Lonely On the Mountain (1980) (11 page)

He watched Baptiste come up the rise with the two carts. "Ain't much of an outfit, but it's a start," he suggested. "We'll need at least two more men, and we should have six." "We'll just have to look around," Orrin said, "but there's three of us now." The next man was a volunteer. He approached Shorty, who was having a beer. "You look like a rider," he suggested. "I'm another, and I'm broke and rustlin' work." His name was Charlie Fleming, and he was from Arkansas, he said. He had two horses of his own and knew where there were four more to be had.

"That's it," Orrin told them. "We'll move out tomorrow. The first thing is to find where that stampede took place and hunt for my brothers, or their bodies." "You won't find much," Fleming said. "Not after a stampede. I lost a friend thataway, and all we found was his boot heels and some buttons.

By the time several hundred head of buffalo run over you, there isn't much to find." "We'll look," Haney said. "Tell Sackett was the best friend I ever had. We were in the Sixth Cavalry together." Orrin walked back to the hotel.

Studiously, he had avoided any thought of his brothers. His job was to get an outfit. When the time came to look, that would be another thing.

Three men riding and one on the carts. Four men riding, counting himself. It was too few, and he should have about ten more horses. Rounding up scattered cattle, if any were left, would be rough on the riding stock.

The first person he saw at the hotel was Nettie Molrone. "Oh, Mr. Sackett!

I'm so glad to see you! I'm leaving in the morning for Fort Carlton!" "Who's taking you?" "I'm going with a group. Mrs. McCann is going, and there will be another lady whose husband is there. There are six trappers, Mr. Taylor from the Hudson's Bay Company, and Kyle Gavin." "I wish you luck," he said. His expression was a little sour, and she noticed it. "I mean, I really do," he added. "I'll be leaving tomorrow, too." "I know. I mean, Mr. Gavin said he believed you were leaving. He doesn't think you'll have much luck." "We'll see." He hesitated, then said, "I hope you find your brother and that everything goes well for you. Remember, we'll be miles to the south of you, and once we get the cattle, we'll be driving west. We'll follow the South Saskatchewan." "But aren't the cattle down in Dakota?" "On the border," he said. "We'll need several days to round them up." He was in his room and combing his hair before going down to dinner when the thought struck him. How did Kyle Gavin know he was leaving?

He didn't even have his outfit yet, not the men or stock he needed.

Just a surmise, probably. A lucky guess.

Chapter
XII

The morning was clear and bright with only a few scattered clouds. The wind sent ripples through the vast sea of grass before them, but the sound of it was lost in the screech and groan of the carts, which were entirely of oak and ungreased.

Highpockets Haney rode up beside Orrin.

"You got your work cut out for you, Sackett," he said. "You ever rounded up cattle scattered by a buffalo stampede? They're likely to be scattered to hell an' gone." "It won't be easy." "We'll be workin' alone most of the time, just the way the Injuns like it." "We'll work in pairs," Orrin suggested.

"Takes less time to bunch them. If trouble comes, use your own judgment. Fight if that's necessary, but run if you can, just so long as you run together. I don't want any man left alone unless he's already dead." Now he left them, riding out at least a mile in advance of the carts and the other riders. Since the news had come, there had been no time to be alone, no time to mourn, no time to think, only time for the immediate business, and first things must come first.

They had started to drive cattle to the gold fields because Logan Sackett had promised it. Therefore the job must be continued. Logan was still in trouble, and a Sackett had given his word.

Rumor had it his brothers were dead. He did not believe it, yet it could be. Men died every day, and his brothers were no more immune than their father had been.

It was his mission now to go to the area, accept the risks it entailed, round up the cattle if possible, and find and bury the bodies of his brothers.

Feeling sad was a luxury he could not afford at the moment. With resolution, he turned from sadness to the task at hand. Now, with all going forward, he could think, so he rode far out before his small party where he could ride alone.

