Lonely On the Mountain

That horse was

easy in the night, moving like a cat on dainty feet. He knew we were riding into something, he knew there might be the smell of gunpowder, but he liked it, too. You could sense it in the way he moved. A man riding the same horse a lot comes to know his feelings and ways, for no two are alike, and I was one to make companions of my horses, and they seemed to understand. They knew we were in this together.

Time and again, I drew up to listen. A man can't ride careless into wild country. The banks of the river had an easier slope below the elbow, and some grassy tongues of land pushed into the river.

There was a rustling of water along the banks and a dampness in the air near the river. My horse pricked his ears, and we walked slowly forward.

I heard no unnatural sound, smelled nothing until I caught a faint smell of wood smoke, and then a moment later an animal smell.

Cattle! I drew up again. There was much brush, almost as high as my head, but scattered. Suddenly, sensing something near, I drew rein again.

There were cattle near, and a large herd. I could smell them and hear the faint sounds a herd will make at night, the soft moanings, shiftings, click of horn against horn when lying close, and the gruntings as one rose to stretch.

Well, right then I had me a healthy hunch, but what I wanted was to locate the fire. I reined my horse over and rode him around a bush, speaking softly so's not to startle the cattle, which, after all, were longhorns and wild animals by anybody's figuring.

The fire was off across the herd, and I glimpsed a faint glow on the side of some leaves over yonder, on a tree trunk. So I let my horse fall into the rhythm of walking around the herd, just as if we were riding night herd ourselves, which we'd done often enough.

From the way my horse acted, I didn't figure these were strange cattle, so when I saw the fire ahead, I rode over and let my horse walk up quiet.

Tyrel, he was a-settin' by the fire, and he never even raised up his head. He just said, "Get down, Tell, we've been a-missin' you." So I got down and shook his hand, and we Sacketts was together again.

Chapter XIX

"You got yourself some cows," I said.

"Seems as though. We've had some losses.

Right now we're a few shy of having nine hundred head. We lost cattle in the stampede, and we lost a few head in the sand hills. All of them are worn down and beat." "We've got thirty-two head, last count," I told him. Then I asked, "How you fixed for grub?" "A-plenty. Orrin came along with his carts.

Trouble was we under-guessetimated the size of the carts and the appetites of the boys. We'd about decided to go into Fort Carlton to take on more grub." "Suits me. We've been wishful for coffee the last couple of days, and as for grub, we've been fixin' to chaw rawhide." "Come daylight," Tyrel said, "we'll move the herd on some fresh grass and go into camp. Give you boys a chance to catch up on your eating." "How you fixed on ammunition? We've been ridin' scared of a fight." "We've enough." The coffee tasted good. We sat by the fire, comparing what had happened to each of us, and we studied some about what Logan's trouble could be.

"Whoever it is that wants our hides," Tyrel said, "is from below the border. At least, those I've talked to. Looks to me like ol' Logan stumbled into something and he's thrown or is about to throw some trouble their way." When I finished my coffee, I went to my horse and mounted up. We'd picked a place for meeting that he'd scouted the day before, and I rode back to our camp.

Brandy was standing guard, and I told him of the morning move. "All quiet here," he said.

Then he said, "Mr. Sackett? I ain't been punchin' cows long, but there's something that puzzles me. Most of what we've got here are steers, so why do you call them cows?" "Just a manner of speaking, Brandy. Lots of places you never hear cattle called anything else but cows." Well, I went in and bedded down, resting easy for the first time in days. Tyrel and Orrin were alive and close by, and tomorrow we'd join up with them. Most of my years I'd lived alone and rode alone; even when I was with other folks, I was usually a man alone. Now my brothers were close by, and it was a comfort.

They'd come a long way. Tyrel had married well and had him a nice ranch.

Orrin's marriage hadn't worked out, but he had studied law, been admitted to the bar, and had been making a name for himself in politics. He was the best educated of us all, and he'd never let up on learning.

We bunched our cattle on a flat among some low hills, and our boys all got together. I noticed Gilcrist had headed for the Ox as soon as the two outfits stopped, and they had them a long talk. Fleming rode nearby a couple of times but did not stop, yet I had an idea they spoke to him.

We started on at daybreak and pushed the cattle at their usual gait. For the first couple of hours, we let them take their time, kind of spread out and grazing; then we moved them along at a steady gait until noontime.

We rested them at noon while we took our turn at coffee and some beef; then we started again with two to three hours of grazing and two to three hours of steady travel until we bedded them down. Driving that way was good for twelve miles a day or better, and we could still keep them in good shape. Naturally, we varied the drives and the grazing in relation to the grass and water.

Me, I was worried. It was unlikely whoever wanted us stopped was going to give up, and the chances were we'd find some tougher men next time.

Also, the country ahead, according to old Baptiste, who had covered it, was rougher and wilder. So far, we had seen few Indians and had no trouble since our meeting with High-Backed Bull, far away in Dakota.

Yet Indians know no borders and roamed where they would, although each tribe had an area it conceived as its own hunting grounds until pushed out by some stronger tribe.

Fort Carlton, or as some termed it, Carlton House, was several days to the north. Leaving there, we must strike westward for the mountains, moving as rapidly as possible considering the condition of the cattle. All this had once been known as Prince Rupert's Land, a vast and beautiful area now in dispute because of Louis Riel's move to set up a provisional government.

We knew little or nothing of the dispute, having learned but the barest details, and had no wish to become involved in something that was clearly none of our business. We had heard there were a few Americans, and no doubt some Canadians as well, hungry for land for themselves or land to sell, who hoped to somehow profit from depriving the m`etis of their lands.

Lin was now the cook, and Baptiste handled the carts and helped with the cooking.

"Have care!" he warned me. "Blackfeet and Cree are fighting, and this is the way they come!

They will steal your horses!" It was a good warning, and we took care, for we had too few horses as it was. We hoped to get more at Carlton, but Baptiste shook his head to indicate doubt.

"Few horse! Many no good!" He paused a minute, then glanced at me. "You ride ver' good. There is a place where some wild horses run, but grizzly bear, too! Much big grizzly! Ver' mean! A place called Bad Hills!" Day by day, we edged farther north, the length of our drives depending on the grass. In some places, rains had fallen, and the grass grew tall, but we found stretches where grass was poor and water hard to find. There were salt swamps and bare, dry hills. Buffalo we saw in plenty, and there was no question about meat. We found buffalo and occasionally a deer or bighorn sheep.

There were wolves always. They clung to our drive, watching for the chance to pull down any straggler, and several times they succeeded. One of the younger steers went into a swamp to test the water--it was salt--and became mired. Before its frightened bawling could bring us to help, the wolves were upon it.

Tyrel heard and came in at a dead run.

His first shot caught one wolf atop the luckless steer and another fled, yelping wildly and dragging its hind quarters. We were too late to help the steer, and Cap put it out of its misery with a bullet.

We were camped at the Bad Hills when trouble erupted suddenly. Brandy had come in for coffee, and Gilcrist sat by the fire with the Ox, preparing to go on night guard.

Brandy was still limping from the fall he had taken during the stampede. Orrin an' me had come in from scoutin', and Orrin was on the ground stripping the gear from his horse. We were back under the trees and out of sight of the camp. Lin was at the fire, and Baptiste was repairing a lariat.

Cap and Haney were coming in; Tyrel, Fleming, and Shorty were with the cattle.

Brandy was limping a little. He'd been thrown and hurt during the stampede but said nothing of it, and we'd never have known except that once in a while, when he'd been in the saddle for a long time, you'd see him favoring the bad leg. Most of us were banged up more or less, but we taken it as part of the day's work, as he did.

It was the Ox who started it. "What's the matter, mama's boy? Tryin' to make somebody think you're hurt?" "Nothing of the kind. I do my share." The Ox took up a stick from the pile gathered for the fire. "Where's it hurt, boy? There?" He hit him a crack just below the hip bone.

Brandy turned on him. "You put that stick down, Ox. And you lay off, d'you hear?" "Or else what?" The Ox sneered.

Orrin came out of the trees. "Or else you settle with me, Ox." "This is my fight, Mr. Sackett," Brandy said. "I will fight him." The Ox was twice the size of Brandy and several years older. Orrin walked forward.

"Yes, Brandy, you have a prior claim, but this man is working for me, and he has chosen to ignore my suggestions. I'd take it as a favor if you'd let me have him." "Ha!" The Ox stood up. "Forget it, kid. I'd rather whip this smart lawyer-man.

