Long Road to Cheyenne

by Charles G. West

  “Yes, ma’am, they have two is what I heard.”

  “All right, when you get there, come find me, and we’ll get on with our business then. All right, partner?” She gave him an encouraging smile.

  “All right,” he said, “I’ll get up there as soon as I can.”

  Chapter 3

  He rode into the town of Custer City late in the morning of the third day after leaving Hat Creek Station. Seeing a sign that declared a new two-story building at the end of the street to be the Custer House, he figured that was where he might find Mary. So he guided Toby in that direction. Inside, he told the clerk he was looking for Mrs. Mary Bishop. “Yes,” the clerk responded. “Mrs. Bishop is staying here, but she’s not in her room at the present time. She said that you might be looking for her, and to tell you that she and the girls are down at the other end of the street at the stable. I think she said she was looking to buy some horses.”

  “Much obliged,” Cam said.

  “Well, I see you made it,” Mary called to him when she saw him approaching, leading his horse. Standing beside the corral, with a daughter on either side of her, she had been talking to the owner of the stable, who was inside the corral with the horses. “Mr. Bledsoe has been showing me some horses he has for sale. You got here just in time to give me your opinion.” A genuine look of disappointment captured Bledsoe’s face as Mary continued. “See those two tied at the corner, the red one and the black one? He’s offering what he says is a good price for them, and now we’re looking for two more.”

  “Is that a fact?” Cam replied as he dropped Toby’s reins to the ground. “You think you need four horses?”

  “Why, I suppose so,” she answered, “one for each of us, and one packhorse.”

  “Well, it’s your money, but I figure you don’t need but three. Grace and Emma can ride on one, you on the other, and the other’n for a packhorse. The girls won’t be much of a load for a horse.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” she reconsidered. “I guess I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Cam’s right,” Emma interrupted. “I don’t wanna ride a horse by myself.”

  “Then I guess you can ride behind your sister,” Mary said. She smiled at Cam and suggested, “Why don’t you take a look at the two we’ve already picked out?”

  Bledsoe stepped in at that point. “Howdy, young feller. I’m Ned Bledsoe. I’ve been tryin’ to get the lady as much horse for the money as I can—you know— and put ’em on somethin’ that’s gentle enough for a lady and the little girls.” He followed Cam along the side of the corral. “You’re welcome to look ’em over,” he said when Cam climbed over the rails to inspect the horses. “Both of ’em’s been gelded.”

  Cam’s inspection didn’t take long. “I wanna throw a saddle on the black one. He’ll do if his wind ain’t been broke.” He also wanted to test the horse’s disposition, since he might be ridden by Mary or the girls. “We won’t be wantin’ the chestnut,” he then told Bledsoe. “He’s a little slack in the girth and has weak-lookin’ quarters. Those long legs tell me he ain’t likely to hold up under a load.”

  “Well,” Bledsoe offered weakly, with thoughts of high profit combined with getting rid of some weak horseflesh fading away, “like I said, I was tryin’ to give her somethin’ gentle, but I got others.”

  “He oughta be gentle, all right,” Cam remarked, “but where we’re headin’, we ain’t lookin’ for a pet.”

  The purchase of Mary Bishop’s horses went on a good bit longer than Ned Bledsoe had estimated in the beginning. Cam saddled the black and rode it full gallop out the end of the main street to judge the horse’s heart and wind. “He’ll do,” he told Mary when he returned. He settled on a sorrel and a bay to round out Mary’s string, including two saddles and a packsaddle.

  “Mister,” Bledsoe told him, “you’re a helluva man to bargain with. I can’t make any money dealin’ with you. You looked at them horses every way in the world. I was expectin’ you to crawl up their hind ends to take a look inside ’em.”

  “You got a fair price for the three of ’em,” Cam said. “I knew you didn’t look like the kinda man who would take advantage of a lady. I saw an old pack rig hangin’ up in the tack room back there. Since the lady bought two saddles from you, too, I expect you’ll throw that in to boot.”

