Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
After a miserable week, boarding trains and getting off at new stations, General huffed aloud, his breath visible in the cool Rocky Mountain breeze like smoke.
The crisp air bit at his ears and neck, making him wish he had prepared better.
But he had been too anxious, ready to venture out to the Montana Territory and take care of business.
It didn’t matter if it was the dead of winter; he’d fight to retrieve his flesh and blood his wife had stolen from him. Then he’d carry out justice.
After stepping off the train and looking out from the station, his eyes met the saloon’s sign, like a beacon leading him to a lighthouse.
He longed for a drink. What had it been, a day or two?
The train’s liquor didn’t agree well with him.
He hoped for something less fancy, more natural and real.
None of that overpriced wine and brandy.
He crunched through the snow and opened the saloon’s door.
Upon entering, men from every corner locked eyes with him, studying him from head to toe.
Their attire was more appropriate for the weather—coats made of different fur types like buffalo, grizzly, and moose.
Very robust for General’s taste, but he was desperate.
He settled himself at the bar, turning his head from the harlots in the corner, preying on the men seated at their own tables, playing cards or fooling around.
Oh, how General longed to break those girls’ necks. Their behavior was repulsive, and he admired the thought that no one would miss them if he just—
“What can I get ya, sir?” the bearded barkeeper asked, a puff of smoke coming from his cigar. His eyes roved as he studied General.
“Get me a bottle of whiskey.”
The man nodded. “Done.”
General looked ahead, studying each bottle of liquor stored—brandy, rum, beer, whiskey, and gin. He longed for them all, but he couldn’t delay his journey. There would be more to celebrate when he came home with the heir that would be his legacy’s salvation.
The man returned with General’s bottle, and he immediately popped off the top, ready to drink the remarkable beverage.
“You ain’t from around here, are ya?” the barkeeper asked.
General took a sip and swallowed. “What gives me away?”
The man laughed. “You really want that answer? You look prim, like you a city folk.”
General chuckled as the whiskey flamed down his throat. “General Marcus Wellington.”
“Zack Yancey.” He put out his hand and Marcus shook it. “What ya doin’ comin’ ‘round here durin’ the winter, General?”
“You wouldn’t guess.”
Zack leaned forward, his elbows resting on the counter. “A man of mystery. I like that.”
“Know where I can get a stagecoach from here?”
Zack stepped back, shaking his head as a loud chuckle bellowed out of him. “You’re a funny one, General. We ain’t got no stagecoaches out here, not in this weather. You must be crazy.”
General’s grip tightened around his bottle.
What right did this man have to insult someone of his status?
He wanted to take hold of that neck of his and squeeze every ounce of breath out of him.
Perhaps a duel for the insult. Those were his favorite in the days, a game of cat and mouse.
Only the strongest could win, like Darwin’s theory.
How long had it been since he participated in one?
Well, planning one wasn’t too long ago. However, he decided poison was easier on Stephen Callahan.
General reached into his pocket, pulling out a pouch of gold. He couldn’t be distracted by every little insult. He had more important matters to deal with. Save your strength.
“I’ll pay anyone willing to take me out.”
Zack continued to laugh. “General, please. Don’t show off ya money like that. You gonna call bad attention.”
“I need to get to Montana.”
Zack sighed, patting the counter. “Look, General. If ya really wanna get there, wait till spring. I got a nice room out back, and you can stay there. I’ll even send you a nice lady to keep ya company. Just don’t do somethin’ stupid.”
General’s muscles tensed. He didn’t want a woman. He didn’t want a bed here, despite the lovely supply of liquor. He wanted what was rightfully his.
“I’m good,” General snapped. “I’ll find someone else to help.”
Zack walked off, shaking his head as he continued to laugh. “Good luck with that.” The barkeep turned away and tended to another customer on the other side of the counter.
General took another sip of whiskey and put his money away. Some business Zack had here, insulting his customers. Perhaps if General taught him a lesson, he’d think of something else to say, perhaps even get him a stagecoach. Something told General the man was just frightened and lazy.
“You lookin’ for someone to take ya to Montana?’
General turned around, facing a man standing tall before him. He had a thick, black beard, streaked with smoky gray, that added to his rugged appearance. He wore an oversized buffalo coat that draped heavily on his broad shoulders, making him appear twice as large as he likely was.
“What’s it to you?”
The man settled himself in the stool next to General, putting out his hand. “Buck Hanson.”
General took the man’s hand, shaking it with a firm grip. “General Marcus Wellington.”
“General?” Buck repeated, his brows raised and forehead creased. “Confederate?”
“Yes.”
Buck nodded with a smile. “Ah, well it’s an honor. We might’ve passed each other on the battlefield once. I fought for the Confederate States. I’m a Louisianan, born and raised.”
General grinned. “Well, that makes me proud. It’s nice to meet another true man of the cause.”
“I came out west after the war. I trap and trade now.”
General took a sip of his whiskey. “You trade with the Indians?”
“I do,” Buck said. “I hope you don’t mind that I overheard your conversation, but I’m headin’ out to Montana myself to trade with some Cheyenne.
I have a sled already set up with supplies that’ll last another month.
” Buck leaned in closer. “I know that barkeep said you’re crazy for goin’ alone, and he’s right.
It’s not just the freeze you should worry ‘bout. There’s Injuns, lots of ‘em, and they’re out for blood.
You need someone with experience to escort you out. ”
General’s brows raised. “I’d be obliged.”
“Anythin’ for my general. I respect ya, just like I did in the army. You and me are brothers from the same side.”
General reached into his pocket. “How much?’
Buck shook his head. “None.”
General grinned. He reached out, shaking Buck’s hand. “What time we heading out?”