Bitterroot

by Charles G. West

  Red seemed relieved. “Well, that’s good news.”

  Otis chimed in. “I don’t reckon we better git too dang comfortable even if there ain’t no Injun war. Like he said, there’s still a helluva lot of savages running around that the army ain’t caught.” He paused to give it emphasis. “Dead is dead, whether you git scalped by one Injun or a hundred.”

  The discussion continued for the better part of an hour, the main issue being the probability of Ruby’s Choice falling victim to a raiding party. This was actually Crow country. In fact, two of the men of Ruby’s Choice had taken Crow women as wives, and occasionally some of the Crow warriors would come in to Clay’s Store to trade for blankets and trinkets. Tom didn’t think the small community had a great deal to fear, but one thing he had learned since coming to this country was that Indians, especially Sioux, were unpredictable. So, who could say? Anybody who decided to live in this country was taking a risk. If Indians didn’t do you in, then there was plenty to fear from the country itself. Even if you didn’t freeze to death in the winter, a grizzly might kill you come spring. Still, he preferred this country, with all its dangers, to living back East. As he sat listening to Otis and Red talk to Jubal Clay, he decided he felt comfortable here and might as well stay for a few days or more. That settled, he got out of his chair and went to the fireplace for another cup of coffee. Ruby anticipated his movement and, using her skirt to grasp the handle of the kettle, poured for him. As she filled the cup, her eyes again locked on his, her face expressionless. Tom got the distinct feeling that she disapproved of him for some reason. He couldn’t define the feeling—there was just something about her attitude that left him uncomfortable. His thoughts were interrupted by a question from Otis.

  “You passing through right away or you staying around for a while?”

  “I think I’ll hang around for a few days.”

  “Well,” Otis replied, glancing at Red for confirmation, “if you want a place to stay, me and Red’s got room in our shack. You’d be more’n welcome.”

  “Yeah,” Red agreed, “might as well bunk with us. It ain’t fancy but it’s outta the weather.”

  Tom accepted. Ruby, standing behind him, had paused to hear his answer. When he accepted, she quietly resumed her chores.

  Chapter III

  The few days Tom planned to spend in the little settlement on the banks of Beaver Creek stretched into weeks as he became more and more comfortable with his surroundings. He found that most of the other residents of Ruby’s Choice were pretty much like Otis and Red: hard-working men, trying to find a few stray nuggets to support their existence. Having no desire to try his luck at gold mining, for he failed to see the profit in it at this particular site, he spent his time trapping and hunting. One of the first things he did was trade his old army Spencer rifle for a packhorse. His hunting provided welcome meat for Otis and Red as well as an occasional elk or mule deer for Jubal Clay. He could see no future for the town of Ruby’s Choice beyond two or three years. There was nothing to support the settlement beyond the time when the last of the scant gold supply played out. Still, he was comfortable here for the time being.

  He spent about as many nights out in the hills as he did in town since he often had to travel a great distance to find the game he hunted. In but a short time, he acquired a local reputation as a crack shot and a skilled hunter, a reputation that became something of a burden in that he now felt he could never return from a hunting trip empty-handed. He realized that it was a small concession to his ego, but he enjoyed a certain amount of satisfaction upon his arrival in the settlement after two or three days’ hunting, with his packhorse loaded with meat. Since he always shared, he soon became rather popular with the townfolk.

  Still, there was one enigma he was unable to solve, and that was Ruby Clay. It seemed she watched his every move as if she was suspicious that he might try to steal something from them. Her manner still baffled him. He had given her no cause, yet her surveillance of his movements seemed constant. He didn’t even know why he let it bother him. She was just a girl, and meant nothing to him. Still, it irritated him and he couldn’t explain why. The girl just got under his skin for some reason. She never spoke to him, aside from a simple answer if he happened to ask her a question.

  One day her cool demeanor warmed to the point of exasperating him. He had just returned from two days’ hunting and was in the process of butchering an elk down by the creek. As he laid back the hide at the animal’s flank, he heard the soft breaking of a branch behind him. He turned and was surprised to find Ruby approaching him. Thinking that when she saw him, she would most likely avoid him and go farther upstream to fetch her water, he said nothing but continued his chore.