I'll show him something he'll never learn in books!" He started around the fire, and Orrin let him come. Now I came out of the woods. Cap and Haney rode up, and we saw the Ox start for Orrin, swinging a ponderous right fist. Orrin took a short step off to the left and let the right go over his shoulder. At the same instant, he whipped up his right into the Ox's belly.

It was a jolting punch, but the Ox turned like a cat, dropping into a half crouch. Orrin's left took him in the mouth, but the Ox lunged, grabbing for Orrin to get hold of him. Orrin evaded the clutch, hooked a right to the body, and then walked in quickly with a one-two to the face.

The Ox ducked a left and grabbed Orrin, heaving him from his feet to hurl him violently to the ground. Charging in to put the boots to him, the Ox missed his first kick, and Orrin lunged against the leg on which the Ox was standing. The big man went back and down but came up like a rubber ball. A swinging fist caught Orrin beside the head, and he staggered; a left dug into his midsection, and Orrin clinched with the Ox.

The Ox gave a grunt of satisfaction and wrapped his powerful arms around Orrin and began to squeeze. He was enormously powerful, with arms as thick as the legs of most men, and he put the knuckles of a fist against Orrin's spine; then he spread his legs and brought all his power to bear.

Orrin gasped, then hooked a left to the Ox's face, then a right; they had no effect.

He started to bend Orrin back, trying literally to break his spine, but Orrin was a veteran of too many mountain and barge fights. He threw up his legs and fell back to the ground, bringing the Ox down atop him. The fall broke the grip the Ox had, and Orrin was too fast. Like an eel, he was out of the bigger man's grasp and on his feet. The Ox lunged and met a stiff left that split his lips. He ducked and tried to get in close, but Orrin put the flat of his hand on the Ox's head and spun him away, then deftly tripped him as the Ox went forward, off balance.

The Ox got up slowly. Orrin, knowing the bigger man was better on the ground, stood back and allowed him to get to his feet. "What's the matter, Ox? Is something wrong?" Cautious now, the Ox moved in, arms spread wide for grappling. Orrin waited on the balls of his feet, feinted a move to the left, then stepped in with a straight left and a right. The

blows jolted the Ox but did not stop him. He landed a light left to Orrin's chest, then a smashing right to the head that made Orrin's knees buckle. Lunging close the Ox's head butted Orrin on the chin, knocking Orrin's head back like it was on a hinge.

Orrin went down. The Ox lunged close, kicking for Orrin's head, but a swift movement partially evaded the kick, taking it on the shoulder.

It toppled him over again, and the Ox rushed in, booting Orrin viciously in the ribs. Orrin, gasping with pain, lunged to his feet and swung a left that missed and a right that didn't.

Moving around, neither man showing any sign of weariness, they circled for advantage. Orrin stabbed another left to the Ox's bleeding lips and crossed a right that the Ox ducked under. He smashed a right to the ribs that jolted Orrin, who moved back, stabbing a left to the Ox's face.

The Ox rushed, and instead of trying to evade the rush, Orrin turned sidewise and threw the Ox with a rolling hip lock. The bigger man hit the ground hard, but came up fast, and Orrin threw him again with a flying mare.

Jolted, the Ox got up more slowly, and Orrin moved in, stabbing a left three times to the mouth, then slipping away before the Ox could land.

The Ox was breathing hard now. There was a swelling over his right eye, and his lips were puffed and split. He was learning that he must evade the left that was stabbing at his face. He moved his head side to side with his swaying body, then lunged to come in, lost balance, and as he fell forward, Orrin lifted a knee in his face.

The Ox went to his knees, blood dripping from his broken nose and smashed lips.

There was an awesome power in his huge arms and shoulders, but somehow those fists were always in his face, and Orrin's evasiveness left him helpless.

He got up slowly, of no mind to quit. As his hands came up, Orrin's left hit him again, and the right crossed to his chin.

He ducked under another right and hooked a right to Orrin's ribs that seemed to have lost none of its power. Orrin stabbed a left that the Ox evaded.

Another left missed and then another. Orrin feinted the same left and landed a jolting right cross. He feinted the left again and repeated with the right. The Ox moved in; Orrin feinted the left and then followed through with a stiff jab to the mouth.

The Ox circled warily waiting for the chance he wanted. He knew his own strength and knew what he could do. He had never fought anyone as elusive as Orrin Sackett, nor anyone who could hit as hard. He was learning there were times when strength was almost useless, but he was in no way whipped. He was getting his second wind, and he was ready. Above all, Orrin seemed to be slowing down.

He no longer could be content with whipping Orrin Sackett. He wanted to maim or kill him.

Get hold of an arm or a leg and break it.

Break his neck if he could. Kill him!

The Ox held his hands low, inviting the jab.

Could he grab that darting fist, so like a snake's tongue? If he could-- The fist darted, and he caught it in his open palm. The other palm smashed upward at Orrin's elbow, but instead of resisting, Orrin went with the power and fell forward to his knees. Before he could turn, the Ox booted him in the ribs.

He felt a wicked stab of pain, and he lunged to his feet.

Orrin moved carefully. That he had at least one broken rib he was sure. He had narrowly evaded a broken arm or shoulder. The Ox was learning, and he was dangerous. He had to get him out of there, and now.

There could be no delay.

The Ox, suddenly confident, was coming in now, ready to destroy him. Orrin feinted a left, and the Ox smiled. Orrin backed off slowly, and the Ox, sure of himself, came on in. Orrin feinted a left, and the Ox blocked it with almost negligent ease but failed to catch the right that shot up, thumb and fingers spread.

It caught him right under the Adam's apple, drew back swiftly, and struck again just a little higher.

The Ox staggered back, gagging, then went to his knees, choking and struggling for breath.

Orrin backed off a little, then said to Gilcrist, "Take care of him." He sat down, mopping his brow; then he looked around at me. "They don't come much tougher." "No," I said, "they surely don't.

Better soak those hands in some warm water with some salts in it. It will take the soreness out." I walked over to the fire and filled my cup.

We had made a good start, but we had a long way to go.

And we were losing two hands.

Chapter XX

We gulped black coffee in the cool, crisp air, then saddled our broncs for the drive. We roused our cattle from their resting place and moved them out on the trail. There were wild, shrill calls from the cowboys then and whoops to hurry them on. There was a click of horns and a clack of hoofs and the bawling of an angry steer, but the cattle bunched up, and old Brindle took the lead and we headed toward Carlton.

We hung their horns on the Northern Star, and the pace was good for an hour, and then we let them graze as they moved.

"Don't bother with Eagle Creek," Baptiste advised. "The water is brackish, although the grass is good. There's a wooded glen beyond, a place of trees and springs. But much grizzlies, too." By late afternoon, we were crossing a long, gently sloping flat; then we pushed the cattle through Eagle Creek and moved on toward the Bad Hills.

It was one long hill, really, and not so much of one at that, cut with many deep, wooded ravines. I did not wonder there might be bears, for the country suited them. It reminded me somewhat of the canyons in the mountain range back of the Puebla de Los Angeles, in California.

I'd been there once, long since, and there were grizzlies there, too.

We saw none of the wild horses Baptiste had told us would be there. Orrin came in with a story of old horse tracks on the far side of the herd and added, "This is Blackfoot country." Fort Carlton was about a quarter of a mile back from the river, a palisaded place with bastions at each of the corners. We bunched our cattle on a flat and a hillside not far from the fort, and with Tyrel remaining with the herd, Orrin and I rode in.

We had come some distance from the Bad Hills, a place we were glad to be free of, as we lost two steers there to grizzlies, both of them found in the morning, one half eaten, the other dragged some distance and covered with brush.

There were a good many Indians, all friendly, in the vicinity of Carlton. At the store, where many things were on sale, we arranged to buy a small amount of ammunition and some supplies. More, they suggested, might be available if we talked to the man in charge.

We were coming out of the store when Orrin stopped short. A girl in a neat gray traveling suit came toward him, hands outstretched. "Why, Mr. Sackett! How nice!" He flushed and said, "Tell, let me introduce you to Devnet Molrone." "Howdy, ma'am!" She turned. "And this is Mrs. Mary McCann, Mr. Sackett!" "Well, well! Howdy, Mrs.

McCann!" Mary McCann had flushed. Nettie glanced at her, surprised, then at me. I hoped my expression showed nothing but pleasure at the meeting.

"Rare pleasure, Mrs. McCann," I said. "Womenfolks to a man on the trail-- well, we surely see almighty few of them.

