Return of the Mountain Man Read online

  Sally sat back on the bank, averting her eyes, mumbling to herself.

  “I wish you had gotten word to me that you were still alive, you old coot,” Buck said.

  “Couldn’t. I were plumb out of it for a couple of months. By the time I could ride out of that Injun camp, Nicole and the baby was dead and buried and you was gone. I’m right sorry about Nicole and the boy, Smoke.”

  Buck nodded. “Better get use to calling me Buck, Preacher. You might slip up in town and that would be the end of it.”

  “I ain’t goin’ into town. Not until you git ready to make your move, that is. You wanna git a message to me, Smoke, they’ll be a miserable-looking old Injun in town named Hunts-Long. Flathead. Wears a derby hat. He’ll git word to me. Me and the boys was spotted last yesterday, so we’ll be changin’ locations.” He told Buck where. “I’s tole you met up with Audie.” That was said with a grin.

  “I thought I was seeing things. I thought he was an elf.”

  “He’s the furrtherest thang from an elf. That little man will kill you faster than you can spit. Yessir, Smoke, you got some backup that’ll be wrote up strong when they writes about the buryin’ of Bury. Got Tenneysee, Audie, Phew, Nighthawk, Dupre, Deadlead, Powder Pete, Greybull, Beartooth, and Lobo. And me. ’Course I’m a better man than all them combined,” Preacher said, in his usual modest manner. “And Matt.”

  “Phew?” Sally said. “Why in Heaven’s name would you call a man that?”

  “’Cause he stinks, Missy.”

  “I know Matt. The negro.”

  “That’s him. Ol’ one-eye.” Preacher stuck out his hand. “Be lookin’ at you, Smoke. You take care, now.” He whistled for his pony and the spotted horse trotted over. Preacher jumped onto the mustang’s back and was gone.

  Sally looked at Buck. A load seemed to have been removed from his shoulders. His eyes were shining with love as he watched the old man ride out. He seemed to stand a little taller.

  He met her eyes. “It’s sad. When those men are gone, a…time will have passed. And it will never be again.”

  “That is not entirely true, Smoke Jensen,” Sally said.

  “Oh? What do you mean?”

  “You’ll be here to carry on.”

  12

  The day after seeing Preacher, Buck was witness to a scene that lent credence to what MacGregor had said about the men and women who made up the population of Bury. Buck was sitting on the boardwalk in front of one of Bury’s hurdy-gurdy houses, leaned back in his chair, when a man and woman and three children walked up the main street. The man and woman wore rags and the kids looked as though they had not eaten in days. The ragged little band of walkers stopped in front of the large general store. Buck drifted over that way just as the red-headed cowboy, Sam, walked over from another direction. Buck and Sam looked at each other and nodded greetings.

  “Watch this,” Sam said out of the corner of his mouth. “This might change your mind about the men you’re working for. And the sorry people in this town.”

  “You get your money out of the same hand that pays me,” Buck reminded him.

  “But I don’t have to like it…Smoke.”

  “Do I know you from somewheres else?” Buck asked.

  “I was in Canon City when you and that old mountain man drew down on Ackerman and his boys. Took me awhile to put it all together. But I knowed I’d seen you before.”*

  “Why haven’t you tried to collect the bounty on my head, then?”

  Sam hesitated. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “Mayhaps I’m havin’ some second thoughts ’bout the way my life’s been goin’ up to date. And then mayhaps I just want to hang around and see the show. ’Cause I know when the time gets right, you’re goin’ to put on one hell of a show.”

  “You gonna watch my back?”

  “I don’t know. Talk to you later. Listen to this.”

  The ragged emaciated-looking man was talking to the store manager. “I’m begging you, mister. Please. My kids are starving and my wife is worn out. I ain’t asking nothing for myself. Just a bite of food for my wife and kids. I’ll work it out for you.”

  The storekeeper waved his broom at the ragged man. “Get on with you. Get out of here. Go beg somewhere else.”

  “I’ll get down on my knees and beg you, mister,” the man said. He was so tired, so worn out, he was trembling.

  The man who ran the leather shop next to the general store stepped out onto the boardwalk to watch the show. “What happened to you, skinny?” he called to the ragged man.

