Wagons to Nowhere

by Orrin Russell

  ‘I can’t tell you,’ he said finally. ‘Some type of machinery. You couldn’t get a look?’

  ‘Too dark.’

  ‘So it’s Billy I’ve got to watch out for then.’

  ‘It’s all of them.’

  Joe nodded and gave the oxen a slap as they dug into their collars up a sloping hill.

  ‘I’m going after that antelope,’ said Balum. ‘Let’s get on up to the top of this hill first.’

  When they had reached flatter ground Joe pulled the wagon to a stop and Balum untied the roan. He threw on the riding blanket and saddle and tied his rifle scabbard on.

  ‘Don’t get shot,’ said Joe.

  The roan was happy to move. It had been bound to the wagon by its lead rope for too long, and was eager to stretch its legs. Just as Balum was about to let it bolt he spotted Leigha atop her chestnut quarter horse. The buckboard wagon she generally drove was on the far side of her father’s wagon, her mother in the driving seat.

  Balum didn’t need to think on it. He turned the roan back into the crowd of wagons and made a line for Leigha. She gave a start when he rode up alongside her, and offered a nod and a smile when he greeted her. The temper she originally had with him was gone, and a wariness had replaced it.

  ‘Not often I see you out riding,’ said Balum.

  ‘I get tired on the wagon seat. It’s so boring, sometimes I can’t stand it.’

  ‘I know what you mean. Lucky for me Joe likes to sit up there all day. I don’t imagine you’ve ever been on an antelope hunt. That’ll take the boredom out of you.’

  ‘Is that where you’re going?’ she looked down at the rifle scabbard tied alongside the saddle.

  Balum nodded. ‘Follow me.’

  She had no time to respond. Balum turned the roan southwest and cut it loose. Any hesitation on her part was drowned out in the sound of hoofbeats galloping away from the caravan. She took a look at the wagons, at her mother driving the buckboard, and of the animals and people walking on foot raising dust. It took her no more than a long pause to turn the chestnut in line and follow after him.

  They rode at a trot into a massive valley in the foothills of the Rockies. Far above on the massive slopes the alpine tundra had begun to transform into a blanket of reds and oranges. Late-blooming harebells were sprinkled in heavy doses along the valley edge, creating a purple ring in juxtaposition to the emerging fall colors around it.

  They crossed shallow streams, clear and cold. The ripples of water were like music in the air as they chuckled and crashed along piles of stone. The horses splashed through them, sending beads of water flying through the air and sparkling in the rays of the sun.

  The horses were as thankful as their riders to leave the bustle of the caravan behind. They ran with their necks stretched forward and their heads up. They raced with each other, side by side. Leigha’s face broke into a smile as they plowed over grasslands teeming with arctic gentian, their small white flowers lighting the ground beneath them.

  The valley came to an end in a small ridge of cottonwoods. On the other side lay jumbles of grassy hills and stands of pine and more cottonwood. They slowed the horses to a walk.

  ‘Is it always this beautiful?’ asked Leigha.

  ‘Every season has its own beauty. A few more weeks and the aspen will shimmer like wildfire high up in those mountains.’

  ‘Where are the antelope?’

  ‘Look down. See those tracks? Everywhere you look. There’s a herd that passed through here not long ago. Any one of these ridges we top out on might put them in view. Keep your eyes peeled.’

  Just as Balum predicted, the herd came into view in the bowl of a narrow valley. They grazed as they walked, some with their heads down, and others on the walk. They numbered nearly a thousand. From the ridge several hundred yards away, it was a sight Leigha could never before have imagined.

  Balum dismounted and drew the rifle from its scabbard.

  ‘Stay here with the horses,’ he said. ‘Come down once you hear the shot.’

  She watched him leave the trees and sink into a low crouch as he moved through the tall grass. His figure became smaller as he descended the ridge. With every step he took closer to the herd her heart beat faster. As he closed the distance some of the antelope began to look up from their grazing in his direction. Each time they did so he would freeze, holding his position as if turned to ice. When their heads lowered he would take slow steps, the rifle in one hand and the other counterbalancing outwards.

