Slater's Way

by Charles G. West

  “Yes, sir,” she heard Jim say. “I knew it was there! I told you so, didn’t I?”

  “And I told you I could find it if it was there,” Henry said, equally excited. “I’d say this calls for a drink of whiskey to celebrate.”

  That came as bad news to Leona, for that meant another night of Henry’s mean drunks, which seemed to be the only kind he had anymore. She dreaded the prospect of his brutal pawing and the abuse that seemed to pleasure him. She went back to the table and waited for them to come in.

  “Whaddaya lookin’ so sour about, old lady?” Weed exclaimed. “You oughta be smilin’ tonight, ’cause we finally struck it.” He waited to watch her reaction.

  She wasn’t sure how big a strike he was talking about. She had heard him boast about big strikes before, but they were usually little more than enough for another binge in Helena, so she wasn’t inclined to get too excited.

  “Maybe we can pay Ike what we owe him,” she said. Ike Bacon, who owned the store at the foot of the mountain, had been overly patient to extend them credit on the skimpy supplies they were always so desperate for.

  “To hell with him,” Henry replied. He gave Jim Holloway a huge grin. “We’ll buy his whole damn store. Right, Jim?”

  Jim, a mild and respectful man, the opposite of his unlikely partner, gave Leona a little smile. “Henry’s tellin’ you the truth this time, ma’am. We’ll see in the mornin’ for sure, but I suspect we found that rich vein I knew was there all the time. If we did, I expect there’ll be plenty of gold to suit everybody before it runs out. If we’re lucky, maybe that won’t be for a good while yet.”

  For the first time since coming to this remote gulch, Leona felt her spirits rise. “Oh, Jim, that’s wonderful news.” Maybe this was the beginning of a new life, out of the rough squalor she had come to know since pairing with Henry Weed. Maybe having a little money would change him from the brutal man she now knew. “I’m sorry I don’t have a grander supper to serve you better than more squirrel stew.”

  * * *

  Jim had been right. This time it was not simply a flash of the real thing. They finally struck a solid vein of gold. Leona’s life almost immediately changed for the better. The men worked longer and more diligently than ever before, and she even noticed a decidedly different attitude in Henry. He assured her that when the gold finally played out, they would have enough to go wherever they wanted to live, with enough money to go worry-free. She would no longer have to worry about anything. God had answered her prayers.

  The two men worked hard for the next few days. And then one night, after a long day’s work, Henry came up from the claim to give her the shocking news that Jim had been killed. “We never saw it comin’,” he explained, shaking his head as if still unable to believe the terrible accident. “We’ve been diggin’ around that boulder for more’n a week. Jim was raking the last of a little bit of gravel out from the base of it, and all of a sudden it broke loose. I jumped aside just in time, or it woulda got me, too. Poor Jim didn’t move fast enough and the boulder crushed him. I tried to do what I could to help him, but he was dead.”

  “Oh, my Lord in heaven!” Leona gasped. That this could happen to such a gentle soul seemed so unfair. “Are you sure he’s dead? I’ll go see if there’s anything I can do.”

  “Ain’t no use,” Henry said, shaking his head sadly. “There warn’t no doubt about it, and I’ve done buried him. He was crushed up pretty bad. I didn’t want you to have to see him like that, so I went ahead and put him in the ground.” He looked at her and sighed. “And right after we dug out the last of that vein. It don’t seem fair, somehow.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” she said. “The poor man has worked so hard to get to that gold. I just feel so bad for him.”

  “That’s just the way things work out, I reckon,” he said. “Ain’t nothin’ me or you can do about it.”

  Supper was a sad affair that night, their conversation dominated by the tragedy and how disappointing it was not to be able to share the fortune they had taken from the mountain with the man who discovered the claim.

  “It kills my desire to stay on here,” Henry declared. “Like I said, we got the last of that vein this mornin’, so there ain’t really no use to keep diggin’ here. So tomorrow mornin’ I’m thinkin’ about loadin’ that gold up and takin’ it in to be assayed, and maybe put it in that new bank in Helena—keep it safe for you and me, till we decide where we’re goin’. When I get back, maybe we’ll talk about it and decide. How’s that sound to ya?”

