Lonely On the Mountain
( Sacketts - 19 )
Louis L'amour
In Lonely on the Mountain, Louis L’Amour’s solitary wandering Sackett brothers make a stand together—to save one of their own.
The rare letters Tell Sackett received always had trouble inside. And the terse note from his cousin Logan is no exception. Logan faces starvation or a hanging if Tell can’t drive a herd of cattle from Kansas to British Columbia before winter. To get to Logan, he must brave prairie fires, buffalo stampedes, and Sioux war parties. But worse trouble waits, for a mysterious enemy shadows Sackett’s every move across the Dakotas and the Canadian Rockies. Tell Sackett has never abandoned another Sackett in need. He will bring aid to Logan—or die trying.
From the Publisher
The Sackett Brothers didn't know what kind of trouble had Cousin Logan treed up yonder but he needed beef cattle badly. So with Tell Sackett ramrodding, Tyrel, Orrin, and Cap Rountree ride north to the wild country--pushing 1100 head of fat steers across the wide Dakota plains toward the mountains of far western Canada. Past Sioux, past Logan's treacherous enemies, through trails no cattle had ever crossed, the Sacketts drive on. Because when you step on the toes of one Sackett they all come running.
From the Inside Flap
The Sackett Brothers didn't know what brand of trouble had Cousin Logan stirred up, but he needed beef cattle badly. So with Tell Sackett ramrodding, Tyrel, Orrin, and Cap Rountree ride north to the wild country--pushing 1100 head of fat steers across the wide Dakota plains toward the mountains of far western Canada. Past Sioux, past Logan's treacherous enemies, through trails no cattle had ever crossed, the Sacketts drive on. Because when you step on the toes of one Sackett they all come running.
One of the outstanding narratives of our time, the chronicle of the Sackett family is one of the great achievements of one of our finest storytellers. In Lonely on the Mountain, the solitary, wandering Sackett brothers make a stand together...to save one of their own.
A Sackett's Word.
The rare letters Tell Sackett received always had trouble inside. And the terse note from his cousin Logan was no exception. Logan faced starvation or a hanging if Tell couldn't drive a herd of cattle from Kansas to British Columbia before winter. To get to Logan, he must brave prairie fires, buffalo stampedes, and Sioux war parties.But worse trouble waits, for a mysterious enemy shadows Sackett's every move across the Dakotas and the Canadian Rockies. Tell Sackett has never abandoned another Sackett in need. He will bring aid to Logan--or die trying.
Lonely On The Mountain
Sackett 19
Louis L'amour
Chapter I
There will come a time when you believe everything is finished. That will be the beginning.
Pa said that when I was a boy. There was a hot, dry wind moaning through the hot, dry trees, and we were scared of fire in the woods, knowing that if fire came, all we had would go.
We had crops in the ground, but there'd been no rain for weeks. We were scrapin' the bottom of the barrel for flour and drinkin' coffee made from ground-up beans. We'd had our best cow die, and the rest was ganted up, so's you could count every rib.
Two years before, pa had set us to diggin' a well. "Pa?" I asked. "Why dig a well?
We've got the creek yonder and three flowin' springs on the place. It's needless work." He lifted his head, and he looked me right in the eye and said, "Dig a well." We dug a well.
We grumbled, but when pa said dig, you just naturally dug. And lucky it was, too.
For there came the time when the bed of the creek was dust and the springs that had always flowed weren't flowin'. We had water, though. We had water from a deep, cold well. We watered our stock, we watered our kitchen garden, and we had what was needful for drinkin' because of that well.
Now, years later and far out on the grass prairie, I was remembering and wondering what I could do that I hadn't done.
No matter which way you looked between you and anywhere else, there was a thousand miles of grass--and the Sioux.
The Sioux hadn't come upon us yet, but they were about, and every man-jack of us knew it. It could be they hadn't cut our sign yet, but cut it they would, and when they did, they would come for us.
We were seven men, including the Chinese cook, in no shape to fight off a bunch of Sioux warriors if they came upon us. Scattered around the cattle, we'd be in no shape at all.
