He considered the possibility that mental images of a young Crow maiden might have caused him to think about what might have been, had things taken a different path. Then he scolded himself for allowing weak pathetic thoughts to dominate his mind. It was no longer safe for him to live with Two Bulls’ village. Johnny Hawk was gone and thanks to Lieutenant Carrington, he was a fugitive and could therefore never return to Fort Laramie and his Crow friends. He was destined to be alone, and that was what he had thought he always wanted, ever since he had made a fool of himself with Lucy Taylor. So he should be happy with the way things turned out. And so I will be, he decided at that point. The only problem I’ve got is my arm hurts. A few days back in my camp in the Big Belts and I’ll be healed up. Then I think I’ll head on up in the Rockies.
The thought was enough to lift his spirits, and he nudged the buckskin gently to increase the big horse’s pace as he left the river behind him and set a course toward the foothills before the mountains looming in the distance. “Sorry you ain’t gonna be there to see it with me, Johnny,” he said. Then something Johnny had said not long after they had joined up came to mind. He said Rider should name the buckskin because Rider treated the horse like family. The memory brought a smile to his lips. “Maybe you’re right,” he said aloud. “I’ll name him Jaybird, after you.” It made him laugh.
When he had crossed the foothills, he turned the buckskin toward a narrow pass that led to the first of two mountains that stood like guardians before the rocky mountainside where his camp was hidden. It would be good to get back to his camp. As he climbed the slope toward the top of his mountain, he noticed sign he figured to be that of elk in the broken branches of some smaller bushes. Thinking of the need to replenish his food supply, he felt it was a good omen until his sharp eye spotted the distinct hoofprint that was not elk. He immediately dismounted to examine it more closely. It was the print of an unshod horse. Indian pony! he thought. He automatically looked all around him to make sure there was no one watching him. It was no stretch to figure that the Blackfeet had been scouting the mountain. This was closer than they had come to his camp before. He walked a few yards farther, searching the ground, before he found another track. A scouting party, or a war party, it was hard to say which, but it was not a simple hunting party, for they had been too careful, obviously making an effort to hide their tracks.
He tried to estimate how old the tracks were. It was difficult to say, but he was sure they were not as recent as this day, so it was not likely the warriors were watching him now as he approached the rock cliff and the thick stand of pines that concealed the entrance to his camp. When he reached the rocky patch before the pines, he left his packhorse and the extra horse he had picked up when he killed Billy Hyde, thinking to lead the horses in one at a time so as not to disturb the pine limbs and reveal an entrance.
Halfway through the crevice in the cliff, he heard a horse whinny. It was too late to turn around! He pulled his rifle from the saddle sling and dropped to one knee, listening. There was a muffled sound he couldn’t identify, followed by the word “Jaybird.” His arms grew suddenly weak from the emotion draining his strength, and he almost dropped the nine-and-a-half pound Henry. Taking a moment to recover, he got up and led his horse into the opening where Johnny Hawk was seated by the fire, eating. He barely looked up from his supper. “I swear, this is mighty fine pemmican,” he said. “Mornin’ Flower! Bring some more food. We got a guest for supper.” Then he had to chuckle, enjoying the expression on Rider′s face.
In a moment, Morning Flower came from the hut, beaming at him. Almost hidden behind the big woman was the slender figure of Yellow Bird.
Overwhelmed, Rider could only stand there, speechless for a long moment while Johnny got up and followed Morning Flower to hug and pat him on the back. “I figured you were dead,” Rider finally managed.
“Well, I ain’t,” Johnny replied with a great big grin. “Mornin’ Flower could tell you that.”
The big Crow woman giggled delightedly. Then noticing the dried blood on his sleeve, she frowned and said, “You all the time come back with holes in you. Now I have to make you new shirt.”
“No, I make him new shirt.” The statement came from Yellow Bird, who had stood back while Johnny and Morning Flower gushed over the tall white warrior. They all turned to look at the lithesome girl when she spoke. Broad smiles lit up Morning Flower’s and Johnny’s faces. She moved up to stand directly before him then and gazed up into his face. “I will take care of you, Rider Twelve Horses, if you want me.”
