How the West Was Won (1963)

by L'amour, Louis

  Where you going?

  I’m heading back into the mountains, and it won’t be Arapahoe country where I stop, neither.

  What about Julie?

  Jethro’s eyes twinkled slightly. Well, son, you just talked yourself into an Indian treaty. I reckon you will have to talk to Julie. She mightn’t be no harder to convince.

  The ride back was silent, each man busy with his thoughts. Zeb Rawlings did not consider, for the moment at least, the promise he had made to Walks-His-Horses. He was thinking about Julie.

  No girl in her right mind would marry an Army lieutenant with plans to resign his commission, when she could marry a man like Mike King. Whatever else could be said about him, King had a future. He was a man on the way, and moving fast. With his ruthlessness and drive, he could scarcely miss having the success he wanted.

  Zeb had nothing to offer but life with him, and the chance he must take, with the Army or without it. And now he had staked everything on King’s word-a man whom he did not trust. Yet what else could he have done? For the moment at least, war was averted.

  After leaving Jethro, he hastily went to his quarters and bathed. Grimly, he considered the one clean uniform he had. It wasn’t much, but he would wear it tonight.

  Jethro Stuart had stopped at the big tent. Rowdy Jim Lowe ran the place, a powerful brute of a man, and by reputation a killer, a man who had made a business of gambling tents at the End of the Track. Leaving his mount at the hitch rail, Jethro walked through the room, weaving among the tables toward the bar.

  At this hour the big tent was relatively deserted; not half a dozen tables were occupied, and only three men stood at the bar. One of them was Mike King. Turning, King saw Jethro. Come have a drink, Jethro, King said cheerfully. I want to talk to you.

  What’s the matter? Jethro asked dryly. Did the Central Pacific have a wreck?

  Or did you find somebody to take over my job?

  I heard you went to the Arapahoes with young Rawlings. Well, thanks. I sat there and listened, mostly. I wish I believed what you promised as much as Rawlings did.

  The bartender filled two shot glasses and left the bottle. You mean you don’t trust me? King grinned knowingly, tauntingly. You’d have done it different? Been me, I’d have told em to raid that car of yours and hang your scalp out to dry. That’d stop your damned railroad.

  Mike King chuckled. He felt good and did not intend to be disturbed. At some future date he would remember all of this, and use it. You’ve put Rawlings right in the middle, King, and you know it. And that boy has notions.

  What kind of notions?

  Fool notions about honor. No use talkin’ to you-you wouldn’t understand. King chuckled again. Forget that talk, Jethro. Tonight’s a big night. He grinned at him. We should be friends-at least. What’s that mean? Jethro asked suspiciously.

  Julie and I have had a talk, King replied. We see things eye to eye. That’s quite a girl you have there, Jethro. A lady … every inch a lady. What’s that mean? Jethro asked once more.

  King tossed off his drink. We’ll both tell you later. I’m seeing her tonight. Slapping Jethro on the shoulder, he turned and walked from the tent. Jethro glanced down at his drink with sudden distaste and turning abruptly, he left it standing and went out of the tent. Rowdy Jim watched him go, his eyes thoughtful. Jethro Stuart drank little, but it was the first time since he had worked for the railroad that he had not taken an evening drink. Rowdy Jim recalled the expression on Jethro’s face. Something’s up, he commented to the bartender, I never saw Stuart look so mean. He’s no gunman, is he?

  Lowe spat. No, he ain’t, but no gunfighter in his right mind would buy trouble with Jethro Stuart. One thing you learn in this country, talk soft around those old mountain men. You might kill one, but you’ll have lead in you first. They die mighty hard-mighty hard, indeed!

  Stuart had been talking with King and considered that. Maybe he should drop around and see him. On the other hand, what did King ever do for anybody? To hell with him!

  Jethro Stuart lifted the flap of his tent and stood there looking at Julie. She was fixing her hair in front of the mirror that used to belong to her ma. God only knew how she’d kept it in one piece all this time. Quietly, he began gathering his things together and putting them into a pack.

  She watched him in the mirror without speaking. At last she turned around.

  Well, pa, this is the longest we’ve been together since I was a little girl.

  You’re going off again?

