Trail to Shasta (9781101622049)
Page 4
“This is marvelous,” Bridget said.
“So much better than the steak we had on the train,” Bride said.
“The steaks will get better the further West we get,” Clint told them.
“Really?” Bride asked. The only time she had spoken directly to him at all the entire trip was about steak.
“Oh yes,” Clint said. “If there’s one thing we know how to do in the West, it’s cook steak.”
“I heard you were also very good at riding and roping,” Bridget said.
“Oh yeah, that, too,” Clint said.
“And bronco riding,” Bridget said. “Can you ride a bronco, Clint?”
“I have in the past,” Clint said.
Bride swallowed the piece of steak she’d been chewing and asked, “What’s a bronco?”
* * *
“The Gunsmith?” Kemper asked as they walked back to their own hotel. “The goddamned Gunsmith?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Maybe he’s wrong,” Kemper said. “Or maybe he’s lyin’.”
“He was tellin’ the truth,” Ahern said. “It’s the Gunsmith.”
“Well, I didn’t sign on to face the Gunsmith,” Kemper said. “We need to get out of this.”
“Not what I was thinkin’,” Ahern said.
“You mean you want to face him?”
“I mean,” Ahern said, “if we’re goin’ up against the Gunsmith, I want more money.”
“Ah!”
“And I mean a lot more money,” Ahern said.
“But we can’t spend the money if we’re dead.”
“Don’t worry,” Ahern said. “I’ve got a plan.”
“A plan to stay alive?”
“Yes.”
“And still make money?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then,” Kemper said, “I’m listening.”
* * *
This time at dessert they settled on one piece of pie each—peach for Clint, cherry for Bridget, and apple for Bride.
“What can we do after this?” Bridget asked.
“Well, we can walk around and look at the city a bit more,” Clint said, “but we should get back to the hotel before dark.”
“Let me guess, Clint,” Bridget said, “you want us to rest some more.”
“Yes,” he said, “we’re going to get an early start tomorrow.”
“Did you get us a wagon already?”
“I made arrangements with a friend of mine,” Clint said. “The wagon, team, and my horse will be waiting for us in front of our hotel in the morning.”
“Shouldn’t Bride and I shop for some new clothes?” Bridget asked.
“We’ll do that in Council Bluffs,” Clint said, “but there probably are some clothes you should put in one trunk.”
“Which trunk?” she asked.
“One you won’t be opening again for a long time.”
ELEVEN
Clint walked the ladies around the city a bit more, and then they went back to the hotel.
“What a beautiful city,” Bride said. She seemed to finally be loosening up a bit, although the comment was directed to her sister.
“Yes, it is,” she said. “And a beautiful river.”
“I would love to ride a riverboat,” Bride said.
“Can we?” Bridget asked Clint.
“I’m afraid not,” Clint said. “But once your sister marries Ed, I’m sure he’d be happy to take you ladies on the riverboat.”
“Mr. O’Neil is a hard worker,” Bridget observed.
“Yes, he is,” Clint said.
As they walked past the front desk, Clint noticed the clerk looking at him with a worried expression. When the clerk noticed Clint looking, he averted his eyes.
“Why don’t you girls go on up to your room,” Clint said. “I’ll be along later to answer any questions and say good night.”
“Very well,” Bridget said. “Come along, Bride.”
He watched as they walked up the stairs, then turned and went over to the front desk.
“Mr. Adams,” the clerk said nervously. “W-What can I do for you, sir?”
“You can tell me why you’re so nervous,” Clint said.
“Nervous? I’m not nervous.”
“Come on, son,” Clint said. “Don’t make me drag it out of you.”
The young man looked crestfallen, his shoulders slumping.
“A man was here looking for you.”
“For me?”
“Well,” the clerk said, “he didn’t ask for you by name, but later I realized what he was doing.”
“And what was he doing?”
“He flummoxed me.”
“Flummoxed?”
“Made a fool of me,” the man said. “Got me to tell him your name.”
“Wait a minute,” Clint said. “Try explaining this to me slower.”
“Yes, sir.”
After a few minutes Clint understood what had happened.
“Don’t feel bad,” Clint said. “There are other ways he could have found out who I am.”
“Thank you, Mr. Adams,” the clerk said, “but I guess that don’t make me feel better about bein’ fooled.”
“I understand,” Clint said.
“What should I say if the man comes back?”
“I don’t think he’ll be coming back. He’ll know you told me about him.”
“But . . . he told me not to.”
“But you did anyway,” Clint said. “He’ll know that. And thanks.”
Clint left the desk and walked up to the second floor. He considered stopping at the girls’ room, but instead went directly to his.
