Bitterroot

by Charles G. West

  He was met with blank expressions from both men. “Why, I don’t rightly know,” Eli said. “I think he was just working a circle of ranches out from Miles City, hoping to strike pay dirt.”

  Tom thought it over. “Yeah, you might be right. He was probably just working the whole territory, looking for somebody named Dakota.” He hesitated again, trying to work out the best course of action for him to take. He was reluctant to leave. This ranch had been the closest thing to a home he had found for a while. He would have at least liked to stay and see Bris and the other boys before pushing on. But the more thought he gave it, the more Tom was convinced that the smartest thing for him to do was to leave this part of the country, and the quicker, the better. “I reckon I’ll start out first thing in the morning.”

  “It’s probably the best thing to do,” Eli replied. “I’ll get your pay for you.”

  “Well, you better take out enough to pay for one yearling, ’cause I butchered one of your cows to feed a starving Indian family back on the prairie.” He went on to tell them about his chance meeting with Sleeps Standing and the two women. While Smoky found it hard to imagine why he had gone to so much trouble to keep three Indians alive, Eli was a compassionate man and declined to take settlement for the cow.

  “Hell,” he allowed, “I wish I knew how many I lose every year to them thieving savages. One more won’t matter much.” Eli constantly strived to hide his generous nature behind a gruff facade, but Tom knew better—he had known Eli to purposely cut out a few head and leave them for the Indians when game was scarce.

  The three friends sat in front of the campfire until well after dark. The talk was light, and the lean-to reflected enough heat to keep them warm even though the temperature dropped, turning the night air to a brittle cold. When the conversation finally played out, they moved inside the log-and-mud bunkhouse to sleep. Tom was grateful to get at least one warm night’s rest, having no notion that morning would change his plans entirely.

  * * *

  It was the first sound night’s sleep Tom could remember in quite some time, without the worry of who or what might be sneaking up on him. He didn’t bother to analyze his feeling of security. Maybe it was the sense of permanency afforded by the solid walls of the bunkhouse, or being reunited with friends. Whatever the reason, he slept like an exhausted man and awoke the next morning to a world covered with a blanket of snow. It must have started soon after he had fallen asleep and continued all night, for it took the efforts of both himself and Smoky to shove the door open the next morning.

  “Odd dam!” Smoky exclaimed as he carefully stepped through snow up to his stubby knees, trying unsuccessfully to keep the snow from spilling over the top of his unlaced boots and onto his faded red long handles. He didn’t even get to the corner of the building before stopping to empty his bladder, shivering as he stared at the yellow pattern he was etching in the snow, and pleading with that part of his anatomy to make haste before he froze to death.

  Tom laughed at Smoky’s discomfort as he relieved himself on the opposite side of the building. It was damn cold. The storm had moved in overnight, and none of them saw it coming. As quickly as he could, Tom finished and struggled through the snow to get back inside, where he found Eli, standing in his underwear, stoking the woodstove in the middle of the room.

  Eli looked up as Tom came in. “I don’t reckon you’ll be starting out in this mess. It’s still coming down, and that sky don’t look too promising. You’d best wait it out.”

  “I think you’re right. I’ll wait and see how bad it’s gonna get. At least I don’t think I’ll have to worry about anybody coming to look for me in this weather.”

  “Odd damn,” Smoky fretted as he scrambled around with the coffeepot. “I wonder if the boys got caught out in the open.” He pushed the door open again and reached out to scoop up a coffeepot full of snow to boil.

  Eli paused and watched Smoky as he placed the pot on the little stove, which was glowing a cherry-red by then. “I hope you didn’t scoop up any of that yellow snow,” he joked, then added, “It won’t be the first time those men woke up under snow. Bris and Doc oughta be close to the line shack. They probably holed up there last night.” His tone turned serious for a moment. “We probably got cattle scattered all over.”

