The Shining Mountains 2: The Shining Mountains, #2

By charles fisher

20 year old Becky Barrett has fled New York after murdering her heavy handed father, and finds herself at Choteau's Trading Post on the Kansas River. She meets mountain man Josh Walker, who takes her to the west where she meets Jake Stanton, Dan McNeil, Cole Randall, Randall's nemesis Josiah Cannon, Right Hand Johnson, "Fat" McHugh, and a few others you may recognize from my other mountain man novels. A martial arts expert and a crack shot, Becky sets out to make a life for herself in the Rockies, with the goal of someday owning her own trading post. Nothing can stand in her way; not blizzards, Indian raiding parties, crooked post owners, or her own haunted conscience.

• Language: English
• Publisher: charles fisher
• Release date: Jan 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524260767

Book preview

Table of Contents

The Shining Mountains 2 | The Legend of Becky Barrett

The End | Becky et al will return soon in The Shining Mountains 3

The Shining Mountains 2

The Legend of Becky Barrett

Choteau's Trading Post

The Kansas River

October, 1830

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Becky Barrett sat down at the end of the bar and looked around. With her long dark hair tucked up under her hat, she looked like any average trapper. She put her bag between her feet and leaned her Hawken rifle against the rail. The barkeep, a smarmy little man named Garvey, came over and stared at her.

Saints be preserved, he sighed. You a girl?

Last time I looked, Becky said. She grabbed a tin cup from a rack and set it in front of her. Rum, please.

Shit almighty, Garvey said, shaking his head. You know where you is at, girly?

Says Choteau’s on the sign outside, Becky said. Can I have my rum?

Yeah, you can have your damn rum. Then you get your ass out of here. He grabbed a bottle from the bar and filled Becky’s cup half way. Two dollars.

Damn highway robber, she mumbled  as she fished in her pocket. She threw a ten dollar gold piece on the bar. No change yet. I may want another.

You ain’t  gonna get another. I told you to get your ass out of here, and you damn well better do it. He nodded at her and went down the bar to serve another patron.

Becky sipped the rum and frowned at the awful, watered down quality and taste. She waved at Garvey, who came back over.

I asked for rum, not some watered down horse piss you serve the Osage.

You get what I give you and be damn glad you got it, too. You don’t like it? he leered. You can go someplace else. Next post be a thousand miles that way, he said, pointing west.

You have mountain rum? Manuel Lisa’s rum is what I want.

Well tough titty, because you ain’t gonna get it. I got it, but that rum be for men, not girls. He started to walk away.

Becky moved so fast, Garvey never had a chance. He suddenly found himself on his back on his own bar, immobilized by some sort of weird hold he had never seen before. Becky pulled a 14 inch Jim Black hunting knife from her belt and laid the blade across Garvey’s throat. He stared up at her, spittle drooling from his mouth.

You gonna kill me because you don’t like my rum? he whispered.

"No, I’m going to kill you because I don’t like you, Becky said. Care to get that mountain rum for me now?" She began to draw the blade across Garvey’s throat. A thin trickle of blood ran down his neck.

All right! he bellowed. Let go of me. Jesus, lady, you’re crazy.

Becky let him up and dead stared him. She licked the blood off the knife and  put it away. She threw the contents of her  cup in Garvey’s face. Rum, please, she smiled. And it better be the real thing, or I’ll take you outside and cut your fucking head off.

Garvey got an earthenware jug from under the bar and uncorked it. He filled Becky’s cup half way. She cleared her throat and continued to stare at him. He filled the cup to the brim. She sipped at it and nodded.

That’s better. How much?

Five dollars.

Minus the other two, she said, her hand on the knife. Right?

Right, Garvey said nervously.

Good. Leave the jug.

You drink any more than what you got, and you’ll wake up naked in some river rat’s tent.

Your concern for my well being is overwhelming, she said. I didn’t think you cared.

You go ahead then, Garvey nodded. Go ahead and drink until you fall over. Maybe I’ll have a turn at you myself.

Show me, she grinned, pointing at the front of his pants. If it’s big enough, I might just let you. Then again, she shrugged, taking out the Black, whoosh! she giggled, and swiped at his groin with  the big blade. If it’s not, I’ll cut the fucking thing off and feed it to the dogs outside.

Garvey jumped back and stared at her in disbelief.

You be some kind of she-Devil huh, he whispered.

No, Becky said. I just don’t like being treated like garbage because I don’t have a penis. You keep it up, and you won’t have one either.

What the hell is a penis? Garvey exclaimed.

