Louis L'Amour - Lonely On the Mountain

Turning west, I cantered along for a ways, studying the country. The raindrops had speckled the burned grass, and the chances were Cap's guess was right. Nobody knew more about handling cattle in rough country than Cap.

Several times, I came upon buffalo tracks, and they had turned off to the west just as we were doing. This was going to set us back a day or two, and it was time we could ill afford to lose. It was just spring, with the grass turning green, but we had a long drive ahead and must reach our destination before winter set in.

Every time I topped a rise, I studied the country around, but mostly what lay behind. There were always a few antelope in sight and usually buffalo, but in small bunches and afar off.

Just short of midday, we swung the herd into a shallow valley where there was a slough and some good grass. Lin went off to one side and put together a small fire.

Nobody takes a herd over two thousand miles of rough country without trouble. We'd have our share, and we were ready for it, but we didn't want more than we had to have.

Tyrel came in from the herd, and getting down from the bay he was riding, he whipped the dust from him with his hat, standing well back. When he came up to the fire for coffee, he looked over at me.

"See anything?" He'd seen me looking around when I topped those rises. "Nothing but buffalo," I said.

"I got a bad feeling," he said.

"You and me both," I said.

Cap rode in and dismounted, switching his saddle to a rat-tailed dun that looked like the wrath of God but was tougher than whalebone, a mustang born to the wide plains and the rough country.

When he came up to the fire, he glanced from one to the other. "If you want to know what I think--" "I do," I said.

"We better skip that drive east. Allowin' there's good grass like we heard, we still lose time, and we just ain't got it to lose." He filled his cup and came over, squatting on his heels. He took a stick and drew in the dust. "Right here's about where we are. Right over here is the Jim River--the James if you want to be persnickety about it. I say we drive west, then follow the Jim north, which gives us water all the way.

"Right here there's a mighty pretty valley where the Pipestem flows into the Jim. We can let the cattle have a day there, which will give Orrin a chance to gain on us.

"There's good grass in that valley, and there's a lot of elm, box elder, and some cottonwood along the rivers. There'll be firewood and shade for the stock if we have to wait, and it might pay to wait a couple of days for Orrin." "We've been lucky on the grass," Tyrel said, "bein' so early in the year, but we're drivin' north." "You're durned right." Cap sipped his coffee. "An' from here on, the new grass will be slower, and farther west it will be almighty scarce." Well, now. That fitted in with my own thinking, but I studied on it a mite. Orrin was probably on the river right now, ridin' one of them steamboats up the Red River to Pembina.

Once he got there, he'd have to find a couple of men, buy teams and a couple of Red River carts, then stock up with supplies for the westward drive.

He would need a day if he was lucky, three days if he wasn't, and then he would start west to meet us. We would be coming up from the south, and he would be driving west.

From Pembina there was a trail that led due west through the Pembina Mountains and skirting the Turtle Mountains on the north. If Orrin could make his arrangements in Pembina, he could strike west along that trail, and with luck we'd meet him somewhere close to the Mouse River. With horse-drawn carts, he should make about twenty miles a day, while we would make no more than twelve to fifteen. If he had to go on to Fort Garry, that would throw everything out of kilter, and we'd have to meet farther north.

We scratched around in the dirt, indicating trails and figuring how best to go. Here and there, we'd picked up word of what to expect. We'd stay with the Jim as far as we could, then strike west-northwest for the Canadian border.

"Wish we had more men," Cap said. "The Sioux can be mighty ornery." "We'll have to chance it." I went out to the remuda and threw my saddle on a rangy buckskin.

It was a worrisome thing. The last thing I'd wanted was a cattle drive through country I'd never seen. Aside from Cap and Tyrel, the other men were strangers, picked up where we could get them. They seemed to be mighty good hands, but only time would show what they were made of, and any time you ride through Sioux and Blackfoot country, you're borrowing trouble.

We were short on grub, long on ammunition, and needful of a tie-up with Orrin. Worst of all, he'd be coming west with strangers, too, if he could recruit any help at all.

It was early spring, with patches of snow still holding on the shady side of the hills. The grass was growing, but mostly it was just like a green mist over the hills, although a lot of last year's grass, cured on the stem, was still out there.

Logan had said we could expect Higginses, and the name of Higgins, some folks with whom we'd had a long-running feud, was our name for trouble. Some of those Higgins boys could really shoot.

After I'd had a bite, I swung into the saddle and rode out to relieve one of the boys watching the cattle. He was a new boy we'd found riding south for Abilene, and he stopped at our fire. When we heard he was hunting a riding job, we told him he had one if he was a stayer.

"Never quit nothin' yet," he said, "until it was done." "You got a name you want to use?" "Isom Brand. Folks call me Brandy." "All right. Now think on this. You hook up with us, you'll be riding into wild country, Injun country. You'll see mountains like you've never seen and wider plains than you can believe. You're likely to miss a meal or two, as we're short of grub until we hook up with my brother Orrin, but we don't want anybody who is likely to complain." He just looked at me, that smooth-faced kid with the quick blue eyes, and he said, "You goin' to miss those meals, too?" "We miss them together," I said.

"You hired a hand," he said. He hesitated then, flushing a little. "I ain't got much of an outfit. I give all I had left in cash money to my ma for her and sis afore I pulled out." "Couldn't you find a job close to home?" "No, sir. There just weren't none." "They got enough money to last?" "No, sir. I have to send some to them as soon as I can." "You shape up," I said, "and I'll advance you some." He was riding a crow-bait plow horse that was no good for our work, so we turned him into the remuda, and we roped a paint we bought off an Injun. Brandy topped him off all right, and we rode along.

He was walking a circle on the far side of the herd when I came up to him. "Better go in and get yourself a bite," I suggested, "and catch yourself some shuteye. We won't be moving out for about an hour." There was water a-plenty and good grass, so we took some time. Meanwhile, keeping a watch out and seeing none of the cattle got to straying, I thought about Logan.

Logan and his twin brother Nolan were Clinch Mountain Sacketts, almost a different breed than us. They were rough boys, those Clinch Mountain Sacketts, right down from ol' Yance Sackett, who founded the line way back in the 1600's.

He settled so far back in the mountains that the country was getting settled up before they even knew he was there.

Some of those Clinch Mountain Sacketts were Blockaders; least that's what they were called.

They raised a lot of corn up in the mountains, and the best way they could get it to market was in liquid form. They began selling by the gallon rather than the bushel.

Pa, he would have none of that. "If'n you boys want to take a drink, that's your business, but buy it in town, don't make it. Maybe I don't agree with the government on all things, but we elect