  There wasn’t much they could do that day except make sure their horses were protected from the weather as much as possible. Around midmorning, the snow tapered off and there was a little break in the overcast skies so that for a portion of the afternoon, the sun broke through. After seeing to the stock, the three men concentrated mainly on staying warm. Tom helped Eli patch a couple of places in the roof of the bunkhouse where some melted snow found its way inside. After that, he spent the remainder of the day working on his personal gear, cleaning his rifle, and seeing to the condition of his saddle and bridle. It appeared likely he would be working in snow for quite a while, and he didn’t want to have to mend any worn gear out in the open when his fingers would be so cold he could hardly bend them.

  While they worked on the roof, he and Eli talked about his staying on at the Broken-T till spring. After some discussion, they both came to the conclusion that the army would, in all likelihood, wait until the winter let up to send a detail out to search for Tom. And, they reasoned, the bounty hunter had already been there looking for him. He would most likely not return. The prospect suited Tom. He was happy to hole up with his friends for the winter. The Broken-T felt more like home to him than any other place he could think of.

  They awoke the following morning to clear skies. The storm hadn’t lasted as long as they had expected. Tom rode out to the south to check on any strays that might have gotten themselves in trouble in the snow. Eli headed north, leaving Smoky to take care of the ranch by himself. Most of the men would be working the main herd back toward the Broken-T to a sheltered draw near the river. The tough, trail-hardened Texas Longhorns did not provide the prime beef that the purebred strains did, but when it came to surviving the elements, they were by far the best. Eli was confident they would scratch enough grass out from under the snow to survive.

  Tom found one cow frozen to death beside a small stream, no more than a half mile from a tree-lined pocket where a half dozen cattle had huddled together to ride out the storm. It seemed as good a place as any to leave them, so he rode on, looking for any other strays he could find. He took a wide arc to the east before turning back toward the Broken-T without sighting any more of Eli’s cattle. He got back to the ranch about an hour before dark.

  A few of the men were back at the ranch when he got there. He recognized Doc’s speckled gray from a distance. The other horses were not as easily identified as Doc’s, his gray holding the distinction of being the mangiest critter in the Montana territory. When he turned Billy into the corral, he turned to find Doc walking to meet him.

  “Well, look what the cat drug in,” Doc called out, his grin creating a wide gash in his beard. “Smoky said you was back.”

  “How you doing, Doc?” Tom said, returning the grin. “Yeah, you know what they say, a bad penny…”

  “Me, and Big Joe, and Little Joe come in a little while ago. ’Bout froze our asses off last night. Reckon most of the other boys’ll be in tomorrow or the next day.” He grabbed Tom’s saddle and threw it on his shoulder and the two of them started toward the bunkhouse. “Smoky said you might stay on till spring.”

  “Yeah,” Tom replied, “I was considering it.”

  Big Joe and Little Joe were inside talking to Eli and Smoky when Tom and Doc entered the bunkhouse. Big Joe got up from his chair by the stove and greeted Tom warmly, but Tom couldn’t help but sense a coolness from his younger brother. He nodded hello to Tom, but it was devoid of any warmth. At the time, Tom didn’t give it much thought. Afterward, it occurred to him that Little Joe had very little to say during the entire evening. In contrast, Big Joe was in a jovial mood, obviously cheered by being in the warm bunkhouse after spending several nights out in the col
d. Little Joe barely grunted in response when spoken to, sitting away from the others, his chair tilted back against the wall. Finally, when the conversation found a lull, he startled the group of men with a question.

  “Tom, I reckon you still got a price on your head, ain’t you?”

  A ponderous silence fell on the room. Tom hesitated before answering him. It was obvious the subject had been carefully avoided up until that moment. “Yeah, I guess I still have, Little Joe.”

  Little Joe pressed the issue. “I reckon the bounty’s more than it was, now that you killed that other soldier in Miles City.”

  “I reckon.” He glanced quickly at Eli, wondering who had told Little Joe about the incident.

  Eli was quick to jump in and change the subject. “Hellfire! Everybody knows Tom Allred ain’t no dang murderer. The sooner we drop that subject, the better. Smoky! Ain’t there some cold biscuits or something left to help soak up this coffee? I swear, it’s about to eat a hole through the bottom of my belly.”

