Along The Fortune Trail (12 page)

One of the sawmill boys glanced back over his shoulder and saw the Twin T. boys trailing them. He elbowed one of the others, and a moment later all of the sawmill boys looked behind them. Knuckles was smiling at them.

Sammy and the tall man turned the corner at the end of the alley and were out of sight when the sawmill boys stopped. They turned to face Knuckles, Blaine, Bill, and Porter. The sawmill boys fanned out slightly with the saltiest looking one stepping out in front. “Where do you boys think you're goin’?”

Knuckles stopped directly in front of him. “That ain't none of yer business unless yer planning on helpin’ yer partner up there. Then we'll be doin’ business together.” Knuckles’ smile was a portrait of sarcasm.

“There's only an ass kickin’ waitin’ up there for you,” the leader said.

“Yeah?” Knuckles replied with mock fear. With lightening speed, Knuckles threw a thunderous punch to his abdomen. The leader crumpled to the ground. “Looks like the ass kickin’ was right here for you.”

A haymaker from the blind side caught Knuckles directly on the ear and sent him staggering into a fall on one knee. Stunned, and seeing stars flashing in twinkling bursts with sound fading in and out like some sort of bizarre storm, he rocked back and forth on one foot and one knee until his head cleared. He looked up to see where the punch had come from just in time to see the boot-kick coming at his head. Knuckles ducked and avoided a direct hit, then bounded to his feet as Blaine Corker threw a left hook that connected squarely on the boot master's chin. The man was limp on the way down.

Knuckles sensed another sucker punch coming from his right backside and wheeled hard, rocketing his right hand back in a flattening splat to the nose of the would-be thumper. The man stumbled back, putting both hands over his nose, the blood pouring into his hands and running between his fingers like a levee that had given way.

Knuckles swung his head around from side to side, wanting to avoid being further waylaid by anything he couldn't see coming. He saw Porter Loomis and Bill Lohmeyer slugging it out with a couple of the sawmill boys, and then he saw Sammy and the tall man. They had come back upon hearing the commotion and now appeared to be watching the show as spectators.

“Hey! Damn it! Stop that fightin’ now! And I mean right now!” Sheriff Ritter bellowed as he arrived, slightly out of breath and with one of his deputies in tow. The action ceased, and the men stood in the moonlight, bewildered like cattle after a stampede.

The sawmill boy who Blaine had hit was just coming to and was helped up by one of his friends. The man that Knuckles had backhanded had a handkerchief pressed to his nose. “What the hell is wrong with you boys?” Sheriff Ritter exclaimed with unrestrained puzzlement. “You're all hard workin’ young men with some time off. You oughta be laughin’ … getting’ to know each other … tellin’ stories … dancin’ with all those nice looking young gals instead of beatin’ the hell outta one another. What started this fracas anyhow?”

Some of the men shifted uncomfortably and looked around at one another in the dark. The big man finally spoke up. “This cowboy here didn't like me talkin’ to his girl. Wanted to make somethin’ of it.”

Sammy wasn't having any of it. “Ahh! This blowhard is spoutin’ bullshit. She didn't want to dance with him and he didn't wanna to hear it.”

Blaine cut in, “This bunch followed Sammy up the alley. Ain't exactly sportin’ odds, so me ‘n’ the boys here were just lookin’ after our own.”

“They was just comin’ to watch,” the tall man shot back.

“So was we,” Knuckles said. “Then these boys tried to stop us. We weren't lettin’ that happen.”

“Yeah, well if any of you start anything more, I'll lock the bunch of you up for a week. Now go on and get!”

The men began drifting back down the alley toward the dance. Bill Lohmeyer walked up beside the tall man who was sauntering slowly with two other sawmill boys. “You're lucky that worked out the way it did. He killed the last hombre that wanted to tangle—stabbed him to death after the dude had shot him in the chest. Yep, you really didn't want none of that.” Lohmeyer suddenly veered away and melted amongst the dark silhouettes of the other men. The big man grunted and the two men beside him didn't say anything but just looked at one another.

An hour later, Blaine and Knuckles and Bill and Porter drank and laughed with the sawmill boys. They told tall tales to one another about their work and their lives, and they felt the kinship of young men of the west.

Sammy and Jenny had left the dance for their own secluded spot. Sammy was leaving in two days, and this was their last night together for some time.

