Ride the High Range Page 3

  Outside in the moonlit barnyard, Jim paused to look at the guard sleeping peacefully by the door while Johnny carefully closed the door and slid the bolt back to lock it. Then motioning to Jim to follow, he led him around behind the smokehouse and across a field. Once on the other side of the field, they headed toward the river where Jim could see the dark forms of horses in the trees. It was not until they had reached the riverbank that Johnny spoke again to the mystified boy following him. “Well, I reckon it’s up to you, but you can stick with me if you’re of a mind to,” he said. “I got you some things you’ll be needin’—a horse and a rifle, some cartridges.”

  “Mister, I don’t know how to thank you, and I reckon I don’t know why you did it,” Jim said. “I thought you rode scout for the army.”

  “I did,” Johnny replied, “but there ain’t no doubt in my mind that you was tryin’ to warn them folks about that bunch of outlaws. Was I right?”

  “You were.”

  “Well, then, it don’t make no sense to haul you off to jail. And once them military courts got to hemmin’ and hawin’, they mighta decided to string you up. Hell, the war is over—don’t matter which side you fought for. It’s over and done.”

  “Well, sir, I ’preciate it. I surely do, and I’ll take you up on that offer to go with you, as long as it’s away from here.”

  “Not a’tall,” Johnny replied. “Come on, we’d best get ourselves goin’ then. Right now I expect we’d best ride till we get to a place where I can take a look at that wound again.” He started toward the trees and the horses. “I took the liberty of borrowin’ a horse from the army for you. I figure it didn’t belong to the army, anyway, so it ain’t like we stole it. We need to unload him first, though.”

  In the darkness among the trees, Jim had not noticed that the horse behind Johnny’s saddle horse and his pack animal had a body draped across the saddle. Johnny explained that there hadn’t been time to dump the body, saying that he was lucky just to be able to lead the horse away from the others without being caught. Leading the buckskin out into the moonlight, Jim could not help being startled when he recognized the corpse of Henry Butcher. After Johnny cut the rope tied under the buckskin’s belly, Jim took hold of Butcher′s feet and shoved him off on the ground, causing the horse to sidestep away from the falling body. To Jim’s way of thinking, it was a sign that the animal was expressing its contempt for the bully. Johnny waited for Jim to climb into the saddle, then turned his horse toward the river, heading for the other side.

  Chapter 2

  It struck Jim as ironic that he was now riding Henry Butcher′s horse, for he had always admired the buckskin for its strength and stamina, often putting his faithful old sorrel to shame when it came to long marches or difficult terrain. Butcher had often bragged about the buckskin, saying it had better bones and harder feet than other breeds. Accustomed to a cruel master, the horse seemed a bit nervous at first, as if unsure of what his new master required. Jim felt pleased for the horse, knowing that he would now be treated a great deal better than he had been in the past. It didn’t take long for the horse to realize it, and the two of them developed a partnership by the time Johnny picked a place to camp just before sunup.

  “Lemme get a fire built and some coffee made, and I’ll take a look at that hole in your shoulder,” Johnny said.

  Jim tried to help out as best he could with one hand, but about the most he could do was gather wood for the fire and water the horses. After that, he was reduced to sitting down and watching his rescuer go about cooking some breakfast for the two of them. He could not help being fascinated by the mysterious little man, dressed in animal skins as he fried up bacon and beans. When they had finished eating, and Johnny drained the last of the coffee, he was ready to examine the wound.

  “It’s swelled up a-plenty,” Johnny decided as he peered at the hole in Jim’s shoulder. “I expect it’s sore as hell.” Jim confirmed that and added that it was stiff as a board as well. “I reckon I’d best dig that bullet outta there, or it ain’t never gonna get well.”

  “Mister, I sure ’preciate everything you’re doin’ for me,” Jim finally stated. “What I ain’t been able to figure out is why.”

