One Man, One Gun

by Matt Chisholm

  “Why you doin’ this for me, Mr. Harrison?” Jody asked.

  “Put it down to me bein’ a white man oncet,” said Harrison.

  Jody turned in. He was aware that Feather came into the tent and settled down near the doorway. Tiredness overtook him. He drifted off into a deep sleep. He dreamed that he was trying to jump a wide and bottomless chasm.

  Chapter Four

  A woman shook his foot and he was awake.

  In the first instant, he thought: Trouble and reached for the Remington. She chattered at him in Ute. He blinked around and saw that neither Harrison nor his son was in the lodge. The fire gave a dim light. He glanced toward the entrance and saw that there was a cold grayness in the sky. That gave him the time of the day.

  As he threw off the bear robe under which he had slept, the dim light of the entrance was blocked and he heard Harrison say: “Stir your stumps, boy. You’re movin’ out.”

  The man was calm, but just the same Jody suspected urgency in his voice. He could sense the emotion and felt the excitement well up in him. He told himself to stay cool and started collecting his traps together.

  “Eat as we ride,” the squawman said. “Feather has your horses tied in the willows north of here.” He thrust something at Jody. “Here, mebbe you’ll need this.”

  Jody found it was a rifle. He ran his hands over it and found that it was a single-shot breechloader. Better than a slap in the belly with a dead coyote, any road. Harrison gave him a couple of handfuls of shells and he filled his pockets. He buckled on his gun belt, hefted his bedroll and wallet and was outside the lodge with Harrison.

  He looked around. Not a soul stirred. Not a soul that he could see. But that didn’t satisfy him. He slung his bedroll and wallet over his left shoulder, held the rifle in his left hand so that he would have his right hand free for the Remington. Harrison told him that Feather had toted his packs along the creek and Sox was already loaded. Jody was grateful. They walked .through the silent camp. Jody knew that he was so jumpy he would have drawn and fired at anything. His head was still fuzzy with sleep and he could not quite collect himself. Harrison might have read his thoughts.

  “Just keep goin’ ahead,” he said. “Leave any action to me.”

  Jody followed obediently behind.

  A couple of curs came and sniffed at them. They didn’t like what they smelled on Jody, but Harrison’s odor seemed to satisfy them. They grumbled and fell in behind.

  They came to the last of the lodges.

  Harrison halted and Jody almost collided with him. He looked past his host and saw two men standing some twenty yards from them.

  Harrison started speaking in Ute. The two men grunted brief replies. Harrison spoke harshly, cut the air with the under-edge of his hand. An argument started. Jody slipped his right hand down onto the worn butt of his gun.

  But suddenly it was finished. The men walked to one side, halted and silently watched the two white men pass.

  The lodges were left behind.

  “Damn ’em,” Harrison said, “I thought to avoid thet. Still, what’s done’s done.”

  “I’ve made things bad for you here,” Jody said.

  “Mebbeso, mebbenot,” Harrison said and looked like a man who didn’t want to talk about it.

  They reached a thick clump of willows and Feather appeared in front of them. The young man beckoned them and Jody followed him into the willows. Blue and Sox were there waiting for him as Harrison had said. Both horses were pleased to see him. The smell of the Indian was disturbing them. Jody tied his bedroll on behind the saddle and put the wallet in place.

  He turned to Harrison.

  Harrison said: “Feather’ll ride five-ten miles with you. When he leaves you, ride through the day with no stop if you can. Go on through the night if your hosses hold up.”

  “It’s like that, is it?” Jody asked.

  “It’s like that,” Harrison said. “I don’t think they’ll try anythin’ with Feather around. But after that ... wa-al, son, these boys like their fun as well as anybody else.”

  Jody put out his hand.

  “Thanks, Mr. Harrison. I reckon I owe you my life.”

  “That’s a fact,” said Harrison. “Jest see you don’t waste what I saved for you.”

  “If ever you’re down Three Creek way ...”

  Harrison slapped him on the shoulder.

  “I’ll mebbe take you up on thet,” he said. “Now break down timber outa here an’ keep a-goin’.”

