Swearing softly, I plodded on, feeling for footholds around the edge. Suddenly, as it had begun, the narrow trail ended and gave out into a thick forest. Ahead, there was a meadow and beyond a stream, already icing over.
There was room enough, and there was but little undergrowth.
Tying the roan, I went to a deadfall and from under it tried to gather some scraps of bark that had not been soaked by the rain. From inside my shirt, I took a little tinder that I always kept for the purpose, and breaking a tuft of it free, I lit a fire. As it blazed up, I hastily added more fuel.
Walking back into the woods, I broke off some of the small suckers that grew from the tree trunks and died. They had long been dead and were free from rain. By the time the cattle began to wander out on the meadow and the first rider appeared, I had a fine fire blazing and was rigging a lean-to between two trees that stood about ten feet apart.
The trees had lower limbs approximately the same height above the ground, and selecting from among the fallen debris, broken limbs, and dead branches one of proper length I rested it in the crotches of the limbs selected, and then I began gathering other sticks to lean slant-wise from the pole to the ground.
From time to time I stopped to add fuel to the fire, well knowing the effect the fire would have on the tired men and the two women.
Across the poles, I put whatever lay to hand.
I was not building anything but a temporary shelter, and I used slabs of bark from fallen trees, fir branches and whatever was close by.
By the time Lin and Baptiste reached the fire with the pack horses, I had a fairly comfortable shelter and was starting on another. Haney was first to reach the fire, and he began gathering fir boughs from nearby trees.
Orrin helped Nettie from her horse, and for a moment she swayed and fell against the horse. She straightened up. "I'm sorry," she said. "I guess I'm tired." One by one, the men came in, carrying their gear, which they dropped under the second shelter. Several of them went to the fire. Cap walked out and began gathering boughs, and after a minute Shorty went to help.
Highpockets Haney held his hands to the fire. He looked around at me. "Tell Sackett I been a lot of places with you, but if you think I'm goin' back over that trail in the snow, you got another think a-comin'." "We lost some stock, Cap?" Rountree looked at me. Tired as he had to be, he looked no different than always. He had degrees of toughness nobody had ever scratched. "That we did!" Shorty looked over at me. "Fourteen, fifteen head, Tell. I'm sorry." "This weather's rough," Haney added. "We'll lose some more if we've far to go." We huddled about the fire, and soon the smell of coffee was in the air. Tyrel went back to the edge of camp, and soon he came in with several chunks of meat. "Big horn," he said. "I nailed him back on the other side of the mountain." Soon the smell of broiling meat was added to that of coffee. Outside, the falling sleet rustled on the fir boughs and on the meadow. The cattle ceased to eat, and one by one took shelter under the trees.
"Ain't nothin' like a fire," Cap said, "and the smell of coffee boilin'." "How far you reckon it is?" Shorty asked.
Nobody answered because nobody knew. Me, I leaned my forehead on my crossed arms and hoped there would be a marker on this side of the pass we'd come over. We would surely need it because I had no idea which way to turn.
The Dease was someplace off to the northwest.
Beyond that, anybody's guess was as good as mine, and I
as ramrodding this outfit.
We had fire, and we had shelter, and we had a bit of meat, and good meat at that. Yet I was uneasy.
Where had Charlie Fleming gone?
Surely, as we drew closer and closer to our destination, we drew closer to his also, so why hadn't he waited a bit longer where he could have coffee and grub on the way?
Maybe, just maybe, because we were closer than we thought.
Certainly, even though he could not interpret the message, he would know there had been a message, and that would mean that Logan Sackett was not only alive but free--or probably free.
Had he fled to warn someone of our coming? Or was he afraid of Logan?
Orrin got up and moved over to where Nettie Molrone was. I could hear the murmur of their voices as they talked. "I'll ask about for your brother," he said, "as soon as we meet anybody. There'll be a town," he added, "or something of the kind." The sleet still fell, but it was changing into snow, which would be worse, for beneath the snow there would be ice on the trails. Beyond the reach of the fire shadows flitted wolves.
