Snow Falls Soft on the Hidden Valley

By Marcus Williams

Conquistador treasure will change his life. But will it be for the good?

 

Clancy Peters was only hoping to strike some luck on a newly purchased mine claim outside of Buena Vista, but the town, or more particularly its tyrant, Dane Sampson, had other plans for the lone cowboy. On the run from a mob of Sampson's goons, Peters finds a hidden valley deep in the mountains, where the MacNeil family, also victim to Sampson's greed, has built the foundations of a peaceful life. This peace is shattered, however, as Sampson and his men become hungry for more land, hidden conquistador treasure, and revenge. As winter descends on the mountain, Peters and the MacNeils must prepare to defend the hidden valley—and their lives.

 

"My father had been a hard man, but he taught me a learned man was never without hope or opportunity." Clancy Peters

• Language: English
• Publisher: Williams & Co Publishing LLC
• Release date: Jan 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201980528

Marcus Williams

Marcus has written thousands of pages of law enforcement reports describing the details of cyber crimes, sexual assaults, drug trafficking, and murders during his career as a federal agent. He now uses all of that "practice" to tell stories that excite, entertain, and engage. While life doesn't always have a happy ending, there is always hope found in family, friendships, and kindness. He and his family have lived all over the world and love exploring and making friends wherever they find themselves: from California's high desert, to Sicily's historical marvels, to the beaches of the mid-Atlantic coast, to the rain soaked forests of Washington, to the base Mt Fuji, and to the majestic Rocky Mountains. The world is full of mystery and untold stories.

Book preview

Clancy Peters was only hoping to strike some luck on a newly purchased mine claim outside of Buena Vista, but the town, or more particularly its tyrant, Dane Sampson, had other plans for the lone cowboy. On the run from a mob of Sampson’s goons, Peters finds a hidden valley deep in the mountains, where the MacNeil family, also victim to Sampson’s greed, has built the foundations of a peaceful life. This peace is shattered, however, as Sampson and his men become hungry for more land, hidden conquistador treasure, and revenge. As winter descends on the mountain, Peters and the MacNeils must prepare to defend the hidden valley—and their lives.

Part 1

Chapter 1

Ipulled my horse to a stop on the steep rise and stood tall in the saddle for the few extra inches of view. An ancient, gnarled tree stood sentinel at the peak. The reliable bay mare hadn’t faltered or missed a step over the rocky and uneven terrain. She was steady and reliable and had worked up quite a lather. We hadn’t stopped for hours, and if I didn’t find a safe place soon, I’d be carrying the saddle on my back. I felt bad for pushing her so hard. But I wasn’t exactly in the best shape either. The mob had seen to that.

The crest of the hill flowed steeply down into a small mountain valley. I looked to the left and right and realized the valley was inaccessible by horseback from anywhere other than, possibly, where I stood. I had only found the passage through the rocks by dumb luck. Sheer cliffs surrounded me. Pines covered the hillside until they were gradually replaced by quaking aspen, yellow leaves shimmering in the slight breeze. It was the line of smoke trailing into the sky on the far side of the valley that interested me the most. My horse stamped and pawed at the ground, like she knew there was a stable with fresh hay within view. She was game, that’s for sure. I don’t know how she was still standing.

Forgetting, I raised my arm to adjust my hat and felt a stab of pain in my shoulder. I held the shoulder with my other hand and slowly brought it down again. I remembered the man who had swung the shovel with such glee, luckily missing my head, in which case I would have been seeing nothing but stars. He had a black front tooth, a thin moustache, and red whiskers poking out at odd angles in uneven patches on his gaunt face.

I had been willfully ignoring the pain of my injuries throughout my escape, abating it by chewing on some willow bark, but now I took a moment to assess. The shoulder would heal, nothing was broken it seemed. I could still taste the bitter copper taste of blood in my mouth where a punch had chipped a tooth and bit into my cheek. I spat. My ribs were on fire, and it was painful to breathe anything but short, quick, staggered breaths. The bullet had left two holes in my shirt and carved a nice groove across my side. What with the holes and blood, I wasn’t sure that the shirt could be saved. What a shame; it wasn’t that old of a shirt.

I still had my rifle securely stuffed in the scabbard on the saddle, which gave me a degree of relief.  My pistol, on the other hand, was who knows where. I didn’t remember losing it in the fight or on the race to my horse. It surely wasn’t lost during the wild and frantic ride out of town and up into the hills—I usually kept it tied down. I reached down to the holster out of instinct. Sure enough, the leather strap was broken. What dumb luck. I managed to keep that thing all throughout the war, and then, in one day of misadventure, I lost it somewhere out in the Colorado wilderness. I frowned and spit again.

