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Nate Grisham
Black Mountain Man
Cover Art © Copyright 2006, by K. O. Haberstroh
© Copyright 2006 W. R. Benton
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the author and/or the publisher. This is the work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Nate Grisham was a big man, a big black man, who had come to the shining mountains to make a home. His real name was Nathan, but most folks called him Nate because it seemed to fit his deep booming voice better. Standing six foot six and nine inches in moccasin feet and weighing almost two hundred and thirty pounds, his body enhanced by five years of hard work as a blacksmith. Nate was all muscle and brawn, so not only did he look strong he was. His mind was that of a quiet man, often thinking but speaking only after careful consideration, because he thought there was no reason to speak unless you had something worthwhile to say. However, Nate was a deep thinker and although he lacked formal education, he was intelligent. All of his learning had been outside of the schoolroom, since Nate had never been to a schoolhouse in his twenty-two years of life.
“So, what do ya think Nate?” Cotton Top asked as he added a log to the small fire and grinned. Cotton Top wasn't really the older man's given name, that was John, but he'd picked the new name up in the mountains almost instantly, because his hair and beard were completely white. He was an average sized man, of about five foot eight inches tall, and maybe one hundred and sixty pounds. While not nearly as strong as Nate, Cotton had the kind of lean and long body that could walk or run for days without rest. Moreover, Nate had seen the man do just that when the Blackfoot were hard on their back trail.
“'Bout what, them Injuns?” Nate asked and repositioned the coffee pot on the dancing flames. He thought for a minute and then continued, “Look, Cotton, they've moved on, or I think they have. Injuns are notional folks and I've learned as long as ya don't mess with them, they'll leave ya be . . . unless they're pissed off ‘bout life in general, then they'll kill anybody they can find. And, when we left ‘em they were happy enough, right?”
Cotton Top gave a big lopsided grin and then replied, “Yep, I guess, but it's hard to tell with Sioux.” He stretched out his legs by the fire and quickly added, “Ya know, I've been ‘round Injuns for years, but I still don't trust none of ‘em worth a damn.”
“Good, because the day ya start to trust Injuns is the day ya'll die. Look, let's eat some of this buffalo meat and have some cornbread. We need to be back in the saddle early in the mornin'. I want ya on guard the first half of the night and I'll take the second.”
Cotton gave a light laugh, scratched his left cheek with his right hand and said, “Nate, we'll be up and movin' way before the rooster crows and ya know it. I've no problems doing guard duty, but tonight let me get four hours of sleep. The last few nights I no sooner get to my robe than ya wake my ass up to move on. I'm a tired old man this night Nate and need rest.”
The fire cracked and popped for a few minutes and then Nate replied, “Cotton, ya'll get some sleep this night, because we have a big storm comin' and it's movin' in from the west.”
Cotton glanced to the west and he could see gray clouds gathering, some darkness at the very bottom of the dreary fluffs, but not a sign of a serious storm. He gave a loud chuckle and said, “Nate, now where in the world do ya get the idea we've a storm brewin'? Oh, I see them clouds over there and I suspect some rain, but a big storm? I think not.”
Nate grinned, his black face reflecting his good mood, as he spoke, “It'll storm. I know ‘cause every single time my nose feels like it does it storms.”
It was near midnight as Cotton Top sat by the horses, when the storm hit. At first, there were long lances of lightning flashing along the horizon, followed by the sharp crack of thunder a few seconds later, and then came the light pelting wetness of raindrops. The rain was gentle at first, almost soft to the mountain man, but then it increased in tempo to the point of being brutal. In a matter of minutes, it fell it sheets of wetness, which soaked every inch of the ground and promised to continue for hours. It was then, Cotton moved to the shelter where Nate was sleeping.
Seeing the white man move under the shelter, Nate smiled and asked as he raised his head, “Storm?”
“Yep, raining like a horse pissin' on a flat rock. I come under here ‘cause there ain't nothin' movin' out in this weather. Hell, just them raindrops hurt me some and it's starting to hail now.”
The thwacking sound of hail striking the taunt canvas cover of the shelter grew louder as the two men watched the storm move quickly toward them. Though it was dark, the storms overhead movement was seen with each frequent long and bright flash of lightning. Angry dark black clouds rolled and tumbled as the canvas snapped and popped in the gusting wind. Hail littered the grasses on all sides of the shelter and the heavy rainfall was slowly washing the fire pit away. Both men realized there was little to do but rest, so the two of them rolled up in their wool blankets and were soon fast asleep.
It was near dawn, with a small part of the storm still overhead, when Nate awoke and listened. Something or someone had awakened him, but he was not sure what he'd heard. He'd been sleeping soundly one minute and then he was awake the next, with his heart pounding hard in his big chest. Had it been a bad dream? He didn't remember a dream, but he'd had them before and been unable to remember them the next morning, only this didn't feel like a dream. He had heard something, but what?
