Fort buzzard, p.7
Fort Buzzard, page 7
Jamie and Stanton both shook their heads and looked puzzled. “Never heard of it,” Jamie said.
“It’s only been there about a year,” Burnside explained. “Gullickson built it about the same time that Amelia and the girls and I started our trading post.”
Jamie had noticed a few minutes earlier when Burnside mentioned daughters, plural. He didn’t know who Amelia was—Burnside’s wife, maybe—or how many daughters the man had, but that wasn’t really the issue at the moment.
“This Fort Buzzard belongs to Angus Gullickson?”
“That’s right. It’s a trading post, too. Big place with stockade walls and a couple of watchtowers, and Gullickson plans to grow a whole town right beside it. He’s already brought in some settlers and built places for them.”
Stanton shook his head. “I know absolutely nothing about any of this. I give you my word on that, Mr. Burnside. This . . . Fort Buzzard . . . has nothing to do with our mission.”
“You might be wrong there,” Burnside said. “Gullickson was mad at those surveyors because they thought the best route for a future railroad would be along the river here, instead of angling off to the northwest toward the mountains. The river route would take it right by my place, and the trading post couldn’t help but grow. Gullickson figured on the railroad coming past his fort and his new town.”
“Which would make it boom,” Jamie said, finishing the thought.
“Yes, sir. And that would make Angus Gullickson a mighty rich man.”
“All this seems highly unlikely to me, Mr. Burnside,” Stanton said, “but I give you my word that I intend to conduct a thorough investigation of the matter. I won’t simply take Mr. Gullickson’s word for whatever claims he makes. Whatever conclusions we come to, they will be because of convincing evidence.”
Burnside cleared his throat, and said, “I appreciate you saying that, Lieutenant. I hope you mean it.”
“I assure you, sir, I do.”
From behind them, Emma called, “All right, you can all turn around now.”
When they did so, Jamie saw that Emma had taken off her trousers and shirt and draped them over a nearby rock to dry in the sun. She had removed her boots and socks, as well. Bare feet peeked out from under the blanket, which she had wrapped around herself so that it completely covered her from ankles to neck. She stood by the fire, still basking in its warmth.
Jamie, Stanton, and Burnside walked over to join her while Sergeant Hodge got the troopers busy tending to their mounts. Stanton tugged on the short brim of his cap and nodded to Emma as he said, “My apologies again, Miss Burnside. I regret the misunderstanding that led to your, ah . . .”
“Being dunked in the river?” she said. Before Stanton could respond, she glanced past him along the bank and a look of alarm appeared in her eyes. “There he is! Don’t let that madman anywhere near me!”
Jamie looked around and saw Preacher approaching, leading Horse, with Dog trotting along beside them.
“It’s all right,” Stanton said. Jamie could tell he was trying to sound reassuring. “I’m sure Preacher meant you no real harm, and there’s no longer any reason for either side to encourage hostilities—”
Emma ignored him, pulled the blanket tighter around her, and called, “You stay away from me, mister! Next time I take a shot at you, I won’t miss!”
“Emma, that’s not necessary—” her father began.
“Take it easy, girl,” Preacher drawled as he came up to them. “Looks like you and your pa done made peace with my friends. That’s fine with me.” He chuckled. “The way you fight like a wildcat, I’d just as soon we were on the same side.”
Her lip curled in a snarl. “You haven’t even seen the way I can fight yet.”
“There’s no need for anyone to fight,” Stanton said as he lifted his hands in a disarming gesture. “We’ll just go on our way and leave you and your family alone, Mr. Burnside.”
“Hold on a minute,” Jamie said. He didn’t want to waste a possible opportunity to help them carry out the mission that had brought them here. “It seems to me, Burnside, that you probably know this country around here, and what’s going on in it, better than just about anybody else.”
Hearing that seemed to please Burnside. He was leaning on his rifle again, both hands clasped around the barrel while the butt rested on the ground at his feet. He nodded, and said, “I reckon it’s probably safe to say that.”
