The Last Handful of Clover - Book 1: The Hereafter

1.32 Round Valley

August 23, 1857

"Dammit Dutch, Gus told you to call me 'Peter Whitman.' You'd better stop calling me 'Stauffer.' Far as I'm concerned, that ain't my name no more."

"Relax, 'Whitman'," Dutch sneered. "Ain't nobody out here gonna find out you're a backout. And none of these cowhands give a shit one way t'other."

Stauffer fumed, but knew it was best to drop it.

It was late afternoon, and the desert country was stark and beautiful all around them. The Wasatch Mountains were still on their left, even though they'd left Salt Lake City almost three weeks ago. An hour before, they'd been riding with Gus, who had told the pair to spend the afternoon doing some scouting up ahead, but to be back by supper.

Finally, Stauffer was feeling like he might just get out of Salt Lake City with his hide, and his privates, intact.

The relief he felt at the slowly dwindling Mormon settlements was in stark contrast to that felt by Gus and the rest of the company. To them, the desert and the long distances between the settlements had led to a frightening sense of isolation.

It had been a tough three weeks. As Gus had feared, the Mormons had locked themselves down and were hoarding their supplies, fearful that the army could invade within a matter of months. Every time the company had sent an emissary to barter for supplies at a settlement they were passing, or even just a lone ranch, they had been turned away. The company had money to buy supplies, but the Mormons simply weren't selling. Of course, Stauffer himself was never sent to negotiate with the Mormons, but he heard all their stories when they returned to camp empty-handed.

He had not been surprised. But the rest of the Fancher train had a long way to go to understand how Mormons thought.

One friendly rancher their scouts had met close to Provo told them that the homesteaders were specifically instructed not to sell supplies to any of the wagon trains passing through. That rancher was clearly prone to gossip and said much more than he should have. For instance, he said that the prohibition on trading with the wagon trains came from the very top, and it was being spread by a high ranking Mormon official by the name of George Smith, who was riding ahead of them. They also said he was traveling with a young man with some brutal burn scars across his face, and a withered right arm. Smith's directive to the brethren in the settlements was clear. The passing wagon trains were on their own.

Gus Humphries, the trail boss, was there when that scout had made his report, and it was clear to Stauffer that Gus recognized the description of the young man accompanying the Mormon elder, and he grew a little pale when he heard the tale.

Later, Dutch told Stauffer that the description of the young man sounded like a friend of Gus, who Dutch had seen more than once between Arkansas and Salt Lake. Dutch had no idea who he was, but he was sure that Gus knew the boy.

"Could well be a bastard son or somethin'," Dutch said. "I wouldn't put it past old Gus to have fathered a few of those around the country over the years." Dutch laughed like he'd made a great joke, but the entire conversation left Stauffer uneasy. Why would a friend of Gus be working with the Mormons to deny supplies to wagon trains? It just didn't make any sense.

In any case, it was clear that they would not be getting much in terms of supplies over the next several weeks. The sooner they got out of Mormon territory, the better. Unless something changed, they'd be slaughtering cows for grub before the week was out.

Slaughtering cattle would be a perfect job for the Dutchman, Stauffer thought, imagining how Dutch would go at a carcass with that Bowie knife. Gus is right. The old cowhand is more than a little loco.