The Reluctant Bridegroom

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Come along—any of you—and bring a cup or a glass.” He plucked a pick from a wagon and led the way to a spot close to a sandstone bank. The soil was soft, and he began to dig. The pick rang at once, and someone said, “Bedrock.”

  Sky cleaned the dirt away, raised the pick, and broke off a chunk of something and tossed it to Rita. “There’s your ice—a little dirty, but ice all the same.”

  “Why, it is ice!” she exclaimed.

  “Sure. This place is called Ice Slough. We’re up seven thousand feet, and there’s always ice about a foot deep, even in July.”

  The others fell to digging, and although the ice was liberally studded with gravel, they got enough chunks to take back and make drinks with.

  Sky saw Tom Lake standing beside the fire, and made his way over. “How’s it going, Tom? Ribs about well?”

  “Sure.” He turned his face toward Sky and touched his head. “Guess I’ll always have a few scars, but a man gets those, doesn’t he?” He dropped his hand and the corners of his mouth turned down with a worried expression. “Rebekah’s not well.”

  Sky glanced toward the wagon. “We’ll be through the South Pass in a couple of days. Then maybe we can make Fort Hall in a couple of weeks. Be an army doctor there, I think.”

  Tom shook his head. “Baby won’t be that long coming.”

  Lake was an educated man, but an animal doctor—even a good one like Tom—was no match for the real thing. Sky looked at him with puzzlement. “How’d you figure that, Tom?”

  Lake shrugged. “The women say so—and it’s pretty plain.” He shifted his feet and said nervously, “I wish she’d stayed in Laramie!”

  “Well, she wouldn’t—so we’ll just have to do the best we can.”

  “How’s the road after we get through the pass? Pretty rough?”

  “Like a washboard.” He glanced at Lake and added, “Not a road for a woman about to have a baby—but it’s the only road there is. Keep an eye on her, Tom. When the baby comes, we’ll pull up and wait until it’s safe to move on—even if it takes a week.”

  There was something in his voice that made Lake look at him more carefully. “What’s up, Sky?”

  Winslow said slowly, “Don’t say anything to the women, but we’ve got visitors, Tom.”

  Lake gave an involuntary look around, then asked, “Indians?”

  “Reckon so. Keep your gun handy, and if trouble comes, you look out for Rebekah.”

  Sky went around the train, giving a warning to the men, and Riker asked, “You think it’s that Sioux chief, Winslow?”

  “I’d guess it’s him, Al.”

  “None of us has seen a sign of an Indian.”

  “Nobody’s going to see a Sioux unless he wants to be seen.”

  “Where’s them tame Indians of yours?”

  “Creeping around—just like Spotted Elk and his braves. They’ll probably come in tonight or tomorrow. I want a heavy guard tonight. Half of us to watch while the other half sleeps.”

  “Me and my boys’ll stand a watch.”

  Every man on the train was on a hair-trigger alert, and the women found out soon enough. There was little sleep that night or the next, and by the third night they were almost at the neck of the South Pass, and vigilance had relaxed.

  Sky was standing beside Al Riker fifty yards out from where the wagons were circled. The big man was sleepy and yawned, “Whut time is it, Winslow?”

  “I guess about two.”

  Riker strained his eyes to see, then said disgustedly, “I reckon it’s a false alarm. Ain’t no Indians hereabouts.”

  “Yes, there is.”

  The voice seemed to be right at Riker’s feet, and a dark shape he had taken for a rock suddenly rose upright. Riker leaped backward, trying to get his gun in position.

  “Hold it, Riker!” Sky barked. “It’s White Hawk!”

  The Sioux came closer and the two men could hear the laughter in his tone as he spoke in his native language. “If I were Spotted Elk, I would have two fine scalps to hang on my lodgepole.”

  “That’s the truth,” Sky grinned, answering in Sioux. He slapped the Indian on the shoulder. “Guess I’m going deaf in my old age—but you always were a slippery one.” Then he asked, “I reckon you’ve got Spotted Elk located?”

  “Yes. He has followed you up the pass. Both Kieta and I thought he would attack, but he has gone on ahead.”

  “An ambush?”

  White Hawk’s teeth gleamed in the darkness. “He is a fox, Spotted Elk! You know a narrow place up there—outcropping on one side, sheer wall on the other?”

