“What is it?” Devnet asked.
“What?” He glanced at her. “Oh?
Nothing, I was just—” “You looked so stern there for a moment, and then almost amused. Somehow—” “It is nothing,” he replied. “It is just that some patterns are so familiar. The men who use them do not seem to realize the same methods have been used for centuries. Each seems to think he invented it.” “I don’t believe I understand.” He leaned on the wagon. “Miss Molrone? Do you see those two men up the street? For some reason, they wish me harm.
They have followed us here. When I go up the street, as they know I must, the man in the buckskin jacket will start trouble, somehow. Then, when he makes a move to draw a gun, the man across the street in the black coat will try to kill me.” “You’re mad!” She stared at him. “That’s utterly preposterous! People don’t do such things.” “Not so often here as further south, nor so often where we are going. Nevertheless, it does happen.
Trial by combat, Miss Molrone, has been a way of life sin
e the beginning of time. A savage way, I’ll admit, and dying out. But it is still with us.” “But that’s ridiculous! Those two men—why, I saw one of them talking to Mr. Gavin just this morning!” She turned to look at him. “You do not seem the type, somehow. You’re so much the southern gentleman. I just—” He smiled again. “Southern gentleman? It’s just the hat and maybe the fact that I trim my moustache. I grew up in the mountains, ma’am, a-fightin’ an’ a-feudin’, and I cut my western teeth roundin’ up wild cows. I’ve been up the hill and over the mountain, as we Sacketts say.” “But you’re a lawyer!” “Yes, ma’am, and respectful of the law, only if one is to settle difficulties in court, it must be agreeable to both parties. I suspect those gentlemen up the street have already selected their twelve jurymen, and they are in the chambers of their pistols.
“Now,” he said, “I must let them present their case, and I am wondering if they have become familiar with a new tactic the boys invented down Texas way?
“We will have to hope they have not heard of it.” He unbuttoned his coat. “Miss Molrone, ma’am, would you mind going inside?” “I will not! Besides, if what you say is true, it’s not fair! There are two of them!” “Please. Do go inside. I know where my bullets are going, but I don’t know about theirs.” “Here—what is this?” It was Gavin. “What’s going on?” “It’s those men up there. Mr. Sackett believes they will try to kill him.” “Two men? I see but one.” “The man in the black coat. Mr.
Sackett believes when trouble develops with the one, the other will kill him.” Kyle Gavin’s features showed nothing.
“Oh? I scarcely think—” “Gavin? Will you take Miss Molrone inside? I wish to ask that man why he has been following us. If there is anything he wants, I am sure he can have it. There’s no need to go skulking about in the brush.” “Following us? I wasn’t aware—” “Perhaps not. I was aware.” “But two men? Surely, if you know there are two, or believe there are, I cannot see why you would walk into the trap.” Orrin shrugged a shoulder. “If one knows, it ceases to be a trap. And to an extent the situation is reversed. But that’s the lawyer in me.
I talk too much.” He turned to Devnet again. “And, Miss Molrone, do let Mr. Gavin take you inside. And please? Stay close to him, for my sake?” Gavin glanced around. “Now what’s that mean?” “We want her to be safe, do we not?” Orrin’s expression was bland.
“If there’s a shooting here,” Gavin warned, “you will be arrested. The Canadian—” “We are still in Dakota Territory,” Orrin reminded him. “Now will you take Miss Molrone inside?” “He’s right, miss,” Mary McCann said.
“When lead starts to flyin’, anybody can get shot.” The tall man in the buckskin jacket leaned lazily against an awning post. The man opposite in the black coat was reading a newspaper.
Orrin Sackett did not walk toward the man in the buckskin coat, and he did not walk up the middle of the street. He started as if to do one or the other, then switched to the boardwalk that would bring him up behind the man in the black coat.
The tall man straightened suddenly, uncertain as to his move, and in that moment Orrin was behind the man with the newspaper, who had started to turn.