Now stories came to me, stories told me when I was a small boy by my father. My father had trapped these very lands; he told us much of animals and their habits and of how the wolves would work as a team to drive an animal or a group of animals into a position where they could easily be killed. To drive an elk or moose out on the ice where he would slip and fall was one trick often used. Sometimes they herded them into swamps or drove them off cliffs.
These tricks were often attempted with men, and the unwary were trapped by them.
The snow continued to fall throughout the night, and when morning came, the ground and the trees were covered with it. We got out of bed under the lean-tos, and Baptiste had a fire built up in no time.
It had burned down to coals during the last hours of the morning.
It was good to hear the crackle of the fire and to smell the wood burning. Tyrel saddled up, and him and me took a turn through the woods, bunching the cattle a little. They'd had tolerable shelter under the trees, but it was right cold that morning, and they were in no way anxious to move.
Some of the horses had pawed away the snow to get at the grass. These were mustangs, used to wild country and to surviving in all kinds of weather.
We were slow getting started because everybody rolled out a mite slower than usual.
Nettie's face looked pinched and tight, and she held her hands to the fire.
Orrin said, "We're gettin' close. This is the kind of country you'll find your brother in." "How can he stand it? I mean even if there's gold." "Gold causes folks to do all manner of unlikely things, ma'am," Tyrel said.
"Sometimes even folks a body has figured were right good people have turned ugly when gold's in the picture." "Kyle Gavin did not want me to come looking for my brother," Nettie said. "He offered to lend me the money to start home." "It's a rough country, ma'am. He knows that.
He probably didn't want you to get trapped in a place you couldn't get out of." We came down to a deep canyon before we'd gone more than a few miles and wound down a narrow switchback trail to the water's edge. The river flowed past the road a whole lot faster than we liked, so we pointed the herd upstream and started them swimming across somewhat against the current. They held to it only a little, but by that time they were well on their way, and when they turned a bit on the downstream side, they were pointed toward the landing.
We got most of them across and started up the trail opposite. Shorty was in the lead, and as he topped out on the ridge, we heard a sharp report that went echoing down the canyon, and we saw Shorty whip around in his saddle and fall.
At least two hundred cattle were on the trail, and there was no way to get past them. We urged them on, and they began to boil over the edge, running. We crowded the rest of them across and Tyrel an' me, we went hightailing it up the trail after those cows.
We went over the edge, running, but saw nothing but an empty meadow scattered with the arriving cattle. Shorty's horse stood a short distance off, and Shorty was on the ground. Tyrel rode hellbent for election across the meadow and into the trees, and I swung my horse around and rode to Shorty. He was on his face, and there was a big spot of blood on his back, and I turned him over easy.
His eyes were open, and he said, "Never saw him, Tell. Not even a glimpse. Sorry." He was hit hard, and he knew it. Nettie came up over the rim followed by Mary, and they went right to him.
"I did my part, Tell. Didn't I?" He stared up at me.
"All any man could, Shorty. We rode some r
ivers together." "It ain't so bad," he said. "There's nobody to write to. I never had nobody, Tell." "You had us, Shorty, and when we ride over the rim, we'll be lookin' for you. Keep an eye out, will you?" There were low clouds, and the place where he lay was swept clean of snow. Nettie and Mary, they came to him, trying to ease him some, as womenfolk will.
"Can't you do something, Tell?" Nettie said to me.
"Nothin' he can do, ma'am," Shorty said.
"Just don't try to move me." Tyrel came back from the woods, and Orrin rode up, and we squatted near Shorty.
"Highpockets and me," Shorty said, "we were headin' for the Jackson Hole country. You tell him he'll have to go it alone, will you?" "He's comin', Shorty. He'll be here in just a moment." "He better hurry. I got my saddle on something I can't ride." Highpockets loomed over them. "See you down the road a piece, Shorty. You be lookin' for me. You'll know me because I'll have a scalp to my belt." Nettie brushed the hair back from his brow, and Shorty passed with his eyes on her face.
"He was a man loved high country," I said.
"We'll bury him here." "Smoke over yonder," Cap said. "Might be a town." "Bunch the cattle," I said. "We're going on in."
