Philip Dampier's Blog

Shootout at the Spring

Episode Fourteen

Chad checked on Buck, making sure the tether rope was secure and long enough for the horse to move around if he needed to. He removed the bit from his horse’s mouth along with the harness and carried them back up to the fire area. A halter replaced the bridle, giving Buck a measure of comfort.

He took a small sack out of his possibles and stored all the jerky inside it and then moved the rack to one side. The snow had thickened again, and its depth between the stream and his rock face was now over three inches. At that point, neither the snow nor the wind showed any sign of letting up. Chad took his spurs off and put them and Buck’s bit under the edge of his bedroll. Both would now be warmer to handle when he went to use them the next morning.

Nancy

Nancy finished tidying up the small house even though it had had little use. She took a pencil from the chipped red cup on the small table next to her favorite chair and placed an X in the box on the calendar attached to the cabinet. Five more days, and I will know for sure. She wrote, “I need you.” It was the seventh day without Chad. Nancy put the pencil back and picked up a copy of Ladies Home Magazine from the same table. She had brought several old issues home from the hotel in hopes they would keep her mind occupied while dealing with the major question before her and also with Chad’s absence. The two things were tied together, actually.

She opened the magazine to a short story about life in Philadelphia and began to read. There were too many thoughts going through her head, and in spite of her efforts, she could not maintain her concentration on the magazine story. Her eyes wandered around the small room and its sparse furnishings. She remembered the day their steamboat had arrived in Fort Pierre.

Compared to Cumberland, it was not much of a town. There was a hotel, and here and there, small houses and stores were being built. She tried not to show her disappointment, but it was too obvious. She remembered the frown on Chad’s face. He had put her trunk down on the pier and said, “I’m sorry, Nancy, I should have prepared you for the fort. Someday, there will be a city here, I’m sure of it.”

“Where will we live?” she had asked.

He laughed, “Your favorite place, the hotel.”

“Oh, I see. I so looked forward to having my own house without neighbors listening through the walls.”

“Give me three months, and you’ll have a house, Nancy. I promised to take care of you, and I will.”

True, it was not much of a house, but it was theirs. Every month, Chad had taken part of his pay and put it on another piece of furniture. She was so proud of him. Where was he? Was he all right? Please, dear God in heaven, bring him back to me. My baby will need a father, and I need Chad so much. The magazine fell to the floor, and once again, the room was filled with sobs.

Chad woke to silence, except for the sound of the creek seeking lower elevation, trickling over rocks, and falling to the next level on and on down the mountainside. There came then the slightest hint of light. He looked up at the sky, and here and there, a star winked back. Daylight was coming, he could tell, but it would be slow in making a real difference in the thick growth of trees. Chad sat up and looked down at Buck, who began to shake the snow off of his back. His internal clock was active as well. Small white clouds escaped from each of Buck’s nostrils, giving notice of the air’s temperature.

Except for the small area by the creek that Buck had trampled, snow lay in various depths across the landscape, clinging to rocks and firs, bending small shrubs to the ground. Chad looked at his pile of wood. Hopefully, there were some dry pieces close to the bottom of the stack. A fire would be good to dry everything out, even if there were nothing to cook. He tested his own breath; it matched Buck’s. Some hot coffee would sure be good. He wouldn’t mind some flapjacks to go with the java. Deer jerky and creek water would have to do, and he knew he should be thankful for those.

Chad chewed the jerky while the small fire made an effort to dry his damp bedding. He had slept on his saddle blanket, and the oil slicker had kept him and the blanket mostly dry. He tied his spurs on and, held the bridle and bit near the flames just enough to take the cold out of them. He finished his second piece of jerky and took the tack down to where Buck was grazing. The lead and halter were removed, and the harness with the bit was installed. The wool blanket and saddle were next. Chad made sure he didn’t overtighten the cinch and restrict Buck’s breathing. He pulled the chest strap up and buckled it.

The rest of the tack was tossed on and secured. He checked the area where he had slept. The only signs of human occupancy were the scattered ashes and strewn needles. He mounted up, and he and Buck headed up the mountain along the edge of the creek, weaving in and out of the trees and shrubs. Every so often, they encountered a deep drift, but Buck was a large horse, so the snow proved no real obstacle to him.

The sun cleared the horizon enough to provide a little more light. Occasionally, it broke through the forest dome and turned the snow into dazzling lights. The small stream slowly narrowed as Chad and his horse picked their way up the mountainside toward its source. Chad couldn’t see the top of the mountain yet, but he knew he must be nearing the peak. This particular mountain had not seemed this tall when he approached it from the grassland.

The creek narrowed even more and then ceased to exist except as water seeping out of the bottom of a large outcropping of rocks. He turned Buck to the north and made his way around the large stone-faced cliff. There was not as much snow on the north side of the outcropping, and the going was easier. He kept his eyes moving, looking for some sign of Lance’s passing. He crossed a large rock shelf that the wind had cleared. Against the outcropping, he saw the signs of black smoke. As he drew nearer, he saw ashes and a few unburned but smoke-darkened limbs.

Chad dismounted and felt the large stone where the fire had been. The stone was warmer than the cold air. Lance wasn’t far ahead of him. He checked his revolver one more time. He remounted and urged Buck forward and around the stone face. The snow was deep on the western side, and the path Lance and his horse had made was easy to see. He wanted to hurry, but the thought of another ambush made him take a more cautious approach. He put Buck to a fast walk and, at the same time, eased the Spencer out of its scabbard.

Chad’s best guess was that he was five hundred feet from the summit. He determined that it would be advantageous if he could find Lance before Lance found the mountaintop and descended into the heavily forested western slope. The quiet was broken by the rising of a flock of birds from the tops of trees less than two hundred feet ahead of them. Using the racket the frightened birds made as cover, he moved Buck into a smooth trot.

Every few feet of elevation seemed to thin the trees until, like a drawn curtain, Lance and his horse appeared ahead of him.

“Halt, Lance! U.S. Marshal. You’re under arrest. Put your hands over your head, and don’t move anything,” Chad cried out.