I've got a friend along with me who would be right happy to shake your hand, ma'am, if you was so inclined. I reckon he ain't seen a woman in weeks, maybe months." Mary McCann looked right at me and said, "Now that's interestin'. I haven't seen many men, either. Just what would his name be?" "Mr. Rountree? We call him Cap.

He's seen most everything a man can see an' been most everywhere, but I d'clare, ma'am, he'd be right proud to meet you!" Nettie Molrone put her hand on Orrin's sleeve. "Mr. Sackett? My brother is not here, and they are not sure they even remember him! They think he passed through on his way west." "I was afraid of that, ma'am." "Mr. Sackett? You're going on west.

Could you take me? Take us?" Orrin glanced at me, hesitating. Now the last person I wanted on a cattle drive was a young, pretty woman. As far as that goes, Mary McCann was a handsome woman, considering her age and poundage.

"Please? There's no other way west, and I must find my brother! I have to find him!" "Well--" I hesitated, trying to find a way out, and I couldn't see one. After all, I was the oldest brother, and officially, I suppose, I was the boss. Not that I wanted the job or cared for it.

All the time, I was wondering what Cap would say and wondering also how Mary McCann got her name and what made her change it. Not that a change of names was anything unusual west of the Mississippi, and especially west of the Rockies. The last time I'd run into Mary McCann was down New Mexico way.

"Ma'am," I said, "it's a far land to which we go, and the way will be hard. Nothing like what you see here. So far as I know, there's but one fort betwixt here and the mountains. The land is wild, ma'am, with Injuns, with wolves and grizzlies.

"We may be long periods without water, and the grub may not be of the best. We can stop for nothing, man, woman, or beast, once we start moving again. We've taken a contract to deliver these cattle before winter sets in, and we're bound an' determined to do it.

"If you come with us, we'll play no favorites. You'll stand to the drive as the men do, and at times you may be called upon to help. It is a hard land, ma'am, and we'll have no truck with those who come with idle hands." Her chin came up. "I can do my share! I will do my share!" Well, I looked at her, the lift to the chin and the glint in her eyes, and I thought of Orrin there beside her, and I remembered the failure of his first marriage. If this girl stood to it, she was a woman to ride the river with, and Orrin wanted it, and her. Surely, no woman would have a harder time of it.

"All right," I said, "but no whining, no asking for favors. You'll be treated like a lady." "You need have no fears." She stood straight and looked me in the eye. "I can stand as much as any man." "Can you ride, ma'am? And can you shoot?" "I can ride. I can shoot a little." "Come along, then, and if your brother is alive, we will find him." "What became of Kyle Gavin?" Orrin asked.

She frowned a little. "Why, I don't know.

He was very attentive, and then suddenly he was there no longer. I don't know when he left or how." When I went outside, Cap was riding in through the gate with Highpockets Haney. "Cap," I said, "if you see any familiar faces don't call them by name." He looked at me out of those wise old eyes, eyes wiser and older than the man himself, and he said, "I learned a long time ago that a name is only what a person makes it." He stepped down and said, "What about those womenfolks?" "We're takin' them with us, Cap. One of them is tough enough and strong enough to charge hell with a bucket of water. The other one thinks she is." Cap hesitated, one hand resting on his saddle. "Tell, you and me know better than any of them what lies ahead." "We do," I said.

We had ridden the empty trails with a hollow moon in the sky and the bare peaks showing their teeth at the sky. We'd seen men die and horses drop, and we'd seen cattle wandering, dazed from thirst and heat. The leather of our hides had been cured on the stem by hot winds and cold, by blown dust and snow and hail falling. We knew what lay ahead, and we knew that girl might die. We knew she might go mad from heat and dust, and we knew I'd no business in letting her come. Yet I'd seen the desperation in her eyes and the grim determination in her mouth and chin.

"Orrin's taken with her, Cap," I said, "and I think she'll stay the route." "If you say so," he said. He tied his horse. "That person you thought I might put a name to?" "Mary McCann," I said, "and she's a damned fine cook." I looked at him slyly.

"An' for much of her life she's been in love with a miserable old mountain man turned cownurse who drifts where the wind takes him." "I wouldn't know anybody like that," he said, and went inside.

We got the pemmican and other supplies we needed, including the ammunition, but we couldn't buy them for money. They needed cattle. When we started out of Fort Carlton, we were thirty head short of what we brought in. They wanted the beef, we needed th

supplies, and lucky it was because none of us were carrying much money. We'd spent a good bit and were running shy of cash money.

We went over the bluffs and into higher, beautiful pasture land, and we let the cattle graze. God knew what lay before us, but the best advice we got was to fatten our stock whilst we could.

Many a time those days I wished I had the words of Orrin, who could speak a beautiful tongue.

It was the Welsh in us, I guess, coming out in him, but it left me saddened for my own lack. I hadn't no words with which to tell of the land, that beautiful green land that lay before and around us. Some didn't like the cottonwoods. Well, maybe they weren't just that for folks up here called them poplars, and maybe that's what they were. Only they were lovely with their green leaves rustling.

Westward we marched, short-handed by two, for we'd left the Ox and Gilcrist behind.

It had all come to a head when we were fixing to leave Carlton. Gilcrist had come to me with the Ox at his shoulder. "We want our time," Gilcrist said.

When he had his money in his hand, Gilcrist said, "Someday I'm goin' to look you up, Sackett. Someday I want to find out if you can really handle that gun." "Follow me back to the States," I said, "and choose your time." "To the States? Why the States?" "I'm a visitor here," I said, "and a man has no call to get blood on a neighbor's carpet." Westward we went following a route north of the North Saskatchewan through a country of hills and poplars with many small lakes or sloughs.

There was no shortage of firewood now, for at every stop we found broken branches under the trees.

It was a lovely, green, rolling country even now in the latter days of July.

Anxiously, we watched the skies, knowing that cold came soon in these northern regions and that we had but little time. The nights were cool and the mornings crisp; the campfires felt good.

"A good frost would help us," Cap said, nursing a cup of coffee by the fire, "kill off some of these mosqueeters an' flies." We were camped by Bear Lake, a place I could have stayed forever. How many times I have found such campsites! Places so beautiful it gave a man the wi/ls to see or to think back on. So many times we said, "We've got to come back some time!" an' knowin' all the while we never would.

That night, we heard the wolves howl, and there were foxes barking right out by the cattle. In the night, we heard a squabble, an' Tyrel an' me came out of our sleep, guns in hand. Then the noise quieted down, and we went back to sleep, only to be awakened again with a wild bawling of a cow, the crack of a whip, and the yelp of a wolf.

Come daylight, we learned some wolves had jumped a steer; he'd been scratched in some brush earlier and had blood on him. Orrin had come in with that Spanish whip he carried on his saddle, a long, wicked lash that could take the hide off. He'd used it on wolves before, and he could flick a fly from a steer's hide without touching the steer. I'd seen him do it.

The steer the wolves had attacked was so badly hurt it had to be shot.

We were breaking camp when we heard some yells, then a sound of galloping horses. In a moment, we had our rifles, but Baptiste gestured wildly and waved us back.

It was a party of m`etis wearing brass- buttoned capots, calico shirts in a variety of colors, and moleskin trousers. Their belts were beaded in red and white or blue and white, and most of them wore cloth caps, only a few having hats and one a coonskin cap.

They were a friendly, cheerful lot, talking excitedly with Baptiste whom they obviously knew well.

"They go to Fort Pitt," he explained. "They are hunters, and they have been to another camp, feasting." Tyrel indicated their horses. "Wish we had some of them. That's some of the best horseflesh I've seen." When Baptiste suggested it, they agreed to show us some stock when we reached Fort Pitt. After drinking an enormous amount of coffee, they swung to their saddles and dashed off, whooping and yelling, at top speed.

After they had gone, Baptiste stopped me as I was mounting. "Bad!" he whispered. "Ver' bad! They speak of many mans, maybe ten, twelve mans near Jackfish Lake. They wait for somebody, or somet'ing. Today, they say the mans move back into woods, hide horses." Haney came in for coffee at the nooning.

"Seen some tracks. Two riders, keepin' out of sight. I caught a flash of sunlight on a rifle and slipped around and taken a look.

They're scoutin' us." "White men?" "You betcha! Well mounted, Tell, well mounted an' well armed." Well, we had known it was coming. Now we were in wild country. If we vanished out here, who would know? Or care?

Chapter XXI

Wolves hung on our flanks as we moved out, nor would they be driven off. We had no wish to shoot and attract undue attention, nor would the waste of ammunition have done any good, for their ranks were continually added to by other wolves.

