Clayhill, that wicked old bastard. Kain wouldn’t be surprised if someone had killed him by now. Kain’s thoughts turned to Logan Horn, the old man’s son by an Indian woman. A few years back the old man had hired gunfighters to kill Logan. When that didn’t work Adam had trumped up a charge and tried to get Logan hanged for raping Della. Now Logan was a prosperous, if not well-liked rancher. If he hadn’t had Indian blood in him, he would more than likely be a candidate for territorial governor. And then there was Cooper Parnell, the old man’s other bastard son by sweet, gentle Sylvia Parnell. Cooper was the spitting image of the old man, but there the resemblance ended. Cooper despised Clayhill for the way he had left Sylvia pregnant and alone. If old Clayhill provoked him, Cooper wouldn’t think twice before killing him.
Kain remembered the last time he had seen Adam Clayhill. He and a young friend, a spunky kid named Fort Griffin, had dumped the dead bodies of two of Clayhill’s henchmen on his doorstep. The old man had sent those roughnecks to kill Griffin because Griff refused to be run off the range. The old son of a bitch hadn’t batted an eyelash when he saw the corpses. He even acted as if he were glad to see Kain and had the gall to ask him to come work for him. Kain shook his head at the memory. The old man was rotten through and through, but he had guts.
That had been two years before, and Kain had promised himself then that he would keep as much distance as possible between Clayhill and himself. Now he would have to go back to Junction City and decide what he was going to do about The House and the several thousand acres of land that went with it.
He wasn’t too bad off, he decided after he sorted through his belongings. He had over four hundred dollars in cash, a pair of Smith & Wesson .44 Russian pistols, the best gun built, a small palm pistol, a good Winchester rifle, a double-barreled shotgun, and Big Red—as good a horse as any he’d ever ridden.
Suddenly Kain wanted to get out of his city clothes. He stripped naked and started to dress. After he put on a pair of buckskin breeches and a pullover buckskin shirt, he strapped on his gun belt. Then he began to pack, starting with his bedroll, then extra trail clothes. When he finished, he bundled up a pile of discarded clothes and left the room. The desk clerk looked at him when he passed, then took a second look before he recognized him as the well-dressed man in the broadcloth coat and fancy vest who had checked in several days before.
Kain shouldered his way through the crowd loafing in front of the general store and paused in the doorway to allow his eyes to adjust from the bright sunlight to the darkened interior. The store was packed to capacity with all manner of goods needed to sustain life on the frontier. He made his way to the counter through a maze of barrels, grain sacks, crocks, stacks of rope, leather goods and tools.
“Howdy,” he said to the white-aproned clerk, and dumped the bundle on the counter. “If you can use any of this stuff I’ll take the money in trade.”
The clerk shook out the frock coat, the elaborately stitched vest, white silk shirts, tapered-leg trousers and custom made shoes.
“I can’t give you what they’re worth.”
“I know that. What are they worth to you?”
The clerk named a price and Kain nodded in agreement. He began to set items down on the counter, a large granite cup with a pouring spout, skillet, a gray granite plate, a spoon and a fork.
“Add coffee, salt, rice, beans, bacon, dried beef, and some cans of peaches,” he told the clerk.
“Headin’ out, are you?”
“Thinking about it.” Kain’s hand brushed a long whip lying on the counter. He picked it up and looked at the workmanship. “Someone around here make this?”
“Naw. A young lady brought it in a few days back.”
“Did she bring some quirts, too?”
“Sure did, but they’re gone. This is all I’ve got left. Want me to add it to the pile?”
Kain thought for a minute. He didn’t have any use for a whip and from now on had to be close with his money, but what the hell. He would take it as a present for Lorna, Cooper Parnell’s wife. She was the best he had ever seen with a bullwhip. He added it to the pile on the counter. He really didn’t need it, he told himself, to remind him of the woman with the fierce blue eyes.
