Left Hand of the Law

by Charles G. West

  “Hello the camp,” called a voice a few minutes later. “Saw your fire back there. Mind if we come in? There’s just the two of us.”

  Adam’s first thought was that he hadn’t hidden his camp very well, but there was nothing to remedy that now. “Come on in,” he called back while edging his way a little farther from the firelight until his back was against the trunk of a cottonwood.

  In a few moments, two riders approached the fire, slow-walking their horses through the trees beside the stream and leading a packhorse. Pulling up in the small clearing, they looked right and left before sighting Adam sitting with his back to the tree. “Howdy,” one of the men said. “Don’t blame you for bein’ careful. There’s a helluva lot of road agents ridin’ these trails around here. We all have to be careful.”

  “That’s what I hear,” Adam replied and got to his feet, his rifle still in hand. “You’re welcome to some coffee. I don’t have much food to offer but some jerky I was fixin’ to fry when you rode up.”

  “’Preciate it,” the rider said. “Me and Jim here would love some of that coffee, but we’ve got plenty of fresh-kilt deer meat that needs to be et before it starts to turn. Jim shot a young buck a few hours ago right when it was crossin’ the river. So if you’ll furnish the coffee, we’ll furnish the meat.”

  “That sounds like a fair deal to me,” Adam said, still watching his visitors with a cautious eye.

  The two dismounted then. “My name’s Rob Hawkins,” the one doing all the talking said. “My partner here is Jim Highsmith. We’re headin’ to Virginia City. Which way are you headin’?”

  “Adam Blaine,” Adam said. “I’m goin’ the same way you are.”

  “You headin’ to the diggin’s to try your luck at prospectin’?” Highsmith asked, speaking for the first time.

  “Nope,” Adam replied. “I’m lookin’ for my brother. He’s the prospector in the family. I don’t know much about it, to tell you the truth.” He continued to watch the men carefully as they tied their horses near the stream, taking special note that they left their rifles in the saddle boots. In a show of equal trust, he walked back over to his saddle on the ground and slipped his rifle back in the sling.

  The gesture did not go unnoticed by his guests. Rob smiled and unbuckled his gun belt. “Why don’t we just hang our handguns on our saddles, so we don’t have to keep an eye on each other, and cook up some of this meat?” His remark served to clear the tension from the air, and all three chuckled as Jim and Adam followed his example. “Matter of fact, I might pull off my boots and pants. They still ain’t dry.” He went on to relate the encounter with the deer at the river. “If Jim had waited till the damn deer climbed up on the bank, I wouldn’ta had to go in the river after him. I swear, he shot him when he was right in the middle, and he was about to wash downstream with the current.”

  Jim shrugged and replied in defense of his actions, “How was I to know if he was gonna come on across or turn and go to the other bank? You’da got your ass wet either way.”

  “Oughta made you go in after him,” Rob groused. “You were the one that shot him.”

  Adam recharged his coffeepot to accommodate the new arrivals while Rob carved off some of the fresh venison. There was no need to conserve. The meat wouldn’t keep much longer with the weather as warm as it was, so everyone ate his fill. By the time a state of satisfaction was reached, the three men felt at ease with one another, and the talk turned to prospecting. Rob, sitting by the fire in his underwear, complained that he and Jim were too late in arriving at the diggings, but decided they had nothing better to do. “There’s always some little spot that nobody found, and that might be the place we hit it big.”

  “Maybe so,” Adam said. “You sound like my brother. The only difference is my brother ain’t much for hard work. He’ll likely look for some way to have somebody else do the diggin’.” He studied his two visitors without the sense of suspicion he had applied at first. They were an interesting pair. Rob was tall and lanky, and his face wore an expression of carefree indifference. His partner, Jim, was a study in contrast. Short and stocky, his face reflected a sense of constant worry. He walked with a slight limp, the result of having been born with one leg considerably shorter than the other, according to him. Before the evening was over, Adam invited them to unsaddle their horses and ride on in to Virginia City with him in the morning.

  The conversation eventually got around to the many rumors of gangs of road agents that preyed upon the trails between the gold fields and Salt Lake City and the lack of law enforcement to protect stagecoaches and freighters. “Bannack, Virginia City, and all the other little towns along those gulches are wide-open for outlaws,” Rob said. “And since you say you ain’t ever been to any of them places, you’d best beware of who you talk to, especially if you’re carryin’ any money on you.”

  “Well, I reckon I don’t have anythin’ to worry about,” Adam lied, “’cause I’m dead broke. But I ’preciate the warnin’. Like I said, I’m just lookin’ for my brother, and as soon as I find him, the outlaws are welcome to Alder Gulch and Daylight Gulch, too.”

  “Still ain’t a bad idea to sleep with your six-shooter handy, though,” Rob said, and that was what all three did when it was time to turn in.