To the River's End Read online

  It was obvious to Luke that Charlton was concerned that he might think he could have made more of an effort to fight. “I reckon you did all you could,” Luke said. “It wouldn’ta made much sense to commit suicide against that many Injuns. How many was there?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” Charlton replied. “Twenty or thirty maybe. They was hid in the rocks and trees on both sides of that creekbank we rode up, lookin’ to camp. Rifle balls and arrows was flyin’ back and forth like a hailstorm.”

  “I reckon you were just lucky to get outta there. Guess your number just wasn’t up yet. I didn’t say anything about it to you and Tom and Fred, but I’d decided to quit American Fur and trap on my own. I already told Axel and settled up with the company. I know you lost a lot of bonus money when all those pelts was stole. So, I told Axel to just give you half of the bonus on those pelts I brought in.”

  Charlton was pleasantly surprised. “Well, damn, that’s mighty sportin’ of you. I ’preciate it.”

  Luke chuckled. “Hell, easy come, easy go, ain’t that right, Jug? Say howdy to Jug Sartain.” Charlton and Jug quickly exchanged greetings. “We were about to have us a drink. Care to join us?”

  “Yeah,” Charlton replied, “why don’t you come on back in the corner with me? There’s a bunch of the AFC boys that’ll be glad to say howdy.”

  “Lead the way,” Luke said. “Come on, Jug, we’ll drink with some of the company boys.” They followed Charlton back to a corner where several tables had been pulled together to accommodate the drinking party.

  Several of the men called out a friendly howdy to Luke and offered condolences on the loss of his two partners. There was not a lot of time spent on the tragic killings, however, because it was a common risk in the life of a mountain man. And rendezvous was a time for celebration. Hiram Jones spoke up then. “I see you brought one of your witnesses with you. How come you didn’t bring the other one?” His question brought a laugh from those who had been at the buying shed when Luke came in. One who did not laugh, the brute called Bloodworth, continued to stare at him with an accusing eye.

  Answering Hiram’s question, Luke said, “I left him with Axel ’cause he’s a ‘made beaver’ now.” That was the common term for a pelt that had been properly dried and folded, fur side in, to be put in a pack of eighty-nine other made beavers for shipping. His answer brought a few more chuckles to the group of trappers.

  “Axel said you up and quit the American Fur Company,” Bloodworth commented. “This little party here is for company men. Free trappers usually do their drinkin’ down at Boutwell’s Tradin’ House where the Injuns do their tradin’. That ain’t but about a mile from here. Maybe you’d see some of your Injun friends there.”

  “What you say is true, Bloodworth,” Luke replied calmly. “I have decided to go into business for myself. But I worked for the company longer than you have. I think Mr. Berman is open to free trappers and anybody else he wants to sell whiskey to.”

  “Yeah? Well, you don’t work for the company no more, so you ain’t welcome to drink with us.”

  “If all of you feel that way, then Jug and I’ll move over to the other side of the room,” Luke said. “That all right with you, Jug?”

  “Suits the hell outta me,” Jug answered. “I don’t wanna stick in nobody’s craw.”

  “Now, hold on, Bloodworth,” Hiram interrupted. “Luke’s got a lot of friends here, and we ain’t talkin’ about any secret places we’re fixin’ to trap next season, or nothin’ else we don’t wanna advertise. Ain’t nobody in the company who’s got a gripe against Luke Ransom.”

  “Is that so?” Bloodworth came back, fully worked up by now. “Well, then, I reckon it’s just me that’s got a gripe against him. I don’t like him, and I don’t wanna drink in the same place he’s drinkin’.” He turned to face Luke straight away. “So whaddaya say about that, Ransom?”

  “Like you said,” Luke replied. “Boutwell’s is about a mile down the valley. You can go down there to drink.”

  Bloodworth didn’t say anything for a few moments while he decided how best to deliver his threat. The whole corner of the room was silent as everyone waited to see what was going to happen. As curious as any, Jug was interested to see how his new friend was going to handle the situation that was being forced upon him. After glaring at the seemingly unruffled Luke for what seemed a long time, Bloodworth issued his ultimatum. “If you don’t haul your lanky ass outta here right now, I’m gonna break your back for you. And take that little runt with you.”