That morning he had walked to the end of Front Street. The lot where her wagon had been was empty. He had chided himself then for feeling disappointed, and he chided himself now for thinking about her. There was no room in his life for a woman right now, not even one who sent excitement coursing through him as that one did. He’d not been able to sleep for thinking about her and wondering if her hair was light or dark. She must be blond, he had decided, because her skin was so fair. Many years had gone by since a woman had made such an impression on him. He was attracted by her fiery spirit, he told himself. He grinned, thinking about the way she had swung that shovel. Oh well, he thought, she was probably well on her way to Wichita or Kansas City by now.
Before he went back to the hotel, Kain walked by the stable. If there was anything in the world he loved it was the big, red sorrel that had been his constant companion for the last five years. The horse whinnied a greeting as soon as Kain walked down the aisle to his stall.
“Hello, Big Red. Are you getting tired being cooped up in this barn? It’s a mite better than that boxcar you rode in from Kansas City. I know how you hated that.”
Kain crawled through the rails and ran his hands down each slender leg, and lifted each of the horse’s feet. He looked closely at each shoe and dug around it with the tip of his knife before setting it down. When he finished he patted the horse on the rump.
“You’re in fine shape, Big Red. Tomorrow we’ll leave this stink hole and you can stretch your legs. We’re heading for Denver, boy. It’ll be kind of nice being out on the trail again, just you and me.” Kain filled the feedbox with a scoop of grain. “Eat up, big man. It might be a while before you have grain again. I’ll be back for you tomorrow and we’ll head out.”
Suddenly a pain knotted Kain’s stomach. He leaned against the stall rails and panted. He began to sweat. Damn! For several weeks now, off and on he’d had the pain. This was the worst one yet. A doctor in Kansas City had told him he had worms. The concoction he had given him to kill them tasted so vile that Kain had taken half of it and tossed the rest out the train window on the way to Dodge City. Now he wondered at the wisdom of his impulsive action.
The pain passed, but left him shaken. He stood still and waited, hoping it was over. He’d never known physical pain and this pain robbed him of his strength. He resented it. Right now all he wanted to do was lie down and sleep. He felt his stomach. It was sore, but the pain had gone.
Once he was back at the hotel, Kain stretched out on the bed. He had a sudden yearning for Colorado and tried and true friends such as Griffin and Cooper. He thought of Lorna and her beautiful voice, and of Mrs. Parnell. A picture of Vanessa floated into his mind, but it was an incomplete picture. He wondered, once again, what she would look like without that damn bonnet.
* * *
Vanessa sat beside Ellie on the wagon seat with one booted foot on the rail in front of her. She shifted the reins so she could pull her hat down tighter on her head. From a distance she looked like a young boy in the breeches and shirt, and that was just what she wanted folks to think she was. She wore her hair braided in a tight coronet that fit snugly into the crown of one of Henry’s old broad-brimmed hats that came down over her ears. Ellie had been horrified when Vanessa had first put on the pants, but after a few encounters with passersby, she saw the wisdom of the disguise.
Vanessa liked the freedom the breeches afforded her when she climbed up onto the wagon seat, or rode astride, although she had been wearing a split riding skirt for years.
The first few days after they had left Springfield, Vanessa had thought her arms were going to be pulled from their sockets, and she often had to exchange places with Henry, who rode the horse alongside the wagon and kept an eye on the extra mules tied behind. But now her
arms had developed muscles, and the reins in her leather-gloved hands no longer caused blisters.
As the day wore on, Vanessa looked behind from time to time to the wagon that had pulled onto the trail to follow them when they left Dodge City. It stayed a mile or so back and made no attempt to catch up. She and Ellie talked about it and wondered if it was carrying a family going west or a rawhider going out to find the buffalo herds. They met several wagons going toward Dodge City, but the only people who passed them were a troop of soldiers. The captain leading the platoon had tipped his hat to Ellie and kept his men well out to the side so as to not stir up the dust until they were far ahead of them.
