Rim of the World

By Barry Ray

Joshua MacAllisterthe mountain man's mountain mantakes on the challenge of teaching a twenty-year-old adventurer how to survive in the inhospitable Rocky Mountains.

Joshua's long time enemy, Reginald Bevy, accuses him of stealing his client. Reginald Bevy had lost an ear to Josh in a drunken, barroom brawl, and is not a forgiving man.

They come in contact with a Grizzly Bear that decapitates one of their horses, and continues to follow them on their journey through the Rockies.

They are attacked by hostile Indians, barely survive a massive avalanche and are constantly harassed by three aggressive wolves

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 25, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477251942

Barry Ray

Look for these books also by Barry Ray: Farrago, Hidden Valley, Cully and B A D. Barry and his wife Dee now reside in Southern California.

Book preview

Chapter 1

It was not just raining in Saint Louis in June of eighteen twenty-nine. The Gods were angry, and sent forth a deluge so violent there was nothing in past remembrance to compare it with. And conforming to the standards that had plagued Samuel South for the entire twenty years of his life, he had been foolish enough to pick this particular night to go hunting a certain mountain man.

He traipsed through boot high mud to eventually reach the steps of the notorious Regency Bar and Grill, located smack dab in the center of all the wagons and hopeful owners of same headed west. He was busy mentally cussing these damnable homesteaders as he made the second wooden step in the direction of fulfilling a long time dream, when in front of him the batwing doors literally flew from their leather hinges, and two bodies sailed toward him.

No action in the world on his part could have avoided the clandestine and violent contact that was ultimately to occur. As the two entangled bodies struck him at the knees, Sam was hurled along with them, back and down into the sticky mud to land unhurt, but in a position less than dignified.

He thought to chastise these two individuals, but instead, had to save the unconscious derelicts from drowning in their newfound predicament. He pulled each man’s face out of the mud and turned him on his back, then once again attempted to enter the rowdy saloon.

The noise cascading from the doorway of the Regency was almost deafening, and after a glimpse of the interior, young Samuel was awestruck at the violent activity, and wondered seriously how he would go about finding the man he was seeking. Sam South carried no weapon, and was dressed in sensible and durable farmer’s garb. At five foot nine inches tall and one hundred ninety pounds with no fat, he was more than capable, and in most company considered intimidating. The contrast of his dark brown hair and deep blue eyes frightened most men, and occasioned most women to want to cuddle and protect this handsome young man.

As Sam entered the saloon, he was busy trying to rid his clothing of slimy, Saint Louis mud. Funny thing about a real good sticky mud, he thought, the more you wipe to remove it, the more it spreads. This was Sam’s situation as he stood just inside and to the right of the doorway, and was approached by a young, beautiful, if a little hard around the eyes, lady in a scarlet red and revealing costume.

Did you come all this way and through all this bad weather just to buy me a drink? she asked while smiling.

Sam was no stranger when it came to pretty girls, but this one possessed so much self-confidence that he could only stammer.

N-no ma’am, he finally got out. Actually, I’ve come lookin’ for Joshua MacAllister.

Are you sure you want to find Josh? she asked, as her smile widened. He is you know, responsible for your muddy condition.

He looked at her in a rather confused manner, and she laughed. Sam thought it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, but he was thinking about what she had said.

How did Joshua MacAllister make me a muddy mess?

Where do you think those two reprobates you collided with came from?

Now he understood. This MacAllister person threw them through the door, right?

She laughed again, and took him by the hand and began to lead him through the crowd, and obviously in a specific direction.

Sam looked around as he was being led, and the place was enormous. The ceiling must have been thirty feet overhead, and there could have been no fewer than thirty tables and three hundred people in the establishment. The bar alone extended all the way across the back of the establishment. He did some quick mental calculation, and decided the length of the bar could be no less than seventy or eighty feet, and the patrons were elbow to elbow. Likewise, there was not a single available seat at any of the tables.