  Uh-huh.

  He always went to the mountains when something went wrong, and she had been expecting it for days.

  Are you leaving me alone in this-this place? You never did that before, pa. You ain’t goin’ to be alone for long, I’m thinkin’. He straightened up and looked at her. You made your mind up Julie? You decided? Why, pa! Whatever was there to decide? She came up to him and tugged at his mustache. She had done that when she was a little girl, and she knew he liked it.

  Now, don’t you start that again. He studied her shrewdly. You sure you’re doin’ the right thing?

  Of course. Suddenly her eyes became wistful. Don’t go, pa. Not this time. I don’t want you to go away again.

  He felt a lump coming into his throat, and it irritated him. Now, you stop that. I’m goin’. What you do is your own affair. He paused. We tried to raise you right, your ma and me. Admittin’ I was gone much of the time, when I was there I tried to do the right thing … and I never knew any way to make a livin’ but with a rifle or a gather of traps. Now you’re a lady. No use my tryin’ to live your life for you. You’ve got it to do. He bundled his gear together. You sure you’re doin’ right? Of course! she repeated.

  He went outside and let the flap fall behind him. He walked to his horse and then stopped. It was jaded, needed rest. Maybe he could make a swap with the Army.

  He swung into the saddle and started away, then said aloud, I tried, Linus. I sure enough tried.

  Chapter 17

  Spring came late to the western lands. The brown hills still carried dark patches from the dampness left by melting snow, while here and there in a shadowed place could still be found a streak of snow or reluctant ice. Zeb Rawlings rode down the hill toward Willow Springs Station, cold with anger and despair.

  The train of five cars standing at Willow Springs chilled him even more. There’s trouble, Sergeant, he said, indicating the train-trouble for us. More settlers, more buffalo hunters, and the railroad not yet out of Arapahoe country.

  We might have expected it, Lieutenant. Where people can get, there people will go.

  Of course that was true, and down deep within him Zeb had known it very well. Why should he not know it? Had not his own people come west by the Erie Canal and the Ohio?

  Why had he allowed himself to be persuaded by King? Yet, in the last analysis, he could blame no one but himself. He should have let King make his own promises to Walks-His-Horses.

  Nothing Zeb could have done would have stopped the building of the railroad, nor even the changing of the route. All he could do was protest, and report to headquarters, and it was all too easy for some desk soldier, far from the place itself, to overrule him.

  Mike King stood on the platform as the patrol rode up. Not in your lifetime, you said. Zeb Rawlings rested his palms on the saddle horn and looked down at King.

  King grinned his tantalizing grin. You can’t stop the march of progress, Lieutenant. Anybody should have known people would come west if the railroad gave them a chance. Hell, that was why we were building the road! You lied. Zeb’s jaw had set hard. You made a liar out of me. You said this could not happen in your lifetime.

  Who expected to live so long? Get down, Lieutenant, and let’s have a drink.

  It’s no skin off your nose.

  I gave them my word.

  You shame too easy, Rawlings. Did an Indian ever build a railroad? Those tracks are worth more than you, me, or all those Arapahoes put together, and they will be here when a
ll of us are gone.

  The government gave us land along the right-of-way to sell to make the road pay; but to make it pay we need settlers-ranchers, farmers, businessmen. And there they are.

  See them? More than half came all the way from Europe, and they’ll have a rough time of it, but they’re tough and they will come through because they are willing to change their ways in order to survive and grow. The Arapahoes will have to change, too. If they don’t, they’re finished. That doesn’t get me off the hook.

  Aw, forget it! So you gave them your word. They’re just naked savages, so who cares?

  It may surprise you, King, but I care. Walks-His-Horses is a gentleman, and in his way, a statesman. He has lived up to his agreement. The railroad hasn’t lost a man or a horse since the day I talked to him. Zeb Rawlings reined his horse around. A few minutes ago, King, you were talking of these people who have come out from Europe and the East. Before the month is out some of them will die, and some of your men too. By now Walks-His-Horses knows they are coming, and we’ll have a full moon the first of the week. You’d better have your men armed for trouble.

  King’s expression hardened. Don’t blame me for what happens! It’s your job to protect them.

