Abbie, considerably upset by the killings and all that had happened to her in the last few days, went into a tirade about her experiences in America and how she wished that she had never left England. She paused to draw breath and finally, half sobbing, burst out with, ‘And don’t ever call me girlie. I’ve a name. Abigail! Or, if you wish Abbie! But most certainly not girlie!’
Billy Curtis was startled by her passionate outburst and was immediately crestfallen. ‘Aw! Don’t take on so, gir – I mean, Abbie. It’s jus’ that we can’t leave ’em here with their guns an’ stuff. Look at the sky! It won’t be long before them there buzzards will be bringin’ other folks here. An’ the chances are they’ll be Injuns. We’ve gotta get out of here quick.’
Abbie quickly glanced at the sky where already a dozen carrion-seekers were wheeling and circling high overhead, brought by some mysterious process to the place of death. Stifling her repugnance, she bent and relieved Jake’s corpse of a double-barrelled pistol and a military musket engraved with a stamped US and an American eagle. His companion had carried a rusted single-barrelled shotgun of a large bore – probably of Belgian origin. The piece looked as if it would have been more dangerous to the shooter than to any would-be target.
The three guns were handed to Billy who stowed them alongside in the travois. That was the limit of Abbie’s corpse-searching, although she did acknowledge the need to take the two horses belonging to the dead men. It was that or unsaddle them and leave them to hopefully be found wandering and grazing. She tied the Mexican’s horse alongside her bay and, reluctantly mounting that of the late Jake, she led the little expedition westward at a steady clip that bounced Billy up and down and at times threatened to toss him off the travois. His cries for her to slow down were ignored. Abbie was relentless in her intent to put as many miles as possible between themselves and the two corpses.
Eventually Billy insisted that they halt in the cover of a rocky outcrop. ‘Abbie!’ he cried. ‘This here way of travelling jus’ won’t work! I think that I could probably ride ol’ Jake’s horse iffen you’d help me up on him. Least it’d be more practical than that there contraption you’ve got balanced atop of your bay’. He cast a disgusted look at Abbie’s English, expensively-constructed side-saddle, custom-built for ladies of quality. ‘I sure couldn’t see my way clear to perch up on that thing.’
Abbie ignored his remarks and, pursing her lips a trifle, she dismounted and proceeded to unlash the improvised harness that secured the travois to the bay. This done, under Billy’s direction she turned the Mexican’s horse into a pack-animal, bearing her plunder, Billy’s belongings and the extra guns taken from the two bad eggs.
She assisted Billy to mount, with one splint-bound leg sticking strangely out to one side and, when he was comfortable, climbed aboard her own horse and they continued their strange journey westward. Now Billy led the way, deliberately going for long periods over ground that would leave little or no trace of their passage. Without the travois their tracks were much reduced and they made more satisfactory progress. The terrain was gradually changing as the rolling endless prairies gave way to more and more outcrops of rocks, indicating the start of the foothills of the Rocky Mountains.
Although he made no comments, Billy was concerned about two problems that would have to be resolved. First of all there was a cold bite in the air and he knew that any day now they could expect snow, for which they were totally unprepared. At least Abbie was. He knew enough to cope with all weather conditions. At least he could if it wasn’t for his broken leg.
The second issue which was gnawing at him was the possibility of pursuit by Cad Williams, the third member of Jake’s gang. By this time he would have had time to reach a settlement and recruit some equally evil-minded characters only too willing to give chase to a hapless old man and assault a pretty young girl who somehow had been lucky in getting off two mortal shots. Cad would want revenge!
‘Hold up Abbie!’ Sitting awkwardly in the saddle, Billy Curtis described his concerns to Abbie and proposed that they head north for his cabin where he could lay up until his leg was healed. He had already provisioned the place against the coming winter and there was more than enough for two.
Furthermore he reckoned that he could create some more suitable apparel for his female companion from his tanned deer-hides. Billy pointed out that while he was incapacitated by his broken leg, Abbie’s assistance would be invaluable, while he in turn could equip her with some frontier clothing and also teach her how to survive in the West.
