The Strong One (Cutter's Creek Book 2)

by Vivi Holt

  A sod farmer’s cottage came into view on the crest of a nearby hill. Bill scanned the horizon, taking in the line of fencing expertly erected along the rise and down through the valley ahead of him. He noticed a herd of cattle grazing on the other side of the fence, and a saddled horse stood idle by the side of the track. A man labored nearby, attempting to chop through the trunk of a fallen tree that was crushing a portion of fencing. Pulling up on the bay’s reigns, Bill angled his horse toward the farmer.

  “Howdy there,” he called as he drew near. He pulled the horse to a halt, and slid from his saddle with a nod.

  The rancher straightened his back and pushed his hat up off his forehead, and wiped the sweat from his eyes with his arm.

  “Howdy,” he said, eying Bill cautiously.

  Bill looped his reins over a nearby fence post and sauntered toward the cowboy.

  “I see you’ve got a problem with a fallen tree,” said Bill.

  “Yup.”

  “Need some help?”

  “That’d be mighty kind of you,” the rancher smiled. “Name’s Gilmore. Holston Gilmore.”

  “I’m Bill Hanover. Pleased to meet you.”

  Bill extended his hand, and the farmer grasped it in his own strong paw and pumped it hard, up and down.

  “You too.”

  The two men set to work to remove the log from the fence line. First Holston took a turn with the axe, chipping away at the trunk of the tree at an angle, and then at the opposing angle. When he stopped to draw breath, Bill took a turn, making the cut deeper. Before long, they were able to step up onto the end of the trunk and break it in two with their weight. Then, they started all over again, making another cut further up the trunk until they had cut the log into three solid pieces. Working together, they shifted the smaller middle section out of the way, and the fence was free.

  Each of the men stood straight, working the kinks out of their backs. Bill lowered himself onto a piece of the tree trunk that was sitting upright on the ground. It made a sturdy seat. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and let out a sigh.

  “Phew. Thirsty work, huh?”

  “Yes sir. Here, have a sip from my canteen.”

  Holston handed him a canvas canteen, and Bill took a long draught of the cool water.

  “That’s better, thank you.”

  “Thank you. It would have taken me all day to do this myself. I sure do appreciate your help.”

  “You’re welcome. I guess we’d better get this fence fixed up now. Don’t want to see your fine herd traipsing away down the valley.”

  “I’ll work on it. You’ve done more than your share of my labor today.” Holston took a sip from the canteen, and then wet his neck kerchief. He rubbed the wet cloth across his face and down his neck.

  “I’m happy to help. It’s been many a year now since I had the satisfaction of working with my hands, and it brings me no small amount of pleasure.”

  “Is that so? Are you from ‘round here?”

  “Over by Milestown. I’ve been down south fighting the Confederates for nigh on four years now. I came back by my folks place just outside of Milestown a few weeks ago. They’ve got plenty of hands already on their ranch, so I’m heading out to join a cattle drive south-west of here. It starts in a couple of months, but I figured maybe they’d have some work to keep me occupied until then.”

  Holston furrowed his brow in thought.

  “Your folks didn’t ask you to stick around?”

  “They’ve barely enough food to feed my brothers’ families as it is. Pa said it’s time for me to make my own way in the world, and since my brothers stayed behind instead of running off to fight someone else’s dang war, they get the ranch and I’m on my own. I don’t mind though. I like the open country and the adventure of the unknown.”

  Bill’s eyes dropped to the ground as he spoke, and his shoulders hunched forward. He picked up a thick stick and drew a pattern in the dirt at his feet.

  Holston squinted up into the bright sunlight above. He watched a hawk circling overhead, its long, brown wings unmoving as it soared on the rising currents searching for its next prey. He lowered his head again to look at Bill.

  “Fightin’ for a cause, when you don’t have to, is somethin’ to be admired. I’ve got work for you here, if you want it. Just for a few weeks, mind. I need to get the rest of my herd down from the high country and bedded in ready for the winter. What do you say?”

