Lone Valley: A Fresh Start (Mountain Man Book 6)

by Nathan Jones

  Which was why he'd started paying a lot more attention to the Glock his dad had given him five years ago at the start of the Mountain War. He'd always disdained pistols, since they took far more effort to learn than a rifle, only to end up being far less accurate at even drastically shorter ranges. Out on the open mountain slopes, shooting at big game or enemies with rifles, he really just didn't see the value.

  Skyler had learned to shoot his 9mm with decent accuracy, of course, mostly because it was a chance to shoot a gun and Trapper insisted on it. But he hadn't given a second thought to any other skills he'd need for his pistol, like getting off multiple accurate shots in quick succession, the double tap, reloading smoothly and swiftly, or even drawing and getting on target fast.

  He'd changed his tune pretty darn quick after his first encounter with a real gunslinger. The aggressive piece of work had picked a fight while Skyler was eating, just for the joy of it. Skyler had been confident he could hold his own when the rough-looking man had gotten in his face, right up to the point where he suddenly found himself staring down the barrel of a revolver, almost before he knew what was happening.

  He was lucky to get out of there with his life, and had been forced to flee the flyspeck town in humiliation, grateful he'd managed to escape with Junior and his saddlebags.

  After that he'd spent a lot of time learning to draw quick, aim quicker, and get off an accurate enough shot to take down a threat. He'd also learned to shoot from the hip when he really needed speed. He'd even spent time learning to fight with a knife, using what he learned to do his best to figure out how he'd defend against a knifeman if he had to.

  Then he'd gone a step farther and practiced boxing, whenever he found a group of men in a town who competed in the sport. That remained one of his weaker areas, mostly due to lack of chances to practice, but he walked away with fewer bruises each time.

  And nobody considered him an easy knockout.

  Maybe it was arrogant of him, but he felt that the same natural good eyesight, speed, and competence that had allowed him to be so dangerous with a rifle had transferred over well to his pistol and hand-to-hand skills. He could proudly say that after two years of serious effort, he was nearly as dangerous with a handgun at close quarters as he was with a rifle at long ranges.

  He'd handled potentially deadly situations far better as time went on, until eventually something in his bearing had been sufficient to warn away the sort of ruffian who usually picked a fight. These days it was mostly idiots who couldn't see past his age who ended up causing trouble, and Skyler usually knew how to turn those kinds of tense situations into friendly encounters.

  After all, he'd been dealing with people doubting his skills because of his age for the better part of a decade.

  Lone Valley was quiet, even in the early afternoon. Maybe it only picked up at certain times, but at the moment only a few people were out and about, frequenting the businesses along Main Street. They all saw Skyler and ducked their heads, hurrying a bit faster about their business.

  Well, paradise wasn't quite as friendly and welcoming as he might've liked. Then again, he probably could've tried harder to make himself presentable before heading in.

  Now he had a better appreciation for how people had described Trapper back before the mountain man had met his mom, letting his hair and beard grow long without caring much for his appearance. Although Skyler's pride still pricked him when people shot him suspicious looks or gave him a wide berth as if he was some kind of drifter.

  Besides, when he found Lisa he wanted to look nice; he'd have to see what he could arrange in the way of a hot bath when he found whatever hotel or boardinghouse this place boasted. That, plus a proper shave and considered application of the precious stick of ancient pre-Ultimatum deodorant his mom had given him for his eighteenth birthday, and he'd feel almost human again.

  The town's trading post was easy enough to spot: one of the few buildings on the street with siding and proper shingles, although from the looks of things the siding covered log walls. A heavily weathered board, suggesting it had been scavenged rather than freshly split or sawn, had been carefully painted with the name “Hancock's Mercantile”.

  Well, first things first. Skyler rode up to the hitching post out front, which offered a view inside through the barred window, and more importantly would allow him to make sure nobody tried to steal his horse while he was inside.

