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Chapter 6

Lonely On The Mountain

The Sacketts — Book 14

CHAPTER SIX

Orrin Sackett boarded the stage at St. Cloud. Two women were already seated, a short, stout woman with a florid complexion and a young, quite pretty girl in an expensive traveling suit. Seating himself in a corner, Orrin watched the others as they got aboard.
There were three. The first was a square-shouldered, strongly built man in a dark, tailored suit with a carefully trimmed beard. He was followed by two men, roughly dressed and armed with pistols under their coats and rifles in their hands. Scarcely were they seated when, with a pistol-like crack of the whip, they were off.
The man with the trimmed beard glanced at him. Orrin knew he presented a good appearance in his planter's hat, his dark gray frock coat, and trousers of a lighter gray, his dark green vest sporting a fine gold watch chain.
"Fort Abercrombie?" The man asked. "Or are you going further?"
"Fort Garry," Orrin replied. "Or possibly only to Pembina."
"My destination, also. From Georgetown to the steamboat you may have to provide your own transportation. The stage often goes no further than Georgetown. Much depends on the condition of the roads and the disposition of the driver. And, I might add, on the mosquitoes."
Orrin lifted an eyebrow. "The mosquitoes?"
"If you have not heard of them, be warned. They are unlike any mosquitoes you will have seen. At least in number. Leave an animal tied out all night and by morning it may be dead. I am serious, sir."
"But what do you do?"
"Stay inside after sundown. Build smudges if you're out. Sleep under mosquito netting. They'll still get you, but you can live with them."
The young girl twisted her lips, obviously disturbed. The two men showed no concern, as if the story were familiar to them, but what was wrong about them? He did not wish to stare at them, but there was something, some little thing that disturbed him.
It was not that they were armed. He carried his own pistol in its holster and another, a derringer, in his vest pocket. His rifle was in the blanket roll in the boot. The man with the beard was also armed with a small pistol. Very likely, the women were also, although a woman could, in most cases, travel anywhere in the West in complete safety.
It was not that the two were roughly dressed that disturbed him. He had dressed no better, if as well, for the better part of his life, and in the West men wore whatever was available or what they could afford. Over half the greatcoats one saw were army issue, either blue or gray, and a good number of the hats came from the same source. Yet somehow these men seemed different. Their clothing did not seem to belong to them. They were old clothes and should have been comfortable, but neither man wore them with ease.
"You have been to Fort Garry before? And Pembina?"
The man with the trimmed beard nodded. "Several times, although I am not sure what my welcome will be like this time." He glanced at Orrin again. "They aren't very friendly to outsiders right now."
"What's the problem?"
"They've had an influx of outsiders. Some of them from Ontario but many from the States. Some are land grabbers, some are promoters. You see, when the Bay Company moved out, they left the country, Rupert's Land, they call it, high and dry and without a government."
He paused, peering from the window. The stage was slowing for a bad place in the road. "The mйtis, the French-Indian people who formerly worked for the company, have lived on their land for several generations. Now, suddenly, there's a question of title. The newcomers say the mйtis own nothing at all.
"Louis Riel has returned from Montreal and is reported to be forming a provisional government. I have met the man but once, in passing, and know nothing about him."
"He's a breed," one of the other men spoke suddenly. "He's part Indian."
His manner of speaking made the statement an accusation, and Orrin said mildly, "Could be in his favor. I've dealt with Indians. They know the country, and some of them are wise men."
The man was about to reply, but seeing the way the conversation was going, the man with the trimmed beard thrust out his hand. "I am Kyle Gavin, and a Scotsman, although I've spent a deal of time in both your country and Canada. We may be of service to each other."
"I am Orrin Sackett, of Tennessee. I have been practicing law in New Mexico and Colorado."