  Bill’s face lit up, and he grinned.

  “I say yes. Thank you, sir.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. It’ll be hard work, and not much pay, but you can stay at the house with me and missus. She’ll feed you mighty well, and the young’uns will keep you occupied, no doubt. Cutter’s Creek’s nearby, and there’s some nice folks in town, as well as a church and general store. I’m sure you’ll have everythin’ you need. If you want to stay.”

  “Sounds fine to me.”

  Holston bent down and set the tangled fence wires free with a pair of wire cutters that he deftly shoved back into his pocket. Bill stood to his feet, and helped him move the shifted fence posts back into place, heaving with his shoulder against the sturdy timber.

  Well God, that’s one prayer answered. I’ll have a roof over my head, and food in my belly until the cattle drive, and I thank you for it. Now, if you could just attend to that other little matter, my cup would be full.

  He chuckled to himself as he felt the peace of God come over him. It was a feeling as familiar to him as the air he drew into his lungs each day. He knew then that God would answer his prayer, just as he had provided him with this job. He paused in his work, and smiled as his gaze took in the fertile valley, and the wild and beautiful mountain range to the north. It felt good to be home after all those years away. His heart skipped in his chest as contentment swept through him. Grey clouds skidded across the sky, and covered the mountain peaks, warning of an approaching storm. They’d have to work fast. He leaned forward to resume pushing the posts into place.

  He couldn’t wait to see what God would do next.

  Chapter 4

  The sound of birds calling to one another in the crisp morning air wakened Sarah from a shivering sleep. The ground beneath her was cold, and her teeth chattered as she curled herself into a tight ball, wrapping her petticoats around herself as snugly as she could. She blinked her eyes opened, and lay still, working hard to get her bearings. Then she remembered climbing beneath the chapel in the dark with Angus Colt in hot pursuit.

  Watching carefully through the cross-hatching that surrounded the base of the church, Sarah crawled to the broken pane. She pushed it to one side and shimmied through, dragging her bag with her. Then she returned the piece of cross-hatching to its place behind her. As she stood to her feet, she groaned. The aches and pains of a frantic chase followed by a night sleeping on the cold, hard ground echoed through her stiff body. She stretched her neck from side to side, and lifted her arms above her head to work the stiffness from her limbs. It was then that she noticed the strange color of the chapel. It was painted a vibrant red. She was sure she’d never seen anything quite like it before.

  A clinking sound emanated from the street behind the church, and Sarah hurried forward to peer around the edge of the building. A draft horse lumbered down the center of the otherwise empty street, pulling an enclosed wagon behind it. The wagon was painted in reds, greens and yellows, with lettering stenciled down the sides. Sarah couldn’t read, so had no inkling of what the wagon might contain, but she could see the elderly couple sitting side by side on the wagon seat. They looked friendly, and as though they knew the value of a home-cooked meal. Sarah was famished, not having eaten for many hours. It had been even longer since she’d had a truly hearty meal. She stepped out from behind the church, smoothing her long, brown hair back against her head as best she could and dusting off her skirts.

  She waved to the couple, with a glance up and down the empty street. She didn’t want to draw too much att
ention to herself. The horse pulled to a halt. The town beyond the wagon seemed to still be sleeping, only the lazy winding of smoke from chimney stacks signaled that the townsfolk were beginning to stir from their beds.

  A grey-haired man climbed down from the wagon seat and turned to face Sarah. His long, brown pants were held in place by a set of black suspenders, and his curling moustache twitched above hidden lips.

  “Well now girly, may I ask what you are doing up at this unearthly hour?” he asked, with a warm smile.

  “I’m new to town, and was wondering if you might know of a place I could find some breakfast. I’m awful hungry.”

  Sarah’s large, green eyes were wide open and her hands were trembling. A quick sweep over her head with a nervous hand revealed various twigs and pieces of grass. She could feel that one side of her hair had been curried into a knotted mess where she had lain on the damp earth, and a glimpse of her skirts revealed that they were crumpled and muddied.

