by Vivi Holt
She held her breath as sorrow washed over her. She’d lost a husband, but couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to lose a child as well. “Perhaps they are fine, ja? They might have lost their way, or maybe …” She tried to think of another scenario that would keep a family from communicating and couldn’t come up with anything reassuring. “So we find them, then.”
He glanced her way, his eyes aflame. “Yes. We will find them.”
They reached a creek and pulled their mounts to a halt. A pair of freight wagons, loaded with sacks of flour, were stopped in the middle of the water with teamsters standing around them, hands on their hips. One shouted something to another, and the other called back. Lotte frowned. “What is happening?”
Antonio spat tobacco juice into the grass by the roadside. “I think they are stuck.” He reached into a saddlebag, pulled out a pistol and looked sharply at her, his eyes dark. “Take this. Do you know how to use it?”
She nodded.
“Good. If you need to, you use it. ¿Bueno?”
“Um, si,” she replied.
He grinned. “Bueno.”
Lotte put the weapon in her skirt pocket after checking the safety was on. She didn’t know much about guns, but she’d shot a few on her journey west. She didn’t know what type of gun this was or what kind of ammunition it took, but she knew how to load it and shoot it. And she figured that was good enough for now. She was grateful Oom Gust had taken the time to teach her. The memory of his smiling face made her throat ache.
Antonio dismounted and adjusted the gun belt on his hips, tugged down the brim of his hat and ambled over to the teamsters. She couldn’t hear their conversation, but she saw them glance her way and recognized the look of surprise – and lust – in their eyes. She nervously gripped the weapon in her pocket.
When Antonio returned, she breathed a sigh of relief. “It is stuck,” he said. “I offered to help them. They said they would pay me to ride with them to Austin. We need the money, so I agreed.”
She chewed the inside of her cheek. “I see.”
“You wait here.”
She nodded. She didn’t like the look of the teamsters and didn’t appreciate the way they leered at her. Something was different traveling with Antonio – people stared at her with disdain or curiosity or, like these men, as though she were a product for sale. She wasn’t accustomed to that kind of attention.
Antonio removed his vest and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He set his hat on his saddle horn and squinted at the heavy wagons before wading toward them. Within minutes, he and the teamsters were straining to push one of them out of the mud, but it didn’t budge, so he helped unload it partway and they tried again.
By the time they finally had one wagon out of the mud, they’d unloaded every last sack in it and set it on the other side of the crossing, each one almost as big as Antonio. The men strained under their weight as they carried them one by one on their shoulders, then threw them with a grunt on the ground. Now that the first wagon was free and on dry land, they began loading them all back into the wagon bed before starting on the other wagon
When they were finally done, Antonio found Lotte, who’d led Lars and Hans to a shady spot beyond the crossing. She’d unsaddled them hours ago, had them picketed where they were eagerly cropping grass, and was sitting on the ground eating a piece of jerky. He dropped beside her without a sound and lay back with his hands behind his head, staring up at the sky. Darkness approached, yet the air was still oppressively hot.
“Finished?” she asked. “Would you like some jerky?”
He nodded, and she pulled some from her saddlebag and handed it to him. “Gracias.” He chewed thoughtfully, then sat up and rested his arms on his knees to watch the teamsters settle the wagons and unharness their horses. They were setting up camp for the night. “We should set up camp here as well.” He took another bite of jerky.
“That is fine with me.”
He cleared his throat. “I think we should keep our distance from them, though.”
She nodded – that was fine with her as well. Those men made her squirm. She stood and began unpacking for the night. Once she’d set up Antonio’s bedroll and laid out her blanket, she foraged for firewood.
When she returned, Antonio had washed up in the creek and was mixing something in a bowl with his fingers. “What are you making?” she asked.
“Tortillas.”
She wasn’t sure what that was – but didn’t want to look foolish by asking. If they tasted as good as his frijoles, she wouldn’t complain, though she might need to find a glass of milk to put out the fire on her tongue. She grinned as she set up a frame for the fire and nestled the kindling in the center of it. Using her flint against a rock from her skirt pocket, she lit the kindling and puffed over it until it caught.
