Bob was right, for already he could see an army of horsemen headed that way.
"They're coming, boys! If we have to shoot, don't hit their feet!"
The distance between them shortened. A cold north wind swept down over the snow-covered basin as the formidable enemy came sweeping toward them. Within a hundred paces they halted and Plummer, riding an iron grey horse, came forward. Bob stood up. Plummer stopped. From where Bob stood he could plainly see the star on his coat.
"Pokerface!" shouted Plummer. "In the name of the law I command you to surrender and stack your arms, or we'll open fire! You are committing an act of insurrection against the Territory of Bannock!"
"We are disobeying no law, Plummer! This is not a territory--not yet! We are making war on a gang of murderers and cutthroats! Go to hell!"
Plummer turned about and went back to his men. Bob could see him giving orders, and saw the company divide. One faction, seeking to flank them, took to their right, and even before Bob expected it, the forward column opened fire.
"Get to the right wing!" Bob shouted. The Vigilantes went into deadly action.
They were determined to make every shot count. On the right wing six of Plummer's men with their horses went down with the first volley. The front column also suffered from the withering fire of the Vigilantes.
Plummer's men now sought the protection of their dead animals, behind boulders, any cover they could find. Plummer was shouting wildly at his men. The men still on horses soon saw their disadvantage. They clambered off their mounts and threw themselves flat on the ground. They began crawling forward, shooting as they went. The right wing had been routed and had joined forces with the front attackers.
Plummer and Three Finger rode out of range to a cedar tree, where they tethered their horses. Bob recognized them as they came creeping back along the line, and fired at them. He saw Plummer grab his left arm and roll over in the snow. Three Finger scuttled out of sight behind a rock.
The horses in the ravine were terrified and part of them broke away from the three Vigilantes trying to hold them. They bolted madly down the snow-covered rocky bottom.
Three Finger found Bob's hiding place and kept up a constant fire. A man beside Bob screamed and fell forward on his face in the snow. Bob saw a spurt of flame and turned his guns on it. A man half rose and toppled forward.
Shorty crawled up to Bob. "Hey!" he yelled, "they's a bunch o' 'em got intuh the gulch! They's comin' up this way tuh the left!"
Bob ran along the ravine to the southeast. Several of his men appeared to be dead; more were wounded. He called to some of his men as he ran. Where the ravine turned sharply to the south they stopped, and none too soon. A dozen men came whirling up the ravine onto them. Their guns, roaring in each other's faces, were too close to be effective, and a hand to hand combat followed.
Using their guns for clubs, Bob and his Vigilantes fought like tigers, striking mercilessly until the piercing cries of the surprised attackers begged for mercy. They were immediately disarmed.
Pat Davis jerked Bob by the arm. "Bob, I jest see Plummer jump his horse an' skedaddle fer town! Three Finger's follerin' him like he's crazy!"
"Shorty!" Bob shouted, "take charge here! I'm going after Plummer and Three Finger Smith!"
He found Star Face and headed him up the ravine. He had no time to formulate a plan. He would have to break through that line. He did not hesitate. Dixie's safety depended on it. He realized in a flash that Plummer and Three Finger knew their battle was lost, and were bent on drastic measures to protect themselves.
His ascent from the ravine was so sudden and unexpected to the now half-hearted attackers, that he was almost out of range before they realized what was happening. Suddenly they started firing at him. A bullet fanned his face. Another went between his arm and his body. He dug Star Face with his spurs, but the horse was already giving him every ounce of speed he possessed. Bob headed straight for the hotel.
When the gang learned their leaders had deserted them they retreated in disorder. Shorty saw to it that the wounded were taken care of. The three men who had been killed were ordered taken home, where they would be given Masonic funerals. Then he headed the triumphant march toward the heart of Bannock City.
30
THREE FINGER BURST IN THE DOOR OF DIXIE'S room. She jumped to her feet. Fascinated she stared at the livid scar on his face.
"Come on!" he cried, "we're leavin'--hightailin' it out o' here! Goddammit! Can't yuh understand?"
