Mountain Hawk

by Charles G. West

  Ox again demonstrated his amazing ability to recover, for the following morning the wound appeared to be healing nicely with no sign of any more bleeding. By his cheerful attitude as he volunteered to help pack up their camp, Trace could see that his new partner was feeling much stronger.

  On their way again, Trace and Ox rode in silence as the horses padded slowly through the snow-covered valleys and draws. Constantly scouting the slopes on both sides of them, Trace kept a steady course toward Three Forks. Ox, more alert than the day before, sat up straight in the saddle and, following Trace’s example, scanned the hills right and left. Looking back at him, Trace could not help but find the sight amusing. Ox’s tremendous bulk made the Indian pony appear no bigger than a dog—and the bay was at least fifteen hands high. The Blackfoot saddle was a snug fit for Ox, and it rode closer up toward the horse’s withers. Ox’s long legs jutted straight out, making it look as though the horse had four front legs. Trace shook his head, and turned his attention back to the trail ahead. What in the world have I gotten myself into with this one? he thought. If he could have read the childlike mind behind him, he might have been concerned indeed. For Ox had taken to him like a stray dog takes to a butcher—and no dog could be more faithful to his master than Ox would be. In Ox’s mind, Trace McCall was a man among men, the Mountain Hawk, and Ox’s personal savior.

  Ox’s improved condition allowed them to travel much farther that day than the day before. They rode through numerous snow showers, stopping only briefly at midday to rest the horses. Shortly before nightfall, they came to one of Plum’s campsites, and Trace stopped to examine it. The tracks of the horses and the imprints of bedrolls were still evident, although they had been covered with a light layer of snow. Ox had told him that there were four in the party, counting Jamie. Trace did not voice his thoughts, but a worrisome image gnawed at his insides as he looked down at only three imprints of bedrolls. He brushed the snow from the charred ends of the burnt-out branches and felt the ashes beneath, although he knew Plum had been gone from this camp for over a week. The ashes were frozen in the ground.

  “We might as well camp here for the night,” Trace said. “It’ll be dark in an hour.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Two more days found Ox with a major portion of his health back and growing stronger every day. The puncture wound was now no more than a round circle of bruised skin, and the gash in his stomach had knitted back, leaving a lumpy furrow across his belly. As far as his mental state, Ox was the happiest he had ever been.

  The snow had tapered off in the past two days, leaving enough places in the shelter of trees and boulders where traces of Plum’s trail were evident. After tracking the nine horses for a distance, it became apparent to Trace that if Plum continued in this direction, he would pass somewhere close by the cabin Boss Pritchard and his partners had built above the fork. A chance meeting with Plum and Crown might not bode well for Boss—Trace hoped that the three trappers were keeping a sharp eye.

  About an hour before sundown, Trace and Ox reached the rise before the river, where a week before, Plum had waited while Sowers scouted the cabin on the other side. Normally calm in the face of possible danger, Trace felt his pulse quicken when it became apparent that Plum had probably discovered Boss Pritchard’s cabin. A quick but cautious climb to the top of the rise confirmed that suspicion. Lying on his belly in the snow with Ox beside him, Trace looked down upon the rough log shack. He counted fifteen horses in the trees behind the cabin. There could be no doubt that the renegades he was tracking were inside. The question that remained was whether Boss, Shorty, and Jake were alive.

  “Yeah,” Ox suddenly whispered, “that’s Plum’s old gray he likes so much. And that yeller-lookin’ one is Sowers’s.” After a few moments he asked, “Are we gonna just ride in there and shoot ’em?”

  Trace had learned to be patient with his childlike friend. “No, Ox. I don’t think that would be too smart. There’s too much open ground between here and the cabin. Even a poor shot with a rifle could pick both of us off before we got halfway down the rise. I know the men that built that cabin. I expect we’d best wait till dark and then find out what’s going on inside and what happened to the folks that live there.” Ox nodded his understanding and approval. “We’ll just wait here and keep an eye on ’em till it gets dark,” Trace said.