Dick, a voice boomed from behind Becky. She turned to see a tall bearded young man dressed in well worn buckskins. He had two Manton pistols in his belt, and a Black like hers. He sat down and peered at her, trying not to laugh. Joshua Walker at your service, Ma’am. Folks mostly call me Josh, or Doc. I seen what you done to him, he said. That were the funniest thing I seen in two years.

You run your mouth too much, Walker, Garvey said. I’ll kick your big trapper ass out of here. And this bitch can go with you.

C’mere, Josh said, beckoning to Garvey with his finger. Garvey came closer. Josh crashed a huge fist into Garvey’s face. He rocketed backwards into the bar, knocking several bottle to the floor before he collapsed in a heap. That were uncalled for, calling you that name, he nodded. He grabbed the jug off the bar and Becky’s gold piece. Here. I ‘spect this be your gold. He filled her cup and filled one for himself.

Won’t you get in trouble for this, er, Josh?

Me? Hell no, he laughed. We made this damn place, we done so much business here. Choteau can get himself a new barkeep. He don’t like what I done, he can kiss my ass. You a settler?

No.

Then what are you doing here? You on the run from the law?

You could say that, she smirked. I want to see the west.

Oh, he said. Yeah, I done that my own self. I am on my way back there now. Where you from?

New York, Becky said as she guzzled her rum. Arm pit of the world, you ask me. Nothing but crooks, garbage, and shit running down the streets. What’s the west like?

It be the most wonderful thing a man ever seen, he grinned. Them mountains be a true work of art. The Almighty outdid himself when he made those. And game as far as a man can see, and berries, and nuts, and fish, and all for free.

How do you make a living? You trap?

I did, but it ain’t for me. He looked around to make sure nobody was listening. I mine for gold. I got me a couple places where you get nuggets the size of a man’s thumb. Adds up fast, it do.

You said they call you Doc. Why is that?

My pa be a surgeon. He taught me. There be another mountain man out west, Jake Stanton, about as old as me. He can doctor, too.

Me too, Becky sighed. My ma was a nurse. She looked down for a minute. Doesn’t matter, she shrugged.

She gone on to her reward or something?

Yes. My father beat her so badly one night, she died.

I am truly sorry to hear that, Josh said. What happened to him? The law get him?

I got him, Becky said, a faraway, strange look on her face. It was the kind of look Josh had seen on the faces of men who enjoyed killing a lot more than they should have. I made that man suffer like nobody ever suffered before, she said. So, here I am, with a Constable or two looking for me back home.

Hell, that ain’t nothing to worry about. Them fellers come west once in a while to look for folks. None of ‘em leaves alive. We put ‘em under.

What about the law?

In the mountains? There ain’t  any law. Not like there be in big cities. A man wrongs you out west, you beat his ass or kill him. Nobody gonna do a damn thing about it, either. Plenty of them Constables left their bones for the wolves.

My kind of place, Becky said.

Well hold on now, it ain’t all paradise and sunshine and dance parties, he laughed. You got weather to deal with, and the Injuns. And you’re mostly alone all the damn time, unless you got you a squaw. You get hurt, you’re out of luck. Sometimes a man can get to a post, or he gets lucky and his friends find him. Sometimes not.

Indians, she nodded. We have Indians in New York. Adirondack and Iroquois.

We got the Sioux, the Crow, and the Blackfeet. God ain’t never made a more miserable critter than a Blackfeet brave. The Crow will lift your hair too, but they can be reasoned with. I got me a couple of Crow lodges where I trade. They do like their gold.

What do they buy with it? she laughed.

Mostly guns to shoot at us with, he grinned. But they learned better after we rendezvoused their asses a few times. Now they think twice about trying to kill a mountain man. Mostly they take us for ransom. Makes ‘em a big deal in their lodge. Also makes ‘em dead when we catch up to ‘em later on. Josh looked over at Becky’s rifle and nodded. Can you shoot that cannon you got?

Indeed I can, Becky said. Hawken fifty caliber, the best there is.

Yeah, I know. I got me a few of those. You need to get you a thirty for small game. You shoot a rabbit with that thing you got there and you won’t have enough left to make soup with. How good can you shoot?

I can hit a dinner plate at five hundred yards, she said casually as she filled her cup again.

If you can do that, you be a modern marvel of shooting, he laughed. And the Black?

I can throw it, fight with it, or just stick it up somebody’s ass when they aren’t looking.

You are one dangerous gal, Josh laughed. Remind me not to get on your bad side.

I bet I can do something you can’t do, she grinned. Josh sat up and stared at her.

Now outside of having a baby, I would seriously doubt that, he said. After all, you are a gal, not a fine figure of a man like me, he grinned.

