Sitting high on the wagon seat, Balum bit off a plug of tobacco and offered a wad to Joe. They watched as the dust cloud neared them.
‘There’s still time to reconsider,’ said Balum.
Joe looked at his partner. ‘Are you reconsidering now?’
‘Someone took a shot at me last night.’
‘You get a look at him?’
‘No.’
‘You don’t know who it was, but we both know who was behind it.’
‘More’n likely.’
‘Why are you doing it then?’ asked Joe. ‘Oregon is a long way off, and it’ll be a long ride back.’
‘I don’t know. Restless I guess. And there’s a girl I don’t mind looking at.’
Joe laughed. ‘You’re restless and there’s some girl you’ve got a notion about,’ he shook his head. ‘I know why I’m going Balum. Cafferty is pulling a lot of strings with the San Carlos Reservation. Captain Davis as well. But you...restless and some girl?’
Balum spat tobacco. ‘I don’t know Joe. Maybe it doesn’t add up. What’s a man to do with his life?’
Joe didn’t answer. Balum didn’t expect one. They sat in silence watching the dust cloud grow.
‘I noticed you haven’t said a word to anyone since you got here,’ said Balum. ‘Not in public anyway. Not to Jonathan Atkisson, Frederick Nelson, or anybody else.’
‘Like I said before, life gets more peaceful when folks think you can’t talk.’
‘So that’s the way you want to keep it?’
Joe nodded.
‘Suits me. You won’t go jabbering away about me chasing the womenfolk.’
‘Which one have you got your eye on?’
‘Who said there was only one?’ Balum’s eyes opened wide in a reckless laugh, and he cracked the reins over the oxen’s head, merging them into the dust cloud of the Oregon Expedition.
Three miles it took to lose sight of Denver. A few scattered homesteads dotted the land for the first several hours of travel, and when they petered out it was as if the wagon train had been picked up and dropped into a world void of humans. There was nothing to see but plants and animals, and the monstrous range of mountains directly ahead.
It took no time at all for the party to stretch itself into a chain over two miles long. The lighter wagons pulled by mules raced ahead, while those which were heavy and pulled by the plodding steps of oxen lagged in the rear.
Balum and Joe’s wagon, though solidly built, was not weighed down by excessive supplies. They had taken food, tools, ammunition and clothing, and little else. They kept the team of oxen to a steady pace, observing those around them, but keeping their opinions to themselves. The chaos of the first day was to be expected, but so too was clear leadership from the wagon master.
The extended caravan regrouped itself for lunch at a spot scouted in advance. The wagons pulled in to a stop facing every which way, nearly seventy in all, the commotion and confusion ensuing being a poor omen of things to come.
Balum spotted the Atkisson wagon and drove the oxen in beside them. Jonathan knelt with Venton and Stanton as they prepared a cook fire, and when he saw Balum he stood up and waved them in.
‘I looked for you at the stables but didn’t see you,’ he smiled. ‘Glad to see you’re both here. Pull up and share a meal with us.’
They did just that, and introduced themselves over plates of rice and jerked meat.
Robert Venton and Michael Stanton, Atkisson’s business partners, were familiar faces. They each drove a wagon, and each had a wife and children in tow. Atkisson’s own wife, Elle, gave her hand politely to Balum, and though clearly taken aback by Joe’s long black hair and unfamiliar look, offered her hand to him as well.
Leigha drove her own buckboard, the same one with which she had nearly run down Balum a few days prior. She held her chin up defiantly, and declined the opportunity to greet him properly.
With them was another wagon driven by an old man with a shock of white hair and a handlebar mustache that took up nearly half his face. He was old but built like a bull, and carried himself as if he were but a young man. He introduced himself as Jeb Darrow, and the hand he extended to Balum was one of the largest and thickest Balum had ever gripped.
‘Atkisson told me you two boys was coming along,’ he said. ‘Said the Marshal vouched for you. Fine by me. Glad to have solid men aboard.’
Emerging from the wagon behind him came Suzanne Darrow.
