Thunder Over Lolo Pass

by Charles G. West

  “Looks like five or six horses,” Jug speculated after he, too, moved up to study the prints. “Whaddaya think, Cody?”

  “I reckon,” Cody replied, “at least five.” He looked to Cullen for confirmation, and his older brother nodded his agreement.

  “Flathead, I reckon,” Cullen said. “It’s not likely they’re any part of the Nez Perce moving through the valley.”

  All three brothers automatically became alert in case their search mission turned into something more risky than they had foreseen. Cody suggested that it might be wise for him to move out a little ahead of them to more carefully scout the rough trail leading down into the narrow gulch. All the tracks they had found led into the gulch, with none leading out, leaving the very real possibility that the Indians were still there. As Cullen pointed out, they could be hostile, or they could be friends of Gabe’s. It would be best to proceed under the assumption they were hostile, maybe some of those responsible for the recent stock raids.

  After leaving the others a good hundred yards behind him, Cody moved cautiously down into the deep ravine, following the tiny stream that trickled along the bottom. He paused frequently when he encountered places where the granite walls of the gulch closed in to barely allow a man on a horse to pass. As he glanced up at the ledges at the tops of the cliffs, it occurred to him how easily anyone could be ambushed by someone simply rolling a heavy stone over the edge to crush an unsuspecting intruder below. He thought back to recall the circumstances in which he had first discovered ol’ Gabe’s camp. He had almost been surprised by a party of Flatheads while hunting elk, and in his haste to avoid them, he had stumbled upon the entrance to the gulch behind the low ridge. It looked to be a good place to defend himself if they discovered his trail and decided to follow him, because they would have to come after him in single file. He grunted a soft chuckle when he recalled finding Gabe at the end of the gulch. It was hard to decide which of them was the more surprised, he, Gabe, or Gabe’s old hound, which immediately charged with teeth bared.

  Concentrating now on remembering characteristics of the narrow passage so as not to blunder around the last sharp turn before stepping out into a broad opening—as he did the first time he was there—he dismounted and led his horse. When he reached that final crook in the gulch, he recognized it at once and stopped dead still to listen for sounds that would tell him who might be waiting in the clearing beyond. There was no sound save that of the breeze rustling the boughs of the firs on the ledge above his head—no sound of Indian voices, not even a warning growl from Gabe’s hound dog. And then he heard a low noise like that a coyote might make when eating. He drew his Winchester from the saddle sling and dismounted. Then moving up to the turn in the rock wall, he cautiously eased his head far enough past the corner to see the clearing. Baffled at first, he stared at the animal on the other side of the clearing for a few moments until he realized it was Gabe’s hound, and the half-eaten carcass the dog was working on were the remains of a man.

  Unaware of Cody until that moment, the dog turned its head and snarled a warning, but backed away a few feet in the face of the man advancing toward him. “Good Lord a’mercy,” Cody uttered as he continued toward the badly desecrated body, the vile odor just then reaching his nostrils. “Git!” he yelled at the dog, but the hound, having gone without food for several days before taking nourishment from his master’s body, was reluctant to yield to the intruder. Cody picked up a stone and threw it at the hound. It missed the mark by a foot, but was enough to cause the dog to retreat several yards from the body, where it again crouched and snarled its defiance.

  When Cody moved up beside the carcass to take a closer look, the dog suddenly sprang up to defend his food, attacking his adversary. Cody had no choice but to shoot it. Already puzzling over the fact that there had been no tracks leading out of the gorge, he thought to himself, I may have done it now. Anybody who didn’t know we were here damn sure knows it now. With the others not that far behind him, he hurried to take a quick look at what was left of the corpse. There was enough to determine that it had been ol’ Gabe, and the next thought that came to Cody’s mind was to get back down the gulch to intercept his brothers and Roberta. It wouldn’t do for Roberta to see the ghastly remains of her uncle.

  He caught them just as they reached the final turn before the clearing, Cullen and Jug with guns drawn. “What was that shot?” Cullen questioned immediately.

  Cody held up his arm to halt them. “Just me shootin’ a dog,” he replied. “You’d best hold up here,” he directed at Roberta, “till me and my brothers can take a look around.” When she started to protest, he said, “You don’t wanna see this, miss. It ain’t a pretty sight.”