  The other men seconded Eli’s request, and the subject was successfully avoided during the balance of the evening. But there seemed to remain a slight pall over the conversation. It served to make Tom feel a mite uneasy, knowing the thought was on their minds, no matter how deeply buried. One thing for sure, Little Joe appeared to be troubled by it. Tom glanced at him several times during the evening to find the boy staring at him, only to look away quickly when their eyes met. Finally, Smoky declared that he was ready to call it a day, and shortly after, one by one, the men took to their blankets until only Tom was left to reflect on the strange manner in which Little Joe had greeted him. The boy’s attitude troubled him. It reminded him of what he had become, and he didn’t care much for the picture.

  Morning brought another clear day, and as he rose, Tom caught the unmistakable aroma of sizzling steaks from the cookhouse. The weather was evidently good enough for Smoky to cook breakfast in the open lean-to they referred to as the cookhouse. Tom dressed as quickly as he could and hurried around the corner of the bunkhouse to tend to his bladder’s insistent nagging. Finished, he started straight to the cookhouse to get his morning coffee. Rounding the corner of the bunkhouse, he was startled to find Little Joe waiting for him.

  It was immediately apparent that something was wrong. It was the way Little Joe stood, his feet spread wide, with no heavy coat in spite of the freezing morning air. Tom could not help but notice the pistol on his left hip, the handle angled across his stomach, his right hand hanging loose and relaxed at his side. Tom remembered Little Joe’s questions about the reward in the previous night’s conversation. He did not want to believe what his common sense was telling him at that moment. Little Joe was supposed to be his friend. He had ridden with him all summer. And he was still little more than a boy. Surely he must be reading this wrong. He cautioned himself to be very careful how he handled this.

  “Morning, Little Joe.” His words were delivered evenly with a calmness in his voice that was almost soothing, the way a man would talk when approaching a wild horse. “Aren’t you a little chilly out here without your coat?”

  Little Joe’s expression did not change, his eyes unblinking, and they narrowed when he spoke. “Tom, I reckon I’m taking you in for murdering them soldiers.”

  Tom did not reply at once, his gaze meeting Little Joe’s and holding it. When he did speak, it was still in a soft, calm voice. “Little Joe, I don’t think you’ve thought this through. You don’t want to do this.”

  Little Joe took one step backward as if to give himself more room. “It ain’t gonna do you no good to talk about it. You’re wanted by the law, and I’m the one’s gonna take you in.”

  Doc and Big Joe happened around the corner of the building and stopped cold in their tracks when they realized what was happening. At first, neither man could think of anything to do but stand and watch, their mouths agape in disbelief.

  Tom made no move. It was not hard to figure why Little Joe was facing him off. Five hundred dollars was a lot of money and, as Little Joe had pointed out the night before, maybe it was more than that by now. Yes, he figured, the money was part of it, but he knew the main reason. It wasn’t really about money at all. Little Joe was set to face him down in a gunfight if Tom took the bait. It was an instant way to gain a name for himself, killing the man who was wanted for two killings himself. This was what was eating at Little Joe last night. Tom berated himself for not recalling the discussion about gunfighters on the cattle drive last fall, and how dead set Little Joe was on becoming the fastest gun in the territory.

  “I’m afraid I can’t let you take me in, Little Joe. Now, why don’t we just forget this ever happened and go get some breakfast? You’re too good a friend to come to this.”

  Tom’s words seemed to break Big Joe’s silence and he blurted out, “Cecil,” calling his brother by his given name, “what the hell’s the matter with you?” He started toward Little Joe. “Have you gone plumb loco? Tom’s our friend.”

  Little Joe quickly held up his hand, warning his brother back. “Hold it right there, Joe, unless you want to be the first one gets shot.” There was no mistaking the tone of his warning. He was deadly serious. Turning his attention back to Tom, he said, “I’m willing to give you a chance. You got a pistol. Go git it on and we’ll settle this man to man.”

