Thunder Over Lolo Pass

by Charles G. West

“He shot my other brother, the one with me last time,” Jug said. “That bay horse he had with him is Cullen’s horse.”

  “I knew he had a mean look about him,” Smiley said. “Your brother dead?” When Jug replied that Cullen had survived, Smiley said, “Well, I reckon you’re about a day behind that feller.”

  “I expect we’d better not tarry, then,” Cody said. “He didn’t happen to say where he was headed, did he?”

  “Nope, and I didn’t ask.”

  Taking no more time than necessary to load their new supplies, the two brothers prepared to continue their search. Smiley stood by, watching them load their food. Then he handed Jug the quarter of side meat when the big man had arranged a place for it. Grinning appreciatively, Jug lifted it up to tie on behind his saddle. In the next moment it was almost wrenched from his hand by a bullet. An instant later, the sound of the rifle that had fired the shot rang out, sending all three of them scrambling for cover. Jug and Smiley dived behind a large cottonwood while Cody hustled behind a corner of the front porch. Several more shots kicked up dirt in the yard before silence followed.

  “He’s up yonder in the bluffs,” Cody called out, “in that bunch of bushes. Looks like we ain’t chasin’ him no more. He’s chasin’ us.”

  “Well, he’s got us pinned down pretty damn good,” Jug called back. He didn’t have to point out that both their rifles were on their saddles and the yard was too open to risk making a dash for them. At a range of approximately a hundred yards to the berry bushes from where the shots had come, pistols were of little use. “Wonder why he don’t shoot the horses.”

  Cody had already wondered about that. The horses were surely easy targets. “’Cause he ain’t out to stop us from followin’ him. He’s of a mind to kill us, and then I reckon he figures he’ll take the horses.”

  “The sorry son of a bitch coulda waited till you left my place,” Smiley complained, edging around closer to Jug with a notion to position himself behind the huge bulk that was Jug’s body.

  “I hope that bullet didn’t do too much damage to that bacon,” Jug muttered, primarily to himself. “If we had our rifles, we might could smoke him outta them bushes.”

  Smiley glanced behind him at his store and the cover possible between the building and the cottonwood tree. “I might be able to get you a rifle,” he said, “if you think you can rout him outta there.” Then not waiting for Jug’s answer, he crawled away from the tree and made his way on hands and knees along the side of his house. A couple of shots from the bluffs kicked up the dirt behind him, but he was soon safely behind the first unit in his chain of cabins.

  “Give it to Cody,” Jug yelled. “He’s the best shot.”

  A few minutes later, the shutters on a front window opened and an 1866 Winchester rifle slid across the porch floor to the corner where Cody quickly reached up and snatched it. A few seconds later, a cartridge belt followed. Ready to do some business with their unseen assailant now, Cody pumped a full magazine into the clump of bushes. He was in the process of reloading when he involuntarily jumped in reaction to what sounded like a cannon over his head. “By God!” Smiley shouted. “That’ll give him somethin’ to think about,” as he reloaded the Sharps Model 1874 buffalo rifle with a .50-70 cartridge, and steadied it on the windowsill for another shot.

  There was a temporary lull in the shooting from the bushes after Smiley’s blast cut a sizable branch in two. Knowing he would not likely get another chance, and gambling that Yeager had been as startled as he, Cody darted out from the edge of the porch and jerked his rifle from the saddle sling. Amid a volley of shots from the bluffs, he hit the ground and rolled over and over to come up beside Jug behind the tree. He gave Smiley’s’66 Winchester to Jug. “Keep him busy,” he said. “I’m gonna slip down the river and see if I can get behind him.” Jug nodded and started firing at once. In a matter of seconds, Cody crawled to the riverbank and dropped out of sight.

