by J. A. Crook
***
Good sleep was a hard thing to come by on the frontier. After the recent raid, Harriet’s heart almost stopped the second she heard the harsh rap on the cabin door before Jasper burst inside.
“We need your guns.” Jasper said firmly, his eyes wide and intense, the whites of them clear with the full moon outside the door.
“Our guns? What do you mean? Are we being attacked?” Floyd asked, roused suddenly himself. He instinctively took his wife’s hand in the bed beside him.
“Not yet. But your Indian guide—he’s fled the Fort and we believe he might have taken something with him.” Jasper motioned for Floyd to get up. A shadow crossed the door, barring the moonlight from crossing the threshold into the cabin, and it became apparent that it was cast by Chance, who was walking in a pace outside of the door, much calmer than Jasper seemed.
“What do you plan to do? And what did he take that was worth anything? We don’t have food or medical supplies.” Floyd said, trying to shake what was promising to be a hard sleep.
Grant Vickers stirred, too, though it took a bit to rouse him even with the intensity of the developing situation. “Apenimon took something and fled? That’s impossible...” He said in disbelief.
“Out West, Mister, there ain’t many things that are impossible, and what he took was the body of your friend you buried out there. Ain’t nothin’ but a hole in the ground now. We gettin’ those guns?” Jasper asked once after sharing the horrifying bit of news.
Harriet covered her mouth in complete shock after hearing that Apenimon allegedly stole Hank’s body from the ground. Her imagination began to conjure up terrible images of what Apenimon might do, or where he might have been taking the body, which she would have suspected was to the Shoshoni.
Floyd shook his head in disgust. “This is unbelievable!” He looked over to Grant, who still didn’t seem to believe that accusation.
Grant Vickers rose. “If you’re going after Apenimon, I’m going with you and bringing my own gun. If it needs to be fired, I’d like to be the one that decides to fire it. Otherwise, maybe this is some sort of mistake.” Grant said, trying to maintain faith in his native companion.
Jasper watched Grant quietly for some time, as did Chance, who stopped in the doorway, darkening the room within. After a long breath, Jasper nodded. “Alright, if you’re coming, then let’s get going. You got your horse and we got ours.”
Harriet called out to Grant, who was already preparing himself to leave. “Mr. Vickers, you’re in no condition to be travelling about out there, as dangerous as it is! Shouldn’t you just let these men take care of this problem?”
Grant looked back to Harriet while strapping on his gun belt. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Miss. Hank’s my friend, you here? And so is Apenimon. This situation is unusual and I’ve come to find out that when situations are unusual, there’s probably a logical circumstance to how they got that way.” And when his belt was fastened and he moved to the door after Jasper, he finished with, “I think I’m going to figure out what’s going on here.”
It was the look in Grant’s eyes, that same look at Apenimon gave to Jasper and Chance when Apenimon questioned why the gunman were so far from the Fort when they saved the Greyson party: it was a look of distrust for the Fort’s hosts.
Even in the darkness, Harriet and Floyd were able to discern what was being communicated. It was somewhere between suspicion and fear, a wordless message that told the Greyson’s that if he didn’t return, that suspicion should be heightened. If he did, with the truth, such thoughts could have been laid to rest. The only way to answer the question was by committing to this act of bravery. In noticing and understanding the circumstance more clearly after that single look, Harriet merely nodded, knowing what needed to be done.
Jasper, Chance and Grant were off in no time, leaving Floyd and Harriet in the cabin, alone. They looked between each other and moved into a loving embrace, considering the possibility now that they would be alone for a long time. If things were truly as dangerous as they were told they were beyond the Fort’s gates, then there was a great possibility that none of the men set out after Apenimon would return. It was a quiet evening then and a sleepless one for the rest of the night.
When the sun was threatening to rise over the horizon, both Harriet and Floyd stood outside of the cabin door, waiting for anything. The silence reminded them both of how hungry they were. The post was fortunate enough to have a decent water supply, but it seemed devoid of foodstuffs entirely. It was then, somewhere between contemplating the physical need for food and the mental hope for the safety of others that Jasper returned, alone.
