The Blackfoot Trail

by Charles G. West

  Luke Preston sat on a table-sized rock at the river’s edge, holding a fishing pole fashioned from a willow limb. There were plenty of fish, trout from their appearance, but none showed any interest in the piece of raw bacon on his hook. The weather was getting to where it was almost pleasant on some days, this day being one such. Most of the folks were starting to get antsy about vacating the holes they had spent the winter in, and there had already been several meetings to discuss the possible date to leave for Oregon. Horace Templeton had attended one of the meetings, and while he admitted that some trappers had told him that Lolo Pass was clear, he tried to sell the group on the merits of staying and settling there in the valley. “Now that you folks have spent the winter here, you saw firsthand that this is a sheltered valley, and it wasn’t near as bad as you’d expect,” he had said. “There’s good prime land for farmin’ or whatever you want—plenty of water. You’ve got the Clark Fork, the Bitterroot, the Blackfoot, all comin’ through the valley. Why, folks, this beats Oregon six ways from Sunday.”

  He gave a good argument, and the men had given it a lot of thought, with one family, Luke Preston, his wife, and son, thinking seriously about remaining in the fertile valley. But Oregon was where their friends and families were, so it was pretty much settled for the rest of the group. The only question left to answer was when. That question was hardest on Jake and Cora Simmons, reluctant as they were to leave without Callie. It had been more than two weeks since Joe Fox left to find Callie, and each additional day that passed seemed to confirm that the girl was lost for good.

  Luke shook his head sadly when he thought about the torment that Jake and Cora must be suffering. He pulled his line from the water and got up to try to throw it farther out toward a large rock in the middle. Something caught his eye, and he turned to look toward the south. Two riders and a packhorse, he thought, probably going to Templeton’s. He started to turn his attention back to his fishing when something about the lead rider made him look again, this time staring harder. After a minute it struck him. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” he exclaimed. “Joe Fox!” And the smaller figure on the white horse behind him had to be Callie!

  He dropped his pole and ran up the bank toward the village of caves, shouting as loud as he could. “It’s Callie!” he yelled over and over, running down the length of the entire line of caves. “Callie’s back! Callie and Joe Fox!” Within a matter of minutes, the entire party of pilgrims was out of the caves and running to meet the two riders approaching the camp. Holding her skirt above her ankles as she ran down the muddy track, Cora Simmons elbowed her way past her neighbors in an effort to get to her daughter. Running to catch up with her, Jake was right on her heels.

  Seeing the sudden appearance of the entire population of the cave village coming to meet her, Callie forgot the fears she had dwelt upon for the past three days. And the reluctance she had felt for seeing everyone again disappeared, replaced by an overpowering feeling of joy at the sight of her parents running to receive her. Unnoticed in the excitement of the reunion, and the cries of welcome from the congregation, Joe reined the paint back to let Callie go on in front.

  Beaming with the joy of the homecoming, Callie slid down from her horse and ran to embrace her parents. As they closed the distance between them, Cora caught a sob in her throat when she was close enough to look into her daughter’s face. Callie, seeing the shock in her mother’s eyes, immediately stopped, her fears of rejection returning. It was only for a moment, however, as Cora’s anguish was overcome by the sheer joy and thankfulness for Callie’s return and she rushed to receive her in her arms. Embraced by her mother and father, Callie could no longer hold her emotions in check, and soon all three were crying.

  Joe had not dismounted, preferring to keep out of the way. He reached down to take the mare’s reins, and led the horses aside before stopping to witness the homecoming. It went as he had hoped at first, with mother and father happily embracing their daughter, and the crowd of well-wishers closing in around them, laughing and welcoming Callie back. Then suddenly the noisy crowd grew silent as Jake took a step back to look closely at his daughter. The crowd saw then what struck Jake, the scarred and battered countenance that once was the face of an angel. Jake’s face blanched and he was helpless to prevent the cry of anguish that escaped his lips. He turned away, his fists clenched, his face twisted by anger, and uttered a low moan through his gritted teeth that rose to a painful howl of frustrated rage.