  “That’s a right fine-looking elk. Pretty hide.”

  Her words startled him, and he was not quick to reply. Finally he said, “Why, yeah, I guess it is kinda pretty.”

  “Mind if I watch you?” she asked. Not waiting for his answer, she turned the wooden bucket she carried upside down and sat on it.

  He could not help but notice that she had removed her long underwear. Her skirt was hiked up just enough to expose her milky white calves and a glimpse of one knee. The thought breezed through his mind that this must be an official sign of spring—when Ruby took off her long handles. In reply to her question, he simply returned, “Reckon not.” When he realized he was still staring at the expanse of leg she was showing, he quickly looked up, only to meet her eyes gazing at him intently. It irritated him to have her think she had caught him staring at her legs, so he turned back to his work. There was no way he could have anticipated the conversation that followed.

  “I’ve been watching you, Tom Allred.”

  He kept working. “Oh?”

  “You don’t drink much, do you?”

  “I guess not.” He wondered where this was leading and, in fact, what business it was of hers.

  “You don’t seem to be much of a hell-raiser. Pa thinks you’re an honest man, probably a hard worker. I don’t know how he knows that. I ain’t ever seen you do nothing but hunt.” He made no reply, primarily because he knew of no proper response. She continued, “You planning on staying around here?”

  He stopped what he was doing and looked at the girl, mystified by her sudden interrogation. After a long moment, he shook his head as if exasperated, then answered her. “Why, Miss Clay,” he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm, “I don’t rightly know. I might stay and I might leave tonight. I haven’t thought much about it.”

  She ignored his tone. “What do you suppose you can do for a living? You can’t hunt for a living…trapping maybe.” She thought for a moment. “Maybe you could farm. You know anything about farming?”

  Totally vexed at this point, Tom threw his skinning knife so that it struck blade first in the elk’s rump. He dipped his hands in the stream and rinsed them, then turned his full attention to the young girl still seated upon the wooden bucket. “Miss Clay, has the town of Ruby’s Choice finally gotten a newspaper? Do I get the honor of the first interview?” He paused and, seeing that his sarcasm was lost on her, he answered her question. “No, I don’t know anything about farming…don’t want to know anything about farming. What are you asking me all these questions for?”

  She seemed not to notice his irritation. “There are twenty-seven men in this town. Six of ’em are married. That don’t count Robert Waits and Browny Thompson who took squaws to live with ’em. Every other man in this settlement has, at one time or another, asked me to marry him…except for Otis Watson, and he knows he’s so dang homely it wasn’t no use to ask.”

  Then Tom realized why she had been interviewing him. The thought almost boggled his mind. Before he could find his voice, she continued.

  “I’m past marrying age, but I ain’t about to jump into it with just anybody. But I’ve been watching you and I reckon, if you was to ask me, I might marry you.” She waited for a moment, but he was too flabbergasted to answer. “Whaddaya think? You b
een thinking about me?”

  “No!” he blurted, still astounded by the brazen proposal of matrimony. Then, realizing that he might crush the girl’s feelings, he quickly added, “Not that I’m not flattered—any man would be. It’s just that I’m not ready to get married now—haven’t even thought about it.” There was absolutely no change in the girl’s expression as he attempted to smooth over his refusal. “I know you’d make a fine wife, Ruby. You’re pretty…and you’ve got a fine body—”

  “I ain’t giving it away without I get married first,” she interrupted.

  “I know, I know,” he was quick to agree, “and I ain’t asking for it.” The sudden rush of compassion he had felt for her a moment before was being pushed aside by the return of his slight irritation over her attitude. He had to remind himself that she was offering a most precious gift and he mustn’t say anything that would seem to diminish the value of that gift. “Ruby, I sincerely thank you for considering me. It’s a real honor and, if I was in a mood to get married, I’m sure I’d want to marry you. I’m just not. I’m sorry.”

