Love by Dawn

by Therese A. Kramer

  The end of April brought with it daily showers and Blake lost their trail in the woods due to a heavy downpour, but was able to get information from a nearby farm where the two had stayed. The old couple informed him that the two in question were planning to head to El Paso. By the time he reached Texas, he believed he was close behind them upon discovering the horse had a broken right shoe. And spotting where the animal had lost it made it easy to follow the tracks of a cracked horseshoe. Figuring that they had to find the nearest blacksmith in El Paso, he kicked his mount into a run.

  When he left Checkers at the blacksmith, he discovered that the pair had joined up with a family headed for New Mexico. Totally sure that he’d catch them in a short time he decided to spend the night in a local bar with a bottle and a pretty red headed prostitute. He was sorely in need of a woman and one night wouldn’t hurt.

  Never had Blake recalled such a hangover after a few drinks. That night started out in the company of the beautiful prostitute. They shared a few drinks before heading up stairs to a room. He bedded the whore, but before she left, she poured him another drink. After gulping down the gold liquid, he passed out and remembered nothing until he was rudely wakened by the sheriff. It seemed one of the girls came into the room looking for her friend and discovered her prostate, battered body lying next to Blake, who couldn’t recall anything, but his name. He was arrested for killing the whore; his confidence in himself and his one night of pleasure had changed his life dramatically.

  It took a month for the circuit judge to arrive in town to hold trial. He couldn’t have beaten the prostitute, but was totally frustrated not being a hundred percent sure since he had passed out. Blake knew the evidence was against him and he was sure he was going to be hanged. Too late, he assumed he had been dosed, knowing that many of the whores drugged the Johns, then robbed them.

  Something wasn’t right with the picture, but he couldn’t prove anything locked up in jail as he grew more impatient and grumpy waiting for the circuit judge to arrive. Every day delayed meant another day that Casey was getting further away. How would he ever find her now? From this day on, he swore off prostitutes. Now that was funny, but he wasn’t laughing. He might not live long enough to regret any more foolish actions.

  The day of the trial, the bar was closed and the saloon was filled to the rafters with spectators. There wasn’t a standing place to be had. He was escorted into this travesty of a courtroom by one of the deputies. The jury of twelve men sat around felt-covered poker tables on the side. Each man sat stone-faced, never once looking at him. Blake wasn’t shy, he looked them over. He had been told that one was the banker, a teacher, two ranchers and he suspected that the others were clients of this establishment. They were the most unfriendly bunch of geezers he had ever laid his eyes on; he was a dead man for sure.

  Judge Braddock sat behind a round table with a half-filled bottle of booze. The judge looked rumbled and Blake would bet his last double eagle gold coin that the judge was there last nights drinking and whoring. The place was like a circus, the girls of the saloon serving more drinks than they probably had all week. The room still smelled of smoke, unwashed bodies and stale whiskey. Sawdust and discarded butts remained under his feet. The sheriff sat drumming his fingers as if he had more important business to attend to. The judge pounded the gavel and Blake winced. The incessant jabbering of voices came to an immediate lull.

  The gravel was slammed once more and the judge grunted, “I’ll have order in my court, that made his point and he whacked the gravel again. This honorable court is now in session. What’s on my docket this day?”

  The prosecutor was very well dressed and stood. The pimply faced lawyer, who appeared as if he hadn’t yet graduated from the little red schoolhouse, was his attorney. He was young and dressed in a threadbare plaid shirt and jeans and introduced himself as Bromley Brooks. Blake wondered where the layer was before the trial but didn’t ask. Better late than never he thought. But in this case, Blake wasn’t too sure if it mattered.

  Moments later, Blake silently cursed as the well-dressed lawyer called a soiled dove to the stand. It was Cricket, who found her dead friend. She came forward and a few wolf whistles and catcalls erupted and the gavel was slammed again. Judge Braddock insisted that there be order in the court, but he winked at the scantly-clad lady. Blake groaned inwardly. Yep, he was a dead man. He ran his finger around his collar practically feeling the nose tighten against his Adam’s apple.

