Quest of the Mountain Man Read online

After several days of this luxury, and changing engines three times, the group finally arrived in Winnipeg, Canada. Sore and stiff from sitting down for most of the time, the men could hardly wait to get off the train and stretch their legs.

  “I’ll have one of the porters take your horses to the livery stable, and another one will take our bags to the hotel we’ll be staying in until we get organized for the surveying trip,” Van Horne said as they stepped down out of the railcar and onto the wooden platform next to the tracks.

  Louis Longmont walked out from the tracks and stood with his hands on his hips staring at the outskirts of Winnipeg, a wry smile on his lips.

  Smoke moved up next to him and followed his gaze. “What are you grinning at, Louis?”

  Louis raised his nose in the air and took a deep sniff. “I’m amazed at the appearance of this place, Smoke.” He turned his eyes to Smoke. “It takes me back to my first days out West, more years ago than I care to think about.”

  Smoke looked around and nodded. The streets were full of men wearing buckskins and canvas miners’ trousers, and the air was filled with the smells of horse droppings, mud, leather, and wood smoke. The streets were little more than mud baths, but due to the colder temperatures this far north, the mud in places was still frozen patches of black ice.

  “You’re right, Louis,” Smoke responded with a smile. “Winnipeg reminds me of the way towns looked when I first came out to Colorado Territory with Preacher—rough, rowdy, and full of the excitement that comes with knowing you’re on the very edge of civilization.”

  “That’s right, Smoke, the kind of place where anything can happen and usually does, especially after the sun goes down and the town really comes to life,” Louis agreed. “One of the first gambling halls I owned was in a place exactly like this, and I had the most fun I’ve ever had in my life there.”

  Cal and Pearlie were standing wide-eyed just behind them. Neither of them had ever seen a town like this, both being much too young to have been around in the glory days when Colorado Territory was being formed.

  “Jiminy,” Cal said as he stared at the number of men wearing beards who were moving about the town, all of whom were armed to the teeth and looking like they’d just as soon shoot someone as look at him. There didn’t seem to be anyone who had less than two or three weapons arrayed on their persons.

  “I ain’t never seen anything like this before,” Cal added.

  Van Horne overheard his comment, and stepped up between Cal and Pearlie. “You’re right about that, son,” he said. “Canada is the last frontier, that’s for sure.”

  “An’ damned if men like us ain’t gonna ruin it forever,” Bear Tooth said grimly, leaning his head to the side to spit a stream of tobacco juice into the mud swelling up over his boots.

  Van Horne looked at him. “What do you mean, Bear Tooth?” he asked.

  “He means, once you got that iron horse of yours making regular trips back and forth ’crost the wilderness, it won’t be wilderness no more,” Red Bingham answered scowling as he stood with his hands on his hips looking around at the swirling bustle of activity in front of them.

  “That’s right,” Rattlesnake Bob agreed. “Pretty soon you’ll have pilgrims an’ women an’ snake-oil salesmen travelin’ here on your trains an’ crowdin’ out all the men like us who like the town the way it is now.”

  Van Horne shrugged. “Well, gentlemen, you can’t stop civilization, and if I don’t build the rail lines someone else will.” He didn’t mention that James Hill’s plans were exactly as they’d said, to flood the area with tourists and settlers and in so doing, make himself yet another fortune by building inns and hotels and restaurants all along the hundreds of miles of tracks.

  Bobcat Bill put his hand on Van Horne’s shoulder. “Oh, we ain’t blaming you none, Bill,” he said. “It’s just that we’re old coots who’d like life to stay wild an’ hairy a mite longer so’s we can enjoy our last days without havin’ to put up with what you call civilization.”

  “Who’re you callin’ an old coot, you sumbitch?” Bear Tooth growled, trying to look fiercely at his friend.

  “For a man who’s older than dirt, you’re awful touchy ’bout bein’ reminded of it,” Bobcat Bill said, leaning to the side to spit tobacco juice in the mixed snow and mud at their feet just as Bear Tooth had a moment before.