  Just as the shadows began to close in, shutting off the last stubborn rays of light, Ox suddenly got up on one knee, and whispered, “There’s Crown and Sowers!”

  “I see ’em,” Trace answered softly. He had watched the two men walk out of the cabin, and go behind it to tend to the horses. He recognized Crown, but he had never seen Sowers before. Now, he wondered, did that leave just Plum and Jamie inside—or were Boss, Jake, and Shorty also in there? And, if they were, were they being held hostage? Or were they even onto Plum’s game yet?

  * * *

  “Damn horses ain’t findin’ much to eat under this snow,” Crown complained as he and Sowers searched for willow leaves, brush, and anything else that the horses might eat.

  “Hell,” Sowers responded, “they’s Injun ponies, most of ’em. They can git by on snowballs if that’s all there is.” He pulled his heavy buffalo coat up around his ears. “Damn, it’s cold out here.” He crooked a corner of his mouth up in a mischievous grin. “I’da heap rather be with Plum inside with that sassy-tailed little bitch.”

  Sowers’s comment caused Crown to scowl even more deeply than normal, etching heavy lines on his face. He paused to let his mind work on the image of Plum inside where it was warm, probably pawing over the woman. Crown had a powerful need to satisfy his own lust, and it had been a long time since he had been given the opportunity. His rebuff by Bright Cloud back in Little Bull’s camp was still fresh in his mind, as well as the castigation that had followed. It was not a question of shame. When it came to his animalistic regard for anything female, humiliation did not exist for Crown. He was hard on women, and that was the only way his sadistic appetites could be sated. And now his mind was on Jamie.

  “Don’t it bother you some that we’re out here freezin’ our tails off, while that bastard is settin’ in there cozy as can be?” Crown suddenly asked. “Who the hell made him king of the whole damn territory? He oughta pull his share of the load, just like me and you.”

  Sowers could see right away that Crown was building up to one of his frequent temper fits, and he tried to calm him down a bit. He was not opposed to Crown and Plum killing each other off, but he was not sure he wanted it to happen before spring. It would be easier for him to handle the horses by himself then. “I don’t know,” he said, in answer to the question Crown had put to him, “I reckon Plum was the one that had the inside track with Little Bull’s Blackfeet—I mean, being married to a squaw and all. I never give it much thought. He’s just always been the boss.”

  “Yeah? Well, he ain’t got no inside track no more,” Crown shot back, his bile rising by the minute. “The Blackfeet kicked us out. We got nobody to count on now but the three of us, and I say he ain’t no better than me and you. We’re all equal to share in everything—the work, the horses, the plunder, and the damn bitch, too.”

  Even someone as obtuse as Sowers could see that Crown had finally voiced the one thing that was the burr under his saddle. Sowers knew from the start that the woman would be the cause of trouble between his two partners. The problem for Sowers now was that he was caught between the two of them. From his perspective, both men were to be feared, and he didn’t want to be counted as an enemy to either one; at the same time he knew that both men would demand that he take a side. Sowers’s only salvation, as he saw it, was to continue to sympathize with whichever of them he was alone with at the time, and back the one that remained standing after the smoke cleared. “Well, it don’t seem right,” he offered weakly.

  “Hell, no, it don’t,” Crown exclaimed, “and somethin’s gonna be done about it. Me and you gotta stick together on this thing. When the time comes f
or a showdown, I expect you to back me.”

  “You can count on me” Sowers promised.

  * * *

  “There’s gonna be a full moon tonight,” Trace said, looking up into the clear, dark sky. “I’d best be getting down there to see what the situation is in that cabin before the moon comes up. It’ll be as light as day with the moon shining on the snow.”

  “I’m gonna go with you,” Ox said, checking the load on Trace’s extra rifle.

  Trace laid a gentle hand on his friend’s forearm. “You better stay here and take care of the horses. I ain’t sure you’re well enough to move as fast as I might have to.” When Ox started to protest, Trace cut him off. “I’ll need you when the time comes. Right now I’m just gonna look the situation over, try to get an idea where everybody is before I make a move.” Ox reluctantly agreed to stay behind while Trace slipped over the rise and disappeared into the night.

