Rocky Mountain Warpath (A Crossed Arrows Western Book 1)

by Patrick E. Andrews

  “I got that impression too, sir. The fellow seemed nervous. One might even describe him as somewhat alarmed.”

  “I’m glad you noticed that, Mr. Dooley. D’you think we could sneak back into Canada and pick up his trail?”

  “We’ve always been able to rely on Tall Bear.”

  Hawkins observed the trees around them. “I don’t like mountains and I don’t like forests and I damn well don’t like Montana.”

  Ludlow nodded his agreement. “It is alien land indeed, sir. At least to us. We’re more used to the prairie where a man can see for miles instead of having terrain features block his view.”

  “Fighting here is going to be difficult too.”

  Ludlow’s eyes opened wide. “Are we going to fight, sir?”

  “You goddam right we are. But we have to go back to the trading post first.”

  Over at the fire Sergeant Eagle Heart shared with Corporal Running Cougar, he made note of the expression on his captain’s face. The Kiowa sergeant showed a vicious grin. “The cap’n will make war soon.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The scout detachment reached Campbell’s Trading Post at mid-morning after an early start. The hike back through the trees continued to exasperate the men used to wide-open spaces on horseback. And there was the thin air, but this problem was diminishing daily, leaving only small episodes of discomfort.

  These moods of irritation were shared by officers and scouts alike, but longings for the Indian and Oklahoma Territories was unexpressed by either group. This was due to the scouts’ collective stoicism and the two white officers not wanting to show any signs of nostalgic weakness. The pair even went out of their way to joke, displaying good moods to give the impression they felt no discomfort or frustration.

  When the detachment emerged from the forest onto the meadow of the trading post, the people there were familiar enough with them to wave friendly salutations in their direction. The officers and scouts straightened up and increased their pace, returning the greetings with manly nods of their heads.

  Mandy the bread lady was sweeping the dust out of her small cabin as they walked past leading their horses and the mule. She yelled out, “I’ll have some loaves ready by this afternoon. How many d’you want?”

  “A dozen should do,” Hawkins answered. “Then another dozen tomorrow.”

  “The price is gone up,” Mandy said. “It’s a half-eagle a dozen.”

  “That’s too much,” Hawkins replied. “So never mind. I guess we’ll have to go down to Fort Terral and pick up what bread we need.”

  “A quarter-eagle like before,” the woman quickly relented.

  “It’s a deal.”

  Ludlow grinned. “You really wouldn’t make us go all the way to Fort Terral for loaves of bread, would you, sir?”

  “Hell no! But she doesn’t know that. And you got to remember that we get to keep any money left over from the railroad fund.”

  “That thought stimulates my sense of economy, sir.”

  Hawkins and Ludlow led the way over to the trading post. The two officers left the scouts and went inside. Phil Morgan turned around from restocking his shelves when the pair entered. “Howdy, soljer boys. How’d your little trip go?”

  “Only so-so,” Hawkins replied. “It doesn’t look like that fellah who was in here before is involved in the attacks on the surveyors. We met a couple of Canadian policeman and they said he was from a prospecting camp. But they weren’t sure of the actual location except it was in Canada.”

  “Prospectors ain’t likely to announce where their digs is,” Morgan informed him. “But I reckon it don’t make much differ’nce to you anyhow.”

  “It might,” Hawkins said. “I’m not leaving any stone unturned in these current circumstances.”

  Ludlow scanned the new merchandise for smoked oysters. He saw there were none and turned to join the conversation. “But there was something about that fellow that didn’t sit right with us.”

  Morgan chuckled. “Hell! Why would a bunch of prospectors be worried about trains running through the Gap?”

  Hawkins shrugged. “I don’t know. But we’re going to look for ’em anyhow.”

  Morgan frowned. “Whoa! You better not do that if they’re in Canada.”

  Hawkins frowned back. “I don’t give a good goddam if they’re up at the North Pole. I’m gonna find ’em and check ’em out.”

  “I hope you got loads of time,” Morgan advised. “You fellers is in the middle of the mountains. It’s hard to locate folks that might not want to be found.”

