by Ingis, Gail
“Of course.”
Grinding his teeth, Rork stalked off.
Rork ran his hand through his hair and constantly looked out the windows like an expectant father. The sun hadn’t made an appearance yet. And the pastor took an eternity to read the marriage vows uniting Michael and Cornelia.
Michael drew Cornelia into his arms and kissed her. “Not exactly the grand wedding we’d planned.”
“Michael, that’s the last thing I care about. This is the most wonderful day of my life. A miracle. I thought I’d lost you forever.”
Rork flipped open his pocket watch. “Could we please get a move on? The sun will be up soon.”
Joshua scowled at him. “Since when did you become so insensitive?”
“Since no one could keep Leila here until my return.”
“Now you’re apportioning blame? You didn’t tell us where you were going or for how long.” Joshua poked his shoulder. “The blame for this lack of communication lies squarely on your shoulders, my friend.”
Rork waved a hand. “We need to get going—sooner rather than later.”
“Hell, Rork, give them a moment to enjoy their nuptials.” Joshua slapped his back. “Let’s wish the couple well.”
“All right.” Rork joined Joshua and Kate in offering felicitations.
Cornelia glowed with happiness. Standing on tiptoes, she kissed Rork on the cheek. “We’ll find her. Stop fretting.” She looked at Kate. “Let’s change so we can be on our way.”
The girls walked off arm-in-arm, while the men went out to check the horses and luggage.
Rork surveyed two pack mules and raised one eyebrow. “I expected the women to have more baggage.”
Michael laughed. “We have practical wives.”
The women returned, and Rork raised a brow, “You’re dressed in men’s clothing.”
“More comfortable, don’t you think?” Cornelia said and swung up onto her mount, her eyes dancing. “Close your mouth, Rork Millburn, or you’ll catch flies.” Her laughter bubbled up, wheeling her mount.
Leaving Atchison behind, they watched the sunrise slide over the horizon.
Fatigued and covered in dust, Rork and his party rode through Fort Laramie’s gates.
An old soldier greeted them. “Ya came just in time. An hour later and the gates would’ve been shut.”
Rork hawked up dust and spat. “He swallowed. We’d like to speak with your commander.”
“Our commander is away, but Colonel Chivington is here. We’ve had problems with red skins attackin’ wagon trains. The Cheyenne Dog Soldiers are a bloodthirsty lot.”
They dismounted and followed the soldier across the parade ground. Rork got his attention. “I read a peace treaty was made. No more attacks. I don’t understand. When did this happen?”
“Ah, hell, this goes back to ’58 when the Pike’s Peak gold rush started. The red skins objected to the whites invadin’ their land. A peace treaty was signed, but it didn’t stop the Dog Soldiers. No siree.”
“And this Colonel Chivington is here to stop them?”
“Well, he’s a pastor, not a commissioned officer. Governor Evans promoted him to Colonel of the Colorado Volunteer army. Has seven hundred men under him.” The soldier chewed a stick that he moved from one side of his mouth to the other. “Hard man, Chivington. Them red skins had better watch out.”
Rork’s heart contracted. Is Leila in the middle of all this? The soldier ushered them into an office.
A broad man with a trim beard and receding hairline rose from his desk, hard brown eyes piercing Rork. He extended his hand. “Colonel Chivington. What can I do for you, sir?”
Rork shook his hand. “I’m Millburn. Did a woman with a trapper by the name of Tobin stop here? Has there been any news of them?”
Chivington’s disapproving eyes shifted to the women. He nodded. “Ladies.” He ignored Joshua and returned to his seat behind the desk. “Thomas Tobin is half Indian. Good trapper, though, and he wasn’t in the company of a woman. I heard, via army reports, that he killed the Espinosa gang, and a boy helped him.”
Rork’s mouth fell open. “A boy helped him?”
“Yes. They apparently intend to head west.”
Rork’s belly somersaulted. “Headed west?”
Chivington scowled. “You hard of hearing, son?”