  You changed the route of the railroad and violated an agreement. You changed it on your own authority, without consulting anyone. In your crazy drive to get the road through, you changed the route through Arapahoe country and you had influence enough to get backing for your change, even though it was unnecessary. Furthermore-Rawlings tone was filled with contempt-you failed in your object. He wheeled his horse and led the troop away, and Mike King stared after him, his eyes ugly with anger.

  Lieutenant! King shouted, stepping down off the platform. Rawlings drew up. Sergeant, take the troop on in. Get them fed and see to the horses. Get some sleep if you can, but be ready for trouble. I think all hell’s going to break loose.

  As Rawlings turned he loosened the flap on his holster. King saw the movement and grew wary. Rawlings walked his horse back to him, and King’s eyes lifted to meet Rawlings’ eyes. Mike King was nothing if not a wise man in his own way. He was wise now.

  Sorry, Lieutenant. I truly am sorry. Besides-he held up a message-this came for you. Came through my private wire. You’re promoted to major … as of two weeks ago.

  There was no softening in Rawlings. You did that, King. You know and I know how hard promotions are to come by in peacetime. There’s no honorable way I could get that promotion now. I know there are some officers who use political influence, even to getting special acts of Congress to put through their promotion when it won’t come through the proper channels. I am not one of them. I am going to resign my commission.

  Don’t be a fool!

  You made a liar out of me, King. Oh, I know-a good deal of it was my own fault, but your road could have refused tickets to anybody for a stop between Omaha and Salt Lake. At least for a few months.

  So Walks-His-Horses will think the Army lied to him. The only honorable thing I can do is resign, take the blame on my own shoulders, and then whoever replaces me can negotiate with him. It will be Lieutenant Rawlings who lied to him, not the Army.

  What do you care?

  Unless the chief thinks it was my word that was broken and not the Army’s, there will be a lot of people killed. I made the promise, so the blame is mine. You assured me there would be no passenger service into this area, and I believed you.

  Mike King shrugged. If you want to be foolish, go ahead. But take that uniform off and you’re nothing.

  Look, King went on. Take your promotion. Believe me, after this Indian outbreak you could even become a colonel. If you attract enough attention to yourself people are always ready to believe you have done something important, whether you have or not. One of the best friends I’ve got is a friend of General Sherman.

  King, the Army in this country, except for a few individuals in it, has always stayed out of politics, and it should. Whenever an army is allowed to get into politics there is soon a dictatorship. We’re an instrument of the government-of Congress and the executive arm. I would accept no promotion that came to me through political channels.

  You talk like a child. Be realistic!

  I’ve noticed, Zeb replied, that whenever a man is asked to be realistic he is being asked to betray something in which he believes. It is the favorite argument of those who believe that only the end matters, not the means. The railroad supply dump at Willow Springs served building crews to the west. The settlers had made headquarters there, a few tent stores floored with split logs had been set up, and there was the usual scattering of honky-tonks and gambling houses.

  It was there that Mike King now kept his office car and living quarters. Attached to it was the cook car, and several cars for the various sections of the crew and the straw-bosses. On either side, a little back from the cars and the station platform, were long piles of ties. These formed an excellent breastwork. Several wagons, when not in use, were drawn up to fill open spaces in this breastwork.

  Zeb Rawlings’ troop was camped just inside this wall of ties. Within the company area noon fires were burning and there was the low murmur of idle talk and the rattle of pans.

  A quarter of a mile from the railroad were the low hills, broken in many places by gullies. Restlessly, Zeb Rawlings stirred around the troop area. His every instinct told him an attack could come at any time. Overhead the blue sky was innocent of clouds … a faint breeze stirred off the hills. Zeb glanced at the horses, but they were feeding quietly. In the noon stillness he heard the occasional ring of dish on dish, or a bit of laughter. If only Julie were not here! Why, in God’s name, had Jethro gone off without her? For a moment he debated rushing to her tent to bring her here, where the army was, but he had no idea what his reception would be. After that night when he had started out to call on her, planning to ask her to marry him, he had not talked with her. And weeks had gone by. He saw her occasionally, but he avoided her, and as he was usually on patrol that had not been difficult. Bitterly, he thought back to that evening after his talk with Jethro, when he had bathed, changed his uniform, and started for Julie’s tent. He had been as excited as a boy, half scared, but determined … and then he had met Mike King. Going somewhere? King had glanced over his dress uniform with a taunting grin. Seems to me, Rawlings, that you’re all dressed up for nothing. I am calling on her tonight-and I’ve been invited.