  “Indians. They ambushed the wagon train we was on. We didn’t have time to circle. They split us up. Most of the others died. We lost everything and have been walking for days. Brother, can you find it in your heart to give my kids and woman something to eat?”

  “Only if you got the money to pay for it. If you don’t, then haul your ashes on, beggar.”

  The man’s shoulders sagged and tears began rolling down his dusty face.

  Buck could not believe what he was hearing and seeing. But he knew he could not afford to step out of character—not yet. He watched and waited.

  Other shopkeepers had gathered on the boardwalk. The man who ran the apothecary shop laughed and said, “There’s a joyhouse down the end of this street. Why don’t you put your woman in there? Clean ’er up some and she’ll make enough to get you goin’ again.” The gathering crowd roared with laughter.

  Sam explained. “Man poisoned his partner back in Illinoise,” he said. “Then stole his woman and come out here. Real nice feller. Name’s Burton.”

  “Yeah,” Buck returned the low tone.

  The hotel manager stepped out. He waved his arms at the ragged little band. “You ne’er-do-wells get out of here. That little girl looks like she’s got galloping consumption. No one here wants to catch that. Stir up the dust and get gone from here.”

  “Morgan,” Sam said. “Ran a hotel in Ohio until he burned it down. Killed several sleepers. Another nice feller.”

  “I just don’t believe the heartlessness of these people,” Buck said.

  “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, partner,” Sam said. “Stick around.”

  “The Lord helps those who help themselves,” Reverend Necker said, appearing on the scene. “But He frowns on shirkers. Now be gone with you.”

  “A minister?” Buck whispered.

  “About as holy as you and me,” Sam said. “Come from Iowa, so he says. He’s a drunk and a skirt-chaser.”

  The woman had gathered her children close to her and was fighting back tears. The man’s shoulders were slumped in defeat.

  Sheriff Reese and Deputy Rogers walked up. “You vagabonds keep on moving,” the sheriff ordered. “Get on with you now before I put a loop on you all and drag you out of town.”

  “I don’t believe I’m seeing this!” Sally shouted from the fringe of the crowd. Her hot eyes found Buck and bored invisible holes into his heart. She swung her eyes back to the merchants gathered on the boardwalk. “What is the matter with you people?”

  “Warn her off,” Sam whispered. “You and me will get some grub and clothes for them people; give it to them on the outskirts of town. But warn her off, Buck. She’s treadin’ on dangerous ground.”

  “How?” Buck whispered.

  Sam grunted. “Good question, I reckon. That lady would stand up to an Injun attack armed with a broom, I’m thinkin’.”

  “You people should be ashamed of yourselves!” Sally shouted. “Look at those children. Look at them! They’re starving.”

  “This ain’t none of your business, Miz Sally,” Sheriff Reese said. “You just go on back home and tend to your knittin’.”

  “Well, I’ll make it my business!” Sally flared, sticking her chin out and standing her ground. She looked at the ragged, starving family. “You people come with me. To my house. I’ll give you all a hot meal.”

  “No, you won’t, Miss Reynolds,” the voice came from the edge of the crowd.

 
All heads turned to stare at Keith Stratton, mounted on a showy white horse.

  “What do you mean, Mr. Stratton?” Sally asked.

  “Those people are losers, Miss Reynolds,” Stratton said. “No matter what or how much one does for them, they will be begging again tomorrow. Trash. That’s all they are. All they ever will be. And you don’t own that house you’re living in. I do. You are staying there rent-free. And you are paid to teach school, not meddle in town affairs. Now please leave.”

  “And if I choose to stay?” Sally asked.

  “You will neither have a job, nor a place to stay,” Stratton warned.

  “Stratton just stepped into a pit full of rattlers,” Sam projected accurately. “All dressed up in gingham.”

  “Yep,” Buck said.

  “I see,” Sally said. “Will you allow me the time to gather up my personal belongings, or do you intend to seize those along with the house?”

  “You’re about to make a very bad mistake, Sally,” Stratton informed her.

  “There is quite a popular phrase out here, Mr. Stratton,” Sally said. “It is said that out in the west, a person saddles their own horses and kills their own snakes.”

