Return Of The Mountain Man Part 10

"The Lord helps those who help themselves," Reverend Necker said, appearing on the scene. "But He frowns on s.h.i.+rkers. Now be gone with you."

"A minister?" Buck whispered.

"About as holy as you and me," Sam said. "Come from Iowa, so he says. He's a drunk and a skirt-chaser."

The woman had gathered her children close to her and was fighting back tears. The man's shoulders were slumped in defeat.

Sheriff Reese and Deputy Rogers walked up. "You vagabonds keep on moving," the sheriff ordered. "Get on with you now before I put a loop on you all and drag you out of town."

"I don't believe I'm seeing this!" Sally shouted from the fringe of the crowd. Her hot eyes found Buck and bored invisible holes into his heart. She swung her eyes back to the merchants gathered on the boardwalk. "What is the matter with you people?"

"Warn her off," Sam whispered. "You and me will get some grub and clothes for them people; give it to them on the outskirts of town. But warn her off, Buck. She's treadin' on dangerous ground."

"How?" Buck whispered.

Sam grunted. "Good question, I reckon. That lady would stand up to an Injun attack armed with a broom, I'm thinkin'."

"You people should be ashamed of yourselves!" Sally shouted. "Look at those children. Look at them! They're starving."

"This ain't none of your business, Miz Sally," Sheriff Reese said. "You just go on back home and tend to your knittin'."

"Well, I'll make it my business!" Sally flared, sticking her chin out and standing her ground. She looked at the ragged, starving family. "You people come with me. To my house. I'll give you all a hot meal."

"No, you won't, Miss Reynolds," the voice came from the edge of the crowd.

All heads turned to stare at Keith Stratton, mounted on a showy white horse.

"What do you mean, Mr. Stratton?" Sally asked.

"Those people are losers, Miss Reynolds," Stratton said. "No matter what or how much one does for them, they will be begging again tomorrow. Trash. That's all they are. All they ever will be. And you don't own that house you're living in. I do. You are staying there rent-free. And you are paid to teach school, not meddle in town affairs. Now please leave."

"And if I choose to stay?" Sally asked.

"You will neither have a job, nor a place to stay," Stratton warned.

"Stratton just stepped into a pit full of rattlers," Sam projected accurately. "All dressed up in gingham."

"Yep," Buck said.

"I see," Sally said. "Will you allow me the time to gather up my personal belongings, or do you intend to seize those along with the house?"

"You're about to make a very bad mistake, Sally," Stratton informed her.

"There is quite a popular phrase out here, Mr. Stratton," Sally said. "It is said that out in the west, a person saddles their own horses and kills their own snakes."

"I'm familiar with the saying," Stratton said, his triple chins quavering as he spoke. The sunlight glinted off his diamond rings.

"Then I stand by that maxim, sir."

"A what?" Sam whispered.

"Don't ask me," Buck said.

"You're a very foolish and headstrong young woman, Miss Reynolds. But if that is your decision, then you have one hour to gather up your possessions and vacate that house."

Sally nodded and looked at the ragged family. "You people come with me."

Buck started toward Sally. She waved him back. "You have made your choice, Buck. So long as you work for the other side, I do not wish to see you."

She winked at him.

Buck hid his smile, knowing then what Sally was doing. She was jeopardizing her own position in order to strengthen his own. Gal had guts, Buck thought. But where in the h.e.l.l was she going to stay the night? he wondered.

"She's going to stay where?" Buck shouted at Sam.

Sam backed up. "Easy now, partner." He kept his hands away from his guns. "She's gonna stay down at Miss Flora's place."

"A wh.o.r.ehouse!"

"It wasn't my idea, Buck. It was Miss Flora's. She likes Sally 'cause Sally was always nice and polite to them, ah, ladies that work the Pink House."

"Sally Reynolds in a wh.o.r.ehouse!"

