Chapter 14: Mountain Man

Farnsworth was a quiet little town, widely regarded as a place where not much happened. The ambience rubbed off on visitors to such an extent that miners, loggers and cowboys from the surrounding area rolled up at weekends not to let off steam but to have a few drinks in peace and quiet.

The normal atmosphere prevailed at three o’clock on a dull April afternoon. In the grandly named Southeast Avenue – a fifty-yard offshoot from the main street – two old-timers sat on chairs outside the barbershop. They were conducting a meandering conversation, which as usual ran at an average of about ten words a minute, when a newcomer arrived. With his horse at a plod, he rode as far as the office of lawyer Roland Hanson, putting him within ten yards of the oldsters.

Dismounting was a laborious business. Having taken his time about getting his right foot to the ground, the rider paused for a further ten seconds before freeing his left boot. He then stood for close to a minute, hands on his saddle, seemingly preparing himself for whatever he had in mind. He was a couple of inches over six feet in height, of average build, with a gaunt face and a generally rugged, rawboned look. His extra-long jacket was of fringed tan leather and his dark trousers were tucked into high brown boots. On his head was a coonskin hat.

With an air of fatigue, the stranger hauled himself up onto the boardwalk and tramped into Hanson’s office. The two old-timers had a consultation about the stranger, concluding that he was probably a mountain man. They didn’t have long to speculate, for he had been in the lawyer’s place less than five minutes when the peace was disturbed by a loud crash as the office window shattered. Hanson burst through the aperture and thudded onto the planking amid a scatter of shards. As he lay prostrate, the newcomer appeared in the doorway bearing a paper in one hand. He looked down at Hanson, pocketed the document, mounted his horse and left as slowly as he’d arrived.

It would be an exaggeration to say that the two old fellows rushed across the street – both were troubled by arthritis – but they did reach Roland Hanson as he began to pick himself up. “You okay?” asked one of them.

“I think so. I can’t feel any broken bones.”

“What happened in there?”

Hanson shook his head. “Queerest thing I ever experienced. That man came in, said his name was Daniel Lambert and that he’d come to, as he put it ‘clear things up’ after Obadiah Naylor’s death. You’ll remember that the old boy passed on a month ago. I told Lambert there was nothing to be cleared up because the only business Obadiah had was his gold claim and he’d sold that to Henry Bates, whose plot of land abutted his. Lambert said he had a letter from Obadiah, in effect giving him the claim. We both got a little ruffled. Lambert insisted on seeing the deed of transfer to Bates. I wasn’t obliged to show it to him but I did. He grabbed it and promptly tossed me through the window.”

After accepting commiserations from the two old-timers, Hanson went off to report the incident to the law officer, Deputy Sheriff Tom Smith.

Three hours after speaking with Roland Hanson, Deputy Sheriff Smith, rode up to the late Obadiah Naylor’s claim, twelve miles west of town. Smith had headed there after learning that Daniel Lambert had been seen riding that way. The stranger was there, leaning on the handle of a broom he’d been using to sweep out the late prospector’s cabin, into which dust had been blown.

Smith dismounted and strode to within six feet of the stranger. “You Daniel Lambert?” he asked.

“That’s right. Who are you and what do you want with me?”

The lawman pointed at his star. “I’m Deputy Sheriff Tom Smith and I’m here to arrest you on a charge of assaulting Roland Hanson this afternoon.” As he spoke, Smith drew his gun and pointed it at Lambert.

With a flick of his hand, Lambert jerked up the broom so that the head gave Smith a sharp tap under his right hand before he’d taken full control of his weapon, which flew up six feet. As it began to fall, midway between the two men, Lambert reached out and grabbed it. Smith looked on, startled. He was even more surprised when Lambert handed him back the gun, butt first, with the words: “I’ll go with you and settle whatever’s troubling you, but don’t point that thing at me again.”

Chastened, Smith asked Lambert to mount up and the pair set off back to town. During the ride, the deputy sheriff established that Lambert was indeed one of the breed commonly called mountain men. He surprised Smith yet again by saying that he had no objection to spending time in jail pending a trial, so long as he was reasonably well fed. He was unperturbed even when told that the hearing might be delayed for some time because the circuit judge was sick.

It took ten weeks for Judge Joseph Townend to get to Farnsworth, where Daniel Lambert’s assault on Roland Hanson was the only case awaiting his attention. The proceedings took place in the school hall, and on this occasion there was no jury.

The judge stated that Lambert was facing two charges, his attack on the lawyer and his allegedly unauthorised takeover of Obadiah Naylor’s gold claim. Lambert admitted his guilt on the first charge. He was relieved to hear that in the judge’s opinion, the time he had spent in custody, through no fault of his, was an appropriate punishment for the assault on Roland Hanson.