  “I know it.”

  “Spotted Elk’s braves are there, half on one side, half on the other.”

  “And when the wagons are in that place, all they’ll have to do is stand up and shoot us like fish in a barrel.”

  The Indian grunted. “Good trap, is it not?”

  Riker grew tired of being left out of the exchange. “Whut’s he sayin’, Winslow?”

  Sky explained the situation, and Riker swore. “Any way around that pass?”

  “No. We’ll have to go through.”

  “Sounds like suicide to me!”

  “That’s what Spotted Elk is counting on,” Sky said. “Let’s get the men up. I’ve got an idea.”

  “Better be good,” White Hawk responded as they went back. “He’s got about twenty braves—probably his best fighters.”

  In ten minutes every man on the train stood around the fire, while the women remained in the background, listening. “It’s really kind of simple,” Sky explained. “Elk is smart. He knows we can’t go back, and we can’t go around, and we can’t wait. He knows where we are, and if we don’t show up, he’ll get us here.” He studied the fire, the angular planes of his face deepened in the flickering light. Lifting his head, he said, “We’ve got one thing going for us.”

  “I don’t see what,” Dave muttered. “Looks like he’s got all the high cards.”

  “Thanks to White Hawk and Kieta, Spotted Elk doesn’t know we’re on to him. We’ll have to make that our play.”

  “What’re you thinkin’, Winslow?” Al Riker asked.

  “If we can knock Spotted Elk out, the rest will run. They believe in their medicine, Al, and when a leader goes down, they’re pretty sure to turn tail. But it’ll be hard to get at him. We’ll have to send two scouting parties ahead and get in place behind them. Then when the train comes through in the morning, we’ll pot the Sioux when they start the attack.”

  “Sounds like you’re using us for bait, Winslow,” Jack Stedman whined loudly.

  “You rather go find Spotted Elk in the dark, Stedman?” Dave snapped angrily. “Keep your mouth shut and let the man talk!”

  “Well, Stedman is half right. Those of you in the wagons will be sitting ducks if we don’t get in place,” Sky said.

  “Who’s going to go with you?” Lake asked.

  “Just White Hawk and Kieta. I reckon only a Sioux would have a chance on sneaking up on another Sioux in the dark.”

  “Wouldn’t care for the job myself,” Riker commented. “When do we try this plan of yours, Winslow?”

  “It’ll have to be now, Al. I want some extra rifles, all primed and loaded and wrapped in blankets. And six pistols with full loads.”

  The extra arms were quickly assembled. “Get every rifle loaded and ready to fire,” Sky continued. “I want one woman on each seat with the driver. When you hear a shot, you women grab the lines and drive the animals as fast as they’ll go. You men start shootin’ up at the rim of the canyon. You won’t see much, but it’ll be a little pressure on the Sioux.” He looked around the circle and focused on Lot Penny. “Brother Penny, you might say a prayer for the train.”

  Penny took off his hat, and the others followed suit. “Lord, we are in a hard place. Those who lie in wait ahead of us are your creatures—but they stand between us and life. I don’t know how to pray, for you love the Sioux just as you love all men. I ask you to favor
us, and let there be little loss of life. And I ask this in the name of Jesus.”

  “Pretty good prayer,” Dave murmured to Karen as Sky and White Hawk were swallowed up by the darkness. He looked down at her and asked, “You afraid?”

  “Yes.”

  “Me, too. Guess everyone is—except Sky and them Indians. They take to this sort of thing natural, I reckon. Hope I don’t show yellow.”

  “You won’t.” Karen’s voice was sure, and she touched his arm lightly. “You’ll be in the first wagon, Dave. Be careful.” She hesitated, then whispered, “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  Dave Lloyd was thinking about Karen the next morning as he sat in the wagon with May Stockton beside him. He glanced down at the three rifles at his feet and said, “That’s it up ahead, May. Be ready to take these lines.”

  “I’m ready, Dave.”

  The silence seemed oppressive as they approached the high-walled pass, and every eye was searching the rim for the enemy. The only sound was the creaking of the wagon wheels and the voices of the drivers as they urged the animals up the slope. “Looks like the mouth of the canyon,” Dave said quietly. “Reckon they’ll let us get halfway in, then open up.”

