Bitterroot

by Charles G. West

  “We can make room for you if you want to sleep in the tent,” he offered.

  “Thanks, Jubal, but I think I’ll just roll up by the fire.” He got up and stretched his back. Taking his rifle, he said, “I think I’ll go take a look around before I turn in.”

  “Mind you don’t git shot at by the lookouts.”

  “I’ll watch out.” Tom assured him. He knew Scarborough had sentries posted to guard against any surprise visits from the Blackfeet, but he preferred to have his own look-see. No use taking chances. Scarborough’s men might be dependable, and Scarborough might know what he was doing, but the man had camped his party in a coulee where the Indians could just line up along a creekbank and take potshots at them. And that didn’t indicate a man who knew what he was doing, as far as Tom was concerned. He turned to glance at Ruby and found the girl gazing intently at him. Their eyes held for a brief moment before Tom mumbled good night, then turned to disappear into the growing darkness.

  Chapter XIII

  At sunup the next morning, they packed up and broke camp, Tom with them. He was assured by Scarborough that he was a welcome addition to the party. Tom was soon to discover that Scarborough and his partner Butcher meant well, but had very little experience leading a group of travelers through the mountains. Of course that was evident from the beginning, otherwise they would not have even started the journey until spring. When Tom expressed his surprise to Jubal that a man of his experience had agreed to go along on the trip, Jubal’s only explanation was that he had little choice. He had been burned out at Ruby’s Choice. Besides, the weather had been mild for early December, and he just figured it was worth the risk of getting through before the winter storms. To Tom, it was not worth the risk, and he figured they had been greenhorn-lucky to get as far as they did. Jubal told him that the attack by the Blackfeet the day before had been the first trouble they had encountered, other than the weather and slow travel.

  Scarborough may have been naive but he was quick to recognize the mettle of the young man called Dakota. He wasted no time persuading Tom to act as scout and guide. Since there was very little need for a guide now that the party had made it to the mountains, and they were no more than three days from Bozeman simply by following the river, Tom accepted but decided his services would best be utilized as a scout. With a little luck, he could at least save the party from a surprise attack by any more hostiles.

  Tom didn’t see very much of Ruby during the day’s travel. At night, when he finished scouting the country around their campsite, he came back to Jubal’s campfire to eat and sleep. Even then there was very little conversation between them. For one thing, Jubal was always present, and then he normally did most of the talking, leaving Tom and Ruby with little opportunity for more than stolen glances. Still, it was enough for Tom. He was almost grateful that the two of them were unable to spend time alone, for he was afraid he would be hard-pressed to control his emotions. He only wished he could keep his mind off her during his lonely scouts.

  Listening to Jubal talk as they sat by the fire, Tom learned that he had a brother in Bozeman, Carlton, who had a small store in town. Jubal planned to add what money and merchandise he had saved to that of his brother. They felt that, together, they could make a handsome living selling supplies to the miners and the settlers. There was still a good deal of tracer mining in that area, and the Indian problem had been curtailed to a great extent, especially since Chief Joseph’s Nez Perces had finally been captured. Bozeman already had several trade businesses in addition to the half-dozen saloons. It also boasted a sheriff and a couple of deputies. All in all, Jubal calculated, it looked like a promising start to a permanent town.

  Tom had to revise his estimate of getting to Bozeman in three days. He had not figured on the slow travel of the greenhorn party he had joined. It was going to be more like four days if they kept a steady pace. It turned out to be five days in the end—the extra day was to celebrate Christmas. When the train left Miles City, after contracting with Scarborough and Butcher to guide them, they had planned to celebrate Christmas in Bozeman. But Christmas Day found them still two days’ hard travel from the town. Being a somewhat religious group, with one ordained minister in the party, they voted to stop for one day to observe Christmas on the trail. Tom thought they were pushing their luck, but still something—possibly God—had watched over them this far: they might as well stop and take a holiday.

  Tom, with John Butcher’s help, selected a place to camp on a hillside covered with tall pines. Early the next morning, Christmas Day, he scouted around the camp for any sign of unwelcome visitors. Seeing none, he rode off up in the mountains, for he had seen sign of elk on the lower slopes and the thought of roasted elk was his idea of a real Christmas feast. Tracking an elk in the snow was a fairly simple thing to do. Getting close enough to shoot one was another. The tall pines made that part of the job easier though, and he soon spotted one of the animals pawing in the snow, looking for grass in a small clearing. When he returned to camp, he was met with a genuine hero’s welcome, and everyone turned out to help prepare the feast.

  The camp was certainly infused with the Christmas spirit in a hurry. There were some seven women in camp, and they all scurried around, searching through their supplies in an effort to find something to contribute to the dinner. Tom could not help but feel sorry for them. It had no doubt been a hard journey for them. Off and on, they had been on the trail since last spring. They had endured the parched prairie in the summer, starting up the Bozeman Trail only to be turned back by angry Sioux. They had used up precious money and supplies waiting for another wagon train from the Platte, only to be turned back again, this time losing their wagons and many of their belongings to another Indian attack. With the season nearing an end and getting desperate in their situation, they converted what resources they had left into a pack train and joined a party traveling north to Fort Lincoln. By the time they left Fort Lincoln and made their way to Miles City, it was already winter. When Tom joined them, the women looked tired and haggard, but still they started out determined every morning on the trail. They were a hardy lot, and Tom guessed they deserved a holiday.

