Son of a Mountain Man

Son of a Mountain Man

By Gary G. Pearce

Copyright 2016

Smashwords Edition

This is the First Book in the Series

Based on the Exploits of Newt

and His Friends and Enemies and

One Great Big Grizzly!

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Book Cover Copyright:

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Table of Contents

Dedication

Chapter One - The Introduction

Chapter Two - The Healing

Chapter Three - The Idea

Chapter Four - Partnering Up

Chapter Five - Greasing the Wheels

Chapter Six - First Trip

Chapter Seven - The Return

Chapter Eight - Down at Benny’s

Chapter Nine - Coming and Going in Buckskin Joe

Chapter Ten - On the Trail Again

Chapter Eleven - Old Gabe

Chapter Twelve - Day Two

Chapter Thirteen - The Picnic

Chapter Fourteen - Yonv Vo-nva

Chapter Fifteen - The Storm

Chapter Sixteen - The Miracle at the Mine

Chapter Seventeen - Going Home

Chapter Eighteen - The Banquet

Chapter Nineteen - Fireworks

Chapter Twenty - Everyone and Everything

About the Author

Preview of The High Lonesome Freight Company

THLFC Chapter One - The Next Phase

THLFC Chapter Two - The Trip to Cloud City

Dedication

This work was inspired by and

is dedicated to the memory of my dear friend, Michael J. Newt Newton. He was a true modern day Mountain Man. He told me stories… and lies, I know some of them were lies. One of his stories that I did verify as being gospel, started with this lead in I thought that gator was dead ‘till I got him in the boat.

Chapter One

The Introduction

Newt was enjoying the mid-day coolness of the thick aspen grove under an azure sky from behind a wagon sized boulder when the serenity was at first invaded and then shattered by a sound like rolling thunder, edging closer and then closer still until the ground began to shake. Leaves of the Quaking Aspen are set to trembling on the lightest of breezes but the pounding of several hundred hooves had them dancing. Just as the magnificent Colorado sunshine had flooded the meadow in front of Newt's boulder, a herd of elk now, at full tilt from uphill to the right, spilled into that same space. Having only recently come west from northern Georgia, Newt had never seen elk in such numbers. The buckskinned traveler, at first startled and then awed by the spectacle that filled his senses so suddenly, slowly realized the opportunity that had presented itself to obtain valuable trail meat. As he swung his Dad's old Hawkin and fired, something caught his eye from nearby uphill.

He turned in time to see a tawny mountain lion leap at his throat. Shielding himself as best as he could, he ducked and spun to his left. He heard the ferocious teeth tear into his scalp and felt the claws of the cat's left paw rake his right shoulder though he felt no pain. His spin slung the cat off in front of him but the puma seemed to land and leap again in one motion. The beast's left claw once more dug into his right shoulder but more deeply this time. With his left hand Newt grabbed a slashing right fore paw just before it reached his throat while his right hand instinctively drew his antler handled Arkansas Toothpick from his belt. Swiping the razor edged blade across in front of him, Newt easily sliced through the captured paw, relieving the now screaming cat of three of its toes. The cat's hind legs dug into Newt's thighs as it leaps backwards to pull its dismembered paw free of Newt's grasp. He seemed to just disappear into the scant undergrowth as Newt collapsed on the ground. Then everything went dark.

He did not know how long he lay there in his bloodied and shredded clothes, but he drifted slowly back towards conciseness. The scream of a distant eagle floated gently into his mind accompanied by voices softly singing a Cherokee Chant that Newt remembered from his youth. Through the darkness, swirling smoke slowly formed into the face of his Grandfather and he heard his words. Usd Yonv (Little Bear), you must go from this place. There is much awaiting you. The smoke began to clear and Newt became aware of daylight through closed eyelids. He blinked them open and tried to focus but each time they slammed shut again. After several attempts he was finally able to hold them open long enough to see an object mere inches from his nose. As his vision cleared he saw that the object was the claws of a mountain lion. He automatically drew away then he realized that they were the claws he had relieved the cat of. Slowly he reached out and stuffed them into his coat pocket. Then he somehow pulled himself to a standing position with the aid of an aspen trunk. Leaning against the boulder, he saw that his pinto, JD, and his pack horse had come to him while he was passed out on the ground and he swiped at JD's reins until he finally grabbed them. His rifle had ended up lying across a stout snowberry bush. He was able to take hold of it and with the butt on the ground and his feet on the aspen trunk, managed to inch his way up the boulder meaning to mount his tall horse from up there. When he figured that he was high enough, he was able to, ungracefully, fall onto his saddle.

JD eased off into the aspen grove with the pack horse following closely behind, his rider barely aware of the motion. Although the white barked aspens were thick, JD, somehow, managed to pick a route that did not sweep Newt off his back.

At one point, when Newt was jolted to consciousness, he felt his scalp flopping around. As carefully as he was capable of, he positioned it hair side up and laid a bandana on top. He remembered his hat hanging on the saddle horn and pulled it down tightly on his head and secured it with his chin strap.

Soon, they came across a fair trail leading gently through a wide, lush valley. It was rocky but well-traveled. JD made a sharp turn uphill as if someone or something was guiding him in that direction.

****

Buckskin Joe had sprung out of the sandy forested mountainside in 1859, when gold was discovered by a group of prospectors led by Joseph Higgenbottom along Buckskin Creek in what was then the Kansas Territory. Joseph had a propensity for wearing buckskins, hence the name. He left the area before his claim was proven to be rich, trading it for a revolver and a few other items and left for the San Juan Mountains to the southwest. The claim later proved to be a rich one and produced most of the $16 million of gold processed at the nearby mill. This year, 1861, Joe became part of the new Colorado Territory and later, in 1862, was to become the County Seat of Park County, with a Post Office, two Hotels, a Bank, more than a dozen stores, several saloons, dance halls and gambling establishments and one billiard table.

