Lonely On the Mountain (1980) (6 page)

"Louis Riel has returned from Montreal and is reported to be forming a provisional government. I have met the man but once, in passing, and know nothing about him." "He's a breed," one of the other men spoke suddenly. "He's part Indian." His manner of speaking made the statement an accusation, and Orrin said mildly, "Could be in his favor. I've dealt with Indians. They know the country, and some of them are wise men." The man was about to reply, but seeing the way the conversation was going, the man with the trimmed beard thrust out his hand. "I am Kyle Gavin, and a Scotsman, although I've spent a deal of time in both your country and Canada. We may be of service to each other." "I am Orrin Sackett, of Tennessee. I have been practicing law in New Mexico and Colorado." At the name, both the other men glanced up sharply, first at him, and then they exchanged a glance.

Darkness was crowding into the thick brush and trees along the trail, leaning in long shadows across the trail itself. Atop a small hill where some wind was felt, the stage pulled up, and the driver descended.

"I'd sit tight if I was you," he warned.

"Keep as many mosquitoes out as you can. I'm lightin' the carriage lamps." He did so, and then they moved on into the darkness. "There will be food at the next stop," Gavin commented. "I'd advise all to eat. The night will be long." The road was a mere trace through towering trees, then across open prairies dotted with clumps of brush. Trees had been cut down, but the stumps remained, and occasionally a wheel would hit one of the stumps with a bone-jolting shock. There were strips of corduroy road across marshes, made by laying logs crosswise and covering them with brush and mud.

Inside the coach, all was dark. Orrin removed his hat and leaned his head back against the cushion. In that way, he could doze fitfully, jarred into wakefulness by getting a sharp rap on the skull when the stage passed a bad bump.

After a long time of endless bumping, jolting, and crackings of the whip, a bit of light flickered across his vision. He opened his eyes and, lifting the corner of the curtain, peered out. They had come to a settlement, and only a minute or two later the stage pulled up before a low-roofed building of logs.

The door opened and the stage driver said, "Grub on the table! Better eat up!" Kyle Gavin got down and turned to offer his hand to the ladies, but the two other men pushed by him and stumbled toward the door.

Exasperated, he started to speak, but Orrin spoke first. "Let them go. It isn't worth the trouble." He waited until both women had been helped to the ground, then said, "Please, let me apologize. Western men are usually thoughtful of womenfolk." "Thank you, young man," the older woman said.

"I live west. I know what the men are like. Those two, they're trouble. I seen it when they got on." Orrin escorted the two women to the one table, and several men promptly got to their feet, plates in hand. "Set here, ma'am," one of them said.

One of the others turned toward a harried man standing over a stove. "Joe? We've a couple of ladies." "Yes, sir! Ma'am! Be right there." Orrin glanced around the room. Several wagons were pulled up outside and at least three saddle horses. He saw no one whom he knew, but that was expected, for this was new country to him. Yet he searched the faces of the men. Some would be going on to Pembina or Fort Garry, and he badly needed at least two good men.

One was a short, stocky man with a thick neck and a bristle of tight blond curly hair atop his head. There was a deep dentlike scar under his cheekbone. He was one of those who had arisen quickly when he saw the women. He stood to one side now, plate in hand.

"How's the food?" Orrin asked.

The short man threw him a quick, measuring glance. "I've et worse. Matter of fact, it ain't bad." "Cowhand?" Shorty shrugged. "Whatever it takes to get the coon. I been a cowhand. I been a timber stiff, too, an' I've driven freight here and there." "At Pembina or maybe Fort Garry, I'll need a couple of men. A couple who can handle cattle, drive a team, and make a fight if that's necessary." "Where you goin'?" "West, through the mountains. They call it British Columbia. I'll pay thirty a month, and the grub's good." Shorty finished his food. "If you're eatin', you better get up there," he advised.

"They don't set no second table." Orrin Sackett moved up to the table and found a place near the girl who was traveling with them.

Passing her a platter of beans and rice, he said, "If there is anything I can do, you have only to ask." "Thank you." As she did not seem disposed to talk, he said nothing more but finished his eating and went outside. The two men with rifles were standing near the stage in deep conversation with a third man, pants tucked into his boots, a battered hat pulled low so little of his face could be seen.

Kyle Gavin strolled over and stood near.