  Something turned cold in the pit of Zeb’s stomach. What’s that mean?

  Why, if you’re callin’ on Julie, you’re too late. She’s promised to me. For an instant they stared at each other, and then Zeb said, Is that the truth?

  Gospel.

  Suddenly he felt very silly in his dress blues. What must he look like to King? To the others standing around who must have guessed where he was going? Without another word, he had turned on his heel and walked away. Now he looked toward the hills again, and saw no movement … nothing. Sergeant, he said suddenly, get eight men with rifles to the barrier right away. Issue fifty rounds per man. Let them eat as they stand, but they’re not to take their eyes off those hills.

  As soon as the rest have finished eating, let the fire die to coals, keep the coffee on, and have every man stand to arms.

  They are tired, Lieutenant, mighty tired.

  I’d rather see them tired than dead. He went to his weary horse and mounted.

  Without another word, he swung toward the settlers’ camp. There he demanded:

  Who is in charge here?

  A tall, lanky man with a shock of sandy hair looked up at him, grinning slowly.

  This here ain’t the army. We’re free agents. We take orders from nobody. Rawlings turned away from him. Any old soldiers here? From any army at all? he asked.

  Several men spoke up. All right. Now you men listen to me. I have no authority over you except what authority the Army has given me to protect you. There may be an Indian attack. Get your children inside the tie-wall, and stay in yoursel
ves. Get out any firearms you have and have them ready. Appoint a commanding officer and detail some guards.

  I don’t see any Indians. It was the tall, lanky man who spoke. What you tryin’ to do, Yankee? Show off that blue uniform? Another man sauntered from the group, slowly followed by the others who had been soldiers. The first one was a slender whip of a man with neat black mustaches and high cheek bones. There was a tautaess in him that Zeb immediately liked. Vaucelle, sir. French Foreign Legion.

  Vaucelle? I did not know there were Frenchmen in the enlisted ranks of the Legion.

  The man’s eyes smiled faintly. I was an officer, sir. Will you tell us what the situation is?

  These are Arapahoe hunting grounds. The Indians were under the impression the railroad would bring no settlers or hunters here. They will try to drive us away. I do not know their numbers, but there will be at least five hundred Indians out there-perhaps half again that many. I expect an attack soon, perhaps before sundown.

  Zeb indicated the army group. I have twenty-two men, including myself and my sergeant. With three exceptions, they are veterans, and the exceptions are good men. But we will need all the help we can get. Thank you, Lieutenant, I will see what I can do. The sandy-haired man got to his feet slowly. I’d like to see what the Lieutenant can do. I’ve seen him perambulatin’ around here, shinin’ up to that gal lives by herself in that tent, and I-Zeb Rawlings swung down. Gentlemen, he said quietly, I hope you will excuse me.

  The sandy-haired man was three inches taller and thirty pounds heavier than Zeb. He grinned a slow grin and rubbed his palms down his jeans. Ain’t had me a chanct like this here since the war, by G-!

  He closed his fingers in a big fist and threw his punch. There was no finesse in Zeb Rawlings. He had never had an opportunity to learn there even was such a thing. Linus, on the other hand, had been victor in many a brutal fight with keelboaters and trappers, and he had demonstrated to his sons and rehearsed them in the basic elements of fighting to win. The big sandy-haired man swung, and Zeb Rawlings went under the swing and put everything he had into a right to the ribs. The man buckled at the knees and started to fold, and Zeb Rawlings jerked up his knee to meet the falling chin. There was an ugly clunk and the man continued to fall. Zeb Rawlings stepped back, blowing on his skinned knuckles and looking at the man on the ground. Then he turned. Mr. Vaucelle, I’ll appreciate what you can do. Thank you! Quickly, he stepped into the stirrups and turned away, and as he did so he saw Julie Stuart.