Once it was blazing, she peered over Antonio’s shoulder. He glanced up at her with an arched eyebrow. “Is something wrong?”
“Oh no. I would like to learn how you do that. Would you mind teaching me? Your fri … friyolees are delicious. And I do not want to make you do all the cooking, since you worked so hard today. I should prepare our meal.”
He chuckled. “I like cooking, actually, and I am used to it. I did not do it much in Montana, since Tom has a cook. But here, I cook or I starve.” He picked up a tin plate full of diced onion from the ground in front of him, then reached for a slice of bacon. “The secret is the bacon. This fat here, that is the good stuff.” He chuckled again, and she smiled.
By the time he’d sliced up the bacon and chiles, Lotte’s mouth was watering in anticipation. He fried the tortillas in a frying pan while the beans simmered. Once they were done, they sat in the twilight, ate and chatted. “Your husband was a good man?” Antonio wondered, wiping his plate clean with a tortilla.
Lotte swallowed. “He was.”
Antonio glanced up. “What happened to him?”
Her throat tightened. She still hadn’t talked about her ordeal with anyone. She knew Antonio would have questions sometime, but so far he’d respected her privacy and she’d liked it that way. Now the question hung in the air between them, and she knew she’d have to give him an answer. She took a slow breath and stared into the glowing coals where the fire had died down. “When you found me … on the side of the road …” She met his gaze, her heart in her throat.
He nodded for her to continue.
“… I was on the run. A band of Comanches burned our cabin and shot my husband. They burned him and my aunt and uncle. We came here for a better life … and now they are gone.”
His eyes narrowed and a muscle in his jaw flexed. “I am sorry. The Comanche can be brutal. How did you escape them?”
Her chest tightened and she found it hard to breathe. “I was checking the horses where they were picketed. It was dark, so I hid – I don’t think they saw me. They took the horses, even the young foal, and they burned everything else and left. But I worried they might come back. I took what I could still use, and I …” She choked back a sob.
“You did well to make it out alive.” He shifted closer to her and took her hand. “You are strong. You will make it through this trial.”
His tenderness broke her resolve not to cry and tears welled in her eyes.
A shout from the nearby camp startled her. She saw a shadow lurch in front of the teamsters’ fire, then raucous laughter as several more men leaped around the fire, yelling and laughing as they did.
Antonio dropped her hand. “Drunk,” he sniffed. He stood and walked over to the fire, pushing dirt and leaves over the last of the embers. “It is late. We should sleep. Do you still have the Derringer I gave you – the pistol?”
She wiped the tears from her cheeks with her handkerchief. “Yes.”
“Sleep with it close by tonight.”
Her eyes widened. Were they in so much danger?
He smirked. “Only don’t shoot me, si?”
She laughed despite the pit of despair in her stomach. “Si. I will t
ry not to.” She undid her boots, shucked them off, then wrapped herself in her blanket. She sighed at the hardness of the ground beneath her – how she missed having a bed. At least the straw tick Marcus made for Oom Gust and Tante Annika was better than nothing. She just hoped the blanket would keep the damp at bay and the scorpions from her drawers.
Lotte shut her eyes, but the noise of the teamsters kept her awake. She rolled onto her side and tucked her hands beneath her head. The Derringer made a lump under her hip, and she fingered it gently.
Just then someone fired a shotgun, and Lotte almost jumped out of her skin. She sat up straight, clutching at her hammering heart as the men yelped and howled with glee. “Sweet Heaven …”
There was another shot, and before long the men were firing at random intervals into the air and howling with laughter as they staggered around the fireplace. “Damn fools,” muttered Antonio. “They’ll kill themselves.”
When the noise finally settled down, Lotte rubbed her eyes and yawned. The teamsters seemed to be playing cards, seated in a circle around their fire. They were still shouting and talking loudly, but at least they’d given up on shooting into the sky.