Still she stared at him speechless.
He started toward her.
She shrank back. "I won't go! Don't touch me!" she screamed.
"Oh, yuh won't? Shut up!" He pounced upon her, clamping a hand over her mouth.
Her eyes bulged in terror as she fought and kicked. Then with all her might she set her teeth into his finger. He let out a yell of pain as he brought the other hand across her face with a heavy slap. It stunned her for a moment.
Then she cried, "Plummer will kill you!"
He laughed crazily, "Plummer'll never come tuh help yuh, damn him! He's hightailin' it out o' the country, like the dirty coward he is!"
With a quick lurch of his body he caught her in his arms and started for the door. Dixie fought frantically, but she was helpless against his brute strength. He laughed boisterously as he tossed her under his left arm.
As he reached to open the door it came open with a bang. He was standing face to face with Bob Bainbridge! One look at Bob's face, and he knew he could expect no quarter, for death looked out at him from those dangerous eyes.
Dixie was terror stricken. "Bob! Bob ! " she cried, "Look out! He'll kill you!"
Three Finger saw his only chance. He threw the girl in front of him and snatched for his gun. He knew Bob wouldn't dare shoot. As the gun came up, Dixie frantically grabbed at it. She hung on desperately as Three Finger shot. The bullet hit the ceiling.
"Fighter, are you?" Bob hissed. "Well, I've waited a long time for this! By God, I'll break you with these two hands!"
Three Finger was still struggling to get the gun free from Dixie's grasp without letting her get away from him.
Bob, forgetful of danger, leaped forward.
Three Finger pulled the trigger. The bullet seared Bob's hair.
Smack! Bob's iron fist caught Three Finger on the point of the chin.
Three Finger's head flew back, as the gun went spinning through the air, hit the wall with a thud, and fell to the floor.
In terror Dixie hid her face in her hands. She reeled dizzily, and was fairly knocked against the wall. The shock roused her numbed senses. She stared, tried to scream, but no sound came. The dull sound of fists striking human flesh, the harsh breathing of the men in a fight of death resounded in her ears.
Three Finger was moving with surprising agility, despite his heaviness. He was desperate. He was charging with all his brute force in the face of a barrage of flying hammering fists; fists that cut and slashed and stung like a thousand wild bees; fists that carried the power of all the pent-up fury of months of hatred. At last the day of retribution had come! Bob would extract double toll for all his past debts against Three Finger.
In spite of the merciless hammering, Three Finger was slowly backing Bob into a corner. A smashing blow connected with Bob's chin--staggered him. He gathered himself. Three Finger missed his follow-up. They went into a clinch. Down on the floor they grappled, each trying desperately to clutch the other's throat.
Men crowded the hallway; Vigilantes, men who were Bob's friends. There were no lusty shouts of encouragement for the contestants. They too knew it was a fight to the death. One man bit his lips until they bled. Another nervously clinched his fists. Still another struck the door jamb with his knuckles.
Over and over they went, first Bob on top, then Three Finger. Their shirts were torn off. Three Finger, pounding Bob in the face, was caught about the neck by a quick flip of a booted foot and sent rolling.
They sprang to their feet
again. Three Finger's eyes were puffed and almost shut. He reeled, caught a chair, and hurled it with all his strength. It knocked Bob down.
Dixie screamed.
Three Finger jumped into the air to stamp him to death.
Bob saw him coming. Half way in midair he caught Three Finger in the stomach with his booted foot and the man went backward on his head.
Bob jumped up and let him stagger to his feet. Three Finger was weakening, but not licked. Bob seemed to be getting his second wind. When Three Finger staggered forward, Rob, with renewed energy, pounded him unmercifully. Cutting and slashing he slowly backed him toward the wall.
Three Finger was now fighting blindly. He groaned as Bob's powerful blows went home. A terrific jab in the stomach and a powerful wallop to the jaw fairly lifted him off his feet and he hit the floor with a thud.