T
he barn lamp threw a dull light that cast looming shadows on the wall as Sammy and Blaine saddled their horses and packed on their gear. Neither of them had gotten much sleep, but both were now wide-awake. They had said their goodbyes and well wishes to all at the Twin T. the night before. Now they worked quietly in the still of the early morning with each man lost in his own thoughts. The time to leave was finally upon them.

Sammy slipped the 44 Henry rifle into the scabbard and strapped on his gun belt, holding a pair of Starr Double-Action Army 44 revolvers. He had a Colt Navy 36 in his saddlebags along with two hunting knives and additional cartridges for each firearm. He rechecked all the cinching on his gear, then looked over at Blaine who had finished up and was lighting a smoke. “Ready?” Blaine blew out a cloud of smoke. “Yep.”

Sammy walked over and blew out the lamp. Both men led their horses through the blackness to the barn door. Sammy pulled it open, revealing a faint light in the east that peeked over the dark, jagged horizon of hills. The morning dew hung heavy in the air.

Homer, Reuben, and Lundy were standing in the yard in a semi-circle, smoking and drinking coffee like sentries posted to inspect all who were coming or going. “Here come the two musketeers,” Reuben said.

Sammy and Blaine led their horses over to where the men were standing. “To what do we owe this honor?” Sammy asked. “Are you gents the happy trails committee?”

“No, we're the hold-up committee,” Reuben replied. “You'll have to hold up a minute until Jacqueline comes out with some breakfast she's got for you. She didn't like it much when you told her you wouldn't be in for breakfast before you left.”

The kitchen door creaked and light poured out of the doorway as Jacqueline emerged holding two bundles, each wrapped in a red and white-checkered cloth. Sammy shook his head, slightly embarrassed. “We didn't want to be any trouble for you this morning, Jacqueline. We've got plenty to eat packed with us.”

“Well it's not hot, and this is.” She gave Sammy and Blaine each a bundle. “You can eat it in the saddle.”

“Thank you, ma'am,” Blaine said. “It sure has been a pleasure eatin’ your cookin’.”

Jacqueline hugged Blaine. “Take care of yourself, Blaine. Good luck to you.”

“Thank you, ma'am. I reckon I will … take care of myself, I mean.”

She turned to Sammy with her eyes glistening and hugged him, holding him tight for several seconds. “You be careful. Don't dally up north too long.”

“I won't be long.”

She turned and walked briskly away, back into the kitchen, closing the door behind her.

Homer shook hands with Blaine. “If you don't like what you see up north, come on back. We've always got a job for a good hand.”

“Thank you, Mister Taylor. I'll remember that.”

“Time to ride,” Sammy said.

“Yeah, there's plenty of that ahead of you boys,” Lundy said. “Keep a sharp eye and pour the spurs to ‘em if you see any Indians or banditos.”

Sammy and Blaine mounted up and headed east out of the yard at a trot toward the pale light of the coming day. A mile out, they slowed to a walk and ate the warm tortillas rolled around eggs and beef and beans, burrito style. Then, as if called by the sun that was yet still hidden, they broke to a canter.

The valley rolled out in front of them, with the green of spring grass amid sage and rabbit brush, and wildflowers with blooms of lavender, orange, and white. Sammy and Blaine knew the land well. It would be the better part of the day gone before they would clear the eastern border of the Twin T. Anxious to see new territory, they clipped on in the cool of the morning.

At noon, they stopped in the low foothills to let their horses drink and crop grass at a deep stream with grassy banks. It ran through a grove of aspens and was about twelve feet wide with swift water and dark color. A boulder that jutted out from the bank across half the stream created a pool that looked to Sammy to have good prospects. “I think I'll give this a go for a few minutes. See if I can wrangle some trout for supper.”

Blaine took it as a challenge. “First one to catch a fish gets the first pull of whiskey when we crack that bottle.” He strode off toward the nearby aspen trees to cut a pole.

Sammy untied the two halves of his fishing pole and quickly assembled the rig, tying a hook to the end of the line. He put the pole down and moved slowly along the bank in a crouch, looking closely at the grass. With an easy motion, he pulled off his hat and held it at the ready. A moment later, he flicked it at the grass where the caddis fly had lit. The shot was a dead hit. Sammy retrieved his pole and carefully fed the fly onto the hook. He made his way to the pool just beyond the boulder.

