She looked surprised. “You want it now?”
“I ain’t got time now, lady, but I figure I owe you for one. I’ll settle for a kiss.” He planted one on the startled prostitute and then sang out, “Let’s go, Jug, before the whole damn army shows up.” He paused a moment while Jug got his gun belt from Roy and then started for the door after his brother.
Outside, they wasted no time. Stepping up in the saddle, they turned their horses toward the trail to Stevensville. “You gonna tell Pa you gave a whore four dollars of that money we got for the horses?” Jug asked.
“Hell no,” Cody answered with a chuckle. “I’m gonna tell him you ate four dollars’ worth of pickled eggs. He’ll believe that.”
Chapter 2
Donovan McCloud was coming from the barn when he was startled to see a pretty young woman ride into the yard. It was late in the season on an unusually warm day for the first of June in the Bitterroot Valley. She rode in on a strawberry roan mare—not sidesaddle, but astraddle the horse like a man, dressed in her denim split riding skirt. It was the first such skirt that Donovan had ever seen, a sight pretty unusual in the valley. Mule Sibley’s wife, Rena, rode straddle-legged, but she always wore a pair of men’s trousers—one size larger than her husband wore. Even more unusual on this day was the fact that the woman was riding unescorted a half day’s ride from the closest town, less than a week after the Bailey ranch next to Donovan’s had reported some cattle stolen. Elwood Bailey suspected it the work of a band of outlaw Salish Indians that had hit a couple of other ranches after crossing over on the Lost Trail Pass and working their way up the valley. Of even greater concern for most of the folks in the valley was the recent news of the trouble with the Nez Perce over in Idaho Territory. This particular threat had been of no concern to Donovan, for he and his three sons were friends of the peaceful Nez Perce.
McCloud’s cattle had not been struck, as far as he knew. Why the Salish raiders had skipped his spread was anybody’s guess. Maybe it was because Donovan McCloud had also been a friend to the Salish as well as the Nez Perce since he first built his simple log cabin as a young man in 1847, three years before Fort Owen was built. Or maybe it was because of the respect for Donovan’s three sons and their proficiency with the Winchester ’73s that each carried—plus the knowledge that one or all three would most likely be on their trail before they had time to disappear into the mountains. In any case, it did not seem fitting for a young woman to be riding in the valley alone, even if there had been no recent hostile activity.
When the woman spotted him at the barn, she turned the roan to meet him. Donovan stopped and waited for her to approach. Seeing his apparent astonishment, she favored him with a warm smile and asked, “Are you Mr. McCloud?”
“I am, miss,” Donovan answered, making no effort to hide his frank appraisal of the young woman. He didn’t think to help her dismount, instead looking beyond her to see if there was anyone with her while she stepped down from the horse. “Where did you come from?” he asked; then before she could answer, he said, “Where’s the rest of your party?”
“There’s just me,” she replied cheerfully, her smile still in place. “They told me in Stevensville that you would be the man to see.”
“About what?” Donovan asked.
“They said that nobody in the valley knew the Bitterroot Mountains as well as Donovan McCloud and his three sons,” she replied.
Donovan stroked his chin as he thought about it. “Well, I s’pose that’s a fact. I don’t reckon there’s many places in the mountains that my boys ain’t seen—Cody more’n his two brothers. I expect he’d never come outta there if I didn’t need him to help on the ranch.”
She affected a demure smile then. “Why, I assumed you to be one of the sons,” she said. “You don’t look old enough to be the father of three grown men.”
Well aware that the lady was teasing him, Donovan chuckled and replied, “You just might be in need of some spectacles.” It had been a long time since any female had graced the McCloud spread, especially one as young and handsome as this smiling lady. “Miss, it ain’t none of my business, but it sure don’t seem smart for a woman like yourself to be ridin’ down here without some protection.”
She responded with a confident laugh. “I brought some protection with me,” she said, and pulled a Colt revolver just far enough out of her saddlebag for him to see.