We pushed on over some flat country dotted by trees and groups of trees, crossing several small streams.

It was the thought of a stampede that worried me.

"If they scatter our stock, we lose time in the gather," I said. "Cap? Why don't you scout on ahead and try to find us a camp in the woods? Some place where we can fall some trees to make a so-so corral?" "I can look," he said.

"Ride easy in the saddle," I said. "This is an ugly bunch. I don't think much of them as fightin' men, but they'll kill you." He rode off through the scattered trees, and we came on. Fleming was doing a good day's work, but I still had no trust in the man. There had seemed to be something between him an' Gilcrist.

Nettie was proving herself a hand. She caught on to what was necessary, and she rode well. I'd no doubts about Mary McCann. She might be no youngster, and she might be carrying some weight, but she could still ride most anything that wore hair.

We pushed on, and I had to smile at Haney and Shorty. Both of them were pretty handy with the cussing, but since the girls showed up, there was none of that. It must have been a strain, but they were bearing up under it.

Cap had us a camp when we came to it, a small meadow near a stream with trees and brush all around. We watered them, got them inside, and dragged some deadfalls across the openings. Then we scouted the brush and trees on both sides to see how an attacker might approach us.

Cap an' me, we went back in the trees and rigged some snares and deadfalls, traps for anybody who might come sneaking up.

If they wanted to come up on us in the night, they were asking for whatever they got. Come daylight, we'd dismantle the traps so's they wouldn't trap any unwary man or animal after we'd gone.

Lin fixed us a mighty nice supper, having a mite more time. Nettie came to me while we were eating. "Why can't we stand watch? You men need the rest." "Let them," Cap was saying.

None of us had been around when Cap finally met Mary, and none of us asked any questions, although I was curious as to what made her change her name and leave that place she had back in New Mexico. But it was her business. By the position of the Big Dipper, it was maybe two o'clock in the morning when Nettie touched me on the shoulder.

"There's something moving in the brush," she said, "several somethings." She and Mary had been riding herd, and I rolled out, shook out my boots, and stuck my feet into them. Haney was already moving, and so were Orrin and Tyrel.

Taking up my Winchester I followed her to her pony. He was standing head up, looking toward the woods, his ears pricked. At just that moment, there was a sudden crash in the brush and a grunt, then an oath.

"Sit tight, boys," I said. "Don't go into the woods." Somebody called for help in a low voice, but there was no answer; then there was some threshing about, we all just awaiting to see what would happen.

Nothing did until suddenly there was a louder crash and some swearing.

"Nettie," I whispered, "you and Mary might as well get some sleep." "And miss all the fun?" Me, I taken a long look at her.

"Ma'am," I said, "if anything happens, it won't be fun. It will be hard times for somebody, probably them. You get some sleep whilst you've the chance." Turning to Orrin, I said, "You an' Tye go back to sleep. Me an' Highpockets can handle this here." "You figure we caught something?" "By the sound, we caught two somethings," I said, "and I suspect we've persuaded them that crawlin' in the brush ain't what they want to do." When day was breaking, we stirred up the fire for Lin and Highpockets and me; we decided to see what we'd caught and whether it needed skinning or not.

We come to a snare, and there we had a man hangin' head down by one ankle, and he was some unhappy. He'd been hangin' there several hours, and he had been mad; now he was almost cryin' to be set loose.

Me an' Haney, we looked at him. "The way I figure it, Haney," I said, "anything catched in a trap has fur, and when something has fur, you skin it for the hide." "I know," he said. "That's the way we always did it in the mountains, but this one's kind of skimpy on the fur." He took the man by his hair and tilted his face up. "He's got fur on his lip. Maybe we should skin that like I hear you done to somebody down New Mexico way." I reached over and taken him by the end of his handlebar moustache. I held his head up by it while he swung wildly with his arms.

Haney hit one of the wrists a crack with the barrel of his pistol, and the swings stopped.

Holding him by the end of his moustache I turned his head this way and that.

"No," I said, "I don't think it's worth skinning. I figure we should just let him hang.

Maybe somebody will come for him." "Nobody has," Haney said. "Give him a few days and he'll dry out some." The man's pistol had fallen to the ground, and Haney picked it up, then unstrapped the man's cartridge belt. "Would you look at this here, Tell? This man's been walkin' in the dark woods with a pistol in his hand. Why, he might have hurt somebody!" "Or tripped over something and shot hisself.

We'd better carry that gun with us so's he won't get hurt." Haney walked around the hanging man, looking him over. "How long d'you think a man could hang like that?" "Well"--I pushed my hat back and scratched my head--"depend on how long before some bear found him, or maybe the wolves. If they stood on their hind legs, they could sure enough reach him.

"Man smell would bother them for a while," I suggested. "Then they'd get over that and start jumpin' for him. Sooner or later, one of them would get hisself a piece of meat--" "Hey! You fellers goin' to let me hang here, or are you goin' to turn me loose?" "It talks," Haney said, "makes words like it was almost human. How d'you think anything got caught in a trap like that?" "Must've been sneakin' in the woods," I said. "We'd better let this one hang an' see what else we got." "Aw, fellers! Come on now! Turn a man loose!" "So you can come huntin' us again?" Haney asked. "No way." We walked off through the woods toward the deadfall.

There was no game in that trap, but there had been.

There was a hat lying on the ground, but the victim had been carried away. We could see tracks where two men had helped a third away. "Busted a leg, most likely," Haney suggested cheerfully. "Lucky it wasn't his skull." Our other traps were empty, so we dismantled them and went back to camp. "They don't know much," Haney said, "but they'll learn from their troubles. Or maybe they'll recruit some all-out woodsman who could make trouble for us." He paused. "Shall we just forget about that other feller?" "We don't want him hangin' around," I suggested, "so let's turn him loose." We done so. And when he had his feet on the ground, I told him to take off his boots.

"What?" "Take off your boots," I said, "and your pants. We need something for the fire." "Now see here! I--to was "Give him a short count," I said to Haney, "and if he ain't got his boots off, shoot him." He stared at me, wild-eyed, then hit the ground and tugged off his boots. "Now your pants," I said.

He took off his pants. I shook my head at him. "You ought to wash them long johns. Ain't decent, a man as dirty as that." I pointed off through the woods. "Your friends, if you've got any, ar

off thataway. You get started." "Now look here," he protested, "that's a good set of spurs! I wish--" "Beat it," I said. "You take off through those woods and don't you ever come back. If I see you out here again, I'll hang your hide on the nearest deadfall." "Those are good spurs," Haney said.

"Hang 'em on a tree," I said.

"Somebody will find them." We bunched our cows and started them west, and we swung south to avoid the traveled trails. We found fair pasture and moved them along. The wolves taken a steer here and there, and we lost one to a grizzly. Shorty nailed the grizzly but not before he'd killed a good-sized steer.

The grass was sparse, and we crossed some sandy plains with occasional low hills. We had to scout for patches of good grass, but it looked like forest was taking over from the plains. On the third day after the mix-up in the trees, we saw a party of riders coming toward us, but Baptiste told us they were m`etis, and sure enough they were.

Some of them were the same crowd we'd met, and they brought some horses for trading. We had them with us all night and most of the next day, but when we split up, we had nine good horses and a couple of fair ones, and they had some odds and ends of truck as well as some cash money.

We swapped them a rifle we'd picked up and the pistol we'd taken from our hanging man, among other things. The Canadian army had come to Fort Garry, they said, and Riel had disappeared before they could lay hands on him.

The m`etis wanted sugar, salt, and tobacco, and I had an idea they were hiding out themselves, although they were a far piece from Fort Garry now. Evidently, they planned to stay out of sight for a while. With salt, coffee, and tobacco, they could live off the country. It was their country, and they understood it well.

They warned us we were going into wild country where there was little grass and no trails for cattle.

We pushed on regardless, and for the first time our worn-down saddle stock got a rest.

Before they parted from us, one of the m`etis who was a friend to Baptiste and had become my friend, also, took me aside and warned me.

"Two mans, ver' bad. They come to Fort Garry and ride to Carlton. They are sent for by a bearded man, and they meet two other mans who come from the States who are brothers, also. They hunt for you." "The first two men? Do you know who they are?" "Oui. Ver' bad! Polon is their name.

Pete and Jock Polon. If the Hudson's Bay Company was here, they would not come back! They are thieves! They killed trappers! They killed some Cree! And in the woods they are superb! Have a care, mon ami! Have a care!" We drove on another seven miles before we camped after watching the m`etis ride away.

