These were not the first Indians Sarah had seen along the trail. So far, the ones they’d met had all been friendly and didn’t look the least bit menacing. Some wanted to trade. Some wanted to steal. Every night, Mr. Morehead had to post guards because Indians from various tribes would take the company’s horses or anything else they could get their hands on.
Jack stepped forward. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Bryan, they’re not going to scalp us. Likely they’ve come to trade.”
Ma clutched a nervous hand to her throat. “We have nothing to trade. Please, Mr. McCoy, tell them to go away.”
Sarah shared her mother’s panic but vowed not to let it show. “What kind of Indians are they?” Thanks goodness, she’d kept her voice steady.
“Shoshone. I won’t say they’re dangerous, but the calmer you are, the better.”
The Indians rode into camp. They were not smiling. Jack raised a hand in a greeting so calm and easy-going he could have been hailing his best friend. He said what sounded like, “Buh-nuh.”
The lead Indian sat tall and straight. Wide silver bands adorned the upper part of his muscular arms. His face remained expressionless as he raised his hand and returned the same greeting. “Buh-nuh.” He was leading a horse with a stack of beaver skins piled on its back. Pointing at the beaver skins, he said something Sarah couldn’t understand.
“What’s he saying?” she asked.
Jack shook his head. “I only know a few words in Shoshone, but it’s plain he wants to trade.”
“For what?”
Jack pointed at the skins and held out his palm in a questioning gesture. The Indian brought his hand to his mouth, curved it around an imaginary bottle and tipped his head back as if he were drinking. “Oh, yeah,” Jack said. “They want to trade those skins for whiskey.”
Pa shook his head vigorously. “We’re teetotalers, Mr. McCoy. We don’t—”
“For the best. Not a good idea giving whiskey to Indians. What else have we got? Whether you want those skins or not, it would be wise to give them something, just to get rid of—”
Luzena’s scream ripped through the air. It so startled Sarah that, for a moment, she could only gape at her mother in surprise. Luzena screamed again, brought up a shaking hand and pointed. “Look, look!”
“Ma, what is it?”
Wide-eyed and staring, Ma kept pointing a wavering finger at the Indian. She was stuttering, so unnerved she couldn’t get words out. “There—there on his head mixed in with all those feathers. Don’t you see it?”
Sarah took a closer look. Oh, my God. Why hadn’t she noticed? The Indian’s elaborate headdress consisted of rows of turquoise and black feathers attached to a beaded headband. A yellow gold pendant on a gold chain was entwined among the feathers. Shaped like a delicate basket, the pendant was adorned with rose cut diamonds and tiny gems of various colors. Two white enameled lovebirds sat on either side, facing one another.
Sarah recognized the pendant. She knew it well. It belonged to her sister, Florrie.
Chapter 4
When Sarah and Florrie’s maternal grandmother passed away, she left each of her granddaughters a prized piece of jewelry. Sarah treasured her blue sapphire ring with its circle of seed pearls. Florrie adored her yellow gold pendant and wore it most of the time. Now Sarah gasped from the shock of seeing her sister’s beloved necklace adorning the war bonnet of a Shoshone Indian.
“It’s your daughter’s?” Jack asked Luzena.
“There’s only one like it. Of course it’s Florrie’s.” Ma clasped her hand over her mouth. “They’ve killed her, haven’t they? And scalped her and heaven knows what—”
“Stop it, Ma, you don’t know that.” Sarah spoke sharply. Her mother was on the verge of hysteria, not a good idea when talking to a strange bunch of Indians. She asked Jack, “Can you find out where he got it?”
Ben Longren spoke up. “Let me try. I know a few words of Shoshone.” He began an incomprehensible conversation with the Indian, who remained on his horse, stoic and unsmiling. Ben threw up his hands. “There’s no telling where that savage got ahold of your daughter’s necklace. Even if I understood him, he wouldn’t tell me. My guess is he traded for it, but there’s no way of knowing for sure.”
Luzena reached out and clutched Jack’s arm. “I must have it back. Do you think he’ll give it to me?”
“No, but he might trade.” Jack looked toward their wagon. “What have you got?”
