After a successful day’s hunting, while butchering two fine young deer, Coldiron spoke the words that were on everybody’s minds.
“I could sure get used to this little valley between the Crazies and the Big Belts. This is all a free man could ask for right here—the mountains behind you with plenty of game to hunt—a sea of grass in front of you to graze on between the mountains.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Myra said, having overheard Coldiron’s comment. “I brought you some more coffee.” She filled the cups for both men. “Plenty of lumber in the foothills behind us to build a house and a barn.” She turned to look at Lucy beside the fire. “What do you think, Lucy?”
“Whatever you say, Myra,” the young lady replied.
The concept began to take hold on all four minds, even to the extent of creating interest on Bret’s part. This even though he suspected the three of them of ganging up on him to sell the idea.
“Who owns all this grazing land between these mountain ranges?” he asked.
“Nobody,” Coldiron said. “It’s free range. At least, last I heard.”
“Then I say why don’t we homestead it?” Myra suggested. “It sounds like the place we talked about before when we decided to stick together like a family.”
Bret shrugged. “I don’t know. How far is it to Bozeman?” He was thinking about supplies and tools.
“’Bout fifty miles,” Coldiron answered, a big smile struggling to be seen beneath the heavy gray beard.
“Hell, I don’t know,” Bret confessed. “We said we were gonna set up a place somewhere. Whatever the rest of you think, I reckon I’ll go along.”
Myra and Coldiron looked at each other, both grinning, so Myra spoke for both of them. “Then I guess we’re home.”
They all laughed at that, and began exchanging handshakes, oblivious of the deer blood passed from Bret’s and Coldiron’s hands.
• • •
The following days were busy ones for everyone, the first order of business being to establish a permanent camp. Coldiron and Bret were able to cut enough small trees with the hatchets they carried in the packs to build a sizable lean-to that would keep the four bedrolls dry in anything less than a driving rainstorm.
Since they were in the dry season on the plains, they hoped to get a cabin built before having to face winter storms. But there were tools and other things needed to build a good cabin, including a two-man saw to cut the larger logs for the cabin walls.
“There are some other things we’re gonna need if we’re gonna raise cattle and horses,” Bret said. “It’s a little difficult to raise horses when you don’t even own a mare. Same thing goes for cattle.”
“Hell,” Coldiron said, “that ain’t no problem. We’ll use that money of yours you’ve been keepin’ in the bank. We can buy some breedin’ stock from one of those big ranches up at Deer Lodge. We’ll have us a herd started in no time.”
Bret had to laugh. “Well, I’m happy that you’re gonna let me have a hand in your big stock enterprise.”
The work that followed in the next couple of weeks seemed to have been a cathartic for everyone, especially Lucy, who was gradually healing inside. Her downcast manner was soon replaced by one without the constant shame she had come to them with.
Much progress was made, but the summer days were waning, and winter was not far away. It was time to make the trip into Bozeman to buy a wagon, and the tools and supplies they would need to build a proper cabin. Bret, of course, had to go, for he had to withdraw the money from the bank. They could not all go, they decided, because they were not comfortable leaving the temporary camp they had built and running the risk that it might be found by some other wanderers looking for a place to settle. There was no one Bret could think of who was a better protector of their homestead than the huge bear of a man he now partnered with, so Coldiron stayed at home.
“I guess either me or Lucy oughta go with you,” Myra suggested.
“Why?” Bret asked. “I don’t need anyone to go with me.” He grinned and added, “Besides, somebody’s got to be here to feed Coldiron.”
“Because you might decide to just keep on going,” she said, joking. She turned serious then. “You need to go tell those officers at Fort Ellis that you brought a witness for the defense,” she said. “You told us what they did to end your military career.”
Her words were sobering. He had not thought about it for a long time.
“We talked about this before,” he said. “I told you when we made our agreement to work together that I didn’t care to return to the army. And I meant it.”
