Mountain Hawk

by Charles G. West

  Ox was promptly carted back to the trading post the next morning. Henry Clyde, however, possessed a heart made of somewhat softer material than that of his wife, and he could not bring himself to put the child out to find his own way. So Ox began life in a new home, the back storeroom of the trading post, where he remained until a sudden spurt of growth caused Mr. Clyde to question the wisdom in keeping the hulking young man in his storeroom any longer. Unknown to Ox, when a mountain man named Sowers showed some interest in him, Henry encouraged him to approach Ox with an offer of employment.

  His thoughts returning to the present, Ox considered the man who had just ridden off to try to overtake Crown. Trace McCall was a good man, Ox felt certain about that. He wished that he had met Trace instead of Sowers. Then he wouldn’t be in this mess. Trace had left him here alone, but Ox understood why Trace needed to go. He only hoped he got to Jamie before Crown killed her.

  Weary of lying on his back, Ox forced himself to turn over on his side, a movement that always caused his stomach wound to send fiery stabs of pain through his abdomen. This time, however, the pain was decidedly less intense—a sign that might have been welcome had he not been so despondent over being alone. Now, facing the fire, he wondered if he might as well let it die out. Why prolong his dying? He had heard Sowers say that freezing to death was about as good a way to die as any; just go to sleep and never wake up. Then, like a child alone in the dark, he felt his heart quicken and an instant glow of joy when he suddenly heard horses padding softly through the snow behind him. The look of gratitude on Ox’s face made Trace feel more guilty than ever for even thinking about leaving him to fend for himself.

  During the next couple of days, Trace often berated himself for lingering with a dying man while Jamie was held captive by such dangerous renegades. But he could not justify leaving Ox, especially after spending more time talking with him and coming to realize what an innocent mind he was dealing with. He questioned Ox about Plum and Crown and the treatment Jamie had received. What Ox told him made his heart ache for Jamie, but he also was able to surmise that she had become hardened to her ordeal. Since he didn’t know anything about Sowers, he questioned Ox about the man in order to have a fair idea of what he was dealing with.

  “How did you hook up with those three in the first place?” Trace asked as he put a fresh cloth on Ox’s wound.

  “I was workin’ fer Mr. Henry Clyde at Fort Union, and Sowers come in with a load of plews to trade,” Ox explained. “He had six mules loaded with all kinds of plews—buffalo, beaver, deer, bear—everything. I helped him unload, and he asked me if I wanted to go with him and help him all the time. He said I could git rich, so I went with him.”

  “Did you get rich?”

  Ox grinned. “No, sir, I didn’t.”

  Trace shook his head thoughtfully. “Ox, how old are you?”

  Ox thought a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Have you got any family? Ma and pa?” Trace asked.

  “No, sir. My pa put me on a boat upriver, and when they was finished unloadin’ it, they left me settin’ there on the landin’. Mr. Clyde let me stay there in the back of the storeroom.”

  “And then you threw in with Sowers,” Trace commented.

  “Yessir. I wanted to git rich. Mr. Clyde said I growed too big to stay in the storeroom anyway.”

  Two more days passed, and Ox’s condition made a drastic change. Contrary to what Trace anticipated, the huge man took a turn for the better. Instead of dying, he began a rapid recovery, and within a week’s time he was able to sit up and move about. Trace was astounded by his capacity for healing, never suspecting that Ox’s will to live had been rejuvenated by his return.

  One morning Trace awoke to find Ox towering over him, a wide grin plastered on his face. Trace blinked a few times to rid his eyes of sleep, then asked one simple question. “Can you ride?”

  “I think so.”

  They were in the saddle that same morning, following the river toward the place where the Missouri forks into three rivers, where, if providence favored them, Jamie was waiting.

  CHAPTER 10

  On his hands and knees in the snow, Sowers backed away from the top of the rise and came plowing down to the edge of the pines where Plum and Crown waited. Jamie, huddled next to a tree trunk with a buffalo robe pulled over her head, tried to protect her face from the brutal cold. They had spent days on horseback in the bitter weather, in stinging cold that burned every inch of exposed skin. Her fingers were stiff and red, and she feared that her toes might be frostbitten.