Donovan shook his head, astonished. After a brief pause while he continued to search his surprise visitor’s face, he finally said, “Didn’t nobody in Stevensville tell you everybody in the valley is worried about the Nez Perce?” When she nodded, he shook his head, astounded. “Well, I reckon you’ve got some spunk. I’ll have to give you that. So, why were you lookin’ for me?” Then before she could answer, he interrupted, “Excuse my manners, miss, but it’s been one helluva long time since there’s been a young woman on the place, and I reckon I’m a little rusty when it comes to lady visitors. Let me take your horse. No sense in us standin’ out here in the yard to talk. Come on to the house. You must be thirsty. I’ll get you a cool drink of water.”
“Why, thank you, sir,” she responded, and followed him as he led her horse to a hitching rail in front of the house.
The unlikely appearance of this mysterious woman was still stirring confusion in Donovan’s brain as he looped the roan’s reins over the rail, then motioned for her to take a seat in one of the rocking chairs on the wide porch. Most everyone else in the Bitterroot Valley had been nervous since news that Chief Joseph had refused to go to the reservation when ordered by the army. There had already been fighting in the Idaho Territory on the western side of the Bitterroots, with reports that the Nez Perce had whipped General Oliver Howard’s troops at White Bird Canyon. Donovan’s eldest son, Cullen, had just returned from Fort Missoula with news that the Nez Perce band had crossed over the Lolo Trail into the Bitterroot Valley. Surely someone would have advised the lady of the potential risk. Everybody up and down the valley was bewailing the massacre bound to come if the Nez Perce moved through the valley, even though they had been at peace with the white settlers from the beginning. As far as he was concerned, Chief Joseph was a friend, so he agreed with Cullen and discounted any talk of attacks from the Nez Perce.
After the lady settled herself, he walked over to the front door, opened it partway, and yelled, “Smoke!” Then he returned to sit in a rocker facing her to once again ask her purpose in coming to see him.
“I need help in finding someone,” she started to explain, only to be interrupted again when a gnarlylooking little man stuck his bald head out the door.
“What are you yellin’ about?” Smoke Butterworth asked. Then seeing that Donovan had company, he came out on the porch to get a better look. Like Donovan, he immediately looked around, expecting to find others. When he discovered none, he remarked, “You musta dropped right outta the sky. Ain’t you a pretty thing, though?” He grinned openly at her in frank appraisal.
Donovan smiled patiently at his surprise guest. “Don’t mind Smoke. He ain’t got good sense when it comes to meetin’ proper ladies.” Then to the grinning man, he said, “Get the lady a drink of cool water. She’s been ridin’ all the way from Stevensville.”
“By herself?” Smoke responded. “Maybe she’d like some coffee. I just made a pot.”
“That sounds even better,” the young lady said.
“Bring us both a cup,” Donovan said, then added, “You must be hungry. Would you like somethin’ to eat with it?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t think to put you to the trouble,” she replied.
“Ain’t no trouble,” Smoke volunteered before Donovan had a chance to respond. “Matter of fact, I was gettin’ ready to fix supper. If you’re real hungry, I’ll have steak and potatoes ready in a few minutes. We could stand to see a pretty face around the supper table for a change.”
She glanced at Donovan, who was nodding in agreement. “If you’re sure it won’t be an imposition,” she sai
d.
“Not at all,” Donovan replied. “We’d be glad to have you. Smoke’s right. It’d be nice to have some gentle company at the table.” Then it occurred to him. “It’s too late for you to start back to Stevensville this evenin’, anyhow. You’re gonna need to stay over. We’ll fix you up with a place to stay for the night.”
“Oh, I couldn’t impose upon you,” she protested. “I can find my way back.”
“Ma’am, I wouldn’t hear of it. That ain’t no ride for a lady alone in the daytime, much less at night,” Donovan insisted. “We’ve got plenty of room. You can have a room to yourself. Why, my late wife would come back to haunt me if I let you ride off by yourself.”
“Well, if you insist,” she replied sweetly. “You are most gracious to offer. I was a teeny bit concerned about riding all that way at night.”
“We’ll be pleased to have your company,” Donovan said. “Like I said, it’s been a while since we’ve entertained a pretty young thing like you around here, with just me and Smoke and my three boys.” He took on a fatherly expression for a moment or two then. “I’ll have one of the boys escort you back in the mornin’, though. It ain’t fittin’ for a lady to be travelin’ alone out here.”