No one spoke. They had no whiskey. They certainly wouldn’t trade Pa’s one and only rifle. Their food supply had dwindled. Sarah couldn’t come up with a suggestion, except… Only one possibility, her one precious possession. She hated to give it up, but if Ma wanted that necklace, then she should have it. Pulling the pearl and sapphire ring from her finger, she strode to where the Indian sat imperiously on his horse and held it up. She pointed to Florrie’s necklace and made a give-and take gesture. “What shall I say?” she called over her shoulder.
“Don’t say anything,” Jack called back. “He understands.”
After a long moment of deliberation, the Indian surprised her by holding up his palm in a no gesture. “You don’t want it?” How silly to ask aloud since he couldn’t understand what she was saying. She offered up the ring again, but the Indian shook his head and pointed. She turned to see where he gestured. It appeared to be Jack McCoy’s horse, grazing nearby, saddled and ready to go.
Ben Longren emitted a long, low whistle. “Now, that ain’t right. You can’t give him your horse, Jack.”
“He doesn’t want my horse.” Jack walked to the horse he had just saddled. On one side hung his rifle, on the other, wound in a circle, hung his whip. Jack untied the whip from the saddle. Without hesitation, he walked to where the Indian sat high and proud atop his horse and held it up. With his other hand, he made the same give-and-take gesture. The semblance of a smile flitted across the bronze face of the Shoshone. He nodded. With what sounded like a grunt, he detached the necklace from amid the feathers of his headdress, took the whip, and gave Jack the necklace in return. With a nod to the others, he wheeled his horse around. Next minute, amid a cloud of dust, the Indians disappeared down the trail.
“How can I thank you?” Luzena cried when Jack handed her the necklace.
“Happy to do it.”
Luzena held the necklace lovingly to her cheek. “What do you think it means?”
Jack took his time before he answered. “I don’t know, Mrs. Bryan. If I were to guess, I’d say it’s a good sign. Today you found something that belonged to Florrie. Tomorrow, who knows?”
* * * *
Later, as Jack and Ben followed the wagon along the trail, Ben kept shaking his head, as though he couldn’t believe what happened. “What’s your problem?” Jack asked.
“Wasn’t that whip one of your prized possessions? You gave it to that Indian like you didn’t care, like it was just a piece of trash.”
“I got the necklace back, didn’t I?”
“Why should you care? You ain’t beholden to the Bryans.” Ben quirked an eyebrow at his friend. “Ain’t it time we moved on? That gold won’t be lying around the streets forever.”
“I told you—”
“I know what you told me. You’re not after the gold, but whatever you’re after, if you stick with this slow-as-molasses wagon, it’ll be the next century before we even get there.”
Jack didn’t answer. Maybe Ben would keep his mouth shut, but no such luck.
“It’s that girl, that Sarah, ain’t it, Jack?”
“You’re crazy.” Jack nudged his horse forward. He didn’t want to hear anymore from Ben, especially since the old man got it right. The whip that now made up part of the Shoshone’s fancy gear wasn’t just any whip. He’d made it himself, leather-wrapped handle, nine-foot thong. After years of practice, he could cut a card at 10 paces, for what that was worth, and it wasn’t much. He’d never struck an animal with the deadly metal tip. The sh
arp, cracking noise alone kept an animal in line. Well, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t herding cattle anymore. That life was behind him now. At least Luzena got the necklace, although what good it would do her, he couldn’t say. As for Sarah…
Ben rode up beside him. “Did you see how the girl got her courage up? I surely admired the way she walked right up to that Injun and offered him her ring. Most girls wouldn’t have the guts to do that.”
Jack gave a non-committal grunt. He’d noticed, all right. She’d surprised him. After all that talk about how all she cared about was an ordinary life and never wanted to take chances, he never expected she’d be that bold. Maybe he was mistaken about Mrs. Sarah Gregg.
Maybe Mrs. Sarah Gregg was mistaken about herself.
* * * *
That night after supper, Sarah noticed her father had drawn Jack aside and had a chat. She wasn’t sure why until she went to hobble her horse for the night. High in the trees, birds were chirping their goodnight songs when Jack, leading Bandit, came up beside her. “Ben and I will be moving on tomorrow.”
