“Stop it!” Elspeth yanked the neckline back down over her shoulders, revealing creamy skin. “This is the way all the girls have to dress if they want to work here.”
“You don’t have to work here. You should be with us. We’re moving to North Platte Crossing. The family could use your help.”
“You wasted your time coming if you thought you could talk me into leaving. I’m happy working for Mort Kavanagh, and I intend to continue.”
A half-dozen early drinkers turned from the bar to watch the two sisters. Jenny felt self-conscious in her dirty trousers and ragged jacket.
Elspeth guided Jenny to the back wall of the tent, away from the bar. She took both of Jenny’s hands and turned them over to study the palms. “Just look at your hands. They’re callused and chapped. What would Mother think?”
“Mother’s dead, Elspeth.”
“You don’t have to remind me of that. I meant, what would she think if she were still alive. You know how she wanted us girls to take care of our complexions.”
Jenny sighed. “I don’t have the luxury of that anymore. I have to work to help Papa.”
“And how much do you make, cooking for stagecoach passengers?”
“After paying for the food, I get to keep about ten dollars a week.”
“Humph! I make that much in a day. No, Jenny, I’m staying right here.”
“How am I going to explain to Papa?”
“I don’t care what you tell him, Jenny. But I’m not coming back with you.”
CHAPTER 9
Paddy pushed through the canvas-flap door into the rear of the Lucky Dollar Saloon and stepped onto the hard-packed dirt floor. A half-dozen candelabra suspended from the rafters supporting the tented dance hall produced more smoke than light in the large enclosure. He nodded to Randy Tremble, who ignored him and continued polishing glasses behind the bar along the side wall.
Sliding his Bowie knife out of his boot top, Paddy sliced an end off a twist of tobacco. This twist was running low. He’d have to roll a drunk soon to get another. He surveyed the few card tables that were in use. No likely victims among the customers he saw. It was late afternoon, but tools down hadn’t sounded yet for the railroad workers, and there weren’t many customers. He stuck the chaw into his mouth with the point of the blade, then bent down to return the knife to his boot.
When he raised up, he recognized Elspeth McNabb and her sister, Jenny, against the opposite wall. He stepped into the shadows along the outer edge of the tent and sidled around the perimeter. He wanted to get close enough to hear what they were saying without being seen.
“I can imagine Papa’s disappointed in me,” Elspeth said. “But that’s not enough to make me want to work in a stable. I didn’t like the stable when we lived in Virginia. What makes you think I’d like it out here?”
“You don’t have to work in the stable,” Jenny said. “You can help serve meals in the station.”
“Ha! And collect big tips for gouging the stagecoach passengers a dollar and a half per meal?” Elspeth shook her head. Her blonde hair brushed across her shoulders. “No thanks.”
Paddy had slipped close enough that he’d heard the last exchange between the sisters. Jenny spoke with a mild, southern drawl. Elspeth laid hers on more thickly.
“If you’re moving to North Platte Crossing,” Elspeth said, “that’ll put you right close to that young man you’ve got a hankering for. What was his name? Will Braddock?”
Paddy leaned closer. This bit about Will Braddock could be interesting.
“Yes,” Jenny replied. “I haven’t seen him since last fall, though.”
“Maybe he’s found somebody else.” Elspeth laughed.
“That’s possible. I just hope he’s all right.”
“What does that mean?” Elspeth asked.
Paddy listened to Jenny tell her sister about Corcoran’s illness and how his team, including Will and Homer, had been snowbound near the Continental Divide. Ah, Paddy thought, how convenient. He’d have to keep an eye on North Platte Crossing and Jenny McNabb. All three of his enemies were quite close. Sooner or later they’d show up.
“I have to return to Big Laramie in the morning, Elspeth. I’m going to get a room at the hotel for the night. You can find me there.”
“Don’t hold your breath waiting for me, little sister.”
“I’m worried about you, Elspeth. Who’s going to take care of you?”
“I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”
Even though Jenny was dressed in trousers and an old coat, Paddy could tell she was as attractive as he’d remembered when he’d held his Bowie knife at her throat last summer atop the Laramie Range. He was also reminded of his fight with Will Braddock that day. He reached up and rubbed his chest, next to his left shoulder, where Braddock had stabbed him.
