“Why … why … she was only a child,” Jenny stammered.
The boy looked puzzled. “She’d had her bleeding time.”
Jenny felt the heat that flooded her face.
“Without chastity,” he explained, “she could never be first wife, only second or third wife.”
“Will her father send her back?”
“He angry. Havelshell’s woman angry.”
“I invited her to come to school. Will she come?”
“No. Her father send her north to her mother’s people.”
“Will another girl go to work at the store?”
“No Shoshoni girl … now.”
“The spy is not here. Come to the house for dinner.” Jenny smiled fondly at the boy.
“No.” He answered quickly. “My manners not good. It long since I sat at my father’s table. Girl-Who-Squawk sure to notice.”
“Cassandra would never mention your lack of table manners!”
“She would.” He folded his arms over his chest. He had never looked so … Indian as he did now.
“When I’m preparing you for college, I will also teach you how to present yourself in public. It would be a pity for you to have the finest education and fear dining in a restaurant because of your table manners.”
“Later I will come to your table,” he said, as if it were his last word on the subject.
Chapter Sixteen
After Armstrong and his men left, Colleen and Ike had spent the rest of the morning scrubbing and delousing the bunkhouse. Ike had not said flatly that he would stay on and work at Stoney Creek, but allowed that if he did drop by now and then, he wouldn’t mind having a decent place to stay. They had set up the bed from the Murphy wagon, a washstand and several chairs. Colleen seemed to be perfectly willing to use the furnishings from their burned-out cabin.
From the doorway of the bunkhouse, Jenny could view Stoney Creek homestead. A year’s growth of grass and brush had been cleared from around the house. The afternoon sun shone on the clean windows. The woodpile was beginning to take on some semblance of order. The pole corral had been strengthened, and a new bucket hung by the well.
Most important to Jenny, little Beatrice romped happily in the yard with Hiram, the puppy.
This was home. Jenny decided that she had a lot to be thankful for. She had coped far better than she had thought she could when she arrived—thanks to Trell for helping her put out the fire and for bringing the Murphys to stay with her. She had him to thank for the cow … and for fixing the well, and for a dozen other things. Thinking about that caused a lump to form in her throat that was difficult to swallow.
She had made contact with one of the tribe’s elders and the children would be coming to the school. Why was she not happy over this accomplishment? Why did she keep seeing a pair of blue-black eyes smiling into hers? She shook her head to banish the vision and turned back into the bunkhouse to help shake out the straw-packed mattress that went on the bunk built into the far wall.
It was Beatrice who saw the rider first and her childish voice rang with excitement.
“Jenny! Jenny! Trell comin’! Trell comin’!”
Jenny and Colleen stopped working and looked at each other. Jenny was speechless, but not Colleen.
“What’s that rat’s ass doin’ coming here?”
“I … never thought he’d have the nerve.”
Colleen stepped outside and Jenny followed as the rider rode into the yard. Cassandra came from the house and picked up the puppy. Travor pulled the big gray horse to a stop and sat looking at the two grim-faced women. The looks on their faces told him that he was in hostile territory, but he was too tired to care.
“Which one of you is the teacher?”
They stared at him with open mouths and said nothing. The long rides, sleepless nights, worry over Trell, and then this silent hostility caused his temper to erupt.
“Goddammit, answer me!” he shouted. “I’m Travor McCall, Trell McCall’s twin brother. He’s been gone three days and I’m not going to sit here playin’ niceity-nice with ya while waiting for an answer.”
The harshness of his voice knocked all composure out of Jenny. She went deathly pale and pressed her hands against the wall of the bunkhouse to hold herself erect. He looked exactly like Trell even though dark whiskers covered his cheeks and his dark eyes blazed with anger.
“I’m … the teacher. It was you … we saw in town?” In this soundless void, her voice, when it finally came, sounded shallow and toneless.
“Yes, I saw you in town. I didn’t know you were acquainted with my brother. He went to Forest City to post letters for you three days ago and hasn’t come back.”