  “Well, I never said it would be easy,” Hawkins retorted. “What I need is a reliable guide who knows this area.”

  “In that case,” Morgan said, “I recommend George Leroux. He’s a Métis and has been hunting and trapping around this part of the Rockies all his life. I figger he can get you closer to them prospectors than anybody else. Fact is, I wouldn’t be surprised if’n he didn’t actual find ’em for you.”

  “I’d like to talk to him.”

  “Sure. He’s sleeping off a drunk right now, but I’ll get him for you as soon as he sobers up enough to show hisself.”

  “Okay,” Hawkins said. “We’re going to camp in the woods on the east side of the meadow. Send him over to see me when you can. By the way, can we stable our horses here while we’re away? The only animal we’re taking is the pack mule since we have to be on foot.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Morgan said. “You’ll be walking through some of the steepest, thickest forest in God’s creation. But that ain’t gonna bother a mule. And I can take care of your horses without any problem in the stables out back. I have hay for ’em too, but no oats. I also got a storehouse where you can leave the gear you don’t want to take with you. If you need a padlock, I got some for sale at a quarter-eagle each.” He paused thoughtfully. “It’ll be a half-eagle a day for the care and feeding of the horses.”

  Hawkins nodded. “It’s a deal.”

  The captain and his command found a comfortable spot to camp a few yards inside a small clearing. The horses and mule were picketed in an area of thick blue grama grass, giving them ample grazing. The humans of the detachment spread out bedrolls, then boiled water for the eternally appreciated coffee. The last of Mandy’s bread was eaten with jam to go with the caffeine-laced brew. A few cans of fruit were also opened and shared among the scouts.

  Ludlow noticed the dwindling supply of store-bought food. “It looks like we’d better make some more purchases before we leave tomorrow.”

  Hawkins shook his head. “Don’t forget we’re gonna be on foot, Mr. Dooley. Whatever you want to take with you, will be loaded on your back. It’s not a good idea to get too weighed down. Although we can pack a few extra things on the mule, we’ll end up living on salt pork and hardtack if we’re out there for very long.”

  “Your advice is well thought-out and will be implemented, sir.”

  “You are indeed an intelligent young man.”

  Ludlow grinned. “There’s a couple of instructors at West Point that might take issue with that statement.”

  “Now why doesn’t that surprise me?” Hawkins said with a wink. “Anyhow, if I deem it safe enough we might be able to shoot some squirrels or possums. The way things are working out, I’m gonna have to revise my ‘no hunting’ order.”

  “I’ll put my medical kit in the mule pack.”

  “Good idea. That item just might come in handy.”

  After snacking, everyone turned to sorting out what they wanted to take with them. This campaign could very easily evolve into long rides on shank’s mare along with mountain fighting. Hawkins allowed everyone to make their own choice of what to bring. For the Indians, this included their medicine pouches to ward off bad luck. Among the officers’ choices was the ammunition for their pistols, soap and toothbrushes and tooth powder. Ludlow also added his medical instruction booklet. Everyone had included a couple of woolen shirts and trousers rolled up as small as possible. The o
ne mandatory item for everyone was a cleaning kit for weaponry.

  When that was all taken care of to everyone’s personal satisfaction, the fatigued officers and scouts relaxed on their bedrolls for a period of recovery and rest.

  The afternoon sun had begun its descent when a bandy-legged, husky man dressed in buckskin and carrying a Winchester carbine walked into the camp. He was obviously of mixed-race, and the Indian part of his ancestry was apparent by his lack of facial hair.

  “I look for Capitaine Hawkins,” the man announced in a heavy French accent.

  “That’s me. Are you the guide Morgan told us about?”

  “C’est moi. My name is George Leroux. What place where you want to be led to?”

  Hawkins quickly explained the situation, emphasizing his desire to find where the prospector and his friends were located.

  Leroux squatted down and was thoughtful for a moment. “I do not know about that.”

  “What don’t you know about that?” Hawkins asked, irritated at the man’s battered version of the English language.