Oh, no. Somehow she’d thought he’d stay. Since this morning when he’d retrieved Florrie’s necklace from the Indian, he’d been on her mind. He’d done so much to help them, but that wasn’t the reason she kept thinking about him. During the day, she’d caught herself looking at him more than she should have. She liked the way he walked, so light-footed and confident, as if he was stalking an animal through the woods. She admired the way he rode his horse, his body all lean, hard muscle, moving with fluid grace in the saddle. Now she looked into his sharp, assessing eyes and politely inquired, “Are you leaving because of something my father said? I noticed you were talking.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s time to move on.”
He wasn’t going to reveal his conversation with Pa. She could guess, though. “My father wants you to leave, doesn’t he?”
A smile ruffled his mouth. “Your father thinks I’m a scoundrel.”
“After all the help you’ve given us? Pa doesn’t understand. I’ll go speak to him.”
“No, don’t. Your father has been an honorable man all his life, a real pillar of the community. I’m the one with the bad reputation, the card shark who cheats. It’s best I go. He’s not going to change his mind, no matter how many good deeds I do.”
The question hammered at her. She had to know. “And are you a card shark who cheats, Mr. McCoy?”
“Depends on how you look at it. Yes, there are times when I play cards. I gambled on the Mississippi for a while, but I’m not a professional gambler. And no, I don’t cheat and never have because I don’t need to. When I beat someone, it’s fair and square.”
She believed him. “I still think I should talk to Pa.”
“It’s his decision, and I won’t argue.” Still holding his horse’s lead rope, he drew closer. “You’ll do fine. I liked the way you stepped right up to that Indian today, bold as brass. You’d lost your fear. Do you realize that?”
“I wasn’t thinking about being afraid. I just wanted my sister’s necklace back.”
He started to laugh. Admiration filled his eyes. “You’re braver than you think, Widow Gregg.” He dropped the lead rope, drew closer still, and clasped her upper arms.
What was he going to do? What did she want him to do? She looked him square in the eye. “I’ll miss you.”
“And I’ll miss you.” He dropped a feather-light kiss on her forehead and pulled away.
She didn’t want him to pull away. She wanted him closer. She said the first thing that popped into her head. “Was that a fatherly kiss?”
As if her question had triggered some emotion deep inside him, he drew in a shaking breath. “No, it wasn’t.” Swiftly, his arms went around her. He pressed his palms against her back, pulling her close. His lips met hers in a hard, urgent kiss that set her pulse to pounding. The kiss went on and on. She didn’t care and didn’t want it to end. The feel of his whole body up against her caused a deep throb in the center of her being. His hands rested lightly on her back, then began to roam, first her hair—
His horse whinnied—a loud, harsh sound so close to their ears they both jumped. They broke apart and started laughing. Jack retrieved the lead rope. “Looks like Bandit wants my attention.”
Her racing pulse began to slow. There was nothing more to say. The truth was, she’d just kissed a man who was leaving in the morning, and she’d never see him again. “I’d best be getting back. Will you stay for breakfast?”
“No. We’ll get off to any early start.”
“Then good-bye, Mr. McCoy. May your journey be a safe one.”
“Yours, too.” He touched the brim of his hat with two fingers and was gone.
* * * *
When Sarah came out of her tent in the morning, Jack and Ben were no longer there. She expected they’d be gone, but as she stood surveying the spot where they’d slept, a gloomy desolation enveloped her. Last night she’d been in a man’s arms—something she’d never expected after her marriage to Joseph. She wanted nothing to do with men, and yet…Jack’s kiss had stirred a passion within her she’d long thought dead. Now he was gone forever, leaving her with a life filled with…what? Her books? Helping the sick and poor? Vast, empty years stretched ahead.
“Good morning, Sarah.” Already dressed for the day, Ma climbed down from the wagon. “We’ll make a quick breakfast this morning. Your father wants to make a lot of miles today.” She sighed. “He’s going to have his hands full, having to do everything by himself.”
“He should have thought of that before he told Mr. McCoy and Mr. Longren to leave.” If her answer was sharp, she didn’t care.