Nate glanced over at Cotton Top and saw the smaller man was moving slightly as well. So, thought Nate, Old Cotton heard it too and he's awake. Well, we ain't got no fire, so if somebody be out there they didn't find us by the light or smoke of our fire.
“Nate, there is somebody or a critter out there. I think I saw some movement to the west side, but I can't be sure because of the rain.” Nate heard his white partner whisper lightly.
“Ya keep an eye on our horses. I don't think it's a beast, too wet fer ‘em to be out. Most likely it's somebody up to no good on a wet night.”
“Injuns?”
Nate gave a light snicker and replied, “Now, Cotton, how in the hell do I know who it is? It could be God's angel Gabriel, but I've my doubts. Ya jess keep yer head pulled out of yer rear until we find out who it is and we'll be ok.”
Suddenly from where Cotton Top had seen the movement there come a call, “Hello the camp! I'm a white man! I've a sick woman and child with me! Can we come in?”
“Come on in, but keep yer hands were we can see ‘em. If yer hands drop quick like and I'll drill ya plum center. Ya understand me?” Nate yelled in return, as he pulled the hammer back on his Hawken rifle with a loud snap.
“I hear ya and we're comin' in!”
Less than a minute later, three faint images of darkness slowly moved toward the shelter. As they came nearer the clearer the forms became, until Nate could see a man, woman and small child moving toward his canvas shelter. The man held an old shotgun high in his left hand, the woman had a pistol in her belt, and the child carried a soft cloth toy of some sort in his right hand.
“Oh, thank God, you're white men!” The woman blurted out as she neared the canvas shelter.
Nate chuckled and replied, “Well, at least one of us is, but I ain't. Come in here, get under the canvas, and tell me what in the world is a-goin' on.”
The three dark figures entered the shelter of the canvas, sat in the dirt and glanced around. A few seconds passed before the woman asked, “You a nigger?”
“I've been called that, but I don't take to the word much.”
“We liked to never found you. We saw the light of your fire a long way back last night, but then we lost it in the storm. We've been out on the plains for days now.” The man suddenly spoke.
“Why?” Cotton asked as he pulled the cork from a bottle of trader's whiskey and filled two tin cups. As soon as the cups were full, he handed one to the woman and one to the man.
“Ree hit our wagon train two days ago right at sunup. We were out gathering fire wood, so they didn't see us.” The man replied as he took the cup of strong amber alcohol and raised it to his lips.
Nate thought for a second and then said, “Ree? Kind of south for them boys, so ya sure it was them and not another tribe? It don't sound like them to be out this time of the year and way down here. And, why would a wagon train be out?”
The man cleared his throat and replied, “I'm Captain Taylor M. Banks, of the U.S. Army, and this is my wife, Sara. The boy is our son William. I didn't get your names sir.”
Nate chuckled and said, “I didn't give our names, but I'm Nate Grisham and this is Cotton Top Thomas. But, ya didn't answer my question, why was a wagon train out here in the middle of nowhere?”
“Well, Mister Grisham, as an officer in the cavalry I know my Indians. God knows I've fought them enough times and it was the Ree. And, to answer your question, we were a small group of wagons on a mission for the United States Army.”
The two mountain men glanced at each other, only due to the darkness they could see little but a vague image. Finally, Nate said, “Cotton, get us a small fire going. It looks like most of the storm has passed. Folks, if ya'll give us a few minutes we'll have some light, give ya some hot food, and then we'll talk some more.”
As soon as Cotton Top had the fire burning, Nate glanced over at Sara Banks. The big man watched her grimaced as she took a small sip of the rough trader's whiskey, but it was obvious to the mountain man she was hungry, tired and not well. Her eyes had the look of a hunted animal, reflecting fear. Sara's hands trembled in the poor light of the fire as she raised the cup to her full lips once more. Nate wondered if her hands shook from fear, fatigue, or from illness.
Sara Banks was a small woman, just a tab over five feet tall, but with a large bust, narrow waist, and wide hips. Her hair was a bright red and her eyes were a deep green. Nate would have guessed her weight to be near one hundred and ten pounds if she was soaking wet, and she was.
Taylor Banks was not in uniform, but his behavior clearly indicated he was a military man. He was just slightly less than six feet tall, about one hundred and eighty pounds, and not a bit of it fat. His shoulders were wide and his face was square with light blue eyes. His dark brown hair was closely cropped and his beard neatly trimmed.
The young boy had fallen asleep with his head on his mothers lap and seemed to be a smaller image of his momma. William Banks was only six years old, but he'd already traveled over half of the nation and most of it on foot. The last few days had been hard on the young boy and it showed.
After the young boy woke long enough to eat, Nate asked, “So, what's this about a wagon train bein' attacked?”
“It happened two or three days back and about thirty miles west of here. I hid Sara and William, and then I crawled up on a slight rise to watch it all happen. The Ree over-ran the train and from where I was I'd say there were no survivors or captives.”
“Nobody?” Cotton Top asked as he put the heavy lid back on the Dutch oven and turned to meet the Captain's eyes.