  They shook and Jody stepped into the saddle. Feather had disappeared. But when Jody rode out of the willows, there was the young Ute mounted on a shaggy little bay that rolled its eyes at the sight and smell of the white man’s horses. Blue bared his teeth. The Ute said something and turned his pony to trot away into the north. Jody turned to wave to Harrison, but the man was not in sight. The boy spurred after the young Indian.

  It seemed that they were out of sight of the village in minutes, plunging into the hills and running first north and then east under cover of the trees. Feather’s little bay trotted ahead at a mile-killing pace and Blue surged after him, not liking another horse ahead of him. Sox ploughed along uncomplainingly behind.

  Feather seemed to know exactly what he was doing and where he was going. Jody felt pretty sure that he was riding on a route worked out by his father. After they had covered about two miles, the boy turned in the saddle and flashed Jody a brief smile. It was as if he had said: “Watch this.”

  They clattered onto rock and then Feather turned abruptly left and disappeared from view. Jody followed him and found himself passing through a narrow passage with a massive boulder on either side. Suddenly, they were on a narrow ledge above swirling water, so narrow that Jody stopped and surveyed it with some doubt. Feather rode along it unconcernedly, but Jody was not so confident of Blue and Sox as the Ute was of his pony. Jody first led Blue across, then went back and fetched Sox. When they were both safely over, Jody mounted and rode on along the narrow trail. He found himself going slowly down a narrow winding passage through the rocks with the sound of falling water growing ever louder in his ears.

  After a few minutes, he found himself on a broad ledge actually beneath the waterfall. Feather was on the far side some thirty feet away, beckoning him on. Once out from under the water, they once more wound their way through a rocky passage, but this one was wider than the one they had used on the other side of the waterfall.

  After a while, the gully opened out and they found themselves in a narrow high-walled canyon which ran north and south. Feather rode across this, found his way unerringly to a narrow trail leading up it and dismounted. Jody knew he would have his work cut out to get two horses up it. He tied Blue’s lines to the saddle horn and tried him walking free. The roan used his head and set off. Climbing gamely. Jody followed with the pack-horse. At the top of the trail Feather caught Blue and the roan tried to bite him. The Indian pony tried to kick Blue and Blue reared to use his forefeet on him. Jody arrived in time to break it up. They mounted and rode on. They were now on a rough and broken table-land that sloped away into the east. They now picked up their feet and hit a fox-trot. Two miles further east, they came down off the table and were in a tangle of valleys.

  Jody was feeling a little happier now. They had crossed some country that would be difficult to trail over and they had covered the last couple of miles fast. The only trouble was that he didn’t have much idea where he was. No matter, he was alive.

  They reached water and let the horses drink. Before the animals were fully satisfied, they mounted and forded the stream. Feather carried on east, climbed a valley wall, rode the ridges for an hour or more and then plunged down into a deep valley that had a watercourse that rode down the sloping land down some massive rocky steps. They crossed these with some difficulty, for the water was fast, though not deep, and rode into a spread of timber that seemed to go on for eternity.

  Now Feather halted and gave Jody a grin. He talked in Ute and gave signs
with his hands. The white boy gathered that his guide was now turning back. He would like to have known if Harrison had routed him toward Rolf’s land, but he had no means of doing so. He searched in his wallet for something to give Feather. He found some plug tobacco and held it up, asking him if he wanted it. Feather showed delight. Jody handed it over. It seemed little enough to offer after what he owed the boy and his father. Jody searched some more and found nothing he could offer. Then he remembered his clasp knife. He took this from his pocket and showed the young Ute the various blades and appendages Feather was beside himself when he gathered that it could be his. He laughed for joy, executed a little dance.

  Then he remembered his father’s admonition and signed for Jody to be on his way. The two young men shook, the red and the white, and, bow in one hand, Feather vaulted into the saddle and turned his pony west. Jody mounted Blue and turned in the saddle. Feather turned and waved, then was gone from sight.

  Jody rode on east through the trees, feeling very much alone.

