“No, of course not. My poor sister, neither of us will ever forget that horrible day.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “It was my fault. I’ll never forgive myself.”
“No, no, no!” She broke loose and pushed him away. “It was not your fault. How many times—?”
“Let’s not argue.” He took her hands in his. “Let’s stick to the present. You have a decision to make.”
“It’s not easy. Even leaving Henry out of it, there are so many things to consider.”
“Like what?”
“For one thing, the trail to California isn’t that easy either. They say there’s that awful desert to cross and then the mountains.”
“You’re right. It’s not that easy.”
“Plus, there’s Magnus. I worry, Luke. The man hates you. If he hears we’ve changed our minds and are going to California, no telling what he might do.”
“You let me worry about that.” Luke waited in sympathetic silence. His sister had a huge decision to make. Not easy, trying to decide her and her children’s entire future.
She gave a decisive nod. “I’ve decided. We’re going to California, dear brother.” Her voice rang with resolve. “I don’t care what Henry thinks.”
It was a good thing Florida couldn’t see his face clearly or she’d see his joy at her decision. Now he could watch over Callie and protect her from that scum, Magnus Ferguson. “Good for you, Florida. You’ve made a good decision. You won’t be sorry.” Would he be sorry? Time would tell but, for the moment, he rejoiced he could stay close to Callie Whitaker. Aside from his obligation to his sister, that was all he cared about.
* * * *
Florida was going to California! Next morning when she heard the news, Callie wanted to do a little dance. She wasn’t about to lose her dearest friend after all, and, of course, that meant Luke would be going, too. She hadn’t seen the last of him after all, and for that her gratitude knew no bounds. Nothing had changed, though. These days when he spoke to her, he was polite but as remote as a stranger. Had they ever exchanged those passionate kisses? Those precious moments seemed so long ago. She had no time to dwell on it, though, what with never-ending work that kept her busy from before dawn when she arose until after dark when she fell on her bed exhausted at the end of the day. At least Ma was feeling better now. She wasn’t up to doing any chores, but she didn’t need any extra help. Lydia was a godsend. Callie couldn’t stop marveling how her formerly flighty stepsister had changed into a capable young woman who gladly shared the heavy burden of work. Tommy, too, was doing fine. He was even talking more, almost like a normal child would, a minor miracle in Callie’s eyes. And he didn’t sit huddled for hours without moving, like before. He was more active now, a mixed blessing since these days he had to be watched closely. Many a child had been crushed to death or badly injured when jumping from a rolling wagon and getting caught underneath the wheels.
As for Pa, he walked with a bad limp that Callie suspected would never go away, but at least his ribs and shoulder were healing. He wasn’t moaning and groaning nearly as much. He still never spoke to her, stayed in the back of the wagon most of the time, not speaking to her or acknowledging her existence, or, for that matter, anyone’s existence except Ma’s.
* * * *
Callie’s spirits were never so high as on the bright, sunny day thirty California-bound wagons of the Ferguson party left Fort Hall and struck south. So many things were going right for her. She’d dreaded having to say good-bye forever to Luke and Florida, but now she didn’t have to. How wonderful they’d be with her all the way to California and after that, who knew? She looked forward to each day’s trek without fearing she wasn’t capable, or, because of her inexperience, something might go wrong. She now felt completely at home holding the reins. No more doubts. She could drive the wagon as well as any man, even over the roughest trail. Colton still helped with yoking the oxen, but she could handle the job herself if she had to.
Moving through thick forests, the Ferguson train headed toward the Humboldt River, the going easy with abundant grass and water for the animals and plenty of fish and game.
One day Luke stopped by their wagon to chat. “Our only concern right now is the Indians. There’s a war party of Shoshone in the neighborhood, but likely they won’t bother us. There are always the Diggers, of course. They’ll steal you blind if you don’t watch out.”
Callie had seen so many Indians along the way, they no longer struck terror in her heart. Members of the various tribes often visited the camp, sometimes to trade, sometimes to steal. “The Diggers don’t seem nearly as proud or courageous as the other tribes.”