  “Well, what is it?” Plum barked, too impatient to allow Sowers time to catch his breath when he reached the trees.

  Sowers grinned, still puffing. “Cozy as can be,” he said. “They got ’em a nice little cabin built. I figure they’s no more’n three of ’em—maybe four. I ain’t shore, but they only got six horses out back.”

  Plum stroked his chin whiskers while he considered this. He hadn’t expected to find anyone at one of his preferred campsites, especially since the beaver trade had all but disappeared. To find that someone had not only camped in his favorite spot, but had put up a permanent structure, galled him more than a little. On the other hand, it appeared to be just the setup he needed.

  “No sign of any more cabins?” he wanted to know. When Sowers answered that there were none, Plum nodded and said, “I expect we’d best ride on in, and pay ’em a call—maybe thank ’em for building us a nice cabin.”

  Inside the crude log cabin, Boss Pritchard sat playing two-handed poker with Jake Watson. Neither man had any money, so they were playing just to while away the hours. Shorty Whitehead had become bored with a gambling game that involved no money, so he got up to put another log on the fire. He and Boss had built the fireplace of stone, and he was not shy about bragging on the success of it. It needed a little additional clay around the outside edges, but it kept the little cabin warm.

  After Shorty was satisfied that the fire was burning steadily, he decided to go outside to take a look at the sky. He was still standing in the open doorway when he sighted a small party making their way across the snowy rise to the north. “Danged if we ain’t got company,” he called back over his shoulder, whereupon his two partners jumped up from the keg they had been using as a table and reached for their rifles. Shorty quickly assured them that the visitors were not Indians. “Looks like some trappers,” he said as he was joined by Boss and Jake at the door.

  “Whadaya make of ’em?” Jake asked, straining to see if it was anyone he knew.

  “Don’t know,” Boss replied. “Don’t recollect seein’ ’em before. Best keep your rifle handy till we see which way their stick floats.”

  “Hallo, there in the cabin,” Plum called out when they had closed to within fifty yards.

  “Hallo, yourself,” Boss replied. “Who be ya?”

  “Jack Plum’s the name. Me and my little family here is just passin’ through, lookin’ fer a place to set up winter camp.” They continued to approach. “I reckon we’ll go on down a ways since you boys is camping here.”

  Realizing now that the fourth rider was a woman, Boss suddenly remembered his manners. “Well, sir, you got a few good hours of daylight left, so the lady might like to come in and get warm for a while.”

  Plum smiled. “That’s right neighborly of you, sir. It is mighty cold, and we’ve been travelin’ a spell.” He pulled up close to Jamie’s horse and issued a low warning. “One peep outta you and I’ll cut your gizzard out.” He signaled Crown with a slight nod of his head and received a smirk in return. Crown knew his part without being told.

  Boss stood aside and held the door for the travelers to enter. “Come on inside, miss,” he said as Jamie followed Plum through the door. “We shore didn’t expect to see no white folks out this way in this kind of weather.” Jake and Shorty propped their rifles in a corner of the tiny cabin and stood aside to let their visitors get to the fire.

  “Be careful,”
Jamie whispered as she passed by Boss, but he was unable to understand what she said.

  “Beg pardon, ma’am?”

  Though it was whispered, Plum overheard the attempted warning and quickly answered Boss. “She said it’s best to be careful in this kind of weather.” A quick glance in Jamie’s direction promised the girl that harsh retribution was coming her way. Putting on a friendly smile for Boss’s benefit, Plum said, “It’s a nice cozy little place you got here.”

  “It’s passable, I reckon,” Boss replied. Motioning with his head toward his two partners, he said, “Me and Shorty and Jake here put it up this fall.”

  “Any Injun trouble?” Crown asked.

  Shorty answered. “Not so far. There was a band of Crows camped ’bout fifteen miles below the fork. They was friendly enough. Anyway they moved out before the first snow.”

  This news pleased Plum. He wasn’t any too popular with the Crow Indians, since he had cheated them on several occasions. “What are you fellers doin’ up this way—trappin? This place was trapped out years ago, warn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Boss agreed. “We’re just holed up here for the winter. Come spring, we’ll head on down to the Snake, maybe go on through to Fort Hall.”

