The Bitterroot Trail

by James W. Johnson

  It was a distasteful task to talk business with the girls, but Bob put their minds at ease and assured them that their wages would be taken care of just the same.

  Then the four surviving Vigilantes met in council as arranged. Bob took the lead, as usual.

  "It's about the worse thing that could happen to us to have Pat wiped out, but it only gives us an added reason for waging a ceaseless war against the Plummer Gang. I'll never rest until Three Finger Smith, Plummer, and Cleveland are dead and their gang broken up. I am not in favor of enlarging the Vigilante Committee. Too large a band would arouse suspicion. Beech will keep in touch with what is going on in Lewiston. A part of Plummer's gang is still there. Nobody knows how many belong, and so long as these leaders live just so long will they induce others to join their ranks.

  "Coming down to conditions here with us. This place, although it was willed to me, is not mine, but ours. Ours to use in our fight. Pat left it to be used for that purpose--to help prepare the way for the new empire. It is our mission to make this country safe for the women and children who will some day come to this region. It cost our friend's life, and it may cost ours and many more, but as fast as any of us go down others will take our places. Right will be the victor in the end."

  "What yuh goin' tuh do with the place?" Shorty asked. "I don't want no interest in it."

  "I ain't got any claim to it," voiced both the other men.

  Shorty spoke up again. "What yuh need is money, podner. Me an' the boys've got enough tuh see us through. I'd say sell 'er an' hightail it fer Lewiston tuh look after Missus Ford an' her kid. Maybe Jack would buy it."

  "That's a good idea, Shorty. Call Jack up here, Burk. I'll make him a proposition. If I can sell, I'll take a pack mule and start for Lewiston immediately."

  "Sorry I can't go along with yuh, pard," Shorty said wistfully. "Guess I'll have tuh trust yuh with these other sidewinders till I gits on my pegs."

  "No," objected Bob, "I'm going to make the trip alone. There's little danger that I will be molested now that Plummer and Cleveland are up in this country. If I'm any judge, they have headed for Elk City or parts unknown. They just came from Lewiston. Again, they might be right in this neighborhood, just waiting for a chance to swoop down and clean this place out. That's why I'm leaving Burk and Jim behind."

  Burkley returned with Jack, who was in a quandary as to what was wanted. Bob came to the point.

  "Pull up a chair, Jack. I understand that you have been wanting to buy this place. Would you be interested in a half interest and you have complete management?"

  Jack was surprised. "Well, now, I might consider. Who would have the other half?"

  "Shorty here. We're all four working together, but he will be your partner."

  Jack scratched his head a moment. "How much for half interest?"

  "Ten thousand."

  "She's sold!" Jack answered so quickly it almost took Bob's breath away. "We can make that back in no time. When you're ready I'll weigh out the dust."

  "Just a minute, Jack," Bob cautioned. "Don't let the news of this deal leak out until after I'm gone."

  "I savvy," he answered. "No one will know it from me."

  * * * *

  Next morning at the crack of day Bob was ready to pull out. He hated goodbyes, but he couldn't neglect Shorty. He found him propped up in bed smoking a cigarette thoughtfully. At Bob's appearance his countenance changed.

  "I was just wonderin' if yuh'd quit the herd like a ringtailed maverick; kick up yore heels without sayin' goodbye, go tuh hell, 'er nothin'."

  Bob grinned good-naturedly. "What makes you think I'd want to say goodbye to a bow-legged steer like you, when you've taken my gal away from me, heart, hat, and petticoat alike?"

  "Say, Bob," he said confidentially, "I ain't never seen a filly like her. She jest takes the bit between her teeth, an' I kin plead an' swear an, raise hell in general, but she jest sticks her haid between her laigs an' bucks. All I kin do is tuh give her the spurs, pull leather, an' let her buck, hopin' she'll step in a gopher hole er give out before I'm plum jolted intuh somethin' soft an' mushy."

  Bob laughed loud and long at his partner, who was in dead earnest, and failed to crack a smile.

  "Anyway, Shorty, you've got to admit she is giving you attention."