Flustered, embarrassed, but harboring no doubts, he replied, “I reckon I do” to the delight of Johnny and Morning Flower. Yellow Bird stepped closer then and put her arms around his waist, pressing her head against his chest. He stood there awkwardly for a moment before taking her in his arms and embracing her.
Grinning wide, so that his lone front bottom tooth stood out like a solitary sentinel, Johnny said, “Deer Foot gives you his blessin’. It’s his responsibility since her daddy’s dead. We already had the ceremony back in Two Bulls’ village before we came out here. That was in case you’d got yourself kilt. She wanted to be your wife no matter what. I stood in for you, so if you don’t want her, I reckon she’d be mine.” He received a solid blow on the shoulder from Morning Flower for his joke.
“I want her,” Rider said, suddenly realizing that he had wanted her ever since she had first approached him in Two Bulls’ camp. There had been too many other serious things going on in his life at the time that seemed not to allow him to think of happy moments. But that was all behind him now. They would stay here in this mountain home, or push on farther north. It made no difference. He had everything he needed.
Read on for an excerpt from the next exciting novel by Charles G. West,
Thunder Over Lolo Pass
Available from Signet in April 2011.
“Damn, lookee there, Jug,” Cody McCloud exclaimed. “There’s a new saloon gone up since we’ve been back in town.” It was one of several new businesses in the settlement, no doubt attracted by the recent establishment of Fort Missoula. Cody, youngest of the three McCloud brothers, and by far the most adventurous, was always ready to follow a new trail. “Whaddaya say we have a look inside? I could use a little drink about now.”
Jug, the middle McCloud brother and two years older than Cody, was more interested in getting something to eat. Jug was the largest of the brothers, and his mind was seldom complicated with thoughts more serious than finding the next meal. Gifted with an oversized and powerful body, he was, however, the owner of a peaceful nature, requiring considerable agitation to ignite the fearsome violence he was capable of. “That suits me,” he said in answer to Cody’s suggestion. “Maybe they’ve got a little somethin’ to eat, too.” The gentle giant’s real name was Ryan, but everybody had called him Jug ever since he was twelve years old. His eldest brother had pinned the nickname on him after he sneaked a full jug of cider their father had cooling in the spring box and drank more than half of it. Afterward, he had been too ill to refill the jug with water as he had planned. He got the licking his father had promised, but the terrible sick stomach he suffered had been the greater punishment. The nickname had stuck and, in time, replaced his given name.
Having just delivered twenty cattle to the new fort to feed the recently arrived detachment of soldiers, the brothers were in a mood for a mild celebration before riding back up the valley to the M Bar C ranch. Having been already advised of the portion of the money they could spend on food and drink by their father, they were determined to spend the limit, so they tied their horses at the hitching rail alongside a half dozen others and went inside.
Before going directly to the bar, they stopped to look the place over. Generous in size, the new board building featured a long bar across one end of the open room with about a dozen tables filling the rest of the space, except for a small area in between, the purpose of which appeared to be a dance floor. There was a piano up agains
t the wall. About half of the tables were occupied. The thing that caught Cody’s eye, however, was the woman sitting with four soldiers at the rearmost table. “Don’t even think about it,” Jug warned. “Let’s just get us a drink and be on our way. We’ve got a long ride home.” From experience, Jug knew the workings of his younger brother′s mind, and more times than not, it ended with him in a fight. It never seemed to matter if the woman was young and pretty or seasoned with time. As long as she was not sporting gray hair and a toothless grin, she was worthy of Cody’s attention.
Cody flashed a mischievous grin in Jug’s direction. “Now, brother, you know it doesn’t hurt to look. She don’t look all that bad from here. I could tell more if she would stand up.”
“Well, she’s obviously with those soldier boys,” Jug said, “so it don’t make no difference to you.” He took hold of Cody’s arm and started him in the direction of the bar. “Let’s get us that drink so we can get started back home.”
