Lonely On the Mountain

Somebody had deliberately empt

ed his rifle while he slept!

Swiftly, he shucked cartridges from his belt and reloaded. He was just putting the rifle in the scabbard when Gavin appeared. "Everything all right? We're about to move out." "I'm ready. I fell asleep over there; first time I've been caught napping in a long time." He smiled pleasantly. "But I'm awake now. Let's go!" Gavin walked to his horse, and Orrin Sackett swung into the saddle.

Somebody wanted him defenseless. Who? Why?

It could hardly be Logan Sackett's enemies, whoever they were. They were over a thousand miles away. Or were they?

Baptiste started the cart moving at a trot.

The horse seemed fit enough to go all day.

Avoiding Gavin, Orrin rode wide of the cart, sometimes in advance, scouting, sometimes falling back. He rode warily, his eyes seeking out every bit of cover.

Why unload his rifle unless it was expected that he would need it at once? He thought suddenly of his pistol. He checked it. All secure, loaded, and ready. But, of course, there had been no way they could get to that.

Off to their right, only a short distance away, was the Red River with its thousands of windings through the low hills and between its green banks. Elm, box elder, occasional cottonwood, and much chokecherry or pussywillow crowded the banks and for about a quarter of a mile to a hundred yards on either side.

On the left and over a mile away, another line of trees marked another stream. He mentioned it to Baptiste.

"Wild Rice Creek," he said, "he flows into Red." He pointed with his whip in the direction they were traveling. "Not far." "And the Sheyenne?" "Far off--westward. He comes nearer." Baptiste pointed again with his whip to the north.

"He comes to marry with Red. You see. Tomorrow, you see." He rode on ahead, skirting a clump of trees, pausing briefly to let his horse drink at a small creek. He could hear the awful creaking and groaning of the wooden axle of the cart and occasionally a shout from Baptiste.

He listened, hearing the rustle of water in the creek, the scratching of a bird in the leaves, the whisper of the wind through the branches. Quiet sounds, the sounds of stillness, the sound of the woods when they are alone.

His horse, satisfied at last, lifted his dripping muzzle from the cool water, looking about, ears pricked. A drop or two of water fell from his lips. Then, of his own volition, he started on.

Orrin turned his mount suddenly and walked him downstream in the water, then went out on the bank and wove a careful way through a clump of trees, pausing before emerging into the sunlight.

He could see the cart afar off, perhaps a half mile. Suddenly, his horse's head lifted sharply, ears pricked. Orrin shucked his rifle and looked carefully about. Then he saw them.

Two men hunkered down, watching the cart. They were a good twenty yards off, and it was not the Stampers. These were strangers. One wore a black coat, the other a buckskin hunting jacket. Both had rifles.

Orrin stroked the horse's neck, speaking quietly to him, watching. The last thing he wanted now was to precipitate trouble, and what he needed most was information.

One of them started to lift his rifle, and Orrin slid his from the scabbard, but the other man put a hand on the other man's rifle and pushed it down.

What he said, Orrin did not know, but they both withdrew into the brush. He waited, listening. After a short interval, he heard a distant sound of horse's hoofs, then silence. He rode back to the cart.

Kyle Gavin rode to meet him. "See anything?" "There's been somebody around. Travelers, most likely." How far could he trust Gavin? After all, he knew nothing about the man, and somebody had unloaded his rifle, which could have gotten him killed.

Had that somebody been expecting an attack?

Perhaps by the two men? Was it his absence from the cart that caused the men to withdraw? Perhaps it was he they wished to kill, and if he was not present--his Toward sundown, the wind began to pick up again. He scouted on ahead, watching for tracks, using cover. They crossed the Wild Rice, skirted a small settlement, and camped near the crest of a hill away from the river, to be at least partly free from mosquitoes.

Before daybreak, they moved on and by noon reached Georgetown.

"The International? She's tied to the bank about twenty mile downstream," a man informed them.

