Yester's Ride

by C. K. Crigger

  Was Kuo looking for signs of someone coming after them? Her heart took a little leap. Maybe someone looking for her? But who would that be? Not Big Joe, for sure. Maybe the sheriff? Or maybe Yester?

  But no. Yester, her brother, undeniably tall and handsome and strong, was only sixteen. Big Joe would stop him if he tried. Anyway, she didn’t want him harmed. The black man and Kuo, they were bad men. Scar and Snaggletooth were even worse. She had no doubt that if they got the chance, any one of them would hurt Yester and take pleasure in the doing.

  She forced away a sudden vision of Mama, fighting and screaming. Until she stopped.

  “See anything?” Tug asked as he and Kuo met up after each taking a half circle around the knoll.

  “No. You?”

  “Nah. From what I hear, Noonan ain’t going to waste time looking for the girl.”

  “No,” Kuo agreed. “But Patton is a different story. It’s best not to forget these are his horses we’re riding now.”

  Tug patted the pistol dragging at a worn old holster riding his hip. “I ain’t forgot.”

  “He will come for the horses,” Kuo said.

  The black man shrugged and grinned over at the Percheron. “Well, he ain’t found them yet. Turn ’em loose when we reach the river. We can find more. Or,” and here he took to an argument he’d been making off and on during the day, “we can take the riverboat up to Portland. Ain’t anybody gonna chase us there.” He gestured at Ketta. “Not on her account.”

  Ketta’s head, like an overly heavy flower on a stem, sagged low. He was right.

  Kuo deemed it too dangerous to take the steep, winding trail down to the river in the dark. They’d make camp where they were, he declared, after a short argument with Tug. And so, under his direction, once again Ketta found herself in the servant’s position, gathering bits and branches of dry, woody sage for a small fire.

  “Better warn her about the rattlesnakes,” Tug said, laughing as she jumped back from a crooked stick that seemed to her to wriggle and twist.

  “Keep your eyes open,” Kuo said, so she knew, or guessed, anyway, that Tug’s warning wasn’t all a tactic simply meant to frighten her.

  Presently, after gathering enough sticks, she sat in the sand by the fire watching some potatoes burn in a skillet. Scorched or not, Ketta still managed to eat a share of the spuds, and a rasher of thick, meaty bacon, too. Then, though far now from home—too far for a girl to walk—Kuo poured the remains of their coffee on the fire and once again tethered her wrist to his.

  After a while, as she lay with her eyes wide, staring up at the starry sky, his voice came to her. Soft, perhaps so Tug wouldn’t hear.

  “Have you been to school?” he asked, a question that surprised her.

  “No. But I’ve been schooled. Mama taught me. She was a schoolteacher, before she got married and had Yester.” Ketta lifted her head proudly. “She says I’m an excellent pupil. Better than Yester.”

  “Yester is your brother? The young one I saw with Noonan?”

  “Yes.”

  “He treats you good? Or bad?”

  Ketta smiled. “Good.”

  He went silent, then said, “Go to sleep” and rolled over.

  The rope tether burned her wrist, but, at last, coyotes yodeling eerie cries from their rocky dens in the boulder-strewn hills, sang her to sleep. A few hours later she awakened to silence. Chilled through and through, goose bumps puckered her skin.

  Ketta sat up, ceasing all movement at the first tug on the rope tying her to Kuo. He didn’t stir, and she took the opportunity to study his face, lit by a full, silver moon. His eyes didn’t look so different from anyone else’s when they were closed. Now she had a chance to think on it, she didn’t really look much like him. Her eyes were more brown than black and not as slanted. Her skin was not as dark or as yellow. Pinker. Her skin was pinker. Actually, she looked a lot like her brother. Her heart swelled with relief. She didn’t want to be a Chink.

  Across from them, Tug snored with a racket fit to frighten the coyotes. Perhaps, she thought, that was why they’d ceased their yipping a while ago. Unless they were creeping up on the camp and making ready to carry her off.

  Coyotes don’t do that. Do they? It’s wolves people have to look out for.