  He rode steadily on till noon when he stopped at convenient water to let the horses drink. Nothing had happened to him for several hours and that seemed to be a change in the pattern of things. The eventfulness of his ride almost unnerved him. He was tensed for action. He climbed and descended, rode the valley floors, came out onto rich meadow-land and skirted it warily and saw no more sign of life than a few mountain sheep. At times he thought that he must be the last man left on earth.

  In the middle of the afternoon he was rounding the foot of a great mountain that reared its head magnificently into the azure sky. He threaded his way through foothills, riding stony ground that played hell with the horses’ hoofs. The country was dotted with scrubby oak trees and a scattering of bushes. On a bare patch of soil, he found the imprint of a naked foot, but he was not skilled enough nor was his knowledge of Indians great enough to tell him whether it had been made by a man or woman. A short while after he came on a pleasant verdant valley well-covered with grass and wild oats. Both horses showed interest in these and Jody, knowing that his horses would need bait if they were going to travel hard and long, decided to let them have a short while grazing. Accordingly, he staked them near a small creek and took off their bridles. Both animals fell to with a will. Jody himself was hungry by this time and gave himself a meal of jerky which may not have filled his belly, but certainly exercised his jaw.

  It was as pleasant a spot as he had ever seen in his life and he strolled along the bank of the creek to stretch his legs after many hours in the saddle. He did not go far and was careful to keep his horses in sight. He didn’t like the prospect of being set afoot in this country, however beautiful it might be.

  He thought of his father’s bull and wondered if he would ever get to the animal.

  He looked back at the horses and saw Blue with his head up and his ears forward.

  Jody’s first thought was: Danger.

  Then he heard the sound. The chink of metal on rock. He froze and listened. The creek curved north from where he stood and he could see no more than fifty yards along its bed. The sound had come from that direction. He listened and heard it again and again. Then it dawned on him that he was listening to the sound of a pick on stone.

  That could only mean one thing. Somebody was pretty near and they were working the creek-bed for gold. At once. he thought: White men. His own kind. At first, his impulse was to run around the bend in the creek and greet them. Then he thought: There’s white men and white men. There were a good few who would be more dangerous to him than red men. As had been proved to him back at Grebb’s place. So he hesitated. And decided that he could do without company till he reached Rolf’s place. But how the hell did he reach Rolf’s place? Maybe the men around the bend in the creek would know. He dismissed that idea. Far safer for him to go back to his horses, mount and ride quietly away.

  He was turning to do this when he heard a shout.

  He turned and saw a man above him, waving. Jody felt that he could do no less than wave in return. The fellow gave a great holler and came running down toward him.

  As he drew nearer, Jody saw that he was a young fellow of about his own age, dressed in a wide-brimmed low-crowned hat with brown pants tucked into heavy knee-high boots with the mule-ears dangling. He wore a blue shirt open at the neck and a neck-cloth of brilliant red. His cheeks and jowl were covered with a light dusting of hair. In spite of his rough clothes and unkempt appearance, Jody knew, even before he opened his mouth, that he was an alien creature.

  This man stopped short and smiled. It was the friendliest and frankest smile Jody had ever seen on the face of a fellow man.

  “I say, hello,” the man said.

  Jody gazed at him in wonder.

  “Howdy,” said he.

  “I nearly went by without seeing you,” said the young man. “Bit of luck I glanced your way. Allow me to introduce myself — I’m Harry Wilder.”

  Jody, never at his best with strangers, forgot his manners and said: “I reckon you talk real funny.”

  The other took no offence, but laughed.

  “English,” he said. “I and two friends are camped just round the bend in the stream. Would you care to join us?”

  Jody wanted out. He wanted to get on Blue and ride clear of those Utes. If he woke next dawn and found there wasn’t an Indian sitting on his chest, he would feel he had put Arrow and his band behind him for good. But he was intrigued. Curiosity killed the cat, like the man said.

  “Sure,” he said, “why not?”

  “Why not indeed?” exclaimed Wilder. “And you might be able to help us somewhat. You see, we’ve had a slight accident. One of our chaps fell a few days ago and I rather think he’s broken his leg.”