  Smoke stepped between the men, laughing at their antics. “Come on, men,” he said. “From what I can see from here, about every other building is either a saloon or a restaurant. What say we try a few of them out while Mr. Van Horne gets our rooms ready at the hotel.”

  “You think they’ll let an old relic like me into one of those places, Smoke?” Bear Tooth said sarcastically, casting his eyes at Bobcat Bill.

  Bobcat laughed and clapped Bear on the shoulder. “Hell, yes, Bear. Since you smell so nice and sweet now, they wouldn’t dare turn you away.”

  “Yeah, an’ with the amount of that there toilet water you put in your hair, you’re liable to be real popular with these miners I see walking around too,” Red Bingham added.

  With that final comment, the mountain men all licked their lips and hitched up their pants, and began to walk rapidly toward the main street of the town, talking excitedly among themselves about how the town reminded them of this place or that place from the old days.

  “Masterfully handled, Smoke,” Louis said, smiling as he moved to follow the mountain men.

  Smoke turned to Van Horne. “Bill, I think the men need a little time to unwind and get the kinks from the trip out of their systems. We’ll meet you over at the hotel after a while.”

  Van Horne nodded. “That’s a good idea, Smoke. I’ll just check in with my men at the construction site and make sure everything’s on track for starting the surveying, and I’ll meet you and the other men at the hotel in a couple of hours.” He turned and pointed to a three-story building at the end of the street. “It’s the Rooster’s Roost down there on Main Street.”

  He reached in his pocket and pulled out a stack of bills. “Here’s some Canadian money to pay for your drinks and food.”

  Smoke eyed the bills. “That’s a lot of money just for food and drinks, Bill.”

  Van Horne grinned. “Well, prices are a mite high, this being a frontier town and all. Don’t worry, you and your men are going to earn every cent of it before I’m through with you.”

  He paused and added with a wink, “And if I know men like Bear Tooth and the others, you might end up having to pay for some damages if things get a bit too rowdy.”

  Smoke laughed and looked at the backs of the mountain men as they walked down the center of the street. “You mean you think gentle peaceable men like those might get into trouble, Bill?”

  Van Horne laughed and shook his head as he walked off mumbling, “Gentle, peaceable, in a pig’s eye!”

  The group entered a saloon appropriately called the Dog Hole, a common euphemism for drinking establishments of the time, and pushed two tables together in a corner to accommodate the eight of them.

  While they were waiting for a waiter to come to the table, Louis leaned over to Smoke and said, “It’s like I’ve been here before. Remember that gambling hall I said I owned? This could be its twin.”

  Smoke nodded. He too had been in hundreds of places like this one back in his early days on the frontier. “I know what you mean,” he said, glancing around at the rough plank bar with brass spittoons every few feet along its length, handmade wooden shelves behind it holding a myriad of bottles, many of them without labels, showing they were home-brewed.

  The clientele reflected the time and the place, with about half the patrons being rough-hewn trappers and explorers and railroad workers and the other half being miners, with a few well-dressed men who were obviously cardsharps and other characters who preyed on the first two groups.

  There were no Chinese in the place, however, probably due to the fact that a large hand-painted sign was on the wall behind the bar saying NO CHINE
E ALLOWED!

  There were, though, a few men dressed in various types of garb with pistols slung low on their hips and tied down in the manner of gunfighters. Their hard eyes were never at rest as they continuously scanned the patrons and stayed on the alert for danger.

  Pearlie leaned across the table toward Smoke and whispered, “I’ll bet you at least half those men over there with their guns tied down low are on wanted posters back in the States.”

  Smoke nodded his agreement. He knew the look of a man on the run well, having been one for several years in his youth himself.

  Finally, a young man with an acne-scared face, a pronounced limp, and a dirty apron tied around his waist approached the table.

  “What can I get for you gents?” he asked in the flat accent of the home-born Canadian.

  “Do you serve any food here?” Smoke asked, realizing it was just past noon and they hadn’t eaten yet.

  The young man smirked and flicked his head at the bar. “Yeah, if you call boiled eggs and pickled pig’s feet food.”

  Bear Tooth grinned. “Hell with that! You got any bourbon from Kaintuck?”

