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Greenriver
© 2004 W.R. Benton, All Rights Reserved
This manuscript may not be reproduced in any form. All rights belong to the author and or the publisher. All characters are from the imaginations of the authors and do not represent any persons living or dead. Any similarities between real persons and the characters in this manuscript are a coincidence.
CHAPTER 1
This Excerpt may contain rough language, typical for the period.
“My name is Greenriver, by God!” The old man stated in a low, but controlled voice, as he suddenly stood. There was not just a small bit of irritation in his voice, he was obviously angry. He was tall, at least six foot and then some. He wore a full beard streaked with strands of white. His teeth, what few that remained were snow white and even.
Mister Greenriver is a man to be reckoned with and a no nonsense kind of man , thought Jeb as he turned back to the bar to finish his shot of rye whiskey. Jeb's right leg, which he had lost it during the Civil War, was hurting him again and his turn to the bar was almost a stumble. It was none of Jeb's concern if the verbal battle turned rough. But, for sure, he thought, Greenriver was one of the old mountain men that at dry times came into town for a beer or shot of whiskey. While their period of trapping and hunting beaver had died more than just few years back, many old mountain men still lived in the cold and high country they loved so much.
“Look son, take and sit yer ass down now and finish yer drink. I am but a tired and thirsty old man. You leave me alone and I will promise to leave you alone.” Jeb heard Greenriver speak in a low voice and turned to see how the confrontation was developing.
A young man of about twenty was still standing in front of the old trappers table and leaning over it. The boy had been there for the last ten minutes giving the old trapper a hard time.
“What's the matter you old coot, don't you know how to fight? Yeller, ain't ya! Been in them mountains too Goddamned long, ain't ya? Well, it don't pay me no never mind, I will just shoot you where ya be,” as the young man was saying the last sentence Jeb noticed his right hand slowly going down to his pistol belt.
But, before Jeb could utter a warning to either participant, the old mountain man's right hand moved quickly through the air and in his hand was a knife, a Green River knife. The point of the massive knife pinned the young boy's left hand to the table, while at the same time the old trapper swung a pistol in his left hand that caught the boy on the right side of the head. The youngster fell like he had been struck with an ax handle. His hand, however, was still pinned to the tabletop.
“Damn, it's gettin' where a man can't even sell a few pews and have a drink without some young stud a-tryin' to take over. Any more of ya want some of this?“ Greenriver spoke in a loud voice as he worked the point of his knife out of the table and then held the knife down at an angle to let gravity pull the bloody hand from the blade. He then looked around the room as if he half expected more trouble.
“You should have killed him Greenriver,” a thin young man of about twenty-five stated as he raised his beer glass up to his mustached lips. He took a drink, then continued as he lowered his glass to the bar top. “But, on second thought, I guess yer lucky you didn't. He is one of them Perigo boys. They be mean as all get out and there be a barn full of ‘em in the hills near here. Old man Perigo has a big spread up by Cottonwood creek and he owns the town bank. He has a passel of kids and that don't even count the cousins and such they got in the area. I was you, I'd get the hell out of town a-for they hear about this.”
“I don't care who the boy is, nor his family. And, his daddy bein' a rich banker man don't carry no damned weight with this old coon. All I want is to have one drink in peace!” Greenriver stood up and placed his hands on his hips.
Jeb noticed the old man was getting mad now. His face had turned red and his eyes had a crazy far away look in them. Not a man to tease , he thought. He watched as the mountain man finished his whiskey in one swift drink and picked up his old Hawken rifle. He quickly crossed the bar room floor and left the bat wing doors swinging as he departed.
Jeb finished his drink, shook his head in wonder, and walked across the road to the general store. A fat balding man with horn rimmed glasses looked up when he heard the bell above the door give a jingle. His face instantly broke into a smile that Jeb found to be phony.
“What can I do for you sir?” The fat man asked as he rubbed his ink stained hands together.
Obviously he intends to make a fast sawback, Jeb thought, but said, “I need five pounds of flour, three pounds of pinto beans, a big slab of bacon, and about five pounds of coffee. Oh, one jug of good trader's whiskey, four pouches of smoking backer and two pouches of chewin'. That should do it.” He tossed a twenty dollar gold piece on the counter top. The fat man was on the gold like a hungry chicken on a June bug.
“Not a problem sir. I will gather all of this up for ya in a couple minutes. In the mean time, I suggest you take a look around the store. We have the biggest general store this side of Omaha . You can find anything you need, if it's not here, just ask me for it then.” With his speech finished the fat man began to move behind the counter filling Jeb's order.