  “It sounds like the answer to my prayers,” she replied.

  When they retired to the pallet that served as their bed that night, it seemed that Jim’s death had somehow transformed Henry into a more gentle soul. Leona anticipated a better day in the morning, after so many bitter ones.

  * * *

  “Well, look who’s here,” Lieutenant Russell called out when he saw the tall figure walking toward the headquarters office, leading two horses. “I was wondering when you would show up again—even if you were gonna show up.” He flashed a wide smile of welcome. “Did you find Lame Elk’s village all right—get Red Basket back to her people?”

  “Yep,” Slater replied. “She’s with her brother and his wife.”

  “Well, I’ll bet that takes a load off your mind. You got here just in time. You’re just the man I need. You ready to go to work for the army now?”

  Slater hesitated, remembering that he had told both Little Wren and Red Basket that he was going to go hunting and would return with meat for the village. “Well, I really came back to get that pay you said you would get for me. I reckon I can still collect it, can’t I?”

  “Sure you can,” Russell said with a laugh. “You weren’t here on payday, and you weren’t assigned to any company or regiment, so we’ve just been holding on to it for you in Colonel Brackett’s office. I’ll go in with you to get it.” He waited while Slater tied his horses out front, then went with him into the building.

  Sergeant Millward glanced up from his desk when they walked in. “Well, Lieutenant Russell,” he said, “I see you got your scout.” He nodded at Slater then and asked, “How you doin’, Slater?”

  “All right, I reckon,” Slater answered, somewhat surprised by the warm welcome he had received, almost as if they had been expecting him to arrive that afternoon.

  Russell, still smiling, addressed the sergeant major then. “Slater would like to pick up some pay you’ve holding for him.”

  “Right,” Millward responded. “I’ve got it right here.” He opened a lower drawer in his desk, took out an envelope, and handed it to Slater.

  “Much obliged,” Slater said.

  “All right, now that that’s taken care of,” Russell said, “let’s go in and talk to Colonel Brackett.”

  “About what?” Slater asked.

  “About why I’m damn glad you showed up here today,” Russell said. “Come on.” He turned and headed for Brackett’s office.

  Slater was left standing before the sergeant major’s desk with only two choices. One of them seemed a bit rude, so he opted for the other one and followed the lieutenant in to the commanding officer’s desk. Still surprised by his reception, he was rapidly getting the feeling that he was a part of something that he hadn’t even known he’d committed to.

  “Ah, Mr. Slater,” Colonel Brackett greeted him, getting to his feet and extending his hand. “Glad you could make it in time. I expect Lieutenant Russell has filled you in on the objective.” Seeing the puzzled look on Slater’s face, he hesitated, “No? Well, let me bring you up-to-date.” He sat down behind his desk again.

  “There has been an increase in the Sioux raiding parties along the Yellowstone Valley,” Brackett continued. “They’re striking homesteads and any parties traveling along the river. So far, any patrols we’ve sent out to find them have been unsuccessful in locating their camps, alt
hough we’re pretty sure they’ve established a base camp up in the Beartooth or Absaroka mountains. We just didn’t know where to start looking.” He paused. “Until yesterday—a trapper who’s been working the upper Boulder River came in to sell some pelts, and he said he saw a party of about twenty hostiles following the river back up toward the mountains. So now we know what part of those mountains they’re hiding in between their raids.” He shook his head apologetically. “Frankly we’d ruled that area out, since they had suffered defeat on that river before, when Lieutenant Russell’s patrol—led by you—chased them back up the Yellowstone. Jeb Sawyer, one of our scouts, said the hostiles would think that river was bad medicine, so they wouldn’t go back there.”

