High Rider Part 6

"I think you got him good, Duffy. Wait here and I'll get the horses. We're goin' after him."

John found Cat and Duffy's mount grazing, oblivious now to the affairs of men. He climbed on Cat, grabbed the reins of Duffy's horse, and returned swiftly to his friend.

"I'm seein' lots of blood," Duffy said when John rejoined him. "I don't think we'll have to ride far till we find the son of a b.i.t.c.h."

Duffy holstered his gun, mounted up, and pulled his rifle from its scabbard. John took his rifle out too and they followed the tracks at a trot. The valley widened slightly and, a quarter mile ahead, bent to the right. The men slowed their horses to a walk, scanning the slopes and hilltops. A red-tailed hawk drifted low into the valley ahead of them, swooping down and disappearing around the bend. The hawk was clearly hunting, and they took it as a sign that there was nothing threatening in the immediate vicinity. They cautiously rounded the bend and reined up abruptly when they spotted a riderless horse. The animal had seen them and was warily regarding their approach. Not far away, a motionless figure lay face down on the ground.

They held still for several moments, watching. The only movement was the hawk soaring overhead. The valley was hot and still. They rode toward the downed man, keeping their rifles trained on him, suspecting a trap. They stopped several feet away and John dismounted. He instructed Duffy, "You see even a small tic that I don't, put another slug in him."

He walked over to the p.r.o.ne Indian and prodded him with the muzzle of his rifle. It evoked a small moan. He put his foot against the man's side and pushed him over onto his back. Behind the garish paint on his face and the plaited black hair, John could see that it was no Indian. It was Rufus Pauley.

He was barely alive and his eyes were losing focus. Even so, he recognized the man towering over him. He gasped, "Killed . . . by a f.u.c.kin' . . . n.i.g.g.e.r."

John did not bother correcting him. He reckoned it was a pretty good thought for Rufus to take with him into eternity. The dying man's eyes closed; he took a few shallow breaths and was gone.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n!" Duffy exclaimed when he saw who it was, adding a little self-righteously, "I reckon I had him pegged proper. Men like Pauley don't change unless it's to get sneakier than they was as a child."

John was baffled. He had believed that, through the sheer force of his deeds and personality, he had changed Rufus's mind about black people.

Duffy rode back to the packhorse to get a spade and they took turns scooping out a shallow trench. When they were finished, John grabbed Rufus's wrists and dragged him alongside the hole. He placed his boot against his waist and rolled him in, the corpse ending up face down. John considered turning it over but Duffy said, "Leave him be. Let the man see where he's goin'."

They shovelled the dirt back into the grave but did not bother protecting it with rocks. Neither cared much if animals dug Rufus out, nor had they any words to say over the grave. John felt betrayed and had no tears for the man's pa.s.sing. Indeed, he figured that if the world had any tears at all for Rufus, they would have been better shed at his birth.

They retrieved Rufus's mount, led it back to the river, and linked it to their packhorse. They doused the dregs of their fire, rinsed their cups and coffee pot, returned them to their saddlebags, and continued their journey northwest, still stunned by their discovery. They speculated that Rufus's indirect apology at the Cattleman's Rest was strictly for show, so that it would appear as if he'd had a change of heart concerning blacks in general and John in particular. That way, he would not have been a suspect if his plan had been successful and his victims' bodies were discovered.

He had dressed and painted his face like an Indian, plaited his long hair, and shaved off his moustache in the event someone happened along during the attack, or if John or Duffy got away. He had even removed the shoes from his horse, and had probably hidden his saddle somewhere in the breaks. They believed that as much as Rufus wanted the money, the bonus was murdering John, since the bullets appeared to have first been directed at him. John was lucky to have moved at just the right moment. Otherwise, he and Duffy, along with their horses, might now be in some hidden gully providing a feast for the coyotes and other carrion eaters. Rufus would have ridden off with a small fortune, leaving behind not a single shred of evidence of his misdeeds.

They rode on as the sun sailed the sky in its daily journey between the horizons and the stars eddied against the black void of the night. Long days in the saddle turned into weeks. They holed up in foul weather and pressed on in fair, and one day they reached the crest of a hill and saw that the rim of their world now included the rugged profile of the mountains they had heard so much about.

NINE.

Texas ain't in my future.

