“No! I’ll not be drugged so you can leave me behind.” There were two ways out of the wagon, and if she had to she’d use one.
“We have no intention of leaving you anywhere. Is there someone we can notify that you’ve been found?” Cora’s voice was lilting and gentle. She didn’t hide her feeling behind a mask as many did.
“I have no one. Everyone is dead. I doubt anyone ever looked for me. I had hoped at first—” Her voice cracked and she took a moment to catch her breath. “But hope faded eventually.”
“I’m sorry.” Cora hesitated, seeming a bit awkward. “I’m going to have to take your dress off so we can put the ointment on. Tell me, are you hurt worse on your back or your front?”
“Both. I don’t think anything is broken.” She winced as she shifted and spikes of pain punched through her chest. “I think I have a cracked rib, and I’m bruised pretty bad. I have more open wounds on my back.”
“Is it all right if I cut your dress off of you?”
Dawn’s throat tightened. “Are you planning to use a knife?”
“I have scissors in my basket,” Cora hastened to assure. “I’ll cut it right up the middle from the bottom to the top. After that, I’m going to make sure the rest of you is clean. Luella did a fine job but it’s hard to see everything with just a lantern. Then I’m going to treat your wounds, and finally I have a nightgown you can put on. I don’t think you’ll need to leave the wagon for at least today. You need rest.”
Dawn nodded and tensed her body, waiting for the woman to get the scissors. What if Cora attempted to stab her? No one could be trusted. It had been a lesson she’d learned the hard way. She kept her eyes on the shiny shears and was ready to spring up if need be. How agonizing it was. It seemed to take forever for Cora to cut the dress.
Cora put the scissors back in her basket, and Dawn relaxed a bit and helped get the dress off. It had been slightly used but clean and serviceable when she’d been given it. Now it was stained, ripped, and filthy. Some of the doe skin stuck to her back, and Cora spoke through the opening in the wagon’s back, asking someone to bring her water. The dress was soaked off, and when Dawn saw all the blood on it, her stomach churned. She was lucky to be alive.
Cora kept Dawn covered except for the area she was working on. It was such a courtesy that Dawn’s good eye grew moist. There hadn’t been any privacy for her in a long time.
“Am I hurting you too badly? I’m trying to be gentle, but I have to clean your wounds. Did they burn you?”
She nodded. “They put sticks in the fire and when the tip caught fire they took it, blew out the fire most of the time and then put the stick on my skin. Most of the time I didn’t scream; they respect a person who is strong. I’m not strong, though. I just wanted to stay alive.”
Cora’s eyes widened.
“I shouldn’t tell you all of this. I would have been very happy not to know a thing about the Lakota.” Her gaze wandered to the rear of the wagon. She could hear muted voices just on the other side of the canvas. “Those men outside won’t come in, will they?”
“No, you are safe,” Cora said. “My husband, Harrison Walsh, owns this wagon, and Luella and Declan use it as their own. Declan, Heath, and Zander are men my husband hired to drive his livestock across to Oregon. They are respectful and kind men. They’ve all been through their own tragedies. They would never harm a woman.”
“I don’t feel very trusting.” Oh, how she wished she could control her shaking voice.
“I don’t blame you.”
Dawn hissed as Cora washed burns in sensitive areas. She closed her eyes and did what she always did lately.
Lord, I don’t know how to thank You. I’m away from Kills Many, but You know that. You were with me and I know You guided Swift Eagle in finding me. I don’t know anything about these strangers, and I’m afraid. I’ve been afraid since the first cry I heard on that awful day. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I have faith.
“I need to turn you onto your stomach.”
Dawn nodded and turned over. It was a position that was hard to fight from. She wished she had her knife but Kills Many had taken it. Deep breath after deep breath didn’t calm her. Her muscles refused to relax. Being so tense made the pain worse.