“The three of us appreciate that,” Myra said. “But it might be the right thing to do to clear your name. And I’d be proud to tell the bastards that you and Nate rescued us.”
He couldn’t help considering the possibility. “I don’t know, Myra. It might be a waste of time to tell them. The charge against me that cost me my commission was that Nate and I ran when the Blackfeet attacked. The fact is that we went on to rescue you and Lucy after we came back the first time without you. So you see, that doesn’t disprove what those two soldiers testified—that we ran from the fight.”
“Yes, but it seems to me that you would want the truth to be known,” she persisted.
“Tell you the truth, I don’t give a damn what the army thinks anymore,” Bret told her emphatically. Then he shrugged and said, “If you just want to ride into Bozeman with me, that’s fine, if Lucy and Nate can get along without you for a few days.”
“I think they can,” Myra said, then looked at Lucy for confirmation. “Can’t you, honey?”
“We’ll be all right,” Lucy said. Her response was encouraging to Myra, for she knew the injured girl had come a long way back from her fears. In the beginning, Lucy had feared the intimidating Coldiron almost as much as she had her Indian captors. But in the time since, she had come to realize that he was her protector, and was genuinely concerned for her well-being. Thinking of that progress, Myra smiled to herself. They really were becoming a family.
“All right, then,” Bret said. “No use delaying any longer. We’ll head out in the morning.”
After discussing it with Coldiron, he decided to ride the two packhorses to Bozeman, because both his paint and Myra’s Appaloosa were Indian ponies and might not adapt very well to pulling a wagon. Myra started to protest but thought better of it. Plans all settled then, Bret and Myra left early the next morning.
Coldiron cautioned Bret to keep a sharp eye out for any roving bands of Indians.
“There’s still some Sioux and Cheyenne renegades that ain’t took to the reservation yet.” Bret was well aware of that, and promised to be careful. “I’m glad you’re takin’ Myra along for protection,” Coldiron joked. “Me and Lucy won’t worry about you as much.”
• • •
The trip into town was uneventful. They made it in one long day, causing Bret to think the distance was shorter than the fifty miles Coldiron had estimated. They arrived in Bozeman just at dusk and rode into the stable to find the owner, Ned Oliver, preparing to leave for supper.
“Evenin’,” Ned greeted them, and tipped his hat to Myra. “You lookin’ to board those horses?”
He studied the young man dressed in buckskins intently, thinking that he had seen him before, but unable to recall when.
“That’s right,” Bret answered. “And in the morning, I might do a little business with you on some other things I need.” This perked Ned’s interest up a bit more. Bret went on. “I’m gonna need to find a wagon and harness to hitch these two horses to it. Can you help me with that?”
“I sure can,” Ned replied. “I’ve done business with you before, I’m thinkin. I just can’t remember when.”
“I bought one of these horses from you, the sorrel,” Bret said, “and another one, a paint Indian pony.”
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p; It struck Ned then, and his face seemed to light up. “I remember now. You got two good horses, and a saddle and pack outfit to boot.” He grinned at them both. “I got it now. You were wearin’ an army suit. Them buckskins is what threw me off. Yes, sir, I can help you. I can even help you with a wagon. I just bought one from a homesteader who decided he’d had enough hard winters and dry summers and headed back East.”
“Good,” Bret said. “We’ll see you in the morning, then.”
“Yes, sir, I can sure fix you up,” Ned muttered to himself as he watched them walk up the street toward the hotel.
It’s a good thing I’m going to the bank in the morning, Bret thought when he paid for two rooms in the hotel. Thinking then of the many places his money would have to go to set up their ranch, he wondered how many cattle he would be able to buy with whatever amount was left. Might not be but one cow, he thought. I hope to hell she’s carrying a calf. He smiled at the mental picture.
“What are you grinning about?” Myra asked, already looking forward to sleeping in a bed.
“Nothing,” Bret replied. “We’ll go on upstairs and take a look at the rooms. Then if you’re ready, we’ll go on down to the dining room for some supper.”