  Big Joe was mesmerized. He could not believe what he was hearing from his younger brother. Barely able to find his voice, he fumbled for words, “Cecil…damn…”

  “Stay out of this, Joe,” Little Joe warned. His hand moved slightly away from his side. “I’m waitin’, Tom.”

  Tom was beginning to lose patience with the young fool. He did not want to kill Little Joe. He had no desire to rid Big Joe of his little brother, even if he was a hothead.

  “Little Joe, you got no call to act like this.” It was Doc who had suddenly found his voice. “We don’t turn on one another at the Broken-T. Tom ain’t no damn outlaw and you know it.”

  “I’m done talking,” Little Joe said evenly. “Now, you go git that pistol, or I’m gonna cut you down where you stand.”

  “No you ain’t. Not on my spread you ain’t.” Eli’s warning was punctuated by the metallic slap of a rifle being cocked. “Now unbuckle that gunbelt and let it drop to the ground.”

  Little Joe hesitated, unwilling to give up the advantage he held over Tom. When he saw the determination on Eli’s face, he thought better of the situation and did as he was told.

  Tom relaxed a little, but he knew he was not done with this business. “Little Joe, you might as well forget it. I’m not going to have a damn-fool contest with you to see who can get his pistol out the quickest. Killing a man isn’t some kind of game.”

  Big Joe, his face a confusion of shame and disbelief, looked first at his younger brother then back at Tom. “Damn, Tom! I don’t know what’s got into him. I’m sorry…” he sputtered, unable to account for Little Joe’s behavior. Looking back at his brother, he scolded, “Cecil, you damn fool. A man don’t turn on his friends.”

  Little Joe was not to be shamed or dissuaded, and he fairly snarled in reply. “When did he git to be such a damn big friend of our’n? Hell, Joe, he’s a wanted man. Five hundred dollars, Joe. That’s more than we can make in a year chasing these damn cows around. Some damn bounty hunter is gonna collect that money anyway. We might as well have it.”

  Big Joe was appalled. “That there’s blood money! I don’t want no part of it and you ought not either.” His expression was creased by a deep frown, and he pointed his finger at Little Joe accusingly. “It ain’t really the money anyway, is it? You been hellbent on gittin’ yourself a reputation with that gun, ain’t you?” He took a step closer, his hand raised as if to strike his brother. “Why you young jackass, I ought to…”

  “Uh-uh, Joe,” Little Joe warned. Something in his tone conveyed a sinister warning that stopped his older brother in his tracks.

  “What would Pa think if he was alive to see this?” was
all Big Joe offered. He knew he should do something to control his younger brother, but it was also obvious that he had never seen this side of Little Joe before.

  Tom had moved back a few steps, giving the brothers a little more room. At first he thought Big Joe was going to take charge of the situation and subdue his little brother. Now he wasn’t so sure he could. Little Joe had revealed a sinister side that none had suspected, even his own brother. He glanced at Eli, who was still holding the rifle on Little Joe. It was plain to him that Eli wasn’t sure what he should do about this unexpected turn of events. After a long moment of uneasy silence, Eli finally spoke.

  “Little Joe, you been a good hand for me. I got no complaints with your work. But I can’t have this on my ranch. I’m gonna have to ask you to move on.” His voice was soft, almost apologetic. He glanced at Big Joe and added, “’Course, Big Joe, you’re welcome to stay. It’s just that I can’t have this on the Broken-T.”

  Big Joe did not answer right away. His eyes locked on his brother’s, watching for his response. He was considering the position his brother had placed him in, having to choose between family and friends. He was also thinking of the time of year. Winter was not a good time for a cowhand to be out of work with no place to call home. Tom could not deny the compassion he felt for the man.

  When it appeared that neither of them was going to speak, Eli said, “Big Joe, pick up the gunbelt. I’ll trust you to hold on to it for a while till your brother cools down enough to see right from wrong.”