“I’d really like to talk to you some more, especially about this fella Gullickson.”
Burnside thought about that for a second, and then said, “Well, I suppose you could come on back to the trading post with us.”
“Pa!” Emma cried. “You . . . you can’t invite these men to the trading post after what they did!”
“None of them did anything except this one.” Burnside nodded toward Preacher, then regarded the mountain man curiously before saying, “Did I hear right? Do they call you Preacher?”
“Reckon I had another name once, but that was so long ago I’ve almost plumb forgot it.”
“I’ve heard about you,” Burnside said. “You’ve been out here in these mountains longer than almost anybody.”
“That’s true enough,” Preacher agreed. “I’ve roamed just about ever’where from the Mississippi to the Pacific Ocean, and from the Rio Grande to the Milk River.”
“That still doesn’t give you the right to manhandle my daughter . . . but I suppose you did have some provocation.”
“Provocation!” Emma said. “I was just trying to help you, Pa. And even if he was riled up, that’s still no excuse for him swatting me on my . . . my . . .”
Jamie stepped in to say, “We appreciate the invitation, Burnside, and we’ll take you up on it. And I promise that we’ll be on our best behavior.”
“Reckon that’ll do,” Burnside said, nodding. “As soon as Emma’s clothes are dry, we’ll head that direction.”
The furious glare on Emma’s face showed that she didn’t agree with the decision at all, but there didn’t appear to be anything she could do about it. She said to Preacher, “What did you do with my rifle? You’d better not have thrown it away.”
“If you’d stop bein’ mad long enough to take a look around, you’d see it’s tied on my saddle right there,” he told her. “I’ll get it and put it with your duds.” He added, “It’s still unloaded, by the way, just so’s you don’t get tempted.”
“I can reload any time I want to,” she replied coldly.
With that, she wheeled around and went back to the fire to finish warming up and drying off. When Preacher had gotten her rifle off the saddle, Lieutenant Stanton said, “It might be a good idea if you let me take that back to the young lady, Preacher.”
“Yeah, it might be. Here you go.”
Stanton took the rifle and then said to Burnside, “I’d like to hear more about this trading post of yours, sir,” and the two of them walked toward the fire, as well.
Preacher and Jamie stood together near the river. Quietly, so that no one else would hear, Jamie said, “That girl’s got murder in her eyes, Preacher. Until she calms down and cools off, you might be well advised to keep an eye out behind you.”
“Yeah,” the mountain man said, “I usually do, but I was just thinkin’ the same thing . . .”
CHAPTER 11
They rested the horses for another half hour, which allowed time for Emma’s clothes to dry enough that she could put them back on, even though they probably were still damp and a little uncomfortable.
She still wasn’t happy about her father allowing Preacher, Jamie, Lieutenant Stanton, and the rest of the soldiers to accompany them back to the trading post, but she didn’t say anything more about it, leading Jamie to believe that she thought she’d just be wasting her time if she did.
More than likely that was true. Wilbert Burnside didn’t seem like the type of man who would brook much argument from his children, or anyone else, for that matter.
Emma had left her horse in some trees on the other side of the river. Stanton sent several troopers to find it and bring it back. Burnside’s horse was on the far side of the hill where he had been hidden. Jamie fetched that one. Once everyone was mounted again, they headed upstream, following the south bank of the Greybull.
Jamie and Stanton rode with Burnside and Emma in the lead. Preacher dropped back a dozen feet to ride alongside Sergeant Hodge, and the troopers trailed behind them. Emma glanced over her shoulder at Preacher a few times, giving him a hostile frown as she did so.
Jamie could tell that by staying back, Preacher was trying not to annoy her, but sooner or later the mountain man might run out of patience and tell her to get over being so angry with him. To his way of thinking, his reaction to being shot at was entirely reasonable. Merciful, even. Getting tossed into the river hadn’t hurt anything but Emma’s dignity.
After half an hour of riding, the group rounded a bend and the Burnside trading post came into view. It was a large, impressive stone building set on a small rise overlooking the river. Chimneys rose at both ends of it.