  Bledsoe snorted and shook his head. “I reckon,” he said, knowing when he was beat. “I expect you’ll be boardin’ ’em here,” he remarked hopefully.

  “Don’t know,” Cam answered. “It’s up to the lady.” He walked back out to the corral, where Mary waited. “How soon do you wanna get started for this camp where your brother-in-law is? There’s still plenty of daylight left today if you don’t wanna wait till the mornin’.”

  “I don’t see any reason to wait,” she replied. “Let’s get started today.”

  He smiled. “Have you got any money left for the supplies we’re gonna need?”

  “I think so,” she said. “At least we’ll find out.”

  “Let’s go, then,” he said, and led the horses out of the corral. “Come on, Grace.” She came to him and he picked her up and sat her in the saddle. Next, he placed Emma up behind Grace and told her, “Hang on to your sister.” He then helped Mary up on the black gelding, and they waited while he put the packsaddle on the sorrel. Stepping up on Toby, he said to Bledsoe, “Pleasure doin’ business with you.”

  “Come back when you need another horse,” Bledsoe called after them. “Remember you got a good deal here.” Sharp-eyed son of a bitch, he thought. He cost me a helluva lot of money.

  Cam waited downstairs while Mary changed into a pair of denim trousers she had purchased the day before at the dry goods store. When she came down, carrying her suitcases, he was pleased to see that she had gotten some sensible clothing, something more suitable for the trip she was determined to take. Grace and Emma were similarly attired. Grace carried a small suitcase and Emma dragged a carpetbag behind her. He wasted no more than a few seconds to scrutinize the luggage before suggesting she should get rid of the suitcases and carry her things in sacks. “These are a matched set of suitcases,” she complained. “Why would I want to discard them? And where on earth am I going to find cloth sacks?”

  “Maybe the grocery,” Cam suggested. “If they ain’t got any, we oughta be able to find some at the feed store.”

  She frowned as she considered his suggestion. “No,” she decided, “this is perfectly good luggage and I don’t wish to part with it. We’ll just have to tie it on our packhorse.” Leaving no room for further discussion, she continued. “Now, I expect we should go to the store across the street and get what supplies we need. I’m going to need a frying pan and a coffeepot, too, if I have to come up with something for you and the girls to eat.”

  “Yes, ma’am, you’re the boss. I’m gonna need some extra rope. I’ve got a fryin’ pan and a coffeepot, but they ain’t very big ones. I never did much entertainin’.”

  “I’ll need to buy some new ones,” she said decidedly. “I’ve seen yours.”

  He grinned sheepishly. There was no need to comment.

  • • •

  “You ever hear of a camp called Destiny?” Cam asked the owner of the general store when he carried the last of Mary’s purchases out to tie onto the sorrel.

  “Destiny?” Grady Simpson responded. “Can’t say as I have, but there’s a lot of little pockets of folks up in those hills. Somebody will strike a little color, and pretty quick other folks move in, and before you know it, there’s a sizable little settlement sprung up. But Destiny, I don’t recollect hearin’ that name.” He hesitated for a moment when another thought struck him. “Martha,” he called to his wife, who was standing on the front step talking to Mary. “What was that name those two brothers called their minin’ camp?”

  “Destiny,” Martha said without having to think twice about it.

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nbsp; Her reply caught both Cam’s and Mary’s attention. “That’s my husband’s camp,” she quickly stated. “He and his brother staked a claim and called it Destiny.”

  “I declare,” Grady remarked, “that’s right. I had plumb forgot. Tell you the truth, I thought it was a peculiar name to call a placer mine. But Martha’s right.” He handed Cam the sack of flour he had been holding and stood back to judge his proficiency in tying a secure packsaddle. “They musta struck good color, because they quit comin’ into town together. First one of ’em would come to the store. Then next time the other’n would come. I figured they musta been settin’ on a sizable strike, and they figured somebody needed to guard their claim.” He turned to Mary then. “Which brother are you married to?” She told him that Warren was her husband. “So now you’ve come to join your husband?”