“You know your father.”
“At least he’s learned how to handle the animals.” Sarah gave her mother a reassuring smile. “We’re going to be fine. Maybe today we’ll catch up with the train.”
“Frank is hell-bent on catching up, but how can we when we go so slow?” Luzena cast a resentful glance to where her husband was yoking the oxen. “Look at him—all thumbs, stumbling around like an idiot. It’ll be a miracle if we get there at all. And, no, I don’t think we’ll ever catch up with Mr. Morehead’s train. Frank was a fool to send Jack McCoy away.”
Sarah’s gloom grew deeper, if that was possible. Ma never used to talk that way. Back in Indiana, she’d kept her husband on a pedestal, but not anymore. How sad to think their old life had disappeared forever, but it had, and there was no turning back. Even when they reached California, if they ever did, things would never be the same. With an effort, Sarah squared her shoulders. “It can’t be much farther, and then it’s all going to be fine. We’re going to find the train. We’ll keep looking for Florrie, and who knows? Yesterday we found a sign of her. I predict we’ll find another today, or soon.”
Ma smiled and patted her cheek. “You’re such a good daughter. I know you’re trying to keep my spirits up, but, Sarah, I don’t know…” She glanced over at Pa who’d just finished hitching the oxen to the wagon and now stood exhausted and out of breath. “Look at him—tired already, and we’ve got the whole day ahead of us.” Her face went grim. “So here we are, all alone with no one to help us if something goes wrong, and I know it will.”
Sarah searched for something cheerful to say, but nothing came to mind.
* * * *
They started the day’s trek under bright sunshine and a clear blue sky. By noon the temperature had dropped considerably. The fluffy white clouds that had gathered were soon replaced by the dark, low clouds that signaled an approaching storm. Late in the afternoon, they felt the first raindrops. Ma wanted to stop, but Pa was determined to keep going, rain or no rain. “We must catch up to the Morehead train.” The rain grew heavier, but Pa urged the oxen on. Sarah was riding Rosie, but when her horse started slipping in the mud, she dismounted and led both Rosie and their other horse, Titan. Pa kept going, even though the oxen were straining for all they were worth to mo
ve the wagon along the muddy road. To lighten the load, Ma climbed from the wagon and walked with Sarah, both growing colder, wetter, and more miserable as they went along. “Frank, you’ve got to stop,” Ma yelled.
“Just a little farther!” Oblivious to the rain, Pa sat hunched on the wagon seat over the reins. “Don’t want to spend another night alone.”
They stopped briefly to eat. The downpour made it impossible to build a fire, so they dined on beef jerky and hardtack, washed down with muddy water. To Sarah and Ma’s dismay, Pa insisted they start again. As the rain poured harder, the trail got worse, and the oxen started slipping in deep mud. When they came to what resembled an impassable muddy mire, Pa halted the wagon and peered thoughtfully ahead. Ma called up to him, “We can’t get through, Frank.”
He called back, “Yes we can,” and drove the wagon forward. Now the animals were slipping through a heavy, deep, sucking mud that tugged at their hooves and grabbed at the wagon wheels. Finally the wagon sank clear to the axle and sat immobile while the oxen flailed. Sarah grasped the lead ropes for Rosie and Titan. She was guiding them out of the mire onto a grassy spot by the side of the trail when they suddenly broke through the sod and were unable to pull their hooves out. Both animals whinnied and snorted in fright, and began heaving this way and that. Sarah held tight to the ropes. “Rosie, Titan, calm down,” she called over the howl of the wind. Though their eyes were wide with fear, both animals heard her and settled down. Soon Titan broke free of the mud, but Rosie sank deeper.
The rain pounded. The wind howled harder. “Sarah, come get out of the rain,” Luzena called.
Sarah looked to where her parents huddled in the wagon, trying to keep warm. So far, there’d been no leaks in the canvas, so at least they were dry. So tempting. How she’d love to join them. “I can’t leave the horses! Rosie’s stuck. I’ve got to keep her calm. If she panics and starts heaving around, she might break a leg.” She would not desert her horses if she had to stand here until dawn.
Wagon Train Sisters (Women of the West) Page 5
