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    The Shining Mountains 7: The Shining Mountains, #7
    The Shining Mountains 7: The Shining Mountains, #7
    The Shining Mountains 7: The Shining Mountains, #7
    Ebook311 pages4 hours

    The Shining Mountains 7: The Shining Mountains, #7

    By charles fisher

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    About this ebook

    Becky returns to battle the railroads and other forces that want the Indians out of the way. Snow Star begins to learn about the law, which results in a major victory for the west. The battle continues, and near the end of this installment, Becky sees something in the sky she cannot comprehend or understand. It turns out to be something that will change her life forever in installment 8.

    LanguageEnglish
    Publishercharles fisher
    Release dateJan 7, 2016
    ISBN9781524273644
    The Shining Mountains 7: The Shining Mountains, #7

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      The Shining Mountains 7 - charles fisher

      Table of Contents

      The Shining Mountains 7

      The Shining Mountains 7 | Indian Summer

      The End | Becky and the gang will return in The Shining Mountains 8, The Girl From Zeta Reticuli.

      -

      The Shining Mountains 7

      Indian Summer

      Barrett Trading Post West

      Flathead Country

      April, 1837

      ––––––––

      Wake up, Snow Star said, shaking Becky’s shoulder. Get big ass out of bed.

      Now what, Becky Barrett said, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

      Cannon come back. Have information.

      What information, Becky yawned.

      Find way to make ass smaller, Snow Star giggled, and ran from the room.

      You better run, Becky yelled as she sat up on the edge of the bed. I’m beautiful. And thin.

      Cannon was sitting at a table when Becky came out. Good morning, Josiah. What brings you here so early? Must be pretty good.

      It’s ten O’clock, Miss Van Winkle. Normal people get up long before this.

      Oh. Well, that explains it, Becky said. Where are the bacon sandwiches?

      Attached to your ponderous thighs, from the looks of things.

      Oh, another smartass with the fat jokes. I’ll have you know I’m the perfect weight for my height.

      Only if you were a milk cow, Cannon muttered.

      I heard that, Becky snapped. You and the kid could be replaced by humans. Now, why are you here? You interrupted my beauty sleep.

      It isn’t working, Cannon grinned. I suggest you stay awake, if beauty is your goal.

      ‘I don’t see any line of girls outside your room, Becky said, eyeing him up and down.

      And the bad part would be? For the life of me, I do not understand why any sane man would want to be permanently involved with what passes for women in America. I myself once made this mistake. Perhaps it is loneliness, or the idiotic notion that one should reproduce, or the desire to be crushed to death in the middle of the night by a fat spouse, he grinned, peering at Becky’s chair.

      You aren’t exactly the catch of the century, Becky said. And stop looking at my ass.

      That’s hard to do, considering how much of it there is.

      Are we done? I pay you to get me information and rob other crooks so I can become more fabulously wealthy than I already am. What a combination, she grinned. Rich and beautiful.

      Well, you got at least one of them right. I have unraveled the mystery of the Potomac railroad empire. It seems Malcolm O‘Brien’s brother Patrick is a little more involved than we suspected. He has taken over the position of president. He has two sons as well. Our bought and paid for Mr. Denham says O’Brien opened two new accounts at the Bank of St. Louis. One under his own name, and one under the name Brian Patrick.

      I thought Denham wasn’t supposed to open any more fake accounts for these bums.

      Oh, au contraire, Cannon grinned. One cannot catch the rat unless one puts some cheese in the trap. You do not understand the world of crooks, or how to catch them.

      I never will, Becky sighed. Because I am not one of them. You are, she said. But you are my crook. I may never understand why I use you. I could have killed you years ago for what you did.

      Then you would not be able to benefit from my skills, Cannon smirked. You would not be able to tilt at the windmills of the banking system, or the political system, or the world of business. All of which is in vain, of course.

      So you say. I can fix these bastards, she said as she took a bacon sandwich off the freshly delivered platter. She poured herself a glass of Sherry. And don’t look at me because I’m having Shirley, she giggled.

      Thou art soon to be in thy cups, oh pious one, Cannon said. That is an offense to the God you put so much faith in, is it not?

      Jesus turned water into wine, Becky said. He liked a good drink now and then. You think they drank water at the last supper? Besides, who died and left you in charge of my liver?

      Nobody, Cannon said. Far be it from me to pass judgment on anybody. I have no such desire. If judgment day ever comes, I shall stand with the crooks. We are legion. Let your God explain why he never stopped us, despite all his magnificent powers.

      You aren’t legion, you are shit, Becky said. All your life, you have been a no good bastard who deserves to rot in hell. I use you, yes, because it suits my purpose, which is to stop corruption. So far you have done a very good job. How does that square with your idiotic principle that God protects the corrupt?

      I did not say that. I said he does nothing to stop us.