‘Ah, and my niece, Suzanne. I believe you two already met. If you have you won’t have forgotten it,’ he said, chuckling behind the handlebar mustache.
‘Oh, hello!’ she beamed. Her dress she had gathered in her hands to prevent the ends from dragging. She crossed the distance to Balum with bouncing steps and greeted him with a kiss on the cheek, as if they were in a Parisian court.
‘Hello Miss Darrow,’ Balum said, unable to conceal his smile. ‘A pleasure to see you.’
‘A pleasure indeed,’ she smiled back.
Balum took a few steps towards the fire the men were attempting to start. Suzanne greeting him like that in front of the group had thrown him off.
Neither had it gone unnoticed by Leigha Atkisson. She stood several yards from the group, her arms crossed at her buckboard. Balum saw her out of the periphery of his vision, but did not raise his eyes to her. He was aware of her standing there, arms crossed in a huff, then she turned and stormed off. Where she went Balum neither knew nor cared. At least he told himself he didn’t.
9
When the fire caught and the grub was cooked, the adults and children gathered round. There were eleven adults in their little group, Leigha included. Six men, five women. Venton and Stanton had five young children between them, none of them measuring any taller than Balum’s Dragoon revolver that hung strapped to his hip.
Other groups had formed naturally. Clusters of wagons sprinkled themselves along the grass. Frederick Nelson and the Farro brothers were bunched together on the lead end of the wagon train, for the most part out of sight from Atkisson’s party.
Balum and Joe shared food with the group. Leigha had returned, though she made it a point not to let Balum catch her looking. As Balum talked, Joe needed no more than to gesture to his scarred throat to disengage himself from any social requirement.
The Atkissons, Ventons, and Stantons, having worked as partners in business for so long, were all very familiar with each other. The Darrows had been acquaintances with Atkisson back East, and they had gotten to know one another better on the train ride west.
The Easterners had a string of questions for Balum regarding the trail, how best to care for the animals, how to pull a wagon out of a rut, animals to be wary of, and more. Although Balum insisted he was no expert in all of these areas, he might as well have been. Compared to their void of knowledge about frontier life, Balum’s depth of experience was profound.
Before they began to pack up and head out, Jonathan Atkisson spoke up so all those in their small group could hear him.
‘It’s mighty comforting to have you and Joe share a fire with us Balum. As you can tell by our questions, we’re new at this. Tenderfeet, all of us, I’ll be the first to say it. I think the rest will agree we’d be more than happy to have you two ride close to us and join our group within the larger expedition.’
‘I wouldn’t think of saying no to the invitation. Thank you.’
‘You might come to regret it if we keep pelting you with all these silly questions,’ Jeb Darrow said.
‘Uncle Jeb,’ Suzanne slapped his arm. ‘My questions aren’t silly. I know you’re talking about me.’
‘There is one suggestion I would make,’ said Balum. ‘The wagons were stretched out over several miles this morning. Everybody travels at a different speed, but it’d be wise to stay grouped together.’
‘Is it because Indians might attack us?’ asked Suzanne. She glanced at Joe as soon as the words had left her mouth, and blushed. ‘I’m sorry Joe, I don’t mean to offend.’
‘They might. It’s been known to happen. Unlikely though. For all the stories you read about back East, most of them are peaceful folk until you stir the pot.’
‘That’s not what Frederick says,’ Leigha interrupted. She had kept silent up until this point. She did not like the attention that her father and the rest of them were pouring on Balum, and now his words seemed to her a contradiction of her understanding about the frontier.
A moment of uneasy silence slipped in. Leigha continued talking, driving her point deeper.
‘Frederick was attacked by Indians. Only four years before. He was a hero; he saved some of his men’s lives. The Farro’s will tell you all about it.’
Balum paused before answering. Everyone knew the story, and these tenderfeet believed every word of it. And going against it would do little good. Frederick Nelson still had their trust, and Balum was only just earning it. If it was his word against Nelson’s, people would start choosing sides. And after all, maybe Cafferty was wrong. Maybe this expedition was exactly what it looked at face value. He didn’t believe it, but he wasn’t against wishful thinking either.