He was alone, simply with his horse, the sound of his passing, and the wind in the grass.

Tell and Tyrel--gone! That he could not accept, even for the moment. Tell had always been the older brother, strong, quiet, and sure. He had been less talkative, even, than Tyrel, who was himself quiet. He, Orrin, had always been the easy-talking one, taking after the Welsh side of the family.

He remembered the day when Tell, still only a boy, had ridden off to war. They lived in the mountains of Tennessee and had kinfolk fighting for the Confederacy, but Tell had said, "Ma, I'm a goin' to war. I'm goin' to fight for the Union." "For the Union, son?" "Yes, ma. It's my bounden duty. Our folks fought to build this country, and I'll not turn my back on it. It's our country, all of it, not just the South. And there's many a boy in Kentucky and Tennessee feels likewise." He went in the night, using the old Indian trails, that only mountain folk knew, and somehow he got through to Ohio, and eventually he'd wound up in the Sixth Cavalry. He never said much about the war years, and if he met any kinfolk on the field of battle, he didn't say.

When it was over, he'd gone to fightin' Injuns and then quit the army and joined up with a cattle drive. He'd covered a far stretch of country before their paths crossed again in the western lands. So far as they knew, Tell had not been back to Tennessee, which was surprising because there'd been a girl back yonder that he'd been sh*' up to when the war started.

Tyrel was the youngest but already married and owner of a ranch, part of which his wife brought to him, but which he'd helped to save from renegades in the Land Grant fights. He was better off than any of them.

He owned land and stock, but he owed money, and this trip was costing him.

This was wide-open country, yet there were unexpected hollows and valleys, and a man had to keep his wits about him. There were sloughs, small lakes usually surrounded by a thick stand of cattails. The hills were green now; only a few days had made a striking difference. The grass was short but long enough to color the hills with springtime. Wild flowers were everywhere, harebell, silverberry, and blue-eyed grass as well as wild parsley and yellow violet.

Here and there were small herds of antelope, and occasionally they saw a buffalo.

That night by their small fire he warned them again. "This here's Sioux country, and they're first-class fighting men. You got to expect them all the time." On the third day they killed a buffalo for fresh meat and skinned it out with the meadowlarks calling. Orrin's eyes kept roving, searching, watching, yet a part of his mind was far away, with Nettie Molrone, wondering where she was and how she fared.

Douglas Molrone--he must remember the name and listen for it, yet the gold fields had a way of devouring men, of chewing them up and spitting them out at the ragged ends of the world. It was whiskey and hard work that did them in, standing in cold streams, panning for the elusive gold.

So many times even the best discoveries somehow seemed to come to nothing. Tell had struck it rich in the mountains of Colorado only to have the vein play out. He had taken out a goodly sum, but part of it had gone back into searching for the lost vein.

Sometime, somebody would discover it, broken off and shifted by some convulsion of the earth.

In the distance, they could see the flat-looking blue shadow that was the Turtle Mountains. Not mountains at all but a plateau of rolling country scattered with lakes and pretty meadows among the trees.

The dim trail they were following, probably made by m`etis buffalo hunters, skirted the Turtle Mountains on the north, but Orrin led the way south, skirting the plateau's eastern end and making camp near a slough almost in the shadow of the hills.

"Keep your rifles handy," he advised, "but be damned sure you see what you're shooting at.

You boys know as well as I do that some or all of them might come through a stampede. If it takes place at night there'd likely be only two, three men on night herd, and they'd know you can't stop a buffalo stampede." "So?" Fleming asked.

"It's likely they'd scatter. They'd take out an' run," Haney said. "That's what I'd do. A dead cowhand ain't no good to anybody." "If my brothers or Cap come through this, they'd more than likely take to the hills. There's water there, and there are hideouts and small game." They were camped in a small hollow with some low brush around, a few polished granite boulders left by a vanished glacier, and several tall cottonwoods. The slough where they watered their stock was about fifty yards below. Baptiste built a small fire and roasted buffalo steaks. Orrin could not rest but prowled about outside of the hollow, listening for any small sound.

