Wrench’d and sweaty –calm and cool then my body becomes, I sleep – I sleep long.
I do not know it – it is without name – it is a word unsaid,
It is not in any dictionary, utterance, symbol.
Something it swings on more than the earth I swing on,
To it the creation is the friend whose embracing awakes me...”
Georgia jumped in to finish the poem:
“Perhaps I might tell more. Outlines! I plead for my brothers and sisters.
Do you see O my brothers and sisters?
It is not chaos or death—it is form, union, plan—it is eternal life—it is Happiness.”
“Wow,” Arthur marveled, “you really know your Whitman, Ms. Warton. I am impressed. How did a seamstress from Boston come to love poetry so much?”
“Arthur, are you saying the poets are only for the cultured and the rich? I hope not. We humble people love our verses as well.”
“Yes, you’re right. I’ve heard a surprising number of cowhands quote Shakespeare, now that you mention it. Please forgive me for that impertinent arrogance.”
“Yes, of course,” she said.
“Do all the humble of Boston have such fine manners and diction like you as well?” he asked.
“You must go and see sometime!” Georgia said lightly, trying to steer the conversation away from Boston again. “As a cultured man, you would love the city. And I must tell you, I’m surely loving this Texas country.”
“It has a way of growing on you, doesn’t it?” he smiled.
“Very much so! It’s good to meet you, Arthur. If you’ll excuse me, I should get back and help Martha in the kitchen. She works so hard, and I want to do my part too.”
“Of course,” he said smoothly. “May I drop by again? It is so refreshing to find someone in Sonora who appreciates the genius of Whitman as you do. I don’t believe James will mind one whit – if you’ll pardon the almost pun.”
“That would be fine,” she replied with a smile at his Whitman witticism. “A pleasant carriage-ride home to you, Arthur.”
“Thank you,” he said, standing up and putting on his derby. “Good day to you, Ms. Warton.”
“Good day.”
Georgia watched as Richards stepped off the veranda and walked toward the stables to retrieve his carriage and horse. Then she heaved a sigh of relief and went inside to help Martha again.
* * *
“How far do you reckon it was from the ranch?” James asked his brother.
“Couldn’t have been more than six, maybe seven miles,” he replied, “I was moving mighty slow that night.”
It was several days after David had returned to the Golden Lane following his escape from the desperadoes. The two brothers, along with Francisco the ranch hand and Deputy Leary, had set out to try and locate the cabin where David had been held prisoner. True to Aunt Martha’s prediction, the older McCloud brother had made a quick recovery thanks to the care of his family, and consuming copious amounts of home cooked food.
He had fled eastward after his escape, so they were searching the area west of the ranch for the location of the kidnapper’s hideout. Every man was fully armed and ready for anything, knowing that they might encounter the suspects when they found the cabin.
“What kind of building was it, David?” Leary asked.
“Hard to say, Ben. I was so foggy from that dart, didn’t get a good look at the outside of it. But inside it had wooden walls. The two rooms I saw were both small, one of ‘em including a little batch-up kitchen. It ain’t nothin’ fancy.”
“Well, that’s somethin’ to go on anyway. Probably weren’t a stone building then. Any abandoned shacks up that way you fellers know of?” Ben asked the group.
Francisco spoke up: “Even if there is, it would be very easy to miss in these hills. There are none that I have discovered west of the ranch.”
“Me neither, amigo,” said James. “But it’s likely set close to a grove of trees for access to firewood, and probably has water nearby.”
“That’s right. I remember it was very close to some woods,” David said. “I dove into ‘em soon as I got out of the place. Good cover. Thick brush. Not a big grove, but it helped me get away.”
“All right then, that narrows it down a bit more,” said the sheriff. “Let’s split up for a spell but keep each other in sight. We can cover more ground that way and cover each other too if we find ‘em. Anybody sees anything, give a whippoorwill whistle and a wave to the others. Any questions?”
“Yes, Señor James. How do you whistle like a whippoorwill?” Francisco joked.
“I dunno, Fran,” David chuckled, “I can’t even say the word!”
“Okay, men, let’s move out,” James said, nudging his horse forward.
* * *
Not far away, hiding in a thick patch of savanna grasses, Blue Shadow watched the group fan out and began their sweep of the area. Even from a distance he recognized David by his large protruding belly and the color of his Stetson. He did not know the others but saw a glint of sunshine reflecting off one of the lawmen’s badges. He concluded that they must be looking for the cabin where the fat man had been held.
The Comanche grunted with satisfaction, pleased that he had chosen this exact time to leave the cabin and go in search of herbs for his medicine. With the caution of one long used to being pursued, Blue Shadow had taken all of his belongings when he left, so as to avoid detection by anyone who might find the cabin.
