Radersburg Gold

By Troy Andrew Smith

Radersburg Gold is a rare story . . a fresh idea with rich and interesting characters. 
An unexpected twist and an even more unexpected ending.
Troy Andrew Smith has truly captured the Old West in Radersburg Gold. 
It's a tale of intrigue and action, driven by a cast of characters that seem to come to life with each page turned. It's hard to put down and well worth the read.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.C. Hulsey Books
• Release date: Feb 25, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224590629

Troy Andrew Smith

Troy Andrew Smith was born on July 13th, 1952 in the small rural town of Nowata, Oklahoma. He was raised on a ten acre place just outside of town and grew up dreaming of being a cowboy like his Dad. Although, their place was small, it was directly across the road from a large ranch and just down the road from another big spread. By the time Troy was 15 he was a regular hand during branding and shipping. He had no idea of ever being in a movie. As an adult, Troy worked as a ranch hand, machinist, carpenter, guide, dude wrangler, and Country Western singer. He also wrote a weekly column for the Nowata newspaper and had several of his Cowboy poems published in various publications. While attending film school at Montana State University, Troy supplemented his income with movie jobs in the summers and started writing novels and screenplays. He has ridden horses or driven teams in numerous movies and TV shows, including three seasons on HBO's series DEADWOOD. At this time Troy is concentrating his efforts on his skills as a Screenwriter, Author and Actor.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

DARKEST HOUR

Pain! Cold, nagging, aching, pain. Pain that started somewhere in my lower back and then raced to different parts of my anatomy.

Its intensity varied, depending on which way I tried to move, but why? Why was there pain?

It seemed like there was some reason I should know, but I just couldn’t bring it to mind right now. Fighting back a wave of panic, I tried to find some way to make sense of my present situation.

One of the things I remember my pa saying before he died was, a man should solve a problem by starting with what he knows. So what ta Hell did I know? Okay, it’s dark, but was it night or was I in a dark room? I couldn’t tell right off. I did feel closed in somehow, but why?

Beads of sweat stood out on my forehead, even though the temperature was fairly cool. Fear was my own worst enemy, but right then I still didn’t know what I was afraid of.

Dirt, I smelled damp dirt, and a small movement of air. Not enough to be called a breeze, but just a movement.

Suddenly my senses all seemed to start waking at once, delivering messages to a brain that was nearly too groggy to comprehend all the information it received. As my senses returned and my brain awoke from what seemed like an almost drunken sleep, I realized, I was underneath my horse. At least my horse was above me lying on his side. He stretched completely across the hole I was in and lay dead still.

Damn, that made me mad. I’d only rode this horse for a short time, but he had served me well. It just didn’t seem right that he should be lying there above me deader `n hell.

By looking just to the left of his equine carcass, I could see stars shining in the June sky. The nighttime sounds of a Montana evening were now making themselves known to me. I was in a ditch or dry creek bottom, lying on my back, with my dead horse stretched from one bank to the other like a strange sort of bridge.

My left leg was wedged between the horse and the creek bank, holding my hip above the small gravel in the bottom of the ditch. I was sort of twisted sideways with the handle of my bullwhip poking in to my ribs. My back was uncomfortably pressed against a large rock. My left shoulder and the back of my head rested against the soft damp sand in the bottom.

My horse had evidently fallen very fast, hard, and unexpectedly, otherwise I’d surely have gotten further away from him. I didn’t know if my left leg was broken or not, that was when with bone chilling clarity, I realized there was no pain, no feeling.

Not a single sensation was registering below the pains in my back.

Somewhere near the spot that was pressed against one big rock.

Fighting off a feeling of total panic, I started taking inventory, careful inventory of what parts of my body were still operating on their own. I already knew I could move my head since I’d been doing so to look around at my present surroundings. So I started moving fingers, hands, and arms each in turn and feeling for sharp twinges that would indicate possible fractures in the bones.

All still seemed to be attached and working but when I tried to move my right leg, it was sort of hanging down behind me, there was nothing. Nothing, except the pain in my back increased to the point that I nearly lost consciousness.

So there it was, my worst fear had just been confirmed. Either my back was broken, or else it was so close to it that all the nerves that normally told my legs what to do were blocked. I knew, I was in real trouble. I was lying head down in a ditch, with a dead horse on top of me, and two legs that refused to move at all, somewhere just to the northwest of a little place they were calling Radersburg.

That’s when I remembered the sound of a shot. My horse had been just starting to jump over the depression I was now trapped in, then he had collapsed suddenly, falling sideways. There had been no warning, except for a solid whomp sound which must have been the impact of a slug. As we were falling I heard the echoing report of a large caliber rifle. Thinking back on it now and judging by the length of time between when my horse was hit and when the sound of the shot arrived, it must have been fired from quite a long ways away. Who fired it? And where were they now?

The bullet that hit my horse could’ve been the result of a stray shot.

Fired by someone trying to take a mule deer for meat and they had just hit us by accident. Somehow, I just didn’t feel like that was the case. This was a dangerous land and these where hard times, so ordinarily when a bullet comes your direction it was guided that way for a purpose. Even though I couldn’t recall right off why anyone would be gunning for me, I still couldn’t make myself believe it was an accident.

