War Of The Mountain Man

They were too late, of course. It was miles to the collection of farmhouses and barns and other outbuildings. Brown had been completely burned out. Gatewood lost his house, but the other buildings were intact. Cooter lost his barn and smokehouse. Bolen’s house was gone, and Morrison and Carson lost barns and equipment. All the farmers’ cows and hogs had been shot, the chickens scattered and trampled.

“Goddamn a man who would do this!” Brown said. He squared his shoulders and added, “That sorry son will not run me out. We’ll rebuild.”

“And well help you,” Tom Johnson said.

“Your credit is good at my store,” Marbly said. “For as long as it takes.”

“I have money put back,” Judge Garrison told the farmers. “I’m good for loans.”

Sally and Victoria had ridden out in a buggy. Sally said, “Smoke, I’m going to wire our family’s board of directors back east. I think it’s time Barlow had a bank. I’ll get the first steps in motion this afternoon.”

Smoke turned and smiled at her. “Good, honey. That’s a great idea.”

“Your wife owns a bank?” Marbly asked.

“Her family is one of the richest families in the nation,” Smoke told the startled crowd. “They own factories, banks, shipping lines, railroads ... you name it. If Sally says put a bank in Barlow, a bank will be put in Barlow.” He turned to Jim Dagonne. “Let’s go pick up some tracks and see where they lead to. As if we didn’t know.”

But the direction the marauders took did not lead toward Hell’s Creek. They went north for a couple of miles, then cut toward the northeast, toward the flathead range and the glacier country.

“What’s up there, Jim?”

“Man, that is rugged country. I understand they’s talk in Washington about making a big chunk of it a national park. It’s about a million or so acres. And the weather is unpredictable as hell. Storms can blow in there—even in the summer, so I’m told—dropping temperatures fifty ... sixty degrees. They’s mountains in there over two miles high and impassable.”

“You’ve been in there?”

“I’ve been on the edge of it several times. Continental Divide runs right through it.”

“Anything between here and there?”

“Tradin’ post of sorts up ahead on the Hungry Horse. Some pretty salty ol’ boys hang around there.”

Smoke nodded. “We’ll follow these tracks as long as we can. We’ll supply at the post. The nick in that shoe is a dead giveaway. That’ll hold up in court.”

“You plan on bringing them back?”

“Not if I can help it.”

The country was so rugged and unsettled that the men could not make the trading post that day. They camped along a creek and dined on fresh fish caught with their hands, Indian style.

“Where’d you learn how to do that?” Jim asked after watching Smoke catch their supper by hand.

“I was raised by mountain men, Jim. A very independent and self-sufficient bunch.”

“I’ve met a couple of real old men who was mountain men. I saw something in their eyes that made me back off and talk right respectful to them.”

“Wise thing to do. A mountain man isn’t going to take much crap from anybody.”

They ate until they could hold no more, then rolled up in their blankets, using saddles for pillows, and were up before dawn, making coffee and talking little until they’d shaken the kinks out and had a cup of coffee you could float nails in.

“Who runs this trading post?” Smoke finally asked.

“Don’t know no more. Man by the name of Smith used to run it. He might still. Smith ain’t his real name. He’s a bad one. Have to be bad to run a place like that. Got him a graveyard out back of hard cases who tried to steal from him or brace him over one thing or another.”

“Fast gun?”

“Nope. Sawed-off shotgun. And he don’t hesitate none in usin’ it, neither. He’s got the worst whiskey you ever tried to drink. I think he adds snake heads to it for flavor. And I ain’t kiddin’.”

“I think I’ll stick with beer.”

“That would be wise.”

They rolled their blankets in their ground sheets and were in the saddle as the sun was struggling to push its rays over the mountains.

They followed the tracks, and they led straight to the trading post on the north fork of the Flathead River. Both men had taken off their badges, had dusty clothing from the trail, and had not shaved that morning. Both of them had heavy beards, so they were beginning to look a little rough around the edges.

“If Smith is still here, is he going to recognize you?” Smoke asked.

“Probably. But he ain’t gonna say nothing except howdy, ’til he figures out what I might be up to. How are we going to play this?”

“You just follow my lead.”

“I’s afraid you was gonna say that.”

The men put their horses in the big barn behind the long, low trading post and unsaddled them, carefully rubbing them down and giving them a good bait of corn. 25 ceents a skoop, the sign said.

“Yep,” Jim said. “Smith is still here. You ever seen such outrageous prices?”

“It’s the only game in town, partner.”

“You called that right.”

Smoke lifted the right rear hoof of each animal until he found the one with the chipped shoe. He smiled up at Jim. “We found our man.”