West of the Big River: Boxed Set of Eight Western Novels

by James Reasoner

  Having only a pencil and a few blank pieces of card stock and paper in my pockets hampered the urge to paint. I would have been more than satisfied with watercolors. What I settled for was storing it all away in my head to do properly when I got my easel, oils and canvas set up.

  The boys always joshed me about sitting and staring and trying to make a copy of the land, but they never realized I wasn't a photographer, not like that Mathew Brady fellow. A photograph is exact. I wanted to go past that and capture the wild essence of the land. Putting what I felt about Montana into words escaped me at times but my pictures came closer. Nothing like paintings of cowboys and Indians and mountains and, yes, snowy plains with a solitary northern hawk owl circling overhead, but it had to do until I got it exactly right.

  I reckoned that would take the rest of my life.

  The curl of smoke rising ahead made me worry that the rest of my life might be measured in minutes if I didn't wheel around and hightail it. The only men likely to have pitched a camp were the rustlers. The trio of them moving silently through the storm the night before was fixed permanently in my head as sure as acid etched metal. I would face at least three and likely more. Worse yet, they'd have eaten something better than oatmeal and boiled coffee since they had rustled cattle to slaughter and dine on.

  I looked down and saw how Monte left tracks in the fresh snow a blind man could see. Working to a rocky ridge made my trail less obvious, but I still had to decide what to do about the rustlers. The smell of cooking stew and biscuits made my mouth water, but it also told me the wind blew in my face. If they had any skilled frontiersmen in their number, they wouldn't scent me if I stayed downwind.

  Finding a hollow with patches of grass poking through the snow, I hobbled Monte to let him work on a decent lunch. My six-shooter came free, and I checked it. My body heat had kept the metal parts from freezing up as the oil turned to glue in the cold, but shooting it out with the outlaws was the last thing I intended doing. I'm a fair shot, but only at whiskey bottles set on a rail fence. When Marshal Toms got himself shot, my brain froze as solid as the land around me. I might talk myself into shooting a man, but to my moral regret, it would likely be when he turned his back. If he faced me, I wouldn't have the gumption.

  Tramping through snow banks up to my knees robbed me of strength and warmth in equal portions. By the time I got close enough to the outlaw camp to worry about sentries, I knew they hadn't bothered. What lawman would track them after the storm from the night before hit?

  Working closer, I wiggled on my belly like a snake through undergrowth and found myself a juniper to hide my spying. Spread out below me in a protected hollow were eight men and their mounts. Not far away lowed a cow. If there had been any question who I had stumbled across, it disappeared when a lanky man stood and poured himself more coffee. I got a good look at his face.

  Josiah Hanks. Or maybe he wanted to go by the name Jeremy Hudson as he'd told Mira Nell.

  "We movin' on, Ned?"

  I couldn't tell who spoke but a man wearing a bearskin vest perked up. He had to be the leader.

  "We can drive them beeves all the way to the road. After that storm, ain't no one out for a day or two. It's time for us to find warmer digs. We done plenty this season and made a few dollars."

  This brought laughter from the gang, telling me their ill-gotten gains were far greater than "a few dollars."

  I watched as they struck camp, but I kept my eye on Hanks. He was a real slacker and did as little as possible. When the others saddled up and began to argue over how best to drive the cattle, he hung back.

  "You fellows go on," he said. "I'll catch up in a few minutes. I got some business to conduct."

  "Communing with nature?" Ned laughed and motioned for the rest of the gang to get to work moving out their stolen herd.

  It galled me most of the beeves carried OH brands, but I couldn't tackle the entire gang. But I didn't have to. Hanks made no move to find a secluded spot in the trees to do his business. Instead he waited for his partners to get down to real work before he made a beeline for a pile of rocks off to one side of the camp.

  He clawed away like a prairie dog digging its burrow, sending rock and dirt flying until he found a leather bag. Hanks held it up, opened its drawstring and for a brief instant let the contents catch the bright sun. It didn't take an artist to know the glint of silver and gold. How he came by so much money didn't concern me. Since he was so reluctant to show it to anyone else in the gang, he must have stolen from them.