  “Damn the luck,” Bob Yeager complained as he reloaded yet again. Things were not going as he had planned, and he cursed the unlucky shot with which he had opened the assault. Now he was in a shoot-out, a situation he had hoped to avoid, and the first shot from the buffalo gun had come uncomfortably close to his head. That old fool, he thought, for he knew the shot had not come from either of the other two. He realized that he was now facing a standoff and he was outnumbered three to one. When he was faced with tight spots like this, Yeager’s natural tendency was to run, and he decided this might be the better choice at this time. He would just have to wait for another opportunity. His decision made, he pumped another flurry of shots at the trading post before carefully backing away from the sandy mound in the bushes that had been his protection. Wary now that he would have two after him, he wasted no time in an effort to get back to the gully in the bluffs where he had left his horses.

  Reaching the steep edge of the deep defile that led to the water, he sat down and slid on the seat of his pants to the bottom. He scrambled to his feet only to find himself gazing at the business end of a Winchester’73 in the hands of Cody McCloud. His reaction was automatic as he raised his rifle, but had no chance when competing with a bullet already on its way. Cody’s shot caught him in the chest, staggering him. The second shot spun him around and dropped him to the ground. Cody then calmly walked up to him and said, “Say hello to the devil for me. Tell him Cullen McCloud sent you.” Then to avoid repeating the mistake that Yeager had made when he left Cullen for dead, he placed the third shot in the back of Yeager’s head. The job done, he yelled for Jug and Smiley.

  With Cullen’s assailant lying dead on the ground, there was a feeling of uncertainty hovering over both brothers. While there was a sense of completion in regard to all those who had physically wounded the three brothers, there was also the feeling that something else was left to be done. That something was Roberta Morris. True, hers was not the finger on the trigger that left Cullen for dead, or ripped a hole in Jug’s side, or wounded Cody’s shoulder. But there was little doubt that she was the cause of it all. The question before the two brothers now was what, if anything, they could do about it. They had no idea as to where she might have fled. They only knew that she had left Helena, and it would only be a guess as to what direction she had gone. In the end, they decided that it would be a waste of time and effort to search blindly for the scheming vixen. She had won. She got away with the gold she sought. That much was a shame and a sin. On the other hand, it appeared that the McCloud family would all recover, and they had lost nothing to the beguiling woman. So they decided to head back to Garrison to pick up Cullen. Then they could just go home and try to forget that they had ever met Roberta Morris, or Lawrence, whatever her name was. As best they could estimate, it would be about four to four and a half days to the swing station on Clark Fork where Cullen waited. Since there was no longer a sense of urgency, they decided to wait until morning before starting out for Butte.

  To settle up with Smiley for his part in the shoot-out, they gave him the blue roan that Yeager had ridden, plus his saddle and weapons. Smiley was grateful and offered Jug the rest of that side of bacon, since they now had Cullen’s horse to carry it. “I reckon you mighta took that bullet if you hadn’t been holdin’ up that bacon,” Smiley said.

  Cody chuckled. “Yeah, instead of you savin’ our bacon, I guess our bacon saved you.”

  The next morning found both brothers in an almost carefree mood. “I thought you might wanna ride on back through Helena and visit your friend Lonnie,” Cody joshed as they were soaking up the last of the pot of coffee Smiley had made for their breakfast. “I bet him and that old maid sheriff would be happy to see you.”

  “I was thinkin’ on takin’ you back there—figured there might be some reward money for your capture—two, three, maybe even five dollars,” Jug responded.

  Cody laughed. He stepped up in the saddle then and said, “Let’s go, Jug, and see how Cullen’s gettin’ along with that little Sullivan gal. What was her name?”

>   “Marcy,” Jug replied.

  It was a clear day in early fall, and they were heading home. However, there was a lingering cloud in Cody’s mind, and he tried not to think about the fortune stolen from ol’ Gabe’s brother, for there was really nothing he and Jug could do about it. They had already been away from the M Bar C for too long. The summer was gone. It was already August. There was a lot of work to be done and their father was left shorthanded. Roberta and her male companion, who the Sullivans said was introduced as her brother, most likely headed back east to spend their ill-gotten gains. There was no use in crying about it. That was just the way things worked in this country. Sometimes you eat the bear, sometimes the bear eats you, as the saying went.