He heard nothing but the expected sounds of the night.

It w

s very still. To the north loomed the bulk of the plateau; to the west the land fell gradually away into a vast plain, which he suspected was a prehistoric lake bed. Behind him there was a faint rustling of wind in the cottonwood leaves and a low murmur of voices.

Somewhere out in that great silence were his brothers and Cap, alive or dead, and he had to find them.

He walked out a few steps farther, listening.

Overhead were the stars, and the sky was very clear. He moved out still farther, haunted by the feeling that something was out there, something vague that he could not quite realize.

He let his eyes move slowly all around the horizon, searching for any hint of a fire. He turned his head this way and that, trying for a smell of smoke.

Nothing!

were they gone, then? Truly gone? After all, there is a time for each of us.

Faintly, something stirred. His gun came easily into his hand. He waited, listening. There was nothing more.

Some small animal, perhaps.

After a few minutes, he went back to the fire. In the morning, they would continue on to the westward. Then he would climb the plateau and see what he could see from that height. Certainly, he could see farther, and he might detect some movement out there. Also, he should check for tracks.

The trouble was there were, so he had heard, many lakes in the Turtles and no end to available water. It was not as simple as in the desert where waterholes were few.

"Charlie," he suggested, "you take the first watch. Give yourself an hour and a half, then awaken Shorty. The same for you, Shorty, and then call Haney and Haney will call me." "You t'ink I am too old?" Baptiste asked.

"You have to get up early, anyway, and you'll have to watch the camp tomorrow. You get some sleep now." Fleming took up his rifle. "Anything else?" "Don't sit by the fire. Stay out on the edge somewhere." He unrolled his bed and pulled off his boots, then his gun belt. Shorty was asleep almost as soon as he hit his blankets, and Haney followed suit. Baptiste stirred about a bit, then settled down.

Orrin lay still, listening. The fire had burned down to reddish coals. His six-gun was ready at his hand. He heard a brief stirring outside of camp, then stillness.

Haney touched his shoulder just as his eyes were opening. Haney squatted on his heels.

"Quiet," he said, "but there's an uneasy feelin' in the air." "Everybody asleep?" "Sure, except maybe that Frenchman. I don't know if he ever sleeps." Orrin sat up and tugged on his boots. For a moment he waited, listening and looking at the coals. If they were to keep the fire, he must add fuel, but he did not want it to flare up.

He slung his gun belt around his hips as he stood up, then moved on cat feet over to the fire andwitha stick pushed some of the charcoal into the redder coals. If there was a flare-up, it would be slight.

Moving back into the shadows, he retrieved his rifle, stood it against a tree, and shrugged into a buckskin jacket, then moved out to where the horses were. Their quiet munching indicated there was, for the moment, nothing to suggest trouble.

The stars were still bright overhead, but there were clouds in the northwest. After a circling of the camp, he sat down on a rock in the shadows of a larger one and began to consider the situation.

Except for what he had been told, he had no further evidence that his brothers had not continued on west. Knowing them as he did, he knew nothing would turn them from the way they had chosen. If they had been attacked and killed, he would know it within hours, for the battle site could not be far off.

Yet he must not lose time looking for them. He would look, but he would also round up what cattle he could find. It was likely that the cattle were scattered in bunches, for they would certainly try to find one another, and by this time they would have done so.

Soon he must awaken Baptiste and let him prepare breakfast for an early start, for today they would not only search for his brothers and their riders but would begin gathering cattle, if there were any to be found.

He got up suddenly and moved away, impatient with himself. This, of course, was a family matter and not to be avoided, but he had wasted time, too much time. No man knew how much or how little he had, but there were things that he, Orrin Sackett, wanted to do, wanted to become.