  Brackett took a breath then before continuing. “The winter weather’s starting to set in, so it’s important that we find these hostiles as soon as possible, before they return to their villages to wait out the winter. Lieutenant Russell will lead a detachment of forty cavalry troopers into that area, since he has had success there before. He’ll be leaving tomorrow morning, and that’s why he and I are glad you showed up today. Sawyer will be going with the patrol, but Lieutenant Russell was hoping you’d get here in time to accompany him. Sawyer’s a good scout, but he doesn’t know those mountains like you do.” Brackett concluded his lengthy briefing with a grateful smile. “We’re glad to have you back.”

  Caught completely unprepared, Slater stood dumbfounded for a few moments, trying to decide how to respond. They had obviously assumed that he had come back ready to go to work, as that was the understanding he had left with. And at the time, he had to admit that was his intention. How could he now tell them that he had told Little Wren and Red Basket that he was going only to hunt—to provide meat for the village?

  Looking at the expectant faces of the colonel and the lieutenant, he fully understood that the time left before winter to find these savage raiders was short. And he knew that no man knew those mountains as he did. So he made his decision and hoped that Little Wren and Red Basket would understand his predicament and forgive him. Also, Broken Ax had told Red Basket that there was enough buffalo meat to make it through winter, so it wasn’t critical at this time. He would have time to hunt sometime before winter really had a chance to set in.

  “I reckon I’ll need to leave my packhorse and my packs of smoked meat somewhere,” he said.

  “You can leave the horse and the packs in the Second Cavalry stable, same place you took those horses you sold,” Russell said. “Sergeant Bell is down there now, checking on the horses. He can help you, and show you where you can sleep tonight, and get you fixed up to eat in the mess hall with the men. You’ll be issued rations and ammunition, just like the men.” He paused. “You still carrying that Henry rifle?” Slater nodded. “We’ve got .44 cartridges for that, too. Need anything else?”

  “Nope, that oughta do it,” Slater replied.

  “Good!” Colonel Brackett declared, ending the discussion. “Let’s hope we can finally put a stop to that particular party of raiders.”

  Lieutenant Russell walked back outside with Slater. “I might as well walk over to the stable with you. I need to talk to Sergeant Bell about something anyway.” Slater untied his horses and led the paint across the parade ground with Russell by his side.

  When they reached the corral by the stable, they saw Bell examining the front hoof of a big Morgan gelding. When he looked up and saw Slater walking beside Russell, he dropped the horse’s hoof and came over to the side of the corral to meet them.

  “Well, I’ll be . . . ,” he declared. “Damned if you ain’t got a habit of showin’ up when you’re needed. Ain’t that right, Lieutenant?” He climbed over the rails to shake Slater’s hand. “Glad you could make it to the party.”

  Even though he was still thinking over the possibility of backing out of the patrol while he was walking across the parade ground with Russell, there was no way he could do it now. He just hoped it wouldn’t take long to find these Lakota raiders.

  Chapter 12

  Sergeant Bell took Slater in hand that evening, starting with finding him an empty cot in the cavalry barracks where he could leave his saddlebags and his war bag. Bell also persuaded him to leave his rifle and the .44 handgun he wore there as well. Slater was reluctant to do so, for he always carried his weapons wherever he went. The exception to this rule was his bow, which he left with his saddle and packs in the stable.

  Feeling strangely vulnerable without the familiar feel of the nine-pound Henry rifle in his right hand, he went with Bell when mess call was sounded. He declined the invitation, however, when Bell suggested a round of drinks at a saloon between the fort and the small settlement of Bozeman about three miles away.

  “Last chance to get a shot of whiskey before we head out tomorrow mornin’,” he said. “No tellin’ how long we’ll be gone.”

  “Thanks just the same,” Slater said. “I reckon I ain’t got no taste for whiskey tonight. I’ll see you in the mornin’.”

  He had never had a taste for the strong spirits that most men seemed to crave. He had seen what whiskey turned his father into, and he was determined not to let it do the same to him. So he thanked Bell for guiding him through all the bugle calls and telling him when the important one sounded, the one that told him it was time to eat supper. Then he went back to the cavalry barracks to sleep. He found that that was not a simple matter.

