Lonely On the Mountain s-19

by Louis L'Amour

  "Howdy!" he said. "You all still rustlin' for men?" "How are you, Shorty? Yes, I am." He paused. "You travel fast." "It's a mighty poor horse that ain't faster'n that steamboat, what with all the curves in that river. I beat you by a whole day." Shorty emptied his glass. "Word gets around that you won't be needin' any hands. They say your cattle were stampeded and your brothers killed. They say you're wiped out." Orrin pushed his hat back. He glanced at the bartender. "A beer," he said, "and give Shorty whatever he's drinking." He waited for the beer, took a swallow, and then said, "I never seen a herd so scattered that a man couldn't round up some of them, and as for Tell and Tyrel, they don't kill very easy. I've seen 'em shot at, I've seen 'em wounded, I've seen them days without food or water, and somehow they always came through.

  "Regardless, we gave our word to deliver cattle, and deliver them I will if I have to round up a herd of buffalo and drive them through.

  "I've got just one man, Shorty, an' old cart driver named Baptiste. We've got two cartloads of grub an' gear, and I'm rustling for men and horses.

  "Out west there, they've got some mighty mean Sioux, some meaner Blackfeet, and some grizzlies that will stand higher than a horse and heavier than a bull. They've got mountains where nobody ever drove a cow critter before, and there may be some men along the trail who'd like to stop us. What d'you say?" "Sounds like my kind of a deal." Shorty tossed off his drink. "Finish your beer. I know a man who's got some horses." Two hours later, Orrin owned six new horses. Shorty stood back and watched him, an amused smile on his face. Orrin passed by dozens of horses to choose the six he finally bought.

  "You done yourself proud," Shorty said. "You got yourself six of the best. But you get to roundin' up stock on the plains, and six horses won't last even two men no time at all." "We'll have more. What I need right now is men." "Tough. Usually, you could find all you wanted.

  These m`etis ain't cowpunchers by a long shot, but they can ride, and they can shoot, and you find quite a few who are fair hands with a rope. And they're workers, every durned one of them." The steamboat whistled. "Shorty? You want to meet me in Fort Garry with these horses?" "Surest thing you know. But you watch your step.

  That's a mighty touchy situation there." He had no doubt of it, yet there was nothing to do but to go ahead and cope with the situations as they occurred.

  He could not make himself believe that Tell and Tyrel were dead. If not dead, they might be lying somewhere, injured and suffering. Or they might be prisoners of the Sioux.

  He made the International just as they were taking in the gangway.

  Devnet met him on the upper deck. "It isn't far now, is it?" she asked.

  "A few more hours. You are going to Fort Carlton?" "Of course." "Is Mrs. McCann going with you?" "I think not. I do not know her well, you know.

  We just met while traveling, and all I know is that she wishes to go west, all the way to the Pacific." "You should have no trouble." She turned to him suddenly. "I am sorry about your brothers, so very sorry. were you so very close?" "We had our differences, but they never amounted to much. Yes, we were close. I left my law practice to help them." "What will you do now?" "Find their bodies, if possible, bury them, and then round up the cattle and go on west." He paused. "But I cannot believe they are dead. They were both so strong, so alive. They were survivors. They'd been through a lot." He hesitated, then said, "Miss Molrone, I--" "My friends call me Nettie. It is easier to say than Devnet." "All right, Nettie. What will you do if you learn nothing of your brother at Carlton?" "Go on west, I presume. He has to be there." "You must realize there is no regular mode of travel to the west, only occasional groups of travelers. Someday there will be a railroad. They are talking of it now, and since this Riel trouble, I imagine there will be a serious effort made, but that's years away." "I have to go--somehow." "We will not be going by way of Carlton but will be going west from Fort Ellice. We will follow the Qu'Appelle River, more or less. If you could join us--of course, it will be rough, sleeping on the ground and all that." "I could do it." They talked the morning away but saw nothing of Kyle Gavin. Before the noontime meal, Mary McCann came up to join them. She said little, had blunt but not unattractive features, and Orrin noticed her hands showed evidence of much hard work.