      No? Becky said. Think again. You got me to deal with. Let’s see what you can do about that.

      But you will not stop me, because you need me. Do you not see the paradox?

      I might change my mind some day and just stab you, Becky smiled. 

      I would prefer to be shot, Cannon grinned.

      Bullets are too expensive. Take what you can get. If I do shoot you, it’ll be in your ass so they can’t find the hole, she grinned. Is this new O’Brien a crook like his brother?

      I would think so, considering the account  he opened under a fake name. That is how Malcolm processed his bribes. Denham will monitor the account and feed us the information. For a price, of course.

      Oh, of course. God forbid anybody does anything to stop murder without getting paid for it.

      He is risking his job and his very life by double dealing his depositors. He deserves to be compensated for that risk. He is not a policeman, you know. He is a banker.

      Snow Star came out with Moon Cloud, and they sat down. They stared at Becky, trying not to laugh.

      What are you two idiots looking at? Becky said.

      Big dummy, Snow Star giggled. Have bacon in hair.

      I do? Becky said. How about that, she said as she found the errant piece and ate it. She grabbed another sandwich off the platter. Why don’t you two go outside and look for pigs? We still don’t know where this bacon comes from.

      No need go outside to find pig, Moon Cloud said. Have big one right at table.

      Oh my, Cannon sighed. They have you all figured out, don’t they.

      They’re just jealous of my stunning beauty, Becky said with a wave of her hand, grease running down her chin. She wiped her face on her sleeve and poured another Sherry.

      You think this beauty? Moon Cloud said, pointing at Becky. Big slob  with big ass, wipe grease on clothes. Have bacon in hair, and drink whiskey in morning. No jealous of this.

      Dan McNeil came in with Right Hand Johnson and sat down. Dan reached for a bacon sandwich as Snow Star stared at him with her silly grin.

      Don’t start yer shit with me, Dan said. I know what you’re thinkin’.

      Where you go last night? Snow Star said.

      I went to see my gal, Dan said. What’s it to you?

      You sick man, put face in old woman’s pussy, Snow Star said.

      I did not! Dan yelled. Mind yer own business, ya damn dirty mouth bastard.

      You do this, Moon Cloud said. Flathead girl see you, she giggled, flicking her tongue in and out. Taste good?

      Poisson vagin bon gout, Snow Star laughed.

      You two kin kiss my ass, Dan grumbled. Always on me about my gal. She be a fine young woman.

      She got a granddaughter fifty years old, Johnson said.

      Horse shit. She be younger than Becky, Dan grinned.

      Have her come to dinner, Becky grinned. I can make soup.

      And you know where you kin put it, Dan said. She likes steak.

      She ain’t et a steak since the pilgrims landed, Johnson said. You find out anything good back east, Cannon?

      Somewhat, Cannon said. We should be prepared for Malcolm O’Brien’s brother to carry on the family tradition of killing Indians.

      Ought to invite him here, Dan grinned, eyeing Moon Cloud and Snow Star. He kin practice on them two.

      Where is Jake? Becky said. I want to go find my sister in New Hampshire. He can take me.

      Poor woman, Cannon said. Imagine having the beastly Miss Barrett appear on your doorstep and claim to be related to you.

      You wish, Becky snapped. Anybody would be proud to be related to a woman as gorgeous as me.

      Just wear a bell around your neck so they have fair warning of what’s coming, Cannon said. Otherwise the shock could be fatal.

      Concord, New Hampshire

      Home of Douglas and Ruth Winslow

      May, 1837

      ––––––––

      Well now, look who’s here, Ruth Winslow said. My long lost sister. Come on in.

      Nice house, Becky said as she looked around.

      We do okay, Ruth shrugged.

      Meet my business partner, Jake Stanton.

      Hi. My husband is at work. What’s with the Davy Crockett outfit? You become a farmer?

      No. I live in the Rocky Mountains now, in the west, Becky said as they sat down at the kitchen table. I’ve been there seven years.

      How quaint, Ruth snickered. You must be rolling in dough after doing that.

      I am, Becky said. We own two trading posts and half of St. Louis.

      You’ve been busy, eh? When was the last time you saw Dad?

      Didn’t you know he died eight years ago?

      No, I did not. I left shortly after Mom passed on. What did he die from?

      Something went wrong with his heart, Becky said. Right after I shoved a knife in it, she thought.

      No great loss, Ruth said. I still think he had something to do with Mom’s death, the way he smacked her around.

      Yeah. Me too.

      So, Mr. Stanton, what else do you do besides make oodles of money with my sister?

      I trade with the Injuns, Jake said. Jewelry, blankets, anything they kin make. Folks out here like that stuff, and the Injuns like the white man’s goods.

      How did you get into that business?

