Rampage of the Mountain Man

Chapter Fifteen

All that day the silence of the white-covered scene was broken by the sound of sawing and the shouts of men as they went about their labors, cutting limbs from the trees, then tying them into place. By nightfall they were ready, but because it was too dark to proceed, they made plans to get under way the next morning.

Exhausted and cold, the men built a big fire, then huddled under the tarp to take advantage of what warmth the fire put out. Pearlie was the one who noticed it first.

“I’ll be damn!” he said, smiling broadly. “I’ll be damn!”

“What is it?” Mike asked.

“Can’t you smell it?”

Several of the men sniffed the air. “I can’t smell nothin’ but cold,” Andy said.

“That’s ’cause you ain’t never smelt Miz Sally’s apple pie before. Nor ate none of it either.”

Cal nodded. “He’s right!” he said. “I smell it too.”

Soon, the rich aroma of cinnamon and apple permeated the entire area and everyone could smell it.

Supper was biscuits and a satisfying stew, but everybody’s thoughts were of the apple pies Sally had made. After supper, she brought them out, three of them, which she carved into very generous portions for everyone.

“I thought that, after a day like today, a big piece of apple pie and a hot cup of coffee might lift everyone’s spirits,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jules said as he took a huge bite of his pie. “You thought right.”

The men’s spirits were lifted and as they ate their pie and drank their coffee, they exchanged stories. Sally and the men laughed at a story Andy told about how he and Dooley had put one over on the same sergeant Mike had gotten into a fight with.

“Say, Jules, where’d you learn to play baseball like that?” LeRoy asked. “You were purt’ near as good as them boys in them white pajamas.”

The others laughed at LeRoy’s reference to the uniforms of the St. Louis Unions.

“Pretty near as good? He was a lot better’n any of ’em,” Cal said.

“Yeah,” Andy said. “Where did you learn to play like that?”

“I don’t know,” Jules said. “Seems like from the first time I ever saw the game, I could play. I think it would be great to play ball and get paid for it like them boys was.”

“But you have too much honor,” Smoke said.

“Honor? What do you mean he has too much honor?” Pearlie asked. “I mean, yeah, I think he’s got honor and all, but what does that have to do with playing baseball?”

“It don’t have nothin’ to do with it really,” Jules said self-consciously,

“That’s not what Sheriff Carson says,” Smoke said.

“Tell them, Smoke,” Sally said. Smoke had obviously shared the story with Sally.

“Sheriff Carson? What does he have to do with it?” Billy asked.

“He was umpire, remember?” Smoke said.

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Sheriff Carson said that our man Jules here was offered the chance to play for the Unions, and to get paid for playing. But they wanted him to strike out his last time at bat.”

“Strike out? What? They tried to talk him into striking out?” Billy asked.

“They told him if he would strike out that he could play for them. And he would make a lot of money, more money than he can make being a cowboy.”

“Why, those dirty bastards,” Hank said. Then, quickly, he looked over toward Sally. “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, for the cussin’,” he said.

“That’s quite all right,” Sally said. “Anyone who would try and get someone to cheat is a bastard,” she said. The others laughed.

“Why didn’t you do it?” Mike asked Jules

“Mike, you aren’t serious,” Billy said.

“Well, I mean, think about it,” Mike said. “This was just one game that didn’t really mean nothin’. He could’a made a lot of money.”

“It wouldn’t of been right,” Jules said. “And I don’t think you would’ve done it either.”

Mike thought for a minute, then smiled. “Well, I reckon not,” he said. “Of course, the question never come up because I ain’t a good enough baseball player. But if it had come up, I reckon I would’a done the same thing as you done. Though I might of stopped to think about it a little.”

The others laughed at Mike’s admission.

“Say, Smoke, why don’t you tell us about Matt?” Pearlie asked.

“Who?” Andy asked.

“Smoke rode all the way to Denver just to see a fella get some kind of award from the governor,” Pearlie explained. “A fella by the name of Matt Jensen.”

“Matt Jensen?” Andy said. “I’ve heard of him. They say he’s fast as lightnin’ with a gun. Say, you’ve got the same name. Is he your kin?”

“He’s not blood kin,” Smoke said. “But I raised him from the time he was twelve. That’s how he came to take my name.”

“Tell us about when you found him,” Pearlie said. Pearlie looked over at Andy, Mike, Billy, and the Butrum brothers. “This is a good story,” he said. “You’ll like it.”

“Well, it started in weather just about like this,” Smoke said. “I got caught up in a snowstorm and I needed to be on the other side of the mountain range before the snow closed the pass. So, although every ounce of me wanted to hole up somewhere long enough to ride the storm out, I pushed on through, fighting the cold, stinging snow in my face until I reached the top of the pass. I made it through, then started looking for a place to spend the night when I saw the boy.”

“That’s when you seen him? In the middle of a snowstorm?” Mike asked.

“Yes. I almost missed him. There was a big drift of snow so that only the boy’s head and shoulders were sticking out. He was under an overhanging ledge, and his head was back and his eyes were closed, so I didn’t know if he was sleeping or if he was dead.

“The boy’s face and lips were blue, and there were ice crystals in his eyebrows and hair. The only protection he had against the cold was a blanket that he had wrapped around him, and that blanket was frozen stiff.”

“Damn, what did you do?” Andy asked.