"Water's too low here an' there. Wasn't much of a melt this year, so water's low." The man peered at Orrin. "Name wouldn't be Sackett, would it? There was a feller around askin' after you. Least you come up to what he described. The way he made it out, you was a mighty mean man." "Me?" Orrin widened his eyes. "I'm a reasonably mild man. Just a tall boy from Tennessee, that's all!" "Tennessee? Ain't that where they make the good corn liquor? Folks tell me it's the finest whiskey in the world if it's aged proper." "Kentucky, Tennessee, the Carolinas, they all have good corn whiskey, but as to age, I had a friend down in the Dark Corner who made first-rate whiskey, but he didn't hold much with aging. He said he kept some of it a full week and couldn't see any difference!" There was a pause, and Orrin asked, "That man who was asking after me? Is he still around?" "Ain't seen him in a couple of days. A big, tall man with a buckskin huntin' jacket." "If you see him again," Orrin said mildly, "just tell him Sackett's in town, and if he's got any business with him, to hurry it up because Sackett can't afford to waste around waitin' for him." "Mister, if I ain't mistaken, that man had killin' on his mind. Least that was the way it sounded." "Of course. You tell him it's all right now.

The frost is out of the ground." "Frost? What's that got to do with it?" Orrin smiled pleasantly. "Don't you see? It would be hard to dig a grave for him if the ground were still frozen, but we've had mild weather, and I reckon the digging would be right easy!"

Chapter IX

A tall man in a buckskin jacket? Could he have been one of the two men who were watching the cart?

Georgetown was little more than a cluster of shacks and log houses close to the river. Orrin Sackett wanted no trouble, but if trouble was to come, he preferred it here, now.

He walked the street, alert for a sight of the man in the buckskin jacket, but he saw him nowhere. The stores, he noticed, were well stocked, and it struck him that instead of waiting until he reached Pembina or Fort Garry, he might stock up here. There was a good chance that Riel or someone buying for the Canadian army would have bought out the stores.

For that matter, why not try to buy the Red River cart from Baptiste? Or to hire him to drive? Usually, he had learned, in the long caravans of carts, one driver took care of three carts, and he planned to have but two.

Transporting horses or carts on the International was no new thing, so arrangements were quickly made. In the store, he bought the staples he would need. Flour, bacon, beans, dried apples, coffee, tea, and several cases of hardtack, similar to the Bent's Hard-Water Crackers he had enjoyed as a boy.

He purchased powder, shot and cartridges as well, and four extra rifles.

"Better cache them good," the storekeeper advised. "Louis Riel needs all the guns he can get." "Do you think there will be a shooting war?" Orrin asked.

The storekeeper shrugged. "Not if Riel can help it. I've done business with him, with his pa, too. They was always reasonable folks, but from what the newcomers are saying, they've got an idea back East that he's leading a rebellion, and they want to hang him." Outside on the street, Orrin took a quick look around for the buckskin-shirted man but also for anyone else who might seem too interested or too disinterested.

He was worried, and not about what might happen here but what could happen to the north.

Tell and Tyrel were depending on him not only for food and ammunition but for additional help, and the last thing he wanted was to get into the midst of a shooting fight in which he had no stake.

The way to stay out of trouble was to avoid the places where trouble was.

When a difficulty develops, unless one can help, it was far better to get away from the area and leave it to those whose business it was to handle such things.

Despite the wisdom of staying out of trouble, his route led right through the middle of it. The best thing he could do would be to get in and out as rapidly as possible.

He looked around the store, buying blankets, a couple of spare ground sheets, odds and ends that would be found useful on the way west where one could buy little or nothing. That was all right. All the Sacketts were used to "making do." It had been their way of life.

"Old Barnabas would enjoy this," he thought suddenly, and said it aloud, not thinking.

"Hey? What's that?" Orrin smiled. "Just thinking about an ancestor of mine. Came over from England many a year ago, but he was always going west." "Mine, too," the storekeeper said. "My grandpa left a mighty good farm and a comfortable business. Just sold out and pulled out. Pioneering was in the blood. I guess." Orrin agreed. "I've got it, too," he admitted. "I'm a lawyer, and I've no business even being here." "Well, luck to you." The storekeeper looked up. "You goin' west? To the gold fields, maybe?" "That's right." The storekeeper shook his head. "I'll talk to Jen about it. That there western country--well, I'd like to see it. I surely would. Wild country, they say, with mountains covered with snow, deep canyons--" "I'll send my cart around for this," Orrin said.

"Better get you another cart. You got a load here. You got enough for two carts. I've got one I'll let you have reasonable, and a good, steady horse with it." "The way you talk," Orrin said, "you may need it yourself." "Up to Jen. I'll talk to her. But maybe--Jenny's got the feelin', too. I seen her lookin' off to the horizon now and again.