“Sit still now,” Orrin warned, “and hang on to that paper. You drop it, and I’ll kill you.” The man clutched the paper with both hands. “See here, I don’t know what—” “All right!” Orrin’s voice rang clearly in the narrow street. “Unbuckle your gun and let it fall.” He was speaking to the man across the street. “Easy now! I don’t want to have to kill you.” “Hey? What’s this all about?” The man in the buckskin coat rested one hand on his buckle.
“What’s going on?” “Nothing, if you unbuckle that belt, nice and easy, and then let it fall.” The man across the street could not even see if Sackett had drawn his gun since he was standing directly behind the man with the newspaper.
The man with the newspaper said, “Better do what he says, Cougar. There’s always another day.” Slowly, carefully, Cougar unbuckled his belt and let the gun slip to the ground along with belt and holster.
“Now walk away four steps to your left and stop.” Orrin reached down and slipped the seated man’s gun from its holster, then a derringer from a vest pocket. He gave the man a quick, expert frisk.
“Fold your paper and put it in your coat pocket,” he suggested, “then walk over and join your friend.” As the man walked, Orrin moved across the street behind him and gathered up the gun belt and slung it over his shoulder. “Sit down, boys.
Right on the edge of the boardwalk. We might as well be comfortable.” “What’s going on?” Cougar demanded. “I don’t even know this gent.” Orrin smiled. “You seemed to know each other pretty well when I saw you out in the brush today.
I had you under my rifle several times out there, and I was tempted, gentlemen, tempted.” “We was just wonderin’ where you was goin’,” Cougar said.
“You could have asked us,” Orrin said mildly.
“No use to skulk in the brush and maybe get mistaken for a Sioux.” “We was just curious”—Cougar’s eyes were bright with malice—“especially since you got no reason to go west no more.” Orrin’s expression did not change, but within him something went cold and empty. “What’s that mean?” “Them others, with the cows. They’re gone. Wiped out. Herd’s gone, all of them massacred by the Sioux.” “That’s right,” the man in the black suit said.
“We rode over the ground. The Sioux stampeded buffalo into them an’ then follered the buffalo.
We seen where a couple of bodies was trampled into prairie, an’ gear all over everywhere.
They’re dead—killed—wiped out.”
Chapter X
Orrin’s expression did not change. Their faces were sullenly malicious. Cougar hooked his thumbs in his belt. “You lost ‘em all,” he said, “your family and the cows. The Sioux wiped ‘em out. You got nothin’ left.” He smiled. It was not easy, but he did it.
were they lying? He wanted to believe it, but he doubted they were.
“They was comin’ north,” Cougar said. “God knows how they got that far, but they was west of the Turtle Mountains, between there an’ the Souris River, when the buffalo stampede hit ‘em.” “You saw the bodies?” “No, I never seen ‘em. Hell, there wasn’t nothing left. You ever seen a buffalo stampede? Must have been three or four thousand of them.
“We seen some bodies trampled into the torn-up ground. We seen scattered stuff, torn clothing, a busted rifle. Whatever was left the Injuns took, but it can’t have been much.
And the cattle was scattered to hell and gone!” Once started, Cougar seemed minded to talk, and Orrin kept still. “There was a little creek comes along there. Don’t amount to much, but this time of year there might be water enough for a herd. Anyway, they was in there on a small slope to catch what wind there was because of the skeeters.
“Them Sioux, they’d prob’ly been follerin’ them for days, watching for it
to be right, and they sure did make it work.” “Why were you following me?” Cougar shrugged insolently. “Just seen you, wondered what you was doin’, then heard your name was Sackett. Figured to tell you what happened.” “All right,” Orrin replied, “I’ll leave your guns down at the store. But stay off my trail. If I catch you following me, you’d better make your fight because I will.” Abruptly, he turned and walked back to the hotel. Gavin was waiting with Mary McCann and Devnet. “What happened?” he asked.