“Where did they kill the Espinosa gang?” Rork sagged onto a chair, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Near Pike’s Peak, I think.”
“It wasn’t a boy. That was my betrothed.”
“And you allowed her to go alone in the company of a man? Dear God, what is the world coming to.”
Rork glared at him. “You must have heard that a gang of dangerous Indian Dog Soldiers is roaming the area. Seems they’re on the warpath to protect their land that’s being taken from them.”
Chivington steepled his fingers. “I do track the Indians. Damn any man who sympathizes with them. Kill and scalp all, big and little, I say.”
“You advocate killing women and children?”
“Nits make lice.” The colonel busied himself with papers.
Rork shook his head at the barbarism of the man. “I’ll bid you good day, sir.”
Chivington looked up. “Good day.”
Red faced, Kate exploded. “What a horrible, bigoted swine!”
They headed for their horses.
“I concur,” Rork said.
A stagecoach raced through the gates and stopped amid a cloud of dust. A cage on the roof, crammed with chickens, tilted precariously.
The stout driver leapt down, clasped a rolled whip in his hand, strode to the soldier, shook his hand, and grinned. “Tarnation! Thought we wasn’t goin’ to make it afore ya closed the gates.”
The soldier chortled. “Trust ya to make it by the skin o’ yer teeth, Charley.”
Charley took off his wide-brimmed hat and slapped the dust off his buckskin-clad thighs. “Well, ya need to be fast in this business, an’ Butterfield has a reputation to uphold.”
Four travel-worn passengers alighted with groans. A portly man brushed his jacket. “I ain’t going another mile in this bone-rattler.”
Charley shrugged. “Suit yerself.”
The passenger crossed his arms. “I’ll be asking for a part refund, mind.”
“Sure.” Charley took a pouch from his pocket and counted out coins. “Here ya go.” He handed the money to the passenger. “Don’t know how ya think y’all gonna get to California.”
The passenger herded his skinny wife and two plump daughters to the fort office. “I’ll find a way.”
Rork looked at Michael and Joshua. “Why don’t we put Cornelia and Kate on the stagecoach? We’ll take the horses and ride alongside.”
“Wonderful idea.” Michael put an arm around Cornelia. He brushed off strands of hair stuck to her sweaty brow. “I’m not sure it’ll be a comfortable ride.”
Cornelia leaned against him. “No matter. I’ll just be happy to relax in a coach.”
“Me as well,” Kate said.
Joshua laughed. “It won’t be relaxing.”
“Then it’s settled.” Rork approached the driver. “Could we buy two fares?”
“Sure. Need to fill the space anyway. Cost ya seventy-five dollars apiece, plus $1 for ye meals.” With his one eye, he studied the women. “It ain’t a comfy ride, if that’s what yer after.”
“It has to be better than riding.” Rork counted out the money to the driver. “Here you go.”
“Ya cen call me Charley. Nope, an’ we don’t make overnight stops. Stop for forty-five minutes twice a day, and ya have to walk when the terrain is bad. Victuals are extra and provided twice a day. We also stop at various way stations to change t
he team o’ mustangs. Butterfield don’t supply ya with arms. Ya need to carry that yerself for possible Injun attacks.”
Rork blinked. “Do you expect Indian attacks?”
Charley spat a stream of tobacco juice. “Butterfields has a sign at the start o’ the journey.” He stuffed another wad of tobacco in his mouth and chewed vigorously. “Ye’ll be travelin’ through Injun country an’ the safety o’ yer person cain’t be vouchsafed by anyone but God,” he rattled off. “So now ya know Butterfield’s conditions.” He pulled a stained handkerchief from his pocket and wiped sweat and dust from his sun-browned face.
“Right. So when do you leave?”
“Soon as we change the team. The ladies can board while we harness fresh mustangs.”
Rork nodded and turned to the women. “Don’t worry. We’ll be right alongside.”