John and Duffy's arrival in Virginia City went relatively unnoticed. The town sat at the base of a long, ravaged hill called Mount Davidson and was a sprawling, hectic place much like Dodge in its purpose: to relieve a certain type of people of their money, in this case miners rather than drovers. It seemed full of Irish and Welsh, and there were more Chinese than John had ever seen in one place. To his relief, there was also a small community of blacks, many of them entrepreneurs.

At the Boston Saloon, a black-owned establishment, the pair removed the dust from their throats with whisky and filled their bellies with beefsteak and potatoes. Afterwards, they had baths and a frolic at the connected brothel. They spent the following morning checking around town and in the newspaper for the best way to become rich. They were not surprised to find that the rumours they had heard in the small villages on the way to Virginia City were true, that placer mining had run its course and the creeks in the area had given up all the gold they were going to. Miners were still hydraulically stripping the overburden off the hillsides in their quest for wealth, while others were blasting holes and tunnelling, but the ore sought now was silver. The friends could have purchased shares in a producing mine in the Comstock, the area above and behind Virginia City that had produced millions of dollars in gold and silver, or they could have obtained work in those same mines for four times the monthly pay of a drover. Neither option appealed to them. They wanted their own mine.

Through the grapevine, they heard of a man selling a wildcat mine in the hills east of the Comstock, where some predicted the next big strike might happen. He had contracted a cancer, could no longer work, and was letting the claim go cheap. All the necessary equipment was there, including a hand pump to keep the mine from flooding and to wash the diggings. Equally as important in an area with few trees, there was a large pile of timbers for shoring the shaft. The site also included a small cabin. Duffy read the a.s.say reports and found much of the language mystifying. They said that although the mine had not been a great producer, it was considered to have potential. It was also affordable and that was added incentive for John and Duffy to open their money belts. Within forty-eight hours of their arrival in Virginia City, they had become mine owners. They named it the Silver Fleece, based loosely on a story Duffy remembered from his schooldays about Jason and the Argonauts.

They set to work with equal parts enthusiasm and antic.i.p.ation, and each dawn brought with it the possibility of great wealth. Digging into the hillside with pickaxes and shovels proved to be back-breaking and dangerous work, and they seemed to spend as much time shoring the walls and ceilings of the shaft to prevent cave-ins as they did was.h.i.+ng their diggings for silver. Most of what they dug was Montana clay and rock, with barely enough ore to buy food supplies. Their cash dwindled. The first winter slid easily into summer, but the second winter seemed much longer and harder, especially for Duffy, who began to sense the futility of their quest. He grew tired of spending his days underground and unrewarded, and longed to move on. During a trip to Virginia City for supplies, he heard that the ranges in Idaho, near the town of Pocatello, some two hundred miles to the south, had been seeded with cattle and that there was a shortage of drovers to mind them. It was not news he had been looking for, but he received it well. When he got back to the mine, he shared it with John.

"That's where we belong, John, not here. We're cattlemen, not miners. It's time we quit this place and admit that either I read that a.s.say report wrong or it was fake and we was hornswoggled. I figger it's about time we start puttin' money in our pockets instead of takin' it out. It took me some time to know it, but I know it now for certain. We oughta get outta here while we still got somethin' to get outta here with."

John did not share Duffy's pessimism and the words glanced off him with little effect. As much as he loathed parting ways with his friend, he felt driven to keep working the mine. He never entered the shaft without believing that he was only a shovelful away from the bonanza ore, and furthermore, he liked the fact that he worked for no one but John Ware. It was no small feat for an ex-slave and was important to him. He told Duffy that.

"I reckon I understand that better'n most people, but this is plain b.l.o.o.d.y time-wastin'. I can't abide it no more."

"It don't seem that way to me, Duff. I need to give this everything I got till I got no more to give."

"Well, Lord knows you had enough people tellin' you what do for most of your life, so I ain't gonna add to it. But I'm tellin' you this: I'm leavin', with or without you. It grieves me to do it, but if you stick around here you gotta be the most stubborn man I ever met. Maybe even a d.a.m.ned fool. You ever come to your senses, I'll be down Pocatello way."