“I won’t have to take much of a look,” Myra said, anticipating the luxury of having someone cook for her. “I hope Lucy and Nate are enjoying their deer jerky tonight while we’re dining like rich folks.”
• • •
Colonel John Grice, acting commander of nearby Fort Ellis, sat at a table near the back corner of the room with Mrs. Grice and her sister and her sister’s husband, a prominent lawyer from Omaha. Since his wife’s sister was only going to be in town for the night, Colonel and Martha Grice met them for supper in the hotel dining room.
Looking up to signal their waitress for more wine, Grice suddenly paused, astonished, when he saw the tall young man wearing animal skins walk into the dining room with a woman dressed in men’s clothes. Grice forgot the waitress then, his gaze following the couple to a table on the other side of the room. There was no doubt in his mind, it was Bret Hollister.
Knowing what he had to do, Grice told his guests to excuse him for a moment and he would be right back. He got up from his chair then and walked across the room.
Bret, seated with his back to the center of the room, was not aware of the visitor until Myra looked up and nodded. Bret turned then to see what she was staring at so intently.
“Bret?” Colonel Grice spoke.
“Colonel Grice,” Bret acknowledged calmly, even though he was as startled as the colonel had been. He was surprised that Grice would approach him.
“Ma’am,” Grice greeted Myra politely before saying his piece. “Now, before you tell me to go to hell, Bret, hear me out. All right?”
“I thought all our talking was over,” Bret replied. “I know I’ve got nothing to say to you.”
“I know you’re angry,” Grice went on. “And I don’t blame you one bit, but I’m trying to make amends here.”
“Well, you’re wasting your time. You and the army have done all the damage to my life that you’re capable of doing. So go on back to your table and let us eat in peace.”
Myra quickly put two and two together and came up with who the colonel was.
“Let me introduce myself,” she interrupted. “My name’s Myra Buckley. I was kidnapped by Blackfoot Indians along with Lucy Gentry. After your army gave up on us, Mr. Hollister and his friend Mr. Coldiron refused to quit until they rescued both Lucy and me. And I wouldn’t be here today if he had abandoned his search for us.”
Grice listened, impatient to continue what he had to say. “I believe you, ma’am, but please listen to me for a minute, and then I’ll leave you in peace. I want to tell you about a fight between two men in the Second Cavalry last week. These men were supposed to be friends. I think you will recall Private McCoy and Private Weaver.” Bret blanched at the mention of their names. Seeing then that he had Bret’s attention, Grice continued. “I don’t know what started the fight, but it got ugly, with Weaver cutting McCoy nearly in half with a bayonet. The sergeant of the guard got there in time to stop the fight before Weaver killed McCoy. He threw Weaver in the guardhouse and McCoy in the hospital.”
Not really interested, Bret interrupted. “All very entertaining, Colonel, but I don’t give a damn if those two liars kill each other.”
“Well, maybe you’ll be interested in this,” Grice insisted. “That little fight turned McCoy into a parrot that wouldn’t stop talking. He told the doctor that Weaver was the cause of that massacre of your detail that night on the Yellowstone. Weaver was on guard, but he went to sleep, and when he saw the fighting going on, he ran to save his own hide. He said the two of them cooked up that story to make heroes of themselves and shift the blame on you. He also said that it was you and Coldiron that drove the Indians off, saving his life.”
Finished then, Grice stood back to judge Bret’s reaction.
It was profound. Bret did not speak for a long moment, sitting there as if just having his life pass before his eyes. There was really nothing he felt appropriate to say. He wondered if the colonel thought he should be dancing a jig to celebrate. If he did, he was to be disappointed, for Bret still felt the injustice of his sentence. Only Myra seemed openly pleased.
Finally Bret spoke. “Well, I’m glad that you and that panel that tried me know the truth now. I appreciate your taking the time to tell me.”