  Some of the soldiers he saw in the barracks were in the patrol that he had scouted for, and they came to welcome him. They sat around his cot and talked until he said he was ready to sleep. They left him then and moved to the other end of the barracks, but the laughter and conversation continued.

  Left alone, he paused to contemplate the cot. Since he was born, he had never slept in a bed of any kind. He remembered the bed that his parents shared, but ever since he could remember, he had always slept on a pallet of blankets on the floor. And since leaving his mother and Henry Weed, he had slept on the ground, or in a tipi, which was also on the ground. Now he stared at the contraption with the straw tick mattress, wondering if he would be able to sleep on it. At least there were a couple of blankets folded up on the foot of the cot. Evidently the soldiers did fine on them, so he figured he’d give it a try.

  He unrolled the mattress and climbed onto the cot, pulling a blanket up over him. It felt as though the bed moved under his body weight, so he tried to hold very still, but it did not feel solid enough. He tried to turn on his side, but the springs of the cot sagged and swayed, seeming to discourage his every move. He felt as if he were suspended on a tree limb.

  Finally, thinking he had to get some sleep, he got up, picked up his belongings, and went to the stable, where he rolled up in his blanket beside his saddle and promptly went to sleep.

  * * *

  When he heard the bugle calls start up again in the morning, he picked up his saddle and the things he thought he might need while on this patrol. Then he walked out of the stable to the complete surprise of the young private on guard duty.

  “Where the hell did you come from?” the private asked.

  “Back yonder in the stall with my possibles,” Slater said.

  “How’d you get in there without me seeing you?”

  “I reckon you weren’t lookin’,” Slater answered, although he knew that he was already asleep in the stable when the guard changed, and this soldier relieved the one before him. He just didn’t want to take the time to explain it, so he continued on to the corral where his horses were.

  By the time the bugler blew stable and watering call, he was already saddled up and ready to ride, but he saw no signs of a patrol forming up on the parade ground. Instead the barracks emptied as the soldiers came to the stables to take care of the horses, but they didn’t seem to be in any hurry to mount up and get started. Maybe, he thought, they decided to postpone the patrol, and if he had slept in the barracks, he would have know
n about it. Finally he stopped a soldier leading a horse back to the stable.

  “Do you know if Lieutenant Russell’s company is still goin’ out this mornin’?”

  “Sure is,” the private said. “I’m goin’ on that patrol.”

  “Well, when are we gonna get started?” Slater asked. “It’s almost sunup now.”

  “After breakfast, when they blow assembly,” the private said. Judging by the look on Slater’s face, he could see that he was confused. “You don’t remember me, but I was in the barracks with you last night. The next bugle you hear will be mess call. Then you can eat breakfast.”

  “Much obliged,” Slater said.

  I reckon the army’s got a different idea of what first thing in the morning means, he thought.

  It struck him as a mighty foolish way to run an army, or any kind of war party, if they ever wanted to get anything done. He thought back on the patrol he had led on the Boulder River, and recalled there was no such nonsense at that time, when the troopers were in the field. For that, he was thankful. Otherwise they would never catch up with any Sioux war party.

  When the detachment was assembled and Lieutenant Russell arrived, he found Slater sitting on the ground, Indian fashion, and the paint Indian pony standing behind him, his reins on the ground. Slater got to his feet and climbed into the saddle, ready to ride, but the lieutenant inspected his troops before preparing to march. It was during this inspection that a civilian rode up beside Slater and introduced himself as Jeb Sawyer.

  “You’d be Slater, I reckon,” he said. “I expect I’ll be the chief scout on this little shindig, since I’ve been scoutin’ for a good while and you’re still green.”

  “That so?” Slater responded, not really caring who was head scout.

  “Yeah,” Sawyer replied. “You just follow my lead and you’ll do all right.”

  “Right,” Slater said as he studied the man.