‘Yes, I’ve heard the story,’ replied Balum. ‘There are other reasons for sticking close together though. All sorts of things can go wrong out here. You can get struck by a rattlesnake, kicked by a mule, break an ankle in a gopher hole, you name it. When something goes wrong it pays to have someone close at hand. Someone you trust.’
‘That makes sense to me,’ voiced Robert Venton.
‘Me as well,’ said Stanton.
The Darrows and Atkissons agreed also. All but Leigha. She stood with her arms crossed and scowled.
‘Good,’ said Balum. ‘We’ll ride close, camp together, and,’ he looked at Suzanne, ‘if you keep making fresh biscuits at every lunch stop, we’ll eat together too.’
They laughed, and set about breaking camp. Just as they were picking up, a rider on a black mustang pulled up near them.
‘Alright, let’s go, let’s go.’ His voice was pinched and off-putting. It matched his face. ‘Nelson’s already on the move, and your lollygagging is putting us behind schedule.’
Balum looked at the man’s pinched face. Something stirred in his memory. The rest of the group had turned to look at the rider. His rebuke and the tone he used had surprised them.
The only man not to react to the rider was Joe. He went about his business, paying the man no mind.
‘Hey,’ said pinch-face. ‘Redskin. You deaf? Or do you not speak English?’
Joe continued to ignore him.
‘Hey!’ he shouted. ‘I ain't’ gonna be ignored by no goddamn Injun.’
‘That’s enough,’ said Balum. ‘We’ve heard you, and we’re moving. Why don’t you tell us who you are so we know who is ordering us around.’
‘I’ll tell you who I am. I’m Billy Gunter. I ride with Nelson. I carry Nelson’s message, and if I see something I don’t like, I see something Nelson don’t like. Got it?’
‘Easy now,’ said Atkisson. ‘No reason for any of us to get worked up. We’re picking up. We’ll have our wagons moving in just a minute.’
Billy Gunter took a long look at them out of his pinched face and slammed his heels into the mustang’s ribcage.
Balum and Joe exchanged a look. Balum thought he had recognized the face. The name most certainly. Billy Gunter was young, but he’d put two men in their graves. He was the type of kid itching for a reputation as a killer. The men he had shot down never asked for it. The stories had made their way along the trail, as gossip did in Western towns. Billy would find someone weak and provoke them until there was reasonable enough cause to draw a gun. It kept him from falling onto the wrong side of the law, but onlookers to each shooting did not paint Billy in a favorable light.
And now he was teamed up with Frederick Nelson. And out harassing what he believed were a bunch of tenderfeet from back East.
But Joe was not a man to be provoked. Balum had seen first-hand what Joe could do to a man who insulted his race. What he could do with a knife. It was burned into Balum’s memory.
10
The caravan turned due north after lunch. The massive peaks of the Rockies loomed in the horizon, the towering pillars of earth placing a physical barrier which said to the expedition, you shall not pass here .
The welcomed respite of Cheyenne lured them onward. More than a full week it would take them to reach it, and with neither the wagon teams nor the settlers themselves yet trail-broke, possibly longer.
From the privacy atop the driving bench of their wagon, Balum and Joe dissected what they had learned over the past hour.
‘Another killer,’ said Joe. ‘And that’s all we know about so far. Who else has he got with him? It was supposed to be Nelson and the Farro brothers. No more no less. Now Billy Gunter is tied up in this. Who will we find out about next?’
‘It wouldn’t be a bad idea for me to take a little ride up to the front and see who’s leading this pack. I’m starting to feel like a blind man in a shooting gallery,’ mused Balum.
‘Atkisson didn’t even know who Gunter was.’
‘No.’
‘That seem odd to you?’
‘It does.’
‘What do you make of Atkisson?’
Balum watched the oxen plodding along in front of them. He thought for a minute before answering.