  That wasn't just paranoia, either; horse thieves were if anything even more common than bandits, and were viewed in much the same light. Nobody had raised much fuss the time Skyler had been forced to shoot one out of Junior's saddle, in a little town in northeastern Oregon a year and a half or so ago, as the man tried to ride off on the stallion. Which didn't count the handful of other times he'd caught a would-be thief red-handed and ran them off at gunpoint.

  Even with the window, though, he still untied his saddlebags and pack and took them with him when he went inside. Just to be safe.

  Amusingly, the man behind the counter, Mr. Hancock he presumed, could've been the younger brother of Brady Everett back home. Or, well, at least a cousin. Same slight build, same average height, same absent look as if he was constantly running tallies and checking stock in his head.

  “A new face!” the trader said with that same friendliness Brady had always shown. The sort that was over the top enough to show the man was trying hard, but not exaggerated enough to suggest he wasn't doing his best to be sincere.

  Skyler had actually had a talk with Brady about it once, and his friend's response had been some old bit of wisdom, or maybe it had been a study, that showed that people were drawn to those with high energy and a cheerful demeanor.

  Which seemed pretty commonsense to him. Then again, for a lot of folk sense wasn't all that common.

  Still, he'd taken Brady's advice to heart, and it had always served him well in his travels. So he smiled back as he approached the counter. “Yep. Just came in from around the Cheyenne fallout zone.”

  “Ah.” The trader shook his head sadly. “Bad business, that, the fallout spreading farther than anyone thought.”

  Skyler felt a pang as he thought of his home as a child, where the same thing had happened. The alarming reports of their friends and neighbors sickening, even dying, that had caused everyone within ten miles of the Utah Valley fallout zone to flee their homes. It had prompted Simon Randall to form his convoy headed to the better life in Texas they'd all been hearing about, and amidst the tragic outcome of that journey had ultimately led to them meeting Trapper and him joining the family.

  “Isn't the first place I've seen it happen,” Skyler said. “Shame so many people clung to the borders of the fallout zones after the Ultimatum . . . with the threat of radiation poisoning you'd think they'd keep running until they ran out of land, then swim.”

  Another pang, as he thought of his dad. Not Trapper but his birth father, Miles Graham. Skyler's memories of him grew fainter by the year, but he remembered most of their time together as happy, safe, and full of love.

  Of course, his dad had decided to ignore common sense and run the opposite direction, into the fallout zone, looking for treasure. He'd found it, all right, but unfortunately he'd also found the radiation he should've expected.

  The trader shrugged. “Considering populations tend to cluster in habitable areas, and nukes took out all those areas, folks didn't really have much choice unless they wanted to run into a desert, swamp, or mountain. That's a harder life than sticking to good land and hoping to be spared any radiation.”

  “If you say so.” Skyler had watched his dad die of radiation sickness, and he would do just about anything to avoid that fate. Besides, he'd spent the last ten years living in the mountains and they were actually just fine, aside from being bad for growing crops and having harsher winters.

  The man didn't seem in the mood to press his case. With another shrug he leaned across the counter and offered his hand. “Anyhow, just makes you appreciate what a rare an
d precious gem Lone Valley is all the more. I'm Robert Hancock.”

  “Skyler Graham,” he replied, returning the handshake firmly.

  “Well welcome to Lone Valley, Mr. Graham,” Hancock said, finding his customer-pleasing smile again. “I'd be interested to hear more about the situation at Cheyenne, but first what can I help you with?”

  “Well that depends . . . you accept silver?”

  The trader actually laughed. “If you're giving it away? Sure, why not.” Skyler couldn't bring himself to join the laughter considering the ounces of precious metal weighing him down, and the trouble he'd had finding anyone to sell him anything for them. Without extortionate prices, that is.

  Although they'd proven useful enough during his brief stint in the Northern League.

  Hancock noticed his lack of response and allowed his laughter to fade to a few final chuckles. “Well here's the thing, Mr. Graham. Can you eat silver? Can you shoot it? Can you ride it or pull a plow with it? Does it keep you warm in the cold? These are deep philosophical questions, ones I've been pondering ever since opening up my own trading post. You know what startling conclusion I've reached?”

