Lonely On the Mountain (1980) Read online

  “We better skip that drive east. Allowin’ there’s good grass like we heard, we still lose time, and we just ain’t got it to lose.” He filled his cup and came over, squatting on his heels. He took a stick and drew in the dust. “Right here’s about where we are. Right over here is the Jim River—the James if you want to be persnickety about it. I say we drive west, then follow the Jim north, which gives us water all the way.

  “Right here there’s a mighty pretty valley where the Pipestem flows into the Jim. We can let the cattle have a day there, which will give Orrin a chance to gain on us.

  “There’s good grass in that valley, and there’s a lot of elm, box elder, and some cottonwood along the rivers. There’ll be firewood and shade for the stock if we have to wait, and it might pay to wait a couple of days for Orrin.” “We’ve been lucky on the grass,” Tyrel said, “bein’ so early in the year, but we’re drivin’ north.” “You’re durned right.” Cap sipped his coffee. “An’ from here on, the new grass will be slower, and farther west it will be almighty scarce.” Well, now. That fitted in with my own thinking, but I studied on it a mite. Orrin was probably on the river right now, ridin’ one of them steamboats up the Red River to Pembina.

  Once he got there, he’d have to find a couple of men, buy teams and a couple of Red River carts, then stock up with supplies for the westward drive.

  He would need a day if he was lucky, three days if he wasn’t, and then he would start west to meet us. We would be coming up from the south, and he would be driving west.

  From Pembina there was a trail that led due west through the Pembina Mountains and skirting the Turtle Mountains on the north. If Orrin could make his arrangements in Pembina, he could strike west along that trail, and with luck we’d meet him somewhere close to the Mouse River. With horse-drawn carts, he should make about twenty miles a day, while we would make no more than twelve to fifteen. If he had to go on to Fort Garry, that would throw everything out of kilter, and we’d have to meet farther north.

  We scratched around in the dirt, indicating trails and figuring how best to go. Here and there, we’d picked up word of what to expect. We’d stay with the Jim as far as we could, then strike west-northwest for the Canadian border.

  “Wish we had more men,” Cap said. “The Sioux can be mighty ornery.” “We’ll have to chance it.” I went out to the remuda and threw my saddle on a rangy buckskin.

  It was a worrisome thing. The last thing I’d wanted was a cattle drive through country I’d never seen. Aside from Cap and Tyrel, the other men were strangers, picked up where we could get them. They seemed to be mighty good hands, but only time would show what they were made of, and any time you ride through Sioux and Blackfoot country, you’re borrowing trouble.

  We were short on grub, long on ammunition, and needful of a tie-up with Orrin. Worst of all, he’d be coming west with strangers, too, if he could recruit any help at all.

  It was early spring, with patches of snow still holding on the shady side of the hills. The grass was growing, but mostly it was just like a green mist over the hills, although a lot of last year’s grass, cured on the stem, was still out there.

  Logan had said we could expect Higginses, and the name of Higgins, some folks with whom we’d had a long-running feud, was our name for trouble. Some of those Higgins boys could really shoot.

  After I’d had a bite, I swung into the saddle and rode out to relieve one of the boys watching the cattle. He was a new boy we’d found riding south for Abilene, and he stopped at our fire. When we heard he was hunting a riding job, we told him he had one if he was a stayer.

  “Never quit nothin’ yet,” he said, “until it was done.” “You got a name you want to use?” “Isom Brand. Folks call me Brandy.” “All right. Now think on this. You hook up with us, you’ll be riding into wild country, Injun country. You’ll see mountains like you’ve never seen and wider plains than you can believe. You’re likely to miss a meal or two, as we’re short of grub until we hook up with my brother Orrin, but we don’t want anybody who is likely to complain.” He just looked at me, that smooth-faced kid with the quick blue eyes, and he said, “You goin’ to miss those meals, too?” “We miss them together,” I said.

  “You hired a hand,” he said. He hesitated then, flushing a little. “I ain’t got much of an outfit. I give all I had left in cash money to my ma for her and sis afore I pulled out.” “Couldn’t you find a job close to home?” “No, sir. There just weren’t none.” “They got enough money to last?” “No, sir. I have to send some to them as soon as I can.” “You shape up,” I said, “and I’ll advance you some.” He was riding a crow-bait plow horse that was no good for our work, so we turned him into the remuda, and we roped a paint we bought off an Injun. Brandy topped him off all right, and we rode along.