The red-headed cowpuncher-turned-gunslick took another step backward. The last thing in this world he wanted was for Buck to reach for those guns. Sam was fast, but Lord knows not nearabouts that fast. "Miss Flora done closed the doors to the Pink House, Buck. Shut 'er down tight. She's been wanting to pull up stakes for a year. Take her girls and head out. Stratton and them blocked that move. Made her mad. Now she's locked the doors to the Pink House. This is liable to bring things to a head 'round here, Buck."

Buck began to relax as the humor of the situation struck him. He had been told that the Big Three built the joyhouse to keep their randy gunhands happy. If Miss Flora had indeed shut the Pink House down, a lot of gunhands were going to be walking around with a short fuse.

Leave it to Sally to light the fuse.

Buck asked, "What happened to that poor family?"

"Sally give 'um a big poke of food and money enough to buy clothes and a wagon and horses. You knew she was rich, didn't you?"

"Sally? Rich?"

"Folks is. Her daddy owns a lot of factories and such back east. Her momma has money too. Stratton and Potter and Richards just might have grabbed ahold of a puma's tail this time. I hear Wiley Potter was all upset about what Stratton done today. He sent word to Sally to go on back to her little house and forget what happened. Sally told him, through Miss Flora, that she would forget only when pigs fly."

Deputy Rogers walked up, a grim look on his face. "Buck West! You go see Mr. Richards over to the office. And you, Sam, is fired. Them words come from Mr. Stratton. He's done found out about you helpin' them dirt farmers over in the flats. Git your gear and be out of town by sundown." He looked at Buck. "Move, West!"

Buck silently stared the big deputy down. With a curse, Rogers wheeled around and stalked away.

"What dirt farmers, Sam?"

"It's a big country, Buck. They's room for lots of folks. The Big Three don't object to farmers comin' in, but only if they agree to the terms set up by Potter and Stratton and Richards. If they don't, they git burnt out and run off the land. I don't hold none with the likes of that. A young couple with two little kids moved in last year. Just after I joined up. Started homesteadin'. Richards sent some of his hardcases in. When the man got his back up, Long shot him dead. Becky-that's the widder woman's name-stayed on the place, workin' it herself. I kinda helped along from time to time. I was raised on a farm in Minnesota. Guess they heard about my helpin' out."

Buck looked hard at the man. Could he trust him, or was this a set-up? He decided to play along, test Sam. "You stick around. I'm going to see Richards. When I'm through, we'll take a ride out to the Widow Becky's place. OK?"

"All right, Buck. I'll be at the livery."

Buck walked to the PSR offices. Richards was waiting for him. He pointed to saddlebags on the counter. "No test this time, Buck. The corporation is buying more land. Those bags contain gold dust and the contracts. Man named Gilmore is waiting for you in Challis. Get the papers signed, give him the dust, and get back here."

"Yes, sir."

Buck picked up the saddlebags and walked to the stable. Sam was waiting for him, talking with the little boy Buck had given the gold piece to. Sam grinned at Buck.

"This here is Ben. This stable is his home. His pa was kilt in a cave-in a couple of years ago. He ain't got no ma. He's a good boy. Keeps his mouth shut. And he don't like none of the Big Three. Stratton took a whip to him last year. Marked him up pretty good. Richards kicked him off the boardwalk later on. Bust a rib. He's all right, Buck."

"You go to school, Ben? Buck asked.

"No, sir. Mister Rosten won't let me. Says I gotta work here all the time."

Ben looked to be about nine years old.

Buck nodded. He mentally added Rosten's name to his list of sorry people. "You seen an old Indian around? Wears a derby hat?"

"Hunts-Long. Yes, sir. When he's in town he camps down by the creek yonder." Ben pointed.

"You go tell Hunts-Long I said it's time. Get the word out. He'll know what you mean." Buck gave the boy some coins. Ben took off.

"We can't be seen leaving town together, Sam. Where do you want to meet?"

"Crick just south of town, 'bout four mile. I'll meet you there in a couple of hours."

Buck nodded. "If you playin' a game, Sam, workin' for the other side, you'll never live to see the game finished."

"I believe you, Buck. Or Smoke. No games. I'm done with that. See you at the crick."

Buck watched the cowboy ride out. He wondered if he was going to have to kill him.

13.

