North to Montana

by Colin Bainbridge

  ‘The bear that got you must be long gone,’ the doc said. ‘How many years ago was it?’

  ‘Not so many I’m ever likely to forget,’ Muleskin replied. ‘Or forgive. One bear’s the same as another. I hate the whole tribe of ’em.’

  The doc turned to Nation, not wanting to inflame the old-timer any further. ‘It should go away,’ he said, ‘the pain, I mean. Let me know if it gets any worse.’

  Rackham and his gang of gunslicks topped a final rise and sat their horses, gazing down on the valley below.

  ‘Well, what do you think, boys?’ Rackham said.

  It was an ideal spot for a ranch and they could see scattered cattle grazing in the meadows.

  ‘There ain’t too many of ’em,’ one man remarked.

  ‘No, but there soon will be.’ Rackham raised himself in his stirrups and pointed to the opposite slopes through which a narrow pass was clearly visible. ‘There are ranches all round these valleys,’ he said. ‘The cattle are more or less runnin’ free.’

  The men glanced at each other and grinned.

  ‘I think you’re beginnin’ to catch on,’ Rackham continued. ‘With a little judicial weedin’ of those cattle critters, we can build us up a real big herd. Nobody’s even gonna miss ’em. When we want, we can drift ’em through the ranges and sell ’em off. We’re gonna make our fortunes, boys!’ The men began to whoop and cheer.

  ‘You sure got this worked out,’ someone said. ‘It’s like the Grab All over again.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Rackham replied. ‘It’s a foolproof plan. It worked on the Grab All and it’ll work just fine here too. The cowpokes do the graft and we enjoy the profits.’

  He felt a glow of self-satisfaction. He had made his way and become a rich man. Now the final brick was about to be placed on the edifice of his ambitions with the acquisition of this new ranch in Montana. It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn’t even given it a name yet. Its current title, the Block E, was too ordinary. It needed something more striking, more memorable, the sort of name that people would remember him by.

  ‘OK,’ he said when the uproar had ceased. ‘Let’s get on down there.’

  Hooker’s Bluff wasn’t the name of a landmark, as Nation had surmised. It was a small settlement consisting of a few shacks and false-framed structures in the very shadow of the mountains. He and his group rode in and stopped outside a building with the name ‘Missoula Bar’ scrawled across it. A number of horses were fastened to the hitch-rack. Nation considered them for a few moments before dismounting to take a closer look.

  ‘What is it?’ Quitman asked.

  Nation pointed at one of the horses’ flanks. ‘A Grab All brand,’ he said. ‘Looks like it’s been ridden hard too. I think we might be in luck.’

  Annie looked alarmed. ‘You mean Denton?’ she said.

  The others started to dismount but Nation stopped them. ‘It doesn’t have to mean anythin’,’ he said.

  ‘You’re goin’ in?’ Muleskin asked.

  ‘Sure. That’s what we came for, to try and get some information about Rackham.’

  ‘We’ll come with you,’ Quitman said.

  Nation shook his head. ‘I figure it might be a better idea if you stay out of it. We don’t want to invite trouble. We need supplies. Go over to the general store. By the time you’ve finished I’ll be right back.’ They didn’t look very happy with his suggestion.

  ‘You got back up if you need it,’ Muleskin concluded. Without waiting further, Nation turned away and stepped through the batwing doors.

  Inside, the place was hazy with smoke. A few people sat around at tables but Nation’s eyes were drawn to a group at the bar. They were dusty- looking and begrimed as if they had come a long way. He was aware that eyes were on him as he strode slowly across the room. The bartender was standing at one end of the bar and glanced up idly at Nation’s approach.

  ‘Whiskey,’ Nation said.

  The barman glanced at the men standing next to Nation and then poured a drink from a bottle behind the counter. Nation put one foot up on the bar rail and looked in the mirror. Two men who had been sitting at a nearby table had changed position slightly; just enough to allow their gun hands freer movement. The men at the bar had also fanned out.

  ‘I noticed that one of the horses outside carried a Grab All brand,’ he said. ‘Whose horse is it?’

  There was no reply. One of the men now standing towards the edge of the bar licked his lips.