  That meant he wasn't joining them. He intended to light out on his own.

  The order of things got jumbled in my head. I figured out his motives, but did it come before or after I drew my six-shooter and stood? Or was I already on my way down the slope into the camp when I whipped out my pistol and ordered Hanks to freeze?

  He dropped the leather bag and sent coins scattering against rocks and landing with soft sounds in the snow. That saved my life. His attention split between me and the rifle at his side — a rifle I hadn't noticed until I was on top of him. If he had gone for the rifle, he could have plugged me two or three times before I squeezed down on my trigger.

  "Who're you?"

  "The man who's takin' you back to town to spend some time in a cell. If Marshal Tomes is right, you'll be in a prison cell a whole lot longer."

  "You ain't no deputy."

  "Don't have to be since I've got the drop on you. Those are OH cattle your partners are makin' off with. Be glad I don't just string you up for the cattle thievin' sidewinder you are."

  I got a better look at him as I edged closer. There wasn't any doubt in my mind this was the man I had seen rustling cattle during the earlier thunderstorm. His face had been revealed only during a vivid lightning bolt, but my eye was good and captured every detail perfectly. Mira Nell was wrong. I got the eyes and nose exactly right.

  "This is enough money to keep us both in whiskey and whores," he said.

  He saw me tense. My finger tightened on the trigger. It offended me hearing him talk about whores after romancing Mira Nell. Was that all she was to him? I changed my mind again where she was best off. Her pa might be a hothead, but he couldn't treat her worse than this man would have if she'd upped and ridden away with him.

  "That's evidence."

  "You can't fool me. You're gonna steal it."

  He reached for his rifle. I didn't consciously aim but a better shot could never have been achieved by Captain Bogardus himself. The slug tore fair and square through Hanks' forearm. His fingers clenched and then opened, unable to hold a rifle.

  "I'll cut yer throat, you — "

  He saw the expression on my face as I sighted down the barrel of my .45. He hadn't said much but every word of it had added to my determination to take him in. Any more from him would seal his fate then and there, and no one would blame me.

  "Go on and tie up your arm," I said. "Then we'll ride back to town."

  "There's another storm brewin' up in the hills. If we get caught out in it, we're both goners."

  "Then you'd better hurry."

  As he clumsily tied his bandana around his right forearm, I gathered the spilled coins and tucked them in the bag. Using my teeth like I would on a tobacco bag drawstring, I closed it off. The heavy coins weighed down my pocket with more than I'd see as a wrangler in a dozen seasons of riding the range. Somehow, it never occurred to me to let him go and keep the money.

  Hanks got to his feet. It took a while to get his horse saddled. Once he mounted, I looped a few turns of rope around his wrists to keep him in place. Only then did I lead his horse back up the slope and through the ravines to where I'd left Monte. He looked up, disgusted. Although given plenty of time to graze, the grass hadn't been as plentiful as either of us would have liked.

  I silently promised him a nosebag of oats when we got to a nice, dry, warm barn. With the reward for bringing in Hanks, I'd have plenty of money to spend on luxuries like that.

  The rustler grumbl
ed now and then but put up no fight. I wasn't in a mood to banter or tell stories. Those were for friends around a campfire after a day's work — an honest day's work. The idea that Hanks would take any of my best stories with him to prison to entertain the other inmates grated as much as the way he had misused Mira Nell so grievously.

  Following my own trail back to the cabin suited me since it didn't require any fancy trail skill. The storm clouds formed over the distant mountains, threatening another storm soon. But not tonight. Soon. Having a roof over my head and a fireplace to burn some wood to keep warm against the bitter cold appealed more and more to me.

  "We'll spend the night there," I said, pointing to the cabin. "A half dozen cowboys from the OH are on the way out, so we'll likely have plenty of company 'fore long."

  "You act like you got a personal grudge against me, mister. I never laid eyes on you in my all my born days. Let me go and don't cause any more trouble. You don't want to end up like that fellow who looked all gray and angry."

  That answered what had happened to Blue Harnois. I hope he and Early Wilson are riding the range together. This only added to my determination to put Hanks behind bars.

