Louis L'Amour - Lonely On the Mountain

"No," I said, "I don't think it's worth skinning. I figure we should just let him hang.

Maybe somebody will come for him." "Nobody has," Haney said. "Give him a few days and he'll dry out some." The man's pistol had fallen to the ground, and Haney picked it up, then unstrapped the man's cartridge belt. "Would you look at this here, Tell? This man's been walkin' in the dark woods with a pistol in his hand. Why, he might have hurt somebody!" "Or tripped over something and shot hisself.

We'd better carry that gun with us so's he won't get hurt." Haney walked around the hanging man, looking him over. "How long d'you think a man could hang like that?" "Well"--I pushed my hat back and scratched my head--"depend on how long before some bear found him, or maybe the wolves. If they stood on their hind legs, they could sure enough reach him.

"Man smell would bother them for a while," I suggested. "Then they'd get over that and start jumpin' for him. Sooner or later, one of them would get hisself a piece of meat--" "Hey! You fellers goin' to let me hang here, or are you goin' to turn me loose?" "It talks," Haney said, "makes words like it was almost human. How d'you think anything got caught in a trap like that?" "Must've been sneakin' in the woods," I said. "We'd better let this one hang an' see what else we got." "Aw, fellers! Come on now! Turn a man loose!" "So you can come huntin' us again?" Haney asked. "No way." We walked off through the woods toward the deadfall.

There was no game in that trap, but there had been.

There was a hat lying on the ground, but the victim had been carried away. We could see tracks where two men had helped a third away. "Busted a leg, most likely," Haney suggested cheerfully. "Lucky it wasn't his skull." Our other traps were empty, so we dismantled them and went back to camp. "They don't know much," Haney said, "but they'll learn from their troubles. Or maybe they'll recruit some all-out woodsman who could make trouble for us." He paused. "Shall we just forget about that other feller?" "We don't want him hangin' around," I suggested, "so let's turn him loose." We done so. And when he had his feet on the ground, I told him to take off his boots.

"What?" "Take off your boots," I said, "and your pants. We need something for the fire." "Now see here! I--to was "Give him a short count," I said to Haney, "and if he ain't got his boots off, shoot him." He stared at me, wild-eyed, then hit the ground and tugged off his boots. "Now your pants," I said.

He took off his pants. I shook my head at him. "You ought to wash them long johns. Ain't decent, a man as dirty as that." I pointed off through the woods. "Your friends, if you've got any, ar

off thataway. You get started." "Now look here," he protested, "that's a good set of spurs! I wish--" "Beat it," I said. "You take off through those woods and don't you ever come back. If I see you out here again, I'll hang your hide on the nearest deadfall." "Those are good spurs," Haney said.

"Hang 'em on a tree," I said.

"Somebody will find them." We bunched our cows and started them west, and we swung south to avoid the traveled trails. We found fair pasture and moved them along. The wolves taken a steer here and there, and we lost one to a grizzly. Shorty nailed the grizzly but not before he'd killed a good-sized steer.

The grass was sparse, and we crossed some sandy plains with occasional low hills. We had to scout for patches of good grass, but it looked like forest was taking over from the plains. On the third day after the mix-up in the trees, we saw a party of riders coming toward us, but Baptiste told us they were m`etis, and sure enough they were.

Some of them were the same crowd we'd met, and they brought some horses for trading. We had them with us all night and most of the next day, but when we split up, we had nine good horses and a couple of fair ones, and they had some odds and ends of truck as well as some cash money.

We swapped them a rifle we'd picked up and the pistol we'd taken from our hanging man, among other things. The Canadian army had come to Fort Garry, they said, and Riel had disappeared before they could lay hands on him.

The m`etis wanted sugar, salt, and tobacco, and I had an idea they were hiding out themselves, although they were a far piece from Fort Garry now. Evidently, they planned to stay out of sight for a while. With salt, coffee, and tobacco, they could live off the country. It was their country, and they understood it well.

They warned us we were going into wild country where there was little grass and no trails for cattle.

We pushed on regardless, and for the first time our worn-down saddle stock got a rest.

Before they parted from us, one of the m`etis who was a friend to Baptiste and had become my friend, also, took me aside and warned me.

"Two mans, ver' bad. They come to Fort Garry and ride to Carlton. They are sent for by a bearded man, and they meet two other mans who come from the States who are brothers, also. They hunt for you." "The first two men? Do you know who they are?" "Oui. Ver' bad! Polon is their name.

Pete and Jock Polon. If the Hudson's Bay Company was here, they would not come back! They are thieves! They killed trappers! They killed some Cree! And in the woods they are superb! Have a care, mon ami! Have a care!" We drove on another seven miles before we camped after watching the m`etis ride away.

Orrin looked across the campfire at me that night. "Tell, we aren't going to make it. We can't make it before snow flies." "What d'you think, Cap?" "Orrin's right. We've got to push them, Orrin, even if we run beef off them. After all, it's cattle we are supposed to deliver.

Nobody said nothing about fat cattle!" That night, two men, headed east, rode into our camp. "You're takin' cattle out there?" They stared at me. "You must be crazy!" "You mean there's no market?" "Market? Of course, there's a market!

It's gettin' 'em there. There's no decent trails; there's rivers to cross, grizzlies a-plenty, and wolves--you ain't seen any wolves yet!" One of them, a tall man named Pearson, indicated the carts. "You won't be able to use those much longer. The trails are too narrow. Put your stuff on pack horses." "My old horse will carry a pack," Brandy suggested. "He's done it before." We sat long with the two travelers, getting as much advice as we could. They drew the trail in the dirt for us, indicating the passes.

"How are things up there?" I asked.

"Peaceful?" "Generally speaking. Some of the boys get a mite noisy now and again. There's brawls and such and once in a great while a shooting. Mostly, they're just noisy." "The best claims are all taken," the other one said. "If you're figuring on staking claims, forget it." "We'll just sell our beef and get out," Orrin commented. Then, tentatively, he added, "We promised delivery to a man named Sackett, Logan Sackett." They stared at him. "Too bad about him, and I'm afraid you're too late. He's dead." "What?" "I'll say this for him. He was a man. Party got trapped in the passes last year, and he went up and brought 'em out. Saved seven men and a woman. He brought 'em through snow like you never saw. Avalanche country." "You say he's dead?" I asked.

"He went north. There were rumors of a strike up in the Dease River country. Story was that he was killed in a gun battle up there with some outlander." "Big man?" "Your height," Pearson said to Orrin, "but heavier by twenty pounds. Come to think of it, he favored you somewhat." "Who killed him?" "That was a bad outfit. They'd been in some trouble in Barkerville. Don't recall what.

Five or six of them, and smart, tough men. The one who seemed to be the leader was named Gavin." "Gavin?" I glanced over at Nettie, who was listening.

"Kyle Gavin?" "No, this one's called Shanty. Shanty Gavin, and he's as mean and tough as he is smart." Pearson looked over at me. "It was Shanty Gavin who killed Logan Sackett.