“You will not find me that easily today, white men,” he whispered in the Comanche language, resuming his watch until the group had disappeared from sight. “Even if you stumble on Blue Shadow’s cabin, you will not find me.” Standing halfway up and crouching low to give less of a profile against the savanna grass, the Indian moved carefully off further west.
7
On the third day of their search James, David, Leary, and Francisco found the kidnapper’s cabin. It was hidden between two small hills. The building was impossible to see until a person was nearly on top of it. What made the place even better hidden was that the two hills themselves were small enough to be easily missed. A couple of times the search party had passed close by and not seen them.
Leary sat on his horse and marveled at the location. “Whoever done it, that was some pickin’! Never seen a place so easy to miss. Wonder who built it.”
“I’m guessing it was some pioneer or fur trapper way back. Probably wanted to keep out of sight of the Comanche,” James said.
“I reckon he succeeded too,” Ben chuckled.
“Could have been the Mexicans also,” Francisco added.
“Good point, Fran,” said David with a wink. “I got a feeling this is the place, boys. Looks small enough. Oak grove is right close. How you wanna handle this, Sheriff?”
James drew his pistol and the other men followed suit. “If anybody’s in there, they probably spotted us already. So keep to the cover here and let me get in closer. Then I’ll give ‘em a shout. Fran, cover me with your rifle.”
“Sí, Señor James.” Francisco drew his Winchester out of the scabbard and got into position as the sheriff moved slowly toward the building. The Mexican worked the lever and loaded a bullet into the firing chamber, then cocked the hammer. He took careful aim at the cabin door.
David moved off to a position on his brother’s right, Ben to the left, both crouching low with their revolvers cocked and ready.
When James got into position he called out: “Hello, in the cabin! This is the Sheriff of Sutton County. Come out of the building immediately.”
The four men waited. There was no sound from within. James called again without any response, then moved carefully to the front of the building. Pressing his back against the wall, he signaled Leary to follow him and stand on the other side of the door.
Ben got into position and gave a nod to the sheriff that he was ready. James kicked open the wooden door and burst into the cabin with his pistol raised, followed by
Leary. Finding the first room unoccupied, Leary kicked open the bedroom door. It was empty also. The two lawmen holstered their weapons and called in the others.
“Yep, this is the place,” David announced after inspecting the rooms. “Look at these squirrel bones on the table.” He picked up a small leg to examine it, then threw it back onto a greasy plate. “There was no grub in the place when I was here, so after dark both them fellers went out to hunt flyin’ squirrel. That’s what gave me a chance to escape.” He looked down at the bones again. “Thanks, little buddy.”
Ben leaned over the countertop and picked up a couple small remnants of organic material. He sniffed at the items and rolled them carefully between his fingers.
“What are you doin’ there, Leary? Rollin’ a smoke?” David joked.
“Nope,” he said. “These here are bits of mushrooms and herbs. Those boys ate their squirrel about five days ago, right?”
“Yes. Why?” David said.
“Well them squirrel bones is all dried up. But these bits are all right fresh, like they been picked today,” the deputy continued. “Looks like there’s been somebody else staying here, Sheriff. I don’t reckon those two boys would’ve come back to fry up some mushrooms with their squirrel bones.”
“So whose are the mushrooms and herbs?” Francisco asked.
“Comanche,” said James. “I’d lay odds it was Blue Shadow in here mixing up some poison for his darts. Which means the others are probably still around, too.”
“Shoot. I was hoping they’d a-moved out of the county when I foiled their plan,” David said.
“Maybe they did move on and Blue Shadow stayed. We don’t know yet, Dave. But we’d better take precautions just in case.”
After the men had made a thorough inspection of the entire cabin and grounds, they mounted up and headed back toward Sonora, spurring their horses on at a steady trot. There was little conversation now for each was concerned that if the kidnappers were still in the area it meant other members of the Golden Lane household could be in danger.
From his hiding place in the savanna grasses, Blue Shadow watched them go. “So after three days you finally find the cabin,” he whispered with contempt. “A Comanche warrior would have seen it right away!” He was unconcerned about the discovery, however. The renegade was filled with anticipation. “You will see who the white chief wants to take away next.”
* * *
Georgia gripped the forty-five Colt revolver tightly with both hands and took aim. The weapon seemed very heavy.
How do men hold these with one hand like it’s a toy? she wondered in amazement.
“That’s it,” James encouraged her, “hold it up a bit higher now.”
She was trying but the weapon seemed to push her arms down like it was a cannon. James stood close behind her and reached out a hand to help steady Georgia’s wavering arms. She liked the feel of the strong Texan so close, watching her back.
“Okay, you can do this, Georgia. Now look down the barrel and squeeze the trigger real slow. She’s gonna kick back a bit but I’ll brace your arms for the first couple shots ‘til you get used to it.”
She could feel his warm breath on her neck, and it felt good. His body smelled of the land, wood smoke, and a faint echo of the pleasant tang of horseflesh. Georgia took careful aim at the tree in front of them, closed her eyes, and squeezed the trigger...