Buck took his time saddling Drifter. He watched the old Flathead, Hunts-Long, ride out. He was conscious of Little Ben looking at him.

"You know Miss Flora, boy?"

"Yes, sir. Down to the Pink House."

"After I'm gone, you walk down there and tell Miss Sally Reynolds I said to keep her head down. She'll know what I mean. You got that?"

"Yes, sir. Mister Buck? Sam's a nice feller. He ain't no real gunhand. He got backed into it."

"How's that, Ben?"

"Story is-I heard some men talkin'-a deputy over in Montana Territory pushed Sam hard one day. Sam tried to get out of it, but the deputy drew on him. Sam was faster. Kilt the man and had to take the hoot-owl trail." The boy grinned. "Sam's sweet on Miz Becky."

"Sam told me he was from Minnesota."

"Yes, sir. That's what I heard, too. Sam wants to go back to farmin', way I heared it."

"A lot of us would like to be doin' something other than what we're doin', Ben. But a man gets his trail stretched out in front of him, sometimes you just got to ride it to trail's end, whether you like it or not."

"You be careful, Mister Buck."

"See you, boy."

Buck rode out easy. He could feel...something in the air. A feeling of tension, he thought. And he wondered about it. The pot was about to boil over in Bury, and Buck didn't know what had caused the fire to get too hot. But he knew that sometimes just the slightest little push could turn over a cart-if the contents weren't stacked right.

A mile out of town, Buck cut off the road and reined up, hidden in the timber. He waited for half an hour. No riders pa.s.sed him. He rode out of the timber, heading for the creek.

"Buck, this here is Becky," Sam said. He was trying very hard not to grin, and not being very successful.

Becky's hair was as red as Sam's, her tanned face pretty and freckled across the nose. She was a slender lady, but Buck could sense a solid, no-nonsense quiet sort of strength about her. Two red-headed kids stood close by her. A boy and a girl. About four and six, Buck guessed. They grinned shyly up at Buck. He winked at them and they both giggled.

Buck took the lady's hand and was not surprised to find it hard and callused from years of hard work.

After talking with Becky and the kids for a few moments, Buck took Sam aside. "You stay here with her, Sam. Until I get back from Challis. Don't be surprised if you spot some old mountain men while I'm gone. I'm going to swing by their camp and tell them I'm just about ready to strike. I'll tell them about your lady friend here, too. They'll probably ride by to see if they can get her anything. And they'll be by. They don't hold with men who hurt womenfolks."

"Who are your friends, Buck? These mountain men, I mean?"

Sam stood open-mouthed as Buck reeled off the names of some of the most famous mountain men of all time. Sam finally blinked and said, "Those are some of the meanest old codgers that ever forked a bronc."

"Yeah," Buck said with a grin as he swung into the saddle. "Ain't they?"

He waved good-bye to Becky and the kids and pointed Drifter's nose south. A mile from Becky's cabin, Buck turned straight east, toward the new camp of Preacher and his friends. Even Buck, knowing what to expect, drew up short at the sight that soon confronted him.

Greybull and Beartooth were wrestling. Dupre was fiddling a French song while Nighthawk and Tenneysee were dancing. Together. Audie was standing on a stump, reciting pretty poetry to the others.

"I hate to break this up," Buck said.

"Then don't!" Preacher said. "Jist sit your cayuse and listen and learn. Go ahead, Audie. Tell us some more about that there Newton."

"Isaac Newton, you ignorant reprobate! I was merely stating Sir Newton's theory that to every action there is always opposed an equal reaction: or, the mutual actions of two bodies upon each other are always equal, and directed to contrary parts."

"Then direct it to him," Buck said, pointing at Preacher. "'Cause he sure is contrary."

Audie looked pained while the others laughed. He glowered at Buck. "If I had you in a cla.s.sroom I'd take a hickory stick to the seat of your pants, young man."

"I don't know nothing about Newton," Buck said, still sitting on Drifter. "But I did like that poetry. Can you say some more of that?"

"But of course, young outlaw called Smoke," Audie said with a wave of his hand. "Dismount and gather around."