Orrin looked across the campfire at me that night. "Tell, we aren't going to make it. We can't make it before snow flies." "What d'you think, Cap?" "Orrin's right. We've got to push them, Orrin, even if we run beef off them. After all, it's cattle we are supposed to deliver.

Nobody said nothing about fat cattle!" That night, two men, headed east, rode into our camp. "You're takin' cattle out there?" They stared at me. "You must be crazy!" "You mean there's no market?" "Market? Of course, there's a market!

It's gettin' 'em there. There's no decent trails; there's rivers to cross, grizzlies a-plenty, and wolves--you ain't seen any wolves yet!" One of them, a tall man named Pearson, indicated the carts. "You won't be able to use those much longer. The trails are too narrow. Put your stuff on pack horses." "My old horse will carry a pack," Brandy suggested. "He's done it before." We sat long with the two travelers, getting as much advice as we could. They drew the trail in the dirt for us, indicating the passes.

"How are things up there?" I asked.

"Peaceful?" "Generally speaking. Some of the boys get a mite noisy now and again. There's brawls and such and once in a great while a shooting. Mostly, they're just noisy." "The best claims are all taken," the other one said. "If you're figuring on staking claims, forget it." "We'll just sell our beef and get out," Orrin commented. Then, tentatively, he added, "We promised delivery to a man named Sackett, Logan Sackett." They stared at him. "Too bad about him, and I'm afraid you're too late. He's dead." "What?" "I'll say this for him. He was a man. Party got trapped in the passes last year, and he went up and brought 'em out. Saved seven men and a woman. He brought 'em through snow like you never saw. Avalanche country." "You say he's dead?" I asked.

"He went north. There were rumors of a strike up in the Dease River country. Story was that he was killed in a gun battle up there with some outlander." "Big man?" "Your height," Pearson said to Orrin, "but heavier by twenty pounds. Come to think of it, he favored you somewhat." "Who killed him?" "That was a bad outfit. They'd been in some trouble in Barkerville. Don't recall what.

Five or six of them, and smart, tough men. The one who seemed to be the leader was named Gavin." "Gavin?" I glanced over at Nettie, who was listening.

"Kyle Gavin?" "No, this one's called Shanty. Shanty Gavin, and he's as mean and tough as he is smart." Pearson looked over at me. "It was Shanty Gavin who killed Logan Sackett.

Shot him dead."

Chapter XXII

Logan Sackett dead? I didn't believe it. He was too durned ornery to die.

Besides, I'd seen him come through cuttings and shootings and clubbings like he was born to them.

Shanty Gavin? Any relation to Kyle Gavin?

Who was Shanty, and what did he want? For that matter, who was Kyle Gavin?

Pearson and his partner headed on east, back to the fleshpots and away from the gold fields.

Fraser River gold was too fine, and the Cariboo was played out, or so they said, but we'd learned long ago to discount anything anybody said who was either going to or coming from a gold field.

"Any way you look at it," Cap said, "we're drivin' these cows right into trouble." "I never seen any trouble a cow couldn't handle," Haney said wryly. "What I'm wonderin' about is us. What are we gettin' into?" "Move 'em along," I said. "The time's gettin' short, and if we don't hurry, there'll be frost on the punkin before we get where we're going." "I want to get there," Shorty said, "so's we can get out before the snow settles down. I'm a warm-weather man myself, born for the sunny side of the hill." That was the night we left our carts behind. We divided what they contained into packs for four horses.

"We can burn them," Fleming said. "They'll make a hot fire for cooking." "We'll leave them," I said. "Somebody may come who needs a cart. We'll push them back under the trees and leave them for whoever comes.

Good hands made them, and I'll not destroy honest work." Again we moved out, pointing our way into the darker hills. The forest was changing now, and ahead of us we saw peaks that were bare of growth, and some were covered by snow. Grass was scarce, and we watched for meadows where the cattle could stop and feed. Our travel was arranged to make the most of grass when we found it. There were firs among the poplars now and sometimes groves of stunted pine.

We skirted a forest blown down by winds where the dead trees lay in rows like mowed grain.

Orrin was riding point when we met the grizzly. We'd been coming along a forest trail, the cattle strung out for a couple of miles or more and Orrin riding quiet, making no sound. Suddenly, the grizzly arose from the brush and stood tall in the trail. Startled, Orrin's horse reared, and Orrin kept his seat, drawing his pistol as he did so.

The first we knew of trouble was the sharp bark of his pistol, then three times more, rapid fire.

Tyrel, Haney, Cap, an' me, we lit out for the front of the column.

Ever try to get through a trail jammed with cattle? It took time, too much time.

Cattle began bucking and plunging, trying to get into the woods and brush on either side of the trail, and we could hear the roaring and snarling of what was obviously a mighty big bear. We fought our way through, but getting there was tough.

We heard two more shots, and we broke through to find a big grizzly lying in the trail, crippled but still full of fight.

Orrin was just getting up off the ground. His hat was gone, and his buckskin jacket was ripped, and there was blood on his shoulder. He made it to his feet, staggered, and commenced jamming loads into his pistol. Me, I took my rifle from the scabbard and killed that grizzly with two good shots.

He would have died from Orrin's shots, we later saw. Two of them had hit him in the neck, and after going down, Orrin got two more shots into his spine, fired as the bear was turning. They had crippled him in the hindquarters, which kept him from getting at Orrin. He'd hit him one glancing swipe, knocking him tail over teakettle into the brush.

It taken us the rest of the evening to skin out that grizzly and get the best cuts of meat; then we had to get the cattle around the blood in the trail. The carcass we hauled off with that old plow horse of Brandy's.

Scouting ahead, Shorty found a long meadow along a winding stream, and we turned the cattle in there for a good bit of grass and water. We rounded up some of the cattle that got away into the trees, but there was a few of them we never did find and didn't take the time to hunt. One old steer came up the trail after us when we started the next morning.

All the following day we struggled through bogs, the cattle floundering and plunging, our horses doing no better, and the trail when it could be found at all was wide enough for one animal only.

During the whole day, we made scarcely four miles, yet the next morning we climbed a low hill and then another and emerged in a forest of huge old poplars, scattered but with no undergrowth. Here and there, the cattle found a bite of something, usually a clump of wildflowers. We made good time and by nightfall had twelve miles of easy travel behind us.

We broke out into a plain at sundown, and the cattle scattered on the good grass there, and we found a camp up against some willows and near a small stream.

We were dead beat, and me an' Shorty were taking the first guard. I slapped a saddle on a dusty red roan and cinched up. I was putting my rifle in the scabbard when suddenly there was a thunder of hoofs, wild shrill whoops, and we saw a party of Indians swooping down upon us.

I grabbed my rifle back out of the scabbard, saw Tyrel hit the dirt behind a log, and heard Haney's pistol barking, and then they were gone and with them about fifty head of our cattle.

Well, I done some cussing, then apologized to Nettie, who came up from the campfire to see what had happened.

"Blackfeet," Cap said. "Count yourself lucky they wasn't war minded." "Let's go get 'em!" Shorty suggested.

Cap just glanced at him, but that glance said more than a passel of words. "Blackfeet, I said. You don't chase Blackfeet, Shorty.

You just count your blessings an' let 'em go.

"Those were young braves, just out for a lark. They wasn't huntin' scalps, but you go after them, and they will. We lost some cows. Let's move out of here." "To where?" "Any place but here. They might get to thinkin' on it and come back." Tired as we were, we put out our fire, loaded our gear, and headed off up the trail.

We found a meadow three miles farther on and bedded them down.

Nobody set by the campfire that night; nobody wanted a second cup of coffee.

Everybody crawled into his bed, and only the night guard was left.

Day after day, we plodded on; we had lost cattle one way or another until at least a third of them were gone. Old Baptiste killed a mountain sheep, and we dined well, but it had been weeks since we had seen a buffalo. There was little talk now during the day. Fleming looked sour and discontented. He seemed to have been expecting something that did not happen.

"Overlanders have come this way," Cap said, "but it's been a while." All the tracks we found were old, and we were getting more and more worried.

"Beats me where we're to meet Logan, if he's alive." "That feller said he was dead," Fleming said, "that he'd been killed." "He's a hard man to kill." "A bullet will do it for anybody," Fleming said. "If he's hit in the right place, on

man is no tougher than another." "Seems like we've been pushin' these cows forever," Shorty said. "I wouldn't mind standin' up to a bar for a drink." "Be a while," Tyrel said. "You boys set easy. Goin' back will be easy as pie." "If we ever," Fleming said.