‘He’s a good man. Back East I imagine he swung a lot of weight. And I imagine he’ll do the same once he reaches Oregon. He’s a smart man, a man that takes easy to commerce, but he’s a man out of place for the moment. He doesn't know the West. I don’t think he understands what kind of a man Nelson is. A bad man back East is a different sort than a bad man in the West.’
‘Of this whole bunch, how many would you say could survive out here alone?’
‘Besides Nelson’s men, there’s you, me, maybe a couple others. That Jeb Darrow has some grit, you can see it. But most these folks, nearly to the last man, are city folk. Eastern folk. Good people, but left alone they’d starve, die of thirst, get lost, freeze in a blizzard, you name it.’
‘Nelson knows that too.’
‘You bet he does.’
The two sat silent for some time. Balum stuffed a plug of tobacco into his cheek and spit the juices over the side of the wagon and into the ricegrass brushing alongside the undercarriage.
‘About time for me to take that ride then,’ said Balum after the tobacco had worn thin.
Joe pulled the oxen to a stop. Balum untied the roan from its lead rope and climbed into the saddle.
Ahead of him were the wagons of their friends, grouped in a tight cluster of no more than a two hundred yard radius. He gave the Ventons a wave as he passed them. The Darrows were just ahead. He knew he should ride along and get on with it, but he couldn’t resist riding close as he passed them. He told himself he was just being friendly, knowing all too well his intentions were to see the bare flesh of Suzanne’s breasts topping out from her dress. He had scarce been able to keep his eyes off them throughout the lunch hour.
He rode up on Suzanne’s side.
‘Why hello young man,’ smiled Jeb Darrow, leaning over.
‘Balum,’ squealed Suzanne. ‘You’ve come to say hello?’
‘It would be mighty unfriendly to ride past without a salutation,’ he grinned at her.
‘Where are you riding to?’
‘I aim to have a look at who all is up front.’ He looked over at Jeb. ‘Seems there’s some folks in charge we weren’t aware of.’
‘That’s good Balum, mighty good,’ Jeb nodded. ‘I don’t like surprises like the one we just had. If you see that kid on the mustang, what’s his name--Billy, why you might give him a whack across the noggin. Sticks in my craw the way he spoke to us back there.’
‘I hear you,’ said Balum.
‘I wish I could go for a ride with you,’ said Suzanne. ‘I’m tired of this wagon seat already.’
‘Maybe we’ll do that one of these d
ays,’ said Balum.
‘Oh yes, I would like that very much,’ she had turned to face him, her back to her uncle. As she spoke she raised a hand to her chest and caressed the tops of her breasts with her fingers, as if absentmindedly. The gesture drew the attention of Balum’s eyes, and she smiled when she saw were his attention landed.
He tipped his hat and rode ahead. The image of Ms. Darrow’s breasts filled his eyes. He could have ridden into a den of wolves and not been the wiser, mesmerized as he was with the vision.
Women were his weakness. They were every man’s weakness, he knew that, but was convinced his case was worse than others. Admitting the fact to himself gave him the legitimacy to let the roan veer over to the Atkisson family. Jonathan drove the large wagon, followed behind by Leigha in her smaller buckboard.
He rode across the grass and sidled up alongside her. She sat straight on the driving bench, staring ahead. She paid him no mind, and he rode alongside in silence, enjoying the tension of waiting to see who would speak first. He could vaguely see her from the periphery of his eye, sitting just an arm’s length from him, rigid as a hickory beam.
She was the first to yield.
‘Are you just going to ride there in silence? I thought your Indian friend was the mute one.’
‘You’ll have to excuse me Ms. Atkisson. My attention is all consumed at the moment.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m too focused to greet you.’
‘Too focused?’
‘And you should be as well.’
‘Be what?’
‘Focused.’
She jerked the team of horses to a stop and turned to face him.
‘What in heaven’s name are you talking about Mr. Balum?’
‘I’m focused on avoiding a gruesome death under the hooves of your horses. I’m lucky to be atop a horse this time, but your driving skills have a long way to improve.’
Wagons to Nowhere Page 4