The late day summer sun felt good, and I lifted my face to it. I was exposed there and knew it. Anyone from the house with a decent set of eyes or a looking glass would be able to see me up on the ridge. Even so, I didn’t seem to care in the moment. My pursuers had been persistent, but as the terrain got rockier and the day longer, they had given up the chase for another day. They didn’t seem to have the stomach for discomfort. Now, I wasn’t naive enough to believe they had forgotten, but they weren’t the types to go it alone out in the wilderness. I’m sure they were back at the saloon drinking down some liquid courage and recruiting a posse, maybe setting a trap.

I was no tinhorn myself and was sure my trail would be difficult to pick up. I had walked through streams, across rock falls, and through pine covered forest floors. I changed direction often and backtracked more than a few times. A good tracker would be able to work it out eventually, but good trackers weren’t so easy to find, let alone recruit. And besides, I knew most of the trackers, and they respected me. That isn’t to say they wouldn’t take the job for the right price; I had no illusions there. I figured my back trail was clear for a few days at least, barring a piece of bad luck on my part and good on theirs. There I was, talking about luck again. I wasn’t the type to rely on luck, and what I really needed was to find a way to create my own damn luck. I needed to find a place where I could hunker down, tend to my wounds, and plan my response. I didn’t often find myself running from trouble, and generally found the best defense was to turn the game on its head: the hunted as the hunter.

I followed the line of smoke in the deepening blue sky down to the small cabin. Let’s see what we see, I said, and the bay mare began to make her way gamely down the mountainside.

Chapter 2

The cabin was well built, appearing sturdy and expertly joined against the harsh mountain weather. Lodge pole pines had been carefully felled and cut by someone who knew what he was doing. The shingled roof was clean, and I could see freshly cut shingles intermingled with the weathered gray ones where the roof had been recently repaired. There was a small, well-tended vegetable garden in front of the house. Chickens pecked contentedly in the yard. There was a stable around the back, tucked up against a rock cliff and a corral off to the side. They had chosen a good defensive position. Trees were cleared for a hundred yards around the house, so no one could creep up from behind. The cliff face guaranteed that much. Freshly cut wildflowers perched themselves in newly painted planter boxes. This was no trapper or range cabin. This place had a woman’s touch.

I took my time standing in the copse of aspen, watching. My horse was tethered back a ways, near a clear running stream. I hadn’t gone so far as to remove her saddle or wipe her down. I didn’t know what I would find at the cabin and wanted to be ready. At least she would have a few minutes to rest and plenty of good grass and water to feed on.

The door to the cabin creaked open, so I tucked myself behind the trunk of the nearest tree. It was dark inside. Dusk was approaching, but the occupant had yet to light any candles. There were no windows, and I imagined a tidy little place like this would look great with real glass windows, but glass was hard to find and even harder to come by way out here. It was impractical as well. Without glass, it was often better to not have windows.

A woman emerged, her brown hair tied in a tight bun, her tan dress faded but well mended, her white apron no longer quite so white.

Jed! she called out. Jed! Come on now. Supper’s ready.

Comin’ mama! I heard the voice of a boy yelling from down by the creek. I hoped he was further along than my horse.

She stepped inside and left the door open for Jed. A minute later, when Jed had not arrived, she again stepped outside, this time wearing a worried face.

Jed, you come home this instant! she yelled. Jed?

Mama, mama! a boy of about 11 came running out of the trees, clearly excited.

What is it? You scared me half to death!

It’s a horse mama, a horse right up there by the stream.

She looked alarmed; I didn’t blame her. I stepped out of the trees as if I had been casually walking up to the house all along. Howdy ma’am, I said, tipping my hat, wincing as I again forgot my shoulder. Son, I said, acknowledging the boy. He ran to his mother and she pushed him behind her and took a step back. I saw her right hand reach back into the doorway and figured that was probably right where her shotgun was leanin’. I didn’t want any part of that. I held up both hands and did my best to look decent and respectable.

I do apologize for alarming you ma’am. It’s just I came up over that ridge yonder and saw the smoke from your chimney.

She peered in suspicion. Her right arm didn’t move. So why is your horse out there in the trees, instead of with you? It was a good question. I told her so.

That’s a good and fair question ma’am. Frankly, I didn’t know what or who I’d find, so I decided to take me a look see before fully committing. Rustlers and outlaws have been known to squat in mountain cabins. I don’t need any part of the likes of them.