John knew it was useless to try to reason with Duffy and, unwilling to part on a bitter note, did not prolong the argument. It was disconcerting and sad, too, to watch Duffy ride off, and for a moment, he wanted to yell at him to hold on while he saddled up Cat to join him. He resisted the temptation, although he wondered if he'd ever see his friend again.

The only way to avoid doubting his decision was to work hard. Duffy's dust had barely settled before John was back in the mine, digging and shoring. The work went much slower without a partner, and while they never talked much as they worked, John missed the small conversations they did have. He wished he had enough money to hire some help, but he did not and that was that. He considered trying to sell Duffy's share but was wary of taking on a partner he did not know, even if someone was willing to buy in. In any event, he missed very few days in the mine, and he hunted in the surrounding hills for game to put food on his table. Cat was his only companion but she was old now, with arthritic joints, and he knew she was in pain when he rode her. So he stopped riding her but always ensured that he made time each day to talk to her. He did not have enough money to buy another horse.

Winter came again, and as it deepened, the thought crossed his mind that maybe Duffy was right, that not only was he stubborn, he was also a fool. When spring finally arrived, he arose one morning and, true to his habit, went out to say h.e.l.lo to Cat, who was usually grazing nearby. It had been a tough winter for her, pawing down through the snow to find gra.s.s, and she had weakened considerably. He found her lying on her side, so drained of spirit that she could barely raise her head. She was dying. He had known this day was not far off and was expecting it; nevertheless, he felt heartsick. He sat down with her and lifted her head onto his lap and held her, stroking her neck and talking to her until she pa.s.sed. His face was wet with tears and he had not felt such emptiness since Emmett died. But as she had served him in life so did she serve him in death: he took the sweetest cuts of meat from her and let nature take care of the rest.

He now felt more alone than he had ever thought possible. Not always aware of it, he began talking to himself. Still he continued to work. Then one night he dreamed of Texas, the Coles, and the ranch that had presented him with such golden opportunities, and when he awoke he declared to himself that his mining days were over. He admitted that he had been chasing after a fantasy and reckoned it had turned him a little mad. It was time to go before he lost his connection with reality entirely. He wanted to return home, because that is what his dream had meant to him, and home was Texas, not South Carolina. He imagined Amos and Ellie as they had been when he had left four years before, active and healthy, and did not think they would have changed much. Despite the fortune John had wired them from the drive, he doubted they would have sold the ranch; it had been their home for too many years.

Many times he lamented the lack of a woman in his life. The prospect of remaining a bachelor until he died, visiting brothels for female company, depressed him as much as anything else. Still, he wanted to be a good prospect for any potential bride and that meant being financially solvent. Now that the mine had proven to be a bust, he would have to find solvency elsewhere, perhaps back in Texas. And it occurred to him that the train ran between Fort Worth and Marshall, where the odds of finding a wife were better than they were here in the North-he had looked but had seen no possibilities among the small black population in Virginia City. It would not have mattered anyway; a man can't go courting when he's broke flatter than the Texas Panhandle.

The truth was he missed Duffy, too. You don't ride out numerous storms with a good man and not feel an attachment to him. You don't let him disappear from your life forever. John decided that the best thing to do was to go to Idaho, find his friend, and persuade him to return to Texas with him.

Since no one was paying money for a worthless hole in the ground, all he could sell were the pump and tools, and he did not get enough for them to buy a horse. He would walk if he had to; he had done a thousand miles once, so he could certainly do two hundred. He bathed in the nearby creek, burned his work clothes, and donned the only clothes he had left, those he wore to town, which were the same as his work clothes, only cleaner and with fewer patches. He gathered up his bedroll, abandoned the mine and cabin as if they had never existed, and walked to the road leading south to Pocatello, reminded of a younger man who had set out from Georgetown long ago with as little to call his own. On the road, he hitched a ride in an ox-drawn wagon br.i.m.m.i.n.g with freight, just as he brimmed once more with optimism.

John grabbed his bedroll, leaped down from the wagon, and thanked the teamsters for the ride. He felt dusty and hungry, but his first priority was to find Duffy.

Pocatello was nestled in the last of the hills of the Wasatch Range, where the land flattened into the Snake River Plain. Sandwiched between the Portneuf River and the Utah & Northern Railway, it was like most towns: a collection of wood-frame buildings, the main ones being a hotel with a restaurant and bar, a bank, a general store, a livery stable, and two saloons. The town was quiet, but then it was late afternoon on a Sunday. He enquired at the saloons but n.o.body knew Duffy. He asked if there was a brothel in town and got directions to the Pocatello Social Club.