  The old man peered at his wife who nodded her head encouragingly.

  “We’ve got just the place for you. We’re only arriving back in town just now ourselves, and are mighty keen to get home after months of travelling. We’re hankering for a home cooked breakfast and you’re more than welcome to join us my dear. My name’s Sam Todd, and the beautiful young lady in the wagon is my wife, Estelle.”

  The old lady chuckled, her cheeks blushing pink, and she waved politely at Sarah.

  “Yes my dear, please do join us. Where have you come from?”

  Sarah nodded her head. “Thank you, sir, ma’am - that would be wonderful.”

  Sam and Estelle glanced at one another, seeming to acknowledge the way that Sarah deftly avoided answering Estelle’s question. Sam held one hand beneath Sarah’s elbow and helped her up to the wagon seat where she sat between him and Estelle. She placed her bag on the floor at her feet. A door behind her back led into the covered part of the wagon, and as they pulled away and down the street she could hear clinking coming from inside the wagon -- the same sound that had first caught her attention.

  “What is that noise?” she asked.

  “Oh that? That’s our pots and pans, my dear,” answered Estelle. “We peddle them all over Montana and Wyoming during the summer months. But we’re done for the season now, and glad to be home for a spell, that’s for sure.”

  Sam nodded and winked at Estelle, and the couple let their eyes wander over the sleepy town, contentment written plainly across their weathered faces.

  Passing down the main street, Sarah saw a produce store, a blacksmith’s, a saloon, a mercantile, a baker’s, a butchery, and various other stores and establishments. The street itself was not long, with only about twenty houses making up the rest of the town. A small child emerged from the front door of a nearby house, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with one hand. The other hand held a milk pail, and she swung it as she walked, eyeing the passing wagon. Sarah smiled at the child, then in the distance caught sight of a man hurtling toward them on a black horse. She knew who it was immediately, Angus Colt. She spun about on the wagon seat, and pulled the small door behind her open, flying through it in one swift motion.

  ***

  Sam looked at Estelle, astonishment written clearly across his face. The strange girl, covered in mud and dust, and half dead from cold and hunger they had picked up by the red chapel had just shot them a terrified look and dashed into the back of their wagon. He wondered what on earth prompted such an unexpected response.

  He spun back around on his seat to ponder the curiosity of it all, when a man on a sweat-caked horse pulled to a stop beside the wagon. The man had a black moustache and a long, black beard covering most of his lined face. His eyes were dark and cold, and he smelled as though he hadn’t bathed in a long while. He studied the couple closely.

  “Seen a girl about?” he asked, twisting a toothpick around between his teeth.

  “A girl?” asked Sam. He scratched his head “We just got into town and haven’t seen none but that child yonder carrying the pail. That’s little Charlene Pickering, taking her Pa his breakfast over at the produce store. Otherwise, the town’s still sleepin’ far as we can tell. Who’re you lookin’ for?”

  “Never mind, if you haven’t seen her it don’t matter none.”

  He gave them one last look, then spun his tired horse around and clattered off down the road and out of town. The door behind the wagon seat opened slowly, and Sarah peeked out, her face pale and her hands shaking on the door knob.

  “Is he gone?” she asked, a quiver in her voice.

  “He’s gone,” said Sam, slapping the reins gently against the horse’s back.

  “Who was that, dear?” asked Estelle.

  “His name’s Angus Colt. He’s been chasing me since Hardin. I don’t know what he wants with me, but I’ve an idea it isn’t good.”

  The couple exchanged a concerned look as Sarah returned to her place on the bench between them, tucking her feet beneath the seat and crossing her ankles gracefully.

  “I’d say you’re right about that,” said Sam, his face grim. “It looks as though he’s left town for now, at any rate. You’d best stay with us until we know for sure you’re safe.”

  “Thank you,” said Sarah, her eyes scanning the street, fear written plainly across her pale features.