Blaine quickly cut a five-foot aspen branch and trimmed it, then notched the end and wedged the string in. He was tying on the hook when Sammy made his first cast. From the corner of his eye, Blaine saw the fish hit Sammy's line. With a twitch of his wrist, Sammy set the hook. The big, silvery trout, thrashed through the water until it was propelled airborne as Sammy pulled hard over his left shoulder. It flew majestically through the air with color shimmering in the sunlight and landed fifteen feet back from the bank.

“Dammit!” Blaine said as he watched the two-pound rainbow flipping and flopping in the grass.

Sammy kneeled beside it and grabbed it tightly, then worked at removing the hook. “One more like this and we'll have us a fine supper.”

“That weren't fair you castin’ ‘fore I was ready.”

“I ain't waitin’ on you … especially with that first fish, first on the whiskey deal.” Sammy worked on the troublesome hook which was stuck in jawbone. “But being I'm the one with the good pole and charm that fish find irresistible, we'll start over right now. You best get movin’ though before I get this hook loose, ‘cause a head start and luck is the only chance you've got.”

“That's more ‘n I need,” Blaine said. He started frantically looking for a fly to bait his hook, running along the bank and swatting at the prospects, but missing like a blindfolded child trying to hit a piñata.

Sammy finally got the hook loose and spied a Black Stone Fly on the grass just to the left of where he was kneeling. He pulled his hat slowly from his head and gave it the quick whip to the target. “You better hurry up. I'm fixin’ to bait my hook.”

Blaine stopped and looked with horror. “How'd you get that fly so fast? Only a pile of fresh shit could bring a fly that fast.”

Sammy chuckled. “Yeah, well this pile of shit is gonna be fishin’ in just a shake.”

Blaine hustled over to his saddlebags. “It's time to go backwater style,” he said as he pulled out some jerky and bit off a piece, then worked it onto his hook. Quickly, he moved down the bank to a spot where it cut sharply wider and the water slowed to a spiraling pool that was several feet deep. The overhang at the deepest part was where Blaine slowly worked himself into position.

He could see Sammy about thirty yards upstream, casting again at the same spot he'd caught his first one. “Let ‘em come up empty for just a minute, just a little bit,” Blaine said to himself. “That's all I need ‘cause I know there's a big one right under this bank … right under here.” He lowered the hook with the peanut-size piece of jerky on it down a foot into the dark water, where it drifted under the bank. Blaine glanced upstream at Sammy, then turned his attention back to the task at hand and moved the line slowly down the bank. “Come on now. Come on.” He eyed Sammy again and had a sinking feeling that he would hit any second. His gaze turned back to the dark waters just in time to see the silvery shadow darting toward his hook.

The force of the strike almost pulled the aspen branch from his hands. “Whoaa!” Blaine yelled as he quickly regained control of his pole and tugged upward. The fish was a four-pounder, and broke the water flailing and snapping, creating slack and then tremendous jerk on the line. Blaine quickly swung the big fish for the bank, but it whipped hard and suddenly came loose of the hook, falling like a ghost toward the water. It landed on the bank a foot from the edge and began flopping wildly toward the water. Blaine dove for the fish at the instant it flipped over the bank on the way to the freedom of its universe. His hands clamped onto the middle of the slippery fish as his body hit the edge of the bank, with more of him hanging over than on firm ground. He tumbled into the water, submerging completely with his arms outstretched, clutching the fish as though nothing else in the world mattered. The icy-cold enveloped him and rolled into his boots, searching out his toes as the last to be swallowed. With no arms to steady himself, Blaine squirmed and maneuvered to get his legs under him, then rose triumphantly with the fish fighting, but firmly in his grip.

He stood waist-deep in the water and stared at his prize for a moment before flinging it twenty feet up onto land. “See if you can flop your way back from there.”

Blaine sloshed his way over to his hat, which floated at the edge of the pool, about to make its way into the main current.

“You in there invitin’ ‘em to supper?” Sammy yelled.

“Hell yes!” Blaine yelled exuberantly. He hustled out of the stream and over to the fish, then held it over his head like a trophy. “This one wants to sit at the head of the table!”

Sammy's eye's widened. “Lord almighty! That monster came outta this stream?”

“He sure did. I had to bulldog ‘m outta the water, but I was gettin’ hot anyways.”

“Well, let's clean ‘em up and get ridin’. We've got us a feast now.”