A Cold Hard Trail

by Robert J Conley

  I looked up at Jim, and I wanted to say something to him, but only I just couldn’t think a nothing hardly to say. He had done said that he was willing to forget the jailbreaking, and I thunk that was pretty good of him. But that there personal matter, well, ’course I knowed what it was he was a-talking about. When I first done it to him, well even when I done it a second time, it seemed like a real good joke on ole Jim. But then, I had suffered me some embarrassing times since then my own self and I begun to take a different kind a look at what I had did to ole Jim. While I set there a-staring at him like that, he seemed as cold as ever he coulda been.

  Chapter 17

  Well, by God, ole Jim, he just turned right away from me without no other word and started in to walking off, and damned if ole Potter, he didn’t turn his back on me, too, and walk off alongside of him. I heared Jim say, as they was moving off, “Potter, I’d like to ride along with you and see this thing through.”

  “Glad to have you, Chastain,” Potter said. “I’ll take all the help I can get. Besides, we’ll be outside my jurisdiction before we’re through here.”

  “Well,” Jim said, “we’re outside of mine already, so I’ll just go on and follow your lead. You’re in charge. But to hell with jurisdictions. We need to stop that bunch.”

  Their talking kindly faded away then, they had got so far away from me, and, well, me, I just set there not quite a-knowing what to think about it all. It really for sure was a relief offa my head to of heared old Jim say it out loud and all by hisself that he knowed now total and for sure that me and Zeb and Paw wasn’t the outlaws he had once thunk we was. That much was over with and did. Paw and ole Zeb was safe enough, and for sure now I wouldn’t get my own ass all hung out on no tree branch to dry. At least not for them crimes. I had did what I had set out to do by the clearing a our good names.

  But then, I sure knowed what ole Jim was a-talking about whenever he said that there business about the personal matter betwixt me and him. I knowed that he was a-meaning them two times I had left him plumb, stark nekkid and no way to get hisself covered up. I had embarrassed him real good, and there weren’t no way that he was a-going to let me get away with that. He couldn’t beat me in a gunfight. I knowed that. And him being a lawman and all, I didn’t think that he would do no cold-blooded murder, like shooting me in the back or taking a shotgun to me or something like that. But he had something in his head to get back at me for what I done. I knowed that much.

  Well, I et them beans real fast and drunk me a couple a cups a coffee, and then I got myself ready to ride. I was the last one, and ever’one else was a-waiting for me. Whenever ole Potter seed that I was ready to go, he yelled out for us all to mount up. Then he called me up alongside of him.

  “Lead the way, Kid,” he said.

  I tuck out on that trail headed up the mountain, and it weren’t too bad. I knowed it pretty good by then all right. Even whenever we come to the place where I had last seed ole Jim a-standing nekkid, there where I had made the rock slide for the second time, it looked like as if someone had done been back around and cleared it out there. I figgered that maybe some a Weaver’s boys had did it so they could get their own supply wagons up and down. Now for sure the posse supply wagon ought to be able to make it whenever it come along. The going was slow though.

  We made it on up to the top a that trail without no real trouble, and then we rid along the mostly flat road a few more miles before we had to stop for the night. We still had us a fair amount a supplies with us, and so we was able to get ourselfs a good meal and some coffee and all. For just a minute there I thought that I’d surely like to have myself a glass a good whiskey, but then I brung back to mind the last time I’d slurped down too much a that stuff and what it had caused. I figgered then that I was just as well off without it. At least for the time being.

  It was kindly cold in that camp that night. Well, what I mean is, it had begun to cool off up in them mountains all right, special at nighttime, but that ain’t what I mean. What I mean is that ole Jim Chastain was a-hanging around ole Potter some close, I reckon on account a them both being sheriffs and all, and since ole Jim weren’t talking no more to me since he told me what he told me, that meant that neither did ole Potter on account a he was over there with Jim. So it was kindly cold in the camp for me.

  Next morning we had ourselfs a breakfast and more coffee, and then we all mounted up and headed on towards Weaver’s gold camp. Weaver and Raspberry and some others come out to meet us whenever we final come into the camp, and I interduced both sheriffs to them guys.