  Occasionally, now, there were breaks in the wall of trees on either bank, and they could catch glimpses of meadows and in one case of a plowed field. The country was very flat, and the river wound slowly through it. They saw many ducks and an occasional hawk.

  A dozen men armed with rifles, whom he took to be m`etis, waited on the landing.

  One of them came forward as the carts were being driven ashore. His name, he said, was Lepine.

  "I am Orrin Sackett." Lepine nodded. "We have heard of you." He gestured to the carts. "These will be confiscated." Briefly, Orrin explained. Lepine shrugged. "It will be up to Louis. He will decide." It was arranged for him to be conducted to the fort where Riel had taken up his residence.

  Riel came into the room wearing a black frock coat, vest and trousers, and moccasins, as did nearly everyone. He had quick, intelligent eyes, a broad forehead, and a shock of black hair.

  He listened, his eyes roaming around the room, as Orrin explained. At the end, he nodded.

  "Of course. We will release your goods. I have heard of the attack you mention." "And my brothers? were they killed?" "What we heard was little enough. There was a stampede, an attempt to scatter the cattle so the Sioux could take them when they wished.

  "There was some fighting, which would imply somebody survived the stampede. The Sioux claim to have lost no one, but one of my men, who was in their camp shortly after, learned

  here were some losses, and the Sioux had but one fresh scalp that he saw." He glanced at Orrin. "You must give me your word the rifles will not be used against me, nor the supplies given to those who consider themselves my enemies." His restless eyes kept moving about the room.

  Suddenly, he asked, "How many men do you have?" "Two--now. A cart driver named Baptiste--" Riel smiled. "I know him. A good old man." He looked around at Orrin. "But only two? What can you do?" "I hope to find more." "Well"--he shook his head doubtfully--"you have a problem." He waved a hand. "Go! It is all right! You shall have your carts. I want trouble with no one. I began all this because I wanted peace.

  There were surveyors coming on our land, and I was afraid there would be a shooting." Orrin turned to the door, and his hand was on the latch when Riel spoke again. "Wait! There is a man, an American like yourself. He is in jail here. I think he is a good man." "In jail for what?" "Fighting." Orrin smiled. "All right. I will talk to him." "If you hire him, the case will be dismissed." Riel smiled slyly, his eyes twinkling. "Just take him away from here. It needed four of my men to get him locked up." Lepine unlocked the cell, and a man got up from the straw. He was at least two inches taller than Orrin's six feet and four inches but leaner. He had a handlebar moustache and a stubble of beard. One eye was black, fading to blue and yellow, and his knuckles were skinned.

  "You want a job?" Orrin said.

  "I want to get out of here." "You take the job, you get out. Otherwise, they'll throw the key away." "Don't look like I have much choice." He stared at Orrin. "What kind of a job is this, anyway?" "Rounding up cattle stampeded by buffalo.

  It's in Sioux country." "Hell, I'd rather stay in jail. They gotta let me out sometime." He was watching Orrin, and suddenly he said, "What's your name, mister?" He paused. "It wouldn't be Sackett, would it?" "It would. I am Orrin Sackett." "I'll be dammed! They call me Highpockets Haney. I thought you had the mark on you. You Sacketts all seem cut to the same pattern, sort of. I served in the army with a Sackett named William Tell." "My brother." "I'll be dammed! All right, you got yourself a boy. On'y you got to get me a wee-pon.

  They done taken my rifle gun an' my pistol." A burly, m`etis, sitting on a log with a rifle across his knees, looked up as they came out. "Take heem! Take heem far! He geef me a leep!" He touched his lip with tender fi
ngers.

  "Hell," Haney said, "look at the eye you gave me!" "What we fight about?" Haney chuckled. "You expect me to remember? More'n likely I wondered whether you was as tough as you looked." He chuckled again. "You're tougher!" Shorty was at the customhouse with the six horses. He led the way to a place back from the river and on a grassy hillside under the spreading branches of some old trees. "Camped here before," he explained.

  He watched Baptiste come up the rise with the two carts. "Ain't much of an outfit, but it's a start," he suggested. "We'll need at least two more men, and we should have six." "We'll just have to look around," Orrin said, "but there's three of us now." The next man was a volunteer. He approached Shorty, who was having a beer. "You look like a rider," he suggested. "I'm another, and I'm broke and rustlin' work." His name was Charlie Fleming, and he was from Arkansas, he said. He had two horses of his own and knew where there were four more to be had.

