by Neil Hunter
We got down and tied our horses. Then we rid ourselves of as much dust as we could before we went into the house. Mrs. Choate led us through to the big kitchen and made us sit down. She produced an apple pie and a huge wedge of cheese. While we started in on this she brought china mugs and poured us hot, black coffee.
I almost forgot why we were there. The food was good, the coffee even better. I was on my third mug of coffee when a man came into the kitchen. He sat down at the head of the long table. Mrs. Choate brought him coffee.
He was a tall man, on the slim side. His hair was silver-gray. He had a strong, lined face, with a wide mouth. His eyes were bright and very blue and he suddenly fixed them on me.
‘You’re Brig Tyler,’ he said. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. ‘From what I hear Judith Thorpe has chosen a good man.’
‘That’s not for me to say,’ I told him. I put down my coffee mug. 'You’re Ben Choate,’ I said, in the tone he’d used on me.
Choate drained his cup. He gazed at me silently. His face was blank but I was sure I detected a faint twinkle in his eyes.
‘Now we know who we are,’ he said, ‘what can I do for you, Mr. Tyler?’
‘I’m on the lookout for good beef-cattle, stuff that’ll be too old to put on the trail come next spring. I’ll take as much as you can let me have. I’ll pay twenty dollars a head and I’ll pay on delivery.’
Ben Choate squared his hat and got up.
‘Ma, give these boys another drink while Mr. Tyler and I talk cattle.’
He led me outside and we walked across the dusty yard.
‘George Dodd speaks highly of you, boy,’ he said suddenly.
‘He’s treated me fair,’ I said, ‘and I think I’ve done the same for him. He’s a good man.’
Choate nodded. He glanced at me from under his hat brim.
‘He says you’re a mite keen but he figures you’ll grow out of it.’
I smiled and saw a faint grin touch Choate’s lips.
‘What you aimin’ to do when you marry Judith Thorpe?’
‘I want my own spread,’ I told him. ‘Up in the country where William Thorpe has his. It’s good country up there. A man can put down strong roots and grow.’
‘Boy, I’d hate to be anyone who got in your way and tried to stop you.’
‘Some already have tried to get in my way,’ I said, with some bitterness in my tone. ‘Makes a man angry when all he wants to do is to walk his own way and bother no one.’
‘I’ve been in this country for nearly thirty years,’ Choate said. ‘I’ve seen it come to life and start to grow. It’s got a long way to go yet, though. It’ll be a wild country for a long time. We’ll get law and order in the end, Brig, but until then every man will have to depend on his own strength if he wants to keep what he’s acquired.’
He stopped suddenly, pushing his hat to the back of his head.
‘I talk too much,’ he said. ‘There’s a bunch of about three-hundred-fifty head my boys have cleared out of the main herd. I’ve got them bunched over on the far side of the north pasture. We can ride over and have a look at ‘em if you want.’
‘I’m ready when you are,’ I said.
Two hours later the deal was done and we were driving the herd towards our rendezvous with Crown and Riley.
We pushed the complete herd beyond Tarrant before night forced us to a halt. As darkness fell we bedded down the herd and established our camp. Crown and Riley took the first watch. Bill Ward unsaddled the horses and Swede got a fire going. Shortly he had coffee on the boil, beans and bacon in the pan.
‘Boss,’ Swede said as he handed me a filled plate.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘We have snow before morning,’ he said.
I glanced up at the dark sky. There was a chill in the air, a sharpness in the breeze that came down from the distant peaks.
‘You sure?’
Swede nodded. He looked sorrowful, as though any change in the weather was his own fault. ‘I am sure, boss. Snow for sure.’
I took the plate of food, helped myself to coffee. As I ate I tried to figure what delay a fall of snow might have on us. It depended on how heavy the fall was. How long it lasted. The way through the hills was raw and unestablished, hard going under normal circumstances. A snowfall wouldn’t make it any easier. I figured that there was no profit in worrying too much. The only way to face a problem like this was to wait until it materialized.