He’d had the feeling once or twice that they were being watched, but his attention had mostly been on seeing that the Shaughnessy sisters got what they wanted, and needed. Now he realized they might have been followed, all the way from New York—even from the docks.
He went to the window and looked down at the front of the hotel. There were people walking by in all directions, but he didn’t see anyone who might have simply been watching the hotel.
He went to his bag, took out the curled-up gun and holster, uncurled it, and strapped it on.
TWELVE
Clint went back down to the front of the hotel to take a better look.
“Can I help you with something, sir?” the doorman asked.
“Huh? Oh, no,” Clint said. “I just thought I saw someone I know, from my window. Have you seen anyone watching the hotel?”
“Watching?”
“Yes,” Clint said, “not coming in, or going out, just standing and . . . watching.”
“No, sir,” the doorman said. “Nobody like that.”
“Okay,” Clint said, “thank you.”
He went back inside, up to the second floor, and knocked on the door of the Shaughnessy sisters. It was answered by Bridget.
“Are you both all right?” he asked.
She looked at him, at the gun on his hip, then said, “Yes, we are fine.”
“Do you need anything?”
“No,” she said, “nothing . . . not yet.”
“Well, I’ll be in my room for the rest of the night,” Clint said, “if you need me.”
“That is good to know,” she said. “Good night.”
She closed the door and he went to his own room.
* * *
Kemper looked up as Ahern came into the room.
“About time,” he said. “I’m starvin’. Can we go eat?”
“Yes,” Ahern said, “let’s go.”
They went out of the hotel and down the street to a greasy café. When they had tough st
eaks in front of them, Kemper asked, “So? Did you hear?”
“I did,” Ahern said. “We got more money.”
“How much more?”
“A lot,” Ahern said. “Enough to hire help.”
“What kind of help?”
“Cheap help,” Ahern said.
“Are cheap guns gonna be enough to take care of the Gunsmith?”
“Enough of them will be,” Ahern said.
“And where do we get these guns?” Kemper asked. “In Saint Louis?”
“No,” Ahern said, “we’ll wait ’til we get to Council Bluffs—or maybe even further west.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know,” Ahern said. “We’re gettin’ the money in advance, sent tomorrow.”
“We gotta pick it up?”
Ahern nodded. “A money transfer at a Western Union office.”
“But . . . what if Adams and the women leave first thing in the mornin’?”
“Then you’ll follow while I get the money,” Ahern said. “I’ll catch up.”
“What if he sees me?”
“He won’t,” Ahern said. “You don’t have to follow that close. We know they’re goin’ to Council Bluffs from here.”
“How do we know that?”
“Because they gotta go that way,” Ahern said. “Just follow their trail. Don’t get too close.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Anyway,” Ahern said, “we’ll know more in the mornin’. Right now let’s just eat.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Kemper said. “They make some good steaks in the West.”
THIRTEEN
In the morning Clint rose, dressed, and looked out his window. The team and covered wagon were there with Eclipse tied to the back. He knew they’d be there waiting for him, according to his instructions.
He left his room and walked to the next door, then knocked.
“Hungry?” he asked when Bridget answered.
“Yes, we are.”
“We’ll have breakfast in the hotel,” Clint said. “Then we can get under way.”
“Is our wagon here?”
“It is.”
“We must get our bags loaded—”
“I’ll have the hotel do that while we eat,” Clint said.
She nodded and said, “I will fetch my sister.”
She closed the door. He waited. After a few moments it opened and both girls stepped out.
“Good morning, Bride,” he said.
The younger girl looked at him, smiled, and said, “Good morning, Clint.”
They went down to the hotel dining room, stopping first at the front desk to have their bags loaded onto the wagon.
The girls had already seen Clint eat steak and eggs for breakfast along the way, so they both ordered the same. While they ate, they talked to each other, which was fine with Clint. He remained alert, watching the other diners to see if anyone was paying them special attention. He didn’t see anyone, however.
“Clint?” Bridget said.
Clint looked at her.
“How long will it take us to get to Council Bluffs?” she asked.
“It’s about seven hundred miles,” Clint said. “It’ll probably take about a month or so. Along the way you’ll see a lot of Missouri. We’ll stop in Saint Joe, where the Pony Express originated.”
“I know the Pony Express,” Bride said suddenly. “I read about it.”
“You did?” Bridget asked.
“I read a lot about the West.”
“Well,” Bridget said, “along the way you will have to tell me about what you read.”
* * *
Ahern and Kemper walked to the Magnolia Hotel and saw the wagon out front.
“Okay,” Ahern said. “They’re gettin’ ready to leave. Get yourself a horse and follow behind them.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“I’ll go and get the money and catch up to you.”
“You gonna get us some supplies?”
