Louis L'Amour - Lonely On the Mountain

By the time I reached the fire, Cap an' Brandy were just finishing up. Cap glanced over at me, and I said, "We've got neighbors." "I seen some tracks," Cap said.

"How many?" "Four, looked like. Shod horses. Big horses, like you find up here in the north where you have to buck snow in the wintertime." "There's no way we're going to hide eleven hundred head of cattle," I said, "but we won't start westerin' for a bit. Come daybreak, we'll hold on the North Star." "Back in Texas," Cap said, "when night came, we used to line up a wagon tongue on the North Star. Use it for a pointer." Lin handed me a tin plate full of beans and beef, and

took a look at Brandy. He was settin' quiet, almighty serious for a boy his years.

"You havin' any trouble?" I asked him.

He gave me a quick look. "No, not really." "Stand clear if you can," I said. "That's a mean lot." "I can take care of myself." "I don't doubt it. But right now I need every man, need 'em bad. Once we hook up with Orrin, it may be some better, but we don't know. Understand, I'm not puttin' any stake rope on you. A man just has to go his own way." Brandy went out to throw his saddle on a fresh horse, and Cap looked up from his coffee.

"He's makin' a fair hand, Tell, and he's got the makin's." Well, I knew that. Trouble was I had to walk almighty careful not to step on his pride.

No matter how rough it was, a man has to saddle his own broncs in this western country.

Only I was afraid Brandy was goin' to have to tackle the big one before he'd whupped anybody his own size. It didn't seem fair, but then, a lot of things aren't. We take them as they come.

If I was around-- But who knew if I would be?

The Ox looked fat, but he wasn't. He was just heavy with bone and muscle, and his broad, hard-boned face looked like it had been carved from oak. He was a man of tremendous strength, with thick arms, massive forearms, and powerful hands.

He gave me the feeling of a man who has never seen anything he couldn't lift or any man who could even test him.

I said as much to Tyrel. "Gilcrist told me he'd seen him break a man's back just wrasslin' for fun." "I don't think he ever did anything just for fun," I said.

Tyrel nodded. "You be careful, Tell. That Ox ain't human. He's a brute." "I want no part of him," I replied.

On most cow outfits, a man stands night guard about two hours at a time, but we were short-handed and in wild country. The Ox and Gilcrist were going to be on from six to ten, Cap and Brandy would take over from ten until two, with Tyrel and me closing out until morning when one of us would come in, get the fire started, and awaken Lin so's he could fix breakfast.

If we were going to be attacked by Indians, it would most likely occur just before daybreak, but nobody has any certainty of any such thing.

When Cap touched me on the shoulder, it was just shy of two, and I was up, tugging on my boots.

Under a tree about thirty yards away, Tyrel was already on his feet. We made it a rule to sleep apart, so if somebody closed in on one of us, the other could outflank them. There were those who thought we'd be better off side by side, but we figured otherwise. Too easy for one man to hold a gun on us both.

All was quiet, the cattle resting. The stars were bright, here and there blotted by clouds. A body could see the darkness of the trees, the lumped bodies of the cattle, and hear the footfalls of a horse as it moved.

It was past three, closing in on four o'clock before it started to grow gray. The line-back dun was moving like a ghost toward a meeting with Tyrel.

Suddenly, the dun's head came up, ears pricked. My Winchester slid into my hands, and at that moment I saw Tyrel.

He was sitting quiet in the saddle, his hands on his thighs, reins in the left hand.

Facing him were four Sioux warriors.

Chapter V

Now I'd lay a hundred to one those Injuns had never seen a fast draw, but if one of them lifted a weapon, it would be the last thing they ever did see.

At that range, there was just no way he was going to miss, and that meant he would take out two for sure, and likely he'd get three. Time and again, I've seen him fire, and men would swear he'd fired once when actually he'd fired twice and both bullets in a spot the size of a two-bit piece.

They'd never seen a fast draw, but they were fighting men, and there was something about him, just a-settin' there quiet with his hand on his thigh that warned them they'd treed a bad one.

Their eyes were riveted on him, so I was within fifty feet and moving in before they saw me, and I was on their flank.

"Something wrong, Tyrel?" I asked.

He never turned his head, but he spoke easy. "Looks like I was about to find out." One big Indian turned his pony to face me, and the minute he did, I recognized him.

"Ho! I see my old friend, High-Backed Bull!" I said.

He looked to be as tall as my six feet and four inches, and he was heavier, but a lean, powerful man. He was darker than most, with high cheekbones and a Roman nose. He stared at me.

"I have no friend who is white eyes," he said.

Me, I pushed my hat brim back so's he could see my face a little better. "You and me, Bull, we had a nice run together. That was years back, down on the Bozeman Trail.

"You were a mighty strong man," I added, "a big warrior." I doubled my biceps and clapped a hand to it, then pointed at his. "Much strong!" I said. "Run very fast." He peered at me. "Sack-ETT!" he shouted. "You Sack-ETT!" I grinned at him. "Long time back, Bull!" Now I knew he had no liking for me. He'd tried to kill me then, not from any hatred of me but simply because I was a white man driving cattle over the Bozeman Trail, which the Sioux had closed to us. They'd caught me, stripped me, and had me set to run the gauntlet, only I'd started before they were ready and had broken free, taking off across the country.

John Coulter had done it one time, and maybe there was a chance.

They came after me, the whole lot of them, only I'd been running in the mountains since I was a youngster, and I began putting distance between us.

All but this one, the one they called High-Backed Bull. Soon it was just the two of us, him and me, and a good mile off from the rest, and he throwed a spear at me.

It missed by a hair, and then he closed in on me, running fast. Dropping suddenly, he spilled right over me, and he was up, quick as a cat, but I was up, too, and when he come at me, I throwed him with a rolling hip lock as pa had showed me long ago. I throwed him, all right, and throwed him hard. He hit the ground, and I grabbed up his spear and was about to stick him with it.

He'd been stunned by the shock of hitting the ground, just for a moment, like. He stared up at me, and he was such a fine-lookin' man, I just couldn't do it. I just broke the spear across my knee, threw down the pieces, and I taken out across country.

Some of the Injuns had gone back for ponies, and they were coming at me when I made the trees atop a knoll. They come up, a-runnin', and I scrooched down behind a bush, and when this rider paused to swing his pony between two trees, I hit him across the small of the back with a thick branch I'd picked up.

It knocked him forward and off balance, and in a moment I was jerkin' him off the pony and swingin' to its back.

We ran those ponies, me ahead and them after me, until the sun went down, but I'd circled around and came back to where my outfit was camped.

I went through patches of woods, across plains, down rocky draws, and finally I seen ol' Tilson's high-top sombrero against the sky, and I called out, "Don't shoot, Til! It's me! Sackett!" Well, they'd give me up for dead. Two days the Injuns had me, and there'd been a third day of gettin' away from them.

"Where the hell you been? We're short-handed enough," Til said, "'thout you taken off a Sundayin' around over the hills whilst the rest of us work." "I was took by Injuns," I said.