"Those men," Gavin commented, "something about them worries me." "It's the clothes," Orrin replied.

"The men don't look like they belonged in them." "You mean a disguise?" Orrin shrugged. "Maybe, or maybe just trying to fit into the country." Then he added, "They

andle the rifles like they were used to them, though." The stage rolled on, and again Orrin slept fitfully. Where were Tell and Tyrel? The letter received in St. Paul had stated only that their route would be up the valley of the James, and if they reached the Turtle Mountains first, they would proceed westward, leaving some indication behind.

They were going into wild country, a land unknown to them. Even now, they would be somewhere in Dakota, the land of the Sioux, a fierce, conquering people who had moved westward from their homeland along the Wisconsin-Minnesota boarder to conquer all of North and South Dakota, much of Montana, Wyoming, and Nebraska, an area larger than the empire of Charlemagne.

This land through which they traveled was that which divided the waters flowing south toward the Gulf of Mexico from those flowing north toward Hudson's Bay.

There were many lakes, for this was the fabled "land of the sky-blue water," and soon they would be descending into the valley of the Red River of the north.

Orrin awakened suddenly, feeling a head on his shoulder. It was the young lady, who had fallen asleep and gradually let her head fall on his convenient shoulder. He held very still, not wishing to disturb her.

The coach was very dark inside, and he could see little but the gleam of light on the rifle barrels and light where the coach lamps let a glow in through a crack in the curtains. All the rest seemed asleep.

He was about to doze once more when he heard a drum of hoofs on the road behind them. Someone, a fast rider, was overtaking the coach. Carefully, he put his fingers on the butt of his six-shooter, listening.

He heard the rider come alongside and lifted the corner of the curtain but could see nothing, as the rider had already passed too far forward. The stage slowed, and he could hear conversation between the rider and the driver but could distinguish no words.

After a moment, he heard the rider go on, listened to the fading sound of hoof beats, but the stage continued at the slower pace.

A long time later, daylight began filtering through the curtains, and suddenly the girl beside him awakened. She sat up with a start, embarrassed.

"Oh! Oh, I am so sorry!" She spoke softly so as not to disturb the others. "I had no idea!" "Please do not worry about it, ma'am," Orrin said. "My shoulder's never been put to better purpose." She tucked away a wisp of hair. Her eyes were brown, and her hair, which was thick and lovely, was a kind of reddish-brown. He suddenly decided that was the best shade for hair, quite the most attractive he'd seen.

He straightened his cravat and longed for a shave. The stubble must be showing. He touched his cheek. Yes, it was. He touched his carefully trimmed black moustache.

Kyle Gavin was awake and watching him with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Orrin flushed.

He thought again of the short, blond man he had seen at the first stage stop. He looked to be a good man, and it might be hard to find men with all this Riel affair muddying up the waters.

Shorty had looked like the kind who would finish anything he started, and that was the kind of man they would need.

Orrin looked over at Gavin. "What about this Riel affair? What's going to happen?" "Your guess is as good as mine. The Canadians are sending an army out, but that country north of the lakes is very rugged. We've heard some soldiers were lost. Forty of them, according to one story." "If Riel wanted to make a fight of it," Orrin suggested, "he could defend some of the narrow rivers through which the army must come. Certainly, with all the woodsmen he would have at his command, that would be simple enough." "That isn't my understanding," Gavin said. "I was under the impression he wished only to establish a temporary government until the Canadians could take over. But no matter what, we're arriving at a bad time. You, especially, if you want to get men or supplies. What supplies Riel doesn't have, the army will need. You'd better move fast." "You'll find no men in Fort Garry"--one of the other men spoke up suddenly--"nor any supplies, either. They won't welcome strangers." "Then you're arriving at a bad time," Orrin suggested, smiling, "aren't you?" The man stared at him. "Maybe it'll be a bad time for you. I've got friends." Orrin smiled. "Yes," he said gently, "I suppose everyone has one or two."

Chapter
VII

By the evening of the second day, the stage rolled up to a stockade near the Ottertail River.

Orrin stepped down and stretched, then extended a hand to the young lady and, after her, to the older woman.