Chapter XXIV
Of the cattle with which we started less than half remained, and they were lean and rangy from the long drive.
"Nettie," Orrin advised, "you and Mrs.
McCann had better hang back behind the herd.
We're going to have trouble." "What's this all about, anyway?" Mary McCann demanded.
"We'll know when we meet Logan, and that should be soon." "Is that a town down there?" "It is no town," Baptiste said. "Once there was fort. A man named Campbell had fort here back in 1838 or '39. Sometimes trapper mans camped here." "There's somebody here now," Haney said, "and somebody killed Shorty." Sitting my roan horse, I listened to what was being said with only a bit of my attention. What was worrying me was what we'd find down below. Shorty had been killed. Shot right through the chest and spine and shot dead. He had been shot deliberately, and to me it looked like they were trying to warn us to stay out.
"Baptiste? Why here? Why don't they want us there? Why would anybody want a herd of cattle here? There isn't enough grass to keep a herd of this size alive." "You say he say "before winter comes." They want beef. They want food. No game comes in winter. Ver' little game. People could be much hungry.
"Winter comes an' nobody here. Nobody goes out. I t'ink somebody wish to stay here through the winter." "He could be right, Tell," Orrin said.
"What other answer is there?" "Whoever it is, they mean business. The shooting of Shorty was deliberate. It was a warning.
Stay out or be killed." Suddenly, I made up my mind. My impulse was to go right on in, but into what?
"We'll camp," I said. "We'll camp right here on the mountain." Tyrel turned to stare at me. "I say let's go on in. Let's get it done." "Get what done, Tye? Who is the enemy?
Who are we hunting? Where's Logan? If he's free, he may not even be down there. If he's a prisoner, we'd better know where he is.
"There may be ten men down there, and there may be fifty. They've already showed us they are ready to fight, and to kill. According to what we heard, they've got the Samples down there and those Polon brothers.
"Go into camp," I said, "right back at the edge of the trees, and let's get set for a fight." We moved the cattle into a kind of a cul de sac at the edge of the forest. Dragging a log into place here and there and propping them against trees, we made a crude sort of a fence. It wouldn't stop a determined steer but might stop a casual wanderer.
We found a place at the edge of the trees where a fire might safely be built without being seen from too great a distance. "Fix us a good meal, Lin," I suggested. "We may need it tomorrow." "What's on your mind, Tell?" "I'm going down there tonight. I'm going to see what's going on." "They will expect somebody." "Maybe." "If Logan didn't leave that marker himself," I said, "somebody did it for him, somebody who could get out and come back in." "I didn't see any tracks." "You didn't look close enough. There were tracks, most of them wiped out and with leaves scattered over. Back in the brush a few steps I found some--woman's tracks." "That sounds like Logan. He never got himself in trouble yet there wasn't some woman tryin' to get him out of it." There was grass enough to keep the cattle happy, and we settled down to study what lay ahead of us. During the night, there could well be an attack. We had been warned in about the worst way, and we knew they would not hesitate to kill.
The worst of it was that we did not know what was at stake except that Logan Sackett was somehow involved.
My night horse was fresh, and I shifted the saddle. Right now I wasn't sure whether I'd ride or walk, and I was thinking the last way might be best. Usually, I carried some moccasins in my outfit, and they were handy today.
Tyrel and Orrin stood with me at the last.
"We'll handle things here. If there's shootin', don't worry yourself. We'll hold the fort." Baptiste came to me. "A long time back there is a path down the mountain." He drew it in the dust. "The old fort is gone--only some stones here. This is grass. There is the river. I do not know what is here.
"The smokes--is ver' much smoke. Two, three fires, maybe." He hesitated. "A man who was at the fort, he tell me they find gold. Maybe--" That could be the answer. But why threaten Logan with hanging? Why did he need cattle? Who was trying to prevent our arrival?
When darkness came, there were stars over the Cassiar Mountains, and I found Baptiste's trail and went down quietly to the water and crossed to the point where the old fort had stood. Some of the snow had melted, but there were patches which I avoided, not wanting to outline myself against the white or to leave tracks that could be found.
A straight dark line against the sky told me a building was there.