Watch this, she said. She got up and stared resolutely at a five inch square post that held up a rack full of glasses. She set herself, and assumed a fighting stance. She let out a yell and drove her fist through the post. It shattered into pieces, and the shelf fell down onto the floor. The shattering glass drew the attention of a few other patrons.

Damn, Josh laughed. Time to get  us to a table. That’ll bring Choteau for sure. He grabbed the jug, and Becky grabbed her gear. They went to a table in the back and sat down. Where the hell did you learn that? Josh said.

New York. There was a school run by two men from Japan. Karate, they call it. Pretty good, huh?

A door flew open, and Auguste Choteau stormed out into the bar, fiddling with his pants, a young Osage girl behind him.

What in the name of hell is going on out here? he yelled. A man can’t even get his weasel shined without all this commotion.  He looked at the unconscious Garvey and the remains of his glassware. Who done this? he bellowed. Nobody said anything. One man smirked at Josh, but changed his mind when he saw Josh reaching for one of his pistols, his eyes locked onto the other man’s.

Well? Choteau yelled. Somebody better talk.  He looked around and spotted Josh, who was trying not to laugh. Choteau started for the table. You big bastard, he seethed. You done this, I bet. Who’s gonna pay for all this damage?

You are, you old coyote, Josh laughed. You think you can make me pay for it? I’d like to see you try.

I’ll tie a piece of you on the hog, Choteau said, rolling up his sleeves. Get up and fight like a man.

Eat buffler shit and die, Josh laughed. You old fool, you ain’t had you a good fight since Jesus was in knee pants. Now why don’t you go find a new barkeep who don’t insult the customers, and maybe you won’t have no more trouble in here.

Maybe I’ll throw your big trapper ass out of here, is what I’ll do, Choteau said. Then we won’t have no more trouble.

And you won’t have no more business, either, Josh said. I’ll put out the word on your dumb ass, and no mountain man will do business with you or your asshole brother Pierre. We might even rendezvous your ass and burn this shit hole down. Pierre’s, too.

Huh, Choteau huffed. Then where all you big morons gonna get your supplies?

Oh, I reckon we can start our own post, Josh said, leaning back. Put your stupid old ass out of business.

You got no money to start a post.

I got more money than you, Josh grinned. Suddenly, Choteau took notice of Becky.

Uh, he grunted. Who be the gal?

This here be.....what the hell is your name, anyway? Josh said.

Becky Barrett, she said, sticking out her hand. Pleased to  make your acquaintance, Mr. Choteau.

You can kiss my wrinkled old ass, girly, Choteau sneered. You helped this asshole do this, huh.

Well in that case, Becky said, getting to her feet, you can go fuck yourself, old timer. You aren’t any nicer than that piece of shit barkeep you hired. You got a three holer? Maybe I’ll take you to it and stuff your face in the shit. Ought to be a perfect match. The bar erupted in laughter as Choteau turned a brilliant shade of red.

You keep a civil tongue, girl, he said, sticking his finger in Becky’s face.

I wouldn’t do that if I was you, Choteau, Josh laughed. Before he could finish the sentence, Choteau was on the floor in some horrible pretzel hold, Becky’s knee in his throat.

You let go of me, you crazy bastard! Choteau yelled as the bar hooted.

Say please, Becky giggled.

Please, Choteau gurgled.

Now kiss my ass, Becky keened, tears of laughter streaming down her face. Pucker up old man, or I’ll start breaking things. She turned around and stuck her ass in Choteau’s face. He leaned forward to kiss it, and she farted loudly. The bar went crazy as Choteau tried to get away. Josh laughed so hard he fell off his chair.

You done met your match now, Choteau, he squealed. She be a heller.

Becky let Choteau go, and he ran for the back. Two minutes later, two big men came out to the table.

Out, the first man growled. Both of you. Or you deal with us. Josh looked at Becky.

Which one you want?

I like blonds, Becky cooed. I’ll take this big jerk on the left.

You’ll take this, the man grinned, fondling himself. Right up your cute little ass. Let’s go. Move it. Choteau says you got to go.

We’re staying, Becky said. We like it here.

Yeah, okay, the blond man said. He reached down to grab Becky’s tunic. At the same time, the other man reached for Josh.

Josh grabbed the man’s lower  and upper arm, and neatly snapped it in half. The man screamed and staggered backwards. Josh grabbed him by the throat and crotch, and lifted him over his head as if he weighed nothing. He ran towards the front with a mighty yell, and threw the man into the wall next to the door. The wall collapsed, and the man went through the shattered timbers and lay still.