  Cullen pushed his horse forward. “What the hell do you mean, you shot a dog?” He had already assumed there were no Indians in the camp, but that didn’t mean they wanted to announce their presence to whoever might be within earshot. When Cody explained, Cullen looked immediately behind him to Roberta, who, like Jug, sat puzzled and out of earshot. Turning back to his brother, he asked, “You sure it’s her uncle?”

  “It’s Gabe,” Cody replied with certainty, “or what’s left of him.”

  Taking charge as usual, Cullen called to his other brother, “Jug, come on up here. We need to scout this campsite and see where those Indian ponies went.” He pulled his horse aside to let Jug pass, then reined back to block Roberta, who had started to follow. “I expect it’s best for you to stay here for a bit until we get a chance to see what’s what,” he told her. “Those Indians might still be hidin’ around here somewhere.”

  With a distinct suspicion that there was something in the clearing he did not want her to see, she responded with, “If there were Indians hiding around here, they would probably already be shooting at us.” She urged her horse forward.

  Cullen took hold of her horse’s bridle. “Roberta, please. It’s your uncle, and I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to see him now. Wait a few minutes till we can take care of him.” He saw the immediate distress in her face, but there was also a vestige of determination.

  “I’m a big girl, Cullen,” she responded patiently. “I appreciate your concern for my feelings, but I don’t need to be protected from seeing my uncle’s body. I had already prepared myself for the worst.”

  It was fairly obvious to him that he would have to physically restrain her to keep her from riding in, so he released the bridle. “Well, I reckon you know what you’re doin’,” he said, and backed his horse away to let her pass. “But I don’t think it’s the last picture of your uncle you’d want to remember him by.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Cullen,” she replied with a sad smile, “but I’ll be all right.” She urged her horse forward. He wheeled the bay and followed.

  Standing over the corpse, Jug and Cody turned at once when Roberta approached them. Glancing beyond her at his older brother, Cody frowned and started to protest. “Damn, Cullen . . .” Without finishing, he quickly turned to Roberta. “You’d best stay back, Roberta. You don’t wanna see this.” He hesitated then, not wishing to give her the horrible news that her uncle had been partially devoured by his dog. “Those Indians scalped him,” he offered as a reason for her to stay away.

  “Good Lord,” Cullen uttered upon seeing the remains of the miner known as ol’ Gabe. He immediately put his arm around Roberta’s shoulders and turned her away from the macabre scene.

  “Poor Uncle Gabriel,” Roberta repeated over and over as she surrendered to Cullen’s protective embrace, pressing close against his chest. After a moment, he led her across the clearing toward a large rock next to the remnants of a campfire. She trembled violently for a few minutes in reaction to seeing the grisly remains while Cullen held her in his arms. After a few moments more, she looked up into his face and uttered softly, “I’m all right now.” She smiled at him, then stepped away from his embrace and let him seat her upon the rock.

  “I’m sorry you had to see that,” Cul
len said. “You just sit here for a few minutes while we look the place over before we bury your uncle. All right?” She nodded and he rejoined his brothers.

  “Looks like it was Indians that done him in,” Cody said to him when he walked up. “What we need to do is find out where they went after takin’ care of ol’ Gabe. There must be a back door to this camp. I never noticed one when I was here before. ’Course, I never looked for one.”

  “Damn, what a mess,” Cullen uttered upon his second and closer look at the half-eaten body. He glanced then at the body of the dog, its belly extended—evidence of its recent gorging on long pig. “There ain’t much chance of us surprisin’ ’em if they are still around.”

  “Well, hell, didja expect me to let the son of a bitch take my arm off?” Cody responded in defense of his action. “I didn’t have a lot of time to think about it.”

  “I’m not sayin’ you did,” Cullen conceded, “I’m just statin’ a fact.” Then taking charge once again, he said, “Why don’t you scout around the back of this clearin’ to make sure we ain’t expectin’ company? Maybe you’ll find that back door. Jug and I can start diggin’ a hole to bury this poor fellow.”