“Sure, Jenny McNabb, and ye’re going to be leading me to my enemies,” he whispered to himself.
Jenny moved away from the wall of the tent, paused, and looked back at her sister. “Take care of yourself, Elspeth. Goodbye . . . for now.”
Elspeth did not reply. Jenny walked out the front door of the saloon.
Paddy stepped out of the shadows. Elspeth’s eyes narrowed when he confronted her.
“Ah, now, darlin’. Don’t ye worry yer pretty little head. Paddy’ll take care no harm comes to ye.” He grinned when she frowned. “Sure, and that’s the truth of it.”
CHAPTER 10
Will stumbled down to the river using his crutch. He filled a leather bucket with water and struggled back up the slope to the rear of the cabin, entering the lean-to stable where Bullfrog Charlie’s pack horse stood tied. “Morning, Ida. Bet you’d like a little water, and maybe some hay, wouldn’t you?”
He set the bucket in front of the horse. Steadying himself against the stable’s wall, he dragged some hay out of a corner with his crutch. Ida fidgeted and snorted. She didn’t seem interested in Will’s offerings. She kept her head turned back, looking toward the stable’s open entrance. She whickered, her ears pricked forward, her eyes opened wide, her nostrils flared.
A rustling in the bushes beneath the cottonwood trees behind the cabin drew Will’s attention, but when he stepped outside he saw nothing. Ida continued to snort and shuffle about in the stable. “Guess you’ll eat when you get hungry.”
He returned to the cabin and spent the morning cleaning his revolver. The soaking in the river wouldn’t be good for it. He didn’t want it to rust. The waterlogged paper cartridges resisted extraction—the black powder caked the back of each chamber. He dug out the bullets and wadding one at a time.
The extra cartridges he carried in his bullet pouch were useless from the time they’d been submerged in the river. Bullfrog didn’t have a revolver, so he’d have to wait until he rejoined his uncle’s team to be able to reload his pistol. He reached for his leather-flapped holster, which lay in front of the fire, and ran a hand over it. It wasn’t quite dry enough to accept the freshly oiled revolver, so he laid the Colt on one of the stools near the hearth.
“Halloo the cabin!” Bullfrog’s gravelly voice announced his return. Hopefully, Bullfrog had found Will’s teammates in better health than Will had left them.
Will hopped on the crutch to the door. Just as his hand closed around the latch rope, a loud roar reverberated through the cabin walls.
“Wagh!” Bullfrog’s cry pierced the air.
Will pushed the door open in time to see Minnie, Bullfrog’s horse, rear and tumble the mountain man backward out of the saddle.
“Humph!” Bullfrog bellowed when his back thumped the ground.
A grizzly bear towered on its hind legs over Bullfrog. The bear’s head surged forward, jaws opened wide—spittle glistened on long fangs.
Minnie whinnied a scream and raced away. Ida neighed and kicked the side of the lean-to stable. She wanted out. The presence of the bear must have been what had been troubling her earlier.
Another roar!
/> “Bullfrog!” Will stumbled out the door.
The bear swatted the mountain man in the face. Blood and strips of skin flew from deep gouges across his cheek. Bullfrog pulled his long-bladed Bowie knife from its sheath and stabbed upward into the bear’s thick fur. The grizzly knocked the knife out of his hand with one giant paw and swiped the other against the side of the old man’s head. Bullfrog’s left ear ripped away.
“Will! The Hawken! Shoot!” The Hawken rifle lay on the ground near the old man.
The bear scraped a paw down Bullfrog’s chest, ripping the buckskin shirt, spraying more blood.
“Wagh!” Bullfrog rolled to his side.
Will hobbled over, dropped his crutch, and picked up the powerful, single-shot, big game rifle. A percussion cap perched on the nipple beneath the hammer. Was the gun loaded? He would only have one shot.
The bear roared and clamped his jaws over the top of Bullfrog’s head. Shreds of scalp and white hair came away in the fangs when the bear pulled back. Blood stained Bullfrog’s hair.
“Shoot, Will! Shoot!”