  Eighty yards from the herd he took a knee. The animals nearest him had stopped their grazing completely and stared in his direction. They were nearly as motionless as he, an occasional flick of a tail the only difference.

  He waited for what seemed to Leigha an unbearable length of time, until finally the antelope resumed their grazing. She watched his figure, small and distant, raise the rifle barrel to his shoulder.

  All was still save for the breeze drifting through the valley. She saw him jerk, and the herd bolted. The crack of the shot was delayed in reaching her, and when it did she let her breath out and felt a rush come over her. She grabbed the reins of the roan and and took the horses down the hill towards him.

  He wasted no time in field dressing the animal. He placed two large rocks under the shoulders and a fallen log under its hips. With his knife he slit the hide up to the neckline and removed the viscera, pooling them in a pile several feet away. All of this he did with the smooth motions of an experienced hand. By the time Leigha arrived with the horses, the antelope was resting on a slant, its blood draining.

  ‘I’ve never seen a hunt before,’ said Leigha, after she had let the horses loose to graze.

  ‘What did you think?’

  ‘It was incredible. It’s such a rush of emotion, watching you stalk it. I would love to do it myself.’

  ‘Are you familiar with a rifle?’

  ‘Oh no. My father doesn’t want me handling firearms. He says a proper lady has no business with weapons.’

  ‘Your father is a smart man, but he comes from another world. This land where you are here, this is a wild land. And a rifle doesn’t care if you’re a man or woman, it shoots just the same. I’m going to skin this out and fill the hide. If you’d like, I’ll show you how to shoot once I’m finished.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ she said quietly, almost unbelieving.

  Balum set to work once more with the knife. He made a cut down each inside leg up to the middle of the carcass, and another around the neck. He rolled it over and grabbed the skin at the back of the neck and jerked down hard. The hide came away smoothly, and after several jerks it had come off down to the forelegs. He cut the remaining skin, then laid the hide out on the ground beside him and filled it with the coveted organ meats. Leigha watched as he began to butcher out the choicest cuts.

  ‘You can’t tell my father,’ she said suddenly.

  ‘Can’t tell him what?’

  ‘That I’ve fired a weapon.’

  ‘I have no reason to.’

  ‘He’s upset with you enough as it is. All that fighting…’ she trailed off.

  ‘I explained what happened.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘So what do you believe?’ he said, looking away from his work and into her eyes.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she started. ‘Frederick says you’re a bad man. He says you’re a killer. Is that true?’

  ‘I’ve killed before. It’s true. But never without reason. Out here there is no law as there is back East. Out here you stand up for yourself or you’re cut down by those unconcerned with justice.’

  She watched him work the carcass.

  ‘You and your father both look up to Nelson.’

  ‘He’s respectable,’ said Leigha. ‘And cultured.’

  ‘He’s a farce. He’s an empty man whose only card is to bully the weak. Once you scratch through that false-front though, you’ll see he’s empty inside.’

  ‘You wouldn’t say that if he was here now.
You would be in big trouble; he wouldn’t stand for that.’

  ‘He wouldn’t do a thing. For as strong as he appears, he’s weak inside. You don’t believe me, I see that. Give it time.’

  He finished loading the last cuts of meat into the hide, then stood and turned to Leigha.

  ‘Don’t be upset.’

  ‘I’m not,’ she said, standing with her arms crossed and her face in a scowl.

  Balum laughed. He laughed loud enough and long enough that she could not maintain the frown, and a small smile appeared across her face.

  ‘Take this,’ he said, handing her the rifle. She took it cautiously in her hands.

  ‘This is a Spencer carbine lever-action repeating rifle,’ he continued. ‘This is the hammer, and here’s the lever.’

  He covered the parts of the rifle, from the tube magazine to the sights. She listened, her focus intense and concentrated on the information coming to her. When he had covered all there was to know, he had her stand and nestle the stock into the crook of her shoulder. He picked out a tree standing alone in the valley, and she steadied herself and focused on her breath just as he had told her.