A more desperate kind of fear suddenly swept through my body, accompanied by beads of sweat which broke out on my forehead, and they weren’t caused from the heat. Because with the realization that I was not only trapped, helpless, and crippled, came the stark reality, someone had tried to kill me.... And he may still be close by and still be trying.

Did that man believe he succeeded? Had he left the area? Maybe he figured if by some miracle, I did come out of this alive, he could always finish the job later. Or was this man a sure thing type killer? Could he be working his way down here right now to make sure the job was complete?

That idea didn’t have a lot of appealing qualities to it. One thing I knew for sure, I was in no condition or position to defend myself against the man that had just tried, and nearly succeeded in killing me.

Then on the other hand he may figure he’d have trouble locating me in the dark. So, he may have just decided to camp somewhere up on the ridge, where I calculated the shot must have come from. That way he could wait until daylight and see if I’d ever moved at all. Then when I hadn’t, he could justifiably presume I was dead and ride away with a clear conscience, to collect his money without even coming close to the scene.

Collect his money? Now, why had I thought this was a hired gun?

There was something, something that I couldn’t put my finger on right off, told me I knew, or at least knew of, the man that had just killed my horse and quite possibly had just killed me. ‘Cause one thing was for positive, if I couldn’t get out of this ditch, I’d damn sure be buzzard bait before long. The sun and exposure would do what the bullet hadn’t been able to.

My dad used to tell me, Son when you’re up against it, and you just cain’t see any way out of a situation, that’s when you got to sit back, stay calm, and hope that the good Lord ain’t mad at ya that day. Cause he’s probably the only one that can send somebody to pull your butt out’a the fire.

Right then, I was sure hoping the good Lord wasn’t mad at me.

I don’t suppose there were any more hours added to that night than any other, but you’d have been hard pressed to prove it by me. God only knows how many lifetimes I lived through there in the darkness, mainly ‘cause I was afraid to count `em. But I know, in that darkest hour just before dawn, when the night creatures quiet down and the day shift animals ain’t started to work yet, I was one lonely man. Of course, being a lonely man was one subject I was somewhat of an expert on, since I’d been alone the better part of my life.

***************

I’d left home when I was sixteen right after my Dad died. Ma had taken up with a new man, and me and him just couldn’t seem to reach any sort of a workable truce between us. He wasn’t really mean to me either, looking back on it I suppose he’d tried his best, in his own way, to get along with me.

At that time, I was just too full of anger at Dad just up and dying of pneumonia like he done and Ma thinking she needed another man around the house besides me. I guess, I just wasn’t willing to give anybody a fair shake.

Anyway, one morning I announced I was going to town to look for work and I never went home. The job I found was with a freighter that hauled supplies from Wichita, Kansas to Dodge City then on into the gold camps of Colorado. Well, I wrote a letter to Ma and posted it from town. The next morning, sunup found me driving a team of six mules and hauling dry goods out to the frontier.

I made two round trips with the company and had more money in my pocket than I’d ever laid eyes on before. But the railroads were a moving further west all the time and so, on our last trip west, when we reached Dodge City, my boss sold out.

Well, since I was already as far west as Dodge City, suddenly unemployed, and to my way of thinking, practically rich, I thought I’d just mosey over to the gold fields in Colorado and make myself all the way rich.

There was nothing to it, seemed like to me. You just went out to a creek or river and scooped up some gravel and took out the gold. Heck, I didn’t see why everybody wasn’t doing it. It turned out, almost everybody was. Most all of the decent claims were already filed on, so I started working at one job, then another. Going hungry at times and feeling pretty well to do at others. Always drifting over to see someplace I hadn’t seen before. I don’t reckon I ever actually stayed in one place long enough to make a friend, but I always tried to live by the golden rule; at least I lived by it enough to try to keep from making too many enemies along the way.

Right after I’d celebrated my eighteenth birthday, if you could call riding drag and eating the dust of a couple thousand head of cattle celebrating, I killed my first man. Looking back, I don’t recall feeling entirely remorseful.

In fact, the guy just seemed determined, him or me one should die. I was kind’a glad it was him that decided to do so. Still, a thing like that changes you. There’s just no way you ever feel like the same person inside again, not after you’ve looked death in the eye and kept on living.

I’d just ridden into town, figuring on working around the livery stable or swamping a saloon for a few days till I’d had time to look the situation over and see what job opportunities were available in the fair city of Leadville, Colorado.

Since I still had twenty dollars in my pocket from my last stint of employment, I decided to stop off at one of the cafes in town to grab a bite to eat. It had been so long since I’d eaten. I wasn’t sure I’d remember how. I was looking forward to the task of remembering though, with great anticipation.

***************

Breaking into my memories, the wind started to pick up in the ditch and fine sand blew in my face. As I lay there, chills ran through my body.

Fear gripped my innards like I had never experienced before. Tears came unbidden to my eyes. Tears of terror. Tears that showed me how close I was to coming unraveled. So, I started to concentrate harder on other things. As my muscles cramped and convulsed, from the cold and lack of movement, I thought about that day in Leadville. I realized it took much less courage to face a man that you could see, than it did to deal with the unknown death I might be facing tonight.