At the name, both the other men glanced up sharply, first at him, and then they exchanged a glance.
Darkness was crowding into the thick brash and trees along the trail, leaning in long shadows across the trail itself. Atop a small hill where some wind was felt, the stage pulled up, and the driver descended.
"I'd sit tight if I was you," he warned. "Keep as many mosquitoes out as you can. I'm lightin' the carriage lamps."
He did so, and then they moved on into the darkness. "There will be food at the next stop," Gavin commented. "I'd advise all to eat The night will be long."
The road was a mere trace through towering trees, then across open prairies dotted with clumps of brush. Trees had been cut down, but the stumps remained, and occasionally a wheel would hit one of the stumps with a bone-jolting shock. There were strips of corduroy road across marshes, made by laying logs crosswise and covering them with brush and mud.
Inside the coach, all was dark. Orrin removed his hat and leaned his head back against the cushion. In that way, he could doze fitfully, jarred into wakeful-ness by getting a sharp rap on the skull when the stage passed a bad bump.
After a long time of endless bumping, jolting, and crackings of the whip, a bit of light flickered across his vision. He opened his eyes and, lifting the corner of the curtain, peered out. They had come to a settlement, and only a minute or two later the stage pulled up before a low-roofed building of logs.
The door opened and the stage driver said, "Grub on the table! Better eat up!"
Kyle Gavin got down and turned to offer his hand to the ladies, but the two other men pushed by him and stumbled toward the door.
Exasperated, he started to speak, but Orrin spoke first. "Let them go. It isn't worth the trouble." He waited until both women had been helped to the ground, then said, "Please, let me apologize. Western men are usually thoughtful of womenfolk."
"Thank you, young man," the older woman said. "I live west. I know what the men are like. Those two, they're trouble. I seen it when they got on."
Orrin escorted the two women to the one table, and several men promptly got to their feet, plates in hand. "Set here, ma'am," one of them said.
One of the others turned toward a harried man standing over a stove. "Joe? We've a couple of ladies."
"Yes, sir! Ma'am! Be right there."
Orrin glanced around the room. Several wagons were pulled up outside and at least three saddle horses.
He saw no one whom he knew, but that was expected, for this was new country to him. Yet he searched the faces of the men. Some would be going on to Pembina or Fort Garry, and he badly needed at least two good men.
One was a short, stocky man with a thick neck and a bristle of tight blond curly hair atop his head. There was a deep dentlike scar under his cheekbone. He was one of those who had arisen quickly when he saw the women. He stood to one side now, plate in hand.
"How's the food?" Orrin asked.
The short man threw him a quick, measuring glance. "I've et worse. Matter of fact, it ain't bad."
"Cowhand?"
Shorty shrugged. "Whatever it takes to get the coon. I been a cowhand. I been a timber stiff, too, an' I've driven freight here and there."
"At Pembina or maybe Fort Garry, I'll need a couple of men. A couple who can handle cattle, drive a team, and make a fight if that's necessary."
"Where you goin'?"
"West, through the mountains. They call it British Columbia. I'll pay thirty a month, and the grab's good."
Shorty finished his food. "If you're eatin', you better get up there," he advised. "They don't set no second table."
Orrin Sackett moved up to the table and found a place near the girl who was traveling with them. Passing her a platter of beans and rice, he said, "If there is anything I can do, you have only to ask."
"Thank you."
As she did not seem disposed to talk, he said nothing more but finished his eating and went outside. The two men with rifles were standing near the stage in deep conversation with a third man, pants tacked into his boots, a battered hat pulled low so little of his face could be seen.
Kyle Gavin strolled over and stood near. "Those men," Gavin commented, "something about them worries me."
"It's the clothes," Orrin replied. "The men don't look like they belonged in them."
"You mean a disguise?"