Joshua and Michael handed them into the coach. Cornelia nodded and smiled at passengers sitting with their backs to the driver. She sat next to a family on one of two opposite seats. Cornelia smiled. “Goodness, four people disembarked and there doesn’t seem enough room for just two of us.” She stared at mailbags crammed into the foot space and looked at Charley. “Do we put our feet on those mailbags?”
He spat out another stream of tobacco-stained spittle. “Sure do, li’l lady. Make yerself comfy.” Then he strode away.
Cornelia sighed. “I’d hoped we could rest here for the night.
Rork patted Cornelia’s hand as she sat. “I’m hoping with the speed of the coach and taking the usual route we can catch up with Leila. Once we have her, we can decide how we want to travel.”
Charley returned with a groom and four mustangs. The spent horses were quickly unhitched.
“I’m getting the girls out of there,” Michael murmured. “These animals are feisty.”
“I agree.” Joshua opened the coach door. “Ladies, please,” he extended his hand. “You can get back in when they’re done harnessing them.”
The girls clambered out and withdrew to a safe distance.
Charley and the groom backed the horses into the traces, harnessing the back two. As they maneuvered the two lead horses into position, one of them reared and plunged, slamming his hooves onto the hard earth. The other horse panicked and lunged sideways, breaking the pole chain. It fell, and pandemonium broke out. Charley and the groom tried to control the bucking animals. Passengers screeched and tumbled from the coach. The fallen horse scrambled to rise and got jammed between the two harnessed horses, kicking out wildly. Charley ripped off his coat and threw it over the distressed animal’s face, calming it.
The groom unhitched the rear horses and led them a short distance away. “Ya cain’t travel today, Charley. That pole chain is broke good. We’ll have to fix it.”
Charley nodded and urged the quivering mustang to its feet. He looked over his shoulder at the passengers. “Y’all have to hole up here for the night. Gentlemen will be housed in one o’ the barracks.”
Cornelia smiled. “Thank goodness we can stay at least one night.”
Rork, however, was agitated to be on his way. “This is all I need—another damn delay.”
Michael grabbed his arm. “We’re stuck Rork. They have to make repairs. How would you travel anyway? You can’t even think about leaving now, especially not with Indians roaming the plains.”
“I know. But if I’d come alone, I would have taken my chances.”
Kate glared at him. “Then you would have been a fool, Rork Millburn!”
“I am a fool,” he said, stalking off. “A fool in love.”
Chapter 33
The early call of a rooster pierced the dawn, rousing Rork from a disturbed sleep. He needed real rest, but it was impossible in a room filled with snoring, road-weary men. The hard straw pillow offered no comfort. He threw off a threadbare blanket and rolled out of the bunk. He opened the creaky door and slipped through onto a low-roofed porch.
Rork groaned, flexed his shoulders, and rubbed the stubble on his chin. He leaned on the porch railing, and a cool breeze caressed him. The rising sun soaked the mountains.
“Pretty, ain’t it?”
Rork glanced at the soldier. “Yes, it is. Can you tell me? Is this Charley a good driver?”
“One-eyed Charley is among the best drivers around these parts.” He stuck out a gnarled hand. “Bobby is the name.”
“Millburn.” Rork shook his hand. “How did Charley lose his eye?”
“Horse kicked him. But even havin’ only one eye, Charley is right nifty with four or six in hand. He ranks up there with the best drivers, like Foss, Monk, and George Gordon.” He leaned on the railing. “Ol’ Charley is brave, too. Last trip, Sugarfoot, a bandit what’s been robbin’ travelers left an’ right, demanded Charley hand over the strongbox, which he did, but now he has it in for Sugarfoot. Reckon that bastard won’t be so lucky if he tries to rob Charley again.” Bobby hawked up phlegm and spat. “No, siree. Once old Charley’s dander is up, best watch out.”
“Sounds like Indians are a bigger problem.”
“Ah, redskins don’t rattle ol’ Charley. Long as the passengers do their bit and help keep ‘em at bay.” He straightened. “Ya want coffee?”