"If it comes," I told them, "center on me and we'll kill enough cattle for a fort and make a stand." Have you seen that Dakota country? It varies some, but it's likely to be flat or low, rolling hills, with here and there a slough. You don't find natural places to fort. The buffalo wallows offer the best chance if there's one handy.
The trouble was, if the Sioux came upon us, it would be a spot of their choosing, not ours.
The buffalo-chip fire had burned down to a sullen red glow by the time Tyrel rode back into camp. He stripped the gear from his mount and carried his saddle up to the fire for a pillow. He took off his chaps, glancing over at me, knowing I was awake.
"They're quiet, Tell"--he spoke soft so's not to wake the others, who were needful of sleep --"but every one of them is awake." "There's something out there. Some-thing or some-body." "This here is Injun country." Tyrel shucked his gun belt and placed it handy to his bed. He sat down to pull off his boots. "We knew that before we started." He went to the blackened, beat-up coffee pot and looked over at me. "Toss me your cup." Well, I wasn't sleeping, nohow. I sat up and took the coffee. "It ain't Injuns," I said. "Least it doesn't feel like Injuns. This is something else. We've been followed, Tyrel. You know that as well as me.
We've been followed for the last three or four days." The coffee was strong enough to grow hair on a saddle. "Tye? You recall the time pa wanted us to dig that well? He was always one to be ready for whatever might come. Not that he went around expecting trouble. He just wanted to be ready for whatever happened. For anything." "That was him, alright." "Tyrel, something tells me I forgot to dig my well. There's something I should have done that I've missed, something we've got to think of or plan for." Tyrel, he just sipped his coffee, squatting there in his sock feet, feeling good to have his boots off. "Don't know what it could be," Tyrel said. "We've got rifles all around and ammunition to fight a war. At Fort Garry, Orrin will pick up some Red River carts and a man or two. He'll load those carts with grub and such." He pushed his hat back, sweat-wet hair plastered against his forehead. "The stock are fat--eleven hundred head of good beef, and we've gotten an early start." "Don't make no difference, Tyrel.
I've forgotten something, or somebody." "Wait'll we meet up with Orrin. When he joins us at Fort Garry, he'll know right away if anything's wrong." "I've been thinkin' about Fort Garry, Tyrel. Seems foolish to drive east even a little way when we've got to go back west." Tyrel refilled his cup and held up the pot. I shook my head. "It's the boys," he said. "This here shapes up to be a rough, mean drive. Oh, we'll see some new country, an' mighty beautiful country, but any way you take it, it will be rough. We'd better give the boys a chance to blow off some steam." "They'd better blow it careful," I said.
"Some of those Canadians are mighty rough.
Nice folks, but they can handle themselves." Low clouds blotted out the stars; wind whispered in the grass. Sleep was needed, but I was wakeful as a man with three sparkin'-age daughters. "You were there when the word came, Tyrel. D'you figure there's more to this than Logan let on?" "You know Logan better'n I do. He cut his stick for trouble before he was knee-high to a short hog, and you know any time Logan calls for help, there's no telling what's involved.
There's mighty little in the way of trouble Logan can't handle all by himsel
f." "He never lied to us." "He never lied to nobody. Nolan and Logan have done things here and there that you and me wouldn't, but they never broke their given word." Tyrel bedded down, but I lay awake, trying to think it out, tired though I was.
We were pushing eleven hundred head of fat steers across the Dakota plains, headed for the gold mines in far western Canada. The Dakota country was new to us. Wide, wide plains but good grass so far, and we'd been lucky enough to come upon water when needed. Cap Rountree had been up this way before, but aside from Tyrel, who had been marshal of a gold-minin' town in Idaho, none of us had been so far north.
We'd put the herd together in a hurry because Logan was in need and started the drive short- handed, which meant extra work for all. Orrin was coming up by steamboat and was to meet us at Fort Garry for the long drive west.
Those to whom we'd talked, who might or might not know what they were talkin' about, said there were no towns to the west. There were trading posts here and yonder, however, one of them being Fort Whoop-Up.
Even about that we heard two stories. Some said it was simply a trading post, but others said it was a hangout for rustlers, whiskey peddlers, and the like. If it was kin to such places as we'd known, it could be both.
