A Dangerous Camp

The last days of the Old West were about done “down below.”  The states and territories were starting to see electric lights and automobiles.  But up in Alaska, “the Great Alone,” there was gold and very little law and order.  Up there men either walked or rode horses and most of them carried a pistol or two, and a Winchester on their saddles.

Just like in his days in the Bitterroot Mountains of Montana, Lodlow pitched camp for the night and cooked his supper.  He was in the woods south of Cooper Landing and not looking for trouble, but a man on his own in such lawless country had best stay on his guard.

“Hello the camp!” came the call about a half hour after dark.

“State your business,” Bitterroot called back chambering a .30-30 round in his ’94 Winchester and leveling it in the general direction of the voice.

What followed is a tale others would tell for years to come.