  Jug shrugged, still staring at the body. “I wonder what people meat tastes like.”

  Cody looked at his brother in mock disgust. “Damn, Jug, you do beat all.” Then an impish grin appeared on his face. “I hear tell it tastes kinda sweet, like rabbit.”

  “Shut up, you two,” Cullen scolded, taking a quick glance across the clearing to where Roberta was still seated. “What if Roberta heard you makin’ fun of her uncle’s body?” When it was evident that the young lady had not heard the comments, he said, “Now, let’s get to work, so we can get on outta this place.”

  Finding a pick and shovel among the late Gabe Morris’ possessions, Jug and Cullen set to work digging a grave. It was not easy finding a place with ground soft enough to dig in, but a spot was settled upon near the small stream where Gabe had excavated a sizable portion of the bank, apparently looking for pay dirt, and had dumped the dirt to form a mound large enough to hide a body. The grave digging claimed his attention for several minutes, so when Cullen looked back to check on Roberta, he was surprised to find her gone from the rock and poking around in her uncle’s tent. His heart went out to her. He thought she was hoping to find some personal keepsake to take back to her aunt.

  When ol’ Gabe was safely in the ground, Cullen told Jug to take the dog’s carcass and throw it behind some rocks near the entrance to the camp. “Just so she won’t have to be reminded of it,” he said, then walked over to join Roberta in the tent. “He didn’t leave much behind, did he?” Cullen commented when he came up behind her. Startled, she jumped. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. He looked around him then at the disrupted state of Gabe’s possessions.

  Seeing his look of astonishment, she commented, “Indians must have made this mess.” She dropped a canvas war bag that had evidently held the few items of clothing lying now on the floor of the tent. “Not much to show for a man’s life,” she said as she looked at him and smiled sadly.

  “I reckon not,” he replied, then said, “Your uncle’s buried. I expect you might wanna say somethin’ over his grave.”

  “Yes, I would,” she immediately responded, and turned to leave the tent. “Aunt Edna would want me to.”

  He glanced around the tent before following her. “They sure didn’t leave anythin’ right side up,” he commented.

  The ceremony over the grave was brief with Roberta wishing her uncle a joyous journey to the reward she knew was awaiting him and finishing with a prayer for her aunt Edna’s welfare without her faithful companion. Still leaning on the shovel, Jug was touched to the point that he bowed his head and closed his eyes. Cullen stood solemnly with head bowed until she was finished. Then he took her by the arm and led her over to the ashes of Gabe’s campfire. “We’ll build a fire and brew up a little coffee,” he told her. “That always makes things better.”

  “I feel so bad for poor Uncle Gabriel,” she said, “and I don’t know how I can tell Aunt Edna that he’s gone.” She looked up into Cullen’s eyes, her pain so evident. “Oh, Cullen, my aunt is so ill. I’m afraid the news will kill her. I don’t know how she will survive.” She paused and placed her hand on his arm. “It seems so improper to even think about money at a time like this, and I’m afraid you’ll think ill of me, but Aunt Edna so desperately needs the gold Uncle Gabriel told her he discovered up here in these mountains.”

  Cullen replied, “Any gold he found should go to your aunt, so there’s no reason for you to feel bad about looking for it.”

  “Where would he have hidden it?” she asked.

  “I don’t know—any place, I guess.” He glanced around him then as if looking over the campsite for the first time. “Hard to say—someplace you wouldn’t think to look, I suppose.”

  She squeezed his arm and gazed into his eyes, beseechingly. “We’ve got to find that gold. Aunt Edna needs it desperately, and I’m afraid those Indians stole it, and he died for nothing.”

  “Well, I reckon we can search for it,” he said, trying to fake enthusiasm, for he really had his doubts concerning Gabe’s success in an area where no gold had been found to amount to anything. “I doubt those Indians would have carried off any gold dust. It doesn’t have much value to them. I expect they were satisfied just to get his livestock.”

  Cody returned to find the three of them scouring the clearing. “What the hell are you doin’?” he asked Cullen. Cullen explained that they were searching for Gabe’s hidden gold to give to Aunt Edna. Cody thought about that for a moment before reporting, “I found the back door. This little gulch starts climbin’ after leavin’ this clearin’, goes about two hundred yards, then just sorta peters out up the side of the mountain. I found the tracks from those ponies and some tracks from shod stock—Gabe’s mules, I reckon. They’re long gone.”