  He made his way quickly down to the river’s edge, then worked back along the bank until he was behind the cabin. Moving quietly through snow a foot deep, he came up through the trees where the horses were collected. A couple of the ponies whinnied softly as he made his way slowly through the herd, gently stroking a neck or a forelock here and there to keep them calm. He paused briefly to make sure no one inside the cabin had become alerted by the horses before moving on.

  Crouching low, he cautiously made his way toward the back of the log shack, moving a few yards at a time, then stopping to listen. Although there were no windows in the cabin, he could hear the voices from inside. Pushing through some low brush, he moved up to what appeared to be a low stack of logs close to the back of the building. Behind him, he could see the moon, full and bright, already inching up behind the trees on the far riverbank.

  He remained there for a few minutes, listening to the voices from the cabin, trying to determine if one was that of a woman. If she was in there, she was not speaking. The voices he heard were loud and argumentative, and all male. He prepared to move to the cabin wall just as the moon topped the trees across the river, shining brightly over his shoulder. Glancing down, he was stopped abruptly by what he saw before him. The “logs” he had knelt behind were in fact the frozen bodies of three men. It wasn’t necessary to identify them, but he brushed the light covering of snow away to reveal the cold, staring countenance of Boss Pritchard, a dark black hole beneath his left eye and a look of rage forever frozen on his face. Trace felt his fist tighten around his rifle in response to the feeling of anger that surged through his body.

  Well, he thought, I don’t have to guess how many are inside anymore. Still, he wanted confirmation that Jamie was with them. Leaving the bodies, he moved to the back wall of the cabin and pressed his ear against the logs close to a gunport and listened. He remained there for at least a quarter of an hour before he heard what he was waiting for—Jamie’s voice. Although he was anticipating it, actually hearing her speak for the first time in more than a year startled him.

  After more than two months of searching, he had found her. Now that he was certain she was there, he had to think about the best possible way to rescue her without endangering her life. As far as the three vermin who had held her captive—if it had turned out that she was no longer with them, his plan would have been simple enough, for Trace was a man of expedient nature. He would simply have blocked the one door and set the cabin on fire. Now he would have to think about it—if cornered, Plum might kill Jamie just out of spite.

  As these thoughts ran through his mind, he suddenly heard the door open. He pressed himself tightly against the back wall and propped his rifle against the wall, then took his bow from his back and notched an arrow. Standing in the shadow of the roof overhang, he watched as Crown took no more than a dozen steps from the front of the cabin and proceeded to empty his bladder. It would have been so easy to let an arrow fly, deadly and silent. But Trace wasn’t ready to show his hand quite yet, and give Plum any warning of his presence. So he reluctantly relaxed the pull on the bowstring.

  He considered waiting until everyone was asleep inside, then surprising them before they had a chance to react, but he abandoned this plan when Crown, finished with his business, went back inside and dropped the heavy wooden bar into place, barricading the door. Boss Pritchard had seen to it that the door to his cabin was stout and secure. Trace would wait until morning. They had to come out sometime, and he would strike then, when he had all three out where he could see them.

  * * *

  Sowers saw an opportunity to butter his bread on both sides when Crown went outside to answer nature’s call. He sidled up to Plum, who was seated upon a stool by the fireplace, cleaning one of his pistols. “I swear, Plum,” Sowers said in a confidential tone, “I ain’t one to tattle on a man, but I think you oughta know that Crown is doin’ a lot of talkin’ behind your back.”

  “That so?” Plum asked, not overly concerned. “What kinda talkin’?”

  “Oh, you know . . . talk about sharin’ the work, talk about the woman . . . you know, general complaining.”

  Plum was still not concerned. “Hell, that’s just Crown. He’s always bitchin’ about somethin’. He knows that if he steps outta line, I’ll nail his hide to the barn door.”

  “I know you would, Plum, I know you would,” Sowers hastened to reply. “I just wanted to warn you . . . like any friend would.”

