To the River's End

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  They rode straight back to their campsite at the rendezvous with only stops to let the horses drink. Jug was waiting anxiously for their return and greeted them wearing a large bandage on the back of his head. When he saw them coming across the valley, leading Bloodworth’s horse, he started jumping up and down excitedly, blurting out, “I knew he would do it! I told you he would get her back!” He continued to repeat it as he watched them approach the camp, even though there was no one there but him. It struck him then that Luke had taken no food of any kind, so he grabbed up the coffeepot and ran to the creek to fill it with water. Luckily, they had some ground coffee, so he fixed up a pot and set it on the fire. They were only about fifty yards away by then, and his jubilation took a turn toward worrisome. For he laid full blame on himself for Willow’s abduction. He worried now about what she might have suffered at the hands of that evil monster.

  As soon as they pulled the horses to a stop, Jug came forward to meet them. Passing right by Luke, he hurried to Willow’s horse to help her down. “You poor little punkin,” he cooed when he saw her bruised face. “I’m awful sorry. It’s all my fault for lettin’ that no-account maniac slip up on me.” He turned to look at Luke, and Luke smiled at him. He turned back toward Willow then and said, “You don’t know how glad I am to see you back here in one piece.”

  Anxious to dispose of any doubts or suspicions, she quickly informed him, “Only hurt on face. No hurt anywhere else.”

  “Thank the Good Lord for that,” Jug responded, feeling the lifting of a great weight of guilt from his shoulders.

  “I look at wound on back of your head now,” Willow said.

  “After you folks drink some coffee and eat some jerky,” Jug insisted. “I didn’t have no idea when I’d see you again, or I’da cooked up somethin’. I ain’t sure what it’da been, since we ain’t had a chance to go to the store yet.” He gave Luke a sheepish grin and added, “Bloodworth kinda messed up our plans.”

  “I cook some elk jerky,” Willow said.

  “Lord knows we got plenty of that,” Jug replied. “You get you some coffee. I’ll take care of your horses. What about that gray, Bloodworth’s horse?” He was eager to help any way he could, even though he was most anxious to hear the story of how the gray’s saddle became empty.

  “Right now, we’ll take the saddles off ’em and turn the gray out with the rest of our horses. All three of ’em could use a rest. I’ll talk to Axel Thompson over at American Fur to see if he thinks they have a claim on Bloodworth’s horse and saddle.”

  “Right,” Jug responded and started pulling the saddle off the gray. When Luke unsaddled Smoke and Willow’s horse, they led the three horses toward the other horses a little way before releasing them to continue on their own. That was as long as Jug could contain his patience. Well out of Willow’s earshot, he grabbed Luke’s elbow and stopped him. “If you don’t tell me what happened when you caught up with that sorry piece of trash, I’m gonna bust!”

  Luke paused and looked at his fiery little partner. He started to relate the incident as it happened, but he hesitated, unable to resist an alternate version. “Well, I found him. He was right where Lonnie Johnson said he’d be, settin’ up on the side of a hill watchin’ the trail that led to him. As soon as I spotted him, I raised my hand and told him I came to talk, so we talked. And the more we talked, the more he came to see he was in the wrong about the whole thing and he wanted to apologize for everything he’d done. I said he had nothin’ to apologize for as long as Willow had not been seriously harmed. He said he was awful sorry he had lost his temper once and hit her and left those marks on her face. He said she had already forgiven him for that.”

  “Well, I’ll be . . . ,” Jug started. “I’da never thought . . .” He didn’t finish either sentence, amazed as he was to hear of the miraculous turnaround of a maniacal mind. Staring after the three horses they just released, it struck him then. “But what happened to him? That’s his horse, ain’t it?”

  “Oh, well, yeah, that’s his horse all right. When he was bringin’ Willow down the hill to me, he slipped and broke his neck.” Luke shook his head sadly. “Awful sight it was, awful.”