Orrin shrugged. "Maybe, or maybe just trying to fit into the country." Then he added, "They handle the rifles like they were used to them, though."
The stage rolled on, and again Orrin slept fitfully. Where were Tell and Tyrel? The letter received in St. Paul had stated only that their route would be up the valley of the James, and if they reached the Turtle Mountains first, they would proceed westward, leaving some indication behind.
They were going into wild country, a land unknown to them. Even now, they would be somewhere in Dakota, the land of the Sioux, a fierce, conquering people who had moved westward from their homeland along the Wisconsin-Minnesota boarder to conquer all of North and South Dakota, much of Montana, Wyoming, and Nebraska, an area larger than the empire of Charlemagne.
This land through which they traveled was that which divided the waters flowing south toward the Gulf of Mexico from those flowing north toward Hudson's Bay. There were many lakes, for this was the fabled "land of the sky-blue water," and soon they would be descending into the valley of the Red River of the north.
Orrin awakened suddenly, feeling a head on his shoulder. It was the young lady, who had fallen asleep and gradually let her head fall on his convenient shoulder. He held very still, not wishing to disturb her.
The coach was very dark inside, and he could see little but the gleam of light on the rifle barrels and light where the coach lamps let a glow in through a crack in the curtains. All the rest seemed asleep.
He was about to doze once more when he heard a drum of hoofs on the road behind them. Someone, a fast rider, was overtaking the coach. Carefully, he put his fingers on the butt of his six-shooter, listening.
He heard the rider come alongside and lifted the corner of the curtain but could see nothing, as the rider had already passed too far forward. The stage slowed, and he could hear conversation between the rider and the driver but could distinguish no words.
After a moment, he heard the rider go on, listened to the fading sound of hoof beats, but the stage continued at the slower pace.
A long time later, daylight began filtering through the curtains, and suddenly the girl beside him awakened. She sat up with a start, embarrassed.
"Oh! Oh, I am so sorry!" She spoke softly so as not to disturb the others. "I had no idea!"
"Please do not worry about it, ma'am," Orrin said. "My shoulder's never been put to better purpose."
She tucked away a wisp of hair. Her eyes were brown, and her hair, which was thick and lovely, was a kind of reddish-brown. He suddenly decided that was the best shade for hair, quite the most attractive he'd seen.
He straightened his cravat and longed for a shave. The stubble must be showing. He touched his cheek. Yes, it was He touched his carefully trimmed black moustache.
Kyle Gavin was awake and watching him with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Orrin flushed.
He thought again of the short, blond man he had seen at the first stage stop. He looked to be a good man, and it might be hard to find men with all this Riel affair muddying up the waters.
Shorty had looked like the kind who would finish anything he started, and that was the kind of man they would need.
Orrin looked over at Gavin. "What about this Riel affair? What's going to happen?"
"Your guess is as good as mine. The Canadians are sending an army out, but that country north of the lakes is very rugged. We've heard some soldiers were lost. Forty of them, according to one story."
"If Riel wanted to make a fight of it," Orrin suggested, "he could defend some of the narrow rivers through which the army must come. Certainly, with all the woodsmen he would have at his command, that would be simple enough."
"That isn't my understanding," Gavin said. "I was under the impression he wished only to establish a temporary government until the Canadians could take over. But no matter what, we're arriving at a bad time. You, especially, if you want to get men or supplies. What supplies Riel doesn't have, the army will need. You'd better move fast."
"You'll find no men in Fort Garry" — one of the other men spoke up suddenly — "nor any supplies, either. They won't welcome strangers."
"Then you're arriving at a bad time," Orrin suggested, smiling, "aren't you?"
The man stared at him. "Maybe it'll be a bad time for you. I've got friends."
Orrin smiled. "Yes," he said gently, "I suppose everyone has one or two."