“It’s sweet of you to be concerned,” the woman said, “but I’m hoping not to be going back to Stevensville if you can help me.”
He had forgotten for the moment that he still didn’t know why she had landed on his doorstep, so he started to ask the purpose for her visit again, but paused once more when he spotted a rider approaching from the north pasture. “Here comes my oldest boy now,” he said, and she turned to follow his gaze.
Seeing the roan tied at the porch rail, Cullen McCloud guided his horse in that direction instead of going directly to the barn. He pulled up before the house just as Smoke came out the door carrying two cups of coffee. As surprised to discover a young woman visitor as his father and Smoke had been, he was naturally curious to learn why she happened to be there. “I could sure use a cup of that coffee myself,” he said as he dismounted.
“Well, you know where the pot is,” Smoke replied, his hospitality reserved for attractive young women.
Accustomed to Smoke’s ornery disposition, Cullen ignored the rebuke, stepped up on the porch, and waited to be introduced. “This is my son Cullen,” Donovan said. Turning to Cullen then, he said, “Son, this here is Miss . . .” He paused. “I don’t believe you ever said your name.”
“No, I didn’t,” she replied with a warm smile for the tall young man. “I’m Roberta Morris,” she said, and extended her hand.
“I’m pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Cullen said as he took her hand. “What brings you to the M Bar C?”
“As I was about to tell your father, I came here at the suggestion of the deputy sheriff in Stevensville on a rather troubling matter.” Seeing that she had the rapt attention of all three men, she went on to explain. “My uncle is somewhere in the Bitterroot Mountains searching for gold, and it’s been almost a year since Aunt Edna has heard from him. He sent word at that time that he would return home to Butte this past spring and we fear he has come to some harm. The deputy said you might know where to find him. I didn’t think there was any way, since he could be anywhere in the Bitterroot Mountains, but his message came from Stevensville. So I had to at least try.”
“That’s that Thompson boy,” Smoke interrupted, as if it was necessary to remind them who the deputy sheriff was. His comment was ignored by Cullen and his father.
“You came all the way from Butte to look for your uncle?” Cullen asked. “Alone?”
“There wasn’t anyone else,” she replied, causing Cullen to exchange puzzled glances with his father. Like Donovan, Cullen found it surprising that no one in town had advised her against riding down the valley without escort, considering the present concern about trouble with the Indians. He supposed it could be explained by the fact that she had been given directions by Charley Thompson, Sheriff Tyler’s not so bright deputy.
“What’s your uncle’s name?” Cullen asked.
“Gabriel Morris. Do you know him?”
Cullen took a moment to think before he answered. “Gabe,” he replied. “I expect you’re talkin’ about ol’ Gabe. I didn’t know his last name. I doubt if anybody in this part of the valley does. I never thought about it, but I guess his name is probably Gabriel.” He looked at his father for confirmation, but Donovan merely shrugged, so he went on. “Jug and Cody oughta be back any time now from Missoula. If anybody knows where your uncle is, it would be Cody. That is, if he’s still in the Bitterroots or the Sapphire Mountains.”
“That’s a fact,” Smoke chimed in as he remained standing close over the lady’s chair. “That boy’s half Injun, I swear. I expect he knows ever’ rat hole and game trail between here and the Selway River.”
Aware then of the cook’s hovering over their guest, Cullen said, “I guess if we’ve invited Miss Morris to supper, you’d best be getting about fixing it, Smoke.”
“I guess,” Smoke snorted, and backed up a step. “Ain’t nobody else around here likely to fix it.” He bent close to Roberta’s ear again and confided, “They’d starve to death if I didn’t take care of ’em.” She smiled discreetly and he nodded as if the two of them had a secret not shared by the others.
Cullen followed him inside, still looking for that cup of coffee. When they had gone, Donovan said, “You’ll have to excuse Smoke. Ever since my Charlotte died, he thinks he’s the boss of the house, but he’s pretty much harmless.”
Still smiling, she said, “I suspected as much.”