After all, we was westerin' when we come here." He waved a hand. "Don't worry about the cart. I got a good man can build me one. I'll sell you cart, horse, and harness reasonable. When I come west--well, we may meet up sometime." "Thanks." Orrin held out his hand. "That's decent of you. If you don't see me, and you hear the name of Sackett, you just go to them and tell him you were friendly to Orrin Sackett. You won't need more than that." He returned to the street and walked back to the hotel. Baptiste was loaded and standing by his horse.

"You ever been to British Columbia, Baptiste?" "I dream of it. But it is for young men. I am no longer young." "It is for men, Baptiste, and you are a man.

I have another cart. Will you get it for me?" "I will. But British Columbia? He iss far off, I t'ink." "We will cross the wide plains, Baptiste, and follow strange rivers until they are no more.

Then we shall climb mountains. It will be cold, hard, and dangerous. You know what the western lands are like, and it is never easy." Devnet Molrone came out on the street with Mary McCann. "Do we start so soon?" "It is twenty miles, they say. We will have to hurry." He glanced up the street. There was a tall man standing there, a tall man in a buckskin coat. Across the street, seated on a bench, was a man in a black coat. He smiled; it was so obvious.

"What is it?" Devnet asked.

"What?" He glanced at her. "Oh?

Nothing, I was just--" "You looked so stern there for a moment, and then almost amused. Somehow--" "It is nothing," he replied. "It is just that some patterns are so familiar. The men who use them do not seem to realize the same methods have been used for centuries. Each seems to think he invented it." "I don't believe I understand." He leaned on the wagon. "Miss Molrone? Do you see those two men up the street? For some reason, they wish me harm.

They have followed us here. When I go up the street, as they know I must, the man in the buckskin jacket will start trouble, somehow. Then, when he makes a move to draw a gun, the man across the street in the black coat will try to kill me." "You're mad!" She stared at him. "That's utterly preposterous! People don't do such things." "Not so often here as further south, nor so often where we are going. Nevertheless, it does happen.

Trial by combat, Miss Molrone, has been a way of life sin

e the beginning of time. A savage way, I'll admit, and dying out. But it is still with us." "But that's ridiculous! Those two men--why, I saw one of them talking to Mr. Gavin just this morning!" She turned to look at him. "You do not seem the type, somehow. You're so much the southern gentleman. I just--" He smiled again. "Southern gentleman? It's just the hat and maybe the fact that I trim my moustache. I grew up in the mountains, ma'am, a-fightin' an' a-feudin', and I cut my western teeth roundin' up wild cows. I've been up the hill and over the mountain, as we Sacketts say." "But you're a lawyer!" "Yes, ma'am, and respectful of the law, only if one is to settle difficulties in court, it must be agreeable to both parties. I suspect those gentlemen up the street have already selected their twelve jurymen, and they are in the chambers of their pistols.

"Now," he said, "I must let them present their case, and I am wondering if they have become familiar with a new tactic the boys invented down Texas way?

"We will have to hope they have not heard of it." He unbuttoned his coat. "Miss Molrone, ma'am, would you mind going inside?" "I will not! Besides, if what you say is true, it's not fair! There are two of them!" "Please. Do go inside. I know where my bullets are going, but I don't know about theirs." "Here--what is this?" It was Gavin. "What's going on?" "It's those men up there. Mr. Sackett believes they will try to kill him." "Two men? I see but one." "The man in the black coat. Mr.

Sackett believes when trouble develops with the one, the other will kill him." Kyle Gavin's features showed nothing.

"Oh? I scarcely think--" "Gavin? Will you take Miss Molrone inside? I wish to ask that man why he has been following us. If there is anything he wants, I am sure he can have it. There's no need to go skulking about in the brush." "Following us? I wasn't aware--" "Perhaps not. I was aware." "But two men? Surely, if you know there are two, or believe there are, I cannot see why you would walk into the trap." Orrin shrugged a shoulder. "If one knows, it ceases to be a trap. And to an extent the situation is reversed. But that's the lawyer in me.

I talk too much." He turned to Devnet again. "And, Miss Molrone, do let Mr. Gavin take you inside. And please? Stay close to him, for my sake?" Gavin glanced around. "Now what's that mean?" "We want her to be safe, do we not?" Orrin's expression was bland.

