Leadville by James D. Best Page A

in search of my horse. I followed the muffled sound of voices until I found McAllen and Dooley. “Seen Chestnut?” I asked.
    “Call him,” McAllen said.
    I was too weary and bone-chilled to repeat my quip, so I bellowed, “Chestnut!” After two more tries, Chestnut slowly emerged from the fog like some otherworld apparition. I said good morning by rubbing the front of his chest, and when I walked over to where I had left his bridle and my other gear, he followed me without being bid. I smiled to myself when I saw the look on McAllen’s face. It was obvious he suspected that the prior exhibition had been a fluke. I hadn’t been quite sure myself. After the first few months, Chestnut seldom failed to respond to my voice, but I had never before owned a horse that showed dog-like devotion or appeared to understand verbal communication. Chestnut not only responded to the bit and spurs, but he seemed to sense my moods, and a couple of times, I needed only to catch his eye to beckon him.
    McAllen grabbed the reins of his saddled horse and led him back to the campfire, Dooley following close behind. I glanced around, saw no other gear but my own, and concluded that Sharp must also be ready to ride out.
    McAllen yelled back at me. “Hurry it up, Steve! We leave right after breakfast.”
    Hardtack and coffee hardly seemed like breakfast. I rubbed Chestnut’s neck and consoled myself that any town of thirty-five thousand people would have plenty of comforts for those with the ability to pay. As I lifted the bridle over Chestnut’s head and fitted the bit in his mouth, I realized I wanted to hurry as well. The sooner we got to Leadville, the sooner I could get out of this biting cold.
    It became still and quiet after McAllen and Dooley had gone. The eerie fog made everything so damp that when I shook out my blanket, it felt rigid and stiff, like it would permanently freeze into whatever untidy mess I dropped it into. After I got the saddle and bridle to my liking, I slipped my rifle and shotgun into the scabbards on either side of the saddle. The only things remaining were my saddlebags and Colt, which I had left fireside. Once Chestnut was ready to ride, I wandered off a few yards to relieve myself.
    I had just re-buttoned my pants, when a twig snapped beyond the curtain of fog. The snap had been so loud, it may even have been a branch. I froze. Damn it. I was unarmed. Straining to see through the gray screen, I saw nothing, I heard nothing. After at least a full minute, I swiveled my neck to see how far away Chestnut stood. He had decided to seek out his own breakfast and grazed on some new grass about twenty yards away. I faced the mysterious noise again but still saw no danger. I told myself that Indians moved quietly, so if anything was out there, it was probably just a deer.
    I couldn’t stand there all day, so I started to slowly retreat in the direction of Chestnut and my rifle. After two steps, I saw the outline of a huge hulking mass low to the ground. It looked like a boulder rolling silently toward me. I froze again. What the hell was that?
    Then I saw—and it saw me. A grizzly bear. A huge grizzly. It hunkered on all fours, its massive head hung low to the ground from a thick neck. My hand brushed my leg, but I had left my knife with my Colt.
    We each stood motionless and stared at each other until something happened that froze me—not in caution this time, but in utter fear.
    The grizzly reared up on his hind legs, bared its teeth and claws, and gave out a monstrous roar.
    I wanted to run, but my legs refused to move.
    The bear fell back onto all fours, threw its head, and roared again.
    I sensed it was seconds from a charge, but I still could not move. Suddenly, Chestnut neighed menacingly at my side. He reared back with his front legs kicking the air furiously and looked to be ten feet tall.
    I regained my senses and stepped under Chestnut to grab the reins and pull him back to earth. I had to get to my