  On the off chance, she moved a little closer to Kuo and lay down again. Immediately, cold crept through the dirt, permeating her thin dress and chilling her to the bone. She shivered. Get up, she told herself. Run. Now. Before he carries you away on a riverboat and sells you to . . . somebody. Some awful somebody.

  Ketta believed Kuo when he said he was her father. Though slight, their resemblance to one another proved that. It was enough, especially when put together with the things she’d heard Big Joe—and others—say. But Kuo wasn’t family. He’d never be family. She didn’t doubt he’d be glad to sell her to the highest bidder. But then, so would Big Joe if he got the chance where people wouldn’t talk.

  Very carefully, she sat up again, a plan of sorts taking hold. Pieces of shale peppered the ground all around and were sharp. Really sharp. Ketta sucked on a finger bleeding from a cut acquired when she’d picked up sticks.

  She could cut through the rope with a shard. She was sure of it. And if she stored a couple pieces in her pocket, if she didn’t manage tonight, she could try again tomorrow or the next day, or every day until she won her freedom.

  Sitting cross-legged in the dirt, she started sawing.

  CHAPTER SEVEN: YESTER

  Yester and Nat, taking care for their weary horses, hadn’t gotten far when riders thundered up behind them. Patton rode in the lead, followed by four of his hands. All five wore grim expressions and packed pistols on their hips. Saddle guns were stowed in scabbards.

  “Seen where two horses headed out trailing them outlaws,” Patton said, taking off his hat and wiping his forehead on his shirtsleeve. “Knew it for you two young fellers.”

  “We won’t get in your way, Mr. Patton,” Yester said, hoping the rancher didn’t plan on putting the kibbosh on his plan. Trying, anyway. He didn’t figure he was beholden to the man, even if they were on his property. For now. He glanced at Nat. “Me and Nat Fontaine, we’re just going after my sister. I don’t care,” he added, his head tilting proudly, “if she does have some foreign blood.”

  Nat, backing him up, nodded.

  “Well, son, you go right ahead, and more power to you.”

  To Yester’s surprise, Patton sounded approving.

  “I figure since we’re all riding in the same direction for now, we might as well join forces.” The rancher scanned their gear, which consisted of a thin bedroll behind each cantle, a canteen apiece, and Yester’s old rifle. “Looks like you’re a bit short on vittles. My missus packed up some trail supplies for me and the boys in case we’re out overnight. Reckon she’s made enough to share a morsel with you two. I don’t reckon you’ll want to turn it down.”

  Yester, who’d been a little worried about going hungry, smiled. “No, sir. I don’t expect we will.”

  Of one accord, they urged their horses on. The trail here was easy enough to follow, although Nat and one of the Patton crew each took a side looking for any tracks separating from the main band.

  Patton’s runaway horses soon started showing up, heads down grazing bunch grass turned brown under the hot sun. Much as they’d done at the Noonan ranch, the outlaws had run off the horses to wander and confuse the trail for whomever was tracking them.

  A futile ploy, and not particularly effective in either case. Yester, for one, thanked them for that. After an hour or so, Patton had a couple of his riders herd the recovered remuda mounts back to the ranch. Not him, though. He stayed on the trail.

  “They still got four of my best,” he growled. “And they’ve got my Percheron.” He kept going with his other two hands closing up ranks behind him.

  Yester, watching the rancher’s set face, figured blood and the shedding of it was on his mind.

  They camped together
that night. Patton posted guards to stand two-hour intervals, leaving the boys out of his schedule. Yester made a token protest, although he was so tired his eyelids closed once or twice of their own accord before he was done eating.

  Even then, he forced himself to his feet and went around gathering tin plates and frying pans from everyone and cleaning them in a nearby creek. It wasn’t much of a creek. One dried over the summer to a thin trickle.

  Patton tossed the dregs from his coffee cup over his shoulder into a clump of the bunch grass and handed the empty cup to Yester.

  “You’re a tough kid,” he said. “Both of you are.” Smiling faintly, he pointed his chin toward Nat, still upright but nodding with his head hanging. “He’s a fine tracker.”

  Yester smiled. “I know.”

  “You’ve got a good friend in him.”

  “Yes, sir, I do,” Yester said.