“You all right?” whispered Antonio. He’d gotten up and was leaning against an elm tree, legs crossed at the ankles. He spat tobacco juice to the ground by his feet.
“Yes, I am fine. Perhaps they will be quiet soon.”
He didn’t reply.
“We should sleep,” she suggested
“You sleep. I will keep watch a while longer.”
She laid back down on her bedroll, and this time quickly fell into slumber. Just the knowledge that Antonio stood over her, watching out for her, made her feel at ease.
A hand clamped over Lotte’s mouth. She screamed, but the sound was muffled. She tried to sit up, but her assailant was on top of her. She wriggled and kicked with both legs, but could barely move.
“Hush!” her attacker hissed in her ear.
The smell of putrid breath made her stomach turn. She hit him with both hands as hard as she could, but her blows glanced off him.
He sniggered. “Hold still now.” She felt his hands on her, tearing at her clothing. He grunted and fumbled with the buttons on her nightgown, then gave up and tugged at it. But his weight on top of her foiled his plan. When he shifted his weight, she was able to reach beneath her and pull out the Derringer.
Someone grabbed the man from behind and pulled him off her. She aimed the gun, cocked the hammer and pulled the trigger. The blast echoed over the plains and the man slumped back on top of her, faceless in the darkness. She gasped for breath – he was so heavy, she couldn’t fill her lungs. Her head swam and bright lights flitted before her eyes. Then he was gone, lifted off her in one easy motion and thrown to the ground beside her.
Antonio pulled her to a standing position and held her close as she sobbed. “It is over,” he said, stroked the back of her head. “I am sorry I fell asleep. You are well?” He leaned back so he could see her face.
She sobbed and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. “Yes, I am goot. He did not hurt me.”
Antonio sighed with relief and pulled her to his chest again, cupping the back of her head with one hand and rubbing her back with the other. “Bueno, bueno. But next time, do not shoot until you see better.” He chuckled. “You nearly got me.”
When her tears ran dry, she pulled away and rubbed her tired eyes. “I am sorry. Is he dead?”
Antonio squatted beside the man, checked his pulse and nodded. “Si, very dead.”
She covered her mouth with both hands and stifled a cry. Now what would happen to her? She’d killed a man. What if the law came after her? What if no one believed it was self-defense? “They will hang me for this. What do I do?”
Antonio ran a hand through his hair and stood. He put his hands on his hips, and she could see his profile in the moonlight. He looked steady, strong. “You get cleaned up. I will take care of it.”
There was a shout from the other camp: “Y’all right over there, Vaquero?”
Antonio drew a deep breath and yelled back in response: “I am fine. I was cleaning my gun and it went off. I am sorry for the noise.”
There was a loud guffaw followed by a whistle. “Shoot, how much whiskey ya have boy?”
Antonio faked a laugh. “Too much.” He nodded at Lotte, who wished she could see his eyes, then bent to grab the prone figure by the arms and dragged him away into the woods.
When he was gone, she gathered her things and walked down to the water’s edge. She knelt beside it and splashed her face, then wet her nightgown where a circle of dark blood had stained it and scrubbed it with lye soap. It didn’t seem to help, only spread the blood further. She’d have to work on washing it some other time – it was impossible to see what she was doing in the middle of the night. She undressed beside the stream and pulled on a clean house dress.
She didn’t realize she was crying until a sob escaped her throat.
When she was done, she rolled the nightgown into a tight ball, shoved it into the bottom of her saddlebag, then got back under her blanket, shaking from head to toe. The sound of the gun discharging still rang in her ears. She sat up and reached around in the darkness until her hand found the Derringer lying in the dust. She got out the bullet pouch Antonio had given her with the gun, reloaded it and lay down again, holding it close.
She’d defended herself. All this time she’d been fretting over how vulnerable she was – a widow, alone without a family to protect her. But now the worst had happened – she’d been attacked – and she’d killed her attacker. Perhaps she’d be caught. Perhaps she really would hang. But now she knew she could protect herself.
She fell back to sleep before Antonio returned from the woods, the Derringer still in her hands.