  About ready to give up on what he considered to be a useless search, Cullen posed a question to his youngest brother. “We’ve turned over every rock small enough to move and Roberta’s turned the tent upside down. If you had some gold dust to hide, where would you hide it?”

  Cody paused and looked all around him for a few moments, taking in the whole area of the clearing. “I expect I’d put it back where I found it in the first place.”

  “The stream?” Cullen responded, and turned to look at the tiny waterway making its way down the gulch. “Why not?” he decided, and he and Cody started walking slowly along the stream, paying close attention to the many turns and spills around the rocks. Almost simultaneously both men’s eyes locked on a miniature falls formed where several rocks appeared to pile one upon the other. Having overheard the conversation between his two brothers, Jug joined them in the search and started to attack the waterfall with Cody. In a few moments time, they uncovered a small pouch. Untying the rawhide drawstring, Cody peered in the sack to discover a small amount of gold dust. He looked up at Cullen. “Well, here’s his fortune,” he said. “Ain’t much to show for his trouble.”

  “That’s too damn easy,” Cullen decided, and hesitated. “I think ol’ Gabe set that up as a decoy.” He took a closer look up and down the stream while his brothers took the rocks forming the waterfall apart. Still, he saw nothing unusual, so he crossed over to the other side. In doing so, his foot slipped off the side of the bank, dislodging a pumpkin-sized stone under it. About to curse his clumsiness in getting his boot wet, he was stopped short by the sight of a canvas pouch barely visible behind the rock. “I got somethin’ here,” he sang out, and dropped to one knee to retrieve the pouch.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Cody muttered as Roberta ran to join them. “So the old codger—I mean, your uncle—really did find gold.”

  “There’s more,” Cullen said as he pulled another sack out of a hole dug in the bank and handed it to Jug. In total, there were four heavy pouches of dust hidden in the bank, protected by the one rock.
“Ol’ Gabe found a fortune,” he announced, “and from the weight of these sacks, a sizable one.”

  Roberta could not hide her excitement as she frantically worked at the knotted drawstring of the largest of the pouches. She opened the sack and withdrew a small handful of the precious dust, examining it closely. Then aware of the three men standing and watching her, she looked up, her face beaming. “Aunt Edna will be so pleased. There’s enough gold here to take care of her for the rest of her life.”

  “She ain’t the only one.”

  The words came from behind them, the voice deep and threatening. Taken completely by surprise, having been caught up in the excitement of their discovery, the three brothers were helpless to react in time. Jug and Cody recognized the three at once from the encounter in Sibley’s saloon. “Reach for them sidearms and you’re dead,” Frank Burdette warned. Crocker and Blackie Cruz stood on either side of him with their pistols aimed at them. Caught flat-footed, the McCloud brothers had no choice but to raise their hands. There was no time to berate themselves for their carelessness. The question now was how to save their hides, for there was no doubt as to their fate. They would hardly be spared their lives. The only question was why the outlaws hesitated. There was no reason not to simply shoot them down, but Burdette hesitated, evidently enjoying the prospect of making the three brothers contemplate their execution. The air was heavy with the tension between them.

  “Now, suppose you boys just back away from them sacks and unbuckle them gun belts,” Burdette ordered, “nice and easy-like.” A slow smile formed on his unshaven face. “Not you, young lady,” he said to Roberta. “You’re comin’ with us.” He motioned with his head for her to move toward him.

  As the three brothers backed slowly away from the stream, each one feeling helpless and angry at the same time, there was a common knowledge that, no matter how desperate, they would have to make some move to save Roberta and themselves. Deliberately stalling as he unbuckled his gun belt, Jug was the first to try. Directing his words to Big John Crocker, he attempted to goad him. “You were the one doin’ all the talkin’ back at Sibley’s. I knew you were all mouth when you said you’d kick my ass. You’re lucky you were able to sneak up on me with a gun, just like the low-down coyote you are. I expect you saved yourself a good asswhuppin’.”