  The prostitute put her hand on the bible and the lawyer asked, “Do you swear to tell the truth?” and so on.

  “Of course, she purred and went on to testify that she and the other woman had never had trouble with their Johns before. And then Blake’s lawyer questioned her about drugging clients. Of course, she denied the allegation completely and was totally insulted by the question.

  “Sir,” Cricket licked her painted lips and batted her long lashes, making sure she hunched over enough for the male jury to see her ample breasts. “Us girls never spike a gentleman’s drink.” Boy, did she lie nicely, he thought. Flutter, flutter went her lashes when she recognized some of the men and winked.

  Blake rolled his eyes at her wanton display and noticed when the whore winked at the jury of men, too many red faces looked the other way hoping their wives seated in the room hadn’t notice their uneasiness. He began drumming his fingers when the well-dressed lawyer cleared his throat and approached the prostitute.

  “Ahem. Now Cricket, can you tell us in your own words what happened that night a month ago?”

  His pimple faced lawyer stood. “I o-object!” he stammered.

  The gavel slammed. “What fer?” asked the judge.

  His lawyer reddened. “Um, hearsay, your honor.”

  “Is not!” snapped Cricket. “I’d seen it with me own eyes.”

  “Overruled,” the judge’s mouth curved into a foolish grin at the witness. “You’re correct, darlin’.” And she beamed proudly.

  Blake groaned at the conversation that had just taken place and tugged at Bromley’s shirt sleeve. The pimply faced lawyer looked down his long nose at him and reddened. “I had to say something,” he insisted.

  “I agree, but… be sure about what you’re objecting too. You’re making a fool out of me and yourself. I could defend my own ass better than you have so far.”

  Bromley took offense to his claim, but he didn’t give a rat’s ass!

  “Continue, Cricket,” ordered the prosecutor and Blake swore again calling attention to himself. The judge gave him the eye and again he couldn’t give a crap!

  Cricket licked her lips. “Well, ya see, when my friend, Bell, never came back to our quarters, I was worried about her, so I knocked on the door of the room I knew she was in. When no one answered, I opened it a crack and peeked in. And oh,” she placed her hand on her chest being a bit melodramatic, and continued, “I found her lying all bloody and,” tears fell, she was dead, ya honor.” She lifted the hem of her dress and patted her eyes exposing much of her net stockings, which of course led to more catcalls and whistles until Judge Braddock put a stop to the commotion. But he did take his damn sweet time of it, thought Blake.

  “Thank you, Cricket,” said the judge. You may step down.”

  Colby Sweet, the owner of the tavern, swore that his girls were honest and law abiding citizens of El Paso. His comment got a few snickers and snorts from the whore and his beady dark eyes scanned the room, as he wiped his sweaty brow.

  Colby was nervous and he had a good reason to be. Only that morning he had confronted a prostitute, named Honey, saying he knew she and her dead friend, Bell had been holding out on him. She denied it until his fists beat her into admitting that she and Bell were saving up to leave town and the profession. He left the woman unconscious, wondering if he had killed her also. As if his thoughts could have conjured up his images of Honey, the doors swung open and the battered woman fell into the room. He jumped from the chair and ran to her side as puzzled onlookers gasped
; he took the woman in his arms and whispered a threat in her ear.

  Honey pushed him aside, crying, “No! No! Colby, your threats won’t work anymore.”

  Sweating, he heard the crowd start to murmur noisily among themselves until the judge slammed the gavel on the table making the whiskey bottle jump a foot into the air. But he wasn’t one to waste good liquor and snatched it before it crashed to the floor. A few men cheered at the judge’s quick thinking and he nodded proudly and hollered, “Order! Or I’ll clear the room.”

  The defendant’s lawyer went to Honey’s side and helped her to a chair. Colby started to leave but Judge Braddock yelled, “Stop that man!” A deputy standing by the doors pulled his gun and detained him from fleeing. People began to whisper again until the judge rapped the gavel. “Quite!” he ordered with another slam of the gavel. “Now, young lady, what happened to you and why are you disturbing my court?”