“Just enough for us to carry, yeah,” Ahern said. “All you gotta do is not lose their trail.”
“I thought you said we knew where they were going,” Kemper asked.
“We do,” Ahern said, “but I wanna make sure.”
“Yeah, okay,” Kemper said again. “But I’ll tell you one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“If he spots me,” Kemper said, “I’m lightin’ out. I ain’t facin’ the Gunsmith.”
“Yeah, okay, Kemp,” Ahern said. “Just don’t let him see you.”
“Yeah, right.”
* * *
When they’d finished their breakfast, Clint accompanied the ladies out to the wagon. They were both wearing skirts, but when they arrived in Council Bluffs—or even along the way—he was going to have them buy some britches.
“What about supplies?” Bride asked when they reached the wagon. “I read that you need a lot of supplies to travel by wagon.”
“Don’t worry,” Clint said. “I had my friend stock us up with them.”
“What a beautiful horse,” Bridget said, looking at Eclipse.
“Yes, he is.”
“He looks like an Irish breed,” she said.
“Arabian,” Clint said.
“Are you sure?”
He smiled.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
He helped both women onto the wagon, Bride in the back, and Bridget up front with him.
“Bridget, there is more room back here than you would think,” she said. “This will not be so bad.”
Clint didn’t say anything. He wondered how many days it would be before she changed her mind.
FOURTEEN
By the middle of the first day, Bride wanted to change places with Bridget. Clint stopped the wagon so they could change places. He was afraid if he kept moving, one of them would fall off. Maybe later, after they’d traveled for a few days, they’d be more used to the movements of the wagon and be able to change places without stopping.
The constant motion was hard for them to get used to, and the dust they kicked up bothered them to the point where Clint had them tie kerchiefs around their mouths. What they did enjoy about the trip right from the beginning was the scenery.
While Bride was sitting up front with him, she finally loosened up enough to start talking to him.
“What about Indians?” she asked.
“What about them?”
“Will we see any?”
“Maybe.”
“Will they attack us?”
“Probably not.”
“But I read that they are bloodthirsty.”
“There was a time when they were,” Clint said, “but there aren’t that many Indians right now off the reservations.”
“Oh.” She seemed disappointed. “What about outlaws?”
“Oh, there are still a lot of outlaws.”
“Will they attack us?”
“I hope not.”
“But if they do, you’ll shoot them, right?”
“If I have to.”
They rode in silence for a while after that, and just when he thought she had asked enough questions, she asked, “Will you teach me to shoot?”
“Why do you want to learn how to shoot?”
“To defend myself,” she said. “And my sister.”
“Bride, I think it would be up to your husband to teach you to shoot.”
“Yes,” she said quietly, “my husband.”
That thought didn’t seem to make her very happy.
“But,” she said after a few moments, “he is a miner. You are the Gunsmith. Wouldn’t it be better if you taught me?”
The same thing parents told their kids when they asked for some rock candy.
After a while Bridget stuck her head between them and asked, “Will we be stopping to eat soon?”
“We have about an hour of daylight left,” Clint told her. “We’ll stop then.”
“I found some sort of hard meat back here.”
“Beef jerky,” Clint said. “You can chew on that if you like.”
“Beef jerky?” Bride asked.
“It’s dried beef.”
“Oh, beef!” Bride said excitedly. “Bridget, may I have a piece?”
Bridget withdrew her head, then reappeared and gave Clint and Bride each a piece, and kept one for herself.
Bride took a bite, yanked and yanked until a piece came off in her mouth, and then chewed enthusiastically.
“It’s very good,” she said.
“A little chewy,” Bridget said.
“I don’t care,” Bride said. “It is better than potatoes.”
Clint had always thought what he’d heard about the Irish and potatoes was a myth, but in listening to these two girls, and watching them eat, apparently that wasn’t the case.
“Won’t be any potatoes on this trip,” Clint said. “And that’s probably the only beef you’ll be getting.”
“Won’t we be eating when we stop?” Bride asked.
“Yes, we will.”
“In a restaurant?”
“No,” Clint said. “For most of this trip we’ll be making camp on the trail, and eating over an open fire.”
“Where will we sleep?” she asked.
“On the ground,” Clint said.”
“What if it rains?”
“Then under the wagon,” he said, “or in it.”
Bride gave her sister an outraged look, but Bridget didn’t say anything.
“Hey,” Clint said, “you girls wanted to see the way we live in the West.”
“What will we eat?”
“Bacon and beans,” Clint said, “for as long as it lasts.”
“B-But . . . what if we run out of food?” Bride asked.
“We’ll try not to,” Clint said. “We’ll restock when we do come to a town.”
Bride apparently decided to stop asking questions she didn’t like the answers to, and stared off into the distance.