“I swear. You’re gettin’ more and more like Cullen every day,” Cody complained, but offered no resistance to Jug’s prodding. The reference was to their older brother, who was four years senior to Jug and had always employed a quiet authority over the younger two. It was never resented or contested by Jug or Cody. It seemed the natural order of their family. In fact, they were both proud of their older brother. Cody’s only concern for him was the fact that he seemed too serious at times, and he wished Cullen would find a woman to lighten his somber moods. On occasions like the present, Cody always preferred to partner with Jug. Even though he complained some, he always went along with whatever Cody wanted to do.
“What can I do for you fellers?” Roy, the bartender, asked.
“A couple of shots of whiskey,” Cody replied, greeting the bartender with a friendly smile.
“And a couple of them eggs,” Jug added, causing Cody to scrunch his face up in disgust. Jug had been eyeing the large jar of pickled eggs ever since he stood in the doorway.
“You’re gonna have to eat both of ’em,” Cody said, still making a face.
“I figured,” Jug replied with a smile.
After another shot of Roy’s whiskey, Cody seemed contented, and he turned around to look the room over again. Someone called out something to Roy, and the bartender went down to the end of the room to a door leading to the rooms in the back. When he came back into the room, he was followed by a thin bald man with heavy gray sideburns. Roy returned to the bar while the bald man shuffled wearily toward the piano and sat down. A few minutes later, the tinny sounds of the old piano ricocheted off the wall in a spirited arrangement of an old hymn. None among Roy’s clientele was qualified to identify the tune as a religious selection, especially since it was rendered up-tempo, and after a few seconds, one of the soldiers pulled the woman from her chair and led her to the dance floor.
“She ain’t half bad,” Cody commented as he watched the woman dance with first one, then a second soldier. He was content to be no more than a spectator since Jug had been persistent in reminding him that they should get started toward home. “One more little drink,” he said, “and then we’ll go.”
“If you didn’t buy at least one more”—Roy felt obliged to comment—“I was gonna have to charge ol’ biggun there for eatin’ all my pickled eggs.”
Cody laughed and replied, “I’m fixin’ to take him outta here before he starts gnawin’ on the corner of the bar.”
Roy laughed with him and was about to offer Jug another egg when a startled cry was heard from the woman, causing them to turn to look toward the dance floor again. A third soldier—a husky brute, almost as big as Jug, wearing corporal’s stripes on his sleeve—had cut in to dance with her. It was apparent that his idea of dancing was to physically maul the helpless woman. As they watched, she tried to pull away from his unsolicited advances, a sharp tongue, her only defensive weapon. The more she cursed him, the bolder he became until it appeared the corporal was going to have his way with her right there in the saloon.
“Now, that just ain’t right,” Cody said. “Even a whore don’t deserve to be treated like that.” He turned to Roy. “What’s her name?”
“Mae,” the bartender replied, showing little concern for the woman or the table of soldiers.
“All right, then,” Cody said and walked toward the arguing couple. “Hello, Mae,” he greeted her cheerfully. “I’m sorry I’m late for our appointment, but I’m here now.” Addressing the startled corporal then, he said, “Thanks for entertainin’ her till I got here, soldier. You can let her go now.” He took her hand and pulled her toward him. The surly corporal was too astonished to hold on to her, and she scurried to safety behind Cody by the time his whiskey-soaked brain realized what had just happened. “Enjoy your drinks, boys,” Cody called to the corporal’s three companions at the table; they obviously didn’t know what to make of the intrusion upon their fun and were slow in deciding if there should be any action on their part.
“Your appointment?” the corporal sneered. “What the hell are you talkin’ about, you little asshole? The woman’s with us, and I’ll bust your head for you if you don’t get the hell outta here.”
Cody shook his head as if perplexed. “There, now see, you had to go and get rowdy about it when it was all just a simple misunderstandin’ between the lady and yourself.” He glanced at the woman. “Mae, do you want to go with the soldier or come with me?”
“Hell no, I don’t wanna go with the son of a bitch,” Mae spat in anger as she examined the abrasions left on her wrists by the corporal’s rough hands.