That night they pulled off the trail and camped beside an abandoned soddy. There was a pole corral of sorts, and after Vanessa and Henry set a few crossbars right they turned their stock inside. After that they explored the soddy like curious youngsters while Ellie prepared the evening meal. The soddy was dark and smelled musty, and Vanessa wondered how anyone could have lived there.
“I found some pieces of blue glass,” she called out to Henry just before she heard the angry rattle of a snake. “Oh! Henry, let’s get out of here!”
They bolted for the door.
“What was it, Van? I saw some spoons and things.”
“Snakes.” A cold shudder ran down her back. “We’ll not do that again, Henry. Stay out of places like that, hear?”
“Oh, golly, Van. I never saw anything.”
Ellie was shaking out the cloth she insisted on using on the fold-down table when a man approached their camp and stopped some fifty yards off, his hands held up. Vanessa recognized him as the old man who had witnessed the fight and had spread the word about the pies. Nevertheless she sidled over to where she had leaned the shotgun against the wagon.
“Howdy,” he called. “Is it all right if I come in?”
“Of course it’s all right. Evening to you.” Ellie, always gracious, greeted him as if he were stepping into her home. “So you’re the one who’s been behind us all day.”
“Yes’m.” The man’s eyes went from Vanessa to Henry and back to Ellie. He plainly didn’t know to which one he should address his remarks. Ordinarily he would have spoken to the man, but in this case he was sure the young woman in the breeches was the one who made the decisions. She hung back, so he spoke to the neat woman with the white apron and the soft light hair piled on top of her head. She was a sightly woman, he thought, but not one suited for life on the trail.
“Ma’am, it ’pears we’re both headed west. I’m awonderin’ if’n it would set with ya folks if’n I—we strung along with ya. Seems like we’d be a heap better off than goin’ it by our ownselves.”
“Who’s with you?” Vanessa asked bluntly.
“Ah, my girl, is all.”
“Where are you headed?”
“Denver or thereabouts. I thought to do me a little placer minin’.”
“Is your outfit in good shape? We don’t want to tie up with someone we’ve got to wait on.”
“Yes’m. I keep thin’s in top shape. I done me some wagoneerin’ and some blacksmithin’ in my day. I might even be a help to ya’ll, too.” His eyes wandered over the caravan and he shook his head in wonder. “That’s a might fine outfit ya’ll got. I don’t know as I ever seen finer.”
He looked toward Henry, then back to Vanessa. She could read his mind, as she had read the minds of a hundred other men who had looked at her cousin. Dummy, he was thinking. Two women and a dummy had no business on the trail.
“We’ve been doing all right,” she said sharply.
The man stood first on one foot and then the other. The girl’s words seemed to close the door on the subject of the two wagons traveling together. He twisted his hat around and around in his hands.
“Name’s Wisner, ma’am. John Wisner. Late of the Cimarron country down in Indian Territory.”
“I’m Vanessa Cavanaugh. This is my cousin, Henry Hill, and my aunt, Mrs. Hill.”
“Howdy.” The old man bobbed his head at the women and held out his hand to Henry. That gesture was what decided Vanessa to allow him to join them.
“Glad to make yore acquaintance, young fella.”
Henry stepped up and seized the man’s hand. He was like a friendly puppy, but he had learned to hang back until someone made a friendly overture.
“Howdy.” He grinned happily.
“We’ll be glad for your company, Mr. Wisner. We like to leave at first light, travel while it’s cool and stop for awhile in the middle of the day if we can find a cool place,” Vanessa said flatly, leaving no room for argument.
“That’ll suit us fine, ma’am. Do ya mind if’n I call the girl over? I don’t know if she’ll come, she’s mighty shy ’bout meetin’ folks.”
“Thunderation!” Ellie exclaimed. “There’s no call for her to be shy with us. We’re just plain folk.”