  “Her husband was killed, Grady,” Cam quickly told him before he went further with his questions. “She’s looking for his brother, so she can tell him the sorrowful news.”

  “I’m right sorry to hear that, ma’am,” Grady stated awkwardly. “We never got to know either one of ’em very well, but they struck me as fine gentlemen, both of ’em.”

  “You have any idea where that camp might be?” Cam asked.

  “Why, no,” Grady replied. “They were mighty tight-lipped when it came to talkin’ about their claim. It’s just somewhere up in those mountains northeast of here. They always rode out the north end of town when they left, but I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you.”

  “Much obliged,” Cam told him while Mary said good-bye to Grady’s wife. When Mary was aboard her new black gelding, Cam perched the girls on the back of the bay. Each girl had a piece of peppermint in her mouth, a gift from Mrs. Simpson. With everybody set to start out on their wilderness adventure, Cam led his little party out the north road. Beyond the last building in town, and away from curious eyes, he pulled Toby to a stop and Mary handed him the map her late husband had sent her in one of his letters.

  Cam studied the roughly sketched map carefully. “Accordin’ to this, we oughta see a smooth round rock about the size of a haystack, close to four miles north of town. It’s settin’ right beside a wide stream comin’ down outta the mountains. We’re supposed to follow that stream up through the hills till we get to a smaller stream that feeds into it.” He handed the map back to Mary. “Sounds simple enough so far.”

  They found the round rock beside the stream after traveling a distance that seemed far more than four miles, but they decided it had to be the right stream, so they followed it up into foothills that were thick with dark pitch pines, broken here and there with maples and quaking aspens. Higher they rode, past traces of abandoned claims along the stream, evidence of played-out strikes, their former owners no doubt having left to join the horde that rushed to Deadwood. By the time they reached the fork where the smaller stream flowed in from the eastern mountains, the sun was threatening to drop out of sight. So they decided it best to make camp while there was light enough to do so. “If your map is right,” Cam said, “that camp shouldn’t be too far from here. We oughta strike it pretty early in the mornin’.”

  He pulled the saddles off the horses and hobbled the three Mary had just bought. He didn’t hobble Toby. When Emma asked why, he told her that Toby was more like a dog than a horse, and the buckskin would never stray far from where he was. This delighted the little girl, and she told her mother that she wanted to name the new horses. “All right,” Mary told her, “you and Grace can have that job, but think of some good names, because they’ll be stuck with them. While you’re thinking about that, you two can help me build a fire and we’ll try out our new pan. Grace, you know how to make coffee, so you can do that as soon as we get a fire started. Now, Grace, don’t skimp with the coffee grounds. Put enough beans in the mill to fill that little drawer. We don’t want Cam to faint because of weak coffee.”

  “It might be a good idea to build your fire in that little hollow over there,” Cam suggested, and pointed to a spot just below a steep outcropping of rock. “It ain’t a bad idea not to make your fire too easy to see when you’re in country you ain’t familiar with.” Seeing his point, Mary directed the girls to gather wood and pile it where he suggested.

  Supper that night was simple, since Mary had little time to prepare. It consisted of fried pork and pan bread, washed down with plenty of coffee. It satisfied Cam’s plain taste, but Mary said she would make up for it when they reached Destiny. In return, he said he would furnish some meat other than bacon, since he had seen abundant deer sign ever since they started up into the hills.

  When it came time to turn in, an awkward sense of modesty descended upon the camp since it would be the first time she would close her eyes in the presence of the strapping young man, and there were no doors to lock. In spite of riding a horse all afternoon, she decided she would forgo an urge to bathe before retiring. “Grace, you and Emma can spread your blankets up next to me,” she told them. “It might get a little chilly during the night.” They gladly followed her suggestion, not so much out of fear of a chill. It was black as soot outside the ring of their firelight, and a little girl’s imagination was capable of conjuring all manner of night creatures roaming the woods. She found a low mound of dirt at the edge of the circle of firelight that appeared to be just the thing for a pillow for her and the girls, so she spread a blanket over it. Cam watched her preparations for sleeping with interest, but without comment. In spite of her feelings of uncertainty about their first night alone with Cam in these mysterious hills, long sacred to the Sioux and Cheyenne, she felt a bit sheepish when he announced that he was going to sleep close to the horses. I owe him an apology, she thought, but damned if I’ll ever tell him why. She then reminded herself that she owed so much to this stranger, her life and her children’s lives, in fact. Thoughts of the stage holdup returned to her, and the terrifying road agents that were prepared to kill them all, had it not been for the fortunate hand of fate that sent Cam Sutton to help them.