Cody looked back at the corporal and shrugged. “Well, there you go. I reckon that clears everythin’ up.”
“Why, you little bastard,” the corporal cursed, his alcohol-impaired brain just then catching up to the realization that he had been bamboozled.
“Sic him, Jarvis,” one of the soldiers still seated at the table goaded.
“Jarvis,” Cody responded. “Is that your name?” There was no verbal response to the question, but the corporal’s eyes looked capable of igniting a fire, as he appeared to brace himself to launch an attack on the brash young man. Ignoring the threat, Cody continued. “Well, Jarvis, let me give you some advice. I know what you’re thinkin’, and it’s the wrong thing. It’s only gonna cause you pain you don’t need, so why don’t you sit down with your friends there and finish that bottle, and forget about Mae until you sober up a little?”
Knowing full well what was about to follow, Jug unstrapped his gun belt and emitting a tired sigh, handed it to Roy to hold, since it was obvious that the soldiers were not armed. “I shoulda known we had no business stoppin’ for a drink,” he muttered as he sidled up to the end of the bar. “Ma’am,” he offered politely to the still-infuriated woman when she moved past him on her way to sanctuary behind the bar.
Back in the center of the tiny dance floor, Corporal Jarvis was sizing up his opponent after a standoff that had been caused by his astonishment with Cody’s emotionless approach. With his anger rising once more, he took a threatening step forward, his fists raised in pugilistic fashion, causing another of his companions to exclaim in enthusiastic anticipation of the contest. “You’d better get on your horse and get your ass on outta here, cowboy, ‘cause you just picked a fight with the regimental heavyweight-boxing champion!”
“Is that so?” Cody replied while keeping a steady eye on the formidable figure of a man now slowly moving toward him with nothing save mayhem in his gaze. “Well, if this is gonna be a boxin’ match, then I guess we need some rules.”
“Rules?” Jarvis bleated, dumbfounded and eager to administer the beating he had in mind.
“Yeah, rules,” Cody replied, stepping aside to avoid the bull rush launched at that instant. Drawing his Colt .44, he cracked Jarvis squarely across the bridge of his nose with the barrel as the bully lumbered drunkenly by. “Like none of that,” he said. The blow sent the larger man reeling clumsily to keep his feet. “And no kickin’ in the balls,
” Cody said as he brought the toe of his boot sharply up between the corporal’s legs. Completely helpless, Jarvis bent over in agony. “And no hittin’ behind the head,” Cody added as he slammed the pistol barrel down solidly on the back of Jarvis’ skull. In that brief space of time, the match was over and Jarvis lay out cold on the floor.
It had happened so fast that the corporal’s friends were left still seated, staring in stunned disbelief at their champion lying in a heap on the floor. Finally one of them thought to react. Kicking his chair back, he charged over the table only to be met with Jug McCloud’s fist, which stopped his head while his legs ran out from under him, causing him to land on his back, out cold. The third soldier, instantly wiser after seeing his friend finished by one blow from a fist that looked the size of an anvil, scrambled around the table and jumped on Jug’s back just as Jug aimed a kick at the fourth soldier, who had sense enough to run for the door. Left then with the one soldier clinging to his back like a parasite, Jug twisted left and right in an effort to get a grip on the desperate man. His antics proved highly amusing to his brother, who stood by enjoying the spectacle of Jug bucking like an unbroken mustang while the soldier hung on for dear life, afraid to let go.
Finally Jug grew tired of the contest. “Get him to hell off my back!” he roared.
Roy, who had been a silent spectator to the whole performance, casually handed Cody a broom and Cody began whipping the soldier across the back with it until he finally released his death hold on Jug and dropped to the floor. As soon as he landed, he started scrambling on his hands and knees across the floor and out the door, the sound of Cody’s laughter ringing in his ears. “Well, I swear, that was some fight, wasn’t it?” Cody exclaimed, grinning at Jug as his brother picked up the table and set the chairs right side up. “That was downright lively.” Turning to Roy, he said, “Don’t nothin’ appear to be broke.”
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