Harriet covered her mouth in shock as she saw the lone man trotting into the gate. It was obvious that there was blood on his leather clothing, but it was hard to discern whether or not it was his own. Harriet rushed forth from her place her husband and cried out, “Where are the others? Is everything alright? What happened? Where is Mr. Vickers?” The questions came in rapid succession.
Floyd carefully marched to stand beside his wife as he waited for the answers himself. He worried the worst, but thought first of the considerations of treachery that seemed to be apparent in Grant’s eyes when he left with the two men. Now, there was only one, and if treachery were involved, it got the best of both of them, which would be unlikely if Jasper and Chance were truly dangerous men, against one. Still, it was Grant that had the gun—or the only one that the Greyson’s knew anything about.
“We found your Indian friend. He shot at us a couple of times and I’m afraid he killed your friend, Mr. Vickers.” Jasper said, solemnly, with an apologetic look about his face.
Harriet stepped back slowly. Things were moving from terrible to worse. She considered in that moment the statement her husband made about Hank not being protected by God and she was starting to wonder if they were all forsaken. She couldn’t imagine what they had done to warrant such a wrath, or if this was all just the work of Satan himself. Floyd cut off her thoughts with the most relevant question.
“And Chance?” He asked.
“Chance is alive. He’s a little behind me. Seems your Indian friend had caught himself an animal, so I suggested Chance bring it back. He couldn’t ride as quickly as I could.” Jasper gave a light tug on the horse’s reins and began to move forward, around the fear-frozen Harriet Greyson, who could only watch as the man passed her. Without looking their way, he said, “At least we’ll have something to eat tonight. And if this situation has changed your mind about leaving, without a guide, you can stay for it and for as long as it lasts. It’s a good-sized animal.” And he continued, though his voice became more distant as he moved further away. “It’s too bad, too. Would have been nice to have someone like that Indian fella around with those sorts of huntin’ talents.”
Floyd became suspicious himself, then. Another decision had to be made: whether to stay or go, now that they didn’t have a guide, as Jasper pointed out. They were both also terribly hungry. Harriet came behind Floyd then and placed a hand to his shoulder.
“Floyd, my love.” Her voice was tattered as she began to sob. “I don’t know what we can do now. We’re as good as dead if we leave the post, you know that. If we stay and try to get ourselves together, maybe we can pull through. Let things settle down for a while. There’s been so much loss. We can’t keep pushing on like this. I can’t handle this kind of tragedy, and I can’t think of you...” She stopped and moved before Floyd, cupping his unshaven face in her hands as tears continued to well in her eyes. “...I need you here with me.” She finished.
Floyd’s own eyes began to tear as he listened to the desperate words of the one he loved the most. He felt like an immense failure. The responsibility of the trip out West and the burden associated with it was now heavier than it had ever been and below the burden, Floyd felt crushed.
“We’ll stay. We’ll stay for now. I’ll look over anything that Grant has left. His maps, his notes, anything, so that we can try t
o find our way out of this situation and be safe again. We need to be careful, Hattie. We need to keep our eyes open. Something’s not right about this place and it seems Grant and the guide both knew it. Now they’re both dead. I want you to stay with me, you hear? We still have that gun, don’t we?” Floyd asked, all the while whispering to his wife his commands.
Harriet nodded slowly, advising him that they did still have a single weapon.
“Alright then. I want you to hold onto it, you hear? Keep it close. Hide it. Don’t let them know where it is. We’re going to go back to the cabin and get some work done. We’re going to be alright.” Floyd said, only this time he couldn’t even manage the facade of certainty, especially while fighting back tears for those that were lost.
They did just that. They returned to the cabin and Floyd began combing through the many maps Grant had left behind. Floyd worked diligently to decipher the chicken-scratch handwriting of Grant’s notes, looking for any sort of clue he could manage. The practice went on for much of the day, until the distinct sound of a triangle being hammered at could be heard, likely signifying that dinner was ready. Immediately, Harriet’s mouth began to water and her stomach grumbled rebelliously, as it, too, was reminded that food was in order.
Floyd took a deep breath and whispered to his wife, though he was certain no one was around. “You have the gun?”
Harriet nodded, pulling up the ends of her dress to show it was stuffed safely into a tight garter she kept around her thigh. Floyd smiled and took his wife’s hand before heading over to the main cabin in the Fort.