Beyond the trading post stood a log barn with a couple of pole corrals flanking it. A couple of smaller buildings, one of them a smokehouse by the looks of it, the other probably used for storage, sat nearby.
The main building was only one story, but it was wide and deep with a porch along the front. Jamie spotted a number of loopholes but no actual windows, which wasn’t surprising because it was obvious the place had been constructed to be easily defended in case of attack. The roof was slate and wouldn’t catch fire, and neither would the stone walls, so flaming arrows posed no threat to it.
“Looks like you planned on being ready for trouble,” Jamie commented to Wilbert Burnside.
“Seemed like the sensible thing to do,” Burnside replied. “When we came out here, we didn’t know what we’d find. I talked to quite a few fur trappers who had been around the Crow, and they all said that if you treat the Indians with respect, they won’t bother you. But there was no way of knowing that was true until we got here.”
“How many of you are there?”
“Four. Me, my two girls Emma and Jenny, and my sister Amelia Porter. She’s a widow and didn’t have anybody else or anywhere to go.”
It seemed irresponsible to Jamie for Burnside to have brought three females into this situation without knowing beforehand just how dangerous it was going to be. But maybe Burnside had felt as if he didn’t have any other choice. It was always hard to know what was in another man’s mind—or his heart.
The trading post’s front door looked heavy and formidable, even from a distance. It was made of thick, square beams held together with iron straps. It swung open as the riders approached and a slender figure stepped out onto the porch, holding a rifle. Jamie saw a blue dress and long blond hair and decided he was probably looking at Burnside’s other daughter. She appeared too young to be a widow, more than likely.
Emma pushed her horse into a trot that took her out ahead of the others. She reached the trading post first, swung down from the saddle, and started talking in an animated fashion to the blonde as she waved her arms excitedly and pointed toward the approaching riders.
Jamie guessed she was telling her sister all about how she had been mistreated. The blonde cradled the rifle across her left arm and seemed to relax as if realizing that the place wasn’t under attack.
“That’s Jenny, my other daughter,” Burnside said, confirming Jamie’s hunch. “She’s a couple of years older than Emma.”
Now that Emma wasn’t riding with the leaders, Preacher nudged Horse up alongside them, and asked, “Is that Emma gal the sort who holds a grudge?”
“I’m not sure,” Burnside said. “Nobody ever threw her in a river before.” He chuckled. “I reckon she’ll get over it, but I can’t say for sure when.”
Preacher sighed. “I’ll steer clear of her as much as I can, then. I don’t figure I did anything wrong, but there ain’t no point in stirrin’ up trouble.”
“Now that I’ve had a chance to think about it, I don’t hold what happened against you, Preacher. It really was just a misunderstanding, the way MacCallister said.”
Burnside shook his head, and went on, “I just don’t trust Gullickson. He’s the sort of varmint who’ll pull something nasty and underhanded if he doesn’t get his way. I have a hunch he’d like to wipe out this trading post or run us off, at the very least. If Fort Buzzard is the only settlement in these parts, then the railroad will almost have to go through there when they get around to building it.”
“That could be quite a while yet,” Stanton pointed out. “Most of the rumors I’ve heard say that a transcontinental line will be built first, and that’s likely to take a more southern route. So it could be years before any rail lines reach this area.”
“Gullickson’s taking the long view of things.”
Not having met the man, Jamie had no idea if that was true. Burnside’s concerns seemed a little farfetched, but it was true that when the stakes got high enough, some men would resort to anything.
Even murder.
The two girls were still talking when the rest of the group reached the building. Emma still looked angry and resentful, but the blonde—Jenny, her father had said her name was—seemed to be trying not to smile, as if she found the idea of her sister being tossed in the Greybull amusing.
Jamie figured that was possible. Emma seemed like an abrasive sort.
Jenny said, “I’ve heard Emma’s version of what happened, Pa. Is that anywhere close to right?”