Nettie and Mary had been keeping out of the way. They knew this was a trying time, and they had done their best to help. Both of them had become good hands, although Mary--well she'd been born a hand.

"If my brother is out here," Nettie asked Orrin, "where do you think he would be?" Orrin shrugged. "There's Barkerville, and there's Clinton. I don't know many of the towns, but I can tell you this. If he's in this country or has been, some of those folks will know. This is a big country, but she's right scarce of people. A body can be away up yonder at the forks of the creek, and somebody will have seen him. There's nothing happens up here somebody doesn't know about." Fleming chuckled. It was a dry, rather unpleasant, skeptical chuckle. Nobody said anything.

We'd been keeping our eyes open for sign.

All three of us Sacketts expected it, and we knew the sort of sign one Sackett was apt to leave for another.

We found nothing.

We waded rivers, fourteen crossings in one day, and wove our way through some fir trees whose wet branches slapped us wickedly as we passed. The horses were game. They struggled through the muskeg, and finally we topped out on some reasonably solid ground.

Supplies were running low, and game was scarce. All day we had seen nothing. Ducks flew over, the V's of their flight pattern pointing south. In the morning when we awakened, there was a chill in the air.

"Wonder what become of those Injuns we had followin' us?" Cap asked one day. "I kind of miss 'em?" "Little Bear," I said, "now there was a lad." "If we don't get something to eat soon," Lin suggested, "we'll have to slaughter a beef." Now there's little goes more against the grain of a good cattleman than killing his own beef. But we'd left buffalo country behind, and we were fresh out of bear. Me, I was of no mind to tackle a grizzly unless he came hunting trouble, which they often did. A grizzly has been king in his own world for so long, he resents anybody coming around.

Only man threatens his world, and whether he avoids or fights men depends pretty much on his mood at the moment.

Down San Francisco way during the gold rush, some of the gamblers used to pit bears in cages with lions, tigers, and most anything that would fight. The grizzly almost always won in quick time.

In one particular case, a full-grown African lion lasted less than three minutes.

There were a lot of grizzlies in these mountains, but mostly they kept out of the way, not because they were afraid, but because they simply did not want to be bothered.

Orrin, who reads a lot, was reading me a piece in a magazine, Century or Atlantic, I think, about some explorers coming back from some foreign country where they'd been hunting some wild creature. They were busy hunting for a few weeks and came back saying there was no such thing. Now I've lived in panther or mountain lion country most of my life and never seen but one or two that weren't treed by hounds.

Wild animals don't want to be seen, and it's sheer accident if you see them.

We were climbing all the while, getting higher and higher, and the nights were getting colder. Then, one morning, Tyrel come to me. "Tell," he said, "there's a fringe of ice on the lake, yonder." Well, that sent a chill through me. A fringe of ice--and we had some distance to go. I wasn't sure how much.

Now we were moving up some magnificent valleys, green and lovely with great walls of mountain rising on either side; often these were sheer precipices of bare rock, or with an occasional tree growing from some rock a body could no way get to. We caught fish, and one night I got three ducks in three shots with a rifle, two sitting, one just taking off. They were needed, as grub was getting low. We had flour, salt, and the like, but we needed meat.

Every morning now there was frost. The sky was gray often enough, and one night, when there were no clouds, we saw the Northern Lights, a tremendous display brightening the whole heavens. I'd heard of it but seen it but once before, in Montana, but never like this.

It was late afternoon, and Tyrel was riding point.

It was an easy trail, across some green meadows and up along a trail through huge boulders and scattered clumps of fir. Me, I was riding on the flank when I saw Tyrel pull up short.

Well, my rifle snaked into my hands, and I saw Cap Rountree out with his, but Tyrel wasn't drawing. He was looking at a big gray boulder beside the trail.

Coming down off the slope, I rounded the head of the herd and pulled up alongside him. I started to say, "What's wrong, Tye?" and did say it before I looked past him and saw the mark on the face of the boulder.

Scratched on the face of the rock was CLINCH-S-Dease--his "Well," Orrin had come up, "he isn't dead then." "Who isn't dead?" It was Fleming.

Orrin an' Tyrel glanced at me, and I said, "We're losin' time, boys. We've got a far piece to go." Fleming stared hard at the scratching on the rock. "What's that mean?" he wondered. "It don't make no sense!" "Doesn't, does it?" Tyrel said mildly. He turned his mount. "Hustle them along, Charlie. We've a ways to go." Reluctantly, Charlie Fleming turned away.

Nettie Molrone rode up with Mary McCann. "What is it, Orrin?" "Just some scratching on a rock," he said.

"We were wondering about it, that's all." She looked at him quickly, her eyes searching his. She glanced at the rock. "It doesn't make sense. Except"--she paused, studying it--"there's a Dease River up here somewhere and a Dease Lake." "There is?" Orrin looked surprised.

"What d'you know about that?" She looked at him again, half angry.

In the morning, Charlie Fleming was gone.

Chapter XXIII

Fleming was gone, and a light rain was falling that froze as it reached the ground. We drank our coffee standing around the hissing fire in our slickers.

"I'd like to know where he went," Orrin said, "but it's not worth following him." "D'you think he made sense out of Logan's message?" "If he did," Shorty said, "he's smarter than me." "We've been passing messages around for years," Orrin said. "Started back in the feuding days, I reckon. The "Clinch S" just means he's a Clinch Mountain Sackett, which is one branch of the family, descended from old Yance. "Dease?"' simply means we should head for the Dease River, and the destination after that is in doubt." "Unless you were one of the family," Tyrel commented, "it's unlikely you'd guess." "Why'd you say he was still alive? That message might have been written days ago." "Could be, but it's scratched on there with some of that chalk rock he picked up, and had it been more'n a few days old, it would have washed away." Cap came riding in as they were mounting. "Took a look at the trail," he said. "There's a marker there. Could be by one of you boys, but that trail is one thin cow wide, and with this ice--" "Think we can make it?" "Maybe. There's no tellin' the luck of a lousy cow. Anyway, it doesn't seem like we have much choice." "It's up to me, then," I said, and rode out with old Brindle falling in behind.

When we started up the trail, old Brindle hesitated, not liking it. His horns rattled against the wall, but as I was going on, and he was used to following, he sort of fell in behind.

"Hope I don't let you down, old boy," I said. "It looks bad to me, too!" We wound steadily upward, the trail narrowing, then widening, occasionally opening to a small space of an acre or more covered with stunted trees, then narrowing again. The sleet continued to fall, and the air was cold. Far below, we could see the spearlike tops of trees, and the silver ribbon of a stream.

The trail grew steeper. At times, I had to dismount and lead my mount over the icy rocks.

At one point, I came to a bank of last year's snow, a dirty gray shelf of the stuff, which I had to break off to make a way for my horse and the following cattle.

It was slow, hard work. All day long, we climbed. There was no place to stop and rest; there was not even a place to stop.

Suddenly, the trail dipped down around a steep elbow bend, and the rock of the trail slanted toward the outer edge. Walking along the wall as tightly as possible, I led the roan around the corner.

The cattle came on. Glancing back when several hundred yards farther along, I was in time to see a steer suddenly slip and, legs flailing, plunge off into space headed for the tops of the trees five hundred feet below. Even as I looked, another fell.

Swearing softly, I plodded on, feeling for footholds around the edge. Suddenly, as it had begun, the narrow trail ended and gave out into a thick forest. Ahead, there was a meadow and beyond a stream, already icing over.

There was room enough, and there was but little undergrowth.

Tying the roan, I went to a deadfall and from under it tried to gather some scraps of bark that had not been soaked by the rain. From inside my shirt, I took a little tinder that I always kept for the purpose, and breaking a tuft of it free, I lit a fire. As it blazed up, I hastily added more fuel.

Walking back into the woods, I broke off some of the small suckers that grew from the tree trunks and died. They had long been dead and were free from rain. By the time the cattle began to wander out on the meadow and the first rider appeared, I had a fine fire blazing and was rigging a lean-to between two trees that stood about ten feet apart.

The trees had lower limbs approximately the same height above the ground, and selecting from among the fallen debris, broken limbs, and dead branches one of proper length I rested it in the crotches of the limbs selected, and then I began gathering other sticks to lean slant-wise from the pole to the ground.

From time to time I stopped to add fuel to the fire, well knowing the effect the fire would have on the tired men and the two women.

Across the poles, I put whatever lay to hand.

I was not building anything but a temporary shelter, and I used slabs of bark from fallen trees, fir branches and whatever was close by.