Abbie was not long in agreeing with Billy’s proposal. Being alone and very conscious of all the unknown issues that she was likely to encounter if by herself, she was secretly grateful that these subjects had been raised. Therefore they turned their horses north towards Billy’s hidden cabin.
As they rode, Billy described his life growing up on the frontier, especially after his Tennessean folks were killed in an Indian raid. He, as a mere nine-year-old, had gone off fishing in a distant creek and had thereby avoided the dawn attack which for a short time became known as the ‘Curtis Massacre’.
Neighbours who arrived too late to aid the unfortunate family found the small boy wandering close to the smoking ruins of his cabin and futilely attempting to bury his scalped parents and two siblings.
One of his neighbours, a bachelor, had taken the dry-eyed lad and promised to give him a good home, but Billy soon found his promises were worthless, being made to work from daybreak to long after nightfall, expected to eat scraps, wear cast-off clothing and sleep on sacking in the lean-to which housed the man’s animals.
Billy had endured this slavery for nearly two years and had then taken off and commenced fending for himself. Over the years he had swamped out saloons, mucked out pigsties and done all manner of odd jobs that could be done by a small boy. Later he’d worked in a logging camp, mined unsuccessfully for gold and silver, herded cattle down on the Texas plains and spent years trapping and trading for furs with various Indian tribes.
He spoke familiarly of names that at that time meant very little to Abbie, who had never been introduced to the exploits of Jim Bridger, Kit Carson or even Davy Crockett. However, she listened politely and, whenever Billie paused, she attempted to give him some idea of her own upbringing. It was an uphill task. Although Billy could read, after a fashion, he had very little notion of life on the American eastern seaboard, let alone life across the ocean in England. Her attempts to describe life in India amid the ordered routine of a British regiment, or the native life of the local population, were met with smiles of disbelief. The only time Abbie perceived a spark of true interest was when she described the hunting trips with her father and how she had learned to shoot. Then she found that they had a common topic of interest.
CHAPTER FOUR
Their route was now north-west, with the rising hills broken up into a confusing mixture of valleys and blind canyons. To the cottonwoods along the creeks was added a growing variety of deciduous trees, such as aspen and birch, while conifers were to be seen on the lower reaches of the rocky hills.
Billy urged his horse into a narrow arroyo down which trickled a fast-running stream. Ahead the way appeared blocked by a huge granite boulder, but the old trapper led his steed into the bushes to the right of the blockage. As he pushed his way through, Abbie, following closely, noticed the barest trace of a trail indicating that this pathway had been used before.
The rocks on either side closed in so that she could barely make out the grey-blue sky overhead, and in the narrow cleft it would have been possible to touch the rocky walls either side by raising her arms. After a short distance the cleft widened and the light increased, suggesting that the narrow stifling rockbound trail was ending, and shortly thereafter the expedition emerged into a deep basin completely surrounded by high cliffs.
This hidden valley was possibly a quarter of a mile long, by four hundred yards in width, with the same stream she had seen earlier trickling merrily across the grass-cov
ered centre of the basin, and vanishing into the rocks at the base of the towering cliffs. Halfway down the valley Billy had built his cabin using, from the evidence of the many stumps projecting from the grass, the trees to be found in the basin.
The cabin was nestled right up against the base of a lofty crag, and the grey weathered appearance of its squared-off logs blended well against the rocky background. There was a short hitching rail in front at which Abbie tied their horses and then helped Billy to dismount. Steadying himself on Abbie’s shoulder, Billy hopped to his cabin and, unlatching the door, invited his young companion to enter.
Abbie did so and stared around curiously. She found herself in a room about eighteen feet long, and twelve feet wide, with a stone fireplace at one end. On the front wall, either side of the centrally placed door, were two small, glassed windows which gave but limited daylight to the room. There was a roughly made table and two stools and, at the opposite end to the fireplace, there was a built-in bunk.