As briefly as possible, he explained. When he had finished, Devnet said, “Then you won’t be going west? You’ll stop here?” “I’ll go west, ma’am, and if there’s no other way, and you’re mindful to travel along, I’ll take you and Mrs. McCann. It will be rough, and you won’t travel fast, but you can come.” “No,” Devnet said, “we’ll go to Carlton. We will find a way. But thank you.” She paused. “But why will you go now? Everything is gone, finished.” “No, ma’am. Those cattle were stampeded, not killed. I’ll round up what I can of them and go on west. If I can find anything left of my brothers, they’ll have decent burial, and I’ll read from the book over them.
“If not, they’ll lie out there with their blood fed into the grass. Ma’am, neither of those boys would feel too lonely out there, for there’s Indian blood in that grass. Good men died before them, and there’s mighty few western trails that don’t have a Sackett buried somewhere along the route. You don’t build a country like this on sweat alone, ma’am.” “But there are Indians! And those cattle will be scattered for miles!” “Yes, ma’am. I’ll buy me some extra horses, and if I can find a man or two to help, I’ll do it. We started to deliver a herd to the mines, and there’s a Sackett yonder who’s needful of our help. I reckon I’ll go, ma’am, and if it be that I don’t make it, well, there’s more Sacketts where we come from.” The track lay along the Dakota side of the Red, and they moved at a good pace. Accustomed through long practice, the second horse followed the first cart, driven by Baptiste, without a driver. The afternoon waned, and the lead cart moved faster.
Orrin Sackett drew up to look back along the trail. He saw nothing, no sign of pursuit, no dust. His mount seemed nervous and eager to be off, so he turned and once more began following the carts, although his horse, without any urging, rapidly overtook them.
The carts were moving at a fast trot, and Baptiste kept looking around at the sky on all sides. “How far?” Orrin called out.
“Soon!” Baptiste replied.
The women rode in the carts, resting on the bedrolls and sacks of gear and equipment.
Kyle Gavin, seemingly indisposed to conversation, had ridden on ahead.
Again and again, Orrin looked about, watching the terrain. He was not about to trust Cougar or his companion, and he had neglected to find out who they represented or why they had an interest in him.
Not that they showed any indication of being willing to tell him.
Suddenly, the old man yelled at him, gesturing. At the same time, he heard a long, weird moan rise from around or behind him. He had only time to reach up and pull down the mosquito netting from the brim of his hat, and then they were all about him.
He had seen mosquitoes before but nothing like this.
They settled on the horse, five and six deep. Again and again, he swept them away, crushing many at a blow, sweeping others away only to have them return in thousands. Suddenly, ahead of them and through the leaves, they saw lights and a gleam of white. It was the International! The gangway was down, but there was no one in sight.
Without hesitation, they drove aboard, and the women scrambled from the carts and rushed inside.
Kyle Gavin disappeared also, but Orrin remained behind, covering the horses with fly nets that helped only to a limited degree. Some deck hands appeared, and the gangway was hoisted inboard, andwitha great amount of puffing, threshing, and groaning the International moved from the bank and started downstream.
To eat supper was impossible. Mosquitoes drowned themselves in the coffee; buried themselves in the melting butter, crawled into the ears and the eyes.
Devnet Molrone and Mary McCann had already given up and disappeared. Orrin followed.
In his small stateroom, there were mosquitoes, too. He succeeded in driving many outside by waving a towel, then got under the netting on his bunk. Dead tired, he slept, awakening in the cool of morning to find no mosquitoes about.
Shaving was all but impossible, but he worried through it, swearing more than a little. From the porthole he could see green banks sliding past.
After a while, in a clean shirt, he emerged on deck. From the pilot he learned the International was one hundred and thirty-odd feet long but drew only two feet of water.
There were few straight stretches on the river, for it persisted in a fantastic series of S curves that seemed without end. Some of the curves could barely be negotiated, and the longer Mississippi boats would have had no chance here.
Returning to his cabin after a quick, pleasant breakfast, Orrin checked his guns once more.
Soon they would be in the little frontier post of Pembina. He must make new plans now.
Without his brothers, he must do what needed to be done alone or with what help he could secure.
Tel
and Tyrel gone! His mind refused to accept it.
