“You can’t make us jump! We could get killed!” Satch murmured, but then Easy lifted the gun and put a shot so close to his ear that Satch heard the whirling of the bullet. With a despairing cry, he turned and leaped. Max stood beside the door, dazed. Everything had taken place too fast for his dull brain to grasp. Quickly Peter reached over, grabbed his arm, and yanked it. Then he lifted his foot and kicked him in the stomach. The big man let out a wild yell, then flipped backward out of the car. Peter stuck his head out the door and saw the man rolling down the side of the slope. Looking back he saw Satch getting up, shaking his fist. He pulled back inside and collapsed against the side of the car. “They’re all right,” he said.
“Did . . . did I kill him?”
“No, you didn’t kill him, Jolie,” and then Peter told his lie quickly. “I saw him getting up, holding on to his shoulder. He’s okay.”
Suddenly the girl began to tremble. Peter came to her side and helped her as she slumped down, then sat beside her. “Don’t worry about it, Jolie. You had to do it. If you hadn’t, I think they’d have killed all of us. They were a rough bunch.” He felt her thin shoulders trembling and saw that she had hidden her face and was weeping. He glanced at Easy, who concealed the weapon under his coat and came over to sit on the other side of the young girl.
“It’s okay, kid,” he said, patting her shoulder. “You saved our bacon that time. We owe you one for that.”
“You . . . you don’t think I killed him?” Lifting her hands from her face, Jolie looked up. Her face was stained with tears and tight with strain.
“No,” Peter assured her. “He’ll make it. They’ll patch him up, and those three will probably kill somebody before it’s over. He’s too mean to die.”
Peter gently put his arm around Jolie, but the girl stiffened. Not wanting to confuse her, he quickly pulled it away. “We’ll be okay now.”
The train rumbled on into the night, but sleep was impossible for Jolie Devorak. She had fought off men before, but never had she shot anybody. In fact, she had never held a gun in her hand. The first shock began to pass away, and finally she glanced up, first at Easy and then at Peter. “I didn’t thank you for saving me from that man,” she whispered.
“It looks like you saved us,” Peter grinned. “Isn’t that right, Easy?”
“Dead right! You’re all right, kid!” He hesitated, then said, “You got any folks?”
Jolie had learned to keep her own counsel, but the shock of the fight had loosened her restraints. She ducked her head and said, “I’m running away.”
“I figured that,” Easy said. “Most of us are running away from something. What are you running from?”
She sat up straighter and began to talk. Her voice was low, and the two men had to lean forward to hear her as she said, “I’m running away from my stepfather. My pa left my ma before I was born, and she took real good care of me. But then things got hard, and she married a man called Wilson—and he wasn’t any good.”
As the girl’s voice droned on, telling her sad story, the outside world rushed by. Inside the car they were in their own little world, safe for the moment from men like Max, Satch, and Tony. For a while, at least, they had nothing to fear. Peter listened closely as the girl continued.
She looked up and turned the left side of her face to them. They saw the scar that ran from her temple in a ragged track around her cheek, almost touching her eyelid, then down to the corner of her lips. “He used to beat Ma and me. He gave me this scar.” She looked up at them and said wanly, “He fixed me, didn’t he? Who would ever look at me with a scar like that?”
“You say your ma died?”
“Yes, and then he started—” She halted, her face flushed, and she dropped her head. “He started touching me. Always trying to get his hands on me. So I ran away.”
When Jolie stopped talking, Peter was filled with a pity for her that he had rarely known for anyone. His old life suddenly seemed easy and without problems as he thought of the trouble this young woman had already endured. He was a man of impulse and it showed now. He wanted to put his arm around her, but he knew she was shy and not ready for that. “Look,” he said. “Come to Los Angeles with us.”
“With you?” Jolie looked up, startled. Her hand went up to cover her scar, a customary gesture with her, and she said, “What would I do there?”
“Why, there are lots of things you could do. I’ve got a brother there. He’s got an orange grove. You could pick oranges. He’d be glad to have you. He’s got a fine family. You’d like them, Jolie.”