“That would be great.” Bobby ambled off, and Rork looked at the distant snowcapped mountains. Why the hell couldn’t Leila wait for me? Why indeed? Because like a fool, I took off to paint without leaving instructions. The strong aroma of coffee drew him from self-incrimination.
Bobby handed Rork a cup of the brew. “Thank you.” Rork gazed down at the dark brown liquid and took a deep breath. “Ah, just what I needed.”
“Yup, people come to blows wantin’ to sit up front with Charley. It’s an honor to share the spare driver seat with him.” He squinted in the early morning light. “There goes Charley. Must be fixin’ on repairin’ that pole chain an’ gettin’ an early start.” Bobby drained his cup and set it down. “Charley needs help.”
“I’ll join you.” Rork downed his coffee. Ugh, that doesn’t taste anything like it smelled. He grimaced at the overly sweet, strong brew, but it did revive his spirits.
Charley gave him the good eye. For an hour, they worked in silence, repairing the damage. Dripping sweat, Rork sighed with relief. The mustangs were hitched and ready.
Passengers and goods were loaded, and Charley clambered onto the driver’s seat and looked around. “Y’all set?”
“Yes,” Rork ground out, impatient to be on his way.
“Yah! Yah!” Charley cracked his whip just above the horses’ ears, and the red, canvas-roofed coach took off, raising a cloud of dust.
Rork wrinkled his nose. “Best we ride alongside to avoid choking to death.” They urged the girls’ horses and pack mules, tied to their mounts, to move faster.
The coach moved briskly over the grassy plains. Rork, Joshua, and Michael settled into an easy gait. The rumble of wagon wheels and rhythmic pounding of hooves was soothing. Warm sunshine blanketed the prairie and cast a golden glow over the grasses.
Without further mishaps, they crossed a vast stretch of desert. The horses breathed heavily, snorting sand from their nostrils.
Rork studied the barren surroundings with longing. He itched to paint. Exerting caution, they negotiated a narrow, winding road leading up to vast plains.
Five hours later, they reached the mountains, and the heat intensified. The horses struggled to pull the coach over the rocky terrain. Charley’s gruff voice urged the team on, along with deft cracks of the whip.
Rork unhooked his water canteen and drank deeply, slaking his thirst. He moved closer to the coach and handed the canteen to Cornelia. “The dust must be killing you,” he yelled above the rumbling of the stagecoach.
Pale faced, the girls nodded and drank.
Rork kept a watch out for
trouble. Veering toward Michael, he scanned the tall cliffs. “This looks like a place for an ambush. Never know if Indians will attack. How about you ride shotgun on the coach? I see a spare seat behind.”
Michael nodded. “I hope you didn’t suggest it because I’m a cripple.”
“No, because you’re a soldier. I’ll speak to Charley.” Rork tapped his horse and drew close to the coach again. “Charley,” he shouted, “I’ll pay another fare to have my friend, Hargreaves, ride shotgun.”
“No need to pay.” He slowed the coach to a halt. “Sounds like a good idea.” Charley glanced at Rork, his eye twinkling. “I hear tell Mr. Hargreaves was a soldier.”
“Yes, it’s perfect that he ride shotgun. He was a sniper in the army.”
“I could use a good gun up front with me.”
The passengers alighted. They groaned as they stepped away from the coach and agreed that the ride was worse than uncomfortable. There were too many feet, too many heads, and too many supplies all squeezed into the coach. Unlike the rocking and rolling of a cradle, this rocking and rolling made their heads spin.
Michael slid off his mount and untied his crutches, which were strapped to the saddle. Cornelia came to him. “How are you holding up in that rattler?” Michael asked.
“I’m fine.” She leaned against him.
“I’m going to ride up top with Charley.” She raised her brow. “No, it’s not because I’m in pain or tired. I’m riding shotgun. This is a bad area, apparently. Not surprising. These mountains offer plenty of places to launch an ambush.”