  Still calm, Luke took another moment to size up the bully before he responded. “You know, Bloodworth, I mighta left, just to avoid trouble. But then you went and insulted my partner, here, and I can’t let you get by with that.” He glanced over at Jug. “Partner, we’ll have that drink right here.”

  A smug grin slowly developed on Bloodworth’s square jaw. “All right, smartass, what’s it gonna be, knives, fists, guns? You name it.”

  “How about a foot race?” Luke asked.

  “You ain’t gettin’ outta here without fightin’,” Bloodworth answered, “unless it’s on your knees like a yellow dog.”

  “All right, if it’s a fight you gotta have, we’ll fight, but I get to pick, so it’s with no weapons, no knives or guns, just your hands and anything you can pick up with ’em. Does that suit you?”

  “It’s perfect,” Bloodworth said, since he felt he had every advantage under those rules. “Let’s get started.” He pulled his heavy deer hide shirt off to free his arms, which resembled two hams hanging from his massive shoulders. Then he walked out into the middle of the room where the tables and chairs had been hastily pulled aside for the contest. Spectators from the other end of the room, eager to see the fight, dragged their chairs up to form a ring. Bloodworth looked around the ring of spectators, grinning as he pounded a heavy fist into the palm of his hand.

  Luke, on the other hand, kept his antelope hide shirt on for the protection it might lend. In his mind, he was in the same situation he might find himself if trapped by a grizzly bear, with one exception. He figured the bear might be smarter than Bloodworth. He took note of the chairs lined up on one side of the ring and the slop bucket being used as a spittoon and receptacle for runny noses and drunken vomiting. I might need that early on, he thought. He walked out to face Bloodworth but standing close to the side where the chairs were. “We don’t have to do this,” he said, making one last attempt.

  “The hell we don’t,” Bloodworth retorted.

  “Well, come on, you big blowhard. Let’s see what you’ve got.” He was counting on Bloodworth acting in rage, and Bloodworth didn’t disappoint. Like the grizzly he resembled, he charged full force at his adversary, meaning to crush him. Luke remained poised in a half crouch as if ready to meet the charge. Bloodworth roared as he built up speed, but just an instant before the impact, Luke deftly stepped aside, leaving one foot trailing for Bloodworth to trip over. The momentum of his charging bulk carried him crashing into the tables and chairs to land on the floor face-down. Luke picked up a chair and stood over him, waiting for him to move. And when he rolled over and started to get up, Luke swung the chair at his head. Bloodworth managed to ward the blow off with his arm, grabbed the chair, and ripped it out of Luke’s hands. In a fit of rage, he threw the chair across the room to go bouncing against the bar. He hesitated for just a moment to glare in contempt at Luke’s attempt to brain him with a chair. Then he wiped a trickle of blood from his nose, a result of his collision with the floor when Luke tripped him.

  “I said your hands and anything you can pick up with ’em,” Luke reminded him in defense of his attacking him with a chair.

  “Right,” Bloodworth responded contemptuously, as he got to his feet, “anything you can pick up.” Then, to show his strength, he turned around and raked the glasses off a table where five men had been sitting. With one short grunt, he picked the table up over his head, his heavy arms extended straight up. Impressed by the man’s strength
, Luke took a few steps to the side to pick up the half-full slop bucket and waited for the angry brute to turn around to face him. As soon as he did, it was to be met with the filthy contents of the bucket in his face, the tobacco juice and vomit stinging his eyes. Barely able to see now, he continued to hold the heavy table over his head while he advanced toward Luke. Spreading his legs wide when Luke threw the empty bucket at his feet, he avoided being tripped. With his legs wide apart, however, he was vulnerable to Luke’s quickness and was caught totally by surprise when his tall adversary stepped in and delivered a well-placed foot hard up between his outstretched legs.

  In Jug’s opinion, it was akin to seeing a tree in the redwood forests chopped down. Bloodworth released a primeval howl as his knees buckled, dropping him to the floor. His arms collapsed, causing the heavy table to come down on his head and shoulders. He rolled over on his side in a fetal position, moaning in pain, as Luke stood over him to make sure he was finished. One of Bloodworth’s few friends, Lonnie Johnson, walked over to look at the felled brute writhing in pain. He looked at Luke and said, “That weren’t hardly a fair fight.”