“I couldn’t go stay with strangers.”
“Well, you could come with us, then. Me and Easy here have got jobs working for a friend of mine in the motion picture business.” He went on to explain what they were going to do and then said again, “Come with us.”
“I can’t even ride a horse.”
“Neither can I,” Easy said, “but that doesn’t matter.” The small man sat hunched up, his arms locked around his knees. His face was pale, but there was a light of compassion in his eyes as he said, “Everybody needs somebody, Jolie. Don’t try to go it alone. We won’t bother you. I know you’re afraid of men.”
His hand went under his coat, and he pulled out the pistol he had taken from Tony. With a wry smile he reversed it and handed it to her butt first. “If we ever try to hurt you, shoot us.”
For the first time a smile touched the girl’s lips. They were broad, mobile lips, and she said with just a trace of amusement, “I don’t guess I could do that. Just leave me alone. That’s all I ask,” she said, handing the pistol to Peter.
“Sure, we’ll do that,” Peter said, stowing the pistol away. “But give it a try. Come on and hitch up with us. We’ll be The Three Musketeers.”
“The Three Musketeers? What’s that?”
“Three characters in a book by Alexander Dumas. They always helped each other when they were in trouble. I guess that’s what we’ve done.” He waited, then said, “Come along, Jolie. See how it goes.”
The girl dropped her head and stared at the floor. Finally she lifted it again and said quietly, “All right. I’ll go with you.” She rose quickly, then as if afraid of showing too much emotion, she went back to her blanket at the head of the car. She sat down and closed her eyes, listening in the darkness as the train continued its rhythmic clicking over the steel rails.
CHAPTER SIX
The Three Musketeers
When the train stopped somewhere at the clearing of the mountains, the three peered out the door, and Easy said, “What kind of trees are those?”
Staring out at the orchard, Peter said, “Orange trees, I think. I’ve never seen any, but that looks like what they might be.” The weather had grown warm, so he took off his heavy coat and tossed it onto his suitcase. “It’s warm, isn’t it? I guess it’s the land of sunshine—like the chamber of commerce says.”
Jolie said nothing but stood wide-eyed looking out at the fields that were flanked on one side by rugged mountains rising up behind them. “It’s pretty,” she said finally, then walked back and sat down on her blanket.
She had moved it up close to the door. Peter was relieved that she had lost some of her fear of them. For a while he stood there, and then the train started up, and he watched the orange grove disappear as the train wound its way around a small town and headed due east. He went back and sat down on his blanket while Easy remained at the door, watching the landscape flow by.
“I’m glad you decided to throw your lot in with us, Jolie,” Peter said.
“I don’t know about it. It doesn’t seem to me like it will work.”
He sensed a brokenness in the girl, along with the stubbornness that was part of her character. From what she had shared about her stepfather, Peter knew life had been hard on her. She could not seem to see the pleasant side of anything. “You’ve had a hard time, I know. I’ve had a pretty easy life myself.”
Easy glanced over and said, “Like I said, I’ve bee
n in the pen. Whatever you had couldn’t have been as bad as Sing Sing.”
“It was worse.”
Easy’s eyes opened wide at the terse statement, and he studied the girl thoughtfully. He had had a rough life himself, but he was a man and, therefore, felt he should be able to take it better. Yet the hardships Jolie Devorak had already suffered in her young life touched him. Though he had hardened in prison, there still was a good side to the man, and he said, “You wait and see. It’ll be better when we get to Los Angeles.”
Jolie remained silent for a while, then finally lay down on her blanket and closed her eyes.
Peter curled up in his blanket, too, and when he awoke later, he found Jolie staring at him. He grinned at her, but she only stared back at him with a look he didn’t understand.
“You don’t know anything about me,” she said suddenly.
“I know you’re young, and life hasn’t been fair to you, and you need some friends. That’s all I need to know.”