  The bored young man just shook his head. “Mister, we got whiskey, rye, and something the barman made up in his basement he calls brandy. As for where the shit is from, your guess is as good as mine.”

  “Bring us a couple of bottles of whiskey,” Smoke said, and he glanced at Louis, knowing he preferred brandy.

  Louis sighed. “And a bottle of the barman’s brandy too, if you don’t mind.”

  The waiter shrugged. “I don’t mind, but you might,” he said, smiling for the first time since he came to the table.

  A few minutes later, when he put the bottles on the table, all without labels, Louis asked, “Don’t you have any with labels on them?”

  The young man grinned again and leaned over to whisper, “Sure, but they cost twice as much and to tell you the truth, they got this same liquor in them as these do. The barman just refills the bottles every night outta the same barrel as these other bottles.”

  “I take it you don’t much care for the barman,” Louis said, smiling.

  “Not a whole lot,” the boy said, looking over his shoulder toward the bar. “He’s my father.”

  “That explains it,” said Smoke, being well aware of the anger some boys felt against their parents from back when Sally used to teach school in Big Rock. In fact, he could remember when his father had dragged him out West from their hardscrabble farm in Missouri and how he’d thought his father was a relic from days gone by.

  “You think maybe we ought’a order some sarsaparilla or lemonade for the kid here?” Pearlie asked, inclining his head toward Cal sitting next to him.

  “Who you callin’ a kid, yahoo?” Cal asked, elbowing Pearlie in the ribs as the other men around the table laughed.

  “Just kiddin’ with you, Cal boy,” Pearlie said. “It’s just that I know you can’t handle hard liquor hardly at all, an’ I don’t want you getting in no trouble or nothin’.”

  “I guess if I’m gonna be ridin’ out in the wilderness with you fellows, I’m big enough to drink what you drink,” Cal said, his cheeks burning red at the laughter.

  “Cal’s right, boys,” Smoke said, coming to his defense. “Cal’s old enough to decide when and how much he drinks, just like he’s old enough to do a man’s work for a man’s wages. Besides, if his stomach can take that mountain man coffee Bear Tooth makes every morning, it can stand just about anything.”

  Cal nodded defiantly and reached over, poured a large jolt of whiskey into his glass, and upended it, drinking it down in one large gulp. His eyes widened and his face turned even redder and he coughed violently several times.

  Bear Tooth took a similar drink and grimaced. “The boy’s right, fellers. This stuff ain’t long outta the barrel, that’s for sure.”

  Red Bingham nodded after taking a sip of his whiskey. “Yeah, but it’ll sure get the job done,” he said, refilling his glass. “It tastes just like Bear Tooth’s horse liniment,” he said, and took another long swallow.

  Louis, the only one trying the brandy, took a tentative sip and sucked in his breath, his eyes watering. He looked around the table at the men who thought that, being a saloon owner, he would grouse about the local brew. “I’ve had worse, and in far better establishments than this,” he said with a grin.

  Cal shook his head, his face still red from the whiskey. He got to his feet. “I think I’ll go and get some boiled eggs from the bar to cut the taste of that stuff from my mouth,” he said.

  Red Bingharn commenced to tell a story about having nothing to eat one winter except boiled quail and dove eggs, while Cal made his way toward the bar.

  Smoke was smiling at the story when he heard a commotion from across the room, and looked up just in time to see Cal flying backward as one of the men wearing a low-slung pistol on his hip smacked him backhanded in the face.

  The man was well over six feet tall and had about fifty pounds on the slim Cal.

  Smoke got to his feet, along with Pearlie, and walked rapidly over to stand between Cal and his assailant. “What’s going on here?” he asked, his face neutral.

  The gunny, who was standing over Cal with his hand on the butt of his pistol, glared at Smoke. “Who asked you to butt in, mister?” the gunny said, scowling. “This ain’t none of your business.”

  Smoke ignored the man and glanced down as he helped Cal to his feet. “What happened, Cal?”

  Cal rubbed his bleeding lip with the back of his hand. “I went to get me a couple of eggs, and this man said they was his eggs and to keep my damned hands off,” Cal replied. “And then he hauled off and hit me without any warning.”