  ‘Thing is, I just rode from over that way. I’m lookin’ for a man called Rackham. He owns the Grab All but right now I got reason to believe he’s up here lookin’ at another spread.’

  Again, his words were greeted with silence till the barman spoke. ‘Nobody here knows anythin’ about a man called Rackham,’ he said.

  ‘You speak for everybody?’ Nation replied.

  The man at the end of the bar looked across at him. ‘Who’s askin’?’ he said.

  ‘The name’s Nation. Now, I’d be willin’ to bet that you go by the handle of Denton.’

  It was little more than a shot in the dark, but Nation wasn’t slow to observe the expression which suddenly passed across the man’s face. If he didn’t know Nation by sight, he knew now who it was confronting him. At the same instant of recognition, Nation saw movement behind him from the men at the table and spun round as a shot flew past him, exploding the bottles behind the bar in a shower of splintering glass. Nation’s finger squeezed the trigger of his .44 and one of the men went staggering back as a bullet smashed into his chest. In the same movement Nation adjusted his position and sent another slug slamming into the second man. He flung out an arm as he fired and sent a bullet thudding into the ceiling. Above the crashing sound of the guns Nation heard a voice shouting: ‘Watch out!’

  Instinctively, he dived for the floor, just as a bullet from Denton singed his cheek. He heard a loud detonation from the back of the saloon. Denton went reeling back, blood oozing from his stomach. Another shot blasted out; for a few seconds Denton clung to the bar and then he slithered sideways, ending up in a crumpled heap in the sawdust. Nation looked toward the batwings to see Usher standing there with a smoking gun. The batwings flew open again and Quitman burst through with his revolver drawn.

  ‘Nation, you OK?’ he shouted.

  Nation got to his feet. He felt blood running down his face and put his hand up to feel his wound.

  ‘It’s just a graze,’ he called. ‘It musta been a mighty close thing.’

  Usher and Quitman came forward. Quitman bent over the two men Nation had shot and then looked up, shaking his head. Nation was already kneeling beside Denton.

  ‘He’s dead,’ he muttered. He stood up again and turned to the barman. ‘You saw what happened,’ he said. ‘Those varmints were the first to draw.’

  The barman looked from Nation to Usher to Quitman. ‘Sure,’ he said, ‘it was self-defence.’

  Nation approached the bar and leaned against it. ‘Now, like I was sayin’, I’m lookin’ for a man called Rackham. I figure those gunhawks were lookin’ for him too and maybe let somethin’ slip about where he is.’

  The bartender hesitated. ‘They mentioned somethin’,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah?’

  The bartender still seemed reluctant to talk. Nation couldn’t work out whether he was frightened or whether he just didn’t trust strangers.

  ‘Look,’ he said eventually, ‘I never heard of this Rackham hombre before those boys blew into town. They said he was the new owner of a ranch up in the hills. That’s all I know.’

  ‘There must be somethin’ else.’

  ‘Why don’t you try askin’ Lou Peters?’ he said. ‘He’s an attorney. He handles any real estate issues round these parts. If Rackham has bought up some property, he would know.’

  Nation nodded and turned away. As an afterthought, he stepped back and drained his glass of whiskey. He placed some bills on the table in payment. ‘What’s left outa that should pay for any damage,’ he s
aid, ‘and you’d better send somebody for the undertaker.’

  A bystander got to his feet.

  ‘I’ll go,’ he said.

  Nation turned and walked through the saloon, accompanied by Usher and Quitman. As they stepped through the batwing doors they were met by Muleskin and a flustered Annie.

  ‘What’s happening?’ she gasped. ‘We heard shots. Is anybody hurt?’

  ‘She would have got here a lot quicker but I kinda slowed her down,’ Muleskin said.

  Annie noticed for the first time that Nation was bleeding. Before she could ask a further question, Quitman reassured her.

  ‘Everyone’s fine,’ he said. ‘Nation’s face is grazed, nothin’ more. It seems like he encountered a little difficulty extracting the information we wanted.’ Annie looked blankly at them.