He found the club, a few blocks away, on an empty back street. It was a two-storey building with a balcony fronting the second floor, where the club advertised its wares on warm days. The place looked deserted, but when he knocked on the door, an elderly woman with stern features and grey hair answered it immediately. She looked as though she could be somebody's grandmother, and John worried that he might have come to the wrong place. He thought he saw a look of surprise cross her face and wondered if he might be the first black man to knock on her door.

"Welcome," she said with an air of importance. "I am Mrs. Shadbolt." She opened the door wide and stood aside. "Please come in. All are welcome here."

She led John from the foyer through an archway hung with beaded curtains into a room where three other women were lounging in provocative clothing. They saw a prospective customer and sat up, preening themselves like birds. An unattended upright piano sat in one corner (it was played on Sat.u.r.day nights when the drovers came to town), and a small bar lined one wall. The women looked at him with eyes that longed for business. There was a hardness to their features, the madam's too, but John saw past that to their feminine softness. He had not had a woman for some time and he felt awkward being close to several so available yet so unattainable, but he did not have the funds to acquire their services. He wished he had pockets of cash as Mrs. Shadbolt motioned him to the bar for a drink.

"Thank you," John said, "but I ain't come for socializin'." He explained the purpose of his visit.

Her disappointment obvious, Mrs. Shadbolt was reluctant to divulge information about her clientele. John pressed her, saying that he was Duffy's mining partner and had "good news" for him-a lie only if it was misinterpreted. Besides, how could she believe he might have struck it rich when he was dressed so poorly?

Despite John's clothing, it was clear the madam sensed that the good news might involve money and that imparting information might prove to be a good investment. "I know the man you seek, but the information of his whereabouts is not free. It is worth the price of our services."

John replied, "Yes, ma'am, but I ain't got the money. But I'll come back if I can and pay twice the cost for one of your ladies. That's a promise and the best I can do."

Mrs. Shadbolt only came up to John's shoulder, but she drew herself to a height that seemed much taller and huffed. "This is not a house of credit. For that service, you must visit a bank. I will say good day to you now, sir."

John felt like a scolded schoolboy. "Ma'am, I understand that you're runnin' a business here, but as I said, I'm busted. I'm hopin' that'll change once I find my friend. He might even consider a reward." That was stretching the truth too, but John felt he was close to discovering Duffy's whereabouts.

Mrs. Shadbolt mulled over his words. Then, unwilling to sacrifice the possibility of future rewards for present realities, she said, "He works for the Portneuf Cattle Company, about five miles northwest of here, on the Portneuf River. Follow the road leaving town and take the left fork when you come to it."

John thanked her profusely and left, noticing for the first time the sign on the wall that outlined the club's rules. There were several, most of which were unintelligible to him, but he could read enough now to know that the very first one, in large print, said, "Positively no credit."

On the street, he felt pangs of guilt over his less than honest exchange with the madam, but he believed she was his last resort. His only other option would have been to check all of the ranches in the area, which would have required the one thing he did not have: a horse. And he didn't blame her a bit for wanting money; it was a slow day and she was, after all, a businesswoman. He put the experience behind him and set off on foot for the ranch.

At the fork outside of town, he came upon a buckboard carrying supplies, and the driver offered him a ride. John climbed on board and settled onto the bench seat beside him, a grizzled, bearded man with veined roseate cheeks, bloodshot eyes, and a nose bent to one side, as if a left hook had caught it.

"Don't get many nigras out this way," the driver said in a nasal voice. "Lookin' for work, are ya?"

"Lookin' for an old friend. Seamus Duffield. You know him?"

"Duffy? You bet. Works out to the ranch. You might of come just in time, 'cause I believe he's leavin' soon."

"Leavin'? You know where he's goin'?"

"Far as I know he's headin' north, trailin' cattle up Canada way. I'd go myself if these old bones was up to it."

Canada? It was a vague place in John's mind and he could not even picture its outline. Worse, it looked as if he had arrived too late, even if Duffy had not yet left. His friend was a man of his word and if he had given it to ride north, he would not steer away from that track.

