by Al Lacy
“So that’s why you’re in this wagon train. You’re on your way to California to go to work for Mr. Lamont.”
“Right. But let me tell you the rest. There are no other Lamont heirs. Ward is the last. So the deal is this. When I’ve learned the business, he will make me vice president of the company. Then someday when he retires, he will sell the business to me. California’s on the grow, Rya. The Lord has made a way that I’ll be in a good business for the rest of my life.”
“Oh, McClain,” she said, “I’m so glad for you. Where in California is this?”
He set eyes on her and smiled. “Here’s the part you won’t believe. It’s in Sacramento.”
Rya gasped. “Oh … oh, McClain. I’ve never had a more pleasant shock in all my life! It’s … unbelievable, but I believe it! Oh, praise the Lord. I’ll be able to see you often then, right?”
“You sure will, little Rya Garrett.”
Putting her hands to her temples, Rya shook her head. “Isn’t it something that we both should end up in Sacramento?”
“Rya …”
“Yes?”
“I … ah … need to know something.”
“Sure.”
There was a quiver in his voice. “Well … ah … well …”
Laying a hand on his arm, she looked him straight in the eye. “McClain, what is it?”
“Do … do you have some young man back in Virginia who will be coming to California to … to join you?”
“No. Is there some young woman somewhere who will be coming to join you in Sacramento?”
He met her gaze evenly. “No.”
Elation swept through Rya like a warm ocean wave, and suddenly raindrops began to fall. Both had been so engrossed in each other that they had been oblivious to the heavy clouds covering the sky directly above. A strong wind whipped rain against them as McClain helped Rya to her feet and they headed for the shelter of the wagon train.
As the days passed and the wagon train made its way further across Nebraska—keeping a northwesterly angle toward the southeast corner of Wyoming—Rya Garrett and McClain Reardon were spending much time together in the evenings. This was especially true on the evenings she had no classes. They talked about their childhood days, their times in school and church, and of the times when McClain stayed overnight at the Garrett house with Saul. Every night, they read the Bible and prayed together by firelight.
One evening when there was no class, the Larkins invited Rya to eat supper with them and McClain. The conversation led to Rya and McClain reminiscing during the meal about the incident with John Wilkes Booth and David Herold at the Garrett farm. Rya proudly told Vance and Rhonda how McClain had taken her out the back window of the barn, risking his own life to save hers.
Rhonda smiled at Rya. “McClain must have a very special place in your heart.”
“He most certainly does,” said Rya, flicking an affectionate glance at McClain.
“That’s commendable, McClain,” said Vance. “Especially for a thirteen-year-old boy. Help me with this. My memory is a little sketchy with the details of the capture and fate of the men who helped John Wilkes Booth assassinate Lincoln.”
“Well, there were six accomplices, including David Herold,” said McClain. “Herold, George Atzerodt, and Lewis Paine were hanged on July 7, 1865. Life sentences were handed down to Samuel Arnold and Michael O’Laughlin, and Edman Spangler was given a six-year sentence.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t hang every one of them,” said Rhonda.
McClain shrugged. “I guess when all the evidence was in, the court made their decisions based on just how much each man was involved in the plot.”
“Makes sense,” said Rhonda. “Well, it looks like we’ve eaten everything on our plates. McClain, you take Rya for a walk or something. Vance will help me clean up.”
Vance made a mock scowl. “Yes, dear.”
McClain and Rya laughed.
“Guess we’d better do as Rhonda says,” said McClain, chuckling, “or she’ll have me doing the dishes.”
Vance laughed. “You’re right about that, boy! You’d best shake a leg.”
McClain quickly made his way to the rear of the Larkin wagon, took his Bible from his bedroll, and returned. “Okay, Miss Garrett, I’m ready to go.”
Rya thanked the Larkins for the meal, and walked away on McClain’s arm as they crossed the circle.
“Those really are precious people, McClain,” said Rya as they neared the central fire.
“They sure are,” he agreed, spotting a semiprivate space near the fire. “Let’s sit down over here.”
Rya and McClain greeted people sitting near the fire. They talked a few minutes about their families, then McClain opened his Bible and read a passage from the Psalms. When he finished, they prayed together, asking God to guide them in their lives and to protect the wagon train, especially when they reached Cheyenne, Sioux, and Blackfoot territory. The names of Burt and Dorothy Keegan were also brought to the Throne of Grace.
When the amen was said, McClain rose to his feet, offering his hand to Rya. “Thank you for a very pleasant evening.”
“My pleasure, Sergeant Reardon. Oops! I mean Mr. Reardon. You are a civilian now. And thank you for a very pleasant evening.”
McClain walked her to the Keegan wagon, where Burt and Dorothy were already inside preparing for bed.
“See you tomorrow, Rya,” said McClain. “Pleasant dreams.”
“You, too,” she replied, warming him with her fetching smile. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
“Oh! McClain!” called Rya, hurrying to him.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Do you remember back when you got me out of that barn, that I said you would always be my hero?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, I just had to tell you that those were no idle words. You are still my hero.”
McClain’s face tinted. He playfully clipped her chin. “Little Rya Garrett, I would do it again if you needed to escape another John Wilkes Booth.”
