Bendigo Shafter

by Louis L'Amour

  Nubbin Taylor, his wife and youngsters were killed by Indians, their cabin burned, stock run off.

  There was a little more, but what I had read was quite enough.

  If the Indians had attacked Taylor’s place ... he was only four miles east of town ... anything might happen. “Lorna,” I said, “better get packed. We’re going home.”

  She smiled. “Bendigo, I am packed. I knew you’d be wanting to leave.”

  Chapter 39

  She stood by the window, looking down into the street, and I looked at her and thought how different a world was this from our own little town at the foot of the Wind Rivers!

  This sister of mine was tall, beautifully shaped, with clear, intelligent eyes, a wry, but pleasant sense of humor ... what would her life be?

  “There’s one thing I must do,” I said.

  “Of course. You must see Ninon.” She turned from the window. “Do that, Bendigo. I’ve some goodbyes to say, too.”

  “You?” I was surprised.

  She laughed at me. “You’ve been very busy, Ben, and I can’t blame you if you haven’t noticed, but I have a friend, too. A very nice gentleman, in fact.” She hesitated. “I wonder if you’d approve?”

  “If you like him, I will like him,” I replied simply. “Who is he?”

  “His name is Fairchild ... Jackson Fairchild. He’s a doctor... a physician.”

  “I’d like to meet him.”

  “You shall. We are to have lunch together in a few minutes.” She came over to me and put her hand on my arm. “Please like him. I do ... very much.”

  “Well ... if he’s right for you. Remember, you’re something very special to Cain and me.”

  “He’s very special, too. He’s from upstate New York, Bendigo, and he grew up on a farm, studied medicine, and he’s been practicing in a small town in New Hampshire, but now he wants to go west.”

  “Where? I mean where in the west?”

  “California, I think, but he’s not quite sure. Only that he wants to be where things are happening, and he has an offer to go into practice in Colorado.”

  “Well, I’ll talk to him. In the meanwhile ...”

  “I know. You’re going to meet Ninon.”

  Their suite was on the floor above mine, and I went up the steps, then paused at a window looking out over the city. I knew so little of cities, even now, and so little of this one where there was so much to learn. In between times I had met people, Horace Greeley who might soon be a candidate for president, several writers, naturalists, and many would-be investors in land or mines. All were interested in the western lands, and all asked questions. What astonished me even more was that the answers came readily to my lips ... at least, when their questions related to conditions or circumstances. On the Indian question I had no answers, no conclusions to offer.

  I had fought Indians, hunted with them, talked with them, ridden miles with them, and many of them I liked. We could learn, each from the other, and I found the Indian very quick to adapt to conditions that favored him. But for most of our customs they had no use at all.

  Yet the questions I had been asked had started me thinking, and when I returned to my own country I would try to learn. One never realizes how much and how little he knows until he starts talking.

  Mrs. Beaussaint answered the door. “Ninon will be out in a minute, Mr. Shafter. You are going home, I hear?”

  “Yes.”

  I spoke with some reservations, for although our town was still my home, I somehow did not believe it would be for long. All that had been said about its location was true, I expect, and with the railroad completed to the south, the new town would come into being near the right-of-way.

  Ninon came in, coming quickly to me, both hands outstretched. “Ben! You’re leaving?”

  “I must. There’s been trouble out there.”

  “It was always you, wasn’t it, Ben? You were always the first to face whatever happened.”

  “I don’t know. I did what was necessary.”

  “I know all about it. You went after Mae and the children when the Indians had them, and you went to help those Mormons in the snow, and you were out there in the street when the renegades attacked the town. It was you and Ethan Sackett who supplied most of the meat that first terrible winter. I heard all about it. And saw part of it.”

  “A man does what is necessary. And then I always had good men beside me. There was Cain, and Ethan and Webb ... and of course, John Sampson.”

  “But it was you, Ben! You spoke for the town. You led the way.”