  “Well,” Plum replied, assuming as friendly a tone as he could contrive, “I don’t reckon I have to tell you how long and hard the winters are out here. I hope you laid in a good supply of stores to carry you to spring.” He shot Jamie a stern glance when he noticed the urgent look in her eyes as she sought to attract Boss’s attention.

  Unaware of the silent warning the girl was trying to give him, Boss replied, “Oh, this ain’t the first winter we’ve spent in the mountains. I reckon we’re fixed about as good as we need.”

  “We ain’t got much to spare, but I reckon we got enough to git by,” Jake Watson interrupted. He was a bit leery of the line of questioning Plum had embarked upon. He shot Boss a sideways glance.

  Boss, picking up on Jake’s caution, quickly added, “Not much, but maybe we’ll git by.”

  Plum smiled. I know you got some meat packed away somewhere outside, he thought. It’d make it a lot easier if you’d just tell me where you buried it. To Boss, he said, “Well, sir, me and the boys appreciate you gittin’ this here cabin ready for us—saves us a lot of work.”

  Boss looked puzzled. “Beg pardon?”

  Jamie was about to break her silence and warn the unsuspecting trappers, but she was too late. Plum threw back his heavy buffalo coat to reveal a pistol in each hand. He stuck one of them right into Boss Pritchard’s belly and pulled the trigger. While Boss doubled over, Plum turned and fired his other pistol, the shot splitting Jake Watson’s forehead. Shorty made a move for his rifle, but Crown already had a pistol aimed at the back of his head.

  It had all happened so quickly—three sharp cracks from the pistols—that Jamie was still screaming when the shooting was over. Plum gave her a rap across her face with the back of his hand, silencing her. Horrified by the merciless slaughter of three innocent men, she stood in the center of the cramped little room, her body shaking uncontrollably. She looked around at Sowers as the acrid stench of gunpowder lingered on the air, filling her nostrils. He was smiling broadly, his pistol out even though he had not fired.

  “All right, let’s drag these bastards outta here,” Plum ordered. He reached down to take hold of Boss Pritchard’s feet, and the mortally wounded man grunted in pain. “This’un’s still kickin’,” he said. To Boss, he snarled, “Gut-shot—could take a while before you finally die. To show you I ain’t a hard man to git along with, I’ll put you outta your misery.” He turned to Sowers. “Gimme your pistol, Sowers.”

  “Lemme do it,” Sowers whined.

  Plum smirked. “How about that, mister? Ol’ Sowers here didn’t git to shoot nobody. Where do you want it? In the ear? In the mouth?”

  “You go to hell,” Boss rasped, seconds before Sowers gleefully shot him point-blank in the face.

  “Drag him the hell outta here,” Plum commanded, and Sowers cheerfully obeyed. Turning to see Jamie still shivering in fear, Plum aimed a foot at her backside and ordered, “Quit that damn sniveling and git over there and see what’s in that pot. Git us somethin’ to eat.”

  Shaken out of her temporary paralysis, Jamie did as she was told. There was a large iron pot hanging over the fire with some meat cooking inside. Her mind still stunned by the brutal murders, she forced herself to go through the motions of stirring the dark meat boiling in the pot while the three men rummaged through the belongings of the three murdered trappers.

  “Hell,” Crown spat, “they was poor as church mice.” He threw an empty parfleche aside after he had dumped the contents on the dirt floor.

  “Don’t matter,” Plum said, “we got us a cozy little shack, and plenty of wood cut—and we can use them rifles.” He cocked his head in Sowers’s direction. “Sowers, go outside and dig around some. They’re bound to have some meat laid aside.”

  “Ah, hell, Plum, lemme git my feet warm first,” Sowers whined. “It’s cold out there, and I ain’t et nothin’ yet.”

  Plum fixed him with a chilly stare. “Git your lazy ass out there—and after you find that meat, take care of them horses.”

  “All right, dammit, I’m goin’,” Sowers grumbled. “I could use a little help. Why can’t Crown help me . . . or her? She could dig around in the snow good as me.”

  “She stays here where I can keep an eye on her,” Plum answered, starting to lose his patience.