  Johnny laughed. “First off, quit callin’ me mister. My name’s Johnny Hawk, and to answer your question, I done told you why back there in the smokehouse. You just looked like you could use a hand. And it ’peared like I was the only one back there that believed you wasn’t leadin’ that gang of outlaws. Now let’s see if we can’t get that bullet outta your shoulder, ’cause I think you’ll feel a whole helluva lot better without it.” He started to sterilize his knife in the fire, but paused to ask, “What was your name, again?” He had already forgotten.

  “Jim Moran.”

  “Well, Jim Moran, this is gonna hurt like hell.”

  The operation didn’t take long because Johnny went after the bullet with a vengeance, figuring that it was better to get the pain over with as soon as possible. Luckily, it was not as deep as he had anticipated, but it would soon have begun to infect the tissue had he waited much longer. “I’ve knowed men to walk around all their lives with a chunk of lead in ’em,” he said, “and no bother at all. This’un looks like it wants to fester the muscle around it. It’s a good thing we’re diggin’ it outta there.” Throughout the procedure, the boy never made a sound, except for an involuntary grunt when the bullet was removed and Johnny cauterized the wound. The pain he experienced, however, was evident by the expression on his face. Johnny was impressed. “You’re a helluva man, Jim Moran, ’cause I know that hurt like a son of a bitch. But you oughta start feelin’ better pretty soon.”

  Now that the initial pain from Johnny Hawk’s none-too-gentle surgery was over, Jim was left with an aching in his shoulder, accompanied by the stinging of the cauterization. His discomfort must have been evident in his eyes, because Johnny suggested that they could both use a couple of hours’ sleep before climbing back in the saddle. Jim was grateful for the suggestion.

  While Jim was undergoing Johnny Hawk’s crude medical procedure, some fifteen miles behind them Lieutenant Carrington was scratching his head over the mystery of the missing prisoner. A few minutes earlier, he had sent Corporal Ellis to get the prisoner. Now he and the corporal were questioning the guard about the whereabouts of the wounded young man. “The door was still locked when I went to get him,” Ellis said, “but he wasn’t in there. I looked around the sides, but there ain’t no sign of him diggin’ out under the wall, and he didn’t go out the top.”

  Carrington just shook his head in disbelief. “When did you come on?” When the guard replied that it had been at four o’clock, Carrington asked, “Did you hear anything inside? Any noise that would let you know he was still in there?” The guard stated that all had been quiet, causing the lieutenant to curse and say, “So there’s no telling when he got out of there.”

  “You went to sleep, didn’t you?” Ellis accused.

  “No, I didn’t,” the guard protested. “Honest to God, Corporal, I was awake the whole time.”

  Carrington sent for the other men who had pulled guard duty during the night. None could report hearing any sounds from inside the smokehouse, and all swore they had not fallen asleep on their tour. The lieutenant knew at least one of them was lying, but there was no way to prove it. And since the door was still locked that morning, someone had to have walked past a sleeping guard and released the prisoner. It was impossible to know how much head start the boy had without knowing what time he had escaped. As for the boy’s accomplice, the first name that came to mind was Johnny Hawk, since he had tried to speak on the boy’s behalf. Another possibility was Esther Thompson, or one of her sons, since they had shown compassion for the prisoner. Giving the issue some hard thought, he had to conclude that Hawk had already left before evening, and he doubted the grizzled old scout cared enough to risk freeing the prisoner. That left the woman, and he knew there was little he could do if she denied it. To add fur
ther irritation to a morning that had already caused him undue frustration, a trooper came to report that one of the captive horses was missing along with the body that had been on it, so that told him that the fugitive was not on foot and probably miles away by now. A short time later, the missing body of Henry Butcher was discovered in the trees by the river.

  The decision to be made at this point was whether or not to try to go after the prisoner. I wish to hell Johnny Hawk had not left yesterday, he thought. I need him to track that boy. He thought it over for a long moment. His patrol was low on supplies, not prepared to extend the mission. And his objective had certainly been accomplished. He had effectively stopped the raiding by this band of bushwhackers and had the bodies to prove it; unfortunately one of the bodies was that of a soldier. Coming now to influence his decision, the weather was showing indications that the past few weeks of fair skies might be coming to an end. Clouds had been rolling in since early morning and he suspected they might soon see some snow. There was little value in questioning Esther Thompson, he decided. “To hell with it,” he said, and turned to Corporal Ellis. “Get the men mounted. We’re going back to Riley.” He couldn’t help wondering, however, when he saw Esther′s smiling face as she and her sons waved good-bye as the patrol passed out of the yard. In spite of his efforts to dismiss the incident in his mind, it would continue to plague his conscience.