“You’re right. They’re different. ‘Diggers’ is a term for what they call the underclass of Indians from the Shoshone, Bannock, and Paiute tribes. They’re mostly a bunch of outcasts and criminals. Their own people threw them out, so now they exist by stealing and grubbing a living from roots and insects.”
“They eat bugs?”
“You would, too, if you were hungry enough.”
“I would never!”
Luke laughed. “Be careful. All Indians can be dangerous, even the Diggers.”
The next day, toward the end of their noon break, Florida came hurrying to the Whitakers’ campsite, her eyes full of consternation. “I can’t find Luke. Rascal came back without him.” She explained how her brother had taken advantage of the break to go hunting in the nearby stand of woods. “He knew we’d soon start up again. Something’s wrong.”
Callie could only agree. Luke would never be careless enough to let his horse get away. “Have you looked for him?”
“Everywhere close by. I waited and waited, thinking he got thrown off his horse and would soon come walking back, but he didn’t.”
“Then we’d better start looking.” Panic welled in her throat. It never occurred to her something bad could happen to Luke. With his massive self-confidence and easygoing manner, he always seemed so untouchable, so above the weaknesses of ordinary people. But he wasn’t, of course. They had better not waste a moment. He could be lying in the woods right now, badly hurt or even worse. She must find him, and fast.
Loud shouts signaled the train was about to get underway again. She cast an anxious glance toward Magnus’s lead wagon. “Florida, you keep looking. I’ll go tell Magnus we can’t leave yet.”
The wagons had started to move out when Callie, at a run, caught up with the first one in line. Magnus sat on the front seat, reins in hand.
“Mr. Ferguson, you’ve got to stop.”
With a reluctant tug on the lines, Magnus halted the oxen and glared down at her. “What do you want?”
Grasping one of the front wheels, she bent over to catch her breath. Chest heaving, all she could manage to gasp was, “Luke’s missing.”
Magnus frowned with annoyance. “You held me up for that? Don’t worry, he’ll turn up.”
She hadn’t explained it right. “No, listen, he’s got to be in trouble. He went hunting in the woods and his horse came back without him.”
“Is that all?” Magnus’s frown deepened. “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s late in the season. I’m of a mind to disagree, but my captains keep insisting every minute counts. If we don’t hurry, we’re going to get caught in the snow. So don’t pester me with ridiculous reasons why you want to stop. Luke knows how to take care of himself. I’d wager his horse got away somehow, so he’s walking back.”
Jack Gowdy and Riley Gregg arrived. Magnus told them why they’d stopped.
“Magnus is right,” said Jack. “We can’t be stopping every time someone goes for a walk in the woods.”
Riley guffawed. “Or we’d never get our butts to California!”
Callie kept arguing. Soon Orus Brown, Doc Wilson, and Reverend Wilkins joined the discussion, along with Josiah Morgan, Lilburn Boggs and just about every male member of the train. To a man, they sided with Magnus, some declaring in the most forceful
manner they didn’t want to wait for Luke McGraw, or anyone else who straggled behind. Even the Reverend Wilkins feared getting caught in the snow. After professing his concern over Luke’s whereabouts, he, too, declared Luke would surely turn up and they should move on. Doc Wilson agreed. Callie did her best, but soon realized she was wasting her breath. What did it matter Luke was a loyal and valued member of the company? These men were so hell-bent on getting to California before the snow fell, they’d lost all reason and compassion. Magnus was the worst. He hated Luke’s guts and wouldn’t lift a finger to help him, but saying so would get her nowhere. Hopeless! She hid her resentment and managed a casual shrug. “All right then, gentlemen, I see I can’t persuade you.”
“He’ll turn up, Callie.” Magnus spoke indulgently, as if speaking to a child.
“I’m sure he’ll show up soon, Mr. Ferguson. I’m not going to worry.” She hurried off. Time for anger later. Otherwise, she’d be seething at the selfishness of Magnus and the rest of the leaders. Stupidity, too. How could they manage without Luke? Didn’t they realize how much they depended on him? Right now she couldn’t allow herself the time to fret about what fools they were. She must concentrate on finding Luke.