  “You can't?” Skyler said flatly.

  “Indeed you cannot.” The man gave him an apologetic smile. “I do deal in silver, since I can often use it in trades with the Northern League. But given its relative lack of value outside League borders my prices tend to be . . . less than optimal.” He straightened his shoulders and continued brightly. “In any case, I always offer fair deals for goods worth trading for. I stake my reputation on that.”

  Fair enough. Skyler resorted to his other supply of valuable trade goods, if a dwindling one. “You mentioned currency you can shoot. How's the price for that?”

  “Going up by the year,” Hancock said cheerfully. “Whatcha got?”

  Skyler spent a moment thinking about what would be least dear to part with. “Ten rounds of nine millimeter.”

  “I think I could take that off your hands. What were you looking to buy?”

  Bullets, he thought wryly. But with the trader's aid and a bit of looking around, he gathered up some flour, cornmeal, beans, butter, root vegetables, and spices. With a bit of haggling, he was able to get what he considered to be a fairly good deal. Probably the best deal he'd seen on his travels, truth be told.

  Maybe Lone Valley really was a prosperous land of bountiful opportunity. Or maybe he was finally getting the hang of all the knowledge of negotiation and trading that Trapper had tried to pass on to him. Lessons he'd usually let go right over his head as he focused on honing his skill hunting and fishing and trapping, shooting and sneaking along forested slopes and all the other mountain man wisdom that had helped him survive.

  Especially these years on his own.

  “So what sort of opportunities were you looking to find here?” Hancock asked casually as he packed up the purchases. The man had spent most of the time chatting about Lone Valley, the businesses and the people who lived here and where they'd come from.

  Skyler shrugged. To be honest, he'd mostly come here out of curiosity, rather than out of any desire to stick around. It seemed like a nice enough place, but he had a home back in Utah and no real desire to settle anywhere else.

  Not that he was feeling the urge too strongly to head back to the ranch and put up roots at the moment, either. Not with Lisa still out there somewhere.

  Even so, a man had to eat. Especially when you could barely give gold and silver away. “I've got more than a little experience working with horses and cattle,” he replied. “Also with hunting and trapping, skinning and butchering animals, preserving meat and working hides.”

  “Sounds like you're well equipped to make a start here, then.” The trader rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “There's a few ranches up north that are doing fairly well, although I haven't heard of them needing any new hands. Still, places like that there's always plenty to do, and if you've got the skills to justify it they might find a place for you.”

  Again, if Skyler wanted to get back into ranching he'd head home. Where he'd be working to his own benefit, and the benefit of his family, rather than just pulling in a wage. “Appreciate the suggestion,” he said. “Speaking of folks looking for opportunities, with all the talk I've heard about this place from as far away as two states over, I'm surprised you're not seeing a rush of settlers.”

  Hancock grimaced. “Who says we aren't?” He leaned against the counter, staring vaguely northward. “Northern League hasn't seen fit to invite us into the fold yet, but they've definitely taken a shine to Lone Valley. League bigwigs have friends living here, especially among the ranchers.”

  “So let me guess,” Skyler said wryly. “Even though you're not League, they're still particular about who lives here?”

  The trader nodded. “Anyone who didn't come in with wealth to live on, or who doesn't have the skills and materials to start a productive farm or useful trade, is politely invited to move on. League patrols offer food and medicine for folks who need it, but that aid comes with the boot.”

  Well, that explained a lot. “Guessing they'll be paying me a close look when they come around next, then,” he said.

  “Nah.” The other man gave him a thoughtful look. “You're a bit scruffy, maybe, but you've got a horse, weapons, silver to trade, and useful skills. That's all you need for a fresh start in Lone Valley.”

  “Good to hear.” Skyler tipped his wide-brimmed hat as he gathered up his purchases. “Take care, Mr. Hancock.”