  “I’m familiar with the saying,” Stratton said, his triple chins quavering as he spoke. The sunlight glinted off his diamond rings.

  “Then I stand by that maxim, sir.”

  “A what?” Sam whispered.

  “Don’t ask me,” Buck said.

  “You’re a very foolish and headstrong young woman, Miss Reynolds. But if that is your decision, then you have one hour to gather up your possessions and vacate that house.”

  Sally nodded and looked at the ragged family. “You people come with me.”

  Buck started toward Sally. She waved him back. “You have made your choice, Buck. So long as you work for the other side, I do not wish to see you.”

  She winked at him.

  Buck hid his smile, knowing then what Sally was doing. She was jeopardizing her own position in order to strengthen his own. Gal had guts, Buck thought. But where in the hell was she going to stay the night? he wondered.

  “She’s going to stay where?” Buck shouted at Sam.

  Sam backed up. “Easy now, partner.” He kept his hands away from his guns. “She’s gonna stay down at Miss Flora’s place.”

  “A whorehouse!”

  “It wasn’t my idea, Buck. It was Miss Flora’s. She likes Sally ’cause Sally was always nice and polite to them, ah, ladies that work the Pink House.”

  “Sally Reynolds in a whorehouse!”

  The red-headed cowpuncher-turned-gunslick took another step backward. The last thing in this world he wanted was for Buck to reach for those guns. Sam was fast, but Lord knows not nearabouts that fast. “Miss Flora done closed the doors to the Pink House, Buck. Shut ’er down tight. She’s been wanting to pull up stakes for a year. Take her girls and head out. Stratton and them blocked that move. Made her mad. Now she’s locked the doors to the Pink House. This is liable to bring things to a head ’round here, Buck.”

  Buck began to relax as the humor of the situation struck him. He had been told that the Big Three built the joyhouse to keep their randy gunhands happy. If Miss Flora had indeed shut the Pink House down, a lot of gunhands were going to be walking around with a short fuse.

  Leave it to Sally to light the fuse.

  Buck asked, “What happened to that poor family?”

  “Sally give ’um a big poke of food and money enough to buy clothes and a wagon and horses. You knew she was rich, didn’t you?”

  “Sally? Rich?”

  “Folks is. Her daddy owns a lot of factories and such back east. Her momma has money too. Stratton and Potter and Richards just might have grabbed ahold of a puma’s tail this time. I hear Wiley Potter was all upset about what Stratton done today. He sent word to Sally to go on back to her little house and forget what happened. Sally told him, through Miss Flora, that she would forget only when pigs fly.”

  Deputy Rogers walked up, a grim look on his face. “Buck West! You go see Mr. Richards over to the office. And you, Sam, is fired. Them words come from Mr. Stratton. He’s done found out about you helpin’ them dirt farmers over in the flats. Git your gear and be out of town by sundown.” He looked at Buck. “Move, West!”

  Buck silently stared the big deputy down. With a curse, Rogers wheeled around and stalked away.

  “What dirt farmers, Sam?”

  “It’s a big country, Buck. They’s room for lots of folks. The Big Three don’t object to farmers comin’ in, but only if they agree to the terms set up by Potter and Stratton and Richards. If they don’t, they git burnt out and run off the land. I don’t hold none with the likes of that. A young couple with two little kids moved in last year. Just after I joined up. Started homesteadin’. Richards sent some of his hardcases in. When the man got his back up, Long shot him dead. Becky—that’s the widder woman’s name—stayed on the place, workin’ it herself. I kinda helped along from time to time. I was raised on a farm in Minnesota. Guess they heard about my helpin’ out.”

  Buck looked hard at the man. Could he trust him, or was this a set-up? He decided to play along, test Sam. “You stick around. I’m going to see Richards. When I’m through, we’ll take a ride out to the Widow Becky’s place. OK?”

  “All right, Buck. I’ll be at the livery.”

  Buck walked to the PSR offices. Richards was waiting for him. He pointed to saddlebags on the counter. “No test this time, Buck. The corporation is buying more land. Those bags contain gold dust and the contracts. Man named Gilmore is waiting for you in Challis. Get the papers signed, give him the dust, and get back here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Buck picked up the saddlebags and walked to the stable. Sam was waiting for him, talking with the little boy Buck had given the gold piece to. Sam grinned at Buck.