  ‘You were right,’ Nation said. ‘It was Denton in there, together with a few of his friends. We won’t have to worry about him any more.’ Annie was about to say something but Nation forestalled her. ‘Did you get those things we needed?’ he said.

  Muleskin nodded. ‘Yup. We got everythin’.’

  ‘So now we know where to find Rackham,’ Nation said, ‘what are we waitin’ for?’

  They were about to climb into leather when the batwings flew open behind them and a man emerged. With a brief nod in their direction he mounted one of the horses tied at the hitch-rack and rode off. At the same moment they saw a figure approaching. It was the marshal.

  ‘Hold it!’ he said. ‘Wait right there.’

  The marshal came up to them and then carried on into the saloon; they waited for him to come out again. When he did he was accompanied by the bartender and two of his customers. He looked closely at them, reserving his longest look for Annie.

  ‘There are three men dead in there,’ he said.

  ‘I never provoked them,’ Nation replied. ‘Anythin’ that happened in there was in self-defence.’ He faced the barman and the men accompanying him. ‘Ask these folk. They saw it all.’

  The marshal did not reply but glanced down the street. A wagon pulled by a black horse with a plume on its head was already approaching.

  ‘Here comes the undertaker,’ the marshal commented. He turned back to Nation. ‘I hear you were makin’ queries about someone called Rackham.’

  ‘That’s right. We understand he’s bought a ranch up in the hills. The bartender here suggested we ask somebody called – what was it?’

  The bartender was about to reply but the marshal spoke for him. ‘Try the Block E,’ he said. ‘The former owner is an acquaintance of mine. Seems he sold up to some rancher from Wyoming. Guess he could be your man.’

  ‘Thanks. Sure appreciate the information.’

  ‘Just make sure you never set foot in Hooker’s Bluff again,’ the marshal said.

  Muleskin spat into the dust. ‘It sure don’t come across as a right friendly sort of place,’ he said.

  Nation put one foot in a stirrup and stepped into leather. ‘Thanks for your help, Marshal,’ he said. He touched his spurs to the roan’s flanks and began to ride, followed by the others. Only when they had left the town behind and were heading for the mountains did he think of the man who had left the saloon while they were involved with the marshal and ridden away in the same direction.

  After everything that had happened in Hooker’s Bluff, it was a relief to make camp that evening and take time to recuperate, so it was quite late the following morning when they set out. They were climbing higher and Annie reckoned that they must have gone wrong. The terrain just seemed unsuitable for ranching but Nation and Muleskin knew better. Every valley was a natural enclosure where cattle could be raised protected by high cliffs. There was plenty of water and good grass. Rackham was no fool. He must have planned his every move with careful attention since the days he had ridden the lines on the Forty-Five.

  Nation continued to lead the way. He knew they were close to their target and when he rounded a bend of the trail, he had his first view of Rackham’s ranch in the valley beneath. Drawing to a stop, he reached for his field glasses. The ranch-house looked solid. It was built of logs and there were a number of substantial buildings behind it. He expected to see signs of activity but though he searched closely, he could see none. Behind the ranch-house but still some distance away a butte towered hundreds of feet into the air; it was Nation’s guess that whoever had built the ranch-house had chosen the site because water would be found at its base.

  ‘There it is,’ he said, handing the glasses to Muleskin, who took a long look.

  ‘I don’t like it,’ he said. ‘There should be somebody around.’ He put the glasses back to his eyes and swept the valley. ‘Plenty of cattle,’ he said, ‘and there’s a few people watchin’ ’em.’ He passed the glasses to the others.

  ‘We’ve still some distance to go,’ Nation said.

  ‘What are we gonna do?’ Quitman asked. ‘Ride right on in?’

  ‘I’m thinkin’ it over,’ Nation said.

  They began to move on down the trail. It took another bend and they temporarily lost sight of the ranch-house. They were descending towards the valley floor and had to go slowly because of the incline, the horses picking their way with delicate steps. One side of the trail fell away gradually and the other was overhung by a high, tree-covered slope.

  Suddenly, far up the slope, a stone rattled. Instantly Nation’s glance swept the hill. He saw a glint of light.