“I put my fingers on his neck. It was cold, but I could feel a pulse. But I knew that if he didn’t get him back to my cabin soon, he would die. So I cut some limbs and built a travois. Then, stuffing moss in between a couple of blankets, I made an insulated bedroll, and tying the boy onto the bedroll, started down the other side of the mountain.

“The snow continued to fall and walking was hard. I knew it was going to be hard enough for the horse to move, even without pulling a travois, so I walked in front of the horse, holding onto his bridle.

“It was so cold that the air hurt my lungs as I sucked it down. And I didn’t have any snowshoes so, often, I would sink nearly waist-deep into the drifts.

“Because of the clear air, the unbroken whiteness, and the way distance was contorted, it seemed like I was getting nowhere. I remember once, I had been working really hard for two hours, and yet when I looked back over my shoulder, it was almost as if I had just left—I could still see the rock overhang where I found the boy, and if it had not been for the fact that I knew exactly where I was, and how far I had to go, I would’ve been pretty disheartened. But I knew that I would be to the cabin before nightfall.

“I trudged on through the snow for at least another three hours until, finally, the little cabin came into view.

“I have to admit that the cabin I lived in then wasn’t much to look at. But considering the alternative at the time, it looked better than finest mansion you could imagine.

“I picked the boy up from the travois and carried him inside, then deposited him on the bed. Then, after I took care of the horse, I came back in and fixed supper.”

“Did you make him apple pie?” Pearlie asked.

“I’m afraid not,” he said. “That was a little beyond my capability.”

“What did you make him?” Billy asked.

“Beaver stew.”

“Beaver stew? Hmm,” Billy said. “I don’t know as I’ve ever et any beaver stew.”

Smoke laughed. “That’s what the boy said.”

“That he’d never et beaver stew before?”

“That’s it,” Smoke said. “He didn’t ask who I was, or where he was, or what was going to happen to him. All he said was that he didn’t think he had ever eaten beaver stew before. I figured then that if he couldn’t be shaken by nearly freezing to death, then winding up in a total stranger’s house eating something he had never eaten before, then he had to be a boy with gumption.”

“From what I’ve heard of the fella, he’s proved you right,” Andy said.

“Yes,” Smoke said. “Matt has made me very proud over the years.”

Smoke stretched and yawned. “I don’t know about you boys,” he said. “But I worked hard today, and I figure I’ll be working just as hard tomorrow, so I plan to get some sleep.”

“Smoke, do we need nighthawks tonight?” Pearlie asked.

“I wouldn’t think so,” Smoke replied. “Where would the cattle go? No, you can let everyone sleep in tonight.”

“Ha,” Mike said. “That almost makes the snow worth it.”

By daybreak the next day, Smoke and the others were in position. As part of the outfit, every man had two horses in the remuda so as to always have one that was fresh. But on this morning every one of them was using both horses paired as a team, for a total of ten teams. They had tied a log crossways behind each team. All nine teams were abreast, and in front of them was the chuck wagon, its wheels lashed to poles that were running parallel with the wagon. The poles had the effect of creating runners, so that the chuck wagon was converted to a sleigh. In addition to the team of mules that normally pulled the wagon, the two horses that would have belonged to Dooley had been put in harness with the mules.

“Smoke, maybe you ain’t thought of it,” Andy said. “But if all of us is up here, there ain’t nobody ridin’ to keep the herd goin’ straight.”

Billy laughed.

“What is it? What did I say that was so funny?” Andy asked.

“You ain’t got to worry none about them cows goin’ nowhere,” Billy said. “They’re goin’ to follow the road we’ll be makin’ for ’em.”

“Billy’s right,” Smoke said. “We’ll be cutting a trail for them and they’ll follow along behind like some old yellow dog.”

Andy nodded, then smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I can see that. Damn, that’s smart. How’d you come up with that idea?”

“You don’t have to worry none about how Smoke comes up with ideas,” Cal said. “He’s ’bout the smartest person I know. ’Cept maybe Miz Sally.”

In good-natured fun, Smoke threw a snowball at Cal, and Sally, who was close enough to hear the conversation, laughed out loud.

“Sally, don’t you be paying any attention to him now,” Smoke teased. “He’s just buttering you up for more pie.”

Sally laughed. “Well, when’s the last time you made him a pie?”

Smoke laughed as well. “I guess you have a point there,” he said.

Smoke looked out at all the men. All were standing on the ground behind their teams, holding the reins as if they were plowing a field.

“Is everyone ready?”

“We’re ready at this end, Smoke,” Pearlie called back.

“All ready on this end,” Cal said.

“Then, let’s move ’em out.”

Smoke was an active participant for, like the others, he had a team hitched to one of the logs and he urged his horses forward.

To Smoke’s relief, the horses appeared to be able to pull the logs without too much effort. From time to time a rather large mound of snow would pile up in front of a log and whoever was driving that team would have to clear the snow away before they could proceed.

They had gone no more than twenty-five yards when Smoke turned to look behind them. His plan was working. Not only was there a wide swath through the snow behind him—the cattle were following along.

They plowed their way through the snow for the rest of that day and halfway through the next, until they came to an area where the snow was so sparse that vegetation was showing through. By then the cows, hungry after two days of not being able to graze, began to feed.

That night the cowboys celebrated with some of Sally’s bear claws.

“So, LeRoy,” Billy said. “What do you think about drivin’ cattle through snow now?”

“Ah,” LeRoy said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I knowed all along that we could do it.”