  "That's it," Orrin told them. "We'll move out tomorrow. The first thing is to find where that stampede took place and hunt for my brothers, or their bodies." "You won't find much," Fleming said. "Not after a stampede. I lost a friend thataway, and all we found was his boot heels and some buttons.

  By the time several hundred head of buffalo run over you, there isn't much to find." "We'll look," Haney said. "Tell Sackett was the best friend I ever had. We were in the Sixth Cavalry together." Orrin walked back to the hotel.

  Studiously, he had avoided any thought of his brothers. His job was to get an outfit. When the time came to look, that would be another thing.

  Three men riding and one on the carts. Four men riding, counting himself. It was too few, and he should have about ten more horses. Rounding up scattered cattle, if any were left, would be rough on the riding stock.

  The first person he saw at the hotel was Nettie Molrone. "Oh, Mr. Sackett!

  I'm so glad to see you! I'm leaving in the morning for Fort Carlton!" "Who's taking you?" "I'm going with a group. Mrs. McCann is going, and there will be another lady whose husband is there. There are six trappers, Mr. Taylor from the Hudson's Bay Company, and Kyle Gavin." "I wish you luck," he said. His expression was a little sour, and she noticed it. "I mean, I really do," he added. "I'll be leaving tomorrow, too." "I know. I mean, Mr. Gavin said he believed you were leaving. He doesn't think you'll have much luck." "We'll see." He hesitated, then said, "I hope you find your brother and that everything goes well for you. Remember, we'll be miles to the south of you, and once we get the cattle, we'll be driving west. We'll follow the South Saskatchewan." "But aren't the cattle down in Dakota?" "On the border," he said. "We'll need several days to round them up." He was in his room and combing his hair before going down to dinner when the thought struck him. How did Kyle Gavin know he was leaving?

  He didn't even have his outfit yet, not the men or stock he needed.

  Just a surmise, probably. A lucky guess.

  Chapter XII

  The morning was clear and bright with only a few scattered clouds. The wind sent ripples through the vast sea of grass before them, but the sound of it was lost in the screech and groan of the carts, which were entirely of oak and ungreased.

  Highpockets Haney rode up beside Orrin.

  "You got your work cut out for you, Sackett," he said. "You ever rounded up cattle scattered by a buffalo stampede? They're likely to be scattered to hell an' gone." "It won't be easy." "We'll be workin' alone most of the time, just the way the Injuns like it." "We'll work in pairs," Orrin suggested.

  "Takes less time to bunch them. If trouble comes, use your own judgment. Fight if that's necessary, but run if you can, just so long as you run together. I don't want any man left alone unless he's already dead." Now he left them, riding out at least a mile in advance of the carts and the other riders. Since the news had come, there had been no time to be alone, no time to mourn, no time to think, only time for the immediate business, and first things must come first.

  They had started to drive cattle to the gold fields because Logan Sackett had promised it. Therefore the job must be continued. Logan was still in trouble, and a Sackett had given his word.

  Rumor had it his brothers were dead. He did not believe it, yet it could be. Men died every day, and his brothers were no more immune than their father had been.

  It was his mission now to go to the area, accept the risks it entailed, round up the cattle if possible, and find and bury the bodies of his brothers.

  Feeling sad was a luxury he could not afford at the moment. With resolution, he turned from sadness to the task at hand. Now, with all going forward, he could think, so he rode far out before his small party where he could ride alone.

  He was alone, simply with his horse, the sound of his passing, and the wind in the grass.

  Tell and Tyrel--gone! That he could not accept, even for the moment. Tell had always been the older brother, strong, quiet, and sure. He had been less talkative, even, than Tyrel, who was himself quiet. He, Orrin, had always been the easy-talking one, taking after the Welsh side of the family.

