Murphy glanced at Bardoul and spat. “Well, what else could you expect?” he said.
“Now,” Coyle continued, “for the next order of business. Slips of paper are being distributed to be used in voting for your company commanders. The four companies will be designated as A, B, C, and D. Choose your captains carefully, for they must be men capable of leadership, and men who have the respect of all others in the group.
“Company A,” Coyle indicated the column with which Massey and Deane travelled, “will vote first.”
“That’ll be Massey,” Stark suggested, “you wait an’ see!”
It was. And Brian Coyle was elected captain of B Company. Herman Reutz, the former storekeeper, was elected captain of Company C, and then D Company voted.
The votes were collected by Barney Coyle and delivered to his father. Matt glanced over at Braden who was talking to Clive Massey. As Coyle called for silence, Braden turned toward him confidently.
Brian Coyle lifted the first ballot, opened it, and read, “Ernie Braden!” Braden smiled.
He lifted the next ballot. “Matt Bardoul!” he called. Coyle lifted the third ballot, hesitated a little, and called out, “Bardoul again!”
The smile on Braden’s face grew forced. The next vote was for Braden, and then all the rest for Matt Bardoul.
Murphy nudged Matt as his election was announced. “Look at ’em! They don’t like it, not even one little bit!”
Clive Massey’s face was stiff, while Braden looked black and ugly. He had been so confident of victory, so sure he had won them over.
“Before we break up,” Coyle said, “the captains will meet at my wagon for a conference.”
Ban Hardy got him. His eyes crinkled with dry humour. “Luck,” he said to Matt, “don’t let ’em fast talk you.”
Matt strolled over to the wagon and leaned against the wheel. He dug out his tobacco and rolled a cigarette. Jacquine was only a few feet from him, talking to her brother, but she avoided his glance, so he paid no further attention to her.
Pearson hesitated a moment to gain the attention of the group, ignoring Matt. “After talking with Lyon and Phillips,” he suggested, “we have chosen a route that is indicated on this map I have drawn with the help of Miss Coyle. As there will be several river crossings it will be well to prepare your wagons for them.”
Matt studied the map thoughtfully. It was going to miss the Stone Cup, the best waterhole between Deadwood and the Big Horns, and would take them through very dry country. Yet it had advantages even if there would be less water.
“You’ve been through this country, Bardoul,” Reutz said suddenly, “what do you think of the route?” Matt hesitated, noting the irritation in both Pearson and Massey. “It’s a good one, but for the scarcity of water.”
Pearson touched a point on the map. “There’s fresh water right here, at a logical stopping point.”
“That’s right, Pearson,” Matt replied, “but that’s a slough. The water is stagnant, usually covered with green moss, and with a lot of cat tails growing in it. The water should only be used by humans in an emergency.”
“We appreciate the information,” Pearson said sarcastically. “Knowing you, I couldn’t expect to find any plan that would please you!”
“Knowing you,” Bardoul returned sharply, “I can’t imagine you drawing a route that would be practical. That second waterhole,” he added, “is almost pure alkali. I mean the one at Pumpkin Buttes.”
“My information is different!” Pearson snapped.
Bardoul shrugged and lighted a cigarette, glancing at the others. Clive Massey was smiling a little, Brian Coyle looked irritated, and only Herman Reutz looked thoughtful.
“My point,” Matt said evenly, “is simply this: We are all in this together, and any personal animosity should be dropped until the trip is over. Any information I have as to the route, is yours for the asking. I only volunteered what I knew because I felt it was well to know these things beforehand.”
“That’s fair enough,” Reutz said. “Weren’t you in the planning of this trail?”
Matt did not reply, and a dead silence fell over the group. Pearson shifted his feet uneasily, then cleared his throat. “Company A will lead off in the morning.”
When a few other details had been settled, the meeting broke up. Matt walked back to his wagon in time to see young Tolliver mounted and riding away. Bardoul started to call after him to warn him of Indians, but there was something so surreptitious about the way he was leaving that it puzzled him. Yet Tolliver was already some distance off and going fast, riding as if toward a definite objective.
Matt shrugged, then walked back to his wagon and shook out his bed. It would be completely dark in a matter of minutes. Hearing a footstep he glanced up to see the German storekeeper walking toward him. Reutz sat down on the wagon tongue. “You know this country pretty well, don’t you?” he asked. Bardoul nodded. “I’ve been over this particular route twice before. It’s a good route but for the lack of water.”
“Pearson’s pretty sharp. Has he got it in for you about something?”
“Yes, I guess so. It’s an old story now, but I served with him as a civilian scout for awhile. We didn’t get along.”
“I figured something like that.” He paused and lighted his pipe. “You don’t like our trail?”
“It isn’t bad. Not much brush, mostly open country, good grass, and only a few streams to cross. At this time of year they may be dry or almost dry. Those waterholes I spoke of are useless.”
“Maybe they have changed?”
“I talked with a Crow at Spearfish. He says they are still bad.”
“You’ve some good men in your outfit.”
“Some of the best. I doubt if Braden and his driver will stay with us now.”
“He told Massey he would be captain. I imagine he was quite sure of it.” Reutz rubbed his chin thoughtfully with the stem of his pipe. “Bardoul,” he said suddenly, “you’ve done some talking about Deane and Hammer. What do you know about them?”
“What everybody in the west knows. Logan Deane’s a gun slinger and a killer. I haven’t much room for talk, because I’ve thrown a gun a few times myself. I will say that I was pushed a good deal, or I wouldn’t have. Probably that was the way with Deane, too. As for Hammer, the man is a thief and a murderer.”
Reutz tossed a stick into the dying blaze. “There’s something I don’t quite understand,” he said, “Massey and Deane have selected ten men to maintain order in this outfit. You’d think we were a lot of troublemakers.”
“Ten? Why, that’s more than they ever had in Dodge, I’d guess.”
“Sure, and this Hammer is one of them. There’s a man named Bain who is another.”
“Bain?” Matt swore. “Why, he’s the worst cutthroat in the western country! What’s Coyle thinking of? This wagon train is being placed right in the hands of the outlaws!”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Reutz said, “and I don’t like it.”
The following day they made fourteen miles. Matt glanced thoughtfully at Tolliver who was on the job bright and early. He looked tired, and must have been gone much of the night, but Matt had not heard him return.
Had the young mountaineer ridden back to Deadwood? It did not seem reasonable to suppose he had unless there was someone back there whom he intended to tell of the caravan’s destination. Yet Bardoul was instinctively drawn to the young man, and could not bring himself to believe that Tolliver was betraying them in any sense. Matt made no comment, preferring to await results.
During the night he had got out two extra pistols he carried and loaded them carefully. Then he concealed them in a bale of goods where they would be out of sight yet easy to his hand. He did the same thing with a shotgun.
Why he did these things he could not have said. He had that streak of caution in him that so many adventurous men have. Having seen much, they come to a natural way of life that prepares and considers every eventuality.
He had no idea of what to expect, however, he could now allow himself some reason for doubt. When ten lawless men are put in charge of policing a caravan of some hundred odd people, and these men who were to maintain the law were of the stamp of Bain and Hammer, then trouble was truly impending.
As to Shell Creek, if there was gold in the Big Horns it could as easily be there as elsewhere. In fact, the towering knob of Bald Mountain not far from where the creek headed up could be gold country. Certainly, there was evidence of some mineral in the rocks around there.