Will raised the heavy rifle and pulled the butt into his right shoulder. He leaned forward in a standard shooting stance, but his throbbing left foot wouldn’t take the pressure. He let his weight shift backward into an awkward, unnatural position.
He’d never fired a Hawken with its set triggers. He pulled the rear cocking trigger—a click activating the hair trigger. He aimed at the bear’s head. A body shot would be easier, but he didn’t know if the Hawken’s stopping power could fell such a big animal. He inhaled deeply, held his breath, and squeezed the front trigger. An explosion accompanied a flash of fire from the muzzle. The recoil of the heavy rifle slammed back against his shoulder, knocking him onto his butt.
The grizzly roared, reared upward, stepped toward Will—then collapsed. His shot had pierced the bear’s left eye, penetrating the brain. The bear lay motionless before him.
Will dropped the rifle and turned to the bloodied man. “Bullfrog,” he whispered. He sat down and cradled the old man’s head in his lap.
“Good shootin’, son.” Bullfrog gasped.
“I never shot a Hawken before. Wasn’t sure if I knew how.”
“You done fine.” Bullfrog wheezed. He coughed harshly. A trickle of blood oozed from his lips, the red stain spread down his long, white beard.
“I’ve got to get you inside.” But how was he going to do that? His left leg barely supported himself.
He retrieved his crutch and hobbled back into the cabin. He dragged the buffalo robe off the cot and gathered up a length of rope. He returned and spread the robe on the ground above the injured man’s head. He sat on the edge of the robe behind Bullfrog and grabbed the old man beneath the arms. He hauled Bullfrog toward him until he had the wounded man resting against his chest. He scooted himself backward a few inches, reached out, and pulled Bullfrog backward again on the robe, dragging him a short distance with each pull.
“Agh!” Bullfrog groaned each time Will tugged.
After a dozen pulls, Will had Bullfrog centered on the buffalo robe. He tied each end of the rope onto opposite corners of the robe at the mountain man’s feet. Since he couldn’t put pressure on his injured leg he positioned himself on all fours, looping the closed circle of rope over one shoulder, across his chest, and beneath the opposite arm. Then he heaved forward in a crawl, slowly dragging the robe and its burden toward the cabin. The rope cut deeply into his neck, and he understood more fully the benefit of a horse collar.
Will knew he couldn’t lift Bullfrog onto the cot, so he pulled him to the hearth and settled him on the floor in front of the fire.
“That old griz hibernates in a cave on Elk Mountain.” Bullfrog blew out his breath. “He came out early this year. He’s snooped ’round afore . . . but he never bothered me.”
Bullfrog was in bad shape. Will brushed a tear off his cheek with the back of his hand. Mustn’t let the mountain man see him cry.
CHAPTER 11
Will managed to stop most of the bleeding from Bullfrog’s chest and body wounds. The scalp still oozed, and the buffalo robe beneath the mountain man’s head was sticky with blood. Bullfrog’s skull showed through the row of deep gouges across the top of his head. Will fashioned a bandage to cover the grotesque hole left in the side of the old man’s face. Surprisingly, there was little bleeding from where the ear had been ripped off. He tried to clean the long, white beard, but did a poor job—the hair remained matted and caked with dried blood.
Bullfrog moaned and murmured to himself throughout the night, drifting in and out of consciousness. Will didn’t understand much of what the old timer said, but he did catch something about trapping with Jim Bridger—calling him Old Gabe. It reminded Will of the tall tales with which Bullfrog had regaled General Dodge’s party the night Will had first met the mountain man a year ago. Will also heard him mumble about Star Dancer, telling her he was coming and to wait for him.
With sunrise, Will hobbled on his crutch down to the river and brought back a bucket of water. He stepped out of the early morning sunlight into the dim cabin.
“Will?” Bullfrog raised his head and looked around the cabin.
Will almost dropped the bucket. Bullfrog was awake.
“How long’ve I been here?” Bullfrog asked.
“Since yesterday.”
“That when the bear attacked?”
“Yes.”
Bullfrog moaned and laid his head back. “Ain’t gonna make it this time, Will.”
“What do you mean? Yes, you are.”