  He was right, for when the last wagon rolled into the gap, a rifle shot broke the stillness, and a scream of pain rose up from one of the drivers.

  “Haw up!” Dave screamed. Throwing the lines to May, he snatched one of the rifles from the floor and leaned forward, taking aim. The wagon careened from side to side, but he caught a glimpse of a red body on the rim to his left and took a quick shot. It missed, but the Indian dodged back as the slug hit the rock at his feet.

  Rifle fire rattled from the rim. Glancing back, Dave saw Charlie Gladden drop his rifle and fall backward, his chest bloody from a bullet. Then Dave grabbed another rifle and tried to get off a shot, but the wagon was pitching so wildly that it was all he could do to keep from being thrown out. The other drivers were throwing fire up to the rim, and up ahead Dave saw the canyon widen. “If we can get there,” he screamed to May, “we’ll be all right!”

  But the fire from the canyon rim was raking the train steadily, and he knew that they had taken losses. He fired the third rifle, then snatched a revolver from his belt, and while holding on to the canopy rim with one hand, he emptied the gun. One Indian grabbed his stomach and slid down the bluff, his body limp and bumping wildly as it hit the trail below.

  Dave grabbed the other revolver and called out, “Keep going, May!” as he leaped to the ground. He stumbled and rolled to the dust, but was up in an instant. From the ground he could see the Sioux plainly, and he took a steady aim, zeroing in on one of them. On his fourth shot, the Indian’s head flew back and he disappeared in the rocks.

  As he fired the last load, a wild cry went up from the rim, and he glanced up to see an Indian cartwheeling down the slope, stopping abruptly as the body was almost impaled on a sharp outcropping of stone. At once the firing from the rim grew spasmodic, and Dave said to himself, “Spotted Elk, I’ll bet!”

  The rest of the train came through as the firing from the rim faded out and then ceased. Dave dropped his gun and ran to Lake. “You all right, Tom?”

  “Yes—but we have some men hit.”

  Dave ran down the line checking the wounded as the wagons pulled to a halt. When he saw Karen step out of a wagon and fall to the ground, he yelled, “Karen!” and ran to her. “Are you hit?”

  He pulled her up; she lifted her head, shaken but unhurt, and smiled tremulously at him. “Dave! I was so afraid for you!”

  He knelt beside her, and impulsively kissed her. She put her arms around his neck. “We’d better see about the wounded, Dave.”

  He shook his head. “If something had happened to you . . . !” He didn’t finish, but pulled her to her feet, and they moved to the next wagon where Charlie Gladden was being lifted out by Stedman and Penny.

  “Took a slug in the chest,” Stedman said. “Alive, but bad shot.”

  “Look—there’s Winslow!” Penny had looked up to see Sky and the two Indians sliding down the slope.

  Sky came running up, a gash on his forehead and blood running down his cheek. “How bad did they get us, Dave?”

  “Don’t know yet. Gladden is hurt bad, though.”

  They were soon relieved to discover that no one had been killed. Gladden was the most serious casualty, but Pete Riker, Al’s youngest son, had a wrist shattered by a heavy rifle slug; and one of the women, Ada Cantrell, had a flesh wound in the calf of her leg.

  “Could have been a heap worse,” Dave said grimly to Sky. He started to say something else when he heard the sound of someone running along the trail. Both of them turned just as Karen, her hair disheveled, face pale, reached them.

  “Sky! It’s Rebekah! I—I think it’s her time!”

  Sky’s lips pressed together grimly, and he voiced the sentiment that they all were thinking: “Two men hurt bad—and a woman about to have a baby. If either of you knows how to pray, this would be a good time to start!”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “YOU WERE BORN FOR IT!”

  Kieta appeared in the camp at dusk, like a ghost out of the shadows, his eyes obsidian. “No more Sioux,” he told Sky. “All gone back to their camp.”

  Sky nodded. “Good work, Kieta. Better get some of that meat.” As the Indian moved to pull a strip of roast ox off the fire, Sky said, “If it weren’t for those two, we’d be dead by now.”

  “I believe it, Sky.” Dave looked at the Apache by the fire for a long moment. “We’re in a bad way, though. Gladden’s not going to make it with that bullet in him—and Pete’s arm is shot all to pieces.”

  Sky nodded and then groaned. “I’ve patched up a few bullet holes, Dave, but nothing like this!”