  It was the worst thing that could have happened from Joe’s point of view, and he saw the unfortunate results immediately. He looked at Callie and saw the light of joy disappear from her face, to be replaced by the haunting look of panic and despair. Cora, realizing the damage her husband’s damning reaction had been, sought to minimize the hurt to her daughter. With her arm around the girl’s shoulder, she said, “Come on, honey, let’s go home,” and led her toward their cave. The congregation parted to let them pass with several softly spoken words of welcome and comfort with timid pats on her arms and back as if afraid they might hurt her. Joe imagined that Callie could hear the low murmur of voices behind her as she walked away. That coulda gone a whole lot better, he thought as Malcolm Lindstrom and Pete Watson walked over to join him.

  “I knew if anybody could bring her back, it’d be you,” Malcolm said as he shook Joe’s hand. “She looks like she took a helluva beatin’, poor thing. It’s a damn shame.”

  “What about Starbeau?” Pete asked.

  “He got away,” Joe replied, then explained that Callie had been taken by a Flathead hunting party.

  “I was hopin’ you’d catch that son of a bitch and settle up with him for murderin’ Brad and Nancy,” Malcolm said, obviously disappointed. “Me and Pete gotta go back and give our families the bad news. I ain’t lookin’ forward to that. It’d be easier if I could say the man who killed ’em is dead.”

  “I ain’t done lookin’ for Starbeau yet,” Joe said, his tone soft and deadly.

  “You ain’t figurin’ on goin’ on to Oregon with these folks, then?” Malcolm asked.

  “Reckon not,” Joe answered.

  “I think Chadwick and some of the others are hopin’ to persuade you to go along to lead ’em across the mountains,” Malcolm said.

  “It ain’t likely,” Joe replied. “I’ve got things I’ve gotta do.” He shrugged and added, “They don’t need me to take ’em. If what folks say about that new wagon road to Walla Walla is true, then they oughta be able to follow it.” Thoughts of Starbeau had never been out of his mind, but now that Callie was safely home, going after the murderer was his one priority.

  “Which way do you figure Starbeau went?” Malcolm asked, knowing full well what things Joe had to do. When Joe replied that he guessed Starbeau had most likely headed for the mining towns like Butte or Helena, Malcolm said, “Me and Pete are gonna head back home. I ain’t too sure we can find our way back the way we came. If you’re headin’ that way, maybe we could go with you.”

  Joe paused before answering. He knew that Malcolm still hoped to settle with Starbeau for murdering his brother, but he was thinking that he’d had enough of being a guide for somebody. And now that Callie was safe, he was in a lonesome frame of mind. Looking into the earnest faces of the two men he had first led to this part of the territory, he found it hard to refuse them. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “I’ll take you to Butte. You know how to find your way back to Bismarck from there.”

  “Good enough,” Malcolm replied. “I appreciate it, especially since we don’t know friendly Injuns from hostiles. When are you plannin’ to start out?”

  “In the mornin’,” Joe answered, “at sunup. If you ain’t ready to ride by then, I’ll figure you changed your mind.”

  As he had done before he’d left the little congregation by the river the first time, Joe made his camp in the cottonwoods away from the caves. He was to receive two visitors before he turned in for the night.

  “Hello the camp,” a voice called out.
Joe looked up to see Jake Simmons approaching his fire. He didn’t respond, just laid aside the bridle he was repairing and watched as the little man drew near. “I heard Pete Watson say you was leavin’ in the mornin’, and it wouldn’t be right if I didn’t come thank you for bringin’ Callie back. Me and Cora want you to know we appreciate what you’ve done for Callie and us.” When Joe responded with only a nod, Jake foundered for lack of what to say to the silent response. “I reckon we could pay you a little somethin’ for your trouble. It wouldn’t be much. We ain’t got much.”