Chapter 6

Lonely On The Mountain

The Sacketts — Book 14

CHAPTER SIX

Orrin Sackett boarded the stage at St. Cloud. Two women were already seated, a short, stout woman with a florid complexion and a young, quite pretty girl in an expensive traveling suit. Seating himself in a corner, Orrin watched the others as they got aboard.
There were three. The first was a square-shouldered, strongly built man in a dark, tailored suit with a carefully trimmed beard. He was followed by two men, roughly dressed and armed with pistols under their coats and rifles in their hands. Scarcely were they seated when, with a pistol-like crack of the whip, they were off.
The man with the trimmed beard glanced at him. Orrin knew he presented a good appearance in his planter's hat, his dark gray frock coat, and trousers of a lighter gray, his dark green vest sporting a fine gold watch chain.
"Fort Abercrombie?" The man asked. "Or are you going further?"
"Fort Garry," Orrin replied. "Or possibly only to Pembina."
"My destination, also. From Georgetown to the steamboat you may have to provide your own transportation. The stage often goes no further than Georgetown. Much depends on the condition of the roads and the disposition of the driver. And, I might add, on the mosquitoes."
Orrin lifted an eyebrow. "The mosquitoes?"
"If you have not heard of them, be warned. They are unlike any mosquitoes you will have seen. At least in number. Leave an animal tied out all night and by morning it may be dead. I am serious, sir."
"But what do you do?"
"Stay inside after sundown. Build smudges if you're out. Sleep under mosquito netting. They'll still get you, but you can live with them."
The young girl twisted her lips, obviously disturbed. The two men showed no concern, as if the story were familiar to them, but what was wrong about them? He did not wish to stare at them, but there was something, some little thing that disturbed him.
It was not that they were armed. He carried his own pistol in its holster and another, a derringer, in his vest pocket. His rifle was in the blanket roll in the boot. The man with the beard was also armed with a small pistol. Very likely, the women were also, although a woman could, in most cases, travel anywhere in the West in complete safety.
It was not that the two were roughly dressed that disturbed him. He had dressed no better, if as well, for the better part of his life, and in the West men wore whatever was available or what they could afford. Over half the greatcoats one saw were army issue, either blue or gray, and a good number of the hats came from the same source. Yet somehow these men seemed different. Their clothing did not seem to belong to them. They were old clothes and should have been comfortable, but neither man wore them with ease.
"You have been to Fort Garry before? And Pembina?"
The man with the trimmed beard nodded. "Several times, although I am not sure what my welcome will be like this time." He glanced at Orrin again. "They aren't very friendly to outsiders right now."
"What's the problem?"
"They've had an influx of outsiders. Some of them from Ontario but many from the States. Some are land grabbers, some are promoters. You see, when the Bay Company moved out, they left the country, Rupert's Land, they call it, high and dry and without a government."
He paused, peering from the window. The stage was slowing for a bad place in the road. "The mйtis, the French-Indian people who formerly worked for the company, have lived on their land for several generations. Now, suddenly, there's a question of title. The newcomers say the mйtis own nothing at all.
"Louis Riel has returned from Montreal and is reported to be forming a provisional government. I have met the man but once, in passing, and know nothing about him."
"He's a breed," one of the other men spoke suddenly. "He's part Indian."
His manner of speaking made the statement an accusation, and Orrin said mildly, "Could be in his favor. I've dealt with Indians. They know the country, and some of them are wise men."
The man was about to reply, but seeing the way the conversation was going, the man with the trimmed beard thrust out his hand. "I am Kyle Gavin, and a Scotsman, although I've spent a deal of time in both your country and Canada. We may be of service to each other."
"I am Orrin Sackett, of Tennessee. I have been practicing law in New Mexico and Colorado."
At the name, both the other men glanced up sharply, first at him, and then they exchanged a glance.
Darkness was crowding into the thick brash and trees along the trail, leaning in long shadows across the trail itself. Atop a small hill where some wind was felt, the stage pulled up, and the driver descended.
"I'd sit tight if I was you," he warned. "Keep as many mosquitoes out as you can. I'm lightin' the carriage lamps."
He did so, and then they moved on into the darkness. "There will be food at the next stop," Gavin commented. "I'd advise all to eat The night will be long."
The road was a mere trace through towering trees, then across open prairies dotted with clumps of brush. Trees had been cut down, but the stumps remained, and occasionally a wheel would hit one of the stumps with a bone-jolting shock. There were strips of corduroy road across marshes, made by laying logs crosswise and covering them with brush and mud.
Inside the coach, all was dark. Orrin removed his hat and leaned his head back against the cushion. In that way, he could doze fitfully, jarred into wakeful-ness by getting a sharp rap on the skull when the stage passed a bad bump.
After a long time of endless bumping, jolting, and crackings of the whip, a bit of light flickered across his vision. He opened his eyes and, lifting the corner of the curtain, peered out. They had come to a settlement, and only a minute or two later the stage pulled up before a low-roofed building of logs.
The door opened and the stage driver said, "Grub on the table! Better eat up!"
Kyle Gavin got down and turned to offer his hand to the ladies, but the two other men pushed by him and stumbled toward the door.
Exasperated, he started to speak, but Orrin spoke first. "Let them go. It isn't worth the trouble." He waited until both women had been helped to the ground, then said, "Please, let me apologize. Western men are usually thoughtful of womenfolk."
"Thank you, young man," the older woman said. "I live west. I know what the men are like. Those two, they're trouble. I seen it when they got on."
Orrin escorted the two women to the one table, and several men promptly got to their feet, plates in hand. "Set here, ma'am," one of them said.