  “Has Morgan showed back up yet?” I asked.

  “He’s back,” Weaver said, “and with some more men.”

  “We know about them men all right,” I said. “Say, where’s ole Zeb?”

  Weaver looked around in all directions.

  “Why, I don’t know,” he said. “He was standing right here beside me when we saw you coming.”

  “Well, I need to find him,” I said. “I got news.”

  I left Weaver and Raspberry with the two sheriffs to learn all about just what the hell was a-going on what with ole Morgan and them back over yonder at the site a their burned-out camp and the other half a the posse a-coming along the road behind us and ole Churkee over there on the other side a Morgan and all. I weren’t too much worried about nothing by then on account a we had done whipped that first Morgan bunch, and this time we had us a whole lot more men, and ole Morgan, he didn’t have nigh as many as what he’d had before. It didn’t promise to be none too exciting.

  I wandered all around that camp a-hunting ole Zeb, but he weren’t nowhere to be found. I looked in the tent where I knowed he should be a-staying, and sure ’nough his things was still inside there. I looked over where some a the miners was a-digging. There weren’t no sign a Zeb. Then I went inside the big tent, and I seed ole Myrtle just a-covered in a fine layer a flour, and she smiled real broad and genuine at me.

  “Howdy, Kid,” she said. “Welcome back.”

  “How do, Myrtle,” I said. “It’s a most pleasure to see you again. Say, Myrtle, have you saw ole Zeb anywheres? I been looking all over for him.”

  She give me a knowing kinda wink and pointed over to the kitchen part what was partitioned off from the mainest part a the big tent, and so I went on back there. I looked around, but I never seed ole Zeb nor no one else. I turned around and was a-fixing to leave, but Myrtle come into the doorway just then, and she pointed across the room to a pickle barrel what was a-standing there. I give her a curious look, and she just only jobbed her finger in the air still a-pointing at that barrel. I walked over to the barrel, and then I give a look back at Myrtle, and she pointed again and nodded her head kinda vigorous. I tuck hold a the lid and pulled it off, and there he was, all scrunched down in that pickle barrel, and the smell a pickles come a-whuffing out at me.

  “Zeb,” I said, “you old son of a bitch, what the hell are you a-doing in there? That there’s a pickle barrel.”

  Well, he stood up, but he was slow, like as if he’d been wadded up too long, and he groaned and moaned something fierce, but final he was a-standing.

  “I know what the hell it is. You don’t have to tell me. I’m hiding out,” he said. “You’d best get your own self hid too, and quick about it.”

  “How come?” I asked him.

  “That Chastain is out there,” Zeb said. “I seen him come a-riding in all bigger’n shit with a whole damn posse behind him.”

  “Hell, Zeb,” I said, “didn’t you see me? I was riding in with them.”

  “What?”

  “I come in with the posse, Zeb. That’s what I wanted to tell you about. I was down yonder in Nugget whenever the damn gang what Chastain thunk was us come and robbed the bank and kilt another man. Ole Potter, the sheriff there, he seed me, and he seed them, and he knows that we ain’t them, and they ain’t us, and he tole ole Jim Chastain what he seed. We ain’t wanted no more, Zeb. It’s all been done cleared up.”


  “You sure?” he said.

  “Damn right,” I said.

  “Well, I mighta seen you,” he said, “if you wasn’t so damn little tiny.”

  “Shut up, you old fart,” I said. “Climb back outa that damn barrel and come on out and meet ole Potter.”

  He wriggled a little bit and shoved, and then he said, “I can’t get out. Give me a hand, Kid.”

  I tried but I couldn’t pull him out neither, so I just went and pushed the barrel right on over and him in it, and ole Zeb, he hollered like I’d pulled his nose or something. Then he come crawling out on his hands and knees like a babe, and he stood up and commenced to yelling at me.

  “You snot-nosed brat,” he said. “I oughta lay you over my knees and whip your skinny ass. You’d oughta learn more respect for your elders, you wet-behind-the-ears little shit. Push a old man over like that. Baby-faced little bastard. Even if you ain’t got no respect, I’m your own ole pard. Hell, that oughta mean something to you. Kids these days got no sense a what’s right and what’s wrong. Hell, just ain’t got no sense.”