I finished my meal and settled down on my blankets. My watch didn’t come until just after midnight. It was going to be a long, cold time, and I wanted to get some rest before then.
Chapter Twelve
Around about two o’clock in the morning the snow began to fall. It was slight at first but within a half-hour it was coming down thick and fast.
I was well into my watch, along with Bill Ward, and as we circled the herd the snow fell steadily. It layered the ground and the trees and brush, quickly thickening. As I rode I huddled deeper into my coat, wondering just how long this was going to last. It might just be a freak fall, one that would fade out and be over by morning. There was also the chance that it might settle in for a long time. We were pretty high up and the possibility of a heavy, prolonged snowfall was very strong.
Dawn broke cold and gray I studied the leaden sky and all the signs said that the snow was here to stay. The sky appeared swollen and heavy, holding the promise of more snow.
The herd was restless and miserable. The cattle didn’t like the snow. They knew it meant cold and wet, knew it meant foraging for food. I’d heard it said that cattle were stupid. Maybe so but in some things they knew what was good and what was bad. I hoped the herd wasn’t about to get troublesome.
We ate a good breakfast and drank plenty of hot coffee. Every man put on his thickest clothing before we broke camp and mounted up. It was going to be a long day. Little was said. Each man saw to his own task, did it, and then moved on to the next.
The herd took some prodding before it finally moved out. We eventually got it strung out and on the way. We didn’t push too hard but let the herd find its own pace. We had a long way to go and I didn’t want any trouble.
All through the morning the snow kept falling. It showed no sign of letting up. It fell heavily, coloring the land around us a ghostly white. It broke up the lay of the land, adding to the difficulty of keeping to the trail we had partially broken our first time through.
Towards noon a wind got up and the snow began to drift. It was another hazard to slow us down. We pushed on, keeping on the move. There was little else we could do. The hours drifted by slowly. I realized we were not making a lot of headway. But there was only one thing to do and that was to keep going.
I sent Swede on ahead a way to get a fire going and food ready. By the time we caught up with him he had everything going. We halted the herd and took turns to eat and drink. Swede did us proud. There was scalding coffee, hot bacon, beans spiced with chili, biscuits.
I stood under the drooping branches of a tree, mug of coffee in one hand, a biscuit folded round a thick slice of bacon. Crown was beside me, clearing his way through his second helping of beans and bacon.
‘It’ll get worse, Joe,’ I said.
‘You could be right.’ He stared out, up at the sky. ‘Won’t be too bad if the wind don’t get too frisky.’
‘I figure this’ll add maybe a couple of days to the run.’
Crown nodded. ‘Three, maybe. We’ll make it, Brig. We’ve got a good crew.’
I knew that. I couldn’t have chosen better men. They would stick no matter how bad the going got. I knew I had nothing to fear on that score. But there were other things. The weather itself. The very terrain we were crossing. The herd we were driving. Any one of these things, or a combination of all three, could very well go wrong. No matter which way I looked at it, I could only see a hard trip in front of us. If nothing out of the ordinary took place we were going to have our hands full.
As soon as everyone had
eaten we got the herd moving again. It was no easy task. The herd was becoming stubborn. The cattle were feeling the cold and they fancied standing still, bunching together for collective warmth. We had to do some persuading to get them on the trail. Also, the snow was deep enough underfoot to make it hard work for our horses. And that meant we were not able to move around as quickly as we might wish to. All in all it was becoming one hell of a day.
The light began to fail earlier than usual. Coupled with the densely falling snow it made seeing the way ahead more than difficult. I realized that we were not going to get much farther this day.
I located Crown and rode over to him. He had his rope round a steer that had managed to fall into a snow-covered hole. I waited until he had the bawling beef back on its feet and back in the herd.
‘Joe, we’ve got to find somewhere to hole up for the night. It’s getting dark fast. We get caught out in the open when the light goes, we’re in trouble.’
Crown looped his rope and rehung it on his saddle. He hunched his shoulders against a sudden lash of wind and snow.