  Although he had not slept at all during the preceding night, Jim was still unable to get more than a few minutes of fitful sleep owing to the discomfort of his wound. As a consequence, he was feeling tired and sore when Johnny stirred from his blankets, ready to ride. Lieutenant Carrington had permitted Jim to take his own blanket and a few personal items from the carcass of his sorrel, which he was thankful for, since the weather was turning colder.

  “We’ll run into some snow before noon,” Johnny predicted as he cast his blanket aside and replaced his .44 in its holster. When Jim seemed surprised to see he had slept with the revolver in his hand, he shrugged and commented, “Hell, I didn’t know how far I could trust you. You mighta had some ideas about goin’ on alone.”

  “That’d be a helluva way to thank you,” Jim said. Johnny never slept with his pistol under the blanket after that. The tone of the boy’s response was enough to assure him that he could trust him.

  As Johnny had predicted, a light snow began to fall as they left the river and angled more toward the northwest. By nightfall, there was a small accumulation of snow on the short grass plains when they reached a small stream bordered by a line of willow trees. “Don’t look like we’re gonna find anythin’ better before hard dark,” Johnny said. “Leastways we can pull some of these willows over to make us a shed.” After the horses were taken care of, he went to work bending several of the willows over and tying them together to make the framework. Next he unrolled a buffalo hide he carried on his packhorse and laid it over the willows to make a roof for his shed. In the meantime, Jim gathered enough sticks and branches to make a fire. Soon they were settled comfortably inside the makeshift hut enjoying a meal of boiled jerky, again courtesy of Johnny Hawk.

  “I reckon you’re wonderin’ how long I’m gonna tag along with you, eatin’ up all your supplies,” Jim suddenly commented.

  “The thought had struck me,” Johnny replied.

  “Some of the stiffness has already left my shoulder. I reckon I might be able to use it a little in a couple of days. I guess I could go on my own tomorrow and let you go about your business.”

  Johnny didn’t say anything for a moment while he studied the young man’s face. “Maybe you could,” he finally said, “but maybe we’d better wait till mornin’ and see how you saddle your horse with that lame shoulder.” Jim’s expression told him that he wasn’t confident in his ability to use the shoulder. “Say you do take off in the mornin’, where are you gonna go?”

  In fact, Jim had not given it any thought. He didn’t know what he was going to do or where he was heading. He just didn’t want to burden Johnny any further. “I don’t know,” he said. “There’s lots of places I ain’t seen yet.”

  Johnny continued to study his young companion. There was something about the boy that led Johnny to believe he was made of the right kind of iron, and he always fancied himself a good judge of character. After a moment, he spoke again. “Have you seen the Yellowstone? Or Big Timber? Three Forks? Or the Musselshell?”

  “Nossir, I reckon I ain’t.”

  “Well, that’s where I′m headin′—back to God’s country where there’s still game and fur for them that know how to find it. It’s a right tough country if you don’t know what you’re doin’—and I expect I could use a partner. Whaddaya say?”

  The invitation caught him by surprise, but there was no hesitation before he responded. “That suits me just fine—if you think you can put up with me,” Jim replied. It trumped any idea he might have had of his own, and he already liked the comical little man.

  Johnny extended his hand and they shook on it. “All right, Jim Moran . . .” He paused then. “I don’t know if they’ll still be lookin’ for you or not, but I’m sorry to say they know your name and they wanna hang you for the death of that soldier. So maybe you oughta use another name just to be safe, especially when we get to Fort Laramie. You think of any name you’d want?”