  Of immediate concern to him, however, was the same festivity that pervaded the minds of the men-folk. All thoughts of safety seemed to have evaporated as the men were caught up in the spirit of the season. He stressed the need to maintain the usual sentries to Scarborough, and Scarborough had assured him that the guards were posted. Still, Tom was not comfortable with that assurance. He decided he had better take it upon himself to patrol the perimeter of the camp, so he left the preparation of the festivities to the cheerful men and women and rode up into the hills behind the camp. After making a couple of circuits around the camp, his apprehensions were confirmed. The sentries all seemed more interested in the activities going on in camp than watching for a Blackfoot war party. One of them, a young boy of perhaps eighteen years of age, was even facing the camp instead of looking out for Indians. So intent was he on the dinner preparations that he did not know of Tom’s presence until startled by the voice in his ear.

  “If I was a Blackfoot, I’d start my scalp knife right about here and work right around your hairline.” For emphasis, he pricked the shocked young man on the forehead with his skinning knife.

  Mortified, the young man could do little more than stammer a lame excuse for his laxity. Tom scolded him, though not too severely. After all, it was Christmas. But the incident convinced him that he had better stay on watch while the celebrating went on. Since he had picked a campsite in some tall pines that stood above a sizable clearing, he knew that any attack had to come from above the camp. Anyone would be too easily seen if they tried to move across the clearing below them. So he decided to keep a watch in the trees above the camp, moving from time to time so he could keep an eye on the men on guard.

  He complimented himself on his selection of campsites. The trees provided a buffer for the noise of the celebration going on below him, and the smok
e from the fires would hardly be visible beyond a half mile or so. He knew there was very little risk of another attack this close to Bozeman, at least for a party this size. But there was also little wisdom in taking foolish chances. True, he missed out on the feast, but, other than that, he felt at peace with himself. Then thoughts of Ruby entered his mind, and he recalled the image of her that he had last seen when he rode out of camp. She was helping butcher the elk he had killed, and, when he climbed into the saddle to leave, she paused, stood up, and watched him go. Her eyes seemed to question him, although she said not a word. He met her gaze but, like her, said nothing. Now, as he sat beside a small boulder, gazing out over a miniature valley, the picture of her face returned to him and he could see every line clearly as if he had memorized it. He thought of the people below him, happily celebrating Christmas. Some Christmas, he thought, half froze, half starved. Still, they had survived an extremely tough ordeal in making it this far. And although they had lost most of what they started out with, they would soon be in Bozeman with most of their dreams still intact. There was land to be claimed. Some of them would find the gold so many sought. Most would farm or raise cattle. They would survive because they were families. A moment before, he had pitied them their lot. Now he wondered if he shouldn’t envy them instead. He thought of the young girl again. He had sought to clear his mind of Ruby Clay, because he was afraid he wanted to make a commitment to her, and he knew he could not. How could he? He was a wanted man, an outlaw, and there was no way he could go back and change the road his life had taken. He could not outrun his past. He knew this, and it would always linger in the recesses of his mind even though he would still search for the new start he prayed was waiting for him somewhere beyond the mountains.

  His thoughts were suddenly jolted back to the present by the sharp snap of a branch. Without thinking, he brought his rifle up, his eyes now searching the thicket before him, every nerve in his body alert. A moment later he relaxed.

  “How did you know I was up here?” Tom asked, leaning the rifle back against the boulder.

  “Pa said you were up here.” She made her way around the heaviest part of the thicket and climbed up beside him at the foot of the boulder. Then she unfolded the cloth she carried. “I brought you something to eat. It didn’t seem fair for you to get left out on the elk when you were the one who killed it.”

  “Why, thanks. That was right thoughtful of you.” He had to admit he was beginning to regret missing out on the only fresh meat they had seen in days. “Damn, that smells good. Why don’t you help me eat it?” He offered her a piece of the roasted meat.

  “I’ve already ate,” she replied. “I would’ve brought you some coffee but it’da been cold by the time I climbed all the way up here.”

  “That’s all right,” he said and laughed, “I’m just glad to get the meat.”

  She sat quietly watching him eat. When he had finished, he got up and went over to a patch of snow and washed his hands. Then he came back and sat down beside her. She smiled at him, and then, taking a corner of the cloth she had brought his food in, she very gently wiped a spot of grease from his cheek. The mere touch of her hand sent a ripple up his spine, and he knew at once that he was in serious trouble. He could not trust his emotions alone with this girl.

  He got to his feet. “Well, I guess I’d better get you back down to camp.”

  She ignored his nervous fidgeting and remained seated on the buffalo coat he had spread out for her. “Sit down, Tom. I’m not gonna bite you. I’m not ready to go back yet.” She spread the coat out, making a place for him to sit beside her.