One of the others turned toward a harried man standing over a stove. "Joe? We've a couple of ladies."
"Yes, sir! Ma'am! Be right there."
Orrin glanced around the room. Several wagons were pulled up outside and at least three saddle horses.
He saw no one whom he knew, but that was expected, for this was new country to him. Yet he searched the faces of the men. Some would be going on to Pembina or Fort Garry, and he badly needed at least two good men.
One was a short, stocky man with a thick neck and a bristle of tight blond curly hair atop his head. There was a deep dentlike scar under his cheekbone. He was one of those who had arisen quickly when he saw the women. He stood to one side now, plate in hand.
"How's the food?" Orrin asked.
The short man threw him a quick, measuring glance. "I've et worse. Matter of fact, it ain't bad."
"Cowhand?"
Shorty shrugged. "Whatever it takes to get the coon. I been a cowhand. I been a timber stiff, too, an' I've driven freight here and there."
"At Pembina or maybe Fort Garry, I'll need a couple of men. A couple who can handle cattle, drive a team, and make a fight if that's necessary."
"Where you goin'?"
"West, through the mountains. They call it British Columbia. I'll pay thirty a month, and the grab's good."
Shorty finished his food. "If you're eatin', you better get up there," he advised. "They don't set no second table."
Orrin Sackett moved up to the table and found a place near the girl who was traveling with them. Passing her a platter of beans and rice, he said, "If there is anything I can do, you have only to ask."
"Thank you."
As she did not seem disposed to talk, he said nothing more but finished his eating and went outside. The two men with rifles were standing near the stage in deep conversation with a third man, pants tacked into his boots, a battered hat pulled low so little of his face could be seen.
Kyle Gavin strolled over and stood near. "Those men," Gavin commented, "something about them worries me."
"It's the clothes," Orrin replied. "The men don't look like they belonged in them."
"You mean a disguise?"
Orrin shrugged. "Maybe, or maybe just trying to fit into the country." Then he added, "They handle the rifles like they were used to them, though."
The stage rolled on, and again Orrin slept fitfully. Where were Tell and Tyrel? The letter received in St. Paul had stated only that their route would be up the valley of the James, and if they reached the Turtle Mountains first, they would proceed westward, leaving some indication behind.
They were going into wild country, a land unknown to them. Even now, they would be somewhere in Dakota, the land of the Sioux, a fierce, conquering people who had moved westward from their homeland along the Wisconsin-Minnesota boarder to conquer all of North and South Dakota, much of Montana, Wyoming, and Nebraska, an area larger than the empire of Charlemagne.
This land through which they traveled was that which divided the waters flowing south toward the Gulf of Mexico from those flowing north toward Hudson's Bay. There were many lakes, for this was the fabled "land of the sky-blue water," and soon they would be descending into the valley of the Red River of the north.
Orrin awakened suddenly, feeling a head on his shoulder. It was the young lady, who had fallen asleep and gradually let her head fall on his convenient shoulder. He held very still, not wishing to disturb her.
The coach was very dark inside, and he could see little but the gleam of light on the rifle barrels and light where the coach lamps let a glow in through a crack in the curtains. All the rest seemed asleep.
He was about to doze once more when he heard a drum of hoofs on the road behind them. Someone, a fast rider, was overtaking the coach. Carefully, he put his fingers on the butt of his six-shooter, listening.
He heard the rider come alongside and lifted the corner of the curtain but could see nothing, as the rider had already passed too far forward. The stage slowed, and he could hear conversation between the rider and the driver but could distinguish no words.
After a moment, he heard the rider go on, listened to the fading sound of hoof beats, but the stage continued at the slower pace.
A long time later, daylight began filtering through the curtains, and suddenly the girl beside him awakened. She sat up with a start, embarrassed.
"Oh! Oh, I am so sorry!" She spoke softly so as not to disturb the others. "I had no idea!"
"Please do not worry about it, ma'am," Orrin said. "My shoulder's never been put to better purpose."
She tucked away a wisp of hair. Her eyes were brown, and her hair, which was thick and lovely, was a kind of reddish-brown. He suddenly decided that was the best shade for hair, quite the most attractive he'd seen.
He straightened his cravat and longed for a shave. The stubble must be showing. He touched his cheek. Yes, it was He touched his carefully trimmed black moustache.
Kyle Gavin was awake and watching him with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Orrin flushed.
He thought again of the short, blond man he had seen at the first stage stop. He looked to be a good man, and it might be hard to find men with all this Riel affair muddying up the waters.
Shorty had looked like the kind who would finish anything he started, and that was the kind of man they would need.
Orrin looked over at Gavin. "What about this Riel affair? What's going to happen?"
"Your guess is as good as mine. The Canadians are sending an army out, but that country north of the lakes is very rugged. We've heard some soldiers were lost. Forty of them, according to one story."
"If Riel wanted to make a fight of it," Orrin suggested, "he could defend some of the narrow rivers through which the army must come. Certainly, with all the woodsmen he would have at his command, that would be simple enough."
"That isn't my understanding," Gavin said. "I was under the impression he wished only to establish a temporary government until the Canadians could take over. But no matter what, we're arriving at a bad time. You, especially, if you want to get men or supplies. What supplies Riel doesn't have, the army will need. You'd better move fast."
"You'll find no men in Fort Garry" — one of the other men spoke up suddenly — "nor any supplies, either. They won't welcome strangers."
"Then you're arriving at a bad time," Orrin suggested, smiling, "aren't you?"
The man stared at him. "Maybe it'll be a bad time for you. I've got friends."
Orrin smiled. "Yes," he said gently, "I suppose everyone has one or two."