Yet, I’ll never forget that day.

***************

Hungry and tired, I stepped off my horse into the dusty street of Leadville and right square into trouble. The trouble came in the form of one Podge Sanders, town bully. My foot had hardly touched the ground when Podge pushed away from the post he’d been leaning on.

That’ll cost ya two bits if you want to tie that crow bait nag of yours there, he said.

Now I ain’t too bright sometimes, but I’d never heard of haff’en to pay to use a public hitching rail. When I informed Podge of this he replied.

That particular space is saved for local people that work hard and deserved to be able to tie their horse close to the cafe. It is not for a noaccount drifter to use like he owned it. Now, he informed me, if you want to tie that horse, the cost is now four bits, considering you are being so rude about it.

Well, my good nature was starting to wear down at a pretty rapid pace, but since I was a stranger in town, I figured it was best to avoid a fight. So I decided to move my horse to the hitchin’ rail further down the street, away from the cafe since that was such a favored spot of the townspeople. But when I threw the reins of my nag over the rail and started towards the cafe Podge was right there.

Podge informed me, That’ll cost ya a dollar since I had to follow you all the way over here to collect.

Why, that must be at least a twenty foot distance. I hate seeing ya strain yourself like that, I replied.

It’s two bucks now smarty. You got anymore wise cracks you want’a make?

Now, I’m a slow man to anger most of the time, but this fellow was really starting to rub me about like a sandbur in my boot on a long walk. So, in a polite, low voice, I told him, Mister, I don’t know you, but I’m going to give you some real good advice. Looking him straight in the eye I said, I’m going to tie my horse right here and then go into that cafe and get me something to eat. While I’m getting some grub in me, you’d be well advised to keep an eye on my rig and make sure nothing, not one thing, happens to it. Because, if there’s even so much as the dust smudged on it when I return, I’m going hold you personally responsible.

From the way this Podge character started to laugh and carry on you’d have thought that I’d just told a rib-busting joke. He sure seemed to think something was funny. That’s when, this local pain, pulled out a long bladed knife, down home we would’ve called it an Arkansas Toothpick, then he leans over with every apparent intention of slicing my bridle reins in half.

That was until the end of my fifteen foot bullwhip sort of flicked the back of his hand. He dropped that knife like it was red hot! Now, I’d braided that whip myself on one of the trips I’d made as a teamster out of Colorado. Then I’d started toting it with me, coiled up on the back of my belt with the handle forward on the left side of my waist.  There it was very easy to reach with either hand.

Judging by the look in Podge’s eyes right then, I don’t believe he fully appreciated how long and how hard I’d worked to plait the leather into such a graceful and beautiful form as a bull whip. I’d handled black snakes (that was what the mule skinners had called the bullwhip) up to and over thirty foot long. But I’d made this one only a fifteen footer so’s it could be coiled up nice and small to make it easier and less conspicuous to carry around. Also, to make it quick to handle in an upclose type situation such as this.

Evidently Podge must’ve had a good eye for lengths and distances because instead of charging me like I had expected, he started backing away down the board walk. He had a look of fire and hatred burning in his eyes like I never had seen before or very few times since.

There had been quite a few locals starting to form a crowd to watch old Podge put this young drifter on down the road. So when Podge started backing off, I didn’t figure he was gon’a turn tail and run. I shifted the whip to my left hand and just sort of let my right dangle over the grip of my old worn Remington 44 caliber revolver and waited.

I had never faced a man in a gun fight before, nor was I even sure that I was in one now. But I’d been over the trail and back since leaving Kansas, and had had a few brushes with would be bandits. I’d seen more than one man die at the hands of another, so I was under no false illusions about what I faced on that Colorado street.

It’s always amazed me what goes through a man’s mind at a time like this. Up until now, I had just been mad, plain old mad that this arrogant slob stood between me and a hot meal. But now, there was simply a sensation of calmness that settled over me. The feeling wasn’t unlike the way the cool night air settles in the bottom of a draw on an early spring evening.

I heard a fly buzz past and someone cleared their throat just out of my range of vision. A screen door squeaked then slammed in the alley somewhere. Mostly I noticed the look on Podge’s face. A look, that was almost like that of a trapped animal. Difference was, this time the animal had built the trap himself.

Like I say, I’d never drawn on a man before and I never considered myself to be no gun slick, but I’d shot that old Remington since I was twelve years old and knew exactly where the bullet would hit when I fired. I didn’t intend on trying to be fast, just smooth and precise.

There was a good chance that I’d already be shot before I could shoot.

But I knew if I got one off, somebody’s digestive system would be suffering from lead poisoning.

Suddenly, Podge was talking again. Screaming would have probably been a more accurate description. His face was livid turning bright red and his eyes seemed to be about to leave his skull at any moment.

He said, You two by twice drifter. How dare you ride in and act like you got some right to be here? His voice seemed to raise another half octave when he shouted, I’ll show you what happens to someone when they hit Podge Sanders with a whip.

Those were