  “I never fight fair when I’m fightin’ a grizzly,” Luke told him. “And if the grizzly comes back at me again after I run him off, I usually shoot him.” Lonnie had nothing more to say, so Luke looked at Jug and said, “Let’s go find you a quieter place to have your drink of likker.”

  More than ready, Jug led him toward the door. As they passed by the bar, Claude Berman suggested, “Why don’t you fellers find someplace else to do your drinkin’?”

  “That’s what we were just fixin’ to do, Claude,” Luke replied. “We don’t wanna cause you no trouble.”

  “No hard feelin’s, Luke,” Berman responded quickly. “I’ve been dealin’ with you for quite a few years now at the rendezvous, and we’ve always got along just fine. But you mighta lit the fuse on that stick of dynamite, and he’s liable to break up the rest of my tables.”

  “No, no hard feelin’s, Claude,” Luke assured him. “We’ll just mosey along down toward the south end of the valley.”

  When they got outside the tent, Jug had to ask, “You’ve been with American Fur for a few years. Was everybody always this glad to see you every year?”

  “This year was kinda mild,” Luke japed. “Last year, they tried to string me up to hang.” He didn’t express it, but he was a little disappointed not to have visited with some of the men he knew with the company. He would definitely miss Tom Molloy and Fred Willis. They were the best friends he had. He’d drink a silent toast to them tonight—an act that was rare for him. He wasn’t much of a drinker.

  Chapter 3

  “You might wanna set your camp up somewhere else,” Luke suggested after two drinks of Boutwell’s whiskey. They stood at the bar and watched while Andy Cruze, Boutwell’s bartender, filled Jug Sartain’s jug.

  “That about does it, Jug,” Andy commented. “Leaves just enough room for the cork.” To Luke’s surprise, Jug was well known at Boutwell’s, patronizing the trading post every year at rendezvous.

  “I was thinkin’ about that,” Jug said to Luke then, in response to Luke’s suggestion that he should move his camp. His attention right back to Andy then, he said, “I make it about a quart and a half. Is that what you got?” Andy said that it was and that it was the same as last time and every time before that. “Don’t hurt to check,” Jug said. “I mighta left some whiskey in there.”

  “That’d be the first time if you did,” Andy said and winked at Luke.

  Back to Luke again, Jug commented, “You oughta be thinkin’ about movin’ your camp, too. You put a pretty good lickin’ on that Bloodworth feller, and he don’t strike me as the kind to give you any warnin’ next time. So we might as well find us another campsite, a little farther away from American Fur.”

  “You sure you wanna camp with me?” Luke asked. “It wouldn’t seem right to draw any of my trouble down on you. You’d be better off away from me.”

  “You told that grizzly back yonder that we was partners,” Jug insisted. When Luke looked puzzled at that remark, Jug went on to remind him. “You said you weren’t gonna fight, but he went and insulted your partner. That’s what you said.”

  Luke smiled. “I guess I did say that, but I was just . . .” That was as far as he got before Jug interrupted him.

  “It sounded to me like you meant what you said,” Jug declared. “So, I thought, ‘fine by me, partners it is.’ You ain’t changed your mind already, have you? Before we even give it a chance to see if it works?”

  Luke was too surprised to think how he felt about that. He hadn’t given any thought about partnering up with anybody. “I thought free trappin’ was your style, and you didn’t want any partners.”

  “I’m a free trapper and I ain’t ever partnered up with nobody. But that’s just because I ain’t never run up on anybody I thought I could put up with for a whole year in the mountains. I know some places where there’s beaver nobody’s been gettin’, but it’s in Blackfoot country. I’ve been a little shy about trappin’ that country by myself. I can move around the mountains without at-tractin’ no attention ’bout as good as a blame Injun. But if I make one mistake, there ain’t much I can do against a whole blame war party.” He paused to shake his head before continuing. “Well, I reckon I found out I can make that one mistake when I let them two Blackfoot pick up my trail. And if you hadn’t come along, I reckon they’da smoked me out from behind my horse before it was over. I think two of us would jump the odds of us seein’ old Andy, here, next summer.” He waited for Luke to respond, but when he didn’t right away, Jug said, “We’d both be free trappin’. You’d keep any plews you trapped, and I’d keep mine. You interested?”

