Bart was quick to take his belongs and secure them to his steed, as he was eager to get out of town as quickly as he possibly could. Yet before he mounted his horse, Bart got an idea and walked the steed down the street and tied him up in front of the general store he was already in earlier that day. The shopkeeper was surprised to see Bart stroll back in for the second time that day, as he assumed Bart would still be at the poker table at least until the sun went down.

  “Mr. Jackson,” The shopkeeper said, still surprised. “What can I do for you?”

  “I need some general supplies,” Bart said as he strolled deeper into the store. “I’ll take some seeds, rice, and any hides if you have them.”

  “Hides?” the shopkeeper repeated.

  “I didn’t studder,” Bart snarled, “What kind of hides do you have?”

  “Oh, I think we have some buffalo hides.” The shopkeeper answered, “I don’t have many but there isn’t much demand for them around these parts.”

  “Just let me know how many you have,” Bart asked again, a little flustered.

  “About four or five,” The shopkeeper answered.

  Bart slapped some cash on the counter, “I’ll take them all.”

  “Yes, Sir,” The shopkeeper said, taking the money off the counter.

  Bart grabbed a bag big enough to carry the hides and walked out after the keeper handed them over. He strapped the bag to the back of his saddle and mounted up and started to ride out of town. His plan was to keep playing in this little shitty mining town until he was no longer welcome, and then head south to another new town that was starting to show promise. Now he was heading north in the direction he never wanted to head back towards, but this time he had no choice. Fate had spit in his eye, and there were most likely a few stupid people that needed to be killed. The first thing he was going to have to do was find the person who sent the telegram and verify what it was claiming. There was a piece of the man that wanted this to be a joke or a mistake, but his gut was telling him otherwise, and it was seldom mistaken. It took Bart about half a day to make it to the creek, and after giving his horse a moment to drink and rest he kept heading up and was crossing the state line by sundown. Just after passing that, he found a nice pocket in the trees and set up a quiet, dark camp for the night. He lit no fires and used the hides he bought to stay warm while catching some sleep out in the frigid winds.

  The next morning, he packed the hides back up and was back on his horse and moving north as quickly as his horse could take him. Bart hadn’t bumped into anyone since crossing the state line, but he knew why. He was taking a short cut to get to where he was going, as going around was going to take to damn long. As he rode up to a valley leading towards a river that would take him directly to where he was going, there was a surprise waiting for him. The Crow tribe was settling there, often following wherever the buffalo went. He was familiar with the Crow, also known as the Apsaalooke, as they were the first of the natives to settle in Montana before his people came over from Europe and royally fucked things up. While he was suddenly tempted to go back and take the long route, it was too late to reconsider as some of the men from the tribe were already on horses and riding up to greet the intruder. Bart responded only by holding him his hands and trying not to make any threatening motions.

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  “Greetings,” Bart said, unsure if any of them knew what he was saying.

  The two men on their horses started to speak to one another, unaware that Bart was fluent in their language. He had done time for a heist in Dakota, one of the few times he was behind bars during his days. During his time in Dakota, he became acquainted with a fellow outlaw that used to be a member of their tribe, and to pass the time Bart learned their language. So, he sat there on his horse and eavesdropped on the two men discuss what to do with him.

  “I say we kill him,” one of the men suggested. “Take what’s he’s got and his horse!”

  “I don’t like that idea,” Bart replied, speaking in their tongue.

  The two men stopped talking and looked back at him.

  “I would recommend speaking to your Chief, instead.” Bart said, aware of their customs as well. “Tell him that I bring him tribute in exchange for passage.”

  “Why would you do that?” The man asked.

  “Because I am passing through your lands,” Bart answered, “And I would prefer to do it with your permission so that I can carry on to conduct urgent business.”

  “What kind of business?” the man on the other horse asked.

  “The only kind that matters,” Bart answered, “Family business. Tell him I said that.”

  One of the riders went back into the camp, and about several minutes later, five more men rode up on their horses to speak with Bart. It was plain to see that the oldest man riding up was their chief.

  “They say you speak our words,” the chief started, “How do you know it?”

  “I was taught by someone who used to live in these areas,” Bart explained, “We did it to pass the time but also because it gave us the ability to speak without anyone listening in that we didn’t want poking their noses in. In exchange for teaching me, I protected him from people who wanted to give him a hard time.”

  “You didn’t want to give him a hard time?” the chief asked.

  “Prison is hard enough,” Bart replied, “I had no desire to make it tougher on anyone else. He was also a good card player, and that made the time pass easier as well.”

  The old man smiled at him, and Bart suspected he knew why.

  “My son said you were a very good player,” the old man said, “I thank you for helping him out during what were difficult times for him. I thought I was never going to see him again.”

  “He’s a good man,” Bart confessed, “I hope he is doing well since his return.”

  “He’s off on a hunt,” The chief informed him, “Is that why you are here?”

  “It is not,” Bart admitted, “I’m on my way to Bannack and you know this is the quickest way to get there.”

  “Something important going on I was told,” The old man inquired.

  “There is,” Bart said, not eager to get into details. “But I brought things with me, a small tribute so that I can pass through in peace.”

  “What did you bring?” one of the other riders asked.

  “I have rice and seeds,” Bart answered, “And half a dozen hides. It’s not much, but I was hoping it would be enough.”

  The old man watched as Bart handed the hides and supplies that he purchased at the general store over to one of the other riders.

  “I thank you,” the old man started, “You have my approval to pass through our lands. Do you have time to stop for a talk and something to smoke first?”

  “I wish I did, but I cannot.” Bard answered, “Perhaps on my return?”

  “Very well, hopefully my son will be back from his hunt then” The Chief responded.

  “I hope so too,” Bart agreed.

  “Let this man through,” the chief instructed his men, “But ride with him until he’s clear of our lands.”

  Bart made a respectful nod and then watched as the chief and his men all rode back to town, leaving Bart with the two men that originally talked to him. They both rode with him as the went around the camp and for a few more miles until he was fully clear of their little town. He didn’t take any offense to their precautions. Just as they were making it to another creek a few miles from their camp, one of them asked a question.

  “Are you sad the chief’s son wasn’t here?” He asked.

  “It would have been nice to see him,” Bart confessed, “But I’m glad he wasn’t there. If he knew I was going back to Bannack, he would have tried to come with me. I prefer he didn’t because I don’t want to give those assholes an excuse to hassle your people.”

  “Why are you going back?” the other rider asked.

  “To kill people,” Bart answered honestly, “And to rescue my child.”