  He remembered the day when Tell, still only a boy, had ridden off to war. They lived in the mountains of Tennessee and had kinfolk fighting for the Confederacy, but Tell had said, "Ma, I'm a goin' to war. I'm goin' to fight for the Union." "For the Union, son?" "Yes, ma. It's my bounden duty. Our folks fought to build this country, and I'll not turn my back on it. It's our country, all of it, not just the South. And there's many a boy in Kentucky and Tennessee feels likewise." He went in the night, using the old Indian trails, that only mountain folk knew, and somehow he got through to Ohio, and eventually he'd wound up in the Sixth Cavalry. He never said much about the war years, and if he met any kinfolk on the field of battle, he didn't say.

  When it was over, he'd gone to fightin' Injuns and then quit the army and joined up with a cattle drive. He'd covered a far stretch of country before their paths crossed again in the western lands. So far as they knew, Tell had not been back to Tennessee, which was surprising because there'd been a girl back yonder that he'd been sh*' up to when the war started.

  Tyrel was the youngest but already married and owner of a ranch, part of which his wife brought to him, but which he'd helped to save from renegades in the Land Grant fights. He was better off than any of them.

  He owned land and stock, but he owed money, and this trip was costing him.

  This was wide-open country, yet there were unexpected hollows and valleys, and a man had to keep his wits about him. There were sloughs, small lakes usually surrounded by a thick stand of cattails. The hills were green now; only a few days had made a striking difference. The grass was short but long enough to color the hills with springtime. Wild flowers were everywhere, harebell, silverberry, and blue-eyed grass as well as wild parsley and yellow violet.

  Here and there were small herds of antelope, and occasionally they saw a buffalo.

  That night by their small fire he warned them again. "This here's Sioux country, and they're first-class fighting men. You got to expect them all the time." On the third day they killed a buffalo for fresh meat and skinned it out with the meadowlarks calling. Orrin's eyes kept roving, searching, watching, yet a part of his mind was far away, with Nettie Molrone, wondering where she was and how she fared.

  Douglas Molrone--he must remember the name and listen for it, yet the gold fields had a way of devouring men, of chewing them up and spitting them out at the ragged ends of the world. It was whiskey and hard work that did them in, standing in cold streams, panning for the elusive gold.

  So many times even the best discoveries somehow seemed to come to nothing. Tell had struck it rich in the mountains of Colorado only to have the vein play out. He had taken out a goodly sum, but part of it had gone back into searching for the lost vein.

  Sometime, somebody would discover it, broken off and shifted by some convulsion of the earth.

  In the distance, they could see the flat-looking blue shadow that was the Turtle Mountains. Not mountains at all but a plateau of roll
ing country scattered with lakes and pretty meadows among the trees.

  The dim trail they were following, probably made by m`etis buffalo hunters, skirted the Turtle Mountains on the north, but Orrin led the way south, skirting the plateau's eastern end and making camp near a slough almost in the shadow of the hills.

  "Keep your rifles handy," he advised, "but be damned sure you see what you're shooting at.

  You boys know as well as I do that some or all of them might come through a stampede. If it takes place at night there'd likely be only two, three men on night herd, and they'd know you can't stop a buffalo stampede." "So?" Fleming asked.

  "It's likely they'd scatter. They'd take out an' run," Haney said. "That's what I'd do. A dead cowhand ain't no good to anybody." "If my brothers or Cap come through this, they'd more than likely take to the hills. There's water there, and there are hideouts and small game." They were camped in a small hollow with some low brush around, a few polished granite boulders left by a vanished glacier, and several tall cottonwoods. The slough where they watered their stock was about fifty yards below. Baptiste built a small fire and roasted buffalo steaks. Orrin could not rest but prowled about outside of the hollow, listening for any small sound.

  He heard nothing but the expected sounds of the night.

  It w

  s very still. To the north loomed the bulk of the plateau; to the west the land fell gradually away into a vast plain, which he suspected was a prehistoric lake bed. Behind him there was a faint rustling of wind in the cottonwood leaves and a low murmur of voices.

  Somewhere out in that great silence were his brothers and Cap, alive or dead, and he had to find them.

  He walked out a few steps farther, listening.

  Overhead were the stars, and the sky was very clear. He moved out still farther, haunted by the feeling that something was out there, something vague that he could not quite realize.