  Plum cocked a suspicious eye in Sowers’s direction. He didn’t trust Sowers any more than he trusted Crown, especially when Sowers started talking about being his friend. But he kept his thoughts to himself. To Sowers he said, “Yeah, well, I appreciate the warning.” Plum had a feeling that there was going to be a showdown between him and Crown any day now. Crown had been getting more and more sullen during the past few days, and he had that dull look in his eyes when he stared at Jamie. Plum had seen that look before, just before Crown carried that Cree woman off into the bushes and killed her. Dammit, Plum thought, he just goes plumb loco when he gets his hands on a woman. The signs were there. It was annoying to Plum because Crown’s gun would be handy in the event of an encounter with the Crows or the Shoshones. But the longer Crown’s anger was allowed to build, the greater the odds Plum would get a bullet in the back. Maybe I’ll let him have the woman, he thought. He had to admit he was not getting much satisfaction from brutalizing her anymore, and he might as well let Crown have her. Maybe it would save him from having to kill him right now.

  * * *

  When Crown had gone back inside, Trace moved away from the back wall of the cabin and retraced his steps to the riverbank, then made his way back up the rise to where Ox was patiently waiting with the horses.

  “Is the woman with ’em?” Ox asked as soon as Trace dropped down beside him.

  “She’s there, all right,” Trace answered as he cleared away some of the snow from a little trench between two boulders and prepared to build a fire. It was going to be a long night, and they would need a fire to keep from freezing. Seeing what Trace had in mind, Ox started looking for limbs to put on the fire. “Not too big,” Trace reminded Ox. “We don’t want to start a fire they can see down there.”

  When they had a small fire going, Trace got some jerky from his saddle pack and passed some to Ox. He found it difficult to hold his emotions in check as he calmly told Ox what they were going to do. In his heart he did not want to leave Jamie in Plum’s hands for even one more night, and he had to keep telling himself that it was best for her chances for survival. Trace felt certain that Plum would kill her if he was cornered. He explained to Ox again why it was necessary to get them all out in the open. “We’ve got to wait for daylight,” he said, “but I want to keep a watch on that cabin all night, just in case they might decide to leave before sunup.” He paused for a moment, then, “How good a shot are you?”

  “I can shoot good,” Ox was quick to reply. “I can shoot better’n Sowers. Plum used to let me do some of the huntin’.”

  “Well, you’re gonna have to do some shootin’ i
n the morning, and we can’t afford to miss.” Trace had no intention of taking prisoners. As far as he was concerned, Plum and his partners had already been tried, and the verdict was death. He cocked his head and looked Ox straight in the eye. “Are you sure you’re gonna be able to cut down on your old friends?”

  “Plum and Crown weren’t never no friends of mine. I told you, Trace, I didn’t know they was bad men when Sowers asked me to join up. He lied to me, so he ain’t my friend either. Besides, they’re treatin’ that woman bad.”

  Trace stared at the simple giant for a few seconds, wondering if he should just let him stay with the horses. Trace knew he could take Plum and the other two out one at a time if he could be sure Jamie would be safe. But he could not be sure one of them wouldn’t kill her as soon as they were aware they were under attack. No, he told himself, the safest way is for all three targets to be out where I can see them. If Ox could account for one of them, Trace could take care of the other two before they knew what hit them.

  Ox, eager to do his part, volunteered to take the first watch, so Trace rolled up in his buffalo robe and went to sleep. Tomorrow promised to be a busy day, and he wanted to be rested when the time came for action.

  * * *

  Inside the cabin there was a great deal of grousing and grumbling. Both Plum and Crown seemed to be in a foul mood, and Jamie did her best to stay out of the way. She especially tried to avoid Crown. He always leered at her, but tonight he seemed to be in a blacker mood than usual, and she felt the intense lust behind his sneering stare. Plum would usually take Crown to task for getting too rutty around her, but tonight he said nothing, although he seemed to be watching Crown closely. There was going to be trouble this night, she could feel it in her bones. Sowers, as usual, skulked in a corner of the little cabin, trying to remain as inconspicuous as she. Her intuition proved to be correct, for Plum and Crown were soon quarreling.