Apart from a few pegs and two or three shelves, upon which she was surprised to note there stood several books, the cabin appeared to be bare.
Billy had sunk down exhausted upon one of the stools and, looking up, saw the look of dismay on Abbie’s face. ‘Don’t you worry yourself, Miss Abbie. You’ll have your female privacy. Take a peep through the doorway, behind yonder blanket.’
Abbie crossed the room to the hitherto unnoticed Hudson’s Bay blanket hanging on the far wall, and pulled it to one side. Beyond, to her left, was a small room, complete with bunk, receiving daylight by, of all things, a ship’s porthole that had been cleverly built into the wall. Across from her quarters was a storeroom, behind which was a shallow cave containing yet more supplies. Billy had not exaggerated when he had stated that he was stocked up for winter.
Abbie Penraven stood at the open door of Billy’s cabin enjoying the unaccustomed warmth of the southern spring breeze which was rapidly melting the snow in the hidden valley. This was hardly the same young women who had entered the rocky basin in her scant and bedraggled attire the previous Fall.
This Abbie was a brown, sun- and wind-tanned figure with strong, hard, calloused hands revealing that she had been engaged in many forms of manual labour. Her light brown hair was cropped unfashionably short and merely tied at the back with a piece of rawhide, and her handsome features required no artificial aids to enhance her natural beauty.
She was clad in a buckskin shirt that came down almost to her knees, and her legs were covered in a pair of soft leather pants that, like her upper garment, were fringed down the sides. On her feet were moccasin-like boots, with solid soles and heels and soft uppers, into which her pants were tucked.
Around her waist was slung a broad leather belt from which hung on the left hand, cross-draw position, a holster in which reposed her pinfire revolver. This rig was balanced by a ten-inch Bowie knife resting just below her right hip.
The winter months had been a learning revelation to Abbie. Because of Billy’s broken leg, for quite some time most of the chores had fallen upon her shoulders, and in doing them she had by force of circumstances acquired a number of new skills. Under Billy’s directions she had done most of the cooking which, after some disastrous failures, began to produce quite palatable meals. The making of hot biscuits, sourdough and otherwise, were her first successful accomplishment.
Although Billy had laid in a large quantity of logs against the forthcoming winter, these had to be split and stacked inside, drying close to the stone fireplace, whilst others were piled against the outside walls. Yet more wood in the shape of tree trunks, which had been felled the previous year, had to be hauled and skidded from other scattered locations in the valley using the horses for haulage. And, of course, the animals had to be attended to.
Forty yards from the cabin along the cliff face was a large cave and, in front of this, Billy had erected a corral so that the animals could exercise in the enclosed area yet, in inclement weather, could seek shelter in the cave. For fodder he had accumulated a large supply of hay cut from the grass, and this was supplemented with grain from his stores.
Initially Abbie had staggered to her room and had flopped down on her bed absolutely exhausted, but in time her muscles hardened. The many tasks grew easier with repeated use and she was able to take her ease at various times of the day. And of course as Billy’s broken leg gradually healed, he too was able to share the load of chores required to survive their winter of isolation.
With more leisure time, Abbie examined the books lying on the shelf adjacent to the fireplace and was both surprised and delighted to discover several novels of Sir Walter Scott and one by Charles Dickens. Billy, like most Westerners, had a great respect for the written word and, although but a poor reader himself, had willingly taken these volumes in trade when the opportunity arose. He therefore was equally pleased to learn that Abbie was an accomplished scholar and not only could help him to read but would willingly read out loud to him during the long dark winter evenings.
In return for Abbie’s aid, Billy helped her convert some of the well-cured deer hides into the serviceable apparel that she wore on that spring morning. It was also Billy who fashioned a suitable holster for her pinfire revolver and, having presented his gift to her and seen her pistol nestled in place, stated, ‘Now we’ve gotta make sure that you can pull that shootin’ iron quickly an’ hit yer target every time.’