  The irony of it almost made Joe laugh. “You know, Jake,” he said, “that’s the second time you’ve insulted me. The first time was when you let me know I wasn’t good enough to keep company with your daughter. And now you’re askin’ me if I want money for bringin’ her home.”

  Flustered, Jake could only sputter, “Uh, well, I’m sorry. I reckon I didn’t have any business . . .”

  “It doesn’t matter one way or the other,” Joe interrupted. “You’ve said your piece. Was there anythin’ else you wanted?”

  “No,” Jake replied, “I reckon not.” He stood there shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other for a long silent moment. He had hoped that there would be no hard feelings lingering from his rather rude request before. When it was apparent that Joe had no notion of putting him at ease, he shook his head and said, “Well, I reckon that’s it.”

  “I’m leavin’ that little white mare for Callie,” Joe said. “The two of them seemed to hit it off real good.”

  “I’ll tell ’er,” Jake said. Then, totally bewildered, he spun around and returned to his camp, not really sure what he had expected.

  It was later in the evening when his second visitor arrived. He was just about ready to roll up in his blanket when Callie made her way through the dark cottonwoods to find his camp. When he recognized her as she slipped into the firelight, he got to his feet to meet her. “How did you get out this late?” he asked.

  “I told them I was going to the toilet,” she said.

  “Your pa was here just before dark,” he said.

  “I know. He came back muttering something about a hard-headed Injun,” she said. In the light of the fire, he could see the slightest hint of a smile on her face. “They say you are leaving in the morning.” He nodded. “Were you going without telling me good-bye?” When he could only shrug in answer, she said, “Well, Mr. Joe Fox, you don’t get to do that with me. I haven’t thanked you enough for what you did. I can never thank you enough, as long as I live.”

  “You don’t have to thank me, Callie. Nothing could have kept me from goin’ after you.”

  “I know that, and I want to thank you for it,” she said.

  “All right,” he said, at a loss for words. “You’re welcome.” They stood looking at each other for a few empty seconds, both suddenly finding themselves a little embarrassed and unsure of what to say. Finally, he asked, “Are you doin’ okay?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “If they ever quit staring at me when they don’t think I can see them.” When another awkward silence fell between them, she changed the subject. “Where are you going from here? Mama heard Malcolm Lindstrom say you were going after Starbeau. I hope that’s not true.”

  He looked surprised. “Well, I reckon it’s true enough,” he said.

  “That man’s a monster,” she said. “I’m afraid for you. If you’re doing this for me, I don’t want you to. He’s over and done with and it’s best if you just forget him.”

  He was fairly astonished that she would plead for him to forget Starbeau after what the man had done to her. As for her concern for his safety, he had never considered that he would come out on the short end of a fight with the huge man. It was no more in his mind than hunting for a grizzly or an elk. He would stalk it and kill it, and the world would be a better place because of it, and the score would be settled. And then maybe he could forgive himself for not pulling the trigger when he had his rifle in Starbeau’s face.

  “He owes for what he did to you, Callie,” he said after a long pause. “But there’s the other thing, too. He murdered Bradley and Nancy Lindstrom—and stole the money that belonged to all of you. A man like that ain’t got no right to live on this earth, and I reckon I’m the one who the cards were dealt to.”

  She was about to argue the point when they heard her name called from behind the caves. “I guess they’re lookin’ for you,” he said. “You’d better go on back. They’re worried about you.”

  “You take care of yourself, Joe Fox,” she said. “You’ll be in my prayers.”

  “I’m obliged,” he said simply.