"If there's a shooting here," Gavin warned, "you will be arrested. The Canadian--" "We are still in Dakota Territory," Orrin reminded him. "Now will you take Miss Molrone inside?" "He's right, miss," Mary McCann said.

"When lead starts to flyin', anybody can get shot." The tall man in the buckskin jacket leaned lazily against an awning post. The man opposite in the black coat was reading a newspaper.

Orrin Sackett did not walk toward the man in the buckskin coat, and he did not walk up the middle of the street. He started as if to do one or the other, then switched to the boardwalk that would bring him up behind the man in the black coat.

The tall man straightened suddenly, uncertain as to his move, and in that moment Orrin was behind the man with the newspaper, who had started to turn.

"Sit still now," Orrin warned, "and hang on to that paper. You drop it, and I'll kill you." The man clutched the paper with both hands. "See here, I don't know what--" "All right!" Orrin's voice rang clearly in the narrow street. "Unbuckle your gun and let it fall." He was speaking to the man across the street. "Easy now! I don't want to have to kill you." "Hey? What's this all about?" The man in the buckskin coat rested one hand on his buckle.

"What's going on?" "Nothing, if you unbuckle that belt, nice and easy, and then let it fall." The man across the street could not even see if Sackett had drawn his gun since he was standing directly behind the man with the newspaper.

The man with the newspaper said, "Better do what he says, Cougar. There's always another day." Slowly, carefully, Cougar unbuckled his belt and let the gun slip to the ground along with belt and holster.

"Now walk away four steps to your left and stop." Orrin reached down and slipped the seated man's gun from its holster, then a derringer from a vest pocket. He gave the man a quick, expert frisk.

"Fold your paper and put it in your coat pocket," he suggested, "then walk over and join your friend." As the man walked, Orrin moved across the street behind him and gathered up the gun belt and slung it over his shoulder. "Sit down, boys.

Right on the edge of the boardwalk. We might as well be comfortable." "What's going on?" Cougar demanded. "I don't even know this gent." Orrin smiled. "You seemed to know each other pretty well when I saw you out in the brush today.

I had you under my rifle several times out there, and I was tempted, gentlemen, tempted." "We was just wonderin' where you was goin'," Cougar said.

"You could have asked us," Orrin said mildly.

"No use to skulk in the brush and maybe get mistaken for a Sioux." "We was just curious"--Cougar's eyes were bright with malice--"especially since you got no reason to go west no more." Orrin's expression did not change, but within him something went cold and empty. "What's that mean?" "Them others, with the cows. They're gone. Wiped out. Herd's gone, all of them massacred by the Sioux." "That's right," the man in the black suit said.

"We rode over the ground. The Sioux stampeded buffalo into them an' then follered the buffalo.

We seen where a couple of bodies was trampled into prairie, an' gear all over everywhere.

They're dead--killed--wiped out."

Chapter X

Orrin's expression did not change. Their faces were sullenly malicious. Cougar hooked his thumbs in his belt. "You lost 'em all," he said, "your family and the cows. The Sioux wiped 'em out. You got nothin' left." He smiled. It was not easy, but he did it.

were they lying? He wanted to believe it, but he doubted they were.

"They was comin' north," Cougar said. "God knows how they got that far, but they was west of the Turtle Mountains, between there an' the Souris River, when the buffalo stampede hit 'em." "You saw the bodies?" "No, I never seen 'em. Hell, there wasn't nothing left. You ever seen a buffalo stampede? Must have been three or four thousand of them.

"We seen some bodies trampled into the torn-up ground. We seen scattered stuff, torn clothing, a busted rifle. Whatever was left the Injuns took, but it can't have been much.

And the cattle was scattered to hell and gone!" Once started, Cougar seemed minded to talk, and Orrin kept still. "There was a little creek comes along there. Don't amount to much, but this time of year there might be water enough for a herd. Anyway, they was in there on a small slope to catch what wind there was because of the skeeters.

"Them Sioux, they'd prob'ly been follerin' them for days, watching for it to be right, and they sure did make it work." "Why were you following me?" Cougar shrugged insolently. "Just seen you, wondered what you was doin', then heard your name was Sackett. Figured to tell you what happened." "All right," Orrin replied, "I'll leave your guns down at the store. But stay off my trail. If I catch you following me, you'd better make your fight because I will." Abruptly, he turned and walked back to the hotel. Gavin was waiting with Mary McCann and Devnet. "What happened?" he asked.