  And so they bantered each other in an effort to cover up their real feelings. It was hard for these men of the new west to be sentimental. So they parted, each with the feeling that he had hidden his real thoughts from the other. Bob knew that Shorty had a warm feeling in his heart for Daisy, or he would never have made such a fuss about it. But he knew too that his loyalty to him would prevent him from getting into any complications with her until their agreed purpose had been accomplished.

  He had chosen one of Ford's best pack mules for the trip and left the others in the care of the livery man until it was decided what to do with them. Mrs. Ford would have to be consulted.

  Bob was a poor bearer of bad news, and he dreaded, more than anything he had done in his life, to meet his old friend's wife. He'd get Beechy to go with him to see her. She would be brave, of course, but would she go back home, as her husband wished, or would she try to stay and carry on the work he had started?

  Being still young, Bob's mind during the morning hours was busy forming pictures of the future. Some day, perhaps in the near future, the pony express would be going over this trail carrying Uncle Sam's mail. Then would follow the big Concord stages, and wagon trails would have to be built.

  He had given no thought to his own danger riding the Bitterroot Trail alone. He would camp beyond the shebang tonight, and if he kept up this gait he would reach Lewiston before noon tomorrow.

  About noon he pulled off the road to a little spring of water and camped for two hours to let his animals rest and feed. Just before he pulled camp, two horsemen came along the trail going toward Lewiston. He watched them from a clump of brush until they were out of sight. They were traveling light, for they had no pack animals. If they had seen or paid any attention to his tracks they did not show it.

  A half hour later he packed his mule and started on his way. The appearance of these men ahead of him was annoying. They might be just traveling through on business as legitimate as his own. Again, they might be following him. When he packed he distributed his dust in several places among the pack. Most of it was hidden in the bottom of a lard pail. He figured that if he were held up they would not disturb the pack until after they had searched him. It might give him a chance to get the drop on them. As extra precaution for long-range shooting he took his rifle from under the saddle flap and carried it in the crook of his arm. He knew now from the lay of the country that the shebang was not more than two miles ahead.

  There was not a sound in the forest save the patter of his horse's hoofs. Somewhere a rock rolled down the mountain. He stopped instantly and turned his horse into the thicket on the left. He was leading the mule, and its stubborn nature retarded his progress. Instantly he decided to circle the shebang. He believed he could make it by going through this rough ravine almost to its summit, then turning over its top and down the next ravine. There was no trail and it took him an endless time to thread his way over the fallen logs and underbrush. Although he heard no more evidence of pursuers or watchers he felt that he was being followed.

  Near the top of the ridge to the right he could see a jutting of rocks which he used as his objective. If he could but reach that it would give him an advantage. He could scan his back trail and discover whether he was being followed.

  At last there was but a little stretch of timberless ground separating him from the rocks. He had almost reached the top when the report of a gun and whine of a bullet pierced the stillness. At the same time he felt a peculiar stinging in the calf of his left leg. He purposely rolled from the saddle to the ground as though he had been mortally hit. His horse and the mule went over the top as he wriggled into the low brush. He still grasped the rifle in his right hand, but he was
not in a position to use it. The grass and short brush were sufficient to hide him, but he had to use every precaution not to disturb the brush too much for fear of being discovered.

  He was bleeding profusely and he knew that he must stop the blood immediately or he would bleed to death. He wriggled into position where he could sit up. Hurriedly he took the bandana from his neck and tied it about his leg above the wound as tightly as he could. By this time he could hear the approach of horses below. He removed his hat and peered above the brush. They were the two men who had passed him They had lain in wait for him. He knew now what his fate would have been if he had gone straight along the trail.

  Carefully he lifted the rifle and fired at the one in the lead. The horse reared and the rider pitched off. His second shot brought the other horse down with a squeal, and the rider went scuttling for his life. Before Bob could get another shot at him he disappeared. He was sure the same bullet that had gone through the horse's neck had also wounded him, so he was safe from that source.

