AUTUMN HAD SPLASHED color to the highest tree-tops, and the sun lay warm along coulee and plain. The river, known variously as Clark’s, the Missoula or the Hell Gate, drifted and rippled with a languid indifference. From its far shore, a fragrance of wood smoke muffled a score of tepees, blunting the nearer, less welcome odors of corral and livery stable. A wheel churned in a mill at the water’s edge, as though hesitant at disturbing the peace. Other buildings patterned a street, additional ones crouching along the outskirts, as though not sure of a welcome.
Abbott surveyed the town with interest. There had been change and growth since his last visit, months before. The old trading post at Hell Gate seemed to have shaken itself and moved. Now it was Missoula Mills, with its sponsors proclaiming that it had the makings of a city. Rival communities, most notably Stevensville up the Bitterroot, shrugged derisively at such aspirations.
Such ambitions held no interest for Montana. Each crossroads store or post cherished a touching faith that it would become the metropolis of the West, and those with real-estate for sale pulled such strings as they might in furtherance of the dream. It was all a part of the political game, whose temptations and blandishments he still refused.
Governor Ashley had been among those to suggest that he might be able to help, during his visit to the capital. Politely declining any offers, he had returned to the ranch. Without at least hope on which to feed, even a dream became a nightmare.
Now he was after supplies which could not be found at Philipsburg. It was a two-day trip to Missoula, his first break in weeks.
Children swarmed from a log structure, erupting joyously at day’s end. Montana viewed them, startled. There were at least a dozen, of assorted ages and sizes, so it was apparent that a school was in operation. His horses snorted mildly, then pulled up before an imposing store-front. The sign proclaimed Higgins and Worden.
His lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. They had formerly been at Hell Gate. Down river to the west, returning with Oregon cattle, he’d journeyed through Paradise. Spelled, appropriately, Pair-a-Dice.
He made his purchases and saw the wagon loaded, then stabled the team, and sought out a restaurant. He’d dined well at noon, at a secluded spot beside the river, flanked by rearing bluffs. But he was, as usual, sharp-set.
“You got a choice,” the waiter informed him. “Fried steak, or roast venison, or baked beans. An’ cawfee.”
“I’ll take all four,” Montana said promptly, ignoring the amazed stare, in no way diminished as he worked his way methodically through the banquet. Talk flowed from adjoining tables. The Bozeman road had been closed, Fort Smith abandoned. All along the Yellowstone, Indian pressure was on the increase.
“And it’s real,” a friend assured him, drawing up at the table. “Malcolm Clark’s among those killed lately. Over here, we’re lucky—so far. But no telling how long it’ll last. If anything happens, I figure we’ll be on our own. The territorial government’s a joke.”
“But if things are that serious, something should be done.”
“That’s what I’m telling you. Only who’s to do it?”
“Isn’t the legislature in session?”
A derisive guffaw came from an adjoining table.
“Those jokers? Where you been, man? Don’t you know what’s going on?”
“I’ve been sticking pretty close to my ranch, most of the summer,” Montana admitted.
Confusion had resulted from the fire which had destroyed the capital ballots, and there had been other causes. But while a Republican President could name a Republican Governor, to have him accepted by a population which was strongly pro-Southern was beyond the powers of even so stubborn a campaigner as U.S. Grant.
There were three Republicans in the House, none in the Council. The Democratic majority presented a united and hostile front to any and every proposal of the governor.
Ashley in turn met his enemies head-on, equally unyielding. Stalemate was the result. Problems were piling up, with everyone in agreement on only one point, that something should be done.
“They play politics, while the Territory and the rest of us go to hell,” one man summed up bitterly. “As a lot sure will—unless something’s done, and soon.”
“You any suggestions as to how?’ another man countered. “We got us a Governor and a legislature, but no government. Me, I’m a Democrat—with no particular love for Mr. Republican Ashley. But I’m hanged if this thing ain’t gone too far. The legislature’s going to stay Democratic, and Grant sure won’t give us any governor except a Republican. But a few heads need to be knocked, so they’ll work together. Only how it can be done—”
“What we need—and what they need—is somebody that can knock a few heads! Make them see sense, whether they like it or not.”
“And just who would manage that? We’ve got most of the leading men in the territory there already—”
“Leadin’ like a bull with a ring in its nose, you mean! We need somebody that’s big enough to make the others listen, and not so blasted partisan. Like Montana, here!”
“Whoa now, take it easy!” Montana reared back, startled. “You’re letting your imagination run away with you.”
Sudden hush had fallen, while the others pondered the suggestion, studying Abbott. Clearly it was a spur of the moment notion, but just as plainly, the others were impressed. Montana parried it with a question.
“What about Jim Brown? Seems to me I heard that he was ailing or something.”
“Ailing ain’t the word for it. He’s been mighty sick. Guess he’s past the danger point, but getting back his strength is a slow job. He’s not able to serve, like he was elected to.”
“Sa-ay, that’s an idea,” another chimed in. “With Brown sick, Missoula County’s short a representative. Why don’t we send Montana in his place, as sort of a deputy—at least till Jim’s able to fill his own seat again?”
Montana had ridden a wild river in the black of night, caught by the tide like helpless flotsam. He had the same sensation now.
“Be kind of irregular,” one man demurred. “And anyway, what good would it do? The Democrats have a whoppin’ majority to start with. One more vote wouldn’t change anything.”
“Not any ordinary vote—but Montana’s no run of the mill man. As for Brown—well, Jim’s a nice feller, and a pretty good politician, but even if he was there, he’d be just one of the crowd. By comparison, Montana casts a long shadow. He’s no politician, which is all to the good. He could speak for the whole Territory, and everybody in it. Being a Democrat by inclination, the other Democrats ought to listen. And I’ve heard tell that you done the Governor a favor, Montana, and are a friend of his.”
Attention had focused from all over the room. They were taking this seriously.
“I have met the Governor,” Montana conceded. “But hold on. Like you say, I’m no politician, and, in such a mess, I sure don’t hanker to stick my neck out. Even if I did, I couldn’t do anything.”
“That may be. In fact it’s more’n likely. But if anybody can nudge or kick them off dead center, you’re the one. And somebody’s got to. This situation is too serious to be allowed to drag on. After all, we’re paying taxes, paying the salaries of those we send up there. We’ve a right to expect something more than wrangling.”
A fresh voice came as a second.
“You’d have a good standing with both sides, Montana—likely the only man that would. You just might be able to make them see sense, and get something done.”
Montana was strongly tempted. He had shied like a jittery cayuse at the notion, but hard work at the ranch had merely made him miserable. Now the work was caught up. And Melissa Edwards would be there—
And when it came to that, maybe he’d been all wrong. Always his credo had been to meet trouble head-on, certainly not to run or dodge.
There was another aspect. Melissa herself. She had been frank in admitting her liking, and her problem added up to big trouble. Now, if ever, she needed a friend—
“You’re overlooking something,” he pointed out. “Even if I wanted to oblige, I couldn’t. You’re short a man from Missoula County. But my ranch and residence are in Deer Lodge County.”
“I knowed it was a dumbed fool mistake, to split that new county off from here, when they did,” one man growled.
The objection was brushed aside.
“Maybe it’d be a shade irregular, but I figure it can be handled. Everybody will be for you. The Democrats shouldn’t raise any objection, and once the Governor knows that you’re trying to get a workable method for both sides, I doubt that he would, either. How about it?”
This was new, but as challenging a problem as any he’d ever faced. Also there was a chance for real service, if he could somehow manage. And with Melissa there—
“This is too serious for a snap decision,” he pointed out. “Let’s everybody sleep on it. We can talk again tomorrow.”