Hard Winter Part 15

"I know that, boy. I just want you to remember her. She was on that train."

"What train?"

"The one derailed at the Little Blackfoot. Killed the engineer, killed the fireman, killed a drummer named Kelley, and it killed this here girl. Velna Oramo. Broke both of her mother's legs, not to mention her heart. Hurt a lot of other people, but it's the girl's death that got the Northern Pacific riled, got everyone in Helena wanting blood. She was nine years old."

"You should run the photographer who took that picture out of Helena," Gene Hardee said. "Takes one sick. . . ."

"He's no fiend," Bitterroot said. "Pictures like that make things personal, shows Montana what . . ."

I'd heard enough. "I don't know this girl. I don't know anything about that accident. I. . . ."

"Wasn't no accident, Hawkins. That train was derailed on purpose."

Now, I understood. I dropped the photo. Waited for Bitterroot Abbott to finish.

"Your pard, John Henry Kenton was seen. Been identified. He stole a pickaxe from a railroad tool shed. Was overheard at the Crabtown Saloon saying he'd get even with the railroad. Said the N.P. never should have brought in barbed wire. Kenton's a murderer, Hawkins. A vicious, terrible murderer . . . four times over. A child killer. I'd hang him four times. I'd hang him forty times. He'll only hang once, but I'm after him, and you know me. I don't trust lawyers, and judges, and hangmen. And I figure you might know where he is." He pointed at the photograph by my dripping boots.

"Well?" he said.

I let his words sink in, but couldn't say anything. I'd close my eyes, and see that girl. I'd imagine the wreck. My stomach got all twisted.

Gene Hardee broke the silence. "Tommy O'Hallahan? Was he seen in Helena? At the Little Blackfoot?"

I wasn't sure I wanted to hear Bitterroot's answer. "No," the gunman said. "Kenton was alone. n.o.body knows what become of the other boy. Reckon folks would remember a face like his."

Abbott told us more. Kenton watched the wreck. The fireman lived long enough to describe him and the big sorrel horse he was riding. Other witnesses on the train and at the Crabtown Saloon gave a judge enough reason to issue a warrant for John Henry's arrest.

"The N.P.'s put up a five hundred dollar reward for Kenton," Abbott said, "and the residents of Helena added to that pile another five hundred. I aim to collect it. So I'm asking you once more, Hawkins. Where's Kenton?"

"Forget it, Abbott," Gene Hardee said. "Major MacDunn ordered Kenton off this range. Kenton's not here. Haven't seen him since Tristram Gow fired him. Jim Hawkins has been here, working hard. Boy helped save my hide when I busted my ankle in that first bad storm to hit us."

Abbott stared at me, but finally he nodded. "All right. The Bar DD was on my way. Figured I'd ride over to Gow's place."

"Gow wouldn't have anything to do with that!" Hardee pointed at the photograph on the floor.

"Well, I aim to collect that reward. Likely that dead girl's parents will offer even more than the thousand bucks already on Kenton's hide."

"It's just an arrest warrant, Abbott," Hardee said. "He hasn't been found guilty, yet."

"The man's guilty in my eyes. But no matter. What about the other one? The one-eyed kid, the boy who helped tear up all that wire by the river. He around?"

Holding my breath, I was thankful that Abbott looked at Hardee when he asked that question, and when Hardee answered.

"He's not here. You're welcome to stay, see for yourself. Ish, Melvin, and the rest of the boys should get back before dusk."

Abbott's eyes whipped back to me.

"What about you, Hawkins? You seen . . . ? I disremember his name."

"Tommy," I answered. "Tommy O'Hallahan. No, sir, I haven't seen him since . . ." I shrugged. Not altogether a lie, I reasoned, and just hoped Walter Butler would keep his big mouth shut, prayed that Abbott wouldn't ask Walter anything. He didn't. Didn't even look at Walter Butler.

"All right." Abbott picked up the photograph by the puddle of snow melt, started to put it back in his sack, then walked over to my bunk, found my war bag, and shoved it inside, deep. "I'll let you keep this, boy," he said. "In case you see that Texas rawhide again. I might even be inclined to give you a bit of that reward if you tell me something I need to know. Something that helps me find Kenton."

"He's probably already in Canada," Hardee said.

"If he is, I'll find him," Abbott said. "Marshal Kelley's posting me at Great Falls, so if you hear anything about Kenton, you get word to me there. I'll find him wherever he is."

"Why'd you lie about Tommy?" I asked Gene Hardee after Bitterroot Abbott rode out of sight.

"Didn't lie," Hardee said with sad smile. "O'Hallahan ain't here. He's at the Sun River Caon line shack." With his pocket knife, he carved off a piece of chewing tobacco, and put the quid in his mouth. "I'm not fond of Abbott," he said after a moment, "and I'll give O'Hallahan, after all he's been through, the benefit of a doubt. For now. But we'll need to keep our eyes open for Kenton. I'll ask O'Hallahan a few questions when he comes down for Christmas. But, Jim, if you run across Kenton, you light a shuck. Don't talk to him, just ride away.