  "Your gang's not comin' for you," I said. "Now get down. We got chores to do 'fore it gets too cold."

  I kept him all tied up and watching as I chopped more wood. Fact was, I left the coils of rope around him as I did all the chores since I didn't trust him. When I had a decent fire burning, I fixed some food but he didn't touch it.

  "Be like that," I said. "I'm not a good cook, but the OH cook's worse. Texas Pete's been known to poison an entire company of wranglers with a single pot of beans."

  I found myself spinning a tale about how bad a cook Pete was, then realized I was talking myself to sleep. Before I snored out loud, I checked my prisoner's bonds. Only when I was satisfied with the knots did I drift off to sleep with my six-gun in my hand.

  When I woke up in the morning, he was gone.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sitting and fuming over my lack of knot tying skill did nothing but make me madder. I hardly wanted to eat, but I did since my belly grumbled and my head spun around. After a few bites it occurred to me how lucky I was. Hanks had escaped but hadn't tried to kill me. Dropping off to sleep with the six-shooter in my hand saved me. If I had been startled awake, my finger would have curled back and fired. No telling where the bullet would have gone, but Hanks must have decided his luck wasn't good enough for that slug to miss his gut. I had already winged him. He must not have wanted a second fight.

  Another stroke of luck came in that Monte remained. The rustler could have stolen my horse — or maybe not. Monte reared when I neared him. Hanks would have roused his fear even more. If the outlaw wanted to get away quietly without waking me, stealing Monte had to be left alone. It took the better part of fifteen minutes for me to gentle him, saddle up and look around the desolate land.

  My tracks out and our tracks back to the cabin marred the expanse. It required no skill on my part to find another set of tracks heading out, angling away from the spot where I had caught Hanks and heading to the southwest. Hanks thought to rejoin the rest of the gang. As I considered whether to tangle with the lot of them, my hand went to my pocket still weighted down with the gold and silver Hanks had hidden away from his partners.

  That gold made me rich enough to determine my own destiny. Riding the range paid squat. With the stolen money I could find a town, set up shop and indulge myself painting landscapes and portraits and anything else that touched my fancy.

  Only it wasn't my money. Added to that was the shame of letting Hanks escape. My life swung back and forth like the pendulum in a Regulator clock. At one side I did great things. I found the gang and where they hid the cattle they rustled. Then I'd lose them and find a new trail as Hanks went sniffing after Mira Nell Cheshire. I got her from his clutches, only to lose him.

  Capturing the glory of the Rockies and the winter wonder of the plains and the wild dome of the sky above on canvas was easier.

  By late in the afternoon I still hadn't caught sight of Hanks, but what I did see began to worry me. The boiling clouds in the higher altitudes threatened to spill downward and bring another snowstorm. The wind already tore at my face and made me ride like a bandit, my bandana pulled up over my nose. This partial protection failed to keep my eyes from watering as the wind grew. When the tears started freezing to my flesh I knew pursuit had to wait in favor of finding refuge from the storm.

  The land had turned rocky with occasional stony upthrusts that broke the force of the wind. Simply hunkering down behind a boulder promised a chilly death long before the next sunrise. Horace and the rest would find my frozen, stiff body. I kept riding, blinking against the tears and finally saw a shallow cave in the side of a hill as snowflakes flew like white creepy-crawlies all around.

  The cave promised sanctuary and lied. It only went a few yards back into the hillside before shrinking into a narrow crevice. Wiping away snow from my eyes, I stood in the stirrups and hunted for another cave. The wind and snow doubled in intensity. Tripled. If I kept looking, I would end up an ice sculpture.

  Reluctantly, I dismounted and led Monte inside. He shied at the closeness, then his equine good sense kicked in. Out of the wind and snow was a better condition than trotting along in the increasingly hostile elements. I hunted for some wood and built a small fire at the mouth of the cave, but it gave scant heat, and I got no real protection from the rocks. By the time the fire guttered to embers, I couldn't see more than a dozen yards. Pulling my slicker in close, I added the horse blanket to keep me warm. I pulled up my legs, rested my head on my knees and tried to sleep.

