Yellow Mountain

By Peter Smyth

A family driven apart by greed and lust. The desire for gold and wealth is overwhelming like the lure of a naked thigh. After the death of old man Hudson many had searched for his gold mine, but none had found it. Damsel Parker, cow hand and drifter, learns of the gold mine through the old man’s granddaughter, Gale.

Damsel Parker is thrust into the middle of a divided family, where he learns that lust and greed is the parent of all evil.

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Part 3

An overwhelming feeling of uncertainty made Parker stop abruptly as he stepped into the main street of Grayville’s Ridge. Suddenly he was faced with the issue he had avoided up until now, and his stomach tightened as he thought of the young woman and her three companions. They too, as he recalled, were headed for Grayville’s Ridge, and at all costs he wanted to avoid another confrontation with them.

Less important were the things that they had taken from him than his joining up with Danny Fletcher and Tom Ferguson from the Hudson ranch. "We’ll be in town for the weekend," Tom Ferguson had told Parker. "But as you can`t give me an exact day of your arrival, there's a fine young and up-right black man working in the delivery stable, he'll guide you off in the right direction should we miss each other. His name is Michael."

From the far end of the main street came the chimed clatter of a solitary church bell that echoed clear across the shallow basin to the low laying hills. Parker counted them - five in all - and almost instantly the street began to fill with people chatting eagerly in their relief of another day's work ended - while the shop keepers began their task of securing their premises for the night, and Parker felt a sense of relief in their numbers.

It was now two day's into the new week and Parker guessed that the three-day time lapse, he had suffered, would have coincided with their departure. So with a steeped physical effort, he steadied himself then set off limping across the main street towards the delivery stable. His feet were aching again from his tiresome four-hour march. The tattered soles of his riding boots had disintegrated even further resembling no more than that of fluffy scruffs of shredded paper, that offered little protection to the now inflamed and bleeding laceration beneath his feet. He had not reach the other side before the spirited sound of the workers was broken by the explosion of thundering horse hooves and the yells and shouts of stalwart men bent on a long lissome night of whisky and loose women.

Parker bit down on his bottom lip and broke into a hard run. The delivery stable was a large rectangular building situated at the south entrance to the town and made completely of pinewood. The sweet stale smell of straw and horse manure filled his nostrils as he charged through the opening between the two large hanging doors just as the riders appeared on the street.

A startled young African looked up as he entered. He was dressed only in long khaki trousers, fastened around his middle with a charred length of rope, and his feet were stuffed awkwardly into a homemade pair of leather sandals. He hesitated a moment, his large black pupils made more prominent by the brilliant white of the eyes that surrounded them - before fumbling the words that escaped his mouth. "Mm … Mr Parker?" And Damsel Parker nodded steadily.

The young black man moved swiftly to the stable door, peered out briefly, then returned to Parker`s side. "Miss Veronica … !" he said hastily. "Follow me, sir. They will not find you in the basement."

Parker stood quietly in the dark silence that surrounded him in the confined space beneath the delivery stable. From above came the muffled sound of horses as they were led in, and the sounds of the rider’s voices were muffled also.

"I … " said one of the riders, " I saw … just as … the main street."

"Are … sure?" said another.

"I … know what … saw." the voice came again.

"Ask the … He must … have … something."

"Right … !"

There was a moment when it seem that all the riders spoke across each other, and Parker released that there were more above him than just the young woman and her three companions.

There was a scuffling sound  followed by a heavy bang as something hit the floor. A moment of silence, then a scraping sound, a another scuffle, and another bang as again something struck solidly against the stable floor.

Parker had it in is mind to wait a full five minutes after the last of the foot steps had disappeared from ear-shot out into the dusty street before starting, in the dark, back up the wooden slatted step-way, but only three had passed before he heard the rustic sound of weary hinges. Expecting the worst he pressed himself firmly up against the cold damp wall avoiding the sunlight as it filtered down into the basement.

"They have gone, Mr Parker," the young African called softly. "You can come out now."

Parker stepped from the shadows and looking up, he stopped abruptly, for the young black man crouched at the entrance above him was clearly in pain. His nose was broken and lay awkwardly across to the left side of his face, and a long open gash appeared across his forehead oozing blood down into his eyes and mixed freely with the blood from his nose before dropping from his chin like liquid rubies that splattered into dark little pools on the basement floor.