Continue Reading
Tara’s Trials
After walking for what seemed forever, Tara Carmichael stumbled into Fort Bridger, her heart sinking in dismay at the ramshackle place. “Please,” she asked a young boy brushing down a mule outside a rickety barn. “I need to speak with whoever’s in charge.” Her gaze darted about, seeking any sign of people. “Are there any soldiers here?”
Eyes wide, the boy shook his head. “Mr. Sutter at the store’s in charge o’ things.”
Clutching the torn bodice on her dress together, Tara stumbled into the store, which was just as empty of people as the fort. Shelves and counters held all manner of cooking staples, flour, ground corn, small bags of sugar. To her left, hunting and trapping supplies. To her right, a counter was heaped with yard goods, serviceable fabric in practical colors. A few plaid men’s shirts were neatly folded and stacked to one side. On a line strung across the small space hung a few cotton dresses already made up.
A bent and wrinkled little man approached, a tired but friendly enough smile on his face. “Can I help you, ma’am?” His sharp eyes raked her slight form, no doubt taking in the tattered state of her clothing, the dirt smudging her face.
She opened her mouth to ask about soldiers, but something in his stare made her aware she was not covered well. “I… I need some clothes,” she said, unable to keep the quiet desperation from seeping into her voice.
“Got some dresses made up there,” he pointed to the line of clothes that she would have had to be blind to not see.
She cast a wistful eye to the fancy fabrics and colors. “I don’t… have little money…” Or any money, actually…
His smile dimmed. “Got some things that’ve been used some back there.” He gestured to a small alcove just beyond the line of dresses. “Mind how you go so’s you don’t get my merchandise dirty.”
Tara slipped past the dresses with a soft sigh of longing. A table in the center of the space overflowed with all manner of well-used clothing. Discards from previous wagon trains when people died, or no longer needed the garments, no doubt. Many of the items were nearly as tattered as the clothing she wore, and all of it was just as dirty or even worse. She picked through the top few layers and found a gray dress with a frayed hem, but otherwise it was intact. It looked like it would fit or be just a bit too large on her.
She turned to call out to the shopkeeper only to find him standing directly behind her, a smirk on his face.
“H-how much for… this?” she asked, holding up the dress.
He rattled off a price that made her head spin. “Cash on the barrel,” he added.
So much money for a dress that would be no more than a rag most places? “I… I actually… I was hoping we could work out a trade for some clothing… a few supplies…”
He shook his head, eyes flinty and lips thinned into a firm line. “Cash on the barrel,” he repeated and jerked his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to a sign that read the same.
“I… see.” Reluctantly, she shoved the dress back onto the heap. “I have to get a message to the law.”
His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Ain’t got no way to get any message out.”
She wasn’t certain she believed him, but it was obvious he would not help her with anything. Tears stung her eyes as she pushed past the shopkeeper and walked into the main area.
A rumble rose from her stomach as she eyed a tray with some kind of jerky meat behind the counter. But a glance at the shopkeeper told her he would have no sympathy for her plight.
“Is there nothing I can do to earn some clothing… a little food?” she asked, knowing she was begging and beyond caring.
“No.”
“But I don’t have anywhere to go
. I have no food…” Tears cascaded down her cheeks. “What will I do?”
“Wait for the next train through, I expect,” he snapped. “Ask some folks that come along for food and clothing. Some might be accommodating.”
“Wh-when will the next wagon train come?” she forced herself to ask.
“Can’t say.” He shrugged. “Could be today, might be next month.”
Tara’s heart sank, and she chewed her bottom lip.
A sly smile raised one corner of the shopkeeper’s mouth. “Or there are always the trappers that come in… maybe one of them will buy you supplies and keep you.”
She just stared him down and then sat by the stove. He didn’t scare her. She’d faced down worse than that pompous… Her breath caught as she stilled her unmerciful thoughts. She would try to be the lady her mother had always said she should be at least, but it was hard. Very hard. She wondered what the proprietor would say if she asked for a pair of trousers?