There was a streak of doubt and disbelief firmly ingrained in the young woman. She stared at him silently, and he saw that her eyes were a deep blue, a strange color he had never seen before. They were wide and almond shaped, and her lashes were long and as black as her hair that now hung down over her shoulders. She had removed the cap, produced a comb and brush, and had spent some time earlier running it through her hair. Now as she examined him steadily, he sensed that she wanted to believe good things could happen, but all hope had been taken out of her at the loss of her mother and the cruelty of her stepfather. The doubt showed in the set of her face, the wariness in her eyes, and the tenseness of her thin shoulders.
“I hate my stepfather,” she said. “There were times when I thought I . . . would kill him if I could.”
“I can understand why you would feel that,” Peter said quietly. He reached down to his suitcase, flipped it open, and removed three candy bars he had bought at the last stop. He handed one to her, then tossed one over to Easy, who grinned and peeled the paper away at once. The three of them chewed thoughtfully on the candy, and after a time Easy went over and lay down and seemed to go to sleep. The train rumbled on through the countryside, and from time to time Peter would get up and go look out the door. Coming back once, he said, “It looks like desert to me. A lot like Wyoming. I don’t see how they can raise oranges in the desert.”
Jolie was sitting with her legs crossed, and she gave him a curious look. “Do you ever think about going home again to your folks?” He had told her about the ranch, and now she said wistfully, “If I had a home like that, I’d go to it.”
“Well, I guess I’m an ingrate. It’s a nice ranch, and my ma and pa . . . well, there’s nobody like them. They’re great people. But I’ve got to make my own way, Jolie. A man has to do that to be what he is. I’m going to be a famous race car driver someday.” His chin lifted and his firm mouth settled into a line. “I know that sounds stubborn, but it’s what I want to do.”
“You ain’t never been married?”
“Married? Not likely.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m twenty-five. How old are you?”
“Sixteen . . . almost seventeen.”
“Well, I’m not quite old enough to be your pa, but I’m old enough to be your big brother.” There was a rough and craggy handsomeness in Peter Winslow’s face, and he smiled at Jolie and ran his hand through his hair. “I always wanted a baby sister.”
“I’m not a baby, Peter.” The words were curt, and she suddenly raised her hand and touched the scar. “I guess when I got this, that ended some things for me.”
“Why, it’s just a scar!” Peter protested.
“Nobody would ever want me. Not with this.”
Peter was taken aback by the utter finality and deadness in her tone. “Why, sure they will,” Peter said with reassurance.
“No, not me.” Her words were spoken so quietly he could barely hear them, but he did hear the bitterness and hopelessness in her voice. He wanted to reach out and put his arm around her in a friendly fashion, but he knew she was too wary for that, so he said, “Look, it’s going to be better. I know you had a hard time, Jolie, but you’ve got friends now. You got me, and you got Easy, and you’ll like my family. You’ll love my sister, Priscilla. She’s the sweetest person you could ever meet. And my brother, Cass, he’s a fine fellow, and Serena, his wife, there’s none better. You’re going to be all right.”
Suddenly the long, lonesome cry of the engine’s whistle rent the air, and somehow the sound seemed to match the sullen mood that had fallen on Jolie Devorak. She had listened carefully to Peter’s words, and for a moment hope had flickered in her deep blue eyes, and her lips had grown more relaxed and soft. But the sound of the whistle seemed to draw her back into herself, and she said shortly, “We’ll see—but I don’t believe it.”
Peter said no more but leaned back against the car and closed his eyes. He had never met anyone exactly like this young woman. She is neither girl nor woman, he thought. Somewhere in between, and that’s a tough place for any young girl to be. He remembered Priscilla talking to him when she was at that intermediate stage, and even Priscilla, with all of her gifts and loveliness, had been miserable. He felt the vibration of the wheels as they clicked across the seams of the steel rails and thought, I’ll have to watch out for her. She needs a friend about as bad as anyone I ever knew!
****
Riding through the pasture to examine the stock that milled around, Jason Ballard said abruptly in a tone of disgust, “They stampede the tallow off these poor critters!” He looked at the short, tubby cowboy riding alongside, whose name was Pudge Jones, and said, “Looks to me, Pudge, that they could just take a picture of one stampede and use it over and over again.”