  “Zeb,” I said, whenever he slowed down to ketch his breath again, “go take yourself a bath. Will you? You got a powerful odor a pickles about you.”

  Back outside, I come up on Potter and Chastain still a-talking with Weaver and Raspberry. I was some curious about any plans they might have for attacking ole Morgan’s camp, since I had set my mind at ease about ole Zeb. I was kindly wondering and worrying about ole Churkee too, knowing that he was somewheres over on the other side a Morgan and them. I had found ole Zeb and set my mind at ease on him, and freed up like that, it got to pondering on Churkee.

  “Potter,” I said, “when we hitting that Morgan camp?”

  “We’ll wait for Eddie and rest of the posse to show up,” he said. “It shouldn’t be too much longer.”

  “We ain’t got no way a knowing how much longer it’ll be,” I said. “We can’t just sit here and wait for them. Hell, ole Churkee’s over there somewheres all by his lonesome. We got us plenty enough men here to do the job with. Let’s us just go on and get the no-good bastards and get it over with and did.”

  “Better to be safe than sorry,” he said. “We’ll wait.”

  Well, him quoting fancy sayings like that didn’t impress me none, I can tell you that. I didn’t like his decision one damn bit. I was a-thinking that ole Churkee might get impatient over yonder way all by hisself, a-wanting to kill Morgan as bad as he did, and he might just go on ahead and try to do something about it by hisself if we was to take too long in the doing a something. Even if he did manage to keep ahold a his patience, one a them Morgan men might could come across him over there accidental like. He wouldn’t have no help, and so he wouldn’t have a chance. I didn’t like that a damn bit, like I said.

  “What about Churkee?” I said.

  “I have an idea he’s smart enough to keep his head down,” said Potter.

  Well, that pissed me off complete and total, but I didn’t have nothing else to say to a damn stubbornheaded lawman, and so I just kept my yap shut after that, and I turned and walked on off kindly stomping as I went so they’d know what I thunk about it. I went on over to the tent what Weaver had give to me and Zeb to live in while we was up there, and I found ole Zeb inside, nekkid in a tub a water, all sudsied up and a-scrubbing at hisself with a long-handled brush.

  “Getting the pickle off?” I said.

  “Shut up, Kid,” he said.

  “Zeb,” I said, “I got me some serious talking to do. Them two damn sheriffs out there went and split their posse up. That what you seed out yonder is just only half a the whole entire mob.”

  “The rest coming along?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said, “but—”

  “Good,” he said. “The more the merrier, I always say.”

  I was tired a them fancy sayings like that, but I just only gritted my teeth at it and just kept on with my serious talking.

  “What ain’t good,” I said, “is that they ain’t going to make no move on ole Morgan till the other half a the posse shows up, and who the hell knows when that’ll be? Now, I got me a pardner over yonder on the other side a Morgan’s camp, and he’s all by his lonesome over there.”

  Ole Zeb, he looked up sharp at me whenever I said that what I said, and he was a-scowling something fierce.

  “You got yourself another pardner?” Zeb said. “What about ole Zeb? Huh? You just planning to abandon me to myself up here in these cold and hostile mountains? Leave poor ole Zeb to die up here alone? Maybe get et up by mountain lions or something? Is that the way you do your old pard?”

  “No, Zeb,” I said. “It ain’t like that. Pardners ain’t like wives, is they? Can’t a feller have more than one pard?”

  Then I had to go and tell ole Zeb how come me to know Churkee, and how ole Churkee had pulled me outa a bad spot and then had stuck by me while we run down them three outlaws.

  “Why, if it wasn’t for ole Churkee,” I said, “Chastain would still be a-looking to hang us.”

  “What did you call this here new pard a yours?” Zeb said.

  “Churkee,” I said. “It ain’t his for-real name, I guess. He told me he’s a Churkee Injun, and whenever I asked him what I could call him, he said just Churkee would do. ’Course, once I heared him tell someone else that he was mongo-lid or something like that. Hell, I don’t know.”