We Sacketts had come west from the Tennessee- North Carolina country in search of new lands.
Ours had been among the earliest folk to settle back yonder, but somehow we stuck to the high-up hills where the game was and let the good bottom lands slip away to latecomers. Most newcomers to the west found the life hard and the ways rough, but to mountain-bred folks it was no different from what we were accustomed to.
Any time a Sackett had meat on the table, it was likely to be meat he'd shot, and if pa was away from home, it was we youngsters who did the shootin'. Those who lived 'round about used to say that Sacketts and shootin' went together like hog meat an' hominy.
Stock driving had been our way of life since first we settled in the hills. It was old Yance Sackett who began it some two hundred years back, and he started it with turkey drives to market. After that, it was hogs, and, like turkeys, we drove them afoot, for the most part.
If you had turkeys or hogs to sell, you just naturally drove them to market or sold them to a drover.
Word came from Logan just after we'd sold nine hundred head of prime beef in Kansas.
We'd actually sold fourteen hundred head, but some of the stock belonged to neighbors.
Cap Rountree, Tyrel, and I were at a table in the Drover's Cottage when that man with the green eyeshade came up to me and said, "Mr.
Sackett? This here message come for you a day or two back. I reckon it's important, and I just now heard you were in town." "Cap," I said, "if you and Tyrel will pardon me, I'll just see what this is." "Shall I read it?" Tyrel asked me.
"You might," I said, and was glad for the offer.
When it came to schoolin', I'd come up empty, and whilst I was learning to read and write, I was mighty short on words. There were still a good many I'd never driven into the corral to slap the brand of memory on.
Tyrel had only learned to read a short time back, but he could read handwritin' as easy as print, nigh as good as any schoolmarm.
He opened up that message like he'd been gettin' 'em every day. He looked over it at me. "Listen to this," he said.
William Tell Sackett, Drover's Cottage, Abilene, Kansas.
I taken money to deliver several hundred head of beef cattle before winter sets in. I got no cows. I got no money. I can't get away to help. Withouten they get them cows, folks will starve, and I'll be wearin' a rope necktie.
Logan
P.s. You can expect Higginses.
*
"Higginses?" Cap said. "I thought you'd done rolled up their carpet?" "By "Higginses" he means we can expect trouble. For some reason he didn't want to say that, but he knew we'd understand." "Those Higgins boys were rough," Tyrel said, "and we sure didn't dust off all of them. They were good folks, only we just didn't get along." "Fact is," he added, "there was one of those Higgins gals who used to give me the big eye back yonder in school. Boy, was she something! She'd give me a look out'n those big blue eyes, and I wouldn't know come hither to go yonder." Cap, he was a-settin' there lookin' at me out of those wise old eyes. "He wants beef cattle, and we've just sold our stock. We got a piece of money, but we ain't got near enough to buy at these prices. So what do we do?" "We've got to buy," I said.
"We haven't got enough to buy, let alone to feed ourselves from here to Canada. It's a far piece." Whilst we ate, I did some studyin'. The thought of not doing it never entered our minds. We Sacketts just naturally stood by one another, and if Logan was in trouble, we'd help.
Undoubtedly, he'd given his word to deliver cattle, and a Sackett's word was his bond. It was even more than that. Anywhere a Sackett was known, his name was good for cash in the hand.
This was going to take every cent we could put our hands on, and worst of all, we had to move!
Cap put down his cup. "Got me an idea," he said, and was gone from the table.
"This couldn't come at a worse time," Tyrel commented. "I need all I've got to pay debts back in Santa Fe." "Me, too," I said, "but Logan's in trouble." "You believe he meant that about hanging?" "Logan is a man who takes hanging right serious, and he wouldn't joke about it. If he says hanging, he means just that." For a moment there, I paused, looking into my coffee. "From that remark about Higginses, we can expect trouble along the way." "Sounds like Logan figures somebody doesn't want the cattle to get through"--Tyrel glanced over at me--"which doesn't make a lot of sense." Cap was coming back into the room followed by a straw-hatted sod buster wearing shoes. Farmers were beginning to settle around, but a man didn't see many of them yet, and almost never in the Drover's Cottage.