“I told them you wasn’t Trell.” Cassandra looked up at Travor. ‘Trell pulls his hat lower and his boots aren’t fancy.”
“I’m Virginia Gray, this is Miss Colleen Murphy—” Despite the shock of seeing a man who looked like Trell, but wasn’t Trell, Jenny remembered her manners.
Travor’s eyes met and held Colleen’s light blue ones. Trell was with this girl when she shot Hartog in the back. Is he in love with her?
“These are my sisters, Cassandra and Beatrice. Would you like a cool drink.”
Travor brought his attention back to Jenny. He nodded at the girls and stepped down from his horse.
“I’ve not got much time. I need to get whackin’. I had hoped that Trell would be here.”
He looks like Trell, his voice is the same … but he is not the gentle, sweet Trell who helped me put out the fire and brought the girls a puppy. These thoughts ran through Jenny’s mind.
“He may have decided to go … on to another town.” Jenny ventured the suggestion.
“No. He went to Forest City, posted the letters, ate in the restaurant and started back to the Double T. His saddled horse came in twenty-four hours later.”
Jenny felt as if she were suffocating. Her hand went up to her mouth.
“Oh, my goodness! What … could have happened to him?”
“Any number of things, lady.” Travor’s face hardened. His dark eyes shifted from Jenny to Ike who had come from the bunkhouse.
“Ike, this is Trell’s brother—”
“Figured it, if it wasn’t Trell. Howdy.”
“Howdy.” Travor held out his hand. His eyes followed Colleen to the well. “I would like a drink, ma’am, then I’ll be on my way.”
Leading his horse, he approached the well and accepted the dipper of water from Colleen.
“Thanks.”
“I’ll water your horse.” Colleen took the reins from his hands.
“Careful. He’s … spooky.”
“I can handle him.”
Ike followed Travor to the well.
“I heared what ya said ’bout Trell. He and the girl yonder had a set-to with the men who shot down her pa. Feller named Hartog.”
“I’ve met him. He took me for Trell in town the other night and picked a fight. I was told he shot down an unarmed man and that Trell took up the girl’s fight. If he had ambushed Trell in the afternoon, he would have been surprised to see me in town that night. He wasn’t.”
“Ya say his horse come in?”
“The next day.”
“Means the horse waited ’round fer him to come back. If’n that horse a had him in sight, he wouldn’t’a left.”
“Have ya seen any … buzzards circlin’?” Travor hated asking the question.
“Naw, boy, I ain’t. It’s what I’d’a looked for.”
“I figured he might be lyin’ hurt somewhere—”
“Have ya been to Pine City or Corbin?”
“I made a run to Corbin. Nothin’ there.”
“If’n ya want, I’ll ask the Shoshoni. There’s a stretch of the river from the Double T to Forest City that runs through the reservation. If’n he took the river trail, they might’a seen somethin’.”
“I’d be obliged to you. Time is running out if he’s been hurt. It’s been more’n three days.�
�
“I’ll leave now.” Ike stepped around Travor so that he could see if Whit’s pony was at the school. “Where’ll ya be?”
“Tell you the truth, I don’t know what to do next.”
“Ya look ’bout petered out. Why not stay here till I get back?”
“No. I got to keep goin’. I backtracked his horse to a bluff over the river. Thought I’d go back there and see if I missed something.”
“Ya ain’t goin’ to help Trell none if ya get yoreself all tuckered out. I’ll get me some Shoshonis to look along the river.”
“They’ll do that for you?”
“Hell, they be good folk.”
“I’m about at the end of the … rope, old man.” Travor’s voice cracked.
“Yo’re dead on yore feet is what ya are. The women here is mighty fond a yore brother and mighty cut up when they thought he’d turned his back on ’em. Stay here and rest up. I’ll be back ’fore mornin’ or send word.”
Ike spoke to Jenny, then went to the corral for his mule.
“Mr. McCall—?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Travor removed his hat and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. The teacher’s eyes met his and held, but he said nothing more, waiting for her.