  “Churkee,” said Zeb, kindly musing like. “Churkee Injun. Hell, Kid, you got yourself a for-real Cherokee Indi’n for a new pard. That’s good enough for ole Zeb. Yes, sir. Them Cherokees is good people. Damn gov’ ment done them real dirty too.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “He told me about that moving of them across the country the way they done.”

  “The Trail a Tears,” Zeb said. “The Trail a Tears. Yes, sir. Done them dirty.”

  “Zeb?” I said.

  “Yeah?”

  “What’s that there mongo-lid?”

  Well, he went and laughed out loud at me for so long that he damn near made me mad at him, but final he shut up and wiped his eyes.

  “What’s so funny?” I said. “I just asked a question, is all.”

  “Don’t take offense, Kid,” he said. “Mongolians lives over in Asia across the ocean. Some folks believes that’s where our Indi’ns comes from. They say long ago some Mongolians come across the Bering Strait down into this land, and they become the Indi’ns.”

  “Where’s that bearin straight?” I asked him. “Ole Churkee, he said something about that too.”

  “Ole Cherokee was a-putting someone on,” Zeb said. “He don’t believe that tale. Anyhow, it’s a way up north a here, up where it’s real cold.”

  “Colder’n these mountains in the winter?” I asked.

  “Way colder.”

  Well, I figgered if Churkee’s mongo-whatever ancestors come from a place colder’n that, why, I didn’t blame them none for coming on down south and turning into Injuns, but I had let myself get kindly distracted from my main and only purpose for a spell there, so I forced my mind back on the track what it shoulda been on all along, if only ole Zeb hadn’t a derailed it back there.

  “Zeb,” I said, “I can’t wait for the rest a the posse to show up. I got to do something about ole Churkee over there.”

  “Don’t you reckon he can take keer a hisself?” Zeb said.

  “At least as good as me,” I said, “but I still don’t like it.”

  I told Zeb how I’d been a-worrying that Morgan and them might come across him by accident or how Churkee hisself might lose his patience and go after Morgan, and I told him how come Churkee to be after Morgan in the first place.

  “If it was you over yonder, Zeb,” I said, “I’d be a-feeling the same way. How would you be a-feeling if it was me over there?”

  “I’m beginning to get your meaning, Kid,” Zeb said. “Fetch me that towel over yonder.”

  I fetched it and held it out to him, and he stood up in his nekkidness and tuck it and
commenced to drying off his old wrinkled skin and his bristly old gray whiskers and hair.

  “What you got in your old bald head?” I said.

  “We got to go over there,” he said.

  “Well, how the hell can we do that?” I said. “If we try to ride through Morgan’s camp, they’ll spot us sure.”

  “We ain’t riding through his shitty camp,” Zeb said.

  “We can’t go back down the mountain and then over to the other road and back up again,” I said. “That’d take way too long.”

  “You’re right about that,” he said.

  “Well, damn it, Zeb,” I said, “there ain’t no other way but ’cept—”

  I stopped before I said it on account a I didn’t really want to say it. I didn’t want to even think it.

  “You’re right, Kid,” Zeb said. “It’s the only way over.”

  “I can’t do it, Zeb,” I said.

  “Sure you can.”

  “You know what happened the last time,” I said. “And I’ll still kill you if you ever breathe a word of it. You know what happened, and so you know I can’t do it.”

  “Kid,” he said, “a man can do anything if he puts his whole mind to it.”

  “Zeb, I ain’t going up on that again.”

  He tossed away the towel and went to pulling his britches on.

  “Well,” he said, “I won’t argue no more with you. I said what I believe, but you won’t listen to me, old as I am. And me your old pardner. I listened to all your whining and all your lofty damn statements about pards and all that, but I reckon you never meant none a that stuff. If it was me over there, you said. I reckon if it was me over there right now this very minute, and you knowed that I’d get myself kilt lessen you got right on over there, you’d just kick back and say, well, there’s only one way acrost fast enough, and I’m just afraid I can’t do that. It’s too bad about ole Zeb, but I can’t climb that mountain without I mess my britches.”