"Set, Bob, an' tell them what you told me," Cap said.
Bob had wrinkles from squinting at the sun and wrinkles around his eyes from laughing. "My cousin's come down from the north. Lives up on the Missouri near Yankton. He was telling me about some Indian cattl
, and Cap here, he overheard us." "Indian cattle?" "Well, some of them. Quite a few years back, two brothers brought some cattle into the Missouri River country. One of the brothers was gored by a steer, and by the time the other one found him, he was in bad shape. Blood poison, or whatever. He lasted a few weeks, then died.
"The brother took the body back home for burial, and when he came back, he was crossing a stream when his horse fell with him. Both of them lost--horse and man.
"So those cattle run wild. The Injuns around there are mostly friendlies, and they killed a steer time to time, but those cattle have run wild in some of the gullies leading back from the river. I'd say if anybody has claim on them now, it's those Injuns." "But would they sell them?" "Right now they would. They'd sell, and quick. You see, the Sioux have been raiding into their country some, and just now the Sioux learned about those cattle.
They'll drive them off, leaving the friendlies with nothing. If you were to go in there and make 'em a decent offer, you'd have yourself a herd." "How many head, do you figure?" "Eight, nine hundred. Maybe more. There's good grass in those bottoms, and they've done right well. What you'll find is mostly young stuff-- unbranded. What Texas folk call mavericks." So that was how it began. We met the Injuns and sat down over a mess of bacon, bread, and beans, and we made our deal. They didn't want the Sioux to run off those cattle, and we paid them well in blankets and things they were needing.
There was a star showing here and there when I rolled out of my blankets and shook out my boots. The morning was cold, so I got into my vest and coat as quick as ever I could, and after rolling my bed, I headed for the cook fire and a cup of coffee.
Lin, our Chinese cook, was squatting over the fire. He gestured to the pot. "All ready," he said.
He dished up a plate of beef and beans for me, and when I'd taken a couple of swallows of coffee, almost too hot to drink, I started on the beans.
"These are good
. What've you done to them?" "Wild onions," he said.
My eyes swept the horizon. Far off to the west, I could see some black humps.
"Buffalo," I commented.
He stood up to look. "I have never seen a buffalo. There will be more?" "A-plenty. More'n we want, I expect." Leaving the fire, I saddled up and then returned for another plate of the beef and beans.
When a man rides out in the morning on a cattle drive, he never knows when he will eat again. Too many things can come up.
Whether it was the wild onions, I did not know, but his grub was the best I'd ever tasted in a cow camp. I told him so.
"I've never cooked but for myself." He glanced at me. "I go home now, to China." "Isn't this the long way?" "You go to British Columbia? I have a relative there, and ships leave there for China. I had no money, and when I heard you were going to British Columbia, I wished to go with you." "It'll be rough." "It often is." He looked at me, not smiling. "It can be rough in China, too." He paused. "My father was an official in the western desert country, in what we called the New Territories. It is a land where all people ride, as they do here." A low wind moaned in the grass, and long ripples ran over the far plain. It would be dawn soon. The cattle were beginning to get up, to stretch and to graze.
When I was in the saddle, I looked back at him. "Can you use a rifle?" "Our compound was attacked several times by bandits," he said. "We all had to shoot." "Before this is over, you may have another chance," I said.
Chapter II
We were four hours into the morning when Cap Rountree stood in his stirrups, shading his eyes as he looked off to the north. Then he waved us west and came cantering back to meet me as I rode up from riding drag.
"There's been a prairie fire. There's no more grass." "How about going east? We have to ride east, anyway, to hook up with Orrin." "The fire came from the east. The way I figure, the grass back thataway is burned off. Westward we've got a chance because of that mite of rain we had night before last. That could have put out the fire." That made sense. "Stay with the herd," I said, "and I'll scout off to the west." "Keep your Winchester handy. I cut some Injun sign over yonder." Sure enough, I'd not gone a quarter of a mile before I rode up to the edge of the burn. Far as the eye could see, the prairie was black.
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