Soon the wagon rattled through the ranch gate and up to the main house, a rambling log structure. Several men were standing about, smoking and talking, and none of them were black. John was disappointed, but that had been his experience ever since he left Virginia City. All eyes were on him now as he got down from the wagon. The driver pointed. "There's Duffy comin' out of the cookhouse." Then John heard Duffy shout his name.

"John!" He hurried over with a grin that now had a tooth missing. "I'll be G.o.dd.a.m.ned if you ain't one of the best sights I've seen in a while! Wondered if that mine had swallowed you up for good." He grabbed John's hand and the two men slapped each other's shoulders with their free hands, their mutual admiration on display for the drovers looking on, curious. "d.a.m.ned if you don't look a mile or two short of bein' filthy rich. More just plain filthy and like you could use a good meal and a bath. Let's go see if Cookie can rustle you up somethin'."

It was not as easy as Duffy thought. While the ranch never refused transients a meal, a black transient was a different matter altogether, and the cook eyed John suspiciously. But he held Duffy in high esteem and put together a plate of beans for John, with a cup of coffee. Duffy got a cup for himself and the two men sat at one of the long bench tables.

John was ravenous and wolfed the beans down, talking between mouthfuls. He admitted to Duffy that he had been right about the mine being worthless. But the news was no surprise to his friend.

"Well, we named it good because we got fleeced, John. Ain't no use denyin' it. Shoulda took that a.s.say report to a lawyer or someone who knew how to read it proper."

John chuckled. "Most likely would've bought the thing anyway. We was two blind men stumblin' around in places we shoulda never gone. Maybe a bit greedy, too."

They were quiet for a while, and then John told Duffy about his dream and how it seemed to beckon him back to Texas. "I was kinda hopin' I could talk you into ridin' with me."

Duffy gave him a sideways look. "Ridin' with you? In case you didn't notice, partner, you ain't got a horse. And I ain't got the sixty bucks it'll take to get you a good one, never mind a saddle. That's two months' wages."

"There must be someone around here that's hirin'."

"You're probably right, John, but for a man of colour it'll be peelin' spuds for pennies at best. Anyway, much as I'd like to join you, Texas ain't in my future. I'm headin' in the opposite direction. I heard good stories about the sweetgra.s.s up Canada way and that there's plenty a room for a man to put down some roots."

John finished the last of his beans. "I bin thinkin' that my roots are in Texas. It's where I stopped thinkin' like a slave."

"I know the truth in that, but you got lucky with the Coles. People like them are as rare as pet diamondbacks. Do you know if they're even still alive? They was gettin' on."

"It's hard to imagine 'em dead. They was so full of life."

The mere thought that they might be gone made John's heart sink. He should have wired the Coles to see if they were still alive. He had wanted to surprise them, the last of their sons returning home, but there was always the possibility that he might be the one in for a surprise.

"Well, they could be alive, I suppose. Don't seem likely though. Either way, Texas ain't no place for a coloured man and probably never will be. Come north with me, John. Far as I know, there ain't never been slavery up there. Tom Lynch, the man gatherin' the herd, still needs a couple more good men and I'll put in a word for you. You'll be earnin' cash again, and he'll even provide a horse and saddle. If you don't like what you see when we get there, turn around and point yourself south. If I don't like what I see, I might even join you for part of the trip, but not to Texas. As I said, it ain't in my future no more."

"Let me think on it."

"I'd never knowingly steer you wrong and you know that. I got a good feelin' about this so don't think on it too long. Tom's got three thousand head waitin' up near the Lost River, and as soon as he's got a full crew together, we're leavin'. Maybe this week sometime. He's still hirin' outta Pocatello House because he won't take just any man that comes along; he wants the best. So I'll borrow you a horse and we can go talk to him right now if you want. All you gotta do is say the word."

A flash flood of thoughts washed through John's mind. It was true that Duffy had never steered him wrong before and John did not think he was now. The drive would last only a month or two, a small slice out of his life, and he'd see some new country. And, as Duffy pointed out, if he didn't like Canada, he could always head back down to Texas. Furthermore, it was a job and he needed one before he could go anywhere.

"Let's go talk to your Mr. Lynch."