Abbie protested that she knew how to shoot and cited the episode resulting in Jake’s demise, but Billy merely shook his head. ‘You was darned lucky, Abbie. Ol’ Jake jus’ never thought that any she-male would be carrying an equalizer, so you had the drop on him. Next time it could be different.’
Eventually Abbie allowed herself to be persuaded that she needed lessons in western-style pistol lore and her instruction began. Billy had decided that, because of her small stature and the size and weight of her pistol, she should continue to use the two-handed grip with which she was familiar, but he had her practise continually so that her draw became a fluid movement as she pulled and cocked her revolver while aiming at a mark on the cabin’s wall.
When he was satisfied, Billy decided that she must progress to live firing, but to save her pinfire cartridges, the shooting would be done using the single shot ‘chimney piece’ that was supplied by the pistol’s maker. A square of birch bark about the size of an adult hand was tacked to the far wall of the cabin and the chimney piece, loaded with powder and ball, was inserted in an empty chamber. The other chambers were left empty. When the chimney was capped with a percussion cap, Abbie re-holstered her pistol and stood hands at her sides facing the far wall. Billy suddenly called, ‘Draw!’ and Abbie, crouching slightly, drew and fired at the white target. There was a flash and a boom and the cabin was filled with white greyish smoke reeking of bad eggs. As the smoke cleared, Abbie ran forward to examine the result of her shot. She was disappointed to see that she had just clipped the edge of the birch bark. Billy, on the other hand, was impressed with the first attempt of his pupil and encouraged her to try again, and yet again, as the winter months passed until, by the time that Spring arrived, he was confident that Abbie Penraven could face and probably out-gun any of the bad characters she was likely to encounter in her travels westward.
CHAPTER FIVE
Abbie turned back into the cabin. ‘Billy!’ she announced, ‘spring has finally arrived. It’s time to get moving.’
Billy looked up from the leatherwork in which he was currently engaged. ‘Yep, I figured that sunshine would get your feet itchin’. I’ll get my plunder together.’ He rose from his stool and then paused as Abbie raised a hand as though to restrain him.
‘No, Billy! You sit tight. This is one journey I’ll be making alone. You’ve done enough for me. I have to stand on my own and give you a chance to fully recover from your encounter with that old grizzly last year.’ In vain Billy protested that he was fine, in fact was as fit as when he was a boy of twenty.
Abbie smiled at this boa
st, but was adamant. She had watched the old trapper while they were doing some of the many tasks in the hidden valley and had seen with concern how he would frequently have to rest while engaged in a relatively simple job, which at one time had been child’s play for him. She, therefore, was insistent that the journey westward was one which she would have to take alone.
However, she was far from averse to accept Billy’s aid when packing supplies and deciding what she would need and what should be taken. A supply of jerky from a deer brought down by her own skills, flour, sugar, coffee, a quantity of salt ladled from Billy’s ample stocks into small linen bags, and three or four pounds of bacon constituted her food supplies. Her clothing was her buckskins, and the red velvet riding habit, dried and carefully hung up, but unworn since the attack on the wagon train. Now the habit was bundled together with some homemade small clothing into a canvas sack in lieu of a carpet bag.
For defence Abbie had her pinfire revolver and the Bowie knife. She insisted that these were sufficient, but Billy was not so sure. ‘Abbie, girl! If you have to face either hostile Injuns or white trash like them we met up with on the trail, you’re gonna need a long gun. Keep ’em off at ta distance, that’s what I say.’
He went to his storeroom and returned with the rifle taken from the corpse of the violently deceased Jake. ‘Here y’are! Thought that this’d come in useful sometime. Military Springfield, ’bout ten years old, I’d figure. ’Bout .58 calibre. Just what you need.’
He handed the weapon to Abbie who took it reluctantly, with thoughts of how she had come to possess it. But she was sufficiently realistic to accept the fact that Billy was right. She did need a firearm with long range capability. But the old trapper wasn’t quite finished.
The Pinfire Lady Page 3
