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Back Montana Territory Save as PDF
Chapters (25)
  1. Also by
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Page
  4. Dedication
  5. CHAPTER 1
  6. CHAPTER 2
  7. CHAPTER 3
  8. CHAPTER 4
  9. CHAPTER 5
  10. CHAPTER 6
  11. CHAPTER 7
  12. CHAPTER 8
  13. CHAPTER 9
  14. CHAPTER 10
  15. CHAPTER 11
  16. CHAPTER 12
  17. CHAPTER 13
  18. CHAPTER 14
  19. CHAPTER 15
  20. CHAPTER 16
  21. CHAPTER 17
  22. CHAPTER 18
  23. CHAPTER 19
  24. CHAPTER 20
  25. Teaser chapter

Hawk sat down on the ridge and prepared to keep watch on the trading post for the rest of the day, leaving only when he thought it too late for Booth to start out for anywhere. It was to be his routine for the next two days, until the third day, when he climbed to his lookout on that morning to discover there were horses missing. Not all had gone, but the one critical one, a black Morgan, was not there, and he guessed three others were gone as well. Two riders and two packhorses, he thought. They had left in the middle of the night while he was sleeping, padded quietly by on the road near his camp, unaware of its existence. And he had not heard them, nor had there been any alert from Rascal. He considered the possibility that they might not have gone to Helena and that was the reason he had not heard them. He quickly discarded that likelihood. Helena was where he was sure they were originally heading, and it was unlikely they would turn around and go back toward Great Falls or Fort Benton. The fact is, he thought, in the middle of the night, we were within seventy-five yards of each other, and none of us knew it. “I guess I’d best count myself lucky I didn’t get shot while I was asleep,” he said.

He got to his feet and went back down the ridge, where Rascal was waiting. With no thought toward going into Bodine’s to make sure they were gone, he went back to his camp to pack up all his belongings. Soon, he was in the saddle again, on the road to Helena.

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 15

He had not traveled more than about nine or ten miles when he came to a wide stream. He paused before crossing to let Rascal drink. Sitting there while he waited for the buckskin to satisfy his thirst, he suddenly became alert, distracted by a noise made by something disturbing the leaves of a serviceberry bush on the other side of the stream. He immediately drew his rifle and backed Rascal around, so he would be facing that way, ready to shoot, if necessary. He cocked the Winchester, even though he suspected he might be preparing to shoot a possum or maybe a large snake. It was difficult to determine in the late afternoon there in the shadows of the trees. Staring at the berry bushes, he was suddenly startled to see a young Indian boy get to his feet with his hands raised in the air. “Don’t shoot,” the boy spoke in the Blackfoot tongue. “We can do you no harm. We have nothing left to give you.”

We, he thought. “Who is with you?” He answered the boy, also speaking in the Blackfoot tongue.

“My father,” the boy answered.