  “No, Ninon. It was Ruth Macken and Cain. They were always the ones.”

  She smiled. “In a way, it was. But it was you, Ben, more than anyone else.”

  “It was all of us. We were all changing, all growing up, all discovering what it takes to bring people together, to build something. I’m not sure we know anything even yet, but well do a better job wherever we go after this.”

  Mrs. Beaussaint had left us alone, and together we walked to the window. “Your show closes soon?”

  “They’ve extended the time for another week. Then I am going back to New Orleans.”

  “You’re not taking any of the offers you’ve had?” She smiled at me. “None of those I’ve had so far, Ben. But you never can tell ... if the right offer came along, well, I might listen.”

  “I was coming around to that. How about a run of the show contract? That’s the only offer I could make. At this moment I don’t even know where the show will be playing, and I am not sure of the town or the place ... only the time.”

  “Would I be the leading lady?”

  “Of course. And with top billing always.”

  “I’ll take that offer, Ben. It’s just the one I’ve been waiting for.”

  Well, I’d been getting to be quite a talker, but all of a sudden I wasn’t so good any more, and I just stood there looking at her and she at me, but we didn’t need to say much or do much; we both knew how we felt about it.

  We stood there by the window holding hands and watching the traffic in the street below. “I’ve got a few cattle, and I’m going to buy more. I’ll do some ranching, either in Wyoming or Oregon, and I’ll write a little about the things I know best.”

  We talked ... a lot of foolishness and some good sense, and then I told her about Lorna’s friend.

  “Ben! Let’s go see him! Are they downstairs now?”

  He stood up as we neared the table. He was tall, as tall as I was but probably twenty pounds lighter in weight, a mighty handsome man with a good, strong face and a firm grip to his hand. “Dr. Jackson Fairchild,” he said. “Lorna has been telling me all about both of you.”

  We sat down and talked the hour away, and after a while I left the talking to them and remembered the rolling wagon wheels, the crisp brown grass of the plains, the river crossings, the bitter struggles, the times we had lost our horses and found them again, the Indian fights, and our town beside its small stream with the white cliff rising above it and the pines.

  I was homesick for the smell of cedar smoke and the feel of a good horse. There was nothing here to remind me of the west except the six-shooter in my waistband. Even the girls seemed different. Ninon had grown from a child into a beautiful young woman whom I only slightly knew, after all, and Lorna was no longer a girl from our town but a young lady of fashion.

  I listened to their laughter, listened to their talk of the west and of the town where we all would be together, yet I remembered the creak of a saddle and the seamed face of old Uruwishi. I remembered the cool wind from down the canyon of the Popo Agie, and the smell of powder smoke and the kick of a rifle butt against my shoulder. I remembered the day with Ethan when we were cutting our meat and the renegades had come upon us, and I remember the smell of smoky, sweaty buckskins, and the far-off gleam of lights as we rode home.

  Suddenly, I stood up. “I want to take a walk,” I said. “I’ve some things to think about.”

  Outside the hour had
grown late. We had talked long, and there were gray shadows already, for the sun was hidden behind a ceiling of dull cloud. I shrugged into my coat and walked off down the street, not too aware of where I was going.

  The old smells were not here. These smells were of coal smoke and the city. Suddenly I found myself on the Bowery. Pawnbrokers’ shops, third-class hotels, flophouses, low-class theaters and concert saloons. This had once been an area of farms, a place where lay the broad lands of the Brevoorts, the Dyckmans, the De Lanceys, and even old Peter Stuyvesant had a farm here.

  It felt good, striding along the sidewalks, Listening to the carriages in the slushy streets, watching the gaslights and the windows I passed.

  Tomorrow I would be starting for home ... tomorrow.

  It could not be too soon.

  Chapter 40

  I sat in the car looking out over the vast white expanse. The snow-covered plains stretched away, losing themselves against a milky horizon.