  My dreams were fierce and frightening. I awoke with a start in the middle of the night, fearing that I would freeze to death and burn up. This made no sense. I stretched out, my blanket beneath me to keep my body heat from being sucked up by the rocky floor. But the heat came from the roaring fire in the mouth of the cave.

  I closed my eyes and sighed. This was a strange dream. I hadn't gathered more than a few twigs, not enough for this blaze. Was this what freezing to death felt like? That stirred me. I rolled over and wondered at something wrong. Fumbling around, I found that my six-gun was gone. My eyes popped open, and I couldn't help letting out a cry of surprise.

  Standing between me and the fire was a dark figure. In silhouette I failed to identify him. Then he moved and the light flickered to reveal his face. A distant thought came that Mira Nell Cheshire had been right. I hadn't — quite — captured the nose and eyes.

  "Hanks!" My voice hardly amounted to a croak. The tightness in my throat made me reach up to see if a rope had been fastened noose-like around my neck. All I felt was greasy collar and my cold flesh.

  "You're awake. I worried you were a goner. You were all hunched up and looked to be frozen."

  "Couldn't have been more 'n an hour or two."

  The wind whined unabated, and the snow piled up higher than I'd have expected. "Been over a day. Just past sundown the day after I found you."

  I hurt like all the devils of hell poked me with their pitchforks. Getting used to it might be a good idea since that was likely where I was headed eventually, but not today. If I took Hanks at his word, he had saved my life.

  "Why'd you build the fire?"

  "You staked out the best real estate in the area. I found a couple downed trees and dragged them close enough to break off limbs for the fire 'fore the snow piled too high."

  He sat on a rock and warmed his hands. His profile was strong and his chin firm. I didn't remember that from earlier on, but hardship caused a man to lose weight fast. He was pounds lighter. I rubbed my eyes to keep them from blurring again.

  "Doesn't answer why you saved me."

  "The storm looked like another fierce one. Letting you die would rob me of someone to talk to 'til the wind dies down."

  I laughed.

  "Is my storytelling that well known?"

  "You tell sto
ries? Do tell." He rubbed his hands and turned toward me. His coat hung open. I saw the butt of my pistol tucked into his belt. "Well?"

  "Well what?"

  "Tell me a story. We've got a lot of hours to pass."

  I considered my audience. Seldom did I choose a story that might get me shot, but if Hanks took offense he had all the firepower he needed and I had none.

  "Truth is, I'm not much of a cowboy," I began. This got his attention, so I settled down into my tale. "Mr. Phillips has me riding night herd since I can't do much damage that way. I tried my hand at branding and ended up putting the OH brand on the foreman instead." I shook my head sadly. "Poor ole' Horace didn't cotton much to that since he wasn't able to set down for a week."

  Hanks chuckled.

  "On the OH we got 'bout the best bronco buster what ever lived. Name of Holiday. Or maybe it's Halliday. Nobody could ever pin him down to which it was, and he never corrected me when I used both in the same sentence.

  "I'll call him Halliday since he'd answer to that. Well, ol' Halliday had the reputation of bein' the best what ever stepped across a horse. He had an old roan mustang he claimed he could break when none of the rest of us could. Me, I only sat on that roan's back for a second or two 'fore I got throwed off.

  "Halliday wouldn't let that snake be saddled. He put on a hackamore of braided leather and then fastened it to the McCarthy — that's a long hair rope wrapped around the lower end of the nose band under the jaws. This makes fer reins and a tie-rope. Halliday stepped on and let the horse unwind. I suspect he glued his butt to the horse, though he was never caught doin' that."

  "So he broke the horse?" Hanks sounded disappointed that the story ended so fast.

  "He thought he had. The roan trotted out with Halliday on his back as sweet as you please. Never showed any sign of buckin' or givin' a speck of trouble. This lulled Halliday into thinkin' he was the one in charge, so he started to build himself a cigarette. The horse turned around and eyed him, but Halliday kept on until he stuck the smoke into his mouth and flicked a lucifer. He held it out so the sulfur would flare off.