Jeb was fascinated by general stores and he always had been. He saw coffee in neatly painted tins, colorful candy in glass jars, precut shirts and pants, dresses, knives, pots, pans, and some things he could not identify. The smells in the store he enjoyed too and he could smell hints of tobacco, spices, whiskey, candy, leather, oil, and others he could not place clearly in his mind. Some of the smells were subtle, but for a man who lived most of his life in the wilderness, they were there. As he moved around the front of the glass counter he noticed a knife, just like the one the old mountain man had used in the saloon.
“Store keep, put one of these here big knifes in the bag fer me too.” Jeb stated as he kneeled down to get a better look at the sharp edge on the knife.
“Oh, an excellent choice sir. That is a gen'wine Green River knife. They don't make ‘em much any more, but they did well in their day. The old beaver trappers used to use them. ‘Course the Injuns got a few of them too, very few by trade or purchase I think. That knife will cost ya another dollar fifty, but is worth every cent.” The fat man opened the back of the counter, removed the knife, and placed it in a feedbag with the rest of Jeb's order.
Jeb took his supplies from the fat man, as well as his change from the twenty, and walked from the store out into a beautiful setting sun. While the heat was terrible, the view was one to be remembered. Colors of red, purple, yellow and white reached across the clear blue sky. Jeb, tired as he was, never noticed the beautiful sunset or the terrible heat. He turned right and walked to the only hotel in the small town. A hotel called the Justmore. For the second time that day Jeb heard a small bell jingle as he entered the lobby.
Closing the door Jeb tuned to the skinny pale man behind the counter. That's the problem with towns, Jeb thought with a chuckle, too many damned bells.
“How much for a room?” Jeb asked the pale bald man of middle age behind the counter.
“Sir, all rooms are one dollar. Bath is twenty cents, twenty-five with hot water. Outhouse is out back and dinner is not included in the room price.”
Jeb put a buck twenty-five on the counter and then signed the registration book. He slowly raised his head after he signed and asked, “What time is dinner served?”
“Dinner started about five minutes ago and will stop promptly at seven, sir. And, my name is Oscar. If I may be of any assistance, just let me know. Room 201, first room on the right, at the top of the stairs, sir,” Oscar stated his memorized comments as he handed Jeb a key.
“Why thank you Oscar. I think I can take it from here and be a good man would you? I am expecting a very important telegraph message tonight or tomorrow. I expect you to bring it to me regardless of the time, night or day. Please, bring it to me instantly and I will see you are well taken care of.” Jeb picked his supplies and walked to his room.
While the room was small, it was clean and had an air of sophistication about it. The wallpaper was red and the gas lamp hissed as Jeb placed his gear in the corner of the room. Dang, my buns are tired , he thought as he sat on the bed and pulled his boots off . I need a bath and a shave, not to mention clean clothes. He quickly undressed and as he pulled his towel around his waist he headed for the bathhouse. He failed to notice the sun had gone down.
An old Chinese man, of undetermined age, took care of the bathhouse. He moved slowly but efficiently around the place filling tubs and supplying towels to his customers. Jeb instantly noticed the high heat in the room and the overall cleanliness of the whole enterprise.
“You wantee to takee bath?” The old man asked him with the first real honest smile he had seen in the town all day.
“Shore, I want a nice hot one,” Jeb answered the old man with a smile that equaled his.
“You get in number dree tub and Sumlong will make a hot bath for you.” The old man said as he quickly headed out a back door.
Placing his gun belt on the bench next to the old wooden tub Jeb climbed in. Even the lukewarm water felt good to his tired muscles. He noticed a small sliver of lye soap on the bench, so he started working up a thick lather in this hands. Nothing like a bath after a couple months on the trail, he thought as he applied the lather to this well formed chest muscles.
About an hour later Jeb was back in his room, a bath and shave behind him. From the light in hallway he noticed his gear was still where he had left it and smiled when he noticed someone was in his bed. Jeb walked over to the lamp and lighted it. He turned the knob down slightly so very little light was in the room.
“How long are you in town?” a tired female voice suddenly asked.
“Just over night Marty. Had to rustle up some trail grub and have a bath,” Jeb said as he moved to sit on the side of the bed. He continued, “And, what are you doing in my bed? It ain't rightly proper for a single man to have a respectable woman in his bed.”
“Oh, Jeb, stop the teasing. I asked Oscar at the front desk what room you were in and then asked him for a key. I told him I was your cousin and wanted to surprise you when you returned. Are you surprised?” As she asked Jeb the question she turned on her side and propped her head up on her right arm.
“Marty, very little you do surprises me anymore. But you know it is not right for you to be in my room alone with me, cousin or not.” Jeb said as he unbuckled his gun belt and draped it over the bedpost.