  “Could one of us ride on to Fort Bridger, Sky—or maybe Fort Hall?”

  “Thought about that—but it’s no good. Wouldn’t be a doctor at Bridger’s place; it’s just a trading camp—and not much of one at that. And Hall is at least two weeks away.”

  Winslow was well aware of the gravity of the situation, even more than Lloyd, for he had seen many deaths like this. He shook his head. “On the trail, a bad injury is just about as fatal as a bullet through the brain. Must be thousands of graves on the Oregon trail—and most of the folks in them would have made it if they’d had a doctor.”

  “I wish the women’d come and tell us something about Rebekah,” Dave said nervously, turning to peer at the wagon that was pulled fifty yards away from the rest. “I heard her cryin’ out a few minutes ago—and Rebekah’s not a screamer.”

  “Guess we can go see.”

  They crossed the open space and found Karen and Edith standing beside a small fire. The men knew they didn’t need to ask how Rebekah was; they could see from the lines of strain on both the women’s faces.

  “It’s real bad,” Edith said quietly. “Something’s wrong with the way the baby’s placed.”

  “It is hard.” Karen wiped her brow, and her hand trembled. “It was not like this with my babies. They came easy—but she is in terrible pain.”

  “Can’t you give her some laudanum?” Sky asked.

  “I did—a little bit,” Edith replied. “But that’s no answer. She’s got to deliver that child—or she’ll die.”

  They all looked at Sky expectantly, and he felt the pressure. “Well, don’t look at me!” he said angrily. “I don’t know anything about babies!”

  “We know that, Sky,” Edith responded. “I guess we’ve looked to you for so long, it just comes naturally. But no one is blaming you—this isn’t your fault.”

  “Sure it is. I let her come—I didn’t make her stay in Laramie like I should have. It was my responsibility.” His face was tight, and they all saw that he was controlling his voice only by a powerful exercise of his will. He looked around. “Where’s Tom?”

  “Why, I guess he went to get something to eat,” Karen said. “He’s been here almost all aftern
oon.”

  Sky felt the mounting pressure, set his teeth, forced himself to say quietly, “I’ll ask Brother Penny to come over and say a prayer.”

  He left the three of them and went back to the train. Penny was with Pete Riker and his father, and the boy looked up anxiously as Sky came to stand beside him.

  “How’s it going, Pete?” Sky asked.

  “Hurts like everythin’!” young Riker gasped. He clamped his lips together and closed his eyes, but his limbs were trembling with the pain.

  Sky knelt beside him, and put his hand on the boy’s head sympathetically. “I know, Son. We’ll see what we can do.” Then he looked up at Penny and said, “Lot, I wish you’d go over and pray with Rebekah.”

  “I’ll do that.” Lot got up and touched the hurt boy’s shoulder. “I’m believing God for you, Pete. Don’t give up on God.” He waited for a response, but the boy didn’t seem to have heard.

  Al gestured to Sky, who followed him out of Pete’s hearing. Riker’s square face was stern, but his eyes were fearful. “Winslow, Pete’s going to lose that hand.”

  “You sure, Al?”

  “Yes. It’s got to come off—and quick.” He peered at Sky’s face closely, then asked, “Think you could do it?”

  “Me!” Sky felt a wave of anger at the thought, but it quickly left as he saw the anxiety in the old man’s face. What if it were Joe? he asked himself. I’d be begging everybody I saw for help! And so, with many misgivings, he said, “If it has to be done, Al, I’ll take a try—but I’ve never done anything like that.”

  “None of us have.” Riker bit his lip. “It’s too dark now—but come morning, it’ll have to be done.”

  “All right, Al.”

  Sky left the wagon with a sinking sensation in his middle. The thought of cutting into living flesh sickened him. Fear embedded itself in his gut, and sweat beaded his forehead despite the cold breeze that was whipping the canvas of the wagons. He wished fervently he’d never left Oregon.

  Charlie Gladden was worse, which was what he’d expected. Rita was standing to one side, and she waited quietly while he listened to the report. “His breathin’ is real shallow, Mr. Winslow—and the bleedin’ won’t stop. Just keeps seeping out,” said Mack Malone. Malone was one of the drivers; now his eyes looked very large by the light of the fire as he wrang his hands and added, “He’s going to die if that bleedin’ keeps on.”