  Cullen looked up when he heard the door opened ajar. “It’s all right, Marcy,” he said. “I’m up already.” He thought he could smell the coffee he knew she would be bringing. It had become a ritual. She would bring him a cup of fresh coffee every morning before breakfast, although he had insisted that it was no longer necessary, for he was perfectly capable of coming to the kitchen to get his coffee himself. He found himself looking forward to the early visit from his cheerful nurse, so much so that he had to warn himself to remember the first time he had let himself be attracted to a pretty face. Of course, there was no comparison between the two women. His concern was for Marcy, not himself, for he was almost ten years her senior. He had convinced himself that her attention to him was strictly out of sympathy for his misfortune, and as soon as he was healed, that mild infatuation would disappear. Well, I’m healed, he thought, at least well enough to return home.

  “Good morning,” Marcy sang out in her typical sunshiny manner. “How’s my patient this morning?”

  “Good morning, Marcy,” he returned. “I guess your patient is about ready to stop lyin’ around bein’ waited on, and see about gettin’ back to the M Bar C.” His remark brought a frown to the pretty face beaming up at him.

  “You know what Dr. Hicks told you,” she scolded. “Don’t go thinking you’re well too soon, or you’ll just cause those wounds to open up again.”

  “I think those wounds are healin’ up pretty well,” he replied. “And the stiffness I had in my shoulder and back is almost gone.” He took a sip of the hot, black coffee and smiled at her. “I don’t think I would’ve made it without your help, though. I’m pretty sure your mama and papa would love to see me ride outta here, though. I’m gonna have to pay them for all the grub I’ve eaten.”

  “They’re not worried about that at all,” she protested. “If they were, I would have known it.” A wide smile lit up her face then. “Besides, you can’t ride away from here. You don’t have a horse.”

  “That is a problem, ain’t it?” He had forgotten that, but he only hesitated for a moment. “I expect Jimmy might loan me his horse until I could bring it back.”

  “I expect he might,” she said, pretending to pout. “I believe he’d give you anything of his you fancied.” Cullen laughed. She wasn’t far from wrong. He was well aware of her young brother’s fascination with him. Then for a moment another frown chased her pout away, and she said, “I don’t want you to go.” Like a bullet fired, she could not call it back. Realizing it might have sounded a bit forward, she quickly followed the remark. “I promised Dr. Hicks I’d see that you didn’t get back on a horse too soon.”

  Caught in the awkwardness of the moment, they both gazed at each other while the room around them seemed to fall into total silence with neither knowing what to say. They were saved when Jimmy stuck his head in the door. “Mama said breakfast is ready.” Cullen and Marcy exchanged brief smiles of embarrassment and followed Jimmy into the dining room.

  “You’re lookin’ stronger every day,” Fred Sullivan said as Cullen walked in.

  “I’m feelin’ stronger,” Cullen replied, and made his decision right then. “Matter of fact, I think it’s about time I got on my way. I’ve put you folks out enough as it is.” He directed his next comment toward Marcy’s younger brother then. “I was hopin’ I could work out some kinda deal with you, Jimmy—maybe borrow your horse for a spell. When I get home, I’ll see that you get him back.” His statement caught all of them by surprise. The evidence was plain in their faces.

  “Sure,” Jimmy immediately responded, to no one’s surprise. “You know you’re welcome to my horse.”

  “Well, now, Cullen,” Fred commented, “we don’t want you to push yourself too soon.”

  Myra was quick to second her husband’s remark. “No, indeed. I certainly hope you’re not leaving because you think you’re too much bother. We’re happy to have you stay as long as you like.” She was sincere in her statement, for she had developed a strong fondness for the quiet young man, as well as a large measure of respect. “We’re all glad to see you recovering so well, but we’re in no hurry to see you go.” She glanced then at her daughter, interested to test her reaction to the news. As she had feared, there was a deep disappointment on Marcy’s face, and Myra was struck with compassion for the young girl’s feelings. She had been afraid that her young daughter had been riding for a fall.