By the time Lin and Baptiste reached the fire with the pack horses, I had a fairly comfortable shelter and was starting on another. Haney was first to reach the fire, and he began gathering fir boughs from nearby trees.

Orrin helped Nettie from her horse, and for a moment she swayed and fell against the horse. She straightened up. "I'm sorry," she said. "I guess I'm tired." One by one, the men came in, carrying their gear, which they dropped under the second shelter. Several of them went to the fire. Cap walked out and began gathering boughs, and after a minute Shorty went to help.

Highpockets Haney held his hands to the fire. He looked around at me. "Tell Sackett I been a lot of places with you, but if you think I'm goin' back over that trail in the snow, you got another think a-comin'." "We lost some stock, Cap?" Rountree looked at me. Tired as he had to be, he looked no different than always. He had degrees of toughness nobody had ever scratched. "That we did!" Shorty looked over at me. "Fourteen, fifteen head, Tell. I'm sorry." "This weather's rough," Haney added. "We'll lose some more if we've far to go." We huddled about the fire, and soon the smell of coffee was in the air. Tyrel went back to the edge of camp, and soon he came in with several chunks of meat. "Big horn," he said. "I nailed him back on the other side of the mountain." Soon the smell of broiling meat was added to that of coffee. Outside, the falling sleet rustled on the fir boughs and on the meadow. The cattle ceased to eat, and one by one took shelter under the trees.

"Ain't nothin' like a fire," Cap said, "and the smell of coffee boilin'." "How far you reckon it is?" Shorty asked.

Nobody answered because nobody knew. Me, I leaned my forehead on my crossed arms and hoped there would be a marker on this side of the pass we'd come over. We would surely need it because I had no idea which way to turn.

The Dease was someplace off to the northwest.

Beyond that, anybody's guess was as good as mine, and I

as 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 his 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.

"There may be ten men down there, and there may be fifty. They've already showed us they are ready to fight, and to kill. According to what we heard, they've got the Samples down there and those Polon brothers.

"Go into camp," I said, "right back at the edge of the trees, and let's get set for a fight." We moved the cattle into a kind of a cul de sac at the edge of the forest. Dragging a log into place here and there and propping them against trees, we made a crude sort of a fence. It wouldn't stop a determined steer but might stop a casual wanderer.

We found a place at the edge of the trees where a fire might safely be built without being seen from too great a distance. "Fix us a good meal, Lin," I suggested. "We may need it tomorrow." "What's on your mind, Tell?" "I'm going down there tonight. I'm going to see what's going on." "They will expect somebody." "Maybe." "If Logan didn't leave that marker himself," I said, "somebody did it for him, somebody who could get out and come back in." "I didn't see any tracks." "You didn't look close enough. There were tracks, most of them wiped out and with leaves scattered over. Back in the brush a few steps I found some--woman's tracks." "That sounds like Logan. He never got himself in trouble yet there wasn't some woman tryin' to get him out of it." There was grass enough to keep the cattle happy, and we settled down to study what lay ahead of us. During the night, there could well be an attack. We had been warned in about the worst way, and we knew they would not hesitate to kill.

The worst of it was that we did not know what was at stake except that Logan Sackett was somehow involved.

My night horse was fresh, and I shifted the saddle. Right now I wasn't sure whether I'd ride or walk, and I was thinking the last way might be best. Usually, I carried some moccasins in my outfit, and they were handy today.

Tyrel and Orrin stood with me at the last.

"We'll handle things here. If there's shootin', don't worry yourself. We'll hold the fort." Baptiste came to me. "A long time back there is a path down the mountain." He drew it in the dust. "The old fort is gone--only some stones here. This is grass. There is the river. I do not know what is here.

"The smokes--is ver' much smoke. Two, three fires, maybe." He hesitated. "A man who was at the fort, he tell me they find gold. Maybe--" That could be the answer. But why threaten Logan with hanging? Why did he need cattle? Who was trying to prevent our arrival?

When darkness came, there were stars over the Cassiar Mountains, and I found Baptiste's trail and went down quietly to the water and crossed to the point where the old fort had stood. Some of the snow had melted, but there were patches which I avoided, not wanting to outline myself against the white or to leave tracks that could be found.

A straight dark line against the sky told me a building was there.

Where would Logan be? If I could find Logan, he could explain it all. Slowly, taking infinite care, I circled the area at the edge of the woods. I found a sluice, heard a rustle of running water in it. Somebody had been placering for gold.

A tent, and another tent. A canvas-walled house, a shedlike place, a log cabin with light shining from some cracks. A dug-out door with a bar across the outside--the outside?

For a moment, I held still in the shadows. Now why a bar across a door from the outside?

Obviously not to keep anybody from getting in, so it must be to keep somebody from getting out.

Logan?

Maybe. There was a larger log cabin close by and light from a window made of old bottles, a window I could not see in, and nobody inside could see out. Beyond it, there was a corral. Easing along in the shadows, I counted at least twelve horses, and there were probably more.

There was a building with a porch in front of it, steps leading up to the door, and no light at all. It could be a store. In all, there were not more than five or six structures and a scattering of tents and lean-tos.

Nobody was moving around, and there seemed to be no dogs, or my presence would have been discovered.

A door of a cabin opened, and a woman stood revealed in the door, a light behind her. She stood there for several minutes, and the night wind stirred her skirt. She brushed back a wisp of hair and went back inside, leaving the door open.

There was a fireplace in view, a homemade chair, a table, and some firewood piled by the fireplace. Suddenly,

she came to the door again singing softly, "Bold, brave and undaunted ..." "Rode young Brennan on the moor!" I finished the line for her.

She ceased singing, swept off the door step, and then she spoke softly. "I shall lower the light and leave the door ajar." She took a few more brushes with the broom, then stepped back inside and partly closed the door; then she lowered the light.

I hesitated. It might be a trap, but "Brennan on the Moor," about an Irish highwayman, was a favorite song of Logan's, and mine, for that matter.

I crossed the open space swiftly, flattened against the wall of the cabin to look and listen; then, silent as a ghost, I slipped inside.

She was waiting for me, her back to the table, her eyes wide. A surprisingly pretty girl with a firm chin and a straight, honest look to her.

"You will be William Tell," she said.

"I am." "He described you to me, and Tyrel and Orrin as well. Even Lando, for we did not know who would come. He promised me that somebody would.

I could not believe it." "Three of us came, with some friends." "I heard." There was something ironic in her voice. "I heard that you did not come alone." "There's a girl with us who is looking for her brother, Douglas Molrone." "He is here." "Here?" "Of course." "And Logan?" "He's here. He's getting over a broken leg. It should be almost healed by now, but I think he's prolonging it." "If you are his nurse, I can understand why." "He has no nurse. They permit no one near him." "Who," I asked, "are "they"?" "There's gold here. Quite a lot of it, we believe. Some of us began finding it, first just a little, then more. We built a cabin or two and settled down to work.

"Then those others came. They saw what we were doing, and then they began to go to the store for supplies. At first, they bought a little as we did, then they returned for more. Nobody thought anything of it until my father went in to the store and found they had sold out. Everything was gone.

"John Fentrell, the storekeeper, sent a man out for supplies. He did not return.

"Then Logan Sackett came along. He came down the river in a canoe and tried to buy supplies at the store. Then he tried to buy from us, but we were down to almost nothing.

"He found out what had happened, and he offered to drive in a herd of beef cattle for us. He collected money from us, all we had. We managed to kill a little game, and we waited.

"Apparently, he had known of a small herd that had been driven part way here. Actually, I think the drover was headed for Barkerville and got hung up somewhere inland.

"Logan said he bought the herd from him and started back here. His men deserted him, but he kept on; then his cattle were stampeded, and his leg was broken." "We got word somebody wanted to hang him." "Some of us did. We thought he had taken our money and tried to get away with it. Some of us did not believe there had ever been any herd. Some of us thought he had lied. He promised us that if he could get a message out, he'd get cattle here before snow fell. There wasn't much else we could do, so we sent his message, and we've waited." "Did you believe him?" "Sort of. We sent a man out for supplies, and he got back, traveling at night with a canoe. He was going again, but his canoe was stolen.

"All the time those other men just loafed around, eating very well and just waiting. They mined very little and cut just enough wood for themselves and waited for us to starve.

"The man they called Cougar taunted us. He said if we were smart, we'd get out while we could, that Logan had lied and there was no herd. He said even if there was, there was no way cattle could reach us.

"They brought in more supplies, but they would sell none of them, and every man we sent out either failed to come back or had his supplies stolen.