  “This here is Ben. This stable is his home. His pa was kilt in a cave-in a couple of years ago. He ain’t got no ma. He’s a good boy. Keeps his mouth shut. And he don’t like none of the Big Three. Stratton took a whip to him last year. Marked him up pretty good. Richards kicked him off the boardwalk later on. Bust a rib. He’s all right, Buck.”

  “You go to school, Ben? Buck asked.

  “No, sir. Mister Rosten won’t let me. Says I gotta work here all the time.”

  Ben looked to be about nine years old.

  Buck nodded. He mentally added Rosten’s name to his list of sorry people. “You seen an old Indian around? Wears a derby hat?”

  “Hunts-Long. Yes, sir. When he’s in town he camps down by the creek yonder.” Ben pointed.

  “You go tell Hunts-Long I said it’s time. Get the word out. He’ll know what you mean.” Buck gave the boy some coins. Ben took off.

  “We can’t be seen leaving town together, Sam. Where do you want to meet?”

  “Crick just south of town, ’bout four mile. I’ll meet you there in a couple of hours.”

  Buck nodded. “If you playin’ a game, Sam, workin’ for the other side, you’ll never live to see the game finished.”

  “I believe you, Buck. Or Smoke. No games. I’m done with that. See you at the crick.”

  Buck watched the cowboy ride out. He wondered if he was going to have to kill him.

  13

  Buck took his time saddling Drifter. He watched the old Flathead, Hunts-Long, ride out. He was conscious of Little Ben looking at him.

  “You know Miss Flora, boy?”

  “Yes, sir. Down to the Pink House.”

  “After I’m gone, you walk down there and tell Miss Sally Reynolds I said to keep her head down. She’ll know what I mean. You got that?”

  “Yes, sir. Mister Buck? Sam’s a nice feller. He ain’t no real gunhand. He got backed into it.”

  “How’s that, Ben?”

  “Story is—I heard some men talkin’—a deputy over in Montana Territory pushed Sam hard one day. Sam tried to get out of it, but the deputy drew on him. Sam was faster
. Kilt the man and had to take the hoot-owl trail.” The boy grinned. “Sam’s sweet on Miz Becky.”

  “Sam told me he was from Minnesota.”

  “Yes, sir. That’s what I heard, too. Sam wants to go back to farmin’, way I heared it.”

  “A lot of us would like to be doin’ something other than what we’re doin’, Ben. But a man gets his trail stretched out in front of him, sometimes you just got to ride it to trail’s end, whether you like it or not.”

  “You be careful, Mister Buck.”

  “See you, boy.”

  Buck rode out easy. He could feel…something in the air. A feeling of tension, he thought. And he wondered about it. The pot was about to boil over in Bury, and Buck didn’t know what had caused the fire to get too hot. But he knew that sometimes just the slightest little push could turn over a cart—if the contents weren’t stacked right.

  A mile out of town, Buck cut off the road and reined up, hidden in the timber. He waited for half an hour. No riders passed him. He rode out of the timber, heading for the creek.

  “Buck, this here is Becky,” Sam said. He was trying very hard not to grin, and not being very successful.

  Becky’s hair was as red as Sam’s, her tanned face pretty and freckled across the nose. She was a slender lady, but Buck could sense a solid, no-nonsense quiet sort of strength about her. Two red-headed kids stood close by her. A boy and a girl. About four and six, Buck guessed. They grinned shyly up at Buck. He winked at them and they both giggled.

  Buck took the lady’s hand and was not surprised to find it hard and callused from years of hard work.

  After talking with Becky and the kids for a few moments, Buck took Sam aside. “You stay here with her, Sam. Until I get back from Challis. Don’t be surprised if you spot some old mountain men while I’m gone. I’m going to swing by their camp and tell them I’m just about ready to strike. I’ll tell them about your lady friend here, too. They’ll probably ride by to see if they can get her anything. And they’ll be by. They don’t hold with men who hurt womenfolks.”