  The necessity of a name change had not occurred to Jim. He thought it over for a few moments while Johnny patiently waited. There was his mother′s maiden name, but he wasn’t inclined to recall that unpleasant period of his life. His father′s middle name was Percy, so that was out. Finally he replied that he couldn’t think of any alias at the moment.

  “Well, I’m gonna call you Rider, ’cause that’s where we hooked up, where Rider Creek empties into the Solomon River. All right with you?”

  “I don’t care,” Jim replied.

  It took a full week, maintaining a steady northwest course over grasslands blanketed with a six-inch snowfall, before the gaunt buildings of North Platte appeared in the distance. Located at the confluence of the North Platte and the South Platte rivers, the town had only a few permanent structures but appeared to show a bustling population since the last time Johnny Hawk had ridden through. They soon found out the reason.

  The Union Railroad had just recently completed their tracks to that point and the men that Jim and Johnny saw milling about were camped in tents along the tracks, preparing to push the line on to Ogallala in the spring.

  The change was not a welcome sight to Johnny, for he had planned to spend some time there to hunt buffalo and restock their food supply. With the railroad there, he could naturally expect a passel of buffalo hunters to feed the workers, and that meant the game was more than likely hard to find. “Damn,” he swore as he reined his horse up short to avoid running over a drunk who came staggering off the boardwalk in front of a saloon that hadn’t been there six months before. He peered down the short street, looking for the trading post where he had previously done business. It was still there, but now it had added a shed on the back. “Well, I reckon we can get some coffee beans and some salt. I swear, I’d like to have a little drink or two while we’ve got the chance.” Not waiting for Jim’s response, he stepped down from the saddle and led his horses up to the hitching rail.

  Inside the canvas walls of the tiny saloon, they found about a dozen patrons at various stages of drunkenness from near sober to near unconsciousness, the most part of them obviously railroad workers. Near the end of the bar, a trio of men were sharing a bottle of rye whiskey, and based on their loud talk and laughter, they had probably consumed all the alcohol missing from the bottle. They seemed not to notice the short, stocky man and the tall gangly boy when they stepped up to the bar. “I’m partial to corn whiskey,” Johnny said, standing only a head above the level of the bar.

  “I ain’t got no corn whiskey,” a bored bartender replied.

  “Then we’ll take what you’ve got,” Johnny responded cheerfully. “How ’bout it, Rider?” he s
aid, turning to Jim.

  “I reckon,” Jim responded, and the bartender filled two shot glasses.

  Jim tossed the fiery liquid back and set the empty glass on the bar. When Johnny did likewise, then motioned for a refill, Jim waved the bartender off. “One’s all I want,” he said. He had been drunk only once in his life, and he didn’t like the effect it had on his mind and body. As one who didn’t like not having complete control over his faculties and reflexes, he swore never to get drunk again.

  “Pour me another,” Johnny told the bartender. “It’s been a while since I found a saloon, so I need to do some catchin’ up.”

  Aware of the rough-hewn appearance of the crowd of men, Jim felt some concern for his and Johnny’s possessions outside on their horses. He had just gained the horse and an 1863 model Sharps carbine that had been converted to accept metal cartridges, and he wasn’t comfortable leaving them unguarded on the busy thoroughfare outside. “I think I’ll wait outside where I can keep an eye on the horses,” he told Johnny.

  “All right, partner, I’ll be along directly. I just want a couple more.”

  Sufficiently liquored up and looking for further entertainment, one of the three railroad men took notice of the stumpy little man at the bar. The sight was especially amusing to him, and he called his friends’ attention to what he figured would be a source of entertainment. They immediately responded with a howl of laughter. One of them, a large, heavy-built man with a drooping handlebar mustache, decided to take it further. “Hey, there, Shorty. Does your mama know you’re in here?” His remark brought the round of laughter he hoped for.

  Oblivious of the three men until that moment, Johnny turned his head unhurriedly to face the heckler. Having been the object of like remarks all of his life because of his short stature, he chose to ignore it, wanting simply to enjoy his whiskey. His reaction served to only encourage Mustache to further entertain his companions. He moved over closer to Johnny. “All dressed up in your little Injun suit. You wanna box to stand on so you can see over the bar?”