Seconds later, the train got underway again. How selfish. They couldn’t wait a minute? When she got to her wagon, she found Lydia had taken up the reins and was waiting to take their place in line. “Good for you, Lydia. You go ahead if I’m not back.” She saddled Duke and was about to ride to Florida’s wagon when she glanced toward the dark woods where Luke had disappeared. Something ominous—she wasn’t sure what—hung over them. She needed a weapon. She’d never carried one before but sensed she shouldn’t go in those woods without one. She’d get one of Pa’s rifles. They were in the wagon…and so was Pa.
He had yet to say a word to her. Still looked right through her as if she didn’t exist. She dreaded having to face him but had no choice. She slipped off Duke and climbed into the wagon. As usual, Pa lay on his blankets staring into space. Ma sat beside him. “Pa, I’ve got to take one of the rifles.” She opened the lid of the trunk where the guns were stored.
Ma looked horrified. “Callie! What are you doing?”
Pa turned his head and glared at her. “You will not touch my guns.”
“Can’t stop to talk.” Callie reached in the trunk and retrieved her stepfather’s Hawken rifle, along with a ramrod and small horn. “Sorry, Pa, I’ll explain later.” Rifle in hand, she jumped from the back of the wagon. Would she remember how to load the thing? When they started the trek, Len, of all people, had given her a shooting lesson when Pa wasn’t around. She searched her memory and it all came back. First, she used the horn to measure the right amount of black powder. From the brass patch box in the rifle butt, she took a tallowed patch-cloth, carefully centered the ball on the patch, and drove it down the barrel with a smooth thrust of the rod, then tamped it down. Now the rifle was loaded. Thank God she’d remembered.
She mounted Duke and fastened the rifle so it lay across the saddle. Now if she could just remember how to shoot it!
She rode to Florida’s wagon.
Her worried friend was wringing her hands in agitation. “Oh, Callie, they’re moving out. We can’t leave Luke behind. Should I go or should I stay?”
“You’ve got to keep up.” Bending from her horse, Callie untied Rascal from the rear of the wagon. “There’s no sense in us both staying behind. I’ll find Luke and we’ll catch up with you.” Leading Rascal, she started away, back toward the darkness of the thick woods where Luke must be. Was he injured? Dead? Had the Indians got him? Or some wild animal? Was she crazy to do this by herself? A wave of fear took hold of her, but no way would she turn back now. She rode into the woods where Luke had disappeared. It was rough going. Soon the thickness of the trees and dense undergrowth forced her to dismount. Both reins in hand, she began to follow the rocky bed of a nearly dry stream. Going ever deeper into the forest, she started to call, “Luke, can you hear me?” Silence. Nothing but her own words echoed back. What if there were Indians around? Or wild animals? Better keep silent.
Using the creek bed as a pathway, she continued on until the growl of a nearby animal stopped her in her tracks. She stood perfectly still, listening. There went the growl again, low and menacing. She wanted to flee, but how could she when the animal might be growling at Luke, ready to attack. She wouldn’t dare call out now. She’d have to gather her courage and go see what it was, quietly as she could. She tethered the horses to a branch on the far bank and unfastened the rifle from the saddle. It was heavy and awkward in her arms. She wasn’t sure how to hold the thing, let alone fire it, but she’d worry about that later.
By now, the hem of her skirt was so soggy and bedraggled, nothing would be gained by holding it up. Skirt dragging, she crossed the stream and started through the dense foliage that lined the bank. The sound again! This time a low snarl. A lion? A bear? Turn—run—get out of here. But no, Luke might be in trouble. She got a firm grip on the rifle and pressed on.
No more than ten feet farther, she came to the edge of a small clearing and peered through the bushes. A large tree stood in the center. And underneath the tree…Luke. Her knees went weak at the sight of him seated on the ground, back up against the tree, a trickle of blood flowing down his arm. Her first impulse was to call his name and run to his side, but something told her not to. He held his big hunting knife in his hand. He was looking upward, his gaze fastened on some object high above his head. A snarling animal crouched on the limb of a tree. A bobcat! She knew from its gray coat, whiskered face, and black-tufted ears.