“And he’s a good cook,” Donovan added.
A moment later, Cullen returned with his coffee. After Roberta rejected an offer for a warm-up on hers, he sat down to enjoy it. While he sipped the hot black liquid, he cast a casual eye on Roberta’s horse. “I expect your horse could use some grain and water. I’ll take it along to the barn with mine,” he said. “I’ll bring your saddlebags in for you.” Then he commented, “Don’t believe I’ve ever seen a lady travel with less baggage than you’ve got on that horse.”
“I travel light,” she replied, then laughed. “To tell you the truth, I was hoping I’d get an invitation to stop over with you folks.” Guessing then that Donovan and his son must be forming opinions of her as a rather bold and reckless woman, she sought to explain her circumstances. “I’m afraid you might think me excessive in my actions—certainly unladylike, I must confess. But Aunt Edna is in poor health and I’m afraid she may soon be failing. There was no one but me to come searching for Uncle Gabriel, so I had little choice but to come on my own.”
“We’re sorry to hear your aunt’s doing poorly,” Cullen said. He could not help admiring the woman’s determination to help her aunt and uncle. “Of course we’ll try to help you if we can.” He glanced at his father, who nodded in accord. “Why don’t we get you settled in the house and then we’ll have some supper? Jug and Cody should be here by then, and we’ll decide what to do.”
“Yeah,” Donovan said, “they oughta be here any minute. Jug can smell supper cookin’ from halfway across the valley.”
“I swear, Cody,” Jug McCloud complained, “we ain’t got time to stop now. It’s past suppertime and I’m’bout to starve to death.” He had been thinking about supper all the way back from Stevensville, their last stop on their way back from Missoula.
“I just wanna pick up some smokin’ tobacco,” Cody said. “Won’t take but a couple minutes, and it ain’t that far out of the way to Sibley’s.”
“Hell,” Jug replied, “you coulda bought tobacco back at Stevensville. I’ll give you some of mine ‘cause I know you got plenty back at the house. You just wanna see if Sibley’s daughter is hangin’ around the saloon.”
“Well, now, I hadn’t thought about that,” Cody lied, “but now that you mention it, it would be nice to just say hello if she is there.” Cody realized he wasn’t fooling his brother. Jug knew he was kind of sweet on Brenda,
the fiery raven-haired daughter of Mule Sibley, owner of the small trading post/saloon on the Bitterroot River only two miles from the M Bar C. A fact that Cody was sure his brother didn’t know, however, was the occasional rendezvous between himself and Brenda at a little spot among the towering cottonwoods and pines on the river below the trading post. It was a secluded glen surrounded by large ponderosa pines, a place where the trees bore old scars left by Nez Perce Indians where they had stripped the bark back to extract the chewy sweet cambium. It was here that Cody had first been introduced to the joys of lovemaking free of obligation. Some might have criticized the rakish younger brother of Cullen and Jug for wantonly using Mule’s daughter for his selfish pleasures. Truth be told, however, they were using each other and both were satisfied with the arrangement.
Cheerfully ignoring Jug’s protests, Cody turned down the narrow trail that led through the trees to the river’s edge and Sibley’s trading post. There were four horses tied in front of the log building when they pulled up, three with saddles, and one carrying packs. Jug and Cody tied their horses at the corner of the narrow porch and stepped inside the dark, smoky building. Sibley’s business fronted his living quarters and was composed of one long room with his store at one end and the saloon at the other. They paused to let their eyes adjust to the dimly lit room before walking up to the counter to exchange “Howdys” with Mule. “I need a little smokin’ tobacco,” Cody said while looking around the room to see if Brenda was there. She was nowhere in sight. Mule’s wife, Rena was tending bar, as she often did. Disappointed, he resigned himself to passing the news of the day with Mule, who asked right away if they had heard anything new about the Nez Perce problem.
“Well, they finally got some soldiers posted at Fort Missoula,” Jug said. “But it didn’t do any good when it came to stoppin’ the Indians. Cullen said Joseph and his people are already over in the valley without a shot fired by the army. They’ll be passin’ through here, no doubt about it.”
Thunder Over Lolo Pass Page 2