  Chapter 5

  The rifle’s scope filled Sarah’s field of vision. With one eye closed, she peered carefully through the hairs crossing the scope, the downy back of the rabbit set clearly in the center. Sam’s rifle felt good in her hands, but she’d already noticed that the scope was slightly off center. She could feel a stick pushing up through the grass beneath her and into her rib cage, but she didn’t want to move and lose her shot. Instead she shifted the rifle slightly to the left to compensate for the scope’s bias and slowly let out her breath. She ignored the budding pain from the stick in her side and squeezed the trigger.

  The rabbit fell to the ground. The echo of the blast reverberated throughout the woods and across the valley, bouncing off the rocky walls of the nearby hillsides that stood guard and cast long, afternoon shadows over the town. Sarah pushed herself up into a seated position. She brushed off the twigs and leaves that had clung to her buckskin dress and braided hair, and stood to her feet. Laying the rifle against a tree trunk, she hurried over to the rabbit and picked it up by both ears, appreciating the stocky length of its body. They’d eat well tonight.

  Estelle would be delighted with the results of Sarah’s hunting trip. So far she’d already secured two plump rabbits and a nice, big chunk of honeycomb dripping with fresh honey that she’d scooped out of a hollowed out tree stump nearby. She’d set it down on top of a curved piece of bark beside the first rabbit.

  Holding the second rabbit by the ears, she made her way back to her stash. The sound of a twig snapping caught her attention, and she ducked behind some squat shrubbery, her eyes wide. She crept forward, and peeked around the bush, watching as a man dressed like a cowboy, with leather chaps, a plaid shirt, riding hat and boots with spurs attached stepped into the clearing.

  He scanned the area carefully, then walked over to where the rabbit and the honey were sitting at the base of a large oak tree. Kneeling down, he studied the stockpile and dug his finger into the honey for a taste. The sweet amber liquid dripped slowly from his finger, and he shoved it quickly into his mouth, sucking hard.

  Sarah felt anger boiling inside her belly. How dare he scoop up her honeycomb that way? She’d worked hard to find it, and he was just about to steal it right out from under her nose. There’s no way she was going to let him get away with taking the rabbit as well. She’d show him what the Apsáalooke did with thieves.

  ***

  Bill heard a noise and spun about on his heel to face a young woman holding a rifle pointed directly at his forehead.

  “Whoa there.” He raised his palms toward her, and took a step backwards. “We can work this out, I’m sure. Put the gun down, I’m not goi
ng to hurt you.”

  “It’s not me I’m worried about; you’re stealing my honey.”

  She glowered at him from under thunderous eyebrows. Her green eyes glinted, and she stepped forward slowly in her moccasin-covered feet, the rifle trained steadily on him as she moved.

  “Sorry for the honey. I promise I wasn’t going to take it. I just wanted a taste. It’s been a while since I’ve had anything as delicious as that honeycomb.”

  He grinned at the stunning, young woman. He’d never seen anyone like her before. She wore the buckskin dress and moccasins of a native woman, and yet she had light green eyes, and brown wavy hair. Her skin was golden and creamy all at the same time, and she moved as though she knew how to travel soundlessly, like the native trackers he’d met over the years.

  She studied his face closely for a few moments, then de-cocked the rifle and lowered it slowly to her side. “Well then, I’ll just take my catch and be on my way.”

  She picked up the rabbit she’d dropped, then stepped over to the base of the oak tree and lifted the other rabbit into the air. Switching it into the same hand as the first rabbit, she held both by their ears. She swung the rifle strap over her shoulder and positioned the rifle across her back. Then she lifted the piece of bark into her free hand. All the while, she watched Bill with guarded eyes.

  “I’m Bill Hanover,” he said, stepping toward her.

  “Pleased to meet you,” she said, not offering her own name.

  “And you are?”

  “On my way,” she said, backing out of the clearing and then spinning about to run through the woods in the direction of the township. Bill watched her go, her steps silent as she plunged gracefully through the hanging foliage and undergrowth of the woods. A dappled light fell through the trees overhead, sparkling and glinting across her swinging hair and the length of the black rifle that rocked to and fro across her back with each step.