Man's gone loco." I think it was the winter.

Chapter Twenty-Five.

Christmas came and went, but Tommy never showed. That weighed heavy on poor Mrs. MacDunn. She fretted over Tommy about as much as I did, but Gene Hardee and Ish Fishtorn a.s.sured her that he likely lost track of the days. Wasn't no calendar at that line shack, or he simply had his hands full trying to keep the cattle out of the freezing river. Besides, the weather wasn't so inviting for a sixteen-year-old boy to ride those umpteen miles through snowdrifts and a miserable wind just for roasted goose and Sally Lunn bread. I hoped Tommy just wanted, needed, to be alone.

On Christmas night, it started snowing again, and it kept falling for two days. The wind wailed, and, when the storm finally broke, Gene Hardee sent Busted-Tooth Melvin up to the Sun River to check on Tommy. He said it was for Mrs. MacDunn's sake, but I suspect he worried over Tommy, too.

While we were waiting for Busted-Tooth Melvin's return, we got another visitor, and I didn't know what kind of welcome Major MacDunn would give Tristram Gow.

Never been much of a hand as a farrier, but Hardee had me shoeing horses with Old Man Woodruff. That's where I was when the rider come up. Upon hearing the major cussing, me and Woody put down our tools, and walked out of the barn, and into the wind.

"I warned you about setting foot on my land, Gow," Major MacDunn said.

Mr. Gow sat atop a big brown gelding, and he looked terrible, slumped in the saddle, and, when he removed his goggles-he had cut a little slit in them, protection from s...o...b..indness so he could see-I saw how bloodshot his eyes were, how pale he was.

"Please . . ." he began.

"Gow!" The major gripped the b.u.t.t of the Bulldog revolver he'd stuck in his waistband.

"Please." This time it was Mrs. MacDunn doing the begging.

The wind moaned through the cracks in the barn walls.

"It's Melvina," Mr. Gow said, choking back a cry of anguish.

The snow started falling, light at first, then steady. I remembered Camdan's ma, a frail, weak sort, recalled the time we'd spent at the 7-3 Connected, her fretting over the fact she might have to take to the root cellar, her always bothered by the constant wind.

"Come inside, Tristram," Mrs. MacDunn said, and the major barked a terrible oath, but Mrs. MacDunn ignored him, still speaking to Mr. Gow. "You look terrible."

"It's Melvina," he repeated. "She's run off."

Hearing that, Major MacDunn eased his hand from the revolver, took a deep breath, then spotted me and Woody eavesdropping on them. I thought he'd tear into us, but he just barked an order for us to tend to Mr. Gow's horse, so I come out, hesitant, and took the reins from Mr. Gow after he dismounted. Seeing him up close, I knew he'd been crying. Worrying over his wife. I wondered where she'd run off to. They walked into the house, and I led the heaving, cold brown gelding into the barn.

Old Man Woodruff sadly shook his head.

Lainie told me all about what was said inside the house. Mr. Gow explained to the MacDunns that his wife had run off right before Christmas. He'd been looking for her, half crazy with worry.

"That poor woman," Mrs. MacDunn said.

"It's her mind," Mr. Gow said. "It's gone."

I think it was the winter.

He'd tried to deny it, Mr. Gow said, but Melvina Gow just couldn't cope with the terrible solitude, the wind, a sky so big it stretched toward eternity. Drove her mad. She lost all of her faculties. Took off in the buckboard. Camdan and his pa had been working the stock, with all the other hands, so n.o.body knew that Mrs. Gow had left the ranch house until much later.

"I have searched all over for her. Followed her trail. Lost it when the snow started." Mr. Gow kept s.h.i.+vering the whole time he talked, Lainie told me.

"How is Camdan?" Mrs. MacDunn asked.

"He's all right. Or was. Worried sick. Like me. I left him at the ranch. I didn't want him to find her in case. . . ." Mr. Gow started crying again. Took him five minutes before he could speak again, get control of himself.

"Gow," the major said, "your house is a day's ride from the Bar DD. In this weather. . . ."

"She had the buckboard," Mr. Gow said. "I found it five miles from here, the horse dead, frozen in the traces. So she had to be alive then. I'd hoped . . . maybe. . . ."

"Five miles might as well be fifty," the major said. "Or five hundred. A woman in her condition."

"There's always hope," Mr. Gow said, "and I had hoped . . . prayed . . . maybe. . . ."

"She isn't here," the major told him. "Where was your buckboard?"

"In a coulee. A mile from the dry creekbed. I just. . . ."

Mrs. MacDunn give him a big dose of brandy to help settle his nerves, and looked at Major MacDunn. Looked at him long and hard, the two of them never saying a word.

"You know she's dead," Major MacDunn told Mr. Gow bluntly, and Mrs. MacDunn and Lainie closed their eyes.

"I just have to find her, William," Mr. Gow said weakly. "Please."

"The weather's been warm," Mrs. MacDunn said, looking at the major, her eyes hopeful. "Was warm. Maybe. . . ."