  Her remark had caused him to blush. “Well, I didn’t think you would,” he offered feebly. He paused to take a quick look around before settling himself beside her. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt for a few minutes. Then I reckon it would be best for you to be in camp. No sense in taking chances.”

  She arched one eyebrow as she looked him straight in the eye. “Tell me the truth. Do you think we’re in danger of Indian attack?”

  “The truth?” He paused. “I doubt there’s an Indian within twenty miles of here.”

  Her expression quizzical now, she asked, “You mean you’re just roaming around up here in the woods to avoid talking to me?”

  “No!” he quickly stammered “I mean…that’s a crazy thing to say. Why would I avoid talking to you? I talk to you every day, don’t I?”

  “Yeah, you talk to me,” she said, smiling, “as long as Pa’s around.” She brushed a wayward strand of hair from her forehead. “You act like you got candy or something and you’re afraid I’m gonna try to steal it. Well, I just want you to know, Tom Allred, I ain’t gonna try to steal your candy. And I ain’t been settin’ around waitin’ for the likes of you to come sweep me off my feet either.” He started to stammer a reply, but she cut him off. “Just because I said some silly things and let you kiss me don’t mean I care a fig about you. Besides, I was just a girl then. I was just playing anyway.”

  He was taken completely by surprise by her broadside verbal attack. He was so flustered by her statements that he wasn’t sure whether he owed her an apology, or if he should be indignant himself. He didn’t remember until later that it was she who did the kissing. As for the part about being only a girl then, she was seventeen at the time and all of eighteen now. But those thoughts did not occur to him while she sat so close to him that he could feel her body shiver with the chill of approaching evening. He could do nothing but stare at her, unsure of just where he stood in her emotions. In his confusion, he said nothing.

  After a long moment of silence, she finally shook her head, exasperated. “I swear, you do beat all. Well, I guess I better get back. I got chores.” She gathered up the cloth she had used to carry his supper, and got up to leave.

  He scrambled to his feet. “Ruby,” he started, “I don’t know what to say…” His voice trailed off as she stood waiting for him to do something, say anything, give some indication that his brain was even working. Finally, he blurted, “I really appreciate the supper.”

  “I swear!” she uttered, her tone heavy with sarcasm, “You’re welcome.” With that she turned on her heel and started down the hill toward the camp.

  “Ruby, wait!” he called after her, but she continued walking, not even turning her head. He ran to catch her. Grabbing her arm, he whirled her around to face him. “Ruby, I’m sorry. I’m not very good with words. I don’t know what to tell you except that I think about you a lot.” He released her arm and stood gazing at her face.

  “Is that it, then? Is that what you wanted to tell me? You think about me a lot?” When it became apparent that he was not going to elaborate, she shook her head in amazement, and turning again, left him standing there drowning in his confusion.

  He stood there a long time, staring at the empty forest where he had last seen her as she made her way down the hill. “Tom Allred,” he muttered, “you are the stupidest jackass God ever put on this green earth.” His head was in complete chaos. He was at once forlorn and miserable over his bumbling of what could have been the most wonderful thing to happen to him. Yet, at the same time, he was more that a little angry with himself to think this slip of a girl could befuddle him so. He did not know what he wanted. He had been truthful when he said he thought about her a lot. He thought about little else since he had joined the train. Now, when he had the opportunity to tell her how much he did think about her, his brain went to sleep and his mouth froze up. Maybe, he thought, I should go down there and tell her I’m sorry. He rejected the idea as soon as he thought it. It was plain that he had been given his opportunity and failed to pass muster. “Best forget it,” he whispered softly to Billy. He did not return to camp that night, preferring to roll up in his big buffalo coat and sleep under the stars.

  * * *

  The party broke camp and got under way the next morning. The weather continued to favor them, and on the afternoon of the second day they reached Bozeman. Tom and Ruby exchanged no more t
han a few words during the entire two days. He felt very self-conscious around her. She, on the other hand, simply seemed not to notice him. He could not understand the misery that had suddenly descended upon him. As recently as three days before, he was trying to avoid the girl because he did not want to become involved in any permanent relationship. Now, he couldn’t stand to be around her, yet he was even more miserable when away from her. It was a relief to see the buildings of Bozeman on the horizon. Maybe now he could start trying to get her out of his mind.

  As Bozeman was the final destination of the mule train, the party broke up and went their separate ways. Most of the travelers found temporary quarters hard to come by in the fledgling town of saloons and supply stores. Some were forced to weather out the season in makeshift tents and huts. Tom shook his head in amazement that anyone would attempt to come to this country in the dead of winter. But he had long since learned not to be surprised by the actions of the emigrants from the East. Little wonder the Indians looked upon all whites as lunatics.

  Jubal and Ruby were met by Jubal’s brother. They at least had a home to go to. As was his custom, after saying good-bye to Jubal and Ruby, Tom rode down to the livery stable. He wanted to see to his horses, but aside from that he knew there was usually some space a man could bed down in for a small sum. His needs were simple enough, and, since he had no hut to go to, the stable was the next best thing. Besides, a man wanted by the law, even if from another territory, would be wise to sleep close to his horse.