  “I’ll go fetch my horses,” Jody said and turned away.

  This new-found friend went with him, talking, talking, talking. Jody had often been accused of being a chatty kind of hombre himself by his family, but he had never heard a fellow chatter as much as this one. In the hundred yards to his horses he was treated to a full and detailed account of his companion, the reason for his presence in the country, the two young men accompanying him, what had happened to them to date and what they expected to be the result of their expedition to the west.

  It appeared that Henry Carrington Wilder was the younger son of a younger son, born in Hertfordshire, England. And that meant that there wasn’t much cash, if Jody saw what he meant. Jody didn’t, but he didn’t say so. It would not have done him much good because Harry Wilder was in full spate and there was no stopping him. Jody found that in this man’s presence he was as monosyllabic as an Indian. Wilder went on to say that in his circle, a younger son headed for the colonies, far flung empire and all that. In his case he looked very much as if he would have to work and nobody liked the sound of that. His mater was frankly appalled. So she had begged a hundred pounds from a rich uncle who honestly wouldn’t miss it. The old buffer practically owned half the damned county. And here the Honorable Harry was. He was going to dig a fortune from the virgin soil of America and go home and live in style. The only trouble was digging for gold was blasted hard work. Some ass back in New York had told him all you had to do was to have a few strong pack-horses and you loaded ‘em up to the gunnels with nuggets as big as your blasted head which you picked up off the ground.

  They reached the horses and Jody unstaked them and led them back upstream. Wilder prattled on. He had a couple of rare good fellows with him. Absolutely first-rate. One was a fellow-countryman of Jody’s. Calthorp from Boston. Jody interrupted to say he wasn’t no fellow-countryman, he was a goddam Yankee. Wilder looked a little bewildered and muttered that he was not unaware of the recent trouble. But it would all blow over, old man, mark his words. He’d like Simon. Couldn’t help it. Everybody liked old Simon.

  His other companion was Charlie Straker, a New Yorker. A real rough diamond, salt of the earth. What they would have done without Charlie, he would never know. A man of the world was Charlie
. It wasn’t conceivable to him that these two would be as alien to Jody as he was himself.

  They rounded the bend of the creek and came in sight of the camp. Jody saw that they were scattered all over and badly exposed. If the Utes hit them here, they would be through in minutes.

  He saw that there was a man in the water of the creek with the legs of his pants rolled up. His was the pick Jody had heard. At Wilder’s shout, this man looked up, waved and waded ashore. This proved to be Charlie Straker, a tough wary product of the back-streets of New York who boasted in the first few minutes that he had evaded military service in the War between the States, that he was disgusted he hadn’t made his fortune in the West and that pretty soon he was going to pack his traps and set off for home.

  They turned now to find Calthorp, the Bostonian, lying pale and in pain higher up the bank. He greeted Jody cheerfully enough, but it was plain that he wished himself anywhere in the world other than in the hills searching for gold.

  Jody saw that the camp was a mess and that these men were the greenest of pilgrims. He inspected their gear and found that they possessed two rifles and a couple of revolvers. Whether they knew how to use them was another matter. They had with them three horses and these were grazing not far off. In answer to their forthright questions, more direct than any westerner would have asked, he told them who he was and where he was heading. They seemed very impressed by the fact that he was a cattleman. Most of the folks they had met had been easterners like themselves come west to search for a fortune. They asked him if they were in gold-bearing country and he replied truthfully that he wouldn’t know such country if he saw it. His interest was in cattle. His father had impressed upon him that only fools searched for gold. Sensible men sold the gold-seekers supplies. That was the only sure way a fortune could be made. Already the Storms had made three small drives to the diggings and had sold within hours every cow they had brought along.

  Next, Jody turned his attention to the injured man. He had been reared in the brasada where doctors didn’t grow on thorn-bushes and like most of his kind he had the rudiments of medical knowledge. It didn’t take him long before he discovered that Calthorp’s leg was not broken but that he had dislocated his hip. The ball of the leg had come clean out of the socket.