  She fired. The buck of the rifle sent her back one step.

  ‘Try it again,’ said Balum.

  She pulled the hammer back and levered another round into the chamber, ejecting the spent cartridge onto the ground. Once again she took her stance, her eyes looking down the sights of the rifle. This time her shot landed true, sending a spattering of bark flying into the air.

  ‘Now you know,’ said Balum. ‘Time will come you might have to use one someday.’

  She turned to him, the rifle at her side. Her face was flushed red, and her eyes were large and dilated with the surge of adrenaline the firing had produced.

  Balum felt his better judgment give way. He took her in his arms and pulled her to him. Her neck tilted back, her mouth opened slightly, and he kissed her, long and tender on her lips.

  She put a hand on his chest, then brought it to her lips.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, blushing further. ‘Mr. Balum.’ She handed the Spencer back to him and turned towards the horses. ‘We should be getting back, don’t you think?’

  He took the hide filled with antelope meat and they climbed into the saddles. They rode in silence, slowly now that they had the hide to carry. They took a different path, no less beautiful than the one they had come out on. After a while Leigha spoke.

  ‘It’s not my business you know,’ she said. ‘But you should be careful of Miss Darrow.’

  ‘Is that right?’ said Balum.

  ‘Yes. She’s…’ she pursed her lips.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, you see how she dresses. She’s a woman of questionable conduct. There were plenty of rumours about her back East, none of them flattering.’

  Balum looked at her, a glint in his eye. She gave him a glance from her saddle, and he smiled at her, the taste of her lips still on his.

  22

  The taste of fresh game after weeks of pure beef could transform a man’s spirits. Balum knew this. The hide stuffed with antelope meat was greeted like a viking returning in glory to the motherland. The children from the Venton and Stanton wagons clapped their hands in applause, and Jeb Darrow swore the only thing stopping him from hugging Balum was his hurry to begin eating. Even Jonathan Atkisson found a way to thank Balum, shaking his hand with a firm grip on his arm.

  What they could not eat they gave away to neighboring wagons, who were happy to give away wild potatoes gathered from the banks of the Platte. They ate until they were stuffed, then ate more.

  Balum ate his fill as well. He was in good spirits. The outing with Leigha was fresh in his mind, the group was happy, and some of the tension with Atkisson seemed to have dissipated.

  After his third serving of meat and potatoes he returned to the wagon to wash his plate and fork. The water barrel strapped to the wagon edge was nearly full. He wetted the plate, and drew out a ladle full to drink.

  He nearly spit when he felt two hands around his waist. He dropped the ladle and spun, his hand dropping instinctively to the Colt Dragoon.

  It was Suzanne.

  ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’

  Balum released his grip on the revolver.

  ‘I wanted to thank you. I’m so glad you’re traveling with us. None of these other men are out hunting and providing food.’

  She stood close to him, close enough for him to smell her. The scent of her body aroused him.

  ‘It’s good to help out where one can,’ said Balum.

  ‘You took Leigha out on the hunt with you. I’m so jealous. Would you take me sometime?’

  ‘Well,’ Balum began. ‘I suppose…’

  ‘Please?’ she put her hands up to his waist again, and drew herself closer. She looked up at him with her eyes open wide, the tops of her creamy breasts bare as usual.

  Balum looked to the right and left. He was not a man built to resist such temptation. Every cell in his body wanted to take her right there, to bury his face in her breasts, squeeze her body in his hands. Were it not for Leigha Atkisson, he would have.

  ‘I promise we’ll have a good time,’ she said, and smiled coyly.

  ‘I’m sure we will.’

  ‘Then you’ll take me?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, unable to muster any other response.

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes,’ he repeated.

  ‘Good. I’m so excited I doubt I’ll be able to sleep tonight. See you tomorrow.’

  She turned and left him standing beside the wagon with an erection in his pants. He watched her go, then put away the plate and unfurled his bedroll under the wagon.