Duffy acquired a horse and tack for John and they rode into Pocatello. Duffy was chatty and excited. "Lynch is a good man and he owns a boxcar load of experience. He's from northern Idaho and he's already taken a couple a small herds into Canada for other ranchers, so he knows the trail. He says the ranges up there are among the best he's ever seen and he'll have beeves of his own on them one day, before they're all taken up. Accordin' to him, that won't be long."

They found Lynch eating a late supper in the restaurant at Pocatello House, the town's only hotel. He was a tall, spare man, and looked as hard as ironwood. His thin face was creased and leathery and his bushy brown moustache and close-cropped hair had strands of grey. But it was the man's blue eyes that John noticed most. They locked on his and their message said that here was a man it was best not to fool with. Duffy made introductions and Lynch's response to John was at best cool. He spoke in a forthright manner, what he saw as the truth, and the listener be d.a.m.ned.

"The fact of the matter, Ware, is I've never known a Negro drover and I've never heard of a good one either."

Duffy spoke before John could say something he might regret. "You just been introduced to one, Tom. I trailed two thousand head of longhorns with this man from Fort Worth to Ogallala. He started on drag and took over as trail boss after the first one got hisself shot in Dodge City. We had some beeves rustled during a storm and John and me went after 'em. Caught 'em too, and John dealt a hand to those rustlers as good as any I ever seen."

Interested, Lynch said, "I've got the time. Tell me about it."

In detail, Duffy described catching the rustlers and sending them back to Dodge naked and tied together. Lynch laughed but didn't seem overly impressed.

"An entertaining story, Duffy, but every man I've got so far has come recommended by two or more different people. I need good men, real good men. I'm particular about who I hire because I can't afford to have any foul-ups on this drive. I'm working for the North West Cattle Company up in Canada. They've paid nearly twenty dollars a head for those beeves and hired me to get them there safely. I take my responsibilities seriously and I don't want to lose a single animal. We've got more than seven hundred miles of rough trail to cover and there'll be rustlers along some of it, which means every man has to hold up his end and more. So I don't know. I only have your word about the quality of this man."

"I wouldn't give my word if I didn't think it could be backed up, Tom. That'll have to do. John here is one of the best there is, so if you don't hire him you'll have to find someone to replace me."

John glanced over at Duffy, surprised yet pleased with his friend's stance. Lynch was staring hard at Duffy, unaccustomed to ultimatums. It seemed a long time before the cattleman spoke.

"Well, I reckon that's as good a recommendation as I could ask for." He turned to John. "If you want the job, you'll switch between helping the cook and taking the night s.h.i.+ft. That's all I can offer."

John held Lynch's gaze. "I been in both those places a time or two before, boss. Never lost a man or an animal in either one of 'em." He smiled, leaving unspoken that he was also well accustomed to having to prove himself twice as good as any man with a white skin.

Lynch held out his hand. "Thirty-five a month is what I pay. That's what the other drovers are getting. It's higher than usual, but I want that herd delivered in one piece. You boys be up at the Lost River by Wednesday afternoon at the latest. I want to be stirring up trail dust by Sat.u.r.day."

Outside, John asked Duffy, "Would you really have quit if Lynch hadn't hired me?"

Duffy laughed. "h.e.l.l no! I want on that drive more'n anythin'. For a man who's supposed to spend a lot of his spare time playin' poker, I'm surprised he didn't recognize a bluff when one was starin' him straight in the face."

John grinned. "Well, it was a nice thought. Might as well hang onto it for a while."

Duffy slapped his companion on the back. "Not to worry, my friend, and so's you know my heart's where it's always been, I'll buy you a drink and a bath. The herd's about sixty miles from here and after I square things away at the ranch, we'll have a couple of days to get there, so I reckon there's time for a little celebratin'."

"It'll have to be short, Duffy. I'm a little strapped for cash."

"I ain't. Leastways not for what I have in mind."

As it turned out, Duffy's generosity proved to be greater than a bath and a single drink. It supported several drinks, as well as a trip to the Pocatello Social Club, where business, though far from brisk, had picked up since the afternoon. Duffy happily paid twice as much for John, causing Mrs. Shadbolt's face to alter into what might have been a smile, perhaps from a newly found faith that not everyone was after something for nothing. For her, it had turned out to be not such a bad day for business after all. For the reunited friends, the evening had all the earmarks of heaven.