  Hancock nodded and settled back against the counter. “Hope to see you again soon, Mr. Graham.”

  Chapter Two

  Homestead

  Now that Skyler had restocked, the next step was finding a place to lay his head. And it would be nice to have a chance to clean himself up, too.

  A bit of idle chatter with Hancock while making his purchases had informed him that in Lone Valley, as was often the case in these towns, the best rooms to rent were above a saloon. Of the two in town, a disproportionately high number for such a small place but no surprise considering all the League trade that came through, the trader had recommended the Watering Hole.

  The name was cliché to the point of absurdity, but apparently the other saloon, ironically named the Cattle Prod, mostly rented its rooms by the hour to patrons who wanted to get to know the abundance of barmaids there better for a nominal fee. Not unlike Neal's bar in old Emery, back before it was occupied by Sangue and ultimately burned down by Camptown's fighters, or Tanner's Tavern in New Emery.

  Unless Skyler wanted to sleep in a bed that saw an uncomfortable amount of use, with linens of dubious cleanliness, he'd be better off with the more reputable Watering Hole. Especially since Hancock personally knew the owner and happened to be dating a woman who worked there.

  Which, admittedly, probably biased him towards the place.

  On the other hand, the man also insisted that most everyone in town agreed that along with a more wholesome atmosphere, the Watering Hole also had better drinks. The owner, Henry, brewed his own beer, and got the best quality liquors from the League.

  That wasn't the biggest draw for Skyler, although it was definitely a consideration. Back when he'd first left home, he'd actually looked forward to the prospect of trying out the bars, taverns, and saloons in the towns he visited. Able to just kick back and enjoy a drink, without having to worry about word getting back to his mom or Trapper, facing their disapproval.

  Unfortunately, he'd discovered some disappointing things about being a passing traveler in a bar. First off he was always a source of attention, often not the positive sort, and if any of the other patrons were inclined usually the target for any trouble they wanted to start. He was usually able to get in good with people and avoid that sort of unpleasantness, but even so it didn't seem worth the risk just for a drink or two.

  Secondly, drinking alone wasn't any fun. As a stranger it was always an effort to befriend the other drinkers, and if he managed it they weren't
generally the most enjoyable company. He had a few good memories of friends made along the way, news exchanged and sage advice offered, and he appreciated that.

  But for the most part, it was talking about life's troubles with people who hadn't gone more than a few miles from home since settling down after the war.

  Lastly, and probably most importantly, Trapper had instilled in him a healthy sense of caution. Following his dad's example, he avoided getting too drunk around strangers; if they were bad sorts they might rob him or worse while he was vulnerable, and in the rare event he encountered trouble he'd have a lot more difficulty handling it if he was three sheets to the wind.

  Then there was the fact that a lot of bars tended to be seedy and attracted a certain element. They weren't the most pleasant places to hang out for a few hours sober or at most tipsy, anyway.

  If he stuck around in Lone Valley long enough to get to know some of the locals, make a name for himself, he might consider lingering in the Watering Hole for socializing and the like. Although he'd probably avoid the Cattle Prod; in spite of the temptation, he never availed himself of the services offered in places like that.

  Even if he hadn't firmly agreed with Trapper's lifelong stance that there were some things you didn't pay for, he'd feel like he was betraying Tabby if he even flirted with another woman. And he'd had more than his fair share of opportunities over the last couple years.

  And Lisa, he reminded himself hastily. He'd feel like he was betraying Lisa, of course. That was the entire reason he'd kept Tabby at arm's length all those years.

  Anyway, for the moment he'd be content to rent a room, possibly have a drink with his meals. And a bath and shave, of course. Maybe a haircut if anyone was offering the service; he could cut his own hair if he needed to, but it was a hassle and the end result left something to be desired.

  Looking forward to those simple comforts, he untied Junior from the hitching post and started down Main Street. Although just his luck, he ran into trouble before he made it to the Watering Hole. Or, more accurately, he spotted it brewing well past the place and hurried on.