“Good thing they can’t.” Pudge grinned back at him. He was a freckle-faced individual from Montana. He now stared good-naturedly at his boss and said, “If they could do that, they wouldn’t need us, would they, Jase?”
“I guess not.” Jason grinned at his companion, then suddenly a movement caught his eye. He pulled his hat forward to shade his eyes better and squinted, then exclaimed, “My sainted aunt! It’s Peter Winslow!”
“Who’s that?” asked Pudge.
“Miss Priscilla’s brother,” Jason responded. “It looks like he’s picked up a couple of strays. You watch these critters, Pudge.” Touching his spurs to the tall, rangy bay’s flanks, he held on while the animal shot forward and pulled up in a cloud of dust before the trio that stopped to look up at him.
“Hi, Jason,” Peter grinned. “Here I am—ready to take over just like you asked me to.”
Jason swung out of his saddle, hung on to the lines, and thumbed his hat back over his forehead. “I don’t seem to recall doin’ more than askin’ you to come and punch a few cows, but I’m glad to see you, Pete. Does Priscilla know you’re here?”
“No, we just got in.”
Taking in the ragged, wrinkled clothes of the three, Jason said dryly, “I don’t reckon you rode first class.” He turned his gaze on the young woman, removed his hat, and said, “I don’t know you, miss, but you’re sure in powerful bad company with this Peter Winslow.”
“This is Jolie Devorak, Jason, and this is Easy Devlin.”
“Pleased to know you,” Jason said. He whirled the lines of the bay in his hand idly, and his eyes narrowed as he took in Peter’s two companions. “Where did you three all hitch up together?”
“Well, to tell the truth,” Peter said, “we’ve been bummin’ together. Rode a train halfway across the United States.” Quickly he added, “I’ve got to find jobs for Easy and Jolie, Jason. Can you help us?”
Jolie had stood slightly back, looking up at the tall cowboy. She was entranced by his outfit. He looked exactly like her idea of what a real cowboy should be, all the way from the high-heeled boots to the high-crowned Stetson. There was a friendliness in his eyes, although he looked like he could be hard if necessary, and she waited te
nsely for his answer.
“Well, we can always put you on a horse, Devlin.”
“Got to be honest with you, Ballard. I don’t know one end of a horse from the other.”
The answer amused Jason. He said, “That’ll be up to Pete. He can tie you on, I reckon.”
“That’s what I told him,” Peter said eagerly. “And there’s got to be some job around here for Jolie. Don’t they need help making these pictures?”
“I reckon they do, but that’ll be up to the boss. Come along. We’ll go talk to Priscilla about it.” He grinned and said, “She’s got Porter in the palm of her hand.”
“Who’s he?” Peter asked as the four walked along with Jason leading his bay.
“Oh, he’s the producer. Like I say, Priscilla’s got him right where she wants him.” He looked down at the young woman and smiled. “Don’t worry, miss. Priscilla will fix you up.”
It was only a short walk to the set, and Jason said, “Look, there’s Priscilla now. I guess she’s just gettin’ ready to do a riding scene.”
Priscilla Winslow had seen the four coming and had not recognized her brother. Then her eyes flew open, and she squealed, “Peter!” and ran to throw herself into his arms. He held her up, gave her a squeeze and a kiss, and said, “Well, the bad penny’s come back. This time we’re begging.”
“Peter, why didn’t you write?”
Peter ignored the question and said, “This is Easy Devlin. He’s gonna be ridin’ for Jason. Just like me. And this is a friend of mine I want you to be especially nice to, Jolie Devorak. Jolie, this is my sister, Priscilla Winslow.”
“How are you, Jolie?” Priscilla smiled, and no trace of the slight shock that ran through her at the sight of the disreputable young girl showed on her face. She put out her hand and saw that the girl hesitated before taking it. “You all look like you could use a bath and a good meal,” she said.
The Silver Star Page 9