She led him to the far left corner of the saloon, where there was a lone, large, table with empty benches on both sides. Empty that is, except for one lone figure seated facing the front door, and what a figure he was. Even sitting, Sam knew that Joshua MacAllister was no less than six feet three inches tall, and a full two hundred and thirty pounds. He appeared to be about thirty-five years old, and had masses of long, curly, golden hair flowing over his massive shoulders and down his back. His eyes, as he observed their approach, were so black you could not distinguish the pupils. There was but one word for this man, thought Sam, "awesome." And he was greatly relieved to see the laugh lines etched in this mammoth’s sun tanned countenance, as they abruptly halted opposite this behemoth’s personal table.

It did not take Sam long to figure out that the friendly face was for the lady accompanying him, and not for him. As the solitary soul turned those piercing eyes on Sam, he figured he was in big trouble. When Joshua MacAllister smiled, Samuel South relaxed muscles he was not even aware were tense, muscles he could not even have told you he had.

Sit! He said in a voice with volume most men could not duplicate.

Sam wasn’t sure who he meant, himself or the lady, and took his direction from her, as she guided him to the bench across from the notorious mountain man. She seated him, and sat beside him, but before Sam or the lady with him could speak, Joshua turned his head toward the bar and bellowed, Dammit, Ed! Why can’t you keep up? I’m out of beer. Bring me another bucket.

Sam had never seen beer served in a metal pail before. He looked around to see if anybody else had a three-gallon bucket in front of him. When he looked back, he noticed Ed was standing there with another, and both the mountain man and the lady were smiling at him. Sam had always had a damn fine temper, and was about ready to turn it loose. Nobody! But nobody, laughed at Sam South. Hell! That was rule number one.

But before he could truly get his temper uncorked, Joshua asked him, You come to drink, or talk? Hell! I haven’t seen you do either one, yet.

Sam ordered a Rye Whiskey, and was stunned when it was brought in a full sized water glass, and filled to the brim. But had the wit to ask Ed the bartender, What about the lady?

Joshua laughed, while the girl smiled, and Ed answered as though Sam were a fool, The key word is Lady, friend, and the lady don’t drink.

He walked away to the raucous laughter of Joshua MacAllister. Sam was about to react in anger once more, when he felt the pressure of the girl’s hand on his thigh. Not in a suggestive manner, but more of a, hush up! Listen and learn.

Josh looked hard at Sam for a full minute.

You’ve already been to old Reggie Bevy, he accused, and he’s agreed to teach you to be a mountain man. Why have you come to me? I don’t teach Pilgrims. Before Sam could respond, Joshua hollered again at Ed for a refill. Then he looked back at Sam, and said, Well?

Let him talk, Joshua, the pretty lady said to the immense mountain man. How do you learn? You never listen.

Josh tilted his bucket and drained what was left, then pointed accusingly at the untouched glass of Rye Whiskey in front of Sam.

Dammit! Moonchild. I can’t abide a man that don’t drink.

Oh come on, Joshua! When it’s available, you drink enough for everybody.

He tilted his bucket of beer. When he returned it to the tabletop, he smiled and said, Moonchild, meet Samuel South. He’s a farmer who wants to be a Rocky Mountain Man. I say, let him go with Reginald Bevy, they were meant for each other. What do you say?

I think you’re an overgrown, drunken buffoon, she said while smiling. Then turned to Sam, and asked, What do you want from Joshua?

Samuel was so enamored with this charming young woman, he had almost forgotten what it was he did want with the mountain man, and now asked, What’s a Moonchild?

Joshua laughed while drinking, and spilled beer all over the tabletop. He then recovered, and answered for the lady, That’s a Crow Indian Princess, born on the night of a full moon.

You ought to know, old man. You were there, said the still smiling Moonchild.

Josh laughed again, and responded, Damn sure was. Then looking at Sam, he continued, Somethin’ you need to understand though. There ain’t no such thing as an Indian Princess. It’s just a real polite way of sayin’ daughter of the Chief.