Oh, why had her mother died so young?
The door opened and two men in buckskins walked in. They were cleaner than she. They looked her over and kept walking as though they’d decided she wasn’t worth their time. If her situation hadn’t been so dire she would have laughed and loudly. For there was a time… But she forced those thoughts from her mind.
Would she even be fed here at the fort? Somehow she doubted it. At least she’d had water at the outside pump, so her immediate thirst had been quenched. But the thought of the next train being a month away made her body shake. It was still early in the season when not as many hit the trail west.
She watched the two men as they wandered the store and assessed her chances. Maybe she could handle them and keep them from touching her. Oh, if only she had her rifle, she’d just hunt for dinner. But no sense worrying over what she couldn’t do anything about.
In a few more hours, dusk would be falling, and she’d see what she could do to find a place to sleep. If things hadn’t happened so fast she would have at least taken supplies with her. Her gaze traveled the room, taking in the prices that were being charged for merchandise, and her mouth dropped open. If people paid that much for flour, then the owner could afford to give her a blanket, or at least let her choose from the pile of soiled clothing.
Some fort this had turned out to be. There wasn’t a soldier to be seen. It was a trading post, nothing more. She’d wanted to alert the authorities, but there wasn’t a way to do it from the “fort.” Glancing out the window she saw two bedrolls and two horses. Would they hang a woman for stealing a horse? Maybe… and she wasn’t willing to risk it. But surely a stolen bedroll was not worth pursuing.
She tiptoed out the door and filched the bedroll. She quickened her step and when she was out of sight of the store, she made a dash for the woods. She had to get through scrub and low brush to get to the forest’s edge., she found a tree she could climb and scrambled up the trunk. She sat in the tree watching for the two men.
She’d already spent enough nights alone and frightened. At least she’d be warm now.
She realized that many folks failed to look up when they were searching for something. If she had a slingshot, she could get herself a bird to cook. She was so tired.
* * *
Zander rode his horse next to Heath and Dawn, who were in the covered wagon. When Fort Bridger came into sight both Heath and Zander exchanged frowns. The place was little more than a small group of derelict cabins and a lean-to stable surrounded by a rickety fence with most of its sections lying flat to the ground. One stiff wind would likely flatten most of the buildings.
“That’s a fort?” Dawn asked, her eyes wide with shock. “It’s a good thing I married you, Heath. I doubt there would be much choice of men in that… Is it even a trading post?”
Two riders approached, pushing their mounts hard enough to raise a cloud of dust in their wake. Heath brought the wagon to a stop. The two men rode up to them and reined the horses in with abrupt yanks that had them neighing in protest.
“Did you see a girl with a bedroll?” The larger of the two asked as the swirling dust settled.
“Just a bedroll?” asked Zander. “That would have been an odd sight. But no we didn’t see anyone. Whoever you’re looking for, she must have gone another way.” He didn’t like the fact that two men were looking for a girl, even though they seemed more interested in the bedroll they believed her to be carrying.
“Thanks.” Without further interaction, they both turned their horses and spurred them into a gallop back the way they’d come.
Dawn laughed. “One horse was without a bedroll tied to the back of it.”
Heath climbed down and turned to help his new wife down. He smiled at her as his hands lingered on her waist. Zander suppressed a twinge of irritation at the display.
“We’d best go talk to Harrison and see what supplies he wants us to get,” Zander said.
“Will you be fine without me for a moment?” Heath asked his new wife.
Zander laughed. “I have it on good authority that Dawn can take care of herself. Let’s go.”
They walked out of Dawn’s hearing. “She’s not a child, you know.”
“Zander, please don’t give me advice. It’s the fastest way for a fight to start.”
“I suppose punching each other wouldn’t be good for our friendship,” Zander conceded.
“Sometimes I think we’re making strides, then a bad memory comes back and paralyzes her. I knew that going in, and we’ve been praying on it. It’s not that she doesn’t trust me. I just don’t know how to rid her of things the Indians did to her.”