"It isn't much of a place," Orrin said, "but let me look around. I will see what can be found." "Not much," Gavin admitted. "Last time I was here, it was a good deal more comfortable to sleep in the haymow than inside." "And the mosquitoes?" "They'll find you either place. They call this place Pomme-de-Terre, but I can think of several other names for it. Tomorrow we should reach Abercrombie." "Are there accommodations at the fort?" "No, but there is in McCauleyville. A chap named Nolan has a fairly decent hotel there." "And the boat?" "Probably down river from there." Gavin was watching the two men with rifles. They had gone into the fort at once and disappeared behind some buildings. It was obvious they knew where they were going and what they were about.

Inside the fort, the man behind the bar shook his bald head and rubbed the back of his hand across a stubbled chin. "Mister, we sure ain't set up for ladies. Don't often get womenfolks hereabouts." He jerked his head toward an inner room. "Five beds yonder. Men will sleep three to a bed, mostly, and they ain't finicky." He was honestly worried. "I seen 'em get off the stage, and I seen trouble. I mean, settin' 'em up. Such womenfolks are expectin' more'n we can offer." "How about the barn? There's fresh hay, isn't there?" "Hay? Plenty o' that. Say! Come to think of it, there's the tack room--harness room.

Cavalry officers used to keep their horse gear in there." "How about blankets? And mosquito netting?" He shook his head. "I got 'em, but only for sale, not for use." They would need blankets and mosquito netting, too.

"How much for six blankets and netting enough for four?" He scratched his head, then worried at a piece of paper with a pencil. The figure was excessive but not so much as he'd expected.

Nor was the tack room as much of a mess as it might have been.

"We had better eat," Orrin warned them, "and get bedded down before dark. The mosquitoes are coming now." The younger woman suddenly put out her hand. "I am Devnet Molrone, Mr. Sackett. And this is Mary McCann. She is going to Fort Garry." "And you?" "I shall be meeting my brother. He will be at Fort Carlton." Gavin was surprised. "At Fort Carlton?

Is your brother with Hudson's Bay Company?" It appeared, after some conversation, that her last letter from him had been from Fort Carlton, and she assumed he was located there.

Later, he said to Orrin, "Sackett, if you're going west, you'd best try to keep an eye on that girl. I am afraid she's in trouble." He paused. "You see, Carlton's a trading post, but there aren't too many white men there, and I know most of them. A good lot, on the whole, but unless her brother is employed by the company in closing up some of their operations, I can't see how he'd be there for more than a few days." Later, over supper, Orrin said, "Tell me about your brother." "Oh, Doug's older than I am, three years older. He always wanted to hunt for gold, and when he heard of the discoveries out west, nothing would hold him. He wrote to us, told us all about it, and it sounded very exciting. Then, when Uncle Joe died, well, there was nothing to keep him in the East, and Doug was the only living relative I had, so I decided to join him." Orrin glanced at Gavin. "He knows you're coming?" "Oh, no! He'd never approve! He thinks girls can't do anything! It's a surprise." Her eyes were wide and excited. Obviously, she was pleased with her daring and thought he would be equally pleased and surprised.

"Ma'am--Miss Molrone," Orrin spoke carefully. "I think you should reconsider.

If your brother was hunting gold, he'd be in British Columbia, and that's a long way, hundreds of miles, west of Fort Carlton.

"Fort Carlton isn't a town, exactly, it's a trading post with a stockade around it. There are a few buildings inside, mostly quarters for those who work there." She was shocked. "But I thought--I--to was "Fort Garry is only a small town," Kyle Gavin said, "but I'd suggest you stop there until you locate your brother.

"There's no regular mail, you know. Most of the gold camps are isolated, trusting to someone who brings mail in by boat, horseback, or snowshoes, depending on the situation. And only rarely is there a place where a decent young woman can stay. Your brother probably shares a tent or a small cabin with other men." Her lip trembled. "I didn't know. I wanted to surprise him. I thought--" "We can make inquiries at Fort Garry," Gavin suggested. "Some of the m`etis may know him. Or they may remember him." Suddenly, the realization of what she had done came to her. She put her hand to her mouth. "Oh, my!" Pleadingly, she looked at Gavin, then at Orrin. "I wanted to surprise him. I'm all he's got, you know, now that Uncle Joe is dead." "Does he know that?" "How could he? I was going to tell him when I met him. You see, Uncle Joe didn't leave anything. He died very suddenly, and I was alone. I wanted to be with Doug, and so--" "Don't worry about it," Orrin said.