"She's dead," the major said.

"Father!" Lainie snapped.

"I have to find her," Mr. Gow said. He started to rise, but his legs couldn't work, and he collapsed on the settee.

Another long silence followed. Slowly Major MacDunn rose from his leather chair, and grabbed his black greatcoat. "Your horse wouldn't carry you another mile," he said. "I'm not sure you can travel ten feet. I shall go."

With a determination that matched the major's bullheadedness, Mr. Gow pushed himself to his feet. "I must ride with you, William," he said firmly, but, when he spoke again, his voice faltered. "I have . . . must . . . she. . . ."

The major gave a nod of approval. "We will pick out a fresh mount for you. Come, Tristram. We shall find your wife."

They packed enough supplies for three days, bundled up for the weather, and rode out. We helped the major saddle two good horses, as well as a pack mule, and Old Man Woodruff volunteered to help look for Melvina Gow, but the major wouldn't hear of it.

"Be careful," Mrs. MacDunn told them, adding a prayer-like whisper. "Please."

The major just grunted.

I wonder if his heart had changed. Wondered why he was doing that, helping Tristram Gow. I wondered how Mr. Gow felt having to come to the Bar DD for help. No, Mr. Gow didn't have reservations about that. He was looking for his wife, or, more likely, his wife's body. He loved his wife. Would do anything for her. But the major? What was he thinking? Acting almost human. Maybe that had something to do with the winter, too, or maybe he was trying to prove something to Mrs. MacDunn. Make up for being such an a.s.s. Well, I didn't know. Still can't be sure. Wasn't none of my affair, really. Just seemed strange, is all, unnatural. After all that had happened earlier in the year, no one between Great Falls and Helena ever would have expected to see Major MacDunn and Mr. Gow working together, almost acting like the friends they had been.

We watched the two men ride out together, ride until they disappeared in the falling snow.

The snow didn't let up, and the thermometer plummeted. Lainie, wrapped up in a heavy blanket, scarf, and three wool s.h.i.+rts, come over to the bunkhouse that night, even though it wasn't a Sunday, bringing some leftover bread for us boys to eat, and Treasure Island to read.

'Course, we'd finished the book several weeks earlier, but she still liked to bring it over, and we'd read some pa.s.sages that we liked a bunch. She didn't have any interest in Mr. Stevenson's writing or Long John Silver, Squire Trelawney, Dr. Livesey, or that other Jim Hawkins. We sat by the stove, letting Walter Butler join us, while the other boys played poker and complained about the weather.

"Do you think Father is all right?" Lainie asked.

"Sure," I said. Had no reason to doubt it. He and Mr. Gow were well outfitted, and men didn't come any tougher or ornerier than Major MacDunn.

Meanwhile, we worked. Worked hard. Riding out in the snow, seeing nothing but white-and that's when we could see anything at all-moving to the creeks and rivers. Noon came and went without notice on those days, us pus.h.i.+ng Aberdeen Angus and trail-thin longhorns up the hills.

"Keep them away from the river!" Ish Fishtorn kept yelling at me, until I snapped right back at him, pointing a gloved finger at our Bar DD beef. "Tell them! Not me!"

As soon as we got one bunch of cattle pushed back up the hills, away from the water, and herded them into what shelter we could find in a coulee or cutbank, another group would wander down to the river's edge. Endless. I think I learned more cuss words that winter than I'd learned in all my life.

Cattle are stupid, but maybe cowboys are even dumber critters. Smart fellows wouldn't have been out in that weather, riding all day, hungry, mad, freezing. We had to keep the cattle from the river, or they'd wander out into the water, and, if the ice didn't hold them, or if they'd step into an air hole, they would get pulled under, drown or freeze to death. So we worked through snowdrifts, watching cattle so poor they could hardly stand. Saw steers who had worn the hide and hair to their hocks just pus.h.i.+ng through frozen ice. The sight alone would have broken our hearts, had we not been so tired, so miserable. It's a miracle n.o.body else come down with frostbite or pneumonia. We worked until our lips cracked from the cold, until we could scarcely breathe.

No fiery furnace or smell of brimstone, but it was h.e.l.l just the same. h.e.l.l on cattle. h.e.l.l on men. h.e.l.l on horses. I ruined Gray Boy that winter, riding through the snow, up and down those hills. By the time I got him back to the ranch one afternoon, I saw his legs, and grimaced. The icy crust had carved furrows up and down his legs. The blood had frozen, of course, and it's a wonder Gray Boy hadn't gone lame, but I knew I couldn't take him out in the blizzard again. Gray Boy was lucky. He got to winter in the barn.

I had no such luck.

The snow stopped, but the temperature kept falling, and the wind howled. The major didn't return that night-hadn't expected him to-or the next.

Busted-Tooth Melvin rode in-we'd all been hoping it was the major and Mr. Gow-and said he'd found Tommy O'Hallahan working and reading at the line shack. Working alone. No sign of John Henry Kenton. That was good news. We asked him if he'd seen any signs of the major, but he hadn't.

By then, I guess we were all worrying.