Emma’s eyes widened as she looked at her sister, and exclaimed, “You don’t believe me?”
“I know you get a little carried away at times, especially when you’re upset about something.”
“Well, I never!”
Burnside didn’t answer his daughter’s question directly. He said to Stanton, “Lieutenant, come inside with me. MacCallister, Preacher, you, too. There’ll be a pot of coffee on the stove.”
“That sounds mighty good,” Jamie said.
“It certainly does,” Stanton agreed. “Thank you, Mr. Burnside.”
Glaring at them, Emma made a huffing noise as if offended, turned, and stomped into the trading post.
“She’ll go to her room and pout,” Jenny said, smiling openly now, “but she’ll get over it.”
The men dismounted. Burnside said, “Your men can put their horses in one of the corrals, Lieutenant. If you’d like to stay the night, there’s room in the barn for them to bed down.”
“We’re obliged to you for your hospitality, Mr. Burnside. I was thinking that with your permission we might want to make this our headquarters for the time being, until we worked out our next move.”
Stanton passed along the orders to Hodge, and then he, Jamie, and Preacher went up the steps to the porch and into the trading post with Burnside.
Having been inside many frontier trading posts, this establishment looked familiar to both Jamie and Preacher. Since there were no windows, it would have been dim and shadowy inside if it weren’t for the numerous lit lanterns sitting on counters or hanging from the ceiling. Candles set in wall sconces burned, too, and cast light over the shelves arranged in rows to display merchandise.
The shelves were filled with shirts, trousers, long underwear, boots, socks, coats, slickers, hats, fur caps, handguns, holsters, knives, hatchets, cooking pots, pans, utensils, hammers, saws, adzes, chisels, other tools, bolts of cloth, thimbles, needles, thread, mirrors, razors, and dozens of other small items. Axes and shovels hung on pegs on the wall, as did rifles and shotguns. Crates and barrels full of flour, sugar, and other staples sat on the floor between shelves.
It was crowded and cluttered but at the same time felt comfortable.
The trading post portion of the business occupied most of the front part of the building. On the left wall was a doorless entranceway into a smaller room with a bar and tables. There was no one in the tavern. In fact, there were no customers at all right now.
A long counter ran across the back of the main room with a couple of doors behind it. Jamie had a hunch they led to the living quarters of the Burnside family.
Also back there was a woman who stood with her hands resting on the counter. She wore a canvas apron over a long-sleeved tan shirt. Her thick dark hair was pulled back and tied behind her head, accentuating the high cheekbones of her rather severe but attractive face. She was probably around thirty years old, Jamie thought, although he wasn’t all that good at estimating a woman’s age.
She smiled at the men, which somewhat relieved the severeness of her features, and said, “Emma just came through here like a chicken with its tail feathers on fire. What got her dander up this time?”
Burnside grunted, and said, “It’s a long story.”
“I assume it has something to do with these gentlemen.”
“Yeah. Fellows, this is my sister, Mrs. Amelia Porter. Amelia, meet Lieutenant Stanton, Jamie MacCallister, and, uh, Preacher.”
Stanton took off his cap and looked for a second like he was going to bow, but he settled for a nod, and said, “Lieutenant Ronald Stanton, at your service, ma’am.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Lieutenant. We haven’t seen many soldiers out here. There was a small group of them with that party of surveyors last year.”
“That’s why we’re here, ma’am, to find out the truth of what happened to those men.”
“I hope you do. It was a terrible thing.” Amelia Porter turned her attention to the mountain man. “My brother said you’re a preacher?”
“No, ma’am. That’s just what they call me. Preacher. No other name, and no mister.”
“I see. You and Mister . . . MacCallister, was it? You’re not soldiers?”
“Civilian scouts, I suppose you could call us,” Jamie said. “We’re just here to give the lieutenant a hand and offer him our advice.”
Burnside said, “Mr. MacCallister and Preacher are both well-known frontiersmen. I’ve heard their names but never figured on meeting them.”
“How did you happen to run across them?” Amelia wanted to know.