  Honey blinked back tears licking her swollen and blood crusted lips. “Sorry your Honor but that man,” she pointed to Blake, is innocent. It was Colby Sweet who killed Bell.”

  Colby couldn’t believe his damn bad luck and stood still as the room burst into an uproar, ignoring the banging of the gavel for many minutes. Finally, the astonished people quieted and the judge ordered him taken to jail, but not before he saw Honey pass out and the defendant was freed and his name cleared.

  THIRTEEN

  August lashed out with its hot breath over the plains. The New Mexican desert took the old soul, Ruth Oliver and Casey cried openly as Hunter dug the woman’s grave. Michael continued the journey in shock, sitting idly, day by day, in the rear of the wagon. He blamed himself for taking his wife out here to the wilderness. She tried to console the old man, but it was of no use and Michael Oliver died of a broken heart a month later. They buried him near the border of Arizona and she was sad that he had to be laid to rest so far from his wife, but she believed in the hereafter and she knew their souls were reunited in heaven.

  It was September, but a person wouldn’t have known it since it was still hot in Arizona. Casey was sitting by the campfire talking with her brother about the past months and how they had made it this far.

  “We’ll sell the wagon and horses for what they’re worth and find jobs. We’ll start a new life here, Sis.”

  She shrugged, still feeling melancholy about the loss of Michael and Ruth. She missed them very much and thought again how they had become the grandparents she never had. All alone, except for Hunter, she prayed they would find some happiness in their new lives. So engrossed in herself, she didn’t heard the twig snap nearby. Hunter touched her arm and she saw his eyes darted fearfully around.

  “Casey, there’s someone out there. Did you hear something?” he whispered in hushed tones.

  “Naw, probably just a small critter so stop being so jumpy,” she groused, ignoring her sixth sense, but she looked over her shoulder to reassure herself that her words were correct. “See, nothing to be frightened of. Now relax and---”

  “Hush. There, did you hear that?” his voice quivered.

  This time she did, but before her brother could draw Mr. Oliver’s rifle, they were surrounded by Indians.

  What good were premonitions if you don’t heed them! She chided herself looking into the unhappy faces of many braves.

  FOURTEEN

  Blake was in a bitter mood when he picked up Checkers at the stable. He was glad to get out of El Paso, Texas with his skin intact. A month had passed and he knew the trail would be cold. He had questioned the blacksmith once more and it took a twenty-dollar gold piece to jar the big man’s memory. He did recall that the young blond fellow had mentioned that the old couple was heading to Arizona. Blake prayed that his information was correct. He reached the desert before winter and spent many days wondering where in the state to start looking for the two.

  His best chance was to see if he could find his friend Star Gazer and his tribe. The Indian camp would soon be moving further into the hills before the winter snows. It had only been a couple years since he lived for a short time with this tribe and his young Indian friend. There was no doubt in his mind that as soon as he reached the other side of the mountain, the Apaches would spot him. He also knew if Casey and Hunter passed this way, the scouts would know; this was his only hope.

  As Blake nudged his horse through the pass he remembered the first time he and his cousin, Jason St. Andrew met Blue Thunder, Star Gazer and Dasodaha, the chief of the White Mountain Apache tribe. He and Jason had come to rescue his beautiful cousin Melissa St. Andrews who was captured from a wagon train by Blue Thunder. He had been a little smitten with his cousin when he went searching for her. Only seventeen, he was not an experienced frontiersman, but determined to save her. And his cousin Jason was in no better shape than himself with limited vision. But they were so wet behind the ears about the dangers of the frontier that they forged on unaware of the dangers around them.

  Blake and Jason had come across the wagon train only days after Melissa had been captured. He joined up with a search party for a few days until they lost the tracks of the Indians.

  Everyone turned back but he and his cousin. They went on and it was sheer luck that they stumbled onto the mountain pass. He found the Indian village, but wasn’t too sure how he was going to save Melissa. It was morning and quiet. He ventured as close as he could without being spotted. Jason had returned to the town for supplies while he waited.