  Smoke looked over at the bar at the stack of eggs, noting there were at least twenty eggs on the platter.

  He raised his eyebrows as he turned his gaze back to the man. “You planning on eating all of those eggs by yourself ?” he asked.

  The man grinned sourly. “What if I am?”

  Smoke smiled. “Then I suggest you get to it. I for one would like to see you do it.”

  “Like I said before, what business is it of your’n?” the man asked, moving his fingers over the butt of his pistol.

  Smoke squared around and faced the man from two feet away, his face suddenly going flat and his eyes turning as hard as flint. “If you’re planning on drawing that smoke wagon, I suggest you get to work,” Smoke said. “Otherwise, I’m going to hit you so hard you’ll be gumming your food for the rest of your miserable life.”

  The man growled and grabbed iron, but before he could clear his holster, Smoke’s Colt was drawn, cocked, and the barrel was poking the man in the nose.

  His eyes widened and his face paled as he slowly took his hand from the butt of his pistol.

  “Now,” Smoke said, holstering his own gun. “Let’s see you get to work on those eggs.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed and he looked over at Cal. “This is all your fault, you young pup,” he growled.

  Cal edged Smoke aside and stood in front of the angry man, his face set. “Is that right?” he asked. “Well, why don’t you try to hit me again, now that I’m ready for it?” Cal asked, standing with his feet apart and his fists hanging at his sides, his jaw muscles bulging.

  The man yelled an obscenity as he made a clumsy swing at Cal’s head with his right fist.

  Cal leaned to the side, easily ducking the blow, and slammed his right fist into the man’s gut, doubling him over and dropping him to his knees. As he knelt there, gasping for breath, Cal squatted in front of him.

  “I’m going to teach you to keep your goddamned hands to yourself and your big fat mouth shut from now on, mister,” he said. He grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt and lifted him to his feet as if he weighed only a few pounds, and then he marched him over to the platter of eggs, every eye in the place on him.

  As one of the gunny’s friends, seeing Cal and Smoke were distracted, went for his gun, Pearlie drew quickly
and slashed the man backhanded across the face with the barrel of his Colt, knocking him out cold and spreading his nose all over his face in the bargain.

  The loud metallic click of the hammer of a Sharps Big Fifty being eared back came from Smoke’s table, and the men in the bar turned to see Bear Tooth standing there, his Sharps cradled in his arms. “Anybody else want to dance?” he asked, staring around the room, his eyes narrow. “If’n you do, let’s strike up the band an’ git to it!”

  When he got no answer from the crowded room, he sat back down and laid his rifle on the table, his finger still on the trigger as he watched Cal and the man at the bar.

  “Thanks, Pearlie, Bear Tooth,” Smoke said. He stepped back from Cal and grinned. “It’s your show, Cal.”

  Cal leaned the man up against the bar. “Start eating, asshole, and if you stop before every egg on that plate is gone, I’m going to beat you within an inch of your life,” the young man said.

  The man groaned and began to stuff boiled eggs in his mouth as fast as he could, looking out of the corner of his eyes at Cal, his face burning red at being handled so easily by such a thin, wiry young man.

  Smoke picked up two of the eggs off the platter and handed them to Cal. “You might want to give the man a break and eat a couple of these for him,” Smoke said, smiling.

  Cal took the eggs, returned the smile, and then he stuck his face next to the man’s. “I’m gonna be watching you from over there, and I better not see no eggs left on that platter or I’ll be back.”

  And then he and Smoke walked back to their table, smiling at the expressions on the faces of the men in the bar.

  Bear Tooth put the Sharps back under the table and grinned at Cal. “For a boy without no meat on his bones, you pack a mean punch, son,” he said approvingly.

  Cal inclined his head. “Smoke taught me and Pearlie how to fight a couple of years back, but I ain’t hardly had to use none of it till now.”

  “I’d say you a good learner, young beaver,” Red said, paying Cal the highest compliment he could by calling him a beaver, a mountain-man term of respect.

  Bobcat Bill clapped Pearlie on the shoulder. “An’ you’re pretty quick with that hogleg too, boy,” he said.