  She sat looking at him for a long moment before she rose and picked up her bucket. “You think about it, all right?” She turned and walked away with no more emotion than if they had just talked about the weather.

  * * *

  Before the conversation by the creek, Tom and Ruby had exchanged a minimal number of words. Afterward, even fewer words passed between them. Tom was still uncomfortable around the girl, but now it was for a different reason. He was embarrassed by her proposal of marriage, although she seemed not to mind the awkwardness it afforded him. His trips into the mountains became longer and longer, and he began to think that maybe it was time to move on. He hated to admit it, but he found himself thinking about the girl much too often, even allowing his mind to fantasize on the possibility of taking Ruby as a wife. If he could have known what would come to pass in the next couple of days, he might have been tempted to move on immediately.

  * * *

  He was down by the creek, working some beaver pelts he had brought back from the mountains the day before, when he looked up to see Jubal Clay heading toward him. Jubal seemed to be in a hurry.

  “Tom,” Jubal called out, “Browny Thompson just come in the store and said there’s some soldiers coming up from the south. He could see ’em from his claim, so they’ll probably be here any minute.”

  “That right?” Tom was only mildly interested.

  Jubal hesitated, studying Tom’s face. “Well, I thought I’d better let you know in case there’s some reason you don’t want to see no soldiers.”

  Tom didn’t understand at first. Then he realized Jubal’s reasoning. He quickly reassured him. “Ah, no, Jubal. I appreciate your concern, but it’s all right. There isn’t any reason for me to avoid the soldiers. The army’s not looking for me.”

  Jubal looked relieved. He didn’t figure Tom for a deserter, but you could never be absolutely sure about things like that. A man could have a lot of reasons for wanting out of the army, and Tom had never talked about his military record. He left Tom, still working his pelts, and returned to tend his store.

  When he had finished with his hides, Tom set them up behind the shack to dry. Red and Otis were both gone. Up to see the soldiers, he thought, along with everybody else. Visitors were infrequent in this part of the world, so when someone did happen upon the little community, it was cause for everyone to satisfy their curiosity. It had been much the same when the folks found out he was in town that first cold spring morning. He put Billy and the packhorse away and saw to their feed. Then he fed himself. After that was done, he decided he would walk up to Clay’s Store and see what news the troopers brought.

  There were only four horses in front of Jubal’s place. They couldn’t be a full patrol with just four horses. He figured they had to be part of a larger unit. Ruby’s Choice was too remote from any army post for four men to be out that far alone. He stepped inside the door and stood there a few moments. Over at the bar, the four soldiers were surrounded by the citizens of Ruby’s Choice who watched as the troopers sampled Jubal’s rotgut. There was a great deal of laughing and backslapping over the soldiers’ reaction to the fiery liquid. The soldiers seemed to be taking it good-naturedly, each one anxious to try to gulp it down without showing the effects.

  “Well, I’ll be go to hell.”

  The voice was familiar. Tom couldn’t place it at first, however. He squinted in an effort to identify the source in the dim atmosphere of Jubal’s Store. One of the soldiers parted the crowd around him to create a clear path between himself and Tom.

  “Damned if it ain’t Lieutenant Allred.” His voice laden with sarcasm, the soldier spread his arms, demanding more room. “Only it ain’t lieutenant no more, is it? It’s Mister Allred.”

  “Sergeant Spanner,” Tom calmly acknowledged.

  Spanner sneered in Jubal Clay’s direction. “Mister, you don’t care what crawls up and dies in your town, do you?”

  Jubal didn’t answer. Instead, he looked quickly at Tom. Tom did not answer the sergeant’s insult, but stood calmly meeting Spanner’s glare with one of his own. The atmosphere seemed to have suddenly gone deathly silent. One could almost feel sparks in the air. After a tension-filled moment, Jubal attempted to change the mood. “Come on fellers, it’s too nice a day for any trouble. You soldier boys have another drink. This one’s on the house.”