  He again gave his attention to the wound. It was still bleeding and he felt strangely light-headed. He had not tied the bandana tight enough. He broke off a stick, inserted it through the bandage, and twisted it as tight as he could. He knew his life depended upon his being able to get to his horse. Star Face would not be far away.

  Slowly he wriggled the short distance to the summit. For some moments he lay resting until the dizziness left him again. He knew that to try wriggling on his stomach would frighten his horse Everything depended on his being able to stand By use of the gun as a cane he finally got to his feet. His whole left leg felt numb from his knee down, and the pain at the knee was excruciating.

  He began talking to his horse as he worked his way over to him. The horse shied as he came near, then whirled to face him.

  "Whoa, boy! Whoa, boy!" he said appealingly--like a prayer. The cracking of a twig now might mean disaster, but the horse seemed finally to understand, and Bob succeeded in catching him. It took all his strength to pull himself aboard. His pack mule had already started down the slope into the little canyon.

  Bob, thoroughly realizing his dangerous condition, tied his lariat around his waist and to the horn of the saddle, so that if he became unconscious he would not fall off. He knew that if he could stay with the horse it would bring him out some place and he would be found.

  The hillside was steep and rough, and the gait of the horse, dropping down over rocks and jumping fallen trees, made the pain almost unbearable. His ears began to ring, and his head grew light.

  "I mustn't go out," he kept saying over and over to himself. But at last the whole world began revolving and the ringing in his ears became a thunderous roar. Suddenly the noise ceased and blackness overcame him.

  8

  WHEN BOB REGAINED CONSCIOUSNESS HE found himself on a cot. His pants leg had been cut off at the knee, and his wound had been neatly dressed with clean white cloth. On a little table made from an old tomato case was a flask of whiskey. His clothing had been loosened about the waist and his guns and belt hung on a peg in the wall above his bed. A little fire burned in the fireplace under a black kettle, and the room was pungent with the aroma of venison stew. What seemed more strange was the calico cover on the rough table beside the fire. Where was he and what had happened?

  He pulled himself up on an elbow and gazed about. There was no one in the room but himself, but he heard footsteps outside. They were light and stealthy, and as a precaution he reached one of the guns and covered the door.

  He saw the latch string move and the bolt lifted. His face formed into a hard line. Whoever he was, there would be a showdown. He didn't stop to reason that the unknown person must be friendly or he never would have taken the trouble to save his life. But Bob had become accustomed to the hard ways of the west and trusted no one until he knew them.

  "Mercy me!" came a feminine voice, as the girl opened the door. In her surprise she dropped the wood she was carrying.

  Bob's eyes almost popped out of his head. It was unbelievable that a girl should be in a place like this. Her flaxen hair caught the gleam of firelight and made her appear to him more like an apparition. He blinked his eyes and shook his head, trying to wake up.

  "I guess you're real, gal," he mumbled, "but I can't make it out."

  "Oh, I'm real enough," she laughed. "Dear me, you gave me a scare! May I come in?"

  "Sure of course," he stammered confusedly. "I guess I'm the one who's invading forbidden territory. But maybe you'll tell me how it all happened?"

  "That's easy, Mister," she agreed, stooping to pick up the wood. "But first I must build up the fire so that stew will get cooked. You must be hungry."

  Like one in a trance, with heart pounding against his ribs, he watched her move deftly about making the fire and setting the table. He was almost afraid to move for fear she would disappear. She was something like Strawberry Roan, and yet she was more gentle--more lovely. He could never give her a nickname. No, it just wouldn't fit.

  She reached into the black kettle with a dipper and poured a bowl of broth. Their eyes met as she placed the bowl on the table by the bed, and he saw that a faint color mounted to her lovely cheeks.

  "Here," she said, picking up a bottle, "you must take another swallow of this before you eat. Does your leg hurt much now?"

  "No, Miss. If I felt any better I couldn't stand it. Would you care to tell me your name?"

  "Dixie Lee," she answered simply.

  "Dixie Lee," he repeated, lingering on the words. "I knew you couldn't have a nickname--Dixie."

  "How about Dix?" she suggested, laughing.