      I was in St. Loo one time to arrange for a barge full of goods for the west, and the broker saw some Crow Injun stuff I had with me. Gave me gold cash money right on the spot for it, and said he could sell as much as I could get. So I got to gettin’ more. Been at it ever since.

      How long have you been out west?

      I first went out in 1827, came back to St. Loo for a spell, then went permanent like the next year. I was from Massachusetts before that, me and my Pa. He’s a doctor at the Jesuit Hospital in St. Loo. I learned it myself, but never cared much for it.

      Why would anybody want to live in the west? There must be nothing there.

      That’s the best thing about it, Becky said. We live free. We are not part of the Union.

      Aren’t the Indians dangerous?

      Not where we are concerned. We get along with them quite well. Your government is what is dangerous. They have plans to get rid of the Indians.

      I’ve heard that. They have land to resettle them, above Texas.

      They don’t want to be resettled. It’s their home land. They were there first. How would you like it if we resettled you in some land you never saw before?

      Is it warm? Ruth laughed. I hate the north in the winter.

      Move to California, Jake said. It be warm there all year long.

      Maybe some day, Ruth said. We have a business here.

      I went west with a few thousand dollars and the clothes on my back, Becky said. I did all right.

      I’m not as brave as you. Or as tough. Or as single. I don’t think the west would be to my liking. Indians, wild animals, no cities or hospitals.

      It is the most beautiful place you could ever hope to see, Becky said.

      Probably is, but it sounds desolate and boring.

      It’s hardly been boring, Becky laughed. Well, Jake, we best be on our way.

      You’re leaving? Ruth said. You just got here."

      Yeah. We got things to do. After they had gone, Becky nodded at Jake. Forget her. She’s a cold one. She has no interest in seeing me at all.

      Barrett Trading Post East

      The Kansas River

      May, 1837

      ––––––––

      What the hell is this? Becky laughed as they approached the post.  A man was running across the compound headed for the river with Fat Bastard McHugh  in hot pursuit, a Black in his hand. Fat was naked save for a pair of muslin drawers and a pair of moccasins.

      You little thieving son of a bitch! the 650 pound monster bellowed. You’re a dead man!

      Stick that knife in your ass, fat man, the fleeing man guffawed. You can’t catch me.

      Fat spotted Jake and Becky. Shoot that little fucker! he gasped, his breath coming in ragged spurts. He robbed the till.

      Do tell, Jake said. He raised his Hawken and blew a gopher hole through the man’s head. How’s that? Jake grinned.

      That were a fair piece of shootin’, Fat nodded as he tried to catch his breath. Damn, I must be gettin’ old. I can’t run worth a shit.

      It ain’t yer age slowin’ ya down, Jake laughed, nodding at Fat’s huge stomach.

      I be a fine figure of a man, Fat huffed.

      You look like a total asshole, Becky giggled. Running around  in your drawers.

      Couldn’t be helped.  I were in the wash house gettin’ ready for a bath, and I happened to look out at the bar. I seen that little bastard takin’ the money out of the cash box. I went after his ass. I didn’t have no time to dress up in my evenin’ clothes, he said.

      Have the Flatheads get rid of the body, Becky sighed. Don’t forget to get our money back. How much did he get?

      Forty dollars. I don’t leave no more’n that in the box. It gits above that, I put it in the safe.

      Well, I guess it would have been worth forty dollars to see Chester McHugh in his drawers, Becky sighed. Although now that  I’ve seen it, I don’t think I want to see it again. Go have your bath.

      Damn smart ass women, Fat muttered as he headed inside.

      You’d look better in pink silk undies, Becky called out. She turned to Jake. And my sister thinks it’s boring out here.

      Fat came out of the wash house half an hour later and sat down. I ain’t never  seen nobody try to rob us before, he said as he poured rum.

      Where did the man come from? Becky said.

      St. Loo, I figger. There was a barge what come in yesterday with a bunch of assholes on board from down south. People be movin’ all over the damn country now. I don’t like it. They all stop here. Maybe you should change the way we do things hereabouts.

      Have Purcell build a new counter at the bar with a cash drawer that locks. Tie a string to the key and tie the other end around your little pecker, she giggled as she slurped Sherry.

      I got a better idea, Fat said. Put Blivens in charge of the damn place. I wanna go back west. I had enough of this here hole.

      Not yet, Becky said. We might need you here. There is a new O’Brien in charge of the Potomac railroad. You know what that means.

      Yeah. Them bastards is gonna try some more shit. Maybe we ought to kill the son of a bitch now, before he starts any trouble.

      Can’t do that, Becky said. We have to make sure he’s going to do something before we take action. That’s only fair.

      Fair is when Mr. Railroad gets a Black in his guts, Fat said. How you gonna know what he got in mind? I say kill his ass first. I ain’t ever seen any trains run by a dead railroad man.