  It was cold ... bitter cold out there. The stove at the end of the car glowed a sullen red, but its warmth extended only a few feet. Lorna sat near it with Dr. Fairchild and several others.

  The train moved slowly, creeping along the icy rails. To be derailed at such a time and place would be about the worst thing that could happen, for we were now miles from anywhere and far out upon the plains. Fuel was scarce along the route and we must make do with what we had.

  The conductor stopped by. “Aren’t you a western man, Mr. Shafter?”

  “Yes. I live up in the South Pass country.”

  “Then you know about this?” He waved a hand at the snow.

  “I do.”

  “Folks are scared ... .there’s some women-folks and youngsters in the next coach, newcomers. The men are tryin’ to look brave enough, but they’re as scared as the women.”

  “I don’t blame them. If we got stuck out here ... well, we’d have to tear up the tracks and burn the ties.”

  The conductor was shocked. “Oh, no! The railroad wouldn’t allow it.”

  Well, I smiled at him. “Conductor, your railroad bosses are a long way off, and the cold is here, now. Believe me, if it came to that we’d burn the ties.”

  “What I was going to ask, Mr. Shafter, is whether you’d walk back and have a word with them. Encourage them a little.”

  “Of course.” I got up, hitching my gun into position under my coat. Cheyenne was far away down the track, and there were miles upon miles of desolation ahead of us. Someday, no doubt, there would be farms or ranches along here, and towns. Now there was nothing.

  A cold wind moaned about the creeping train; the piles of fuel looked pitifully small.

  Balancing to the movement of the train, I walked back to the car behind. Stepping out of my car to the platform I felt the icy air ... it must be ten below zero.

  They looked up when I came into the car. Several women with scarves over their heads, a dozen children, and three men. At the back of the car a shabby rough-looking man with a handlebar mustache was sleeping. He seemed undisturbed by the cold.

  “How are you?” I spoke to the nearest of the men. “Cold out there. Coming out to settle?”

  “Yah. Ve go to Vyoming.”

  “To farm?”

  “Ve look for goldt, I think. There iss goldt, I hear.”

  “If you’re lucky.” I had been. The $21,700 in several eastern banks spoke of that, yet I had known many who were not... and I’d not wasted my time looking. “Fanning might be surer ... or buffalo hunting. There’s a big demand for buffalo hides.”

  “I cannot shoot. I haff never shot a gun.” Appalled, I just looked at him. He stared back at me, sensing my doubt. “Vhy shoot? I think the Indians are goodt folks if you are goodt to them. I do not want to shoot them.”

  “Sometimes they are. I hope it is the good ones you meet. I’ve met both kinds. I think you should be prepared for the bad ones even while you hope to meet the good. You have a family.”

  He nodded confidently. “I do not worry. I haff a goodt family. Ve vork hardt, ve make it.”

  “The train will run slow through here because of the ice on the rails,” I commented. “If the train stops, don’t get out unless you are told to. People have been left out here ... by accident.”

  They were listening to me, I could see. One quiet man said, “Thank you, sir. I am afraid we all have much to learn about the west. You say you have met Indians?”

  “I have ... often. The Sioux will be on the warpath when spring comes ... they will wait for the grass to turn green so there will be food for their horses. There will be young men going out on their first scalp-hunting raid. I would suggest you locate somewhere close to a village or other people at least until you know the country.”

  “Are you a miner?”

  “No. I run a few cattle, and I am considering a larger scale of operation. We’ve been building a town out there in the South Pass area, but I’d say our time is about up. We don’t have enough to support a population.”

  “South Pass?” Another man looked up quickly. “Why, that’s where the gold is! What d’you mean? Not enough to support a population?”

  “A few claims have been located that are paying off. Most of the miners aren’t making a living.”

  He did not believe me. “Tryin” to scare us off?” he said. “You can’t do it, mister. We know all about it.”

  “I am glad you do and hope you find what you’re looking for.” I nodded toward the stove. “Make your fuel last. At this rate it will be hours before we can get more.”