“No. Reckon that ole bear got me good. Ain’t got no strength left. Jest too old, I reckon.”
“I heated up the antelope stew. Once you eat something, you’ll start to feel better.” Will stepped over Bullfrog and filled a wooden bowl from the kettle hanging over the fireplace. He leaned down and offered the food to the mountain man.
“No.”
“You have to eat, Bullfrog.”
Bullfrog shook his head. “Food won’t fix what them bear claws done to me.” Bullfrog closed his eyes and remained silent for a while.
Will thought he might have drifted off to sleep. But the old man sighed and opened his eyes again. “Almost forgot. I found your camp.”
“Figured you had, since Ruby wasn’t with you.”
“Your uncle had returned with food and medicine for your friends.”
“Good. I’m glad he’s safe.”
“Said he got sick . . . like the others. Said Jenny McNabb nursed him to health over to Big Laramie Station.”
“Jenny?”
“Yep. Your uncle said Jenny’s pa is transferring to North Platte Crossing. That’s real close by. You’re to meet your uncle there, soon’s you’re well enough to travel. I told him I’d see you got there.” Bullfrog drew a deep breath and groaned. “Reckon I won’t be doing that, now.”
“Yes, you will.”
“No, won’t.” Bullfrog shook his head slowly. “Promise me something, Will.”
Will blinked away a tear. “What?”
“Keep an eye on Lone Eagle.” The old man coughed and drew a deep breath. “Old Chief Tall Bear has kept them young bucks off Lone Eagle’s back, but his grandpa ain’t gonna live forever. When he’s gone there won’t be no Cheyenne what will want a half-breed hanging around. He’ll have trouble adjusting to white man’s ways when he has to leave the camp. Promise you’ll help him.”
Will nodded. “I’ll try. I owe him for helping me rescue Jenny last year.”
“One more thing. Bury me.”
“Bury you?”
“I know it’ll be hard, what with your leg.”
“My leg’s fine.” Will stepped on his injured leg and immediately gritted his teeth. “But let’s not talk about that. You’re going to get better.”
Bullfrog shook his head. “Not in the ground, mind you. Put me in the trees . . . with Star Dancer. Think you can get me up there?”
“I won’t have to if yo
u’ll just eat and get well.”
Bullfrog sighed. “After I’m gone take the Hawken to Lone Eagle. He liked that old rifle.”
“At least try some of the broth.” Will held the bowl out again.
Bullfrog raised a hand to push it away. “Take Ida. Minnie may come back . . . may not. Reckon some Injun’ll get her.”
Bullfrog drifted back into unconsciousness. Will sat on a stool and watched the old man. From time to time he wakened, called out something unintelligible, then fell quiet again. His breathing became more labored. Early in the afternoon, Bullfrog coughed harshly. His chest heaved. A trickle of blood flowed out of his nose. His chest sank back and did not rise again.
Will cut his crutch into two pieces and bound them on either side of his leg with leather thongs. The makeshift splint allowed him to put some pressure on the injured ankle. The ankle would probably swell again, but it couldn’t be helped. He needed to be able to use both hands, and that wasn’t possible holding onto a crutch.
He saddled Ida and rigged her with the travois Bullfrog had fashioned for him after his fall into the river. He dragged Bullfrog’s body out of the cabin wrapped in the buffalo robe and rolled him onto the travois. He took the hand axe from beside the fireplace and a coil of hemp rope that hung on the wall.
He led Ida, using her to drag the travois into the cottonwood trees behind the cabin. Star Dancer’s body, covered with a buffalo robe, lay lashed to a scaffold high above ground—out of the reach of any man. Will would do the same for Bullfrog.
He selected four sturdy cottonwoods standing close together to serve as the corner posts for his platform. He cut and trimmed a dozen saplings with the axe. He fashioned the two thickest saplings into long poles and chopped the smaller ones into shorter pieces to serve as cross braces. He cut several short lengths off the coil of rope and stuffed them into his waistband.
He rolled Bullfrog’s body off the travois. Then he mounted and guided the horse to the first tree, dragging one of the long poles with him.
“Steady, now, Ida.” The mare whinnied and shook her mane. “Easy!”
Bear Claws Page 4