Antonio woke as the sun peeked over the horizon, making the birds twitter as they welcomed the new morning. Every so often while preparing the fire for breakfast, he glanced at Lotte. She still slept soundly, her hands flat beneath her head, her eyelashes dark crescents against her pale cheeks and her blonde hair hanging in loose strands across her face.
He tugged the tobacco pouch from his pocket and felt inside. There wasn’t much left – only a few days’ worth at the rate he’d been chewing lately. He sighed and shoved it back. It was a habit he couldn’t afford to keep up much longer. If the job with the teamsters had worked out, perhaps he’d have had enough money to last for food until they made it to Laredo. Now he’d have to find some other way to earn cash. The bacon sizzled as it fried, and he sat leaning against his saddle to watch it.
Lotte stirred in her bed, then sat up and rubbed her eyes with a wide yawn. She was holding the Derringer in her free hand. “Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning, Antonio. That smells very good.”
He smiled. “How do you feel?”
She grimaced. “I have had better sleep.”
“You did what you had to, señorita. He got what he deserved.”
“I suppose. Thank you for helping me.”
“De nada.”
They ate breakfast, then Antonio began packing up. He wasn’t sure how the morning would play out. Lotte had killed a teamster – and his fellow teamsters would notice he was missing, probably before they moved out that morning. Then they’d recall the midnight gunshot, and it would only be a matter of time before they began asking questions. He’d decided to wait out the night there, hoping the questions would come later rather than sooner. Their sudden absence would make the remaining teamsters suspicious.
The teamsters’ camp was still, and it’d likely be a while before they woke fully given how much liquor they’d consumed the previous evening. One of their mules snorted and another replied in kind.
“I think it best we part ways with them soon,” Antonio told Lotte, eyeing the other camp.
She didn’t ask any questions, just helped him pack.
Once the teamsters had eaten their breakfast of hardt
ack, bacon and black coffee, they loaded their wagons and harnessed their mule teams. Lotte and Antonio sat by their own fire and watched them. Antonio had loosened the button on his holster and one hand hovered close by it, ready for anything as the teamster boss, Sam Johnson, approached. “Good morning,” he told Sam.
Sam glanced his way with a snarl. “Y’seen Jim?” he grunted.
Antonio shrugged. “I do not recall. Which one is Jim?”
“Red hair, flat nose, breath could stop a hound in its tracks.”
Antonio chuckled at the description. “I will let you know if I see him. From what I heard last night, he is probably still sleeping it off.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Couple o’the boys’re out lookin’ fer him. I’m sure they’ll pick up his trail soon ’nough. Seems to me y’had yer share o’rotgut as well – settin’ a weapon off cleaning it in the middle o’the night.” He chuckled with a conspiratorial grin. “Happens t’the best o’us.”
“Si. I should lay off the alcohol – it is not my friend.” Antonio smiled, gathered Hans’ reins and mounted up. “I will follow behind the wagons and pitch in if you need help, si?”
Sam shuffled his feet, his bushy eyebrows lowered over bloodshot eyes. “Yeh … well, I may’ve been a bit hasty offerin’ ya a job an’ all. We got it handled from here. Yer welcome t’hang around if ya gotta mind to, but we’re bein’ paid a set amount to bring in this here load an’ some o’the boys don’t wanna split the money further …”
Antonio’s jaw clenched. Obviously the crew had discussed his situation the previous evening and decided they didn’t want to share. He tipped his hat. “I understand, señor. We will go our own way, then.” He waited for Lotte to climb onto Lars’ back, then nudged Hans with his heels. The animal set off at a trot past the massive wagons and the mules paired up in front of them.
Antonio glanced back to see Lotte following him, her face overwritten with fear. He’d hoped to make some money to see them through to Laredo, but nonetheless this outcome was for the best. If they’d stayed with the teamsters, the questions wouldn’t have been long in coming. As it was, if Sam talked to a sheriff or marshal regarding Jim’s whereabouts, there might be trouble ahead anyway. It was best they keep moving.
