surprise him. I’m all he’s got, you know, now that Uncle Joe is dead.” “Does he know that?” “How could he? I was going to tell him when I met him. You see, Uncle Joe didn’t leave anything. He died very suddenly, and I was alone. I wanted to be with Doug, and so—” “Don’t worry about it,” Orrin said.

  “We’ll find him for you.” Later, Kyle Gavin exclaimed, “Sackett? Do you have any idea how tough that will be? To find one man among all those who came west? God knows, he might be dead. There’ve been men lost in riding the rivers, men killed when thrown by horses or in falls from wagons. The worst of it is,” Gavin added, “she’s uncommonly pretty.” In the morning, Orrin heated water for her in a bucket and took it to her, then went back outside. The morning was cool, and there were no mosquitoes about. The stage was standing nearby, and the driver and a hostler were hooking up the trace chains.

  From the driver Gavin learned the two men with rifles were brothers, George and Perry Stamper. They said they were buffalo hunters.

  “Then they’ve much to learn,” Gavin said dryly. “The m`etis have very controlled buffalo hunts. They all work together under rigid discipline. They don’t care for the single hunter unless he’s just hunting meat for himself or his family.” It was nearly noon when the stage rolled into McCauleyville, close to Fort Abercrombie. They stopped at Nolan’s, and Orrin retrieved his blanket-roll and haversack from the boot.

  He helped the ladies from the stage and escorted them into the hotel. Nolan’s place was clean, the floors mopped as carefully as a ship’s deck, curtains at the windows.

  Nolan glanced at Gavin, suddenly wary, but said nothing.

  “A room for the ladies,” Sackett suggested, “and one for me, if available. If not, Mr. Gavin and I will make do.” After the women had been shown to their rooms, Orrin asked, “Know anything about a Douglas Molrone? Probably came through here several months back.” Nolan shook his head. “Night after night, the place is full. It isn’t often I know the names of any of them. Going west, was he?” “Gold hunting.” “Aye, like most of them. He’d be lucky to make it unless he was with a strong party. There’s bunches of the Santee Sioux who didn’t dare go home after the Little Crow massacre, and they’re raiding, taking scalps, stealing horses, usually from the Crees or the Blackfeet, but they’d be apt to attack any small party.” There was, as it chanced, a room for him.

  Alone, Orrin removed his coat and hung it on a peg in the wall; then he checked his six-shooter. The action was smooth, easy. He hung the cartridge belt and holster over the back of a chair close at hand and, stripping to the waist, bathed as well as he could.

  His thoughts skipped westward. Tell and Tyrel should be well into the northern part of Dakota by now and would be wondering about him.

  Scowling, he considered Devnet Molrone.

  She was none of his business, yet could he leave her alone in such a place? He suspected she ha

  little money, possibly only enough to get her to Fort Carlton.

  There was nothing wrong with Carlton, but so far as he knew, it was a trading post and little else.

  No doubt some people had settled around, but they would be few. She would be treated like the lady she was, but no matter, a trading post was simply not equipped or planned to cope with unescorted females.

  Would she be any better off in a Red River cart on a trip to nowhere? For the truth was they did not know their exact destination. They would be met— by whom? When? Where? And then what?

  Drying himself with the rough towel provided, he slipped on a fresh shirt—somewhere along the line he must have some laundry done or do it himself—then he brushed his coat.

  She was pretty. Damned pretty!

  Nolan was behind the desk worrying over some figures. He pushed his hat back and looked up at Orrin. “Damn it! I never was no hand with figures! Only thing I can count is money, when it’s laid right out before me!” He looked up again. “Where’d you say you was headed, Sackett?” “We’re driving cattle to the gold fields.

  My brothers are already on the way. Somewhere in Dakota, right now.” “In Dakota? They got to be crazy!

  That’s Sioux country, and those Sioux, they’re fighters! Despise the white man, got no use for the Winnebagos, the Crees, or the Blackfeet. They’ll fight anybody.” “We hope to have no trouble. We’ll be trying to avoid them.” “Avoid them? Hah! I doubt if a bird could fly over Dakota without them knowin’ it.

  “That Molrone girl, huntin’ her brother.

  Like lookin’ for one pine needle. But don’t you worry none! She’ll find herself a husband! Women are almighty scarce, and the way I see it there should be at least one in every family!” He looked up at Orrin, smiling.

  “A man like you, you should latch onto her. Women that pretty are hard to come by. She’s a right pert little lady, too! Gumption, that’s what she’s got! Took a sight of gumption to come all the way out here huntin’ her brother.” He glanced at Orrin. “That feller with you.

  That Gavin feller, you know him long?” “Met him on the stage.” “Well, I like you, young feller, and you watch yourself, d’you hear? You be careful.” “Why?” “I’m just a tellin’ you. Watch yourself. Things ain’t always what they seem.” “What about this man Riel?” “Don’t know him. Knew his pa. A right good man. He spoke up for the m`etis a time or two. Honest in his dealin’s, level-headed man.

  Owned a mill or something. Good man.

  “The young man’s just back from Montreal. He was studyin’ to be a priest, I heard, then changed his mind, or they changed it for him.

  “When those outsiders began to come in with their newfangled way of surveyin’, his ma sent for him to come home. She seen trouble comin’.

  “I ain’t sure he’s the right man for it.

  He’s a thoughtful young feller. Seems reasonable. Been through here a time or two.

  “Now away out west, the way you’re a-goin’, there’s a man named Dumont, Gabriel Dumont. Captain of the buffalo hunts! Those m`etis would follow him through hell! Good man!

  A great man! Re
minds me of that poem, writ by a man named Gray, somethin’ in it about “Cromwells guiltless of their country’s blood” or some such thing. Well, I seen a few in my lifetime! Men who had greatness but no chance to show it elsewhere than here! I seen ‘em!

  I seen a passel of them!” Nolan glanced at him again. “You ever hear of Frog Town? Well, you fight shy of it. Rob you. Cheat you. Knock you in the head or knife you. That’s a bad lot. Sometimes the steamer starts from there, dependin’ on how high the water is.

  “Steamboatin’ on the Red ain’t like the Mississippi. Mean. Mean an’ cantankerous, that’s what it is. River’s too high some of the time, too low most of the time, and filled with sawyers, driftin’ logs, and sandbars. No fit river for man or beast.” “But it flows north?” “That it does! That it does!” Nolan put a hand on his sleeve. “Here she comes now, that Molrone girl. Say, is she the pretty one! If I was single—to was Orrin turned toward her, smiling. She looked up at him. “Oh! Mr. Sackett!

  I am so glad you are here! They say we must go from here by oxcart, and I was wondering if—?” “You can go with us. We would have it no other way.

  And we shall leave tomorrow morning, early.” “I’ll be ready.” He paused. “The offer includes Mrs.

  McCann.” “You want her,” Nolan whispered, “you’d better act fast, young feller! She’s too durned pretty to be about for long!” There was a pause, and Nolan pulled his hat brim down and started around the counter. “Don’t envy you, young feller. Not one bit! You got a long road to travel, an’ it can be mean. Oh, there’s folks done it! Palliser done it, the Earl of Southesk, he done it, and, of course, folks like David Thompson, Alexander Henry, and their like, but the Sioux weren’t around then, an’ there wasn’t all this trouble with the m`etis—” “But you said Riel was a reasonable man?” “I did, an’ I still say it. Trouble is, both them and the army will need grub, they will need rifles and ammunition, and you’ll have ‘em—if you’re lucky.” “You made a reference to Gavin?” “I said nothing. Only”—he paused—“I like a careful man. I always did like a careful man, and you shape up like such. I said nothing else.