Your turn, Becky said as the blond man watched his friend be destroyed. He turned around and leered at her.

You ain’t shit, he said. I’ll..... He never got to finish the sentence. The last thing he saw was Becky’s foot coming at his throat at a ridiculous speed that he could not comprehend. He went down, the death blow ending his life. Becky looked at two other men, and pointed at the blond. She then pointed at the door. They got up and dragged the corpse out and dumped it on top of the other. Becky and Josh sat back down at the table.

Can’t even go out and have a drink any more, she sighed. What is this world coming to.

Choteau appeared again, and Becky waved at him. He looked at the destruction and the two corpses, and his shoulders slumped. He came over and sat down.

Why I got to have this happen here, he said. Them two was my best men.

If that’s your idea of a good man, you need to go to the crazy hospital, Becky said. They were crude, ugly thugs who would not hesitate to beat up a woman. You call that a good man?  This is a good man, she said, pointing at Josh. He stood up for me. Where were you? In the back, hiding under your desk  while you order your trash to come out here and beat me up. I should kill you, she hissed. But I won’t. Being alive is the worst punishment I can think of for a bum like you. Where are our keys?

What keys? Choteau said.

Keys to the two best rooms in this dump, she said. Choteau looked away, then motioned to his hotel keeper. The man came over and gave up the keys.

Happy now? Choteau said.

Almost, Becky said as she stood up. She grabbed her gear, drained her cup, leaned over, and spit a mouthful of rum into Choteau’s face. Now I’m happy, she said. And I pray you try to do something about it.

Me too, Josh said evenly. You do anything, Choteau, and the mountain men will come get your ass. They know I’m here, and they know that no man, white or Indian, can stop Josh Walker. You ever see a man burned alive? he said curiously. Ain’t a pretty sight.

Get away from me, Choteau said. He put his head down on the table and began to cry.

Choteau's Trading Post

Flathead Country, 1830

Western Montana

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Pierre Choteau and his brother Auguste  had been  the  first Frenchmen to set foot upon the virgin territory of the west. After several years of dealing in beaver pelts, Auguste had gone back to establish a post on the Kansas River, just below the Missouri, while Pierre stayed on to establish one in the midst of the Flathead Indians, who had always treated the brothers well.  It was at this location on the Missouri River in Montana that Josh and Becky arrived  two weeks later.

Pierre saw them coming and went outside to greet them. Younger than his brother by five years, Pierre Choteau had fallen in love with the Rocky Mountains at first sight, and  was more than the equal of any mountain man alive when it came to shooting, scouting, or story telling. Walker, he knew, would have several good ones to relate.

What in hell are you smilin' at, Choteau? Walker grumbled as he dismounted.

Why you, of course, Mon Ami, Choteau grinned. You  have stories for me? Choteau was  nearly  impossible to understand;  his speech was a strange mixture of  mountain argot, French, and  Indian phrases that even Walker could not recognize. He could speak perfect English, but usually chose not to.

I got shit for you, Walker snapped. I got her though, he said, pointing at Becky, who had been riding Walker mercilessly throughout the entire last leg of the trip.  She been runnin' her mouth somethin' terrible ever since we cleared  South Fork. And she et half a damn deer all by herself in one day.  I swear, it's enough to make a man lose whatever mind he got left, travelin' with this gal.

C'est magnifique! Girl is  l'originale. She is one Nagila Hunonpa, Choteau said.

That’s me, all right, Becky crowed. That means spirit-like two legged, she said. See that? I’m learning Sioux.

Sioux be in les Dakotas, Pierre said. Here, we have Flatheads. And Crow and Blackfeet, he said, raising an eyebrow.

Then I’ll learn Crow and Blackfeet, Becky  said as she dismounted and tied off her horse.

Only thing you got to learn about Crow and Blackfeet is how to shoot the bastards, Josh said as he tied off his horse. They’d like that hair of yours, I reckon. Make a nice decoration for some Piegan’s lodge pole. You got vittles, Choteau?

If there is anything left, he shrugged. Mon Dieu, the large one is here with Johnson and McNeil.

Good God, not them polecats, Josh laughed. Come on, Becky. Time you met some mountain men.

They went inside and walked over to a table where the biggest man Becky had ever seen was holding court.

My God! Becky exclaimed when she saw the  6’ 5" 600 pound monster. He looked up from a platter of elk and nodded.

I be a sight, all right, he said. Josh, I see you done lost your mind and took up travelin’ with a gal.

This is Becky Barrett, Josh said. This here slender fella is Chester McHugh, better known as Fat Bastard. You can just call him Fat. Over there we got the orneriest son of a bitch ever born, Right Hand Johnson. And the last one be Dan McNeil. God ain’t never made a dumber bastard than him.