“And that is why I will never get married. As you can see I’m problem free. And I’m staying away from any women under twenty who will lie to get married.”
Heath grinned. “Good idea.”
* * *
The two men searching for her were coming too close. Tara climbed higher into the tree. As long as she didn’t fall they wouldn’t be able to see her. She hoped.
A wagon train had arrived at Fort Bridger. Perhaps she might get lucky. Maybe someone on the train would take pity on her, or maybe someone needed help with children or cooking. She could work to pay her way if she found someone who needed her. Even as the thought formed in her mind, she knew it would be futile. She was alone and destitute. But she couldn’t approach anyone at the fort. Were they planning to stay the night there or move on?
The two trappers were almost under her now. She stayed very still, holding her breath. She tried to close her eyes, but feared she would slip and fall.
“Why do you think that girl was alone?” the bigger one asked.
“Did you see how raggedy she looked? Let’s just go. We’re close enough to home I won’t need the bedroll tonight anyway. Poor little mite, she’d best pray if she plans to spend the night out here alone.” He looked around, and then he shrugged. “Let’s ride.”
Her choices became a choice of one. She needed to hide in a wagon. She wasn’t sleeping outside tonight.
She climbed down, snagging her dress on a gnarly branch. Pulling it free caused another hole, and a sigh escaped. What did it matter? It was one of many now. There was only one way that wagon train would go, and she would have to go with it. She knew most folks wouldn’t allow a single female to join them, let alone one without money, but if she could just find the right person… a widower, perhaps
The people on the train looked to be hitching up and loading their wagons. Now to get into one before they started to move. She bent to keep her body lowered and ran as fast as she could toward the fort.
She hid behind the store and waited. Two wagons we set apart with no one behind them. She slipped into the back of one and lay on her side behind a few stacked trunks. She ended up wedged in fairly tight, but wiggled and stretched, and pushed the trunks for a little more room.
The wagon swayed as the owners climbed onto the front bench, and Tara felt a rush a relief when a man yelled, “Haw!” The wagon lurched forward<
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It was an unbearably bumpy ride with the trunks banking against her. But she’d stay put and wait until they stopped for the night before she talked to the captain. They needed to be warned.
Her eyes grew heavy and the jolts became fewer as the wagon settled into a kind of lulling rocking. She must have fallen asleep. With a sharp gasp, she woke. The wagon wasn’t moving. From the long shadows on the canvas, she could tell the sun would set in a few hours.
She tried to push the trunks back a bit but they wouldn’t budge. Now what? She pushed again, grunting a bit with the effort. Finally, winded and growing anxious, she admitted there was nothing for it. She’d have to call for help and hope whoever found her didn’t have a rifle.
* * *
Zander dropped some sticks and small branches he’d collected near the fire. Now that he felt secure that the plan he, Declan, and Heath had first made for a ranch together had changed none, he felt like a different person. He was even helpful. He snorted at the thought of how domesticated that sounded.
A soft sound gave him pause. He cocked his head and listened. Then he took a few steps toward the back of the wagon and listened again. It almost sounded like an animal in pain. He took his gun out of the holster and climbed into the wagon. He listened again. His heart hardened, and he gripped his gun tighter. It wasn’t an animal.
“Come on out with your hands up,” he demanded leveling the gun on the stack of trunks to the side of the wagon.
“I’m stuck.” the muffled voice cried.
Zander recoiled. Was that a female? “Stuck how?”
“The trunks are squishing me against the side of the wagon. Can you help me?”
He put his gun back into the holster and walked forward. He swung the bottom trunk out a bit and looked. Sure and it was a female. He pushed the trunks toward the center of the wagon. “Are you hurt?”
“A few bruises but it’s nothing.”
Sullivan: Cowboy Protector: The Kavanagh Brothers Book 4 Page 15