Bob panted, "Get up, you yellow-livered skunk, and I'll finish you!"
Then the thing happened that turned Bob Bainbridge into a giant of strength. Through the blur he saw Three Finger reaching for his gun, which lay within reach. He sprang upon the extended wrist with his foot. Then he grabbed him by the collar, jerked him to his feet and knocked him down again. The body of Three Finger went limp. But Bob was not satisfied. He picked the man up bodily, whirled him about and threw him, head first, into the corner.
Suddenly Bob became conscious of the commotion about him. He was weaving on his feet. His shoulders drooped and his battered face was streaked with blood.
Shorty had pushed through the crowd in time to witness the last of the desperate fight. He caught his swaying partner in his arms and steadied him, while Dixie threw her arms about his neck, crying hysterically on his bare chest. Through the haze Rob could see her face, and her words finally became audible to him. His weary arms closed about her.
"Bob, oh, Bob, dear! You've killed him! He's dead!"
"I'm sorry...you saw it...darling!" he gasped between breaths. Then, to Shorty, "Where's Plummer?"
"The dirty coward's gone! Some o' the boys is after him."
Bob stood silent for a moment, then with difficulty he addressed Dixie. "Dixie, darling, I guess I'm pretty badly mussed up." He stooped and kissed her. "Let's go home. Come on, Shorty."
Meanwhile, the Vigilantes were busy informing the miners, who were now crowding the street in front of the hotel, of the real character of Plummer and his gang. Solemn funerals were held, and out of the blood and suffering the soil was made ready for the growth of the new empire.
* * * *
Already the seeds had been planted, and in March, Lincoln created the Territory of Idaho, with Lewiston as its first capital.
Men who had been Bob Bainbridge's enemies became his best friends. They would have given him almost any office he chose. But Bob considered he had done enough for the present. Now that he had become a family man he felt that his attentions were needed in building up his little personal empire out in Jackass Flat.
Spring came with its flooding streams and mud. The new town of Centerville, between Bannock and Placerville, sprang into existence. Mining activity rose to fever heat, as the yellow gold poured from the rich gravel beds. Literally hundreds of pack trains were already arriving, bringing men from every section of the globe to the new gold diggings.
Meanwhile Bob and Dixie finished the cabin, and when summer came their garden proved a veritable gold mine. They couldn't begin to supply the needs of the town. The cares of the last two trying years slipped from their shoulders as they dreamed and planned their future.
Shorty and Daisy were visiting with Bob and Dixie. Their young son was playing on the floor.
Bob and Shorty, answering the call to supper, pushed the baby's wooden horse out of the way to get inside.
"Well, Shorty," Bob bantered, "you've been doing your share toward the building of our empire. I wonder if that young scalawag on the floor there won't be governor some day?"
"Wal, if he does," Shorty answered, "it'll be Strawberry Roan's fault."
Daisy picked up a stick of stove wood and Shorty jumped on all fours to the floor behind the baby for protection. They all laughed at Shorty's antics.
"Set up and pitch in!" Dixie called, still laughing.
Bob picked up the little red-head, shaking him good-naturedly. "Come on, Governor Windless. The head of the table for you. I made this high chair for you. There, that's fine. Want a nice big bacon rind?"
"No, he don't want a big bacon rind," Daisy objected. "Do you want to choke him to death? Just wait till you get one of your own."
Dixie changed the subject. "When are you going to start building up here by us, Shorty?"
"Right soon. Bob an' me 's been stakin' out the grounds. Jim an' Pegleg an' Ranger kin take care o' the mine. An' say, she's a bonanza!"
"Oh, say, Dixie," Bob interrupted, "I almost forgot. I got a letter from Beechy today. You know he's the man who married Mrs. Ford. They're coming out this summer. And another bit of news that will interest you all, he said Plummer was hanged a month ago in Virginia City."
"Wal, that's good riddin's!" Shorty said emphatically.
Dixie breathed a sigh of relief as she cast a happy glance at Bob.