Her heart was thumping her rib cage. “I have no doubt of that.”
Two days later, the wagon train made its circle for the night at sundown on the south bank of the Little Blue River, near the small town of Deweese.
While all the women in the train were cooking a combined meal at the large fire in the center of the circle, Ken Place approached his father, who was in conversation with Dick Jensen and a wagon owner in his late fifties named Archie McCrum.
“Dad, three men just rode up and asked me if they could talk to the wagon master. I said I would bring you to them.”
“All right, son,” said Chet. “Please excuse me, gentlemen.”
When Chet passed behind the lead wagon, he set his eyes on the three riders, who were still in their saddles. They were dirty, with scraggly beards and shaggy hair dangling beneath their sweat-stained hats.
“This is my dad, Chet Place,” said Ken.
“What can I do for you?” asked Chet, smiling.
One of the three was a muscular man with a neck like a tree trunk. “My name is Gabe Hute, Mr. Place,” he said politely. “This fella on my right is Bob Menell, and the one on my left is Wally Arbuckle. We’ve been travelin’ for days and are runnin’ low on food and money. Could you possibly find it in your heart to share a meal with us?”
“Well, you hit it good this evening, fellas. Our ladies are doing a combined supper. Climb down and come on in.”
The people were gathering at the food tables when Chet led the riders into the circle and introduced them. He explained that the trio was low on food and money, and had asked if they could share in this evening’s meal.
Chet could tell by the faces of his people that they were a bit uncomfortable at the sight of their guests, but when he asked if anyone had any objections, none were given.
During the meal, Rya and McClain were seated together near the three men, and unknown to either of them, Gabe Hute kept looking
at Rya. The guests took their fill, then stood around and chatted with some of the men while the women were cleaning up after the meal.
After a while, Wally Arbuckle said, “Gabe, we need to get goin’ so we can cover a few more miles before dark.”
“You’re right, pal. Gentlemen, it’s been nice meetin’ you, and Mr. Place, thanks for the meal.”
“You’re quite welcome,” said Chet. “Hope the rest of your trip is a pleasant one.”
The wagon master and the small group of men who stood with him watched the trio until they passed between the lead wagon and the one behind it. Soon they saw them riding away.
Burt Keegan shook his head. “I wonder how long it’s been since those three have taken a bath.”
The others laughed, and Chet said, “Well, guys, I’ve got work to do.”
When the three riders passed over a hill and were out of sight from the wagon train, Gabe Hute pulled rein. “Wait a minute, fellas.”
The other two stopped, looking at Hute quizzically.
Flicking a glance back in the direction of the wagon train, the man said, “I ain’t never seen a woman as gorgeous as that redhead they called Rya. You know, I’ve been seriously thinkin’ about settlin’ down and gettin’ married. I’d sure be proud to call that beauty my missus. I’m gonna to go back there and grab her when it gets dark.”
“Aw, Gabe,” said Wally, “ain’t no way you’re gonna get her away from that wagon train.”
“Right,” said Bob. “When we get to where we’re goin’, we can each find us a wife, Gabe. Let’s keep movin’.”
Hute set his bearded jaw. “I said I’m goin’ back there to grab her.”
Bob shook his head. “Don’t be a fool. That guy she was sittin’ with doesn’t look like any pushover. You grab her, and he’ll be on your trail in a hurry.”
Gabe guffawed. “I can handle him.”
“You’re askin’ for real trouble, Gabe,” warned Wally.
Gabe grinned, showing a mouthful of crooked yellow teeth. “She’ll be worth it.”
Darkness had fallen and a three-quarter moon was rising in the east.
After Rya and McClain had finished their Bible reading and prayer time, he walked her to the Keegan wagon. When McClain was gone, Rya and Dorothy were talking about the three riders who had been the train’s guests for supper.
While they talked, Rya stepped to the side of the wagon, picked up the long-handled tin dipper that hung on a nail beside the water barrel and dipped it into the barrel. She sipped on it while she moved back to Dorothy.
Burt was doing some work at the front of the wagon by the moonlight. “Dottie,” he called. “Would you come and help me here for a minute, please?”
“Sure, honey. Be right back, Rya.”
Rya nodded and took another sip of water.
Suddenly she gasped as strong hands seized her, one clamping over her mouth. She dropped the dipper as she was dragged between the wagons. Struggling against her captor, she tried to let out a loud whine to alert somebody of what was happening, but the powerful fingers that pressed against her face prevented it. The man who had her in his grip picked her up and carried her into a clump of trees, where his horse waited. When he took a bandanna from his pocket and stuffed it into her mouth, she saw by the moonlight that it was one of the riders who had been in the camp earlier.
Terror clawed at her heart, and she felt a sudden sharp pain lance her midsection like a hot dagger. The pain made her want to cry out, but she could manage only a tiny whine.
Gabe Hute used another bandanna to tie around Rya’s mouth, knotted it behind her head, then hoisted her up into the saddle and swung up behind her. Holding her so tight she could hardly breathe, he put the horse to a gallop.
14
At the Keegan wagon, Dorothy handed her husband the wrench she had been using. “What would you ever do