  Turning, I started back. The man who thought I was trying to scare him off spoke up again. “You actually from out there?”

  “I helped build the first houses,” I said. “I was there from the beginning.”

  “I hear it’s a wild place. Lots of women, shoot-ups, and outlaws. Why, they say there’s a Mexican outlaw who’s got ’em all scared to death. This Herrara ...”

  “Herrara did make some trouble around South Pass City,” I said, “but they sent him packing.”

  He stared angrily. “They sent who? Why that town was scared to death of him! I read all about it!”

  “Nobody scares a town where every man grew up with a gun. They let him swagger around a little until they lost patience, and then they ran him out of town just like his own people ran him out of Mexico.”

  “I don’t believe that!”

  For a moment I just looked at him. “My friend,” I said after a moment, “what you have just said could get you killed where you are going. In this country if you call a man a liar you’d better reach for a gun when you do it. Nobody out here likes a loose tongue. You’d better learn while you can.”

  “Huh!” he said contemptuously. “If I have to use a gun, I will do it. I’m as good with a gun as any of them. They don’t come any tougher out there than they do where I come from.”

  “Remember what I said about fuel. Stay close to the stove and burn it just enough to keep warm.” I turned away and started back to my own car.

  The nicely spoken man came after me. “Mind if I ask a few questions?” He gestured toward a pale, attractive young woman and a boy. “That’s my family.”

  “All right.”

  “We have all heard of South Pass City. I’d like a turn at gold mining myself. Is it a good place?”

  I shrugged, smiling. “My friend, most places are good places if your approach is right. There are fine people there, and there are some bad ones. South Pass City is only one of several small communities, and there is some mining along a half dozen of the creeks.

  “Our own settlement is only a few miles from South Pass City, and we’d welcome you. However, I believe some of us will be leaving the area. Most of the good placer-mining claims have been staked, and the traffic along the Overland Trail will disappear when the railroad is in full operation, and I believe it is even now. I know the east and west lines have been joined, and by now they probably have scheduled trains ... I haven’t made inquiries beyo
nd my own transportation.

  “We’d welcome you, but you will have to think of making a living.”

  “You are in the cattle business?”

  “In a small way. My brother and I operate a sawmill, also, but even that must be moved. We’ve been cutting ties for the railroad and timbers for some of the mines, although few have gotten so far along.”

  “Is it a violent place? Alec Williams here,” he gestured toward the man who had spoken of Herrara, “has been telling us of the killings. He says the marshal there, somebody named Ben Shafter, is a killer.”

  “You won’t need to worry about him nor about the community. There has been very little shooting.”

  Williams was listening. “A lot you know! That Shafter killed two men last year! Right in the middle of town!”

  “Perhaps. His job is to keep the peace, but unfortunately there are always troublemakers. The two men who were killed were drifters, toughs, and not of the town at all. They came looking for trouble.”

  “Were you there?” Williams demanded belligerently. “What do you know about it?”

  “Yes, I was there. I saw it.”

  Now I was eager to get away. The train was crawling now, and stooping to look out the windows, I saw the snow was falling again, thicker and faster. I heard the wind whine around the train.

  “Save your fuel,” I warned, “better stay close to the stove and to each other. This may develop into a bad storm.”

  Alec Williams was one of those who fed on sensation, and I’d known his kind before. Men were killed by officers of the law in eastern cities and villages, but nobody thought of building them up as killers or as gunfighters ... they saved that for the west.

  The train crept along. The stack of fuel grew lower. I walked back to the car where I had been riding and stood beside Lorna and Dr. Fairchild. “We’re in trouble,” I said quietly. “We’re going to have a blizzard. The snow is felling and the wind is picking up.”

  Fairchild looked up. “But we’re in the train. It will be safe here.”

  “These cars are not easy to heat, doctor,” I said, “and there’s very little fuel. If this keeps up we may get snowed in.”