  Spanner would not be put off that easily. “I ain’t drinking with that man. I don’t know what’s the matter with you people. Here we are, out risking our necks to round up them stray savages, and you folks are coddlin’ a damn Injun-lover. This son of a bitch was throwed out of the army for helping Little Wolf get away! Little Wolf, that damn murderin’ Cheyenne renegade! I bet he ain’t told you that, has he?”

  Every eye turned to see Tom’s reaction. Still, he made no reply. He simply stood there, silent as stone. Jubal, fearful of the explosion that was sure to come, rushed to avoid any further fueling of the intense situation.

  “Tom, listen, we don’t want no trouble. Why don’t you go on home till these fellers leave? Please, Tom, I don’t want no trouble.”

  Tom’s eyes were locked in a lethal stare that remained riveted on the sergeant’s leering face. Suddenly, as if aware of him for the first time, Tom glanced down at the worried face of the little storekeeper, and the cold eyes softened a bit. After another long silent pause, he finally said, “All right, Jubal, I’ll go.” He turned and left the store.

  Jubal Clay let out a long sigh of relief, took a moment to gather himself, then returned to his customers. “All right, boys, no need to get all riled up over nothin’. You soldier boys drink up. I bet you could use some grub too. Ruby!” He looked around to locate his daughter. “Honey, see if we can’t rustle up somethin’ to eat for these boys.” He was intent on smoothing things over. He knew he himself was to blame for pushing the rot-gut on the four soldiers. It looked like a good opportunity to get rid of some of that stock. The residents of Ruby’s Choice wouldn’t drink it anymore, except Otis and Red, and he had almost a barrel of it left. This had appeared to be the perfect opportunity to sell it. Soldiers were like cowhands: they would drink anything. Now he didn’t like the way things were going. He had been hoping for a happy drunk but, instead, all signs pointed toward a mean one. Happy drunks bought things and were free with their money. Mean drunks wanted to fight and break things up. The sergeant, Spanner, sure looked like a mean one. Jubal was grateful that Tom had agreed to leave. At first, he feared that Tom was going to make something out of Spanner’s insults, and then his store would sure as hell have gotten torn up.

  Behind him, Tom could hear the sound of loud laughter. Of the many voices, Spanner’s seemed to stand out above the rest. It may have been a mistake, backing down from what might have escalated into a volatile situation, but Tom didn’t want to cause trouble for Jubal. It was the wise thing to do. The soldiers would soon be on their way. Still, there was an uncomf
ortable feeling running along his spine. He knew the danger in showing any hint of fear in this country. Man or beast would consume you if you exhibited any trace of fear. He tried to tell himself that he did it for Jubal and to forget about it. It didn’t matter. The thought again entered his mind that it might be time to push on farther west.

  He must have been sitting there for over an hour, drinking coffee and staring into the fire, thinking about his life up to that moment and what path it might take from this point. The incident at Clay’s Store had driven home something that he, up to this time, had not given any consideration—he had not merely been cashiered from the army. He had brought along extra baggage: a reputation as an Indian lover and a turncoat. He marveled at the irony of it, the inequity. Scouts like Andy Coulter and Squint Peterson were friendly with Indians of several different tribes, had even lived with them. Yet they were not thought of as Injun-lovers. He, himself, had killed many Indians from the Washita to Little Big Horn. How could anyone call him an Injun-lover? His had been an exceptional circumstance, one he could hardly be blamed for and, in good conscience, could not have avoided. He had been honor-bound to aid his own brother. Had his brother been anyone other than Little Wolf, his actions on that day by the Yellowstone might have gone unnoticed. Perhaps he should have revealed the true identity of Little Wolf. At the time of his court-martial, he chose not to. That had been his feeling then, and consequently, there was nothing he could do to change it now. So he decided to stop worrying over the matter. His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Red and Otis.

  “We decided the party’s gittin’ a little too rough for our likin’,” Otis offered, a look of nervous concern deeply etched in his forehead.

  “Somebody’s liable to get hurt before the night’s over,” Red added. “Me and Otis figured we’d best git on home before trouble starts. You done the right thing, leaving when you did.”