  Luke still didn’t answer him right away. Instead, he looked at Andy Cruze and asked, “What do you think, Andy? Am I interested?”

  Andy chuckled and replied grandly, “I expect so. You two could make the kind of legends young folks will be readin’ about in their history books.”

  Looking back at Jug, Luke said, “You heard the man, partner. I reckon we’d best see about movin’ our camp down the valley a-ways. And by the way, if Bloodworth shows up on our doorstep again, it’ll be your turn to deal with him, partner.”

  “The hell it will,” Jug shot back. “That’s a problem you brought with you when you was a company man.” They both laughed at Jug’s response, but Luke knew it was highly unlikely that he’d seen the last of Dan Bloodworth. Bloodworth had only two assets going for him, his hulking size and his brute strength. Luke had made a fool of him in front of a saloon full of witnesses. He didn’t want Jug to suffer any harm in the wake of Bloodworth’s pursuit of revenge.

  * * *

  Like a wounded bear, Bloodworth remained there on the floor in his fetal position for over half an hour, spitting blasphemous oaths at anyone who ventured near him. Luke Ransom’s blow to his nether regions had landed with serious results, serving to temporarily immobilize him while he waited for his pain to subside. When he began to move his legs gradually from his tucked position, Lonnie Johnson came to stand over him. “You gonna make it, Bloodworth?”

  “That son of a . . .” Bloodworth started, but didn’t finish because a sharp pain interrupted him when he straightened his leg too far. He looked up at his partner in shameful agony. “He’s a dead man, Lonnie. I swear I’ll kill him.”

  “I figured that,” Lonnie stated matter-of-factly. “That pain oughta be easin’ off pretty soon now, and you’ll be back to normal.”

  “He ain’t gonna get away with no tricks next time,” Bloodworth stated. “I’m gonna wring his neck like I’d wring a chicken.”

  “If he’s got any sense a-tall, he’s most likely already cut out from here,” Lonnie said. “You feelin’ any better?”

  “I’m gettin’ there,” Bloodworth said and reached up to grab a chair beside him. Then he slowly pulled himself up to sit in the chair. “Tell Berman to pour me a drink of likker. And bring
me my shirt.” He reached up to feel his nose and his hand came away bloody to remind him of his collision with the floor. “I’ll kill him,” he vowed again.

  * * *

  Two miles down the valley from Berman’s Saloon, Jug led Luke to a vast grassy meadow, bisected by the Green River. There was a string of merchants’ shops along the bank of the river, some with elaborate store fronts, and some as simple as a counter constructed in front of a wagon. “This is the place I was lookin’ for,” Jug said. “You can buy anything you need right here, same as if you was in St. Louie. We’ll come back here tonight, after we set up camp and maybe go to The Chinaman’s.”

  Luke paused to look around him at the various businesses, then looked beyond them toward the other side of the river where there were trappers’ camps lining the bank. “Free trappers?” he asked, looking at Jug.

  “Every one of ’em,” Jug answered.

  “What’s the Chinaman’s?”

  “A cookhouse where you can get Chinese food,” Jug said. “Ain’t you ever et Chinese food?”

  “Can’t say as I have,” Luke answered. “At least, if I have, I didn’t know it at the time.”

  “I acquired me a taste for it at the rendezvous on Popo Agie, back in twenty-nine. That was my first rendezvous and the first one for the Chinaman. I told him I hadn’t never et no Chinese food, and he said, ‘You try, you no like, you no pay.’ So I tried it, and I ain’t been to a rendezvous since without havin’ me some Chinese food. And that includes thirty-one, when they didn’t have no rendezvous ’cause the supply train bringin’ the trade goods never got there. The Chinaman got there, and he had to turn around and go home, but not before he cooked up a big supper for me and about a dozen other trappers who didn’t get the word about the cancellation, neither.”

  “Like I said,” Luke commented, “I ain’t ever tried it, myself, but I thought Chinese cookin’ was a lotta pork and chicken, fish and stuff like that. Where’s this fellow get that stuff to cook? Does he bring hogs and chickens to rendezvous?”