“I imagine you’re wondering why I didn’t post my mail in Sweetwater. Your brother understood and offered to take it to Forest City. If something has happened to him because of me, I’ll never forgive myself.” Tears flooded her eyes making them look like shiny green pools.
“You’re right, I was wondering why Trell made the trip to Forest City just to post your mail.”
“I’ve reason to believe the Indian agent here is corrupt. He didn’t want a teacher to come here and has made it as uncomfortable as he can for us. I don’t know if he would go so far as to harm Trell—”
“Ma’am, I’m so tired I can hardly think straight. The old man said you’d not mind if I got a couple hours’ sleep here.”
“You’re more than welcome. Have you eaten?”
“Sometime during the last few days, but I don’t remember when or where.”
“Use the bunkhouse. There’s water there to wash in. We’ll unsaddle your horse and feed him. I see Colleen is doing it already. Ike must have told her you will stay a while. I’ll bring you a plate of food.”
“I’m obliged.”
“Whit is going with Ike.” Cassandra had hung back—listening. Travor looked down at the little girl who had noticed that his boots were not like the ones Trell wore. She spoke with confidence. “Whit’s part Shoshoni. His Indian name is Woksois. He’s terribly irritating, and at times obnoxious, but he’s very smart. And … he likes Trell a lot. If anyone can find Trell, Whit can.”
Travor’s tired mind absorbed only the fact that the child didn’t speak like a child.
“What my sister says is true. I’m glad Whit is going with Ike. Whit seems to know … things.”
“I hope to God you’re right.”
“I’ll see about getting you something to eat.”
Jenny went to the house on shaky legs. All this time she had been so angry at Trell, thinking that he had been ashamed to let the townspeople know that he knew her … and it hadn’t been him at all. He had mentioned that he and his brother owned the Double T. But he hadn’t said it was a twin brother who looked exactly like him.
Trell hasn’t been seen in three days. He could be lying somewhere hurt or … dead. Oh, God, please don’t let it be that.
Colleen had watched Travor McCall without appearing to do so. He looked like Trell, but he didn’t act like Trell. They walked the same, moving long body and long legs, fluid and relaxed like a large cat ready to pounce on unsuspecting prey. They held their heads at the same angle, but inside they were different. This man’s eyes held hers, searching there, prying where he didn’t belong. Trell never would have looked at her like that, winked at her or any other woman he didn’t know.
Colleen had never felt aware of Trell as she was aware of this rogue. Even with bloodshot eyes and whiskered cheeks, it was evident to her that Travor McCall attracted women like a lightning rod.
After unsaddling Travor’s horse, Colleen threw his saddlebags over her shoulder and headed for the bunkhouse.
“Here’s your saddlebags,” she said, and flung them in the open door.
“Come in. Please—”
He was at the large tin washbowl she had placed on the washstand. He had wet his face and hair with his cupped hands.
“There’s a towel in the drawer under the basin.” She lingered in the doorway while he dried his face. “I’m sorry about Trell. He’s a good man.”
“Yes, he is. When they were handin’ out goodness Trell got my part, too. I’ve never known a better man, even if he is my brother.”
“What do you think happened to him?”
“I’ve got a couple notions roamin’ around in my head. If I don’t hear something from him in a day or two, I’m going to do some manhunting myself.” He hung the towel on the bar at the end of the washstand.
“Ya think it was Hartog?”
“No. Someone else. Which one of you women was Trell interested in?” His eyes were holding hers again.
“You don’t know yore brother very well, do ya? Ya think he had courtin’ on his mind when he offered to help.” Colleen straightened to her full height and put her fists on her hips. “Trell McCall was … is as decent a man as I ever knowed. He’d have helped us if Jenny and I both were bald and toothless. You’re judgin’ him by what you’d have done in his place.”
“How do you know what I’d have done?”
“Decent men don’t go ’round winkin’ at strange women.”
“You were insulted? I saw a pretty girl and I wanted her to know that I thought she was pretty. What’s so bad about that?” He sat down on the bunk and started pulling off his boots.