  Completely taken in at first, Jug’s facial expression changed from wide-eyed wonderment to indignant disgust when it struck him. “Damn you, Luke Ransom, you oughta be shot. I’ve got a good mind to tell Willow the story you just told me.”

  “No, you don’t,” Luke said at once. “I’ll tell you what happened, every detail, but you gotta promise me you ain’t gonna say nothin’ to her about me japin’ you about it. There ain’t nothin’ about this thing she wants to joke about. And it sure wasn’t a joke to me. I don’t know what I woulda done if anything had happened to her.” He told Jug all about the execution of Dan Bloodworth then, but only after he got Jug’s solemn promise that he would never tell her that he had japed him at first.

  After hearing all the events that happened after Luke left Red’s Place the night before, Jug still had questions that concerned him. “From what you’re tellin’ me, it sounds like Bloodworth’s pal, Lonnie Johnson, was in it up to his neck, since he’s the one who told you where to go to find Bloodworth.”

  “I’m sure he was,” Luke agreed, “but it was Bloodworth’s show, just like it always was with Lonnie. He just did Bloodworth’s errands, so I ain’t worried about him causing us any problems. I am a little worried about Hiram Jones, though. He went with me to find Lonnie and Lonnie wasn’t too happy with him about that. I expect I’ll need to talk to Lonnie. I made some pretty serious threats on his life that he wasn’t very happy about. I figure they’ll all be at Berman’s Saloon tonight, so I’ll go over there and talk to him and Axel Thompson about Bloodworth’s horse.

  The three of them went to Boutwell’s store that afternoon to buy the supplies needed to sustain their camp for the rest of the summer and the coming trapping season. Willow had already informed them, in no uncertain terms, that she was going to be with them right through the season. Luke didn’t put up much of an argument, since he didn’t like the thought of being away from her all winter. Jug wasn’t about to argue. It meant having a cook and a hard-working hand with the pelts. With that decided and now stocked with new supplies, Willow was pleased to cook them a big supper. When supper was over, Luke decided to go over to Berman’s to catch the American Fur Crew and get that issue settled. “Maybe I oughta go over there with you,” Jug suggested.

  “No need, partner. I ain’t gonna be gone long. I’m just gonna say my peace and whatever Axel says is fair, I’ll agree to. We don’t need the extra horse, anyway. You stay here and finish the coffee.” Jug went out with him to saddle Bloodworth’s gray while he saddled Smoke.

  “You be careful, Luke Ransom,” Willow told him. “I save you some coffee.”

  “Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Ransom,” Luke replied, gave her a light peck on her bruised cheek, and stepped up into the saddle. “Tomorrow we go find that preacher.”

  * * *

  As he had figured, most of the American Fur Company’s crew was in their nightly session at Berman’s Saloon when he pulled up at the hitching rail and tied the horses there. Armed only with his pistol and his knife, he walked into the noisy saloon. Moments later, a blanket of silence fell over the room when he was recognized. Luke paused only a moment to look at those gathered at the large table at the back of the room, most of whom he recognized, having worked with many of them for five years. He did not see Lonnie Johnson, but he saw Axel Thompson, so he walked on back to the table. “Luke,” Axel acknowledged.

  “Evenin’, Axel,” Luke replied. “I came to bring Dan Bloodworth’s horse, saddle, and his weapons back. I didn’t know if they belonged to him or to the company. Figured you’d know. Bloodworth won’t be comin’ back.” There was a low buzz of mumbling at that. “I don’t see Lonnie Johnson here,” Luke continued. “I was gonna tell him he has nothin’ to fear from me. Bloodworth was my only target, and now I’m done with it. I worked five years with your comp
any, and I hope there ain’t no hard feelin’s because of this. That’s all I’ve got to say on the matter. What’s your decision about the horse and tack?”