Glad to see you too, Johnson said as he sipped his rum. His left hand, now a metal hook on a wooden stump, rested on the table.

You got no call to say I’m stupid, McNeil huffed.

Keep yer trap shut, Johnson said. All you’ll do runnin’ your big yap is prove how stupid you really is.

Josh and Becky sat down, and one of Choteau’s men came over.

You want elk, Josh? Best get it now before Fat eats the whole critter.

Yeah, give me a platter. Becky, too. The way this gal eats, she could give you a run for your money, Fat.

Well, there is something to be said for a gal what eats good, Fat nodded. She looks too damn skinny, though.

Where be Stanton? Josh said.

He done run off with that crazy Ox De Reschelieu, Johnson said.  They went to make meat for Choteau. Got to have full time hunters when Fat be here. So, girly, Johnson grinned. You drink any? He winked at Fat, who reached over and got cups for Josh and Becky.

I can drink, she shrugged as Josh filled the cups with rum.

You got a place to sleep? McNeil grinned. You drink that, you’re gonna need it.

Becky drained the cup in one long pull, and reached for the jug.

She got your dumb ass beat, McNeil, Josh laughed. She can out drink you any day. And she can shoot a Hawken better, too. And you get smart with her, she’ll put a ass beating on you like you never seen before. Or cut off your little pecker with that Black she got.

Horse shit, McNeil huffed. Ain’t no white woman I ever seen can handle a Black. Probably uses the damn thing to make supper, he grinned.

Becky stood up and took Dan’s hat. She went to the end of the room and hung it on a peg. She came back to the table, drew her Black, and tossed it effortlessly across the room. It flew with amazing speed, went through Dan’s hat, and stuck in the wall. She went and got the hat and knife, and sat down. She set the hat in front of Dan.

How’s that, she said. Now it’s got a hole in it, so all the shit in your brains got a place to leak out.

Johnson cackled with glee as Dan turned bright red.

She got your number, Danny boy! he squealed. And she throwed that knife better than you ever done.

That were pure luck, McNeil said.

Want me to do it again? Becky grinned. This time, you wear the hat.

That were uncalled for, Dan said. That were a new hat.

What for you need a hat, McNeil? Fat said. You ain’t got nothing in your head worthy of no protection. Why, when the wind blows it goes right on through and sounds like a Shaman playing his flute.

I got a flute for you to play, Dan nodded. All the damn time you two do this to me. And now you got Jake doing it, too. Now this here gal got to start in on me. I got a good mind to put you over my knee and teach you some respect, girly.

You best be careful what you ask for, Becky nodded. You might get it.

She killed one of Choteau’s best men back in Kansas, Josh nodded. One kick, and down he went, deader than Julius Caesar.

You done that? Johnson said as he lit his pipe. How so?

Karate, Becky said. It’s Japanese fighting. No weapons, just hands and feet.

I heard of that, Johnson said. Where can a man learn that if he is of a mind to?

They have schools in the cities, Becky shrugged. I lived in New York. That’s where I studied.

Japanese, Dan laughed. I seen me a Japanese feller one time in St. Loo. I had me a dog taller than he was. No way anybody that small could outfight a mountain man. Or no gal.

Hold up your hand, Becky said. Like this. She put her elbow on the table, her hand straight up, the edge facing Dan. Put the back of your hand against the back of mine.

What for? Dan said suspiciously.

Just do it.

Danny gonna be in the soup pot shortly, Johnson cackled. Go ahead, stupid. Stick ‘er up there and face your fate.

All right, damn it, I’ll do it. What you want me to do now, play patty cake?

I’m going to slap the shit out of you, Becky giggled. We each use only the one hand. You try to stop me.

That’ll be the day a girl slaps Dan McNeil. Can’t be done.

Becky moved so fast Dan didn’t even see it. There was a loud cracking sound, and Dan’s head snapped back. Johnson laughed so hard he almost fell over.

She got your ass, Danny boy, he screeched. Put ‘er up there again and take your medicine.

That weren’t fair. I didn’t know we was starting. She tricked me.

Okay, Becky shrugged as Dan put his hand up again. This time I’m going to count to three, then I’m going to slap you. Can you count to three?

Johnson snorted, and rum shot out of his nose. Fat howled in glee.

He got to pull down his pants to count past ten, Johnson keened.

Shut up, you old bastard, Dan growled.

Okay, Becky said. Here we go. One, two, three. There was another loud slapping noise as Dan almost went over backwards. Want another?

"Son of