  "No," he objected, "it doesn't fit. To me you will always be Dixie Lee. Now, would you please tell me how I happen to be here?"

  "You must eat now," she evaded.

  "Forgive me, Dixie. I'm Bob. This is the longest parley I ever had with any gal."

  She acknowledged the compliment with a smile, then began: "You see, this is my retreat--my rendezvous. When I can't stand being around the kind of men I see every day, I hide out here. It's an old prospector's cabin I've made over during my spare time. It's hidden away under the brush and the end of the house is snug up against the mountain. Anyone would have to stumble right onto it before they could see it. That's how I found it."

  "Sounds like a fairy story; the kind mother used to tell me when I was a kid. I suppose there's plenty of wicked giants and ogres here to frighten you?"

  "Lots of them," she answered without smiling. "You see, I live at the shebang with John Lee, my father."

  For a long moment Bob observed her while several possibilities flashed through his mind. Perhaps he was a prisoner being saved for hanging.

  "Where's my pack outfit?" he demanded almost roughly.

  "It's safe. When I found you I brought you here, because I knew it would mean death to take you to the shebang. Your horse and pack mule are up this little hidden canyon. Won't you let me be your friend?"

  "You don't like it here?"

  "I love my father."

  "You are staying here against your will?" he asked.

  "I did want to go away from here, but it doesn't matter now," Then she hurriedly continued, "I dressed your leg a while ago, so it will be all right till morning. Then I'll soak it in hot salt water again so it won't get infection."

  "That won't be necessary, Dixie. I'll be on my way long before you get here."

  At his words a look of fear came into her eyes. "Oh, no, please! You can't do that! You would get infection sure, and if gangrene set in it would kill you. Won't you trust me?"

  He could easily read her sincerity in her eyes. It was an awkward situation. She wanted him to stay She had brought him here and saved his life. He instinctively knew that she was in danger and out of sympathy with these people who lived at the shebang. She must be there through force of circumstances, and not of her own choosing.

  At last he answered her. "I do trust you, Dixie gal. I'll wait here till you come back. The
n we'll see."

  Bob Bainbridge was experiencing a strange new feeling. She left him struggling with an emotion against which he was powerless to battle. In spite of the urgent need of getting to Lewiston and his desire to attend to the wishes of his friend, his wound gave him sufficient reason to tarry.

  * * * *

  The days passed, and with each parting from Dixie he became more and more restless. He knew his feelings now for what they were, and, battle with himself as he would, Dixie found a place in his heart that would remain there forever. It had been a world of romance, these days at the secret cabin, and yet he had not found courage to tell her he loved her.

  Yet, it wasn't courage he lacked, he told himself. It was his precarious position that stood in the way. It was not for Bob Bainbridge to love any girl. He couldn't ask her to face the conditions that Mrs. Ford had faced. Look what it had done to her. No one knew the day nor the hour when his own life would be blotted out. Only a few weeks ago he had almost met his fate. He finally decided it would be better as it was.

  He could get around a little now with the aid of a birch cane he had made. He would slip away when she was gone. She would soon forget. Yet, that seemed cowardly after all her tender care and consideration.

  Dixie Lee was happier than usual this morning, and spring was in her voice as she went about her work. Old John, from the ledge where he sat smoking his pipe, looked at her perplexedly. Something had come over the gal he could not understand. Why had she ceased moping the last few weeks? Why had she quit pestering him about breaking with the band?

  After the breakfast dishes were washed she told him she was going to catch a mess of speckled trout and wouldn't be back until late. John was used to her habits and paid little attention to her. Besides, he was especially fond of trout, and Dixie knew how and where to catch them.

  In the forest the birds were singing and the flowers along the creek bank seemed more lovely than ever as Dixie sped toward the little cabin in the thicket. She would ask Bob to go with her to the trout pool this morning. She would help him along and he could sit on the grassy bank and talk to her while she fished. She thrilled at thought of his touch. How big and great and fine he was--not at all like the men she had met at the shebang How fortunate she had found him in time to save his life. She felt as though he was really hers.