  “And I ain’t gonna help you ’cause I don’t want to,” Crown said, a snide smirk on his face, as if he dared anyone to object.

  Sowers knew when he had pushed it as far as was healthy for him, so he got up from the fire and dragged out the door, mumbling noisily to himself. Plum and Crown took the bowls Jamie had filled from the pot, sat down on opposite sides of the fireplace, and filled their bellies. While the men were preoccupied with their supper, Jamie cautiously sampled the dark, greasy meat. She wasn’t sure what it was, but upon tasting it, decided it was better than it looked. It was the first time she had tasted bear meat.

  Amused by her apparent fastidiousness, Crown grunted, then said, “Better eat all the fat part you can. It’ll help you keep warm.” He wiped the grease off his chin with his sleeve and grinned lasciviously. “Maybe Plum ain’t able to keep you warm. I reckon I could keep you hot enough.”

  “I reckon I could keep you hot enough too,” Plum shot back, “with a little gunpowder up your ass.”

  Crown’s eyes narrowed, although his smug smile stayed in place. “Now that might be more’n a day’s work fer you, Plum.”

  Jamie shuddered inwardly at the thought of sleeping with either of them, and as evening was drawing near, she began to dread the nightmare that most nights brought. Maybe, she hoped, Plum would rein in his lust since the four of them were obviously going to share the tiny cabin, and he was usually reluctant to assault her under the watchful eye of Crown. He was always careful about rendering himself vulnerable when Crown was around, so he might content himself with simply pawing her crudely.

  * * *

  Trace pushed the horses as hard as he thought reasonable through the steady snowfall. Every mile or so, he checked on Ox, riding behind him on the Blackfoot’s bay pony. The big man was able to remain upright in the saddle, but it was obvious the ride was taking its toll. Trace knew it was too soon for Ox to travel, but he had let the urgency of his mission overrule his better judgment. Ox had insisted that he could ride, and Trace wanted to believe him because of his desire to catch Plum and Crown. Now he could see that he was going to have to stop and let Ox rest. The wound in the huge man’s belly had begun to bleed again, and Ox had been reluctant to tell Trace about it. When Trace discovered it, he immediately began looking for a suitable place to camp.

  A few feet up the side of a pine-covered slope, he spotted a rock overhang that would provide shelter from the snow. It was not big enough to cover the horses too, but the
thick stand of pines would be shelter enough for them and would buffer the chilly wind that swept through the river canyon.

  As soon as he helped Ox dismount and settled him under the overhang, Trace took his axe and started chopping some limbs from a deadfall. There was plenty of firewood from countless past lightning strikes, and soon he had a sizable stack under the rock. After the fire was blazing, Trace went about preparing some of the elk that was left. Ox apologized profusely for being a burden, but Trace assured him that when he was well enough he would do his share. Ox thanked Trace again and again for not leaving him to the wolves—so excessively, in fact, that Trace finally told him that if he thanked him one more time, he was going to leave him right where he was. Then, seeing the look of alarm in Ox’s eyes, he hurriedly reassured him that he was only joking and had no plans to leave him.

  “You’ve got to help me find Jamie,” Trace told him, “so I want you to get your strength back. All right?”

  Ox nodded his head, his eyes shining with eagerness. “I’d like that, Trace.” Then he frowned, his eyes squinting with the seriousness of his thoughts. “Plum and Crown are gonna have to pay for what they done to Jamie . . . Sowers too. He didn’t tell me they was bad men, or I’da never left Mr. Clyde.” His chin dropped to his chest and he said softly, “I wouldn’ta let ’em treat Jamie that way if I’da knowed she wasn’t Plum’s wife.”

  Trace, busy tending the strips of meat roasting over the fire, paused and turned to look at Ox. Poor simple bastard, he thought. Big as a mountain, and as naive as a ten-year-old. Trace could have felt vengeful toward Ox simply because he had been a part of Jack Plum’s gang. But in the short time since he had found Ox fighting off the wolves, Trace had discovered no natural mean streak in him. Ox’s only crime was that he was too guileless to realize he was in with an evil bunch. Trace sensed a desire in this gentle grizzly to do the right thing now that he felt he had stumbled onto the proper path.