  He was walking a circle on the far side of the herd when I came up to him. “Better go in and get yourself a bite,” I suggested, “and catch yourself some shuteye. We won’t be moving out for about an hour.” There was water a-plenty and good grass, so we took some time. Meanwhile, keeping a watch out and seeing none of the cattle got to straying, I thought about Logan.

  Logan and his twin brother Nolan were Clinch Mountain Sacketts, almost a different breed than us. They were rough boys, those Clinch Mountain Sacketts, right down from ol’ Yance Sackett, who founded the line way back in the 1600’s.

  He settled so far back in the mountains that the country was getting settled up before they even knew he was there.

  Some of those Clinch Mountain Sacketts were Blockaders; least that’s what they were called.

  They raised a lot of corn up in the mountains, and the best way they could get it to market was in liquid form. They began selling by the gallon rather than the bushel.

  Pa, he would have none of that. “If’n you boys want to take a drink, that’s your business, but buy it in town, don’t make it. Maybe I don’t agree with the government on all things, but we elect

  d them, a majority of us did, and it’s up to us to stand by them and their laws.

  “From all I hear handed down,” he added, “that Yance was a wild one, and his get are the same.

  Those boys are rougher than a cob, but if you’re in trouble, they’ll come a runnin’. They’ll build you a fire, lend you money, feed you, give you a drink from the jug, or he’p you fight your battles. Especially he’p you fight battles. Why, ain’t one of them Clinch Mountain Sacketts wouldn’t climb a tree to fight a bear.

  “Why, there was a man over at Tellico whupped one of them boys one time. Sure enough, come Saturday night, here was that Sackett again, and the feller whupped him again. An’ ever’ Saturday night, there was Sackett awaitin’ on him, an’ ever’ time he whupped that Sackett, it got tougher to do. Finally, that feller just give up and stayed to home. He was afraid to show his face because Sackett would be waitin’ on him.

  “Finally that feller from Tellico, he just taken out and left the country. Went down to the settlements and got hisself a job. He was a right big man, make two of Sackett, but it was years before he stopped jumpin’ if you came up behind and spoke to him. “Made a mistake,” he said after. “I should have let him whup me. Then I’d of had some peace. Wust thing a man can do is whup a Sackett. They’ll dog you to your dyin’ day.”” That was the way it was. If one of us was in difficulties, Logan would come a-runnin’, and the least we could do was go see what we could do.

  He said he needed beef cattle, so we’d take him beef cattle. I don’t know what had him treed up yonder, but it must’ve been somethin’ fierce, knowin’ Logan.

  So we’d spent all we had, barrin’ a few dollars in pocket, and we were headed into wild, rough country with eleven hundred head of steers.

  But it wasn’t only that Logan was in trouble. It was because a Sackett had given his word.

  I hear tell that down in the towns some folks don’t put much store in a man’s word, but with us it was the beginning and the end. There were some poor folks up w
here we come from, but they weren’t poor in the things that make a man.

  Through the long afternoon, we plodded steadily west, the blackened earth only a few hundred yards off on our right. The low gray clouds broke, and the sky cleared. The grass was changing, too.

  We rarely saw the tall bluestem that had grown further east. Now it appeared only in a few bottoms. There was a little bluestem, June grass and needle grass.

  Slowly, the herd was gettin’ trail broke.

  Once in a while, some old mossyhorn steer would make a break to go home, and we’d have to cut him back into the herd, but generally they were holdin’ steady. A rangy old brindle steer had taken the lead and held it. He was mean as a badger with his tail in a trap and would fight anything that argued with him, so mostly nobody did.

  Cap rode back to me just about sundown as we were rounding the stock into a hollow near a slough.

  “Tell,” he said, “better come an’ have a look whilst it’s light.” He led the way to the far side of the slough, and we studied the ground. The grass was pressed down here and there, the remains of a fire and the tracks of two travois.

  “Six or seven, I’d say,” Cap said, “but you’re better at this than me.” Well, I took a look around. “Six or seven,” I agreed. “Maybe eight. One of them travois leaves a deep trail, and I figure they’ve got a wounded man on it.