“Granny fixed him a plate of food.” Jenny came to the doorway and held out the plate. She made a brave attempt to conceal the fact that she had been crying.
Colleen took the plate, stomped across the room and plunked it down. The fork lying on the side of the plate fell to the floor. She ignored it and walked out the door. Jenny looked at the man sitting on the bunk. He was holding his boot in his hand, his eyes on the empty doorway.
“Would you like a drink of cool buttermilk, Mr. McCall?”
“No, thank you, ma’am.”
“Then I’ll leave you to eat and get some rest.” She backed out the door and closed it behind her.
Alvin Havelshell unlocked the door to his office, went inside and slammed the door shut. The glass rattled and for an instant he thought it would fall to the floor. He threw his hat on his desk and with his hands in his pants pockets, stood at the door and stared out the window at the side street below.
He was sick of taking orders from that hypocritical old fool! The unreasonable old bastard wanted the teacher off Stoney Creek Ranch and he didn’t care how it was accomplished. Five thousand head of cattle were due in another six weeks.
Some idiot in Washington had come up with the idea that each of the Indians on the reservation be given one hundred and sixty acres of land to farm and a certain number of cattle. Shoshonis were not farmers even if the land was suitable to farm, which it was not. Give them cattle and they would kill one at a time, eat part of it and leave the rest to be food for the scavengers.
The herd, when it arrived, would be grazed on Stoney Creek land. Naturally they would mix with the herd owned by the Sweetwater Cattle Company. When the company cut out their cattle, at least half the Indian cattle would go with them. This meant a sizable chunk of money in the old man’s pocket. There would be a lot of activity on Stoney Creek and it wouldn’t do for a nosy teacher with connections to the Indian Bureau to be there.
He’d heard about McCall being out there. He was probably courting the Murphy girl. Get rid of the girl and you’d be rid of McCall, who would be sure to know what was taking place when they cut ou
t their herd. With the teacher no longer in residence, the land would go up for auction at the end of the year. Hell, she could come to town and teach. If only he wasn’t tied to that lump of lard out at the Agency store!
Alvin’s mind filled with thoughts of Jenny. He had ceased to think of her as Miss Gray, or even Virginia Gray. Quite unexpectedly, Jenny now dominated his thoughts, vibrantly real and disturbing. She was the most fascinating woman he’d ever met. His feelings for her were different from the feverish desire he felt for other women.
The sound of boots on the steps leading to the office was an unwelcome intrusion in his thoughts. He went quickly to his desk and sat down for fear that the evidence of his fantasy be noted.
Armstrong came in to stand just inside the door.
“That didn’t take long,” Alvin said curtly.
“We didn’t use the sticks. We’d a had to fight ‘bout forty Shoshoni and their medicine man. Old man said where water split off was a sacred place and something about the ground bein’ upheaved years ago to take water to a warrior. It’s sure they’d fight if we tried to block that stream.”
Havelshell rocked back in his chair, and Armstrong stood nervously twirling his hat around and around in his hands. A minute or two passed while he waited for Havelshell to blow up and curse him for failing to do the job. Instead he asked a simple unexpected question.
“Did you see the teacher?”
“We saw her. She’s feisty as a—”
“What did she say?” Alvin cut in sharply, not wanting to hear the rest of the remark.
“Said you was tryin’ to run her off. That other’n—the Murphy girl, she’s madder than a hornet ’bout Hartog shootin’ her pa. Says she’s goin’ to kill him.”
“That isn’t likely. Maybe I should turn him loose out there.”
Armstrong’s lips set in a firm line, and he stared unblinkingly at the seated man.
“Hartog is pure-dee old mean with womenfolk, Mr. Havelshell. The teacher ain’t deservin’—”
“Hell, I’m not talking about the teacher. If Hartog bothers her, I’ll kill him myself. I’m talking about that black-haired bitch that walks around with a six-gun strapped on. If she wears a gun, she’s fair game. Get her out of there, and Jenny will be more likely to give it up.”
Sweetwater Page 20