“Ma’am, she ain’t been with folks much.” The old man went a few paces back from the campsite and yelled, “Mary Ben! C’mon over here ’n meet these folks.” He waited a moment and called again. “Mary Ben!” There was no answer. “I guess she ain’t acomin’. I see you folks is fixin’ to eat. I’ll jist mosey on back and maybe after a while I can get ’er to come over.”
“Landsakes,” Ellie said after the man walked away. “Should we have asked them to supper?”
“Of course not. Just because we’ll travel together doesn’t mean we have to be social.” Vanessa took off her hat and tossed it up on the wagon seat. She put a dipper of water in the washpan, washed her hands and splashed some on her face. “We’ll water the stock out of the barrels tonight, Henry. Tomorrow night we’ll try to camp closer to the river.”
“How come the girl wouldn’t come over?” Henry asked when they sat down to eat.
“Her pa said she was shy. He said she’d not been around folk much.” Ellie shook her head sorrowfully. “Maybe she’s been living far out on the prairie someplace. Will you say grace tonight, Henry?”
Henry bowed his head. “Thank you, Lord, for helping us get through this day, and bless this food.”
“Pass the biscuits to Vanessa first, Henry,” Ellie chided gently when he helped himself first.
“Yes, ma’am. I forgot. I sure wish we could have found a dog back in Dodge.”
“We’ll get one the first chance we get,” Vanessa promised.
“We won’t get one now till we get to Colorado,” Henry said like a disappointed child. “Mr. Wisner has a dog.”
“Good. I hope it’s friendly. Well,” she said and smiled, “not too friendly. If it’s too friendly it won’t be worth a hoot as a watchdog.”
When Ellie cooked the evening meal she always cooked enough food for the noon meal the next day. After supper she packed the food in a basket and set it in the wagon. Vanessa helped clean up while Henry watered the stock. All three had their chores. It was a routine that worked well.
“Sometimes I wonder if we’ve done the right thing,” Ellie said when they had settled down beside the dying cookfire. “It’s so . . . big.” Her gesture took in their surroundings. “I had no right to bring you and Henry into this. Adam Hill could be dead. He didn’t answer my letters.”
“Oh, Aunt Ellie! Don’t look on the dark side. You know how mail is in this country.”
“I’m thinking there may be other kinfolk. My Henry said his brother was one of the most important men in the territory. He said he owned a big ranch and most of the town . . .” Ellie’s voice trailed off.
“Now stop worrying. We discussed it. Henry and I agreed it was the best thing to do. We were in a rut in Missouri. It’s been good for all of us, especially Henry. He’s learned a lot and so have I. We’ve seen a whole new way of life out here and we’ve enough money to get us a start. Finding that Henry has kinfolk will be an extra bonus, but we’ll certainly not depend on them for our living.”
“I know you wanted to come, but it’s one thing to sit in a comfortable house and talk about going we
st and something else when you are doing it.” She looked westward, toward the stretch of open plain. “I can’t help but wonder what’s waiting for us out there.”
“Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than Dodge. Don’t worry, Aunt Ellie, dear. We’ve managed just fine up to now.”
“Dodge was the jumping off place. From here on it’s a wild and lawless land.”
“‘The Lord takes care of those who take care of themselves,’” Vanessa quoted. “With that shotgun and rifle I plan to do just that.”
Henry had been listening quietly. He didn’t like the worried tone of his mother’s voice. His slow thinking mind tried to sort out what was bothering her. At first the trip was exciting; but now that the newness had worn off, there were times when he was bewildered and longed for the farm and the familiar everyday things; the cows, the sheep, the warm coziness of the barn, and old Shep. But Vanessa had said all that was behind them and they had to look ahead. She said they would have a new home in Colorado and that he was the man in the family and he would have to work hard just like he had in Missouri. He could do that. He could work hard, and he could take care of his mother and Vanessa.
Henry placed his hand on his mother’s shoulder and looked up at her. His face was that of a man, a handsome man. But his eyes were the wide, worried eyes of a child.
Dorothy Garlock - [Colorado Wind 03] Page 3