  “It’s time I was leavin’,” Cullen repeated. “I’ll bring your horse back as soon as I can,” he told Jimmy; then, turning back to Fred, he said, “And I’ll pay my bill then for all the food and care. I don’t think I’ve got enough money at home to pay for the nursin’ care, though.” He aimed a wide grin in Marcy’s direction. She made no reply, but managed to affect a gentle smile for his benefit.

  As soon as breakfast was finished, Cullen collected his belongings, what little was left on him after Yeager bushwhacked him, and loaded them on Jimmy’s horse. They all stood around and watched him get ready to leave. Fred handed him his double-barrel shotgun and a sack full of shells. “You can bring it back with Jimmy’s horse,” he said. Then he shook his hand. “You watch yourself.” Cullen nodded.

  “I declare,” Myra admitted, “we’re gonna miss you around here. You take care of yourself.” She handed him a cotton sack with some cooking utensils she had rounded up for him.

  “I will,” Cullen replied. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Marcy stood off to one side during the good-byes, not sure of her feelings. When the moment came and Cullen started to step up in the stirrup, her emotions took control, and she suddenly ran quickly up to him and kissed him on the cheek. Then just as quickly, she backed away again to leave him confused and uncertain. Unable to think of anything to say beyond a simple “Thank you,” he stepped up in the saddle and turned the roan’s head toward the river.

  After crossing the river, he continued west, planning to take as direct a route as possible to the Bitterroot Valley. As best he could figure, he had a full two days’ ride if he was in fit condition. Since he was still weak from his wounds, he decided to take it a little easy and make the journey in three days. It was not an easy ride for a man with three bullet holes in him, riding directly over the Sapphire Mountains before reaching the M Bar C. The first twenty miles were relatively comfortable and he went into camp on Flint Creek with few complaints of soreness or discomfort.

  There were a good many things on his mind as he fried some bacon in the frying pan Myra had loaned him. He still didn’t have much of an appetite, so the bacon would be enough to satisfy him, and would go well with the coffee he was brewing in the old pot that was also a loan from Myra. I’m going to need a packhorse to return everything I’ve borrowed, he thought. He had lost everything when Bob Yeager had bushwhacked him. It’s a good thing I’ve got some money saved up. He let his mind wander back to that morning and the image of Marcy peeking around the bedroom door, holding a fresh cup of coffee for him. Every detail of her face was still clear in his mind as he recalled the moment before Jimmy had come in to summon them to the table. It was that moment when she had uttered, I don’t want you to go. Was he sensing more than she intended? “I wish to hell I knew!” he exclaimed, and decided to think of something else before his mind created something that
wasn’t there. After his supper, he checked the load in Fred’s shotgun and laid it beside his blanket. I feel downright naked without my rifle. That was his last thought before drifting off to sleep.

  He was surprised to find that he was not as stiff and sore as he had expected to be when he awoke the next morning. Maybe I’m healing faster than I thought, he speculated. The notion was encouraging, for he had not really felt ready to ride the day before. His decision to leave had been dictated by the fear that he was becoming too fond of Marcy Sullivan, and he had thought it best to go. The fact that he was feeling stronger on this morning was sufficient to raise his spirits from the lows of the night before. After checking the condition of Jimmy’s roan, he saddled up and set out for the Sapphire Mountains and a trail he had ridden when hunting in these hills. With his new optimism, he revised his original estimate and planned to try to reach home late that night.

  “Now, mister, you can just roll your ass outta that stall with your hands where I can see ’em.”

  There was a lengthy pause before a response came forth from the figure huddled in the hay of the first stall in the barn. “Well, that’s a helluva welcome home.”

  “Cullen! Is that you?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “When did you . . .” Donovan stammered, completely flustered. “What the hell are you doin’ in the barn? Why didn’t you come in the house? Where are your brothers? Didn’t they find you? Damn, boy . . .”

  “Just hold on a minute,” Cullen said, “and I’ll try to answer all your questions.”

  Donovan could not find the patience to wait. “But what the hell are you doin’ in the barn? I saw that strange roan horse just standin’ at the gate this mornin’. I mean, Smoke saw it when he came out to the pump to draw water for breakfast, and told me we had a stray horse at the barn. Where’s your horse?”