“Well, I waited for you and must have fallen asleep. Have you had anything to eat yet? I bet you just been in the rye whiskey and not had a bite eat.” Marty said with a perky little smile on her beautiful face.
“Nope, not yet, on either accounts. I was going to go down to the restaurant and eat in the few minutes. Would you like to join me?” Jeb knew his stomach felt as if his throat had abandoned him. His last decent meal was had over a month ago, when he had met some folks on their way to Washington . They had been in a small wagon train of about ten wagons. Other than that, he had fried bacon and beans almost every meal.
“Do you mean in the eattin' place here in the hotel?” Marty asked with shock.
“Onliest place I know to eat here in town. How about it?”
“Well, I ain't sure. I ate here once about five years ago, when I was near on fourteen. The food seemed good, but my God, the prices. I remember a cup of coffee was almost a nickel. Can you afford to feed us both Jeb?” Marty was teasing Jeb. She knew that years ago Jeb had found some gold in the mountains and she knew it was honest and not the result of any law breaking. Nonetheless, she also knew a meal for two people in a hotel like this could cost as much as three dollars. And, three dollars was more than twice a day's wages for most men.
Jeb smiled as much to himself as he did to Marty. She would make some man a good wife one day, but she was his cousin and off limits to him. He did love her, and deeply, but only as a cousin loves another cousin. He patted her on the head and said, “Come on Marty, let's go eat.”
As they left the room and started down the carpeted staircase Jeb had to hold his laughter in. Marty was all eyes looking at the wallpaper, the gas lights, the carpet and the overall splendor of the hotel. It was all a big change from the log cabin she lived in with her family on the ranch. As they started to walk by the front desk of the hotel Oscar gave Jeb a smile and a big wink. “Sir, I see your cousin found you.”
“Yes she did Oscar. Oscar, meet Marty, Mary this is Oscar.” Jeb said with a smile as he continued talking, “Marty's dad is Clyde Patton. I do believe you know Mister Patton, Oscar. Clyde is my daddy's brother.” Jeb noticed the smile slowly drain from Oscar's face and the big man paled. Oscar knew the name and knew the reputation as well. That should keep his mouth from talking, thought Jeb.
“Howdy do, Miss Patton. Yes sir, I do know Mister Patton. Many of his friends stay here in the hotel when they are in town on cattle business.” Oscar's face had flushed and his cheeks were bright red.
“Thank you for giving me Jeb's room key earlier Oscar. I didn't want to wait for him in the lobby with all those strange men around. Come on Jeb let's go eat. I think I could eat a horse. Have you ever seen a woman eat a horse Jeb?” She laughed loudly as she took Jeb's hand and turned from the desk toward the dinning area.
The dinning area was not very large but it was decorated in same colors as the hotel lobby and the rooms. The gaslights were low and each table had two candles burning. Only four customers were eating at the time, two at each table. The food looked good to Jeb and he felt his stomach growl in anticipation. As a matter of fact, as far as he was concerned the smell of the food was even better than the appearance.
“My, the food certainly smells good.” Marty said as Jeb pulled her chair out so she could be seated. He assisted her in pushing her chair forward and watched her place the napkin in her lap. He then walked to his chair opposite of hers and sat down. After about five minutes of looking at the menu, an attractive woman of middle age approached the table with a large pot of coffee.
“Hello. My name is Myrtle. Coffee before I take your orders?”
“Yes ma'am, that sounds very good.” Jeb looked into her eyes as she poured the coffee and realized she had once been a very beautiful woman once. Her figure was still very good and her smile was warm. But, as he knew, life on the frontier made women old before their time and men usually died early with their boots on.
“Yes, please,” was Marty's quick response as she moved her cup and saucer closer to the edge of the table.
Myrtle poured each of them a cup of coffee and then moved off toward the kitchen. As the woman walked away, Jeb felt as if he should know her from someplace. There was something in her face and the way she moved that he recognized. Oh, well, whatever it was, it could not be very important, he thought as he took a sip of the strong scalding coffee, or I'd remember her .
“Jeb, you have not heard a word I said,” Marty complained as Jeb turned his eyes toward her.
“I am sorry Marty. I thought I knew the waitress, but I guess I was mistaken.”
“Well, as I was saying, pa has been having trouble with the Sioux. Seems everyday he is having cattle killed or stolen. Not just a few head during the last year either, but maybe a hundred or so all total.”
“Marty, the Sioux are known to take one or two beef at times, but I've never known them to take that many, and never from one man. Besides, Indians only take a cow in starving times and I know there are large herds of buffalo on the plains, I saw them. It must be a mistake. Are the boys sure the herd count is correct?”