At almost two miles above sea level, you had to be tough just to survive up here. If you meant to chisel a living out of the ground with a pick and shovel, well you had to be maybe a little bit crazy… or desperate. Course the lure of gold was a powerful addiction and it could make men both crazy and desperate.

Randy Pettifore was not one of those with gold fever, nor were his pals. They had been drawn to the High Lonesome some 30 years earlier by the adventure of the fur trade as Mountain Men. There was Cal Brock who was the gatherer of the group. He was known for his large powerful frame and was also the most gregarious of the Mountain Men, with a big smile that put people at ease. Medicinal plants and herbs were his specialty but he also had a talent for planting food plots. Then there was Charles Crawford, sometimes called Chuck. He was an averaged sized, quiet man with smooth features. He learned at an early age how to trap small critters for food. Good to know in Indian Country when gunfire could bring unwanted attention. Jeremiah Brody was the youngest of the Mountain Men. He had a way with beasts of burden; horses, mules, donkeys, and even brought a genuwine camel to Rendezvous one year. Caleb Sutterfield, the Gunsmith and Daniel Turner, the Blacksmith were not mountain men. Neither was the Livery owner, Lamar Argroves, but all became fast friends of the group in Buckskin Joe.

Randy was a rail thin lad of 18 when he left Tennessee in 1827 to become a trapper. Went to Rendezvous that year at Sweet Lake and every year after that and knew every Mountain Man you ever heard of. He worked for Jim Bridger’s Brigade a couple of years and wintered over with the rag-tag outfit too. He was far from rail thin now but had a robust frame that still served him well. He possessed an inner strength that put him equal to almost any task that could be imagined. Now he and his long time pals called Joe home. Denver was less than four day’s ride east in good weather and they figured that was close enough to civilization.

But even Randy was not accustomed to winter at this extreme altitude. Winter stays long up here and cloaks everything in shades of white and gray. In early 1861, the whole town had forgotten how bright the sun could be. Finally, a Monday dawned clear, the way it only can in the Colorado Rockies. The school bell added a sharpness to the colors that flooded Buckskin Joe that day and everyone seemed to have a brighter attitude to match the smiles that Randy saw all around him. It was a fresh beginning to a new year.

Even the sounds that had become dulled by the damp gray of winter were now crisp and created images on their own. Children laughing, the horses and cattle, the sound of an ax splitting oak, the blacksmith’s bellows, all breathed life into the thin mountain air. Gone were the aches and pains. Gone were the worries too long carried. Nothing remained but happiness because the sun was finally shining all around.

As Randy sauntered towards Tabor’s store, he issued greetings to everyone he met and a curt tip of the hat to the few ladies in these parts who beamed back their gratitude.

Newt’s tall pinto and pack horse were standing at the hitching post in front of Tabor's store when he arrived. Randy saw a stranger in bloody buckskins, who barely looked to be twenty years old, slumped over the saddle, head down and not moving. Randy spoke but received no response. He stepped off of the boardwalk and down to the horse and touched the man on the leg. The strangers hand immediately reached for a revolver. He drew and swung his pistol towards Randy who was surprised by the speed of the formerly motionless man. Randy still managed to grab the revolver and twist it away from him. He tumbled from the saddle and Randy caught him on a broad shoulder. Luckily, the man was fairly light weight and Randy was able to go up the steps and into the front door of the store.

Tabor had witnessed the event and was motioned Randy to bring the unconscious stranger into a cluttered back room with a small bed in one corner.

The pair laid him out on the bed to evaluate his condition. They stripped him of his weapons and belts. His face was almost covered with blood and parts of his scalp were missing. The claw marks and puncture wounds on his forearms and shoulders testified to a struggle with, they guessed, a mountain lion. He must have protected his back and chest as they showed little sign of the struggle with the exception of his right shoulder. His pants and legs were torn open, maybe from swiping paws. As Randy cut the buckskin away from the injured legs and arms, Horace had his wife, Augusta, fetch towels and a pan of water. She put some more water on to boil and tore some cloth into strips for tourniquets and bandages.

Randy cleaned him up as best as he could to reveal the true extent of the injuries. He made use of the alcohol that Horace had brought in and the bandages to reduce the bleeding. A compression bandage was required for the head wounds and a tourniquet for the deep gash in his right leg. Randy soaked the bandages with more alcohol. I'll need to sew up that leg when I can get the bleeding stopped and then see what I can do for his scalp Randy said as he turned to Horace. Could I borrow a needle and some thread?

Horace said I'll be right back as he re-entered the store. He returned in short order as Randy was tightening the tourniquet and applying pressure to the deep gash in the right leg.

If I can get this done before he wakes up, maybe he won't try to shoot me again. Randy removed the bandages on the worst wound on the right leg and cleaned it with the hot water. The bleeding had almost stopped and he prepared the needle and thread for the task that lay before him. Dousing them and the wound in alcohol he made neat stitches to close the gash in his leg and then worked on the uneven pattern of his scalp. A little more alcohol and Randy stepped back to view his work.

That's all I can do for now Randy confessed. "I'll loosen that tourniquet ever once in a while and if he comes to, I'll see that he gets what water I can get him to take. Thanks for the help Horace