Then he looked above their heads reflectively, and evidently still thinking about being there when Moonchild was born, said, I was fifteen years old. Lord! Those were glorious times. He lowered his eyes to look at the two younger people across from him, and continued, Let’s see. You’re twenty now. So, that would make me all of thirty-five, wouldn’t it? Damned if you ain’t right, Child. I am old.

Sam suddenly remembered why he had gone to the trouble of looking up this legendary individual, and said, I’d like to learn from the best.

Joshua MacAllister took on the first serious air Sam had witnessed.

Can’t work, Mister South. You have no equipment, and I’m leaving in the morning.

Hold everything, Mister MacAllister, said the young lady. I’ve been here two years, and had enough. You, Sir! Are taking me home, and there is simply no way I can be ready in less than three days.

I’ll tell your daddy. He can pick you up at the great falls, Joshua said.

Sam had not the slightest idea what these two were talking about, and only listened, as Moonchild began to speak seriously. Come on, Josh. I hate the Missouri River, and I hate boats, and even you hate the River men. I want to go with you.

Joshua MacAllister turned to the bartender as though the girl had not spoken, and said, Ed! You’re still having trouble keeping up. I’m going to have to ask for your tip back.

He turned back to Sam.

I don’t ordinarily badmouth folk, but I’ve taken to you, and sure as hell can’t let you go off to the Rockies with anybody as rotten as Bevy. You have three days to get ready. Meet me here tomorrow, and I’ll tell you what you need. He looked at Moonchild, and finished, Three days form right now, and I’m gone. Be ready or stay behind.

She smiled, rose and stuck one finger in his pail of beer and flicked it at him. You damn drunken white eyes. I’ll be ready.

She stepped over the bench, patted Sam on the back, and disappeared into the crowd. Joshua hollered over at Ed for another bucket, while eyeing the still half full glass of Rye in front of Sam.

Three days later, Sam South was passed out under the large table, and had never left the saloon, nor had he attended to his required purchases. Joshua had continued to drink, while putting away several near raw steaks during the process. He had also fist fought and arm-wrestled everybody in Saint Louis that had ventured into the Regency and was willing.

Two days ago, Josh had made out the list of necessities for young Sam, and Moonchild had riffled the lad’s packets and found him considerably short of funds. In his jovial mood, Josh was inclined to be magnanimous, and at the young Indian girl’s prompting, shelled out the necessary money to cover Sam’s shortfall.

One full day out of Saint Louis, with the rain still falling by the bucketful, a seriously sick and hung over Sam South, regained consciousness to the severely rhythmic thumping of his horses hooves. He was too ill to converse, and that night as the big mountain man stretched hides between driven stakes for shelter, he merely crawled in out of the rain and fell into an exhausted sleep.

The following morning, Sam woke to the cacophony of a typical wagon train beginning their early day ritual; with the creaking of wagons, lowing of oxen, combined with the shrill raging of muleskinners cursing their stock. As he crinkled one eye open to look around, he saw, at the same time his nose and empty belly notified him that delicious food was being served to those who were willing to come forth. The rain had tapered off to a mere drizzle, and Josh ripped off the protective hides in preparation of rolling and storing them on their pack animals.

The big man now bellowed at him, You’d better eat something, Pilgrim. You look a might peaked.

A very different looking Moonchild handed him a hot plate filled with bacon, potatoes, scrambled eggs, biscuits and beans. Joshua stuck a hot steaming tin cup in his hand, and said, Drink up, sonny. You’ll soon be a hundred percent.

Sam took a large swallow of the proffered coffee, gagged, sputtered and almost threw up. By sheer will alone, he was able to keep it down, while Moonchild smiled, and that large buffoon laughed uproariously.

Hair of the dog, youngin’, Josh informed Sam in regards to his coffee. I brought gallons of Rye whiskey along with us. Knowing of course, that it was your preference in alcoholic beverages. He was still laughing, as he walked away to