  • • •

  Perhaps not entirely by coincidence, the outlaws Mary brought to mind were also thinking about the holdup, although some sixty miles away from Destiny. “That son of a bitch,” Cotton Roach cursed, thinking about the rifleman who had torn a hole through his hand. “By God, I’ll find out who he was one of these days, and when I do, he’s a dead man.”

  “How the hell are you gonna find a man you ain’t even got a good look at, and you don’t even know his name?” Ben Cheney asked.

  “I got a good enough look at the bastard. That stage was headed to Deadwood, so I reckon that’s where he was headin’, too. There’s bound to be talk about the holdup. I’ll find him.”

  “He might notta gone to Deadwood, mighta stopped at Custer City or somewhere,” Cheney said. “We might better wait till your hand heals up. There’s folks that could identify you.” Cotton was easy to identify, with shoulder-length, almost white, blond hair and piercing blue eyes set deep under dark eyebrows. He had the look of a predator. Cheney watched while Roach fumbled with his spoon in his left hand in an effort to eat his supper, and couldn’t help chuckling. “Next time you have to reach for a rifle, you’d best use your left hand, partner. It makes it kinda hard without your right hand, don’t it?” He laughed again. “Hell, that’s your wipin’ hand, too.”

  “I’m glad my miseries bring you so much enjoyment,” Roach snarled. He held his wounded hand up before his face to examine it. The bullet had gone straight through, but it must have done major damage. At this stage in the healing, he wasn’t sure if it would remain permanently stiff, or if the flexibility would gradually return. In the meantime, he had been forced to reverse his hand gun and wear it on his right side with the handle facing forward. Worse than that, firing a rifle with any accuracy was almost impossible. He was glad Cheney felt the same way about splitting up the gang after the holdup when Sam Bass and Joel Collins wanted them to run to T
exas with them. The thought of their former partners caused further comment. “At least we got our share of the money. Pickin’s are a helluva lot better in the Black Hills right now, and there ain’t a damn thing I want in Texas.” He released a painful sigh. “Yeah, I’ll find that son of a bitch.”

  “Maybe,” Cheney remarked. In his opinion, the odds of Roach catching up with the man who shot him were pretty slim. But he had ridden with Roach long enough to know he was a dangerous man to have on your trail, and Lord help the rifleman if Roach ever did find him. Roach never said a word about losing Jack Dawson, a man who had ridden with them for a year. As far as Cheney knew, he was the only man who had been able to stick with Roach for any length of time. “We got a little money to lay back for a while, and you’re gonna need some time to let that hand heal. Why don’t we ride on down to Bill Foley’s place and drink up all his whiskey?”

  • • •

  The morning broke bright and clear in the camp by the confluence of the two streams. It would be almost impossible not to enjoy the serenity of the dark pine-covered hills, and the lack of the dry parching winds that typified most of South Dakota. The stream that they were to follow that morning would lead them higher up toward the mountaintop. Cam stood near the horses and peered up at a waterfall high above them. According to Mary’s map, the camp named Destiny was at the foot of that waterfall. His attention was distracted then by the sounds of the girls waking up, so he walked down to rekindle the fire. “Mornin’,” he said when Mary turned back her blanket. “You ladies sleep all right?”

  “Yes,” Mary replied cheerfully, “I think we did. At least I slept like a rock, and I think the girls did, too. Is that right, Grace?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Grace replied, and pulled her blanket up around her shoulders to protect against the morning chill.