  He found it difficult to fall asleep. His thoughts bounced from Leigha to Suzanne, before returning again to Nelson, his men, and his wagon. The days were numbered now, that was clear. There was no plan to travel to Oregon. But what Nelson had in mind, Balum could not sort out. He drifted to sleep eventually, his mind in turmoil and his hand resting over the pocket that held the U.S. Marshal affidavit.

  The cold did not set in that night. In fact it seemed to grow warmer, and by morning a humidity hung in the air that stuck to their skin and beaded sweat on their brows. The sun shone through it, its rays fighting through a hazy sky.

  Balum had untied the roan and rode wide of the group. He needed to avoid Suzanne Darrow. He swung out to the west until he lost sight of the wagons, and swore at himself for his foolishness.

  He had joined onto this expedition for what purpose, he asked himself. Out of honor? He was not that honorable. Restlessness, as he had told Joe? Probably. Restlessness, aimlessness, and an unending drive to discover what lay around the bend, over the next ridge. The feeling deep within him that if he just kept riding, he would stumble upon something fulfilling. An end to his quest.

  For all this he rode. And for the women. He could not deny that. He had become enamoured of Leigha Atkisson the moment she nearly ran him down in Denver.

  But Suzanne also factored in. She was simple. A floozy, frankly, of simple mind, yet possessing every physical quality Balum desired in a woman. And now he was hiding from her. And all in the hopes that Leigha, a girl far outside his social class and clearly enchanted with Frederick Nelson, might lean to him instead.

  He rode in frustration with himself, his mind boiling over, until suddenly he jerked the roan to a stop. Tracks. Fresh ones. Whether Crow, Cheyenne, or Arapaho, he could not determine. He studied them from the saddle of his horse, then jumped down and walked along the ground for a closer look. He could make out three horses, and mixed between those tracks were human footprints.

  He rode cautiously, the troubles of the wagon train forgotten momentarily. He backtrailed the tracks for several miles and stopped on the lee side of a ridge to consider their meaning. Where the trail led made his hair stand on end. It was taking him directly to the site of yesterday’s hunt.

  Back through the meadow
s of harebells and arctic gentian, past slopes of alpine tundra transformed into a glowing orange. And finally, back to the kill site.

  The remains of the antelope were gone, and the tracks told the story. This was not a war party. This was a group of destitute Indians, hungry and alone. How long they had been following the wagon train Balum didn’t know, but their intentions were clear. They were looking for scraps. Anything as the cold winds of fall began to set in.

  His heart went out to them. It was the Oregon Expedition itself, and countless others like them, that were to blame for this. The army determined it to be its duty to protect these settlers, and that meant clearing the land of its native people, shoving them onto reservations and hunting them down like animals and shot on sight. It was, paradoxically, why Joe had joined up. The larger fight had already been lost. Joe’s fight now was more strategic; a fight through legal means.

  He turned his horse around. The heat was building and the sky darkening, and that meant rain. Making it back to the wagons before it arrived meant a race against nature.

  He did not win. It started with a light mist and gradually built. He let the horse set its own pace, and watched the western sky over the mountains as they galloped northwards. The clouds had begun to roil and churn, and as the caravan came into view the thunder cracks began to boom. Sheets of water fell from the sky, sweeping in from over the mountains.

  The caravan had come to a stop. The teams had been unhitched and unharnessed. No one was to be seen, for they had all taken cover beneath the shelter of the wagon covers.

  He reached them just as the rain began to pelt the canvases in a symphony of wet smacks. He tore the saddle and blanket from the roan, attached the lead rope to the wagon, and jumped inside.

  23

  Joe was inside, lying on a bed of blankets.

  ‘You smell like a wet dog,’ he said as Balum climbed in.

  ‘Better than a groundhog. How long have you all been stopped? These folks afraid of a little water?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ said Joe. ‘We stopped not long after you rode out. Soon as any hint of rain showed in the sky. Now there was no need for that. So why?’