Where would Logan be? If I could find Logan, he could explain it all. Slowly, taking infinite care, I circled the area at the edge of the woods. I found a sluice, heard a rustle of running water in it. Somebody had been placering for gold.
A tent, and another tent. A canvas-walled house, a shedlike place, a log cabin with light shining from some cracks. A dug-out door with a bar across the outside--the outside?
For a moment, I held still in the shadows. Now why a bar across a door from the outside?
Obviously not to keep anybody from getting in, so it must be to keep somebody from getting out.
Logan?
Maybe. There was a larger log cabin close by and light from a window made of old bottles, a window I could not see in, and nobody inside could see out. Beyond it, there was a corral. Easing along in the shadows, I counted at least twelve horses, and there were probably more.
There was a building with a porch in front of it, steps leading up to the door, and no light at all. It could be a store. In all, there were not more than five or six structures and a scattering of tents and lean-tos.
Nobody was moving around, and there seemed to be no dogs, or my presence would have been discovered.
A door of a cabin opened, and a woman stood revealed in the door, a light behind her. She stood there for several minutes, and the night wind stirred her skirt. She brushed back a wisp of hair and went back inside, leaving the door open.
There was a fireplace in view, a homemade chair, a table, and some firewood piled by the fireplace. Suddenly,
she came to the door again singing softly, "Bold, brave and undaunted ..." "Rode young Brennan on the moor!" I finished the line for her.
She ceased singing, swept off the door step, and then she spoke softly. "I shall lower the light and leave the door ajar." She took a few more brushes with the broom, then stepped back inside and partly closed the door; then she lowered the light.
I hesitated. It might be a trap, but "Brennan on the Moor," about an Irish highwayman, was a favorite song of Logan's, and mine, for that matter.
I crossed the open space swiftly, flattened against the wall of the cabin to look and listen; then, silent as a ghost, I sli
pped inside.
She was waiting for me, her back to the table, her eyes wide. A surprisingly pretty girl with a firm chin and a straight, honest look to her.
"You will be William Tell," she said.
"I am." "He described you to me, and Tyrel and Orrin as well. Even Lando, for we did not know who would come. He promised me that somebody would.
I could not believe it." "Three of us came, with some friends." "I heard." There was something ironic in her voice. "I heard that you did not come alone." "There's a girl with us who is looking for her brother, Douglas Molrone." "He is here." "Here?" "Of course." "And Logan?" "He's here. He's getting over a broken leg. It should be almost healed by now, but I think he's prolonging it." "If you are his nurse, I can understand why." "He has no nurse. They permit no one near him." "Who," I asked, "are "they"?" "There's gold here. Quite a lot of it, we believe. Some of us began finding it, first just a little, then more. We built a cabin or two and settled down to work.
"Then those others came. They saw what we were doing, and then they began to go to the store for supplies. At first, they bought a little as we did, then they returned for more. Nobody thought anything of it until my father went in to the store and found they had sold out. Everything was gone.
"John Fentrell, the storekeeper, sent a man out for supplies. He did not return.
"Then Logan Sackett came along. He came down the river in a canoe and tried to buy supplies at the store. Then he tried to buy from us, but we were down to almost nothing.
"He found out what had happened, and he offered to drive in a herd of beef cattle for us. He collected money from us, all we had. We managed to kill a little game, and we waited.
"Apparently, he had known of a small herd that had been driven part way here. Actually, I think the drover was headed for Barkerville and got hung up somewhere inland.
"Logan said he bought the herd from him and started back here. His men deserted him, but he kept on; then his cattle were stampeded, and his leg was broken." "We got word somebody wanted to hang him." "Some of us did. We thought he had taken our money and tried to get away with it. Some of us did not believe there had ever been any herd. Some of us thought he had lied. He promised us that if he could get a message out, he'd get cattle here before snow fell. There wasn't much else we could do, so we sent his message, and we've waited." "Did you believe him?" "Sort of. We sent a man out for supplies, and he got back, traveling at night with a canoe. He was going again, but his canoe was stolen.
Lonely On the Mountain s-19 Page 16