The roar of the explosion was deafening and the Colt kicked upward like a wild bronco. Then a cloud of gun smoke drifted into their faces and made her cough spasmodically.
Oh, that’s terrible!
“Did I hit it?” she rasped in the smoky air.
James laughed good-naturedly. “Not by a country mile, girl! But not bad for your first go. It didn’t knock you onto the ground or anything.”
“Only because you were standing behind me, James. Good Lord!”
“C’mon, let’s give it another go,” he said, smiling.
“I don’t think this is my gift,” she said, amused at how he was obviously enjoying her stunned reaction to the weapon. “Can we go and rope some steers instead? I think I’d be better at that.”
James let out a Texas-sized guffaw and stood in front of her.
Well, that doesn’t mean you have to stop snuggling me. Maybe I will shoot this thing again after all.
“In this part of the country,” he began, “you never know when you might need to do some shootin’, Georgia. Yes, even a woman might have to fire a pistol some time. So I just wanted you to get a feel for it, see what it’s about in case you ever need to. But I sure hope you never do.”
“Aww, that’s sweet,” Georgia said, handing him the Colt and giving him a hug. “Thank you.” James held her close. Then he lifted up her chin and looked into her eyes. Georgia felt like her heart had stopped. He placed a long, soft kiss on her lips. She returned it eagerly.
Forget about the weapons, let’s just do this all day, she exulted. Their first kiss was better than she ever dreamed it would be.
James stepped back and put both hands on her shoulders. “I’m so glad you came to Texas, darlin’. Come over yonder, there’s one more thing I want to show you.” She swallowed hard and a butterfly appeared in her stomach.
Did he just call me darlin’? Her heart thrilled at the sound of the word.
James went over to the split rail fence and picked up the shotgun leaning against it. He smiled, holding it up for her to inspect.
“You have got to be kidding, James McCloud!” she scolded with half-serious indignation. “You want me to fire that thing?” Looking down at the black metal, double-barreled shotgun, it seemed very menacing.
“Come on, one more time, darlin’,” he encouraged her. “Next to a revolver, you’re most likely to find a scattergun like this around the house – or anywhere else for that matter. If you ever need to defend yourself, this here is your best bet. That’s because it’s mighty hard to miss the target.”
“Okay,” she said, “but only if you stand behind me again to soften the blow.”
“That’s my girl!” he smiled. He handed her the shotgun and snuggled up even closer behind her this time. “This old scattergun does have quite a kick. But like I said, it’s hard to miss your target. Just point it in the general direction...” He reached around and braced her hand and arm on the weapon, pointing it toward a nearby tree. “...pull the hammer back on one of the barrels...” He cocked a hammer for her. “...and let ‘er fly!”
Georgia pulled the trigger and the blast seemed to throw both of them backward like the kick of a horse. When the smoke cleared, she looked at the tree. A couple feet of its trunk was now covered in tiny holes from the impact of the buckshot. Whole sections of bark were shredded or blown away.
“There. That weren’t so bad, was it?” James asked brightly.
She passed the shotgun back to him, hands shaking a bit. “No, no, that was, uh...great,” she said, one eyebrow cocked comically under her bangs. Her eyes were watery and throat felt dry from the gun smoke. “Can we go rope that steer now? I’m hungry.”
“I got a better idea,” he said, leaning the shotgun against the fence. He put his hands on her waist and pulled her close to him. Georgia forgot about her dry throat and watering eyes. This time it was a short, intense, and sensual kiss on the lips that made her heart race even faster with excitement.
James’s right hand slid down from her waist, found her left hand, and squeezed it gently. “I’m proud of you, Georgia,” he smiled. They hugged again and he leaned over to pick up the shotgun. It was the end of the shooting lesson.
As they walked back to the ranch house for supper, Georgia thought happily to herself: Oh my goodness, that was so worth the wait. It was electrical! Who knew one kiss from a Texas sheriff could send a girl to the moon?
* * *
The next morning, a Saturday, found James and Georgia sitting on the veranda of the Golden Lane playing chess. A high wind pushed small puffs of cloud across the Sonoran sky. Per
fect weather for an outdoor match, she thought excitedly. It was their first game since her arrival, and both were keen to test each other’s skills.
“Well, well, Sheriff McCloud,” Georgia intoned spiritedly, “the moment of truth has come at last. I’m looking forward to testing our mettle against each other on the chess board.”
“Oh yes, Ms. Warton,” he replied with equal good cheer, “I’ve been looking forward to this, too. Seems like there just ain’t nobody around here that can beat me at chess no more.”
“Well then I shall be glad to relieve you of that burden, sir,” she said, placing the pieces carefully onto the board. She noted that the McCloud brothers’ beautifully carved chess set looked well used.
Caught Between Love And Duty Page 6