She seemed to relax a little. So, I don’t look like a rustler or an outlaw?

No ma’am.

What, you don’t think a woman could be an outlaw? she asked, clearly baiting me.

In fact, I know they can be ma’am, but I’ve never met an outlaw with flowers on her doorstep, so I figure y'all are okay.

At this she smiled and breathed a sigh of relief. Her right arm came back into view and rested down at her side.

Well, I guess you know Jed’s name, seeing as I was yelling out for the whole valley to hear. I’m Beth MacNeil.

Pleased to meet you both. I’m Clancy Peters.

Well, Mr. Peters, there’s no need to leave your horse out there. Jed, go help Mr. Peters put up his horse in the stable and then you both can wash up for supper.

Yes, Mama, Jed responded and ran into the woods towards my horse.

Thank you ma’am, I said, tipping my hat once more. She nodded and went back inside.

Chapter 3

The cabin was small but as tidy as I expected after seeing the front yard and meeting the lady of the house. It was a two room affair with a small loft. Impressive. The front door led into the living area and a warm fire crackled in a large stone fireplace, where a cast iron pot hung lazily over the fire. A thin log wall divided the room, with a woolen blanket covering the doorway. I assumed that it led to the bedroom. A ladder shot up to the loft. A wooden table and four chairs took up the majority of the room, although an old rocking chair held the place of honor in front of the fire. It was obviously her pride and joy.

Mrs. MacNeil swung the pot out from over the fire and ladled heaping portions of stew into three bowls. She sat them down on the table and motioned for me to sit at the head. I hesitated. Ma’am, I would be fine sitting across from the boy. I don’t want your husband to come in and find another man in his chair. I realized instantly from her expression I had said the wrong thing, although I was just trying to be polite.

She recovered quickly. There’s no fear of that, Mr. Peters. Sit, please. That was all she said.

I did as instructed and sat. I may have been a wanderer and a bit rough around the edges, but my own mother had taught me the ways of the Lord, and I bowed my head to pray. There was silence in the room and I looked up to see Mrs. MacNeil smiling in surprise.

Mr. Peters, will you please say grace? she asked.

The stew was hearty and delicious. The potatoes and carrots obviously came from her neat little garden and the wild onions probably grew aplenty in the valley. The deer meat was tender and fresh. We ate in silence, all of us hungry, me especially. I wiped the bowl with a slice of freshly baked bread and sat back, full and content.

Ma’am, I do say, that was the best meal I’ve had in months!

She blushed. Thank you Mr. Peters, that’s very kind. But it was just stew.

Just stew is the best kind of supper, I replied.

Well, I’m glad you liked it.

Jed watched us talk. He waited until we had finished before he chimed in. Hey mister, he began, but was cut short.

Mr. Peters, his mother corrected.

Mr. Peters, he began again. What are you doing out here all alone? And what’s your horse’s name? And where’s your gun?

Jed! Mrs. MacNeil admonished. Don’t be rude!

That’s okay ma’am; I was a boy once too. I reached over and mussed his hair. He ducked out of the way. I chuckled. Well, son, I’m a bit of a wanderer. I haven’t quite yet found the right place to settle. . . or person to settle with. The horse doesn’t really have a name. She just knows I’m talking to her.

And your gun? he prodded.

Well, that’s a good question. It seems I don’t rightly know. I had it this morning. I slid the chair back to show him my holster. See here, this leather strap?

Yes.

Jed? his mother said.

Yes, sir, he corrected himself.

Well, I use it to keep my gun in place when I don’t need it. And you can see here where the leather snapped. I had a hard ride today. I figure it must have bounced out somewhere along the trail.

Jed shook his head. That’s bad luck Mr. Peters, real bad.

It is Jed, for sure. But I have my rifle at least until I can find it or get myself a new gun.

You can have Pa’s gun! Jed exclaimed, pointing to the mantle.

Jed! Mrs. MacNeil exclaimed.

I stood, not wanting to make Mrs. MacNeil any more uncomfortable. I can’t do that Jed. That’s your pa’s. But thank you.

I’m sorry about that Mr. Peters, Mrs. MacNeil said.

Never fear Mrs. MacNeil. Well, if it’s all the same, I should retire to the stable. I’ve had a long day.

Are you sure you’ll be alright out there? It gets cold up this high in the mountains at night.

I nodded. I’ll be just fine. With a roof over my head and straw to sleep on, it’s like staying in a grand ole hotel in St Louis. Good night ma’am. Jed.

Mr. Peters! she exclaimed.