‘Don’t give us much time,’ Crown said. ‘I’ll send Lew on ahead a ways. He’ll find somewhere for us.’
He reined his horse about and went off in search of Riley. I pushed my horse forward, narrowing my eyes against the sting of hard snowflakes. I noticed it was getting colder.
I caught up with Swede. He was wheeling and turning his horse in and out of the herd, urging the plodding beasts along with a cracking, rawhide whip, and a constant flow of colorful curses.
‘Hey, Swede,’ I yelled.
He turned his horse my way, coiling the whip as he came.
‘You figure on driving this herd to Hope by yourself?’ I asked.
He grinned, showing his broad, white teeth. ‘We get her there, boss.’
‘Lew’s scouting out a place for us to use tonight. It’s going to be too dark to go any farther soon.’
‘Is going to be bad tonight,’ Swede said. ‘Maybe freeze. Is in the air.’
I nodded. ‘I know. I felt it. Let’s hope Lew can find us a good place.’
Riley came back about forty minutes later. He pulled his horse in alongside mine.
“ About half-mile ahead there’s a fair-sized canyon with a box at the end big enough to hold the herd. It’ll give us some cover from the weather. There’s water and grass, some timber. I don’t think we’ll find anything better.’
‘All right, Lew, show us the way. Let’s try and get a little more movement out of these beeves else we’ll be driving by starlight.’
With Riley guiding us we pushed the herd towards the waiting canyon. It became a race against time. The darkness was catching up with us. And the snow increased in its intensity. It was as if the elements were combining to add to our problems.
By the time we reached the canyon we were riding in the thick of a swirling blizzard. The world had merged into one great white blur. A biting wind took the snow and lashed it at us. It numbed the skin, found its way through the very clothes a man wore. It became increasingly difficult to see more than a few yards. We kept contact by shouting to each other. And all the time we were pushing the herd along, trying to keep it together, hoping we were doing it for it was near impossible to keep check on every steer.
Riley fought his shying horse alongside, shouting above the shriek of the wind.
‘Straight ahead, Brig,’ he told me. ‘Herd’s just starting to head in.’
‘Take them in, Lew. I’ll bring up the tail-end. Make sure everybody gets in safe.’
He raised a gloved hand, turning his horse away. He vanished into the snow-mist, swallowed up before my eyes.
I watched the herd drift by me, slapping at them with my coiled rope to keep them moving. More than once I had to turn a stray back into the main bunch before it got lost in the eye-blurring fall of snow.
Eventually the tail-end of the herd drifted past me and I fell in line letting my weary horse find its own way. I could see the high dark walls of the towering cliff into which the canyon cut its way. It rose above me, sheer and stark, for maybe two hundred feet. I peered through the snow and made out the wide, yawning mouth of the canyon. As the last of the cattle went in I gigged my horse forward and a moment later I was beyond the canyon mouth, noticing almost immediately how the force of the wind had dropped. The towering canyon sides cut off the direct sweep of the wind. There was only a cold breeze sifting along the ragged canyon floor. The snow was still falling but not as heavy as it was out in the open. Underfoot it was only a couple of inches deep.
A rider loomed up out of the gloom ahead of me. It was Bill Ward. He grinned at me from out of the folds of his coat collar.
‘Lew says not far now. We can push the herd right up to the far end and box it in easy.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ I said. ‘We couldn’t have gone much farther out there.’
‘Man, I never seen it snow so heavy, so fast,’ Ward said. ‘You reckon we’ll get through, Brig?’
No matter what my thoughts were on the subject there was only one answer I could give him. ‘We’ll get through, Bill. Don’t worry on that score.’
We had little time to concern ourselves about what was to come after we got the herd moving down the canyon. Our full attention was focused on the task of getting the herd corralled in the natural box that formed the far end of the canyon. It took us over an hour, working all the time in falling snow, the light failing fast around us. It got colder with every passing minute.