“I tried to find you to give you the news,” Grice said. “I don’t think you understand what this means. I’m pretty sure I can get you reinstated, and your rank and commission back.”
Bret took another pause to think about what the colonel had just told him. Then he glanced over at Myra, whose expression of joy had now turned to one of serious concern. He gave her a brief smile, then turned his attention fully on Grice.
“I know what you’re telling me, Colonel, but I’ve got other plans.”
Grice seemed shocked. “Do you fully understand what I just said? You can regain your status as a second lieutenant, and that court-martial will be cleared from your record.”
“Maybe you should think about that, Bret,” Myra felt compelled to say, even though she feared that he might.
“It’s a rare occasion when a man gets a chance to see what’s best for him. When I left the academy, I was fully primed with the sense of integrity and honor that comes with being an officer. Reality struck me when I found that that integrity could be questioned on the word of two newly enlisted privates, while the word of an officer was rejected. If it happened once, it could happen again, and I do not choose to serve under those conditions. I count myself fortunate to have the opportunity to start my life anew. Now here comes our supper, and I’m sure yours is probably getting cold, so good evening to you, Colonel. Thanks for telling me.”
“Suit yourself,” Grice snapped, feeling properly rebuffed. He turned on his heel and marched back to join his dinner party.
Myra cast a serious look at Bret. “Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?” she asked. “You might be throwing away a great career.”
“And miss an opportunity to be a cattle baron?” Bret replied with a grin. “I decided being a soldier just because my father was one is a mistake. Now let’s eat this stew before it gets cold.”
She fairly beamed. “If I was twenty years younger, I swear, I’d ask you to marry me.”
• • •
Bret and Myra were waiting at the bank when it opened the next morning. Instead of drawing out all his money, as he had originally planned, he decided to withdraw only what he figured he would need for the time being. When the time came to buy stock, it might be better to do it with a bank draft.
“That way,” he jokingly told Myra, “I won’t have to find a hiding place to keep you and Lucy out of it.”
From the bank, they
went directly to see Ned Oliver at the stable. There was a fairly new-looking farm wagon parked conspicuously in front of the stable when they walked up. It occurred to Bret that Myra probably knew more about wagons than he did. She certainly had more experience farming than he, so he asked her to look it over and tell him what she thought. She did, and told him that it looked to be in good shape, so he bought it. She next helped him hitch the horses up to the wagon, making him wonder how he would have gotten along without her.
Next stop was the hardware store, where they loaded their new wagon up with the tools they thought they would need to build a cabin. From there, they went to the general store, which was really the other side of the hardware, where they loaded basic supplies they would need, like flour, sugar, molasses, lard, cornmeal, dried beans, and coffee. One last stop was at the saloon, where Bret picked up a bottle of whiskey and made Myra swear not to tell Coldiron about it until there was a proper occasion to open it.
Starting back, they had barely cleared the sawmill at the edge of town when the two horses decided they didn’t like working as a team. Both sorrels, they began protesting and kicking at each other, resulting in a jerky, lurching ride for the passengers. When they refused to settle down after a quarter of a mile, Myra suggested switching them. The idea sounded as good as anything else they could try, so they pulled up and hitched Coldiron’s horse on the right of the wagon tongue and Bret’s on the left. It worked, for no logical reason, and the ride smoothed out from that point forward.
“Just goes to show you how crazy horses are,” Myra said.
“I don’t know,” Bret joked. “Maybe Nate’s horse is just like his master, he always wants to be on the right side of things.”
The trip back to their homestead was a good deal slower because of the wagon, so they had to camp overnight. Late in the afternoon, they came upon the first water they had seen in the last six or seven miles, so they decided to stop there. The stream was little more than a trickle coming down a ravine from the hills at the south end of the Crazy Mountains, but it was enough to satisfy their needs. The ravine provided a place to pull the wagon out of sight of anyone out on the prairie, as well as a good place to build a fire where the smoke would not be easily seen.
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