I looked around, confused at her excitement.

Your side! The blood! I had forgotten when I showed Jed my holster I had swept my vest to the side. The bullet holes and bloody shirt were now visible.

It’s nothing ma’am. I’ll be fine.

Nonsense! Jed, get my sewing kit.

Jed scrambled into the bedroom and returned with a small basket while Mrs. MacNeil put a pot of water over the fire to boil. I moved my chair over into the light of the fire.

Your shirt, Mr. Peters.

Slowly and painfully I unbuttoned my shirt. I found I couldn’t rotate my shoulders enough to get the shirt off and tried instead to just let it fall down my arms and back. Mrs. MacNeil saw my struggle and gently helped me work out of each sleeve. I was embarrassed, not from having my shirt off in front of a woman, but because it had been so long since I had bathed. Out on the trail, one doesn’t think about getting clean or smelling nice. To her credit, she didn’t seem to notice, or at least she pretended not to. She looked carefully at the wound and gasped as she saw other angry purple bruises along my ribs and stomach.

She worked quickly and expertly, first cleaning the wound with hot water and a clean cotton rag and then stitching it closed with a sewing needle. I grimaced in pain, but held still as she threaded in and out. Finally she used some powder from little glass jars from a kitchen shelf, mixed them with hot water and placed the poultice over my wound before wrapping my ribs with a clean bandage.

Do you have another shirt, Mr. Peters? she asked.

I have a buckskin in my saddlebags, I replied.

Jed, get Mr. Peter’s buckskin from his saddlebag please.

Jed raced out the door and Mrs. MacNeil reached up behind an earthenware jug and pulled out a half empty bottle of whiskey. For the pain? she asked.

Thank you ma’am, but I’m fine. I don’t cotton to alcohol much. She looked at me quizzically. It’s not that I mind others drinking or anything, I stumbled, it’s just not for me’s all.

She seemed to accept that answer and placed the bottle back just as Jed raced in with my buckskin top. Once again she had to help me put it on. Finally, she fashioned a sling from some cloth and stepped back to survey her work.

I think you’ll at least survive until morning, Mr. Peters, she said.

All thanks to you, Mrs. MacNeil, I replied. Well, goodnight, and thank you.

You are welcome. Good night, Mr. Peters.

Chapter 4

Iwasn’t kidding. After months of sleeping on the ground with a saddle for a pillow, the straw bed was luxurious. I found a candle on a shelf inside the stable door and lit it. My horse was in the first stall. Two mules, a milk cow, and a goat shared the remainder of the stable proper. I heard pigs rut around in a sty next to the stable. I had never seen such a nice spread this high up in the mountains. I walked toward the back. I made it a rule to never sleep somewhere without exploring first. A back door had saved me more’n once.

The stable was part of a larger barn cut into the cliff, a wide and deep opening easily adaptable as the barn. They had fashioned barn doors which fit tightly in a timber frame attached to the rock. The cavern was divided into multiple areas used for storage or livestock.

As I explored, I felt a cool draft coming from the back of the barn, behind a plank wall. I walked to the end of the wall and found it was sitting a foot or so away from the rock face of the cliff. The draft was more like a breeze here. I held my hand up to protect the candle flame and walked behind the false wall.

The draft led to an opening cut into the rock face. I ran my hands over the rock. It was apparent a small cave entrance had been widened to allow a man to pass through without crawling, although I did have to bend over to avoid hitting my head.

Inside, I found barrels and casks of dried goods and butter. There was dried fruit on wooden pallets, potatoes in a bin, wheat and seed in burlap sacks, and a pile of animal hides in the corner. I went instinctively to the hides. I had spent a winter trapping in the high rockies and was interested in the pelts.

They included animals of all sorts, some beaver, some deer, and even a small bear. They were cured properly, but not expertly. It made no difference out here, but would affect the price when trading in the city with a knowledgeable broker. 

Another small room off to the side felt cold. Meat hung from hooks drilled into the stone ceiling.

Interesting, I said out loud to the granite walls. They’re prepared for a siege back here. Maybe just the siege of winter, or maybe a bit more.

I walked around the perimeter of the room, and as I walked past a stack of barrels, my candle flame flickered. I held it up close to the wall and saw there behind the barrels, another opening, about the height of a small child. Good to know, I said.

I made a mental note to explore the cave further and made my way back to the stable area. I spread my bedroll out on a bed of straw in the corner furthest from the door. I was pretty sure they had given up the chase for the night, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t take precautions. The horse would wake me if I needed wakin’.

I lay down and slept.