  She turned to leave, hesitated, then turned back toward him to gaze upon his face for a moment before she rushed to him and threw her arms around him, holding him close to her breast. He held her gently, like a precious thing, afraid that if he allowed his feelings for her to escape, he might crush her in his embrace. She longed to kiss him, but was afraid to offer her lips up to him, afraid that the firelight would display her disfigured face. They clung together for a few moments more, each wishing it could last forever while the sound of her mother’s calling became more frantic. “You’d better go,” he said and released her. She stepped back quickly then for one last look at him. Suddenly a heavy shroud of melancholy settled about him, and he realized that it was painful to say good-bye forever. “Callie, if you ever need me, if you can get the word to me that you need me, I’ll come.” She was not sure how to respond to him. Were his words a confession of genuine affection, as she so desperately wished, or words of pity for her plight? Fearful that she might force him into an awkward position if she interpreted his declaration to be more than simple courtesy, she merely thanked him for his kindness, then turned and disappeared into the darkness.

  In a few minutes, he could hear her answering her mother’s call. Although too far away to make out the words, he could imagine the worry Cora must have expressed to a daughter who had only recently returned from the dead. Suddenly the circle of light around his campfire seemed smaller, and he threw more wood on the flames. He stood transfixed for a long time, remembering the embrace, memorizing the feel of her slender body as it pressed tightly against his. His mind labored to make sense of it—affection or gratitude? “I guess I’ll never know,” he whispered.

  Chapter 13

  Malcolm and Pete were waiting for him while he laced up his packs on the black horse. The two men had made sure they were at his camp well before sunup for fear he might have started without them as he had threatened. As the morning light began to eat away at the heavy darkness, the three travelers mounted their horses and Joe Fox led them away from the caves that had seen them through the winter. He set a comfortable pace that the horses could maintain for a long while, knowing that he could cover ground quickly until reaching the place where he would start tracking Starbeau. As best he remembered, it had been a two-day ride to the little grassy clearing with the pine tree growing out of a boulder. It would be a shorter trip this time. As it turned out, the time was shortened to a little over a full day, allowing them to arrive at the clearing the morning of the second day.

  He knew the trail was probably too old by this time and the best he could hope for was to learn enough to speculate on Starbeau’s general direction, and maybe then guess his destination. Thoughts of his anguish the first time he found this campsite returned to his mind as he searched to find the two sets of shod tracks that led to the south. And he thought of Callie, and the impact the discovery of the one small footprint had upon his mind.

  “This the place where that bastard traded Callie to the Injuns?” Pete asked, interrupting Joe’s reverie.

  “That’s right,” Joe replied, and brought his mind back to the business at hand. A few minutes later, he found the tracks he was looking for. He paused and let his eyes follow the direction indicated by the faint hoofprints. Picking a point that looked like the easiest way to head up over the next ridge, he got on his hor
se and started toward it. Pete and Malcolm followed.

  When he reached the spot he had picked out, he dismounted again to search the ground to confirm his hunch. His two companions dismounted and helped scout the short grass hillside. After a quarter of an hour, Joe stood up and looked to the top of the ridge to the east. Pete and Malcolm also stood up and walked over to stand beside him. “Couldn’t find a sign,” Pete said. “Reckon maybe he didn’t come this way?”

  “He came this way,” Joe replied and knelt to point at the grass where a small stone had been dislodged and a slight indentation left beside it. It was no more than an inch long, but it told Joe that a horseshoe had left it. “It’s been too long,” he said. “Tracks will be hard to find from here. There’s a long valley beyond this line of hills. I expect that’s where he headed.” He could only guess where the belligerent Starbeau had in mind, and according to what Malcolm and Pete told him, it was unlikely he knew the country he was traveling in. So it made sense to him that a man like Starbeau, with a pocketful of money, would likely look for any place where he could spend that money. Based on that line of reasoning, it was a good bet that when Starbeau struck the valley, he followed it south, figuring there had to be some settlements somewhere along the river. “If he follows the valley far enough, he’ll come to Deer Lodge.”

  “What’s that?” Malcolm asked.

  “A town,” Joe replied. “I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard that there’s a prison there.” He didn’t explain that there were very few towns he had ever visited. He didn’t like towns.