  “What I mean is that I do not know where them prospectors be. Especial if they in Canada. I go up there now and again. That’s big damn country, Capitaine.”

  Ludlow interjected, “They aren’t too far into Canada. After all, he did walk into the trading post with a donkey and went back the same way. And some Canadian policemen we met mentioned a town called Deer Creek.”

  Leroux guffawed. “He sure never walk here from Deer Creek. That town is long distance away. Far north from here.”

  “Then we can forget Deer Creek,” Hawkins stated. “What we need is somebody who has roamed all over these mountains to help us locate where a group of prospectors are evidently mining or panning gold.”

  “Très bien, Capitaine. I take the job, but I cannot guarantee nothing.”

  “Have you scouted for the Army before?”

  “Several times, I reckon.”

  “I’m authorized to sign a pay voucher for you,” Hawkins said. “I don’t know what the going rate is.”

  “No worry ’bout that. I know what it is.”

  Ludlow had another slant on the mission. “If we run into the gang that’s been firing on the surveyors, it could get dangerous.”

  Leroux held up his carbine. “This here Winchester got fifteen bullets. And I got me a whole lot of ammunition and the cartridge belts to carry it.” He stood up. “I got some things to do. I be over here early of the morning tomorrow to join up with you.”

  Leroux walked out of the woods, crossing the meadow to the trading post. Ludlow watched him a for a moment. “I hope he stays sober tonight.”

  “Not to worry, Mr. Dooley. If he ends up drunk and hung-over, we can take care of that problem by flinging him into the icy waters of a mountain creek.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  At an hour past sunrise, the scout detachment’s horses had been stabled at the trading post, and the belongings they were leaving behind locked up in Morgan’s storehouse. Now everyone — officer and scout alike — stood in front of the building impatiently waiting for George Leroux to join them. The annoying prospect of a lot of uphill walking was dulled somewhat by the possibility of a gunfight in the mountain forest.

  To make it easier for mountain soldiering, they had their blankets rolled up with rubber ponchos on the outside, looped and tied at the ends. These were slung over their shoulders along with the canteen straps. Additionally, woven cartridge belts were buckled around their waists. Each of these had 50 loops holding .45 caliber cartridges for their carbines. Hawkins and Ludlow hooked their pistol holsters through an attachment on the side originally meant to hold a saber.

  The rations, extra ammunition and left over food from purchases at the trading post were inside the packs on Tony the mule’s back with the two water bags on the outside. These were freshly filled with thirty gallons of water pumped up from the trading post well.

  After a quarter of an hour, Leroux strolled up to the detachment in a nonchalant manner. He sported nothing more than a backpack, a bandoleer of ammo for his Winchester and a tomahawk stuck in his belt. He seemed in a good mood. “It look maybe like you fellers is ready for mountain stroll, n’est pas?”

  Ludlow greeted him. “You might find us needing a rest now and then, Mr. Leroux. We’re not quite acclimated to this thin air.”

  “No worry. You been here long enough for be fine in two maybe three more days.”

  Hawkins was impatient. “It won’t be a problem.” He turned to the scouts. “Form up in single file.” He waited until they arranged themselves, then walked down the line tapping Sergeant Eagle Heart, Tall Bear and Red Moon. “The scouts that I just touched keep a watch on the left while we’re moving through the woods. That means that Lieutenant Dooley, Corporal Running Cougar and Swift Horse will keep watch on the right.”

  They all understood perfectly. The first lesson they acquired as U.S. Scouts was to learn the difference between “right” and “left” during instruction in facing movements. This had all taken place as Hawkins slowly but surely turned them into soldiers, albeit ones who had the potential of suddenly evolving into feral warriors. This latter fault had to be dealt with by a careful application of military discipline. Hawkins was convinced they were more dependable than ever, but was just as certain that their congenital ferocity had the potential of producing a surge of savage zeal. If that happened, a battle in progress could rapidly deteriorate into chaotic mayhem; meaning a defeat.