Once we had the herd in the box we set to on the job of making a barrier across the width of the canyon. We had a couple of axes along with our other gear and we used these to fell a couple of trees. These were trimmed and dragged into position, forming a fair kind of fence. We used rope to lash the trees together. I didn’t figure the herd would have too much patience to try and break through. Those beeves were tired and cold. All they would want to do would be to huddle together for warmth. There was grass around for them to feed on. They wouldn’t be going far.
Full darkness was almost on us by the time we’d finished. We gathered up our tools and trudged through the snow to where our horses were tethered. Our next job was to find a place where we could hole ourselves up. We needed cover and warmth, a place where we could rest in some sort of comfort.
As we stood together by the horses, a dark figure appeared out of the shadows. It was Lew Riley. He’d been off on one of his forages. He had a nose for scouting things out. He’d found this canyon and if anyone could find us a place to shelter for the night he could. ‘Found us a nice place,’ he said casually. ‘You ain’t goin’ to believe me but it’s a real, nice cabin, all snug-tight and empty. Just waitin’ for us.’
Chapter Thirteen
The cabin lay up a small side-canyon, rising some fifty feet above the main canyon floor. There was a regular trail that led up to it. The trail ended in a wide, level area that was surrounded on three sides by the sheer canyon walls. There were trees and grass and a small stream that tumbled down the sheer cliff into a natural basin.
The cabin was built against one of the sheer walls, this wall forming the rear wall of the building. The cabin faced the trail that approached it. It created a superb defensive position. Anyone coming up the trail would be seen by a person in the cabin long before the cabin came into sight. Whoever had built it knew what he was doing.
Solid logs had been cut and shaped, fitted and locked together with a lot of care and precision. The cabin had been built solidly, meant to last. It had window-holes with hinged shutters. The door was heavy, hung on iron hinges. Somebody had taken a lot of time and trouble over the building of this lonely place.
There was a well-constructed lean-to beside the cabin. We led the horses in and off-saddled. We cleared their coats of clinging snow, fed them with some of the grain we carried for them.
Picking up our saddles and gear we crossed to the cabin and went in. It was dark inside, and musty, the smell that tells you that a place
has been empty for a long time. Nobody had lived here for months, maybe even a year.
I heard a match sputter into life. Riley’s face was illuminated as he put the match to a lamp. As the lamp flared, then settled, Riley replaced the glass and soft light flooded the cabin, pushing the darkness aside.
Behind me somebody closed the door, shutting out the wind and the snow. I put down my saddle and gear, looked around the cabin’s one big room.
There was a handmade table, a couple of chairs. Over against one wall was a low cot, complete with dusty blankets. A fireplace had been built against the back wall, constructed out of natural stone, the chimney going up through the log roof. There were other things, mostly personal items, evidence that at some time, somebody had lived here. There was a long-barreled, .50 caliber Sharps rifle on wooden pegs over the cot. In the scarred butt were carved the initials J.K.G. There was a three-year old St Louis newspaper lying on the hard-dirt floor under the table. The paper was yellowed, the print fading.
Riley had found a stack of cut wood by the fireplace and he was busy at work getting a fire going. Swede got his cooking tackle out.
‘I wonder who he was?’ Crown said.
I shrugged out of my wet coat.
‘Whoever, he’s been long gone from this place.’
Later, as I lay in my blankets, fed, and warmed by the blazing fire, I wondered a little about the man who had built this cabin. Who was he? Was he still alive? If so, where was he? I wondered why anyone should decide to build a cabin in such a lonely place, so far away from anyone. Had he been a man on the run? An outlaw? Or maybe just a man who wanted to be alone, who wanted nothing more than what this place offered? Here a man might find peace of mind, contentment. There was plenty of good, unspoiled land for miles around, the peace of these far-reaching hills. For some men this could be paradise, all they needed to be happy. It gave food for thought.
Though my mind was full of ideas, my body was tired and drained. Now, as I lay relaxed and comfortable, my tiredness caught up with me and I drifted into sleep without knowing it.