  “They’ve had them a fight,” I said, “and that’s odd because there’s at least two women along. It’s no war party.” “There’s a papoose, too,” Cap said.

  “If you look yonder by that rock, you’ll see where they leaned his cradle board.” I indicated a dirty piece of cloth lying in the trampled-down grass. It was very bloody.

  “Somebody is hurt,” I said. “Probably the man on the travois.” Squatting, I sat on my heels and looked over the place where they’d camped and the ashes left from their fire. “Yesterday,” I said, “maybe the day before.” “And they’re headin’ west, like us.” “We got to keep an eye out. We’ll be comin’ up with them maybe tomorrow night or next morning. They aren’t going to make much time.” “What do you make of it?” Cap asked.

  “A papoose in the cradle board, one walkin’ about youngster, two women and four men.

  Two of the men are oldish, gettin’ on in years.

  One’s a youngster—fightin’ age but young. Then there’s the wounded man.” “I spotted ‘em a while back.” Cap put the butt of his rifle on the ground.

  “They’ve been keepin’ to low ground. Looks to me like they’re scared.” Well, I took my hat off and wiped the sweat off my forehead, then put my hat on and tugged her down tight. “Cap,” I said, “we’d best sleep light and step careful because whatever’s after them is comin’ our way, too.”

  Chapter III

  We were taking it easy. We had a long way to go, but the season was early, and there was no use us gettin’ so far north that the grass wouldn’t have come yet. The country was greenin’, but it would take time. We had come up to the Jim River just below Bear Creek.

  Cap an’ Tyrel scouted ahead, riding into the trees to see if company waited on us, but there was nobody. There was fair grass on the plain and mighty good grass in the creek bottom, so we swung our herd around and bedded them down.

  Swingin’ along the edge of the trees, I dabbed a loop on a snag and hauled it up for the fire.

  Lin was already down from the wagon and picking up some flat stones he could use to set pots on.

  We hadn’t any chuck wagon, and grub was scarce. Leavin’ Brandy with the stock, Tyrel rode down to where I sat my horse. “Saw some deer back yonder.” He gestured toward the creek. “Figured I’d ride out and round up some meat.” “Sure.” As he turned his mount away, I said, “Keep your eyes open for those Injuns. I think they’re somewhere about.” “Maybe so.” He pulled up for a moment.

  “Night before last—maybe I was wrong, but I thought I smelled smoke.” He let it rest for a minute, and then he said, “Tell? You know what I think? I think those Injuns are ridin’ in our shadow. For protection, like.” He took out his Winchester and rode off into the trees, but what he said stayed with me. Those Indians were only a handful, and they’d seen trouble from somebody. Tyrel might be right, and they could be stayin’ close to us with the idea that they’d not be attacked with us so close by.

  By the time I started back for camp, the cattle had settled down. A few were still grazing on last year’s grass, but most of them were full as ticks. I wasn’t fooled by their good shape because I knew rough country lay ahead of us.

  When I stepped down from the saddle and ground hitched my horse, the other two riders had come in and were drinkin’ coffee. Gilcrist was a lean, dark man who handled a rope well and seemed to know something about stock but was obviously a gambler.

  He’d not had much luck getting up a game around camp because mostly when we bedded down the cattle, we were too tired to do anything but crawl into our blankets ourselves. The man traveling with him was a big, very heavy man but not fat. He was no taller than me, maybe even a mite shorter, but he was a good fifty pounds heavier, and it wasn’t fat. Gilcrist called him the Ox, so we followed suit. Nobody ever did ask him his name, as folks just didn’t ask questions.

  Whatever somebody named you or whatever you answered to was good enough.

  Just as I was stepping down from my bronc, I heard a rifle shot. “We’ll have fresh meat for supper,” I said.

  Gilcrist glanced around. “Suppose he missed?” “That was Tyrel. He doesn’t miss.” A few minutes later, Tyrel rode into camp with the best parts of a deer. He unloaded the meat at the fire and led his horse away to strip its gear. Nobody said anything, but when Tyrel came back into camp, I noticed Gilcrist sizing him up.