  “Tall Bear will lead the mule,” Hawkins said. Then he turned to Leroux. “I will be at the front with you.”

  “Fine with me, Capitaine,” the guide answered. “I figger we travel northwest. There is no much south where I take you.”

  “Do you need a compass?”

  “Une boussole? Mais non! I never use anything like that. I been in these mountains long time.”

  “That’s real impressive, Leroux, but if you just happen to get a little confused about your location, see Lieutenant Dooley. He has a compass.”

  “I remember that, Capitaine. But sometime I got to stop and go ahead for to look around. C’est bon?”

  “That makes sense. Let’s move out.”

  The early risers of the trading post watched as the column of eight men and mule walked across the trading post grounds and into the trees.

  Leroux went due north for forty minutes or so, then eased northwest. Hawkins and Ludlow stayed together as much as they could while the scouts followed them keeping within sight of each other. Tall Bear had to struggle with Tony the mule a few times when tree limbs got in the way of the pack on the animal’s back. Each time this occurred, Swift Horse, in his position to their rear, would move up and help untangle the load.

  The terrain grew steeper after an hour of a fairly easy assent. The upshot was some huffing and puffing that could not be avoided by the plainsmen. Just as thigh muscles began aching and burning from the intense effort, the slant of the earth lessened and the pace increased accordingly. Everyone felt a sense of physical relief.

  Hawkins looked back at Ludlow, speaking soto voce. “That was about the steepest we’ve experienced since coming here, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir. But I have a feeling it’ll get worse before it gets better.”

  “Sure,” Hawkins replied with a grin. “But think of the bragging we’ll be able to do back at the Fort Lone Wolf officers’ saloon when we tell ever’body about this grand adventure. They’ll be positively amazed to hear about the hardships we endured.”

  “Mmm,” Ludlow mused, “I’ll comfort myself with that thought when I collapse from exhaustion on some mountainside.”

  They came to another steep ascent and Hawkins called a halt. “Check your gear to make sure it hasn’t shifted or become uncomfortable.” Corporal Running Cougar and Scout Red Moon retied their combination poncho-blanket rolls while Hawkins inspected the pack on the mule’s back.

  “Okay!” he called out to Leroux. “Let’s move out!”r />
  Once more they gritted their teeth and leaned in toward the mountain, stepping down hard at the same time using cramping leg muscles to carry them up the unforgiving terrain. After a half hour they were doing the opposite; digging in their heels as they descended the other side of the rise. Then once more the detachment scrambled upward toward the top of yet another gradient.

  A mountain meadow with scattered trees offered some relief for a few minutes, then the struggle uphill resumed. Hawkins glanced back at the column and saw Ludlow’s sweating face, his expression grim and gloomy. The captain grinned, “Keep up your spirits, Mr. Dooley.”

  “Yes indeed, sir,” the tired lieutenant replied. Then he added, “I wonder what the poor people are doing today.”

  “You have an advantage over them, young man. You’ll have a nice supper of salt pork and Miss Mandy’s bread tonight.”

  “I just might be too tired to chew, sir.”

  Hawkins was glad Ludlow showed a sense of humor. The young man had a stubborn physical courage that he had demonstrated before. The captain looked at the Indians; they were inscrutable and emotionless, going through the march like automatons.

  Captain Mack Hawkins thought, It’s a good thing we whites outnumbered them or we’d still be living on the east coast. Then he turned his mind back to the job at hand.

  There was little conversation in the camp that night. It was decided to leave the cans of fruit from the trading post for later on when they would be more appreciated. The salt pork and bread were passed out and the eager eating of hungry men occupied them for a half hour.

  Hawkins, Ludlow and Leroux sat around their own fire. The captain glanced at the guide. “D’you want any of this chow? You’re authorized rations.”

  Leroux shook his head as he pulled a cloth sack from his backpack. “I got pemmican, Capitaine. It is all I need.”

  “What the hell is pemmican?”

  Leroux was puzzled. “You don’t know nothing ’bout pemmican. I think maybe your Injuns know all ’bout pemmican, n’est pas?”