That night after Shorty and his family had gone back to Placerville, Bob and Dixie sat on the stoop together. A full moon was just rising in the east. He slipped his arm about her and cuddled her close to him.
"Ee-dah-how," he murmured softly.
"How pretty," Dixie said softly. "That's an Indian word, isn't it, Bob?"
"Yes. It means 'the light comes down on the mountains'. They couldn't have found a name more appropriate for our empire than...IDAHO."
END
About the Author
James W. Johnson, also known as J.W. wrote about the people and stories he grew up knowing, not about the good old West or the heroes later depicted in the movies.
Born February 2, 1885 in Huntington Utah, J.W. was the oldest of five children of James P. Johnson and his wife Jane Leonard. He was naturally bright and quickly advanced from Eighth Grade directly to Brigham Young Academy. When old enough to strike out on his own, like Zane Grey and other Western Authors, he learned he needed to be a jack of many trades to survive life.
He studied classical painting at the Rijks Museum in Amsterdam. While there, the poetic muse struck him during a walk through the Queen's Wood, and he composed an idyll praising the beauty of those woods. The poem was later read at his funeral, but has unfortunately since been lost. Several of his paintings survive to this day.
When he returned from Holland, J.W. resumed his studies at the newly renamed Brigham Young University, where he finished his degree in Art and Music. He married his childhood sweetheart, who had waited for him, and took up teaching English, music & art. He soon became director of English and Music in the Provo, Utah, schools.
The death of his wife and child in childbirth prompted a move to Arizona where he became in turn a newspaper owner, a general store owner, a chiropractor, and a lawyer. J.W. remained passionate to his avocation, painting. His paintings of Arizona Indian dwellings and villages still survive.
J.W. married Louise Chidester in 1925. After a honeymoon driving the Pacific coast highway, they ended up in Portland. Louise (going by the name of "Madame Louise") opened a beauty shop on the second floor of Meier and Frank's department store in downtown Portland. She imported and used the first electric permanent wave machine west of the Mississippi. During this time, they lived in Vancouver, Washington, across the river, and commuted to work by streetcar each day.
J.W. spent most of his time looking into the types of opportunities that had served him well in Arizona, but found it more difficult to make a good living in Oregon. The couple moved to Boise where they founded "Madame Louise's College of Beauty Culture". They lobbied the legislature and manage to get the first licensing law in Idaho passed for beauty shops and cosmetologists.
J.W. and a partner went prospecting, and staked a gold mining claim on the Boise River. They
worked the claim using hydraulic giants for one season, and then cleaned up the sluice boxes. During the clean-up, J.W. was exposed to mercury vapor and became violently ill. After he recovered, he discovered that the mine foreman and the gold had both disappeared.
The loss of the gold meant another move, this time to Emmett, Idaho, in 1929. The move also saw the birth of "Better Beauty Shop" in Emmett, owned and operated by Louise until her death in 1980.
J.W., ever the carpenter's son, built two rental houses in Emmett, and finished them just in time for the depression to hit full tilt. The lumber company foreclosed on both houses. J.W. could not find a job because he was over 40 years old. The family moved to the room back of the beauty shop, and writing became J.W.'s vocation. They lived there until 1937, when the beauty shop's building burned down. J.W. had been building a home for them, and Louise, J.W., and their son moved in with nothing but the clothes on their backs even though the building was not yet done.
J.W. became a prolific writer of pulp westerns from his first sale of "When Diablo Mendez Speaks" to the early Westerner Magazine. His writing provided a much-needed boost to their income. In 1929, he started near full time work on The Bitterroot Trail and spent the next six years of his life researching and writing it. Once The Bitterroot Trail was published, the Yale Manuscript Library asked for the manuscript and all the research notes. Copies of the 1935 Caxton Printers, Ltd. edition remain in demand at rare bookstores around the USA.
J.W. kept on with his painting, but never wrote another novel. He began to investigate meta-physics and religion instead, continuing until his death in November 1957.
James R. Johnson, May 2007
Michael D. Johnson, May 2007
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