As briefly as possible, he explained. When he had finished, Devnet said, "Then you won't be going west? You'll stop here?" "I'll go west, ma'am, and if there's no other way, and you're mindful to travel along, I'll take you and Mrs. McCann. It will be rough, and you won't travel fast, but you can come." "No," Devnet said, "we'll go to Carlton. We will find a way. But thank you." She paused. "But why will you go now? Everything is gone, finished." "No, ma'am. Those cattle were stampeded, not killed. I'll round up what I can of them and go on west. If I can find anything left of my brothers, they'll have decent burial, and I'll read from the book over them.

"If not, they'll lie out there with their blood fed into the grass. Ma'am, neither of those boys would feel too lonely out there, for there's Indian blood in that grass. Good men died before them, and there's mighty few western trails that don't have a Sackett buried somewhere along the route. You don't build a country like this on sweat alone, ma'am." "But there are Indians! And those cattle will be scattered for miles!" "Yes, ma'am. I'll buy me some extra horses, and if I can find a man or two to help, I'll do it. We started to deliver a herd to the mines, and there's a Sackett yonder who's needful of our help. I reckon I'll go, ma'am, and if it be that I don't make it, well, there's more Sacketts where we come from." The track lay along the Dakota side of the Red, and they moved at a good pace. Accustomed through long practice, the second horse followed the first cart, driven by Baptiste, without a driver. The afternoon waned, and the lead cart moved faster.

Orrin Sackett drew up to look back along the trail. He saw nothing, no sign of pursuit, no dust. His mount seemed nervous and eager to be off, so he turned and once more began following the carts, although his horse, without any urging, rapidly overtook them.

The carts were moving at a fast trot, and Baptiste kept looking around at the sky on all sides. "How far?" Orrin called out.

"Soon!" Baptiste replied.

The women rode in the carts, resting on the bedrolls and sacks of gear and equipment.

Kyle Gavin, seemingly indisposed to conversation, had ridden on ahead.

Again and again, Orrin looked about, watching the terrain. He was not about to trust Cougar or his companion, and he had neglected to find out who they represented or why they had an interest in him.

Not that they showed any indication of being willing to tell him.

Suddenly, the old man yelled at him, gesturing. At the same time, he heard a long, weird moan rise from around or behind him. He had only time to reach up and pull down the mosquito netting from the brim of his hat, and then they were all about him.

He had seen mosquitoes before but nothing like this.

They settled on the horse, five and six deep. Again and again, he swept them away, crushing many at a blow, sweeping others away only to have them return in thousands. Suddenly, ahead of them and through the leaves, they saw lights and a gleam of white. It was the International! The gangway was down, but there was no one in sight.

Without hesitation, they drove aboard, and the women scrambled from the carts and rushed inside.

Kyle Gavin disappeared also, but Orrin remained behind, covering the horses with fly nets that helped only to a limited degree. Some deck hands appeared, and the gangway was hoisted inboard, andwitha great amount of puffing, threshing, and groaning the International moved from the bank and started downstream.

To eat supper was impossible. Mosquitoes drowned themselves in the coffee; buried themselves in the melting butter, crawled into the ears and the eyes.

Devnet Molrone and Mary McCann had already given up and disappeared. Orrin followed.

In his small stateroom, there were mosquitoes, too. He succeeded in driving many outside by waving a towel, then got under the netting on his bunk. Dead tired, he slept, awakening in the cool of morning to find no mosquitoes about.

Shaving was all but impossible, but he worried through it, swearing more than a little. From the porthole he could see green banks sliding past.

After a while, in a clean shirt, he emerged on deck. From the pilot he learned the International was one hundred and thirty-odd feet long but drew only two feet of water.

There were few straight stretches on the river, for it persisted in a fantastic series of S curves that seemed without end. Some of the curves could barely be negotiated, and the longer Mississippi boats would have had no chance here.

Returning to his cabin after a quick, pleasant breakfast, Orrin checked his guns once more.

Soon they would be in the little frontier post of Pembina. He must make new plans now.

Without his brothers, he must do what needed to be done alone or with what help he could secure.