  ‘Drop down!’ he shouted, leaping from the saddle as he did so. He made for Annie’s horse and half-assisted, half-pulled her from the startled beast as a fusillade of shots rang out from overhead, reverberating among the rocks and crags. Dragging Annie with him, he made for the shelter of the trees. The others hadn’t needed a second warning and as he tumbled into the undergrowth he saw that they had sought cover too on either side of the trail.

  ‘Sorry about that, Miss Annie,’ he said. ‘There was no time for niceties.’

  Annie ducked down as bullets crashed into the trees over their heads.

  ‘Don’t think anything of it, Mr Nation,’ she replied.

  Nation looked down at her and was surprised to see the hint of a smile on her face. She certainly wasn’t giving any indication of fear. ‘I think we’re OK here for the moment,’ he said.

  ‘You aren’t going to leave me, I hope?’ she replied. There was an almost winsome note in her voice.

  ‘I need to get to my horse,’ he said. ‘It’s bolted and taken my rifle with it.’

  The horses had scattered but Nation could see three of them further back along the trail down which they had come.

  ‘I’m going to make my way through the trees,’ he said. ‘You wait here and stay concealed.’

  Bullets were still whipping the branches of the trees but they didn’t carry much threat. Nation realized that the accidental dislodging of the pebble had probably saved their lives. It could only be Rackham up there on the hillside, but how had he been warned of their arrival?

  Quickly, Nation slipped away. The barrage of fire had dwindled but it was clear from the direction of the noise that Rackham’s fire was being returned. At least some of the others must have retained their rifles. He was soon abreast of the horses but they were standing in the middle of the trail and he would need to expose himself to the enemy. He made a quick calculation. With any luck, he should be just out of range. On the other hand, he might have got it wrong or some of Rackham’s men might also have shifted position.

  Taking a deep breath, he dashed out of the cover of the trees. Almost immediately a fresh barrage of fire exploded from the hillside, some of the bullets tearing up dirt not far from him. One of the horses started to rear at his approach and the other two shifted position, edging nervously sideways. He grabbed the reins of the nearest one and deftly removed the rifle from its scabbard. He turned to the other and did the same, but as he lifted the weapon from its sheath the horse uttered a loud bray and sank down, blood pouring from its neck. The other two h
orses took off, galloping away down the track. Bullets were thudding into the earth all around him now and he took advantage of the dying horse to give him some protection.

  Suddenly he heard someone shouting his name; the bushes on the opposite side of the trail parted and Muleskin appeared.

  ‘Here, take this and give me cover!’ Nation shouted.

  He flung the Winchester to the old-timer, who grabbed it out of the air. He looked at Nation and Nation nodded. Immediately the old-timer began to pump lead as Nation took to his heels and sprinted back across the road and into the trees. Shots were still ringing out but they posed no real threat. Now he had the rifle, he intended climbing the mountain and getting behind Rackham.

  Once Nation had vanished into the undergrowth, Muleskin weighed up his situation. He was confident that Usher, Quitman and the doc had all escaped serious injury. He could hear the sounds of their guns as they responded to the fusillade that was being rained down on them. For a few moments he allowed himself to think about the dog. He didn’t know what had become of Midway but there was nothing to be done for the moment. Suddenly he had an idea. If he could make it to the ranch-house, he could create a diversion by starting a fire.

  The thought no sooner entered his mind than he acted on it. He began to slither down the slope which led down into the valley. As he got lower the ranch-house came into view and he realized that it wasn’t as far as he had imagined. The trail they had been riding took a switch back course down the mountain, but he was taking the most direct route. It was steep; a reasonably active man would not find it a problem but his damaged leg hampered him badly. Still, he was going quite well till his foot caught on an outcrop of rock and he went tumbling head over heels down the mountainside. The rifle which Nation had thrown to him was wrenched from his grip as his headlong fall was brought to a halt by a clump of bushes. For a moment he lay half stunned; his leg hurt a lot and he felt sore all over. Gritting his teeth, he made a big effort to struggle back to his feet. He wasn’t too far from the valley floor and he began the descent once more. It seemed to take an age, but finally he was down from the mountain.