"They wanted the gold for themselves, all of it, and they were trying to force us out. We put some fish traps in the river, Indian style, and that helped until they discovered what we were doing. They destroyed our traps as fast as we built them." "How many of you are there?" "Eight. There are four men and three women." She paused. "And there's a boy. Danny is about ten." "And them?" "There was just five of them. Now there are at least a dozen. Two of them were gone for quite a while, and when they came back, there were some other men with them. The two who left were George and Perry Stamper." "We've met them." He was listening. Several times he thought he heard faint sounds outside. He glanced at her. How far could he trust her? Was she one of them?

"Can you put names to the others?" he asked.

"Shanty's their leader, or he seems to be.

That's Shanty Gavin. Then there's Doug Molrone--" "He's one of them?" "Yes, he is. He was one of the first ones.

He came in with Shanty and the Stampers and that man Cougar. Oh, it's simple enough! If we leave, they will simply take over all the claims and have the gold to themselves! All they want to do is starve us out so we have to leave. Then they can say we abandoned the claims." "Mind sitting in the dark?" "What? Oh? No, not really. If you mean am I afraid of you, I'm not. Not in the least.

I'm not afraid of any man." "Put the light out, will you? There'll be the glow from the fireplace." She glanced at me, then blew out the light.

"Did you hear something?" "I thought I did." The fire had died to red coals. I liked the glow of it on her face. Her hair was dark, as were her eyes, and her skin deeply tanned.

"Where is your father?" "He went away. He went overland to try to find supplies. He has not returned." "You know who I am," I suggested.

She hesitated, then turned her eyes to me.

"I am Laurie Gavin," she said.

Chapter XXV

"Gavin?" "Shanty is my stepbrother," she explained.

"And Kyle?" Surprised, she looked around at me. "What do you know of Kyle? But how could you know him? He is in Toronto!" "He is on his way here, I believe." "Kyle is my brother. My real brother." I drew my gun. "Someone is coming, I think. Are you afraid?" "Of course. I know them. On the surface, they are very quiet, very smooth, very soft-spoken, but do not trust them, William Tell Sackett, for they lie, and they will kill." "Shanty, too?" "He is the worst of them. Remember this. He is no blood brother of mine. My father married his mother, and he took our name. He preferred it to Stamper." I returned the gun to its holster. There was a tap on the door. She glanced at me, and I said, "Answer it." She went to the door. "Yes?" she said.

"Open the door, Laurie. You've a man in there we want." She opened it, and Cougar and another, larger, more powerful man with a shock of blond hair stepped in.

"I am Tell Sackett," I said. "Are you looking for me?" Cougar stepped aside. "Be careful, Shanty. This one's tough." "Knowing that," I said, "might save us all some trouble." Shanty had a nice smile. "But we've got you," he said. "There's no way you can get away." I smiled back at him. "Then take me," I said. "I'm here." Shanty hesitated. It worried him that I was not afraid, and he was a cautious man. I did not doubt his courage, but there is a time to be brave and a time not to be a damned fool.

"We've got your brother," he said. "We can kill him whenever we wish." "Logan? He's not my brother, just a sort of distant cousin, but there are a lot of Sacketts, Shanty. If you step on the toes of one, they all come running." "You came," he admitted. "I never thought you'd make it." "There are two more up on the mountain, and by now they're beginning to miss me. They're getting lonely on the mountain, Shanty, and they'll come down." "We will handle them." "And there are more of us where we came from. Be smart, Shanty. Cash in your chips while you still can. Walk away from here now. Just lay down your hand." He laughed, and there was real humor in it. "You know, Sackett, I like you. I'm going to hate to kill you." "We've brought the cattle through, Shanty. In spite of all your boys could do, they are here.

There's beef enough to last the winter through, and we might get in some other supplies before the cold sets in.

"As far as that goes, we can let them have what's left of our supplies. You played a strong hand, but when the showdown came, you just didn't have it." Out on the mountain, I heard a wild, clear yell in the night, and I knew what it was. The boys were bringing the cattle down. They'd be here soon; no doubt some of them already were.

"He's right." It was a voice behind me, a voice I knew. It was Logan. He appeared from behind the curtain covering the door to Laurie's bedroom.

"Sorry, Laurie, but I had to use your window. It isn't quite shut." Shanty looked from one to the other. "He's yours, Cougar. You always thought you could take him." Logan was leaning on a crutch, but suddenly he dropped it and stood on his two feet. "That bar of yours," he said, "I just poked a stick through a crack and worked it loose. I tried it a week ago and found it would work." He smiled.

"I was waitin' for the Sacketts. I knew they'd come. They always come." Laurie stepped back.

Shanty's expression had changed. The humor was gone now. His eyes were large. I knew he was ready. I knew he was a dangerous man.

Cougar had eyes only for Logan, who was smiling widely.

Outside in the town, I could hear the stir of cattle, a rattle of spurs on the porch of the store.

Then I heard Orrin speak. "Up to you, George. You and Perry can take a canoe and go down river. There's lots of new country waiting." He paused. "All your boys can just ride out, walk out, or paddle out, but all of you are leaving." It was quiet in the room where we stood. We were listening.

"Not Doug!" That was Nettie. "He's my brother! He wouldn't--" "He did," somebody else said. "He was one of the worst of them. Some men will do anything for gold." "Not Doug!" she protested.

"I was in it, Sis. I was in it all the way!

It was a chance to get rich! To get rich all at once! To get rich without all that slavin', standing in icy water, panning out gold! I could sell the claim! I could--to was "And now you can't," Tyrel said.

"It was worth a try," Shanty said, and went for his gun.

Only the red glow of the fire, then a moment of crashing thunder, the brief stabs of gun lightning in the half light.

Outside in the street, the sound was echoed. There was a sound of running, a scream, a pound of racing hoofs.

Tell and Logan Sackett stood alone in the red glow from the fire. Behind them, on the edge of a bench, Laurie sat, horror stricken, gripped fast in shock.

Shanty Gavin stared up at them. "Damn it!

Damn it to hell! It looked so good! We had it all! They'd starve out and pull out, and we'd work and then sell! It was a cinch! We had a pat hand!" Me, I was reloading my gun, and Logan looked down at him. "You had a pat hand, all right, Shanty. You've still got it. Five of a kind, right in the belly!" Laurie stood up. "Tell--please!

Take me out of here." "We can go out the easier way," Logan said, "down to the Stikine River and out to Wrangell and the sea. Then a ship to Frisco." Cap looked over at Mary McCann.

"If this was where you was comin', you got here too late. You want to go out with me?" Nettie was standing there alone, and Orrin went to her.

"He ran," she said. "Doug ran away." "The Stampers didn't," Tyrel said, "and look where they are." "It's getting light," Orrin said. "What's the matter with this country?" "That's because it's morning," Tyrel said. "The sun's comin' up." "Mr. Sackett?" It was John Fentrell. "This may seem a bad time and all, but with you and your boys talking of leaving, I think you should come into the store and we'll settle up." Laurie was walking down toward the gravel point where the old landing had been. "I'll be along," I said, and went inside.

Fentrell looked old and tired. He removed a loose board and lifted out some sacks of gold. "If they knew where it was," he said.

"They'd have taken it all." The gold was there on the counter. It was not enough, but it was all they had. We would have debts to pay and hard work to do to make up for the time.

So I taken the gold and walked outside into the morning sun and looked toward the shore where the rest of them had gathered by the boats.

"Mr. Fentrell," I said, "we left one man up yonder." I gestured toward the trail down which we had come. "Walk up there and see him sometime." Shorty was a good man, and he'd come a far piece, and I hoped he wouldn't be lonely on the mountain.

THE CHRONOLOGY OF LOUIS L'AMOUR'S SACKETT NOVELS

SACKETT'S LAND circa 1600

TO THE FAR BLUE MOUNTAINS circa 1600-1620

THE WARRIOR'S PATH circa 1620's

JUBAL SACKETT circa 1620's

RIDE THE RIVER circa 1840's-1850's (before Civil War)

THE DAYBREAKERS circa 1870-1872

SACKETT circa 1874-1875

LANDO circa 1873-1875

MOJAVE CROSSING circa 1875-1879

MUSTANG MAN circa 1875-1879

THE LONELY MEN circa 1875-1879

GALLOWAY circa 1875-1879

TREASURE MOUNTAIN circa 1875-1879

LONELY ON THE MOUNTAIN circa 1875-1879

RIDE THE DARK TRAIL circa 1875-1879

THE SACKETT BRAND circa 1875-1879

THE SKY-LINERS circa 1875-1879