The Dease was someplace off to the northwest. Beyond that, anybody’s guess was as good as mine, and I was ramrodding this outfit.
We had fire, and we had shelter, and we had a bit of meat, and good meat at that. Yet I was uneasy.
Where had Charlie Fleming gone?
Surely, as we drew closer and closer to our destination, we drew closer to his also, so why hadn’t he waited a bit longer where he could have coffee and grub on the way?
Maybe, just maybe, because we were closer than we thought.
Certainly, even though he could not interpret the message, he would know there had been a message, and that would mean that Logan Sackett was not only alive but free — or probably free.
Had he fled to warn someone of our coming? Or was he afraid of Logan?
Orrin got up and moved over to where Nettie Molrone was. I could hear the murmur of their voices as they talked. “I’ll ask about for your brother,” he said, “as soon as we meet anybody. There’ll be a town,” he added, “or something of the kind.”
The sleet still fell, but it was changing into snow, which would be worse, for beneath the snow there would be ice on the trails. Beyond the reach of the fire shadows flitted wolves.
Now stories came to me, stories told me when I was a small boy by my father. My father had trapped these very lands; he told us much of animals and their habits and of how the wolves would work as a team to drive an animal or a group of animals into a position where they could easily be killed. To drive an elk or moose out on the ice where he would slip and fall was one trick often used. Sometimes they herded them into swamps or drove them off cliffs.
These tricks were often attempted with men, and the unwary were trapped by them.
The snow continued to fall throughout the night, and when morning came, the ground and the trees were covered with it. We got out of bed under the lean-tos, and Baptiste had a fire built up in no time. It had burned down to coals during the last hours of the morning.
It was good to hear the crackle of the fire and to smell the wood burning. Tyrel saddled up, and him and me took a turn through the woods, bunching the cattle a little. They’d had tolerable shelter under the trees, but it was right cold that morning, and they were in no way anxious to move. Some of the horses had pawed away the snow to get at the grass. These were mustangs, used to wild country and to surviving in all kinds of weather.
We were slow getting started because everybody rolled out a mite slower than usual. Nettie’s face looked pinched and tight, and she held her hands to the fire.
Orrin said, “We’re gettin’ close. This is the kind of country you’ll find your brother in.”
“How can he stand it? I mean even if there’s gold.”
“Gold causes folks to do all manner of unlikely things, ma’am,” Tyrel said. “Sometimes even folks a body has figured were right good people have turned ugly when gold’s in the picture.”
“Kyle Gavin did not want me to come looking for my brother,” Nettie said. “He offered to lend me the money to start home.”
“It’s a rough country, ma’am. He knows that. He probably didn’t want you to get trapped in a place you couldn’t get out of.”
We came down to a deep canyon before we’d gone more than a few miles and wound down a narrow switchback trail to the water’s edge. The river flowed past the road a whole lot faster than we liked, so we pointed the herd upstream and started them swimming across somewhat against the current. They held to it only a little, but by that time they were well on their way, and when they turned a bit on the downstream side, they were pointed toward the landing. We got most of them across and started up the trail opposite. Shorty was in the lead, and as he topped out on the ridge, we heard a sharp report that went echoing down the canyon, and we saw Shorty whip around in his saddle and fall.
At least two hundred cattle were on the trail, and there was no way to get past them. We urged them on, and they began to boil over the edge, running. We crowded the rest of them across and Tyrel an’ me, we went hightailing it up the trail after those cows.
We went over the edge, running, but saw nothing but an empty meadow scattered with the arriving cattle. Shorty’s horse stood a short distance off, and Shorty was on the ground. Tyrel rode hellbent for election across the meadow and into the trees, and I swung my horse around and rode to Shorty. He was on his face, and there was a big spot of blood on his back, and I turned him over easy.
His eyes were open, and he said, “Never saw him, Tell. Not even a glimpse. Sorry.”
He was hit hard, and he knew it. Nettie came up over the rim followed by Mary, and they went right to him.
“I did my part, Tell. Didn’t I?” He stared up at me.
“All any man could, Shorty. We rode some rivers together.”
“It ain’t so bad,” he said. “There’s nobody to write to. I never had nobody, Tell.”
“You had us, Shorty, and when we ride over the rim, we’ll be lookin’ for you. Keep an eye out, will you?”
There were low clouds, and the place where he lay was swept clean of snow. Nettie and Mary, they came to him, trying to ease him some, as womenfolk will.
“Can’t you do something, Tell?” Nettie said to me.
“Nothin’ he can do, ma’am,” Shorty said. “Just don’t try to move me.”
Tyrel came back from the woods, and Orrin rode up, and we squatted near Shorty. “Highpockets and me,” Shorty said, “we were headin’ for the Jackson Hole country. You tell him he’ll have to go it alone, will you?”
“He’s comin’, Shorty. He’ll be here in just a moment.”
“He better hurry. I got my saddle on something I can’t ride.”
Highpockets loomed over them. “See you down the road a piece, Shorty. You be lookin’ for me. You’ll know me because I’ll have a scalp to my belt.”
Nettie brushed the hair back from Ms brow, and Shorty passed with his eyes on her face.
“He was a man loved high country,” I said. “We’ll bury him here.”
“Smoke over yonder,” Cap said. “Might be a town.”
“Bunch the cattle,” I said. “We’re going on in.”
Chapter XXIV
Of the cattle with which we started less than half remained, and they were lean and rangy from the long drive.
“Nettie,” Orrin advised, “you and Mrs. McCann had better hang back behind the herd. We’re going to have trouble.”
“What’s this all about, anyway?” Mary McCann demanded.
“We’ll know when we meet Logan, and that should be soon.”
“Is that a town down there?”
“It is no town,” Baptiste said. “Once there was fort. A man named Campbell had fort here back in 1838 or ’39. Sometimes trapper mans camped here.”
“There’s somebody here now,” Haney said, “and somebody killed Shorty.”
Sitting my roan horse, I listened to what was being said with only a bit of my attention. What was worrying me was what we’d find down below. Shorty had been killed. Shot right through the chest and spine and shot dead. He had been shot deliberately, and to me it looked like they were trying to warn us to stay out.
“Baptiste? Why here? Why don’t they want us there? Why would anybody want a herd of cattle here? There isn’t enough grass to keep a herd of this size alive.”
“You say he say ‘before winter comes.’ They want beef. They want food. No game comes in winter. Ver’ little game. People could be much hungry.”
“Winter comes an’ nobody here. Nobody goes out. I t’ink somebody wish to stay here through the winter.”
“He could be right, Tell,” Orrin said. “What other answer is there?”
“Whoever it is, they mean business. The shooting of Shorty was deliberate. It was a warning. Stay out or be killed.”
Suddenly, I made up my mind. My impulse was to go right on in, but into what? “We’ll camp,” I said. “We’ll camp right here on the mountain.”
Tyrel turned to stare at me. “I say let’s go on in. Let’s get it done.”
“Get what done, Tye? Who is the enemy? Who are we hunting? Where’s Logan? If he’s free, he may not even be down there. If he’s a prisoner, we’d better know where he is.