  There were many lodges, which he learned later were called wickiups. He couldn’t go around peeking in all of them so he decided to wait, maybe they would bring her out sooner or later. He waited until his stomach began to rumble, then went off to pick berries to quiet his complaining belly. Searching the woods for lunch, he heard a hair-raising scream, then a terrorizing growl, a sound that would haunt his dreams for a long time. Running towards the screams, not thinking of the danger, Blake rounded a bend and stopped in his track. In the path was the largest, hairiest, smelliest bear he had ever set his eyes on. The animal was swatting at something in a tree. At first he thought the bear was after another animal.

  The painful cries emanating from the tree couldn’t be coming from a human being, could it? When the furry giant went down on all fours, Blake saw a human leg hanging from the limb. Bravely, he crept closer and saw it was indeed a person. He was young. His one leg was safely on a branch, but the other dangled in a bloody mess of shredded skin. It almost caused him to vomit at the sight.

  The animal began walking around the tree, planning his next attack. The Indian brave took that moment to climb higher into the tree. Blake could see the pain on the Indian’s face as he tried to pull the injured leg up out of the bear’s reach. He marveled at the strength and bravery that the young brave showed. He had to do something but he was no match for the beast. If he shot the animal and just wounded him, the bear would certainly turn on him. The gunshot would also alert the Indians.

  Talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place, he mumbled inwardly.

  The giant grizzly stood again, hissing and growling, taking another swat. He couldn’t waste anymore time, or the brave would die; he took his best shot. The bear howled then turned spitting saliva, Blake pointed the gun again. His hands shook so, he couldn’t aim. The grizzly took a few steps in his direction and was so close he could smell his rotten breath. Still shaken, he squeezed the trigger; the bullet hit and the animal grunted. Once again, he only wounded the beast. He pulled the trigger for the third time, but the chamber was empty. Closing his eyes, he waited for death, all the time he willed his legs to move. They didn’t obey.

  Swish! A cool breeze kissed his face. No pain?

  Thud! Swish! Thud!

  He stood for what seemed like forever before he senses awaken to the fact that it was quiet. Not feeling the swat of a powerful claw, he bravely opened his eyes only to stare into the faces of three Indians. Many arrows protruded from the bear’s furry body and Blake didn’t know whether to run or kiss his resc
uers. He was not given the liberty to do either and was taken to a dwelling where he was guarded, but not harmed.

  Days passed before the son of the chief, Blue Thunder came to see him. It was then he learned that his cousin was happy and in love with the big handsome Indian. Then Jason came to his rescue only to be rendered unconscious. But as it happened, no great harm had befalling them and Jason was also reunited with his sister. The young brave, Star Gazer recovered and they became good friends. He stayed for almost a year, learning to improve his shooting and riding skills. This was also where he learned to track and survive better on the wild frontier. When he left Jason remained and he later learned that Jason had married an Indian princess from another clan and returned home to his plantation with his bride.

  He was now looking forward to seeing Melissa again. She had won favor in the Apache’s eyes after stitching Star Gazer’s leg and saving his life. She and Blue Thunder were given permission to marry, something rare since Blue Thunder’s clan were opposed to mixing white blood with Indians. He was so engrossed in his musings, it took him a moment to notice the braves approach until they were almost on top of him. He brought his mount to a halt and raised his hand in peace. He recognized a few of the braves and he wondered if they remembered him. Not taking any chances, he spoke a few words of their native Athabscan tongue. He also showed them the bear tooth he wore around his neck, a gift from Star Gazer. One of the braves closed the space between them and nodded. The red man raised his hand in the same friendly manner and nodded.

  “Hon Dah. You are accepted to our village, Blake. I remember you well, blond man. Why are you here? I am Shadow.”

  “I come for help to find two of my people, and would like to see my cousin, Melissa again. Is she well?”

  Shadow nodded. “She and husband are both happy.”