“Jeb, Dick Peters is the ramrod and he can count good enough. He swears the count is good and the beef are missing. Dad is mad enough to start a war over this and you know how hard he has worked to make our ranch work.”
“Yep, Peters is a man to float the river with and he does know his cows. But, Marty, I cannot believe the old chief Hump would allow his people to take that many cows. Something is not right here.”
“Have you decided yet on what to have to eat?”
Jeb and Marty turned to see a smiling Myrtle standing next to the table wiping her hands on her apron.
“Well, I will have the roast beef, with all the trimming's, a large piece of corn bread, and about three hot peppers to spice it all up with. Oh, and a glass of sweet tea,” Jeb said as he lost himself in her eyes. There was something about her, but it would not come to him yet.
“I will have the fried pork chops, mashed potatoes, and a biscuit, please,” as Marty gave Myrtle her order, Jeb noticed her giving the waitress the once over with her eyes. She was not being open about it, but she was very carefully evaluating the waitress, or so it seemed to him anyways.
As soon as Myrtle had left, Jeb asked her about it, “Why the eyes on the waitress? You don't think she is what she looks to be?”
“Not sure Jeb. There is something about her I don't trust or something.”
Jeb could see the concern in Marty's eyes and laughed, “Marty, she waits on tables. What on earth else could she be? She is a woman that has a job to make ends meet. There are thousands of them that do it. Most of ‘em because they have lost a husband, but I have heard of a few that do it because they simply enjoy doing it.” While Jeb was talking to Marty he realized that her concerns were the same as his. Marty was right, there was something strange about the waitress.
Myrtle brought the meals and quickly disappeared in the kitchen. She was seen waiting on others and doing only the work her job required her to do, so there was nothing Jeb could put a finger on.
“Well, what ever else you think she may be she is one hard working woman.” Jeb stated as he raised his right arm and motioned to Myrtle for the check.
With his comment, even Marty had to laugh, “That she is Jeb. The cook here for sure has a fine helper. I must be imagining things is all. I am sure she is just a woman attempting to keep the wolves of hunger out of her doorway. I will meet you at the door in a moment, but first I must use the ladies room.”
Marty stood and walked toward the exit door marked “outhouses.”
Myrtle brought the check and handed it to Jeb. The cost of the meal is very reasonable for a place like this, Jeb thought as he looked at the total due.
What is this? he asked himself as he noticed a penciled note on the back of the check. It read, “Meet me at one a.m. behind the hotel. Be near the fence and be alone. It is very important you are not seen. Please help me.”
Jeb could not help but wonder what a middle aged women would want with him. He knew he was as homely the south end of a north bound mule and not much of a catch as far as men went. He drank too much, he smoked and chewed, and he was gone months at a time. So that left love or sex out of the picture. She must be in trouble or scared of something. Well, only one way to find out. I have to be at that fence at one in the morning, he thought as he stood, left a quarter tip, walked to the front door and paid his bill. Just before he turned to walk out the door he took one more look around the dinning area for Myrtle, but she must have gone into the kitchen.
“Well, Jeb, time for me to get home. Dad will call the army out if I‘m out too late. I will tell him you are in town and will have dinner with us tomorrow night. G'night,” Marty leaned over and kissed Jeb on his left cheek, then turned and left the hotel.
Jeb spent the next few hours cleaning his guns, checking and packing his supplies, and catching up on his sleep. He was up and dressed by the time the clock on his dresser showed midnight . He was wearing his old faded jeans, a worn blue work shirt, his boots, and of course, his guns. He rolled a smoke and enjoyed the rich taste of the tobacco. Finally unable to resist the urge, he poured himself a whiskey.
No, he did not consider himself unable to avoid the bottle, but felt he honestly deserved a drink after so many long months of being dry. He never had more than two or three drinks and always after a hard days ride and very rarely in a saloon. In this part of the country he knew a man had to stay sober and alert just to stay alive. He had a second smoke as he savored the taste of the warm whiskey. It would have been so easy to finish them both and get some more sleep. But, he was curious about the meeting with the waitress. No matter how tired he was this was one meeting he would be at. At five minutes to one, he put on his brown Stetson and left his room.
As Jeb stepped from the back door of the hotel he instantly felt the heat. It had been hot in his room, but an open window had allowed the wind to cool the room a little. The rear of the hotel was fenced in and very little air circulated. There was a quarter moon and the night was dark.
Just enough moon to spook a feller , Jeb thought as he placed his hands near his guns. He walked to the fence and kneeled down beside a support post. As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light he noticed the trees and even the out houses made dancing shadows on the ground and fence. While not a superstitious man, he had lived with the Indians too long to not believe, at least in part, in the night spirits. In a few moments he had memorized each shadow and then all he could do was wait.