  “Well, Bloodworth hadn’t worked off the cost of his horse and saddle yet,” Axel said. “The weapons were his. I appreciate your honesty in the matter. Let me tell you this, though. Every man here knows what Bloodworth did, and nobody can fault you for going after the man who abducted your wife.” Again, there was a buzz of mumbling among those standing there, this time a vote of approval. “I’ll tell Lonnie what you said, and we wish you good luck, you and your wife.”

  Luke was frankly touched. He nodded and said, “’Preciate it,” as he looked around the table, pausing when he met Hiram Jones’ gaze for a moment.

  “You wanna stay and have a drink on me?” Axel asked.

  “Thank you just the same, but I told the little woman I’d be right back.” His comment drew a round of chuckles. “You know how it is with us old married men.”

  Standing in the doorway at the back of Berman’s Saloon after having stepped outside to return some of the beer he had imbibed, Lonnie Johnson listened to the conversation between Luke and Axel. He had no desire to come face to face with Luke Ransom again. And from what he heard, he was considered of no consequence to Ransom or Axel and American Fur. Everything had gone wrong, it was supposed to be Bloodworth who returned to the camp, so he elected not to go back inside and risk the possibility of having to face Luke in front of the others.

  When he heard Luke leaving, he walked around the saloon to the front corner and watched for him to come out. In a moment, Luke appeared and walked to the hitching rail to untie his horse. Lonnie realized Luke had no idea he was there, as he stood at the rail, his back to him. It was there before him, the opportunity to kill the man who had shamed him. He would never get another opportunity like this, he told himself. His hand shaking, he drew the pistol from his belt and checked to make sure it was ready to fire. Luke went around the rail, his back still toward Lonnie as he walked up to grasp his saddle horn, preparing to mount. Lonnie raised a shaking hand and forced himself to hold it steady enough to take aim. He screamed in surprise when the .54 caliber rifle ball struck him in the chest, knocking him backward, his pistol firing straight up in the air.

  Startled, Luke was at once confused. The first shot sounded to have come from some distance in front of the saloon, but it was followed instantly by a shot directly behind him. When he turned back toward the saloon, it was in time to see Lonnie hit the ground. Thinking maybe he was caught in a crossfire, he pulled his pistol and dropped to one knee, searching for the source of the shot that downed Lonnie. In a few seconds, he heard the shooter. “Don’t shoot, Luke, it’s me.”

  “Jug?”

  “Yeah, it’s me,” Jug answered and came out from behind a large pine tree. “He was fixin’ to cut you down. I figured you needed some backup.”

  Still surprised, Luke was speechless for a few moments while he replayed what had just happened in his mind. When he finally spoke, it was to say, “Partner, I ain’t never been so glad to see you before.” They walked over to look at the body. There was no question, Lonnie Johnson was dead, shot through the heart. “I don’t know where he came from,” Luke said. “He wasn’t in the saloon.”

  Jug told him Lonnie had come from behind the saloon and was taking dead aim at his back. “I was fixin’ to go in there if you didn’t come out pretty soon, but I saw that snake sneakin’ around the corner. I’m glad I had my rifle with me. I mighta missed with a pistol.”

  By that time, after there were no more shots fired, the men inside the saloon decided it safe enough to come out to see what was taking place. One of them, Hiram Jones, was not at all surprised to find out Lonnie had attempted to shoot Luke in the back. And it was fairly obvious to the others when they saw the pistol still in Lonnie’s hand, having just been fired. “I expect we’d best take our leave now,” Luke said to Jug. “Partner, I’m sure glad you decided to come lookin’ for me.” Jug was glad, too. He didn’t tell Luke that he was there because Willow had asked him to go after him, in case Luke got into trouble.

  * * *

  “I make new coffee, so you both have some,” Willow greeted them when they returned. “I make more Johnny-cakes, too.” It was a pleasant evening with another full moon, and no one worried about the extra coffee keeping them awake, especially Luke and Willow. They had not slept at all the night before. They made themselves comfortable sitting there by the fire, and Luke seemed to be the first to submit to the call for sleep. There was a lull in the conversation that lasted several minutes before Willow interrupted it. Speaking softly, so only Jug could hear, she said, “Look, he sleeps like baby.” She reached over and gently removed the cup from Luke’s hand.