      We have all the information about his bank accounts in St. Louis. The first time he pays somebody off, we’ll know about it. Then he gets his. I know, we’ll tie him to a pole and make him watch you model French girly underwear. That should finish him off.

      You ain’t no specimen of slender yourself lately, Fat nodded. Last time I seen an ass that big on a female, it were in a hog waller.

      I am not fat, Becky snapped. I’m beautiful. Well? Don’t you think so? Nobody said anything. You bastards, she laughed. I’ll get even with you some day.

      Just don’t sit on us, Jake said. I know, you kin stay here and sit on the cash box. Ain’t nobody alive strong enough to get that out from under you.

      You wait, Stanton, Becky nodded. Some night when you least expect it, Jacob is going to be turned into Jessica.

      Ain’t got a knife big enough fer that, Jake grinned.

      I got an axe, Becky giggled. I’ll give it to Moon Cloud. She’ll figure out a way to chop down the Stanton Cottonwood. Whoosh! she exclaimed. Off it comes.

      Jesus, Fat sighed. That’s all you women think about, is choppin’ off a man’s privates.

      You’re safe, Becky said with a wave of her hand. Nobody could find yours. Who’s that asshole at the bar with the mustache and the fancy suit?

      Eye-talian feller, Fat said.

      Who, Leonardo Da Vinci? Michelangelo?

      Barzini. Enrico Barzini. I don’t know about him. He talks a lot to folks hereabouts. Maybe he be up to no good.

      And I never knew until this day that it was Barzini all along, Becky sighed. Come on, the guy is probably a cook or a painter. Go get him, I want to mess with him, she said.

      Poor bastard, Fat sighed as he went to collect Barzini.

      You wish to speak to me, Madam? Barzini said, bowing slightly.

      Have a seat. So, you’re from Italy, are you?

      Yes, Madam. I am.

      I’m not a Madam. They run whores.

      I beg your pardon?

      Solicitor della prostituzione, Becky said.

      Oh my, I am so sorry. I would never say that about you. It is the language, you know?

      What do you do for work?

      I am a great chef, Barzini said, puffing himself up. And I am a wine maker. Can you use a man like me? I need work.

      We buy French wine from St. Louis.

      That is bad wine, Barzini said. Ours is better. Our food is better, too. The French eat garbage from the street gutters.

      Yuck, Becky said. What can you make?

      Everything. I would like to make for you pasta with Italian tomato gravy. It is the best. Have you ever had it?

      I’ve had it with these two assholes who won’t admit I’m beautiful, but I only had pasta a couple of times in New York. It wasn’t very good. Chinese guys served it.

      That is not Italian pasta, Barzini intoned. The Chinese invented pasta, but the Italians brought it to a great art. I will make pasta for you with tomato gravy, and you will never want to eat anything else.

      What do you need to make it? We got no pasta here.

      Certain types of flour, eggs, and my secret process, he winked. I brought my pasta machine with me from my country.

      We got flour, go take a look in the supply house. We got eggs, too, if you can fight off the chickens, she giggled. I don’t think we got tomatoes, though.

      We got ‘em, Fat said. Some woman from St. Loo sold us 500 jars of canned tomatoes. They be in the warehouse.

      Do you have spices? Barzini said. I need certain ones. Oregano and Basil. And olive oil.

      We got that too, Fat said. It’s out there. Nobody uses it.

      Why do you spend all my money on shit nobody wants? Becky said suspiciously.

      I get a kickback, Fat grinned.

      Okay, Bambino. What time is it? One O’clock? You got until dinner time to make this pasta for us. Make a lot, we like to eat. Especially tubby over here, she said, eyeing Fat. If it’s good, you got a job. Why did you come to America, by the way?

      I have heard that America is a land of great freedom and opportunity. I came here to make my fortune. I love America.

      Wow, you got brain damage, Becky giggled. You got some real learning to do about this place. Just go make dinner. I’ll ruin your lofty idealistic ideas about what America stands for after we eat.

      Barzini  set a huge kettle on the stove, and put an inch of olive oil into the bottom. He peeled a head of garlic, chopped it up, and tossed it into the oil. He  pushed the kettle to the back of the stove. Do we have  a meat grinder? he said.

      Under the sink, the Flathead cook said. What is this you make?

      You’ll see, Barzini said. He took the grinder out and set it up.

      Tomatoes go in the grinder. Fill five of these big bowls, then use a potato masher to squish the tomatoes even more. Pick out all the green parts. Drain off the excess water. Oh, and take out that big package of  beef, put it through the grinder, peel some more garlic, and start the oven. Capisce?

      Got it, the Flathead said as he started putting tomatoes into the grinder. Barzini set about making his pasta.

      When the tomatoes were ready, Barzini moved the kettle to the front and turned up the heat a little bit to caramelize the garlic. The meat and extra garlic went into a bowl

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