Somehow Luke knew she was there. In a voice barely above a whisper, he muttered, “For God’s sake, Callie, don’t speak. Get out of here.”
No, she wouldn’t run away. She had to save Luke, and the only way to do it was to shoot the bobcat. She raised the rifle to her shoulder. How heavy it was. She could barely hold it steady as she peered down the long barrel through the sight. A low, menacing growl from the bobcat told her it was about to strike. She wasn’t sure she was holding the rifle right, or aiming it true, but no time to waste. She pressed the rifle against her shoulder, pointed it at the animal and pulled the trigger. Her ears rang from the loud explosion, and her shoulder stung from the slam of the rifle butt. Suddenly she was sitting on the ground, legs sprawled in front of her.
In another second, Luke was bending over her. “Are you all right?”
Her ears rang so badly she could hardly hear. “Fine. Did I get him?”
“The bobcat?” He grinned. “Not even close. You scared it off, though. He won’t be back.”
She gingerly rubbed the place on her shoulder where the rifle butt slammed. “Guess I wasn’t holding it right.”
“You got the job done.” He groaned as he settled beside her.
She remembered the blood running down his arm. “You’re hurt.”
“Serves me right. I got ambushed by a Digger Indian. The sneaky devil got an arrow in my arm before I knew he was there. I could have made it back, but then the bobcat came along.”
“Sorry I missed.”
“The bobcat’s not sorry.” Admiration filled his eyes. “How brave. Not many women would have taken on a dangerous animal like you did.”
I did it because I love you. She yearned to tell him but would die before the words left her lips. No doubt he’d be shocked and horrified. Instead, she directed her attention toward his wounded arm. “Do you think it’ll get infected? I mean, don’t Indians put poison on their arrows sometimes?”
Despite his pain, he had to smile. “Not the Diggers. They’re lucky if one of their arrows hits its target. Good thing it wasn’t a Shoshone, or that arrow would have found my heart.”
“We’ve got to take care of it. Do you think you can ride Rascal back?”
“Of course. This isn’t the first time I’ve been attacked by Indians.”
“It’s happened before? You’ve never men
tioned it.”
* * * *
Luke wished he could take his words back. Why had he said that? He, the man of silence, who guarded his feelings as he guarded his life. And yet…Callie. What was it about her that drew him so strongly he could hardly think straight in her presence? He recalled the day he first saw that bedraggled-looking creature peering at him over the red Hawthorne bush. She was so meek back then, with hardly an independent thought in her head. Now, here she was boldly shooting at bobcats, sorry she’d missed. “I find it amazing how you’ve changed.”
“I have?”
“From Little Mouse to a woman so brave you came to my rescue by yourself.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I can guess what happened. Magnus and his captains weren’t too concerned I was missing. I’d wager they didn’t want to spare one extra minute looking for me when they could be making a precious extra mile or two. What happened? Did you out-and-out defy our esteemed colonel? Did you even tell him?”
“Yes, I told him. He said not to pester him with ridiculous reasons why he should stop and search for you. That’s when I decided to look for you myself.”
He let out a big whoop of laughter. “Good for you! Thanks for finding me. I’d wager if you hadn’t come along, I’d be on that bobcat’s supper plate tonight.”
“You’re welcome. You were worth saving.” She eyed him curiously. “You said you were attacked by Indians before?”
Damn! He should have known she wouldn’t let it go. A long moment passed. “I don’t talk about it.”
“Maybe you should.”
He’d never spoken of the old, painful memory. Best it lay buried forever. But was it buried? Had a day ever gone by that the events of that terrible morning hadn’t gnawed on his consciousness, haunted his dreams? Maybe you should, she’d said. Her probing eyes looked into his. Pretty eyes, soft and brown, filled with warmth and caring. Maybe, after all this time, it wouldn’t hurt to talk about it. Maybe…yes, he wanted her to know.
“We lived in Illinois, my mother, father, two sisters, a brother and I. Florida was sixteen. My sister, Emily, was fifteen and my brother, Douglas, was twelve. I was ten. My father owned a farm not far from town, a pretty place, surrounded by woods and a stream running through.
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