  “He’s been pretty doggone busy for the last two days,” Jug whispered. “But so have you. You need to get the both of you to bed.”

  “I’m okay,” she said. “I not bother him right now.” She gazed fondly at her sleeping husband. Then she reached over to pat Jug on his hand. “You are good friend to Luke. Thank you for going to look for him tonight. He say you save his life.”

  “I shoulda thought to go after him, myself,” Jug said. “I wanted to go, but he said stay here. You heard him.”

  “He not always do what’s best for him,” Willow said. “But he always say Jug good friend to him.” She gave him a warm smile, “And to me, too.” Jug was deeply touched. He felt like he was family. Willow continued to gaze upon her sleeping husband for a while. Then a question occurred to her. “Jug,” she pronounced. “Why you called that?”

  “It’s because I like to drink my likker outta a jug,” he answered.

  “I know that, but when they start calling you that? You don’t drink fire water when a little boy.”

  “No, that just happened after I growed up a little. I took it on as my regular name on account I didn’t like the name my mama gave me.”

  “What name your mama give you?” She asked, really interested at this point.

  Jug shook his head. “I don’t never tell nobody that name. I don’t want nobody callin’ me that. Luke asked me when we first partnered-up. I wouldn’t tell him.”

  His reluctance only served to increase her curiosity. “You can tell me. I promise, I not tell Luke, or nobody else.”

  He hesitated. His given name was a secret he intended to take to the grave with him, but he had come to trust Willow’s honesty and integrity. He bit his lower lip as he tried to decide, then he took another look at Luke, sleeping, exhausted. Finally, he leaned over closer to her and whispered even more softly, “You swear you won’t tell Luke or nobody else?”

  She whispered back, “I swear, I no tell nobody.”

  “Carmen,” he whispered, and when Willow seemed puzzled, he went on to explain. “My mama heard that name somewhere and thought it sounded good, so she stuck it on me. Come to find out, Carmen’s a girl’s name. I caught plenty of hell over that name till I left home and took on Jug.”

  “Carmen,” she repeated softly. “I not tell.”

  “I know. I trust you. I wouldn’t tell nobody else in this whole world but you.” They sat there by the fire for a long while until Jug decided he was going to have to turn in for the night. “You gonna need any help gettin’ your husband up from there and into your hut? You’d most likely do just as well throwing his blanket over him right where he is. He’d probably sleep right there till mornin’.”

  “Maybe I do that,” she said. “I’ll see after I clean cups.”

  “All right, then,” Jug said. “I’ll see you in the mornin’. Good night.”

  “Good night,” she returned.

  “Yeah, good night, Carmen,” Luke spoke out. “See you in the mornin’.”

  “Damn you, Luke Ransom!” Jug cursed. “I wish I’da let Lonnie Johnson shoot your lowdown ass! Wipe that smile off your face!”

  William W. Johnstone is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of ove
r three hundred books, including the bestselling series Smoke Jensen: The Mountain Man, Preacher: The First Mountain Man, Flintlock, MacCallister and Will Tanner: Deputy U.S. Marshal, and the stand-alone thrillers Black Friday, Tyranny, and Stand Your Ground.

  Being the all-around assistant, typist, researcher, and fact-checker to one of the most popular western authors of all time, J.A. Johnstone learned from the master, Uncle William W. Johnstone.

  He began tutoring J.A. at an early age. After-school hours were often spent retyping manuscripts or researching his massive American Western History library as well as the more modern wars and conflicts. J.A. worked hard—and learned.

  “Every day with Bill was an adventure story in itself. Bill taught me all he could about the art of storytelling. ‘Keep the historical facts accurate,’ he would say. ‘Remember the readers, and as your grandfather once told me, I am telling you now: be the best J.A. Johnstone you can be.’”

  Visit the website at www.williamjohnstone.net.