  We ate, and Tyrel spoke quietly to me.

  “They’re about, Tell. I spotted one of them watchin’ me.” He paused a moment. “I left them a cut of the meat.” “He see you?” “Uh-huh. I laid it out nice and ready for him. I think they’re hard up.” I turned to Gilcrist and the Ox. “When you finish, ride out and let Cap and Brandy come in.” The Ox wiped his hands on his pants. “Do the kid good to wait a mite. Teach him something.” I looked across the fire at him. “If he needs teaching, I’ll teach him. You relieve him.” The Ox leaned back on his elbow. “Hell, I just got here. They can wait.” “Relieve him,” I said, “now.” The Ox hesitated, then slowly got to his feet, deliberately prolonging the movements.

  “Oh, all right,” he said. “I’ll go let mama’s little boy come in.” He mounted his horse and rode out. Gilcrist got to his feet, then commented, “Better go easy with him. He’s a mighty mean man.” “Where I come from they’re all mean if you push them,” I said. “If he stays on this job, he’ll do his work.” Gilcrist looked around. “Mighty big country out here. Looks to me like a man could do what he wanted.” “Boot Hill is full of men who had that idea.” Tyrel spoke casually, as if bored.

  “It’s a big country, all right, big enough for men who are big enough.” Gilcrist mounted up and rode out, and Tyrel threw his coffee on the grass. “Looks like trouble.” “I saw it when I hired them, but who else could I get? Nobody wanted to ride north into wild country.” “Maybe they wanted to. Maybe they had reason.” “That big one,” I commented, “looks strong enough to wrassle a bull. Maybe I should save him for Logan. Logan likes his kind.” “Maybe. Maybe you won’t be able to save him, Tell. Maybe he won’t wait that long.” Cold winds blew down from the north, and there were occasional spitting rains. The scattered patches of snow were disappearing, however, and the trees along the river bottoms were green. There were pussywillows along the bottoms, too, and patches of crocus growing near the snow.

  We moved north, day after day, following the course of the James River but holding to the hills on one side or the other.

  As we came down the hill into the valley where the James and Pipestem met, Tyrel rode over to where I was. “Cold,” he said, meanin’ the wind, “mighty cold!” “There’s wo
od along the river,” I said, “and we’ll rest up for a couple of days. It’s needful that Orrin have time. No tellin’ whether he’ll find the men we need or not.” “Wish we could get rid of them two.” Tyrel gestured toward the Ox and Gilcrist.

  “I just don’t cotton to them.” “Nor me,” I said, “an’ old Cap is keepin’ his mouth shut, but it’s hard.” Turning to look at him, I said, “Tye, all day I’ve been thinkin’ of the mountains back home. Must be I’m gettin’ old or something, but I keep thinkin’ of how it was back home with ma sittin’ by the fire workin’ on her patchwork quilt. Night came early in the winter months, and lookin’ out the window a body could see pa’s lanterns making patterns on the snow as he walked about. He’d be doin’ the last of the chores, but when he came in, he always brought an armful of wood for the wood box.” “I recall,” Tyrel said. “We sure spent some time climbin’ around those mountains! All the way from Chunky Gal to Roan Mountain. I mind the time Orrin got lost over to Huggins Hell and was plumb out of sight for three days.” “I wasn’t there then. I’d already slipped along the mountains and over the Ohio to join up with the Union.” “Nolan went t’other way. He rode down to Richmond and joined the Confederacy. We had people on both sides.” “It was that kind of a war,” I commented, and changed the subject. “When we were talkin’ about who’d been to the north, I clean forgot the drive I made right after the war. Went up the Bozeman Trail into Montana. I didn’t stay no longer than to get myself turned around and headed back, although it was a different trail I rode on the return.

  “It was on the way up I got my first taste of the Sioux. They’re a rough lot, Tyrel.

  Don’t you take them light.” Tyrel chuckled suddenly. “Tell? You mindful of an old friend of yours? The one we called Highpockets?” “You mean Haney? Sure. Odd you should speak of him. Last time I heard tell of him, he was headed north.” “Mind the time he went to the sing over at Wilson’s Cove? He fell head over heels for some visitin’ gal from down in the Sequatchie and went at it, knuckle and skull, with some big mule skinner.