Parker mounted the wooden step-way with no concern for the pain in his own feet and took the young man's head firmly between his hands.

"Did they do this?" The question was meaningless for he already knew the answer, but the young African nodded slowly, and Parker squeezed his head gently.

Parker stood before him now on the wooden step-way holding his head as tenderly as he would a child's. The laceration across his brow, caused by a heavy blow from the barrel of a handgun, was deep and long, and the loose skin at the edges had pulled away tightly revealing the warm-pink colour of his tender under flesh. The nose was broken and already the swelling was beginning to show across the broad ridge between the eyes. Parker removed the scarf from around his neck and gently dabbled at the open wounds.

"You must leave Mr Parker," said the young man. "It`s not safe for you to be here."

"Not like this, I can`t." Parker told him firmly, then helping the young man to his feet Parker led him, like a father shepherds a child, over the freshly laid straw between two spacious and immaculate rows of boxed horses and out in to the main foyer, and seated him comfortable on a chopping block that stood among three others at the center of the room. "What made them do this?" Parker inquired finally.

"One of Miss Veronica’s boys thought that he saw you entering the delivery stable." He paused a moment as he took the scarf from Parker`s hand, dabbed gently at the blood that oozed from his nose, then held it firmly up against the wound across his brow. "I guess they thought by beating me I’d hand you over to them."

For a time Parker studied the young man; a tall handsome lad barely out of his teens with firm upper arms and tight shoulders that bowed slightly giving the appearance that he had carried heavy loads from an early age, and the taut muscles of the stomach rippled imposing down each side of his dark navel.

"You must be Michael?" said Parker, and the young man nodded again.

"Yes, Mr. Parker." His eyes were focused at the floor and his head was bent forward slightly in a manor of respect. "I`ve been expecting you since last Sunday. Mr Ferguson told me that you were coming. He has left a fresh horse for you here in the delivery stables. He said you might be needing one when you rode in."

Parker studied the young man's face a moment longer, and then rose quickly to his feet and crossed to the delivery stable entrance. "What I need now Michael," he said back across his shoulder, " … is a weapon."

"No! Mr. Parker!” Michael said suddenly looking up. "You can not face them alone. There are to many of them."

"How many?"

"Ten." He shrugged, uncertain. "Maybe more."

"That’s a lot more than this morning." He grunted out aloud to himself. Then to Michael, he said; "We must get you to a doctor, my friend."

Michael rose unsteadily to his feet, scratching his scalp through thick woolly black hair.

“You must leave now, Mr. Parker. If Miss Veronica’s boys should find you__”

"Surely Grayville Ridge has a sheriff?" Parker cut him short.

"There is," Michael went on. "But most times he looks the other way. Tonight the town folk will lock themselves away, but none will sleep for the noise of gun-fire and shouting in the street." He stopped abreast of Parker and peered cautiously out into the street. "You must leave now," he whispered turning back.

"Not like this, I can`t." Parker said again.

"Don`t worry about me, Mr Parker. You must go now while it is still light."

Parker turned and faced the horses that feed contented and quietly on the sweet dry grass mixed proportionally with oats and corn and immediately his attention was drawn by a impressive piebald mare that stood to a height of nearly twenty-one h  ands, with a fine fawn main that hung down against its firm solid neck in a soft ortanic glow like that of fine silk. It stood apart from the others and fastened to a hitch-rail, its fawn and raven tail flicking steadily from one side to the other dusting the irritating flies that swarmed at the naked flesh of her rump - while her right front hoof pounded the earth as she impatiently awaited her rider. A fine specimen of good breeding and Parker found himself smiling as he noticed the initials J/H branded high on her right shoulder. It was the same branding as those that Danny Fletcher and Tom Ferguson from the Hudson ranch had ridden the day they had hired him.

Parker remained silent awhile and then started forward, but Michael put out his hand and drew him back.

"Not tonight, Mr Parker. They will ride you down before you could reach the Hudson Ranch. You are new to these parts. It would be best for you to spend the night down at the creek on the outskirts of town. Tomorrow when they have gone I’ll saddle Shadow Dancer and point you in the right direction."