  “You know what that means, don’t you?” Patton stared into the fire.

  Confused, Yester shook his head.

  Patton nodded. “Means you must be a good friend to him, too, or he wouldn’t be with you now. You ain’t paying him, are you?”

  Yester shook his head again.

  “Didn’t figure so. I wager Noonan keeps money out of your hands, having need of it himself.”

  At first Yester didn’t catch on to what the old man implied, then he did and felt his face heating up. Nat’d told him he looked plumb devilish when that happened, so he was glad the darkness hid his features. Seemed everyone in the country knew about Big Joe Noonan. And none of it was good.

  “I got some money,” Yester said through gritted teeth.

  “Yeah? How much?”

  He took in a couple breaths through his nose, then said, “I reckon that’s my business.”

  To his surprise, Patton laughed. “I reckon it is. I’m glad to see you ain’t one of those young fellers who talk real loud but roll over at the first challenge.”

  Yester glared at the old man across the fire, wondering if the question had been a test.

  It was Nat who took it on himself to answer. “Yester don’t talk much at all, mister. He just does what he sees needs done.”

  Patton shifted his attention to Nat. “And you help him.”

  Nat ducked his head. “Sometimes. This time.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he needs my help. Because he is my friend. Because Ketta is my friend and needs help from us both.”

  Patton sat back and poked a half-burned stick into the fire. “You remind me of your father, youngster. Loyal. Honest.” He nodded. “That’s a compliment.”

  “Yes,” Nat said. “I know it is. I wish to be like my father.”

  If Yester had a wish, it would be that he could say the same.

  Nat’s brow furrowed. “How do you know my father?”

  “He worked for me a few years. Saved up his money ’til he figured he had enough and then quit.” The rancher chewed on a twig, rubbing it over his teeth. “We didn’t always see eye to eye, but I was sorry to see him go.”

  He didn’t say what it was they didn’t see eye to eye about.

  In the morning, Patton had them all up before dawn. They saddled their mounts and started out as soon as they could follow the outlaw’s tracks. Tracks growing fainter by the hour as a stiff breeze blew dust over the imprints, changing the few that remained into indistinct and confusing blurs, and obliterating many entirely.

  Within half a mile, the trail divided into two.

  Patton sat with his arms crossed over the saddle horn, eyes on the ground pondering the scant evidence. After a moment, he looked up and gazed into the distance.

  “Well, young feller,” he said to Yester after a bit, “looks like they got smart and split up. I believe that’s what we ought to do, too. Thing is, which of these has your sister?”

  Nat answered before Yester got his mouth open. “This one, I think.” He pointed at the set of tracks veering off in the general direction of Lewiston. “This is the same horse and rider that picked Ketta up at your pen when they stole the horses.”

  “Sure about that?”

  “Yes, sir. There is a mark in the shoe, and I found one clear print. As far as I can tell, three riders went that way,” Nat pointed, “and the one with Ketta went this way.”

  “That’s how I had it pegged, too, son.”

  “So we must follow the trail of one horse,” Nat added.

  Patton sat a moment, then appeared to come to a decision.

  “One of these fellers has my Percheron,” he said, indicating the group of three. “He’s a black gelding, and his name is Dusty. I want him back. I’m posting a reward for whoever returns him or any of the others.” Patton, smiling a little, reached behind him and untied a gunny sack. He handed it to Yester. “Supplies for the trail. You boys take care. Watch out if you catch up with any of these fellers. If you run on to my horse before I do and can recover him without getting shot, bring him home, and you’ll earn the reward. But your first job is to fetch your sister and get all of you back safe.”

  He turned his horse and gestured to his men. “Let’s go.” But he had a couple last words for Yester and Nat. “Good luck.”

  Yester nodded, then said, “You, too.”

  The boys waited until the dust from Patton and his men’s horses settled to earth before following their chosen trail.

  Yester grinned. “A reward, Nat. Hope we’re the ones who finds Patton’s horse. If he doesn’t, I mean. That Percheron critter has feet about the size of my ma’s supper plates. Happens those outlaws get back together, he should be easy to track.”

  “Yes. Even you can track that one, if we find his trail again. I wonder what sort of man would ride a Percheron,” Nat mused as they struck out.