“Hell, I didn't hang around to check, but it didn't look good. I'll admit, I was somewhat startled by the suddenness, the brutality of the attack, and the speed of which it ended. By Damn, I'll bet you the fight didn't last five minutes, from first bullet to the last bullet.”
“Yer a smart man if it scared ya a mite. Them Ree don't play around when they go on a killin' spree and it is rare a person gets away from ‘em.” Cotton spoke once more and glanced quickly at Nate.
Both of the mountain men knew something about the story was not right, but what? It was late fall or early winter, depending on your view, and usually most Indians, except for small groups of hunters out looking for buffalo, were back in the village preparing for the coming bad weather. Anyway, what would a wagon train be doing out on the open plains with bad weather due to hit at any time? And, besides all of that, where on earth would a wagon train be heading? It just didn't add up and while stranger things had happen, the two mountain men both thought if the Ree were out in force, something had them riled up good.
“My wife has a fever and she's not been well since the attack. I guess part of the problem is that she's not been dry since we fled. I felt it would be safer not to have a fire due to the threat of the Indians.”
“Could be yer thoughts were right, but the Ree might have moved on right after the attack. And, I've found it's always better to not take a risk than to take one.” Cotton Top spoke as he added one more log to the dying fire and then quickly added, “Yer safe right now, so relax a bit and let us think about what we're gonna do with the three of ya.”
“I need to report to the army and determine what they want to do about all of this and make sure it's not taken lightly.” Captain Banks said as he leaned back in the dirt beside the fire.
“There's Fort Atkinson , but that's the closest place I know of outside of Saint Louis .” Nate spoke and then wondered about the man's concern in reporting the killings. Nate felt that most folks would be more worried about surviving, or getting their family to safety, and not so much about reporting the attack. Granted, the killings needed reporting, but why worry about the dead, when you had a sick wife and a small child with you. It didn't make sense to him.
“Would you take us there?” Sara asked as she looked over at her husband and then lowered her eyes.
Old Cotton Top gave a loud laugh and then replied, “I don't see no other choice, and besides, ya need to see a doctor. Yer breathin's rough and I ‘spect ya have a bad cold or mayhap pee'monia. Both of them illnesses can kill and a woman will usually die quicker than a man if they come down sick with one of ‘em.”
“We appreciate your concern, but my wife is quite able to continue on and will do so. If you'll take us to Atkinson, we'll all see a doctor and be on the mend quickly, I assure you. I can notify the Department of the Army by dispatch and we can immediately continue our move westward from there.” The Captain spoke and then leaned forward to hold his hands open to the flickering flames of the fire.
The Captain's comments made Nate wonder about the rush to move west and that made the big black man suspicious as all get out. And, why had Sara raised her right eyebrow when she heard the name Fort Atkinson ? There was a large army unit Atkinson, so why send a dispatch all the way to the Department of the Army in Washington ? On the other hand, he thought, maybe I'm making more out of this than there is. It could be after the Injun attack and the last few days out on the plains; these folks are just plain worn out. Lord knows that something like that would be real hard on any folks from back east.
“I think it would be smart if y'all get a couple of hours of sleep before we move,” Cotton spoke as he handed his spare wool blanket to Sara Banks and watched her cover her sleeping child. “The weather might clear up in a few hours, but we'll have to wait a spell to allow the trail to clear up a mite. Right now, the runoff has most likely turned the trail into one big mud hole and travel will be too slow. When we leave later today, yer wife and child will share a horse, and we men folk will walk. Near as I figure we're jess a tad less than twenty miles from the fort, so it'll only take us a day of hard walkin' to get there.”
Less than an hour later, as the two mountain men stood guard over the horses, Cotton Top looked over at Nate and said, “I cain't put my finger to it, but all ain't as it seems with this Captain Banks feller. I figure he ain't a Captain, or else he don't want the army to know what's a-goin' on just yet. Seems to me a man in his position would want the army to know what is goin' on and the army post is the closest place to report it. I mean, why would he send a dispatch to Washington with the army right there in town? And, besides, what in the hell was a bunch of pilgrims doin' out on the open plains in a goddamned wagon train?”
Nate gave out a light sigh and then replied, “Hell, it's hard to say Cotton. Lot 's of men out here aren't what they claim to be, but I suspect he's an army officer, or at least was. But, like ya jess said, I cain't figure out why he doesn't want the army involved first hand and the post there is the best place to report all of this. It's like he is tryin' to cover it up.”
“Ya reckon he's on the run?”
Nate thought for a minute and then said, “Could be, but I don't think so. I think the Captain was in charge of the wagon trains security and a thing like that could ruin his military career. He's young and if he was in charge when all them folks got killed, hell, he'd be finished in army, don't ya see?”
The older mountain man gave a low laugh, pulled his hat off and ran his fingers through is dirty hair before he said, “Yep, I can see all of that, but still, ya can't run from a killin' like that, ‘cause it's too big. People will find out and they'll know soon enough who was in charge.”
“That they will my friend, that they will, if what he told us is the truth.”