William Tell Sackett, that older brother of his, the quiet, steady one, always so sure, so strong, so seemingly fearless.
Tyrel, younger than he as he was younger than Tell, but Tyrel was different, had always been different. And perhaps the best of them all with a gun.
Gone!
No, he’d not accept it, not until he found some tangible evidence of their death. Yet, at the same time, his experience told him the risk they had run, the dangers to be expected, the attraction of such a herd of cattle moving through Sioux country.
Nonetheless, he must plan as though they were gone.
He must plan to round up the cattle, scattered though they might be, and deliver them himself.
He would, of course, need help. Baptiste seemed willing to go along, but he was only a cart driver. What he would need would be cowboys or some of the m`etis, who were handy men at anything.
They, however, would be busy with Riel and the pending rebellion.
Pembina—he must see what could be done there.
And there were a couple of men aboard the International who might be interested.
Devnet Molrone did not appear on deck, and Kyle Gavin seemed preoccupied.
Orrin walked along the upper deck, watching the shoreline and the river ahead, although rarely could they see the river for more than a few hundred yards, if that far.
Twice he saw deer, once a small herd of buffalo. He saw no Indians.
There were few passengers aboard. Three men and a woman bound for Pembina and a tall, lean young man for Fort Garry. There was also a portly, middle-aged man in a tweed suit.
“This Riel,” the latter said distastefully, “who does he think he is? How dare he?
He’s nothing but a bloody savage!” “I understood he’d studied for the priesthood,” the young man protested, “and worked for some paper in Montreal or somewhere.” “Balderdash! The man’s an aborigine!
Why, he’s part Indian! Everybody knows that!” “One-eighth,” the young man said.
“No matter. Who does he think he is?” “From what I hear,” Orrin suggested mildly, “he simply stepped in to provide a government where there was none.” “Balderdash! The man’s an egotistical fool! Well,” he said finally, “no need to bother about him. The army will be here soon, and they’ll hang him. Hang him, I say!” The young man looked over at Orrin and shrugged. After a bit, he walked forward with him.
“A man of definite opinions,” Orrin said mildly.
“I know little enough about Riel except some poetry of his that I’ve read. Not bad at all, not bad. But he seems a reasonable man.” “If they give him time,” Orrin commented. “It would seem some at least hav
e already made up their minds.” “You’re headed west, I hear?” “British Columbia, but first I’ve got to round up some cattle and find, if I can, the bodies of my brothers, who are said to have been killed in a stampede.” “Dash it all! I am sorry! I heard something to that effect.” He glanced at Orrin.
“Going to the gold fields?” “Eventually, if we get the cattle.” “I would take it as a favor if you permitted me to come along.” “You?” Orrin glanced at him. “I will carry no excess baggage. If you come with me, you will work and be paid for it. You will ride, round up cattle and drive them, and if necessary, fight Indians.” “I’m your man. It sounds like great fun.” “It won’t be. It is brutally hard work, and a good chance to be killed.” “I understand Miss Molrone is going with you?” So that was it? “She may change her mind. Right now she is headed for Carlton House and may go no further. If it is she whom you’re interested in, I would suggest you go to Carlton House.” Pembina would soon be showing up around a bend.
Once there, he could begin recruiting, but instead of the two men he had hoped to get, now he would need at least four and preferably more. This young man—what was his name? He might prove to be just the man he needed.
Kyle Gavin came forward to stand beside him, watching the blunt bow part the river waters.
Huge elms hung over the river, extending limbs out from either side until they almost met above the river. Here and there along the banks were clumps of willow, some grown into trees of some size.
“Dev–-, I mean Miss Molrone tells me you’ve had bad news? About your brothers, I mean?” “Yes, the man called Cougar told me they were dead. That they had been killed. I’ll believe that when I see it.” “I am sorry! I must—well, I have to admit I heard the same story, but I just hadn’t—I mean, I couldn’t bring myself to tell you.” Orrin glanced at Gavin, his eyes cool.
Lonely On the Mountain (1980) Page 7