  Yester was afraid he knew. A large man had to ride a large horse. Just as he’d noticed the Chinese man in town the other day, he’d noticed the man with black skin. The two had been together then, just as they were now.

  KETTA

  Ketta blinked sleepy eyes open. Kuo—her father—yanked her close with the rope binding her to him. He slid the point of his knife under the loop around her wrist and sliced it through with a simple flip.

  “Rise and shine,” he said, tossing the rope remnants into the dirt. “Get ready to go. We’re moving out.”

  The message repeated for Tug, only Kuo wasn’t as gentle with him. He booted the black man in the ribs with the toe of his boot. “Wake up.”

  Tug winced and raised onto an elbow, rubbing his ribs. He scowled at Kuo. “What’s the rush? It ain’t even daylight yet.”

  Ketta said a little prayer of thankfulness for the lack of light as she kicked dirt over the length of rope, hiding it from view. Weariness had demanded she give up after an hour or so trying to cut it during the night. The spot where she’d hacked at the strands had weakened but refused to break, the rock shards proving useless after all. It’d been for nothing. Too late now, to escape. Hadn’t Tug said they’d reach Lewiston today?

  But there was tonight, she reminded herself. She’d try to make her getaway then. Somehow.

  “I’ll tell you the rush,” Kuo said. “I saw the light of a campfire last night, over there on that ridge.” He pointed back the way they’d come. “I figure the rancher is coming after his horses. Loose ones ought to slow him down some, but if he’s like you described him, he’ll want a piece of us, too.”

  Tug tossed his blanket aside and rose to his feet. “Could just be some hands watching livestock,” he said on a hopeful note.

  “Yes, and maybe it isn’t. Saddle up.”

  Tug did as Kuo told him, lifting the saddle onto the tall, broad back of the Percheron and grunting with the effort.

  Their provisions, scant in the first place, had run out. Not only was she cold in the dawn hour, but Ketta’s stomach squeaked a protest as once again Kuo hoisted her onto the horse. This time she rode behind him, where the saddle skirt pinched her thighs with every stride the horse took.
r />   “I’m hungry,” she whispered, mostly to herself, misery making her brave.

  “So’m I,” he murmured. “It ain’t far to town. Maybe we’ll eat there, in a restaurant. If you’re a good girl. If you ain’t, I’ll leave you tied up with the horses.”

  A restaurant? Ketta’s breath caught. Imagine that! She’d never, in all her twelve years, been to town, let alone to a restaurant. Yester had told her about eating there, when he accompanied Big Joe. He’d also said Ma—and Ketta, too—were better cooks.

  Tug, whose ears must be as long as a mule’s since he always managed to hear what Kuo was saying, like it or not, had an opinion. “Best leave her tied up with the horses, anyway, boss. It’s dangerous to show her off around town. She’s a pretty little thing, and people might notice. Can always bring’er back a biscuit.”

  Kuo touched the pistol at his side. “Let them notice. She is my daughter.”

  “Yeah, well, she’s that woman’s, too, and word’s apt to have got out by now. Hell, they got telephones most everywhere nowadays. Seen the poles, ain’t you?”

  Ketta saw a small smile touch Kuo’s thin lips. “I saw them.”

  They rode a few strides more.

  “Remember, I did nothing to the woman,” Kuo said at last. “You did, and Milt and Frank did. My daughter knows.” He twisted in the saddle to look down on her. “You know, yes?”

  His eyes, narrowed to slits, were so deep a brown it seemed he had no pupils. Like a demon Nat had told her about once, when he and Yester were teasing and trying to scare her with tales of ghosts and evil spirits. Nat hadn’t really frightened her, although she’d cried out in an effort to reward him, but Kuo did.

  Her own eyes, tilted at the corners, widened. All thought of a restaurant meal faded.

  “You know, yes?” he said again.

  What else could she do? She nodded, head almost too heavy for her neck. Her mind seethed, though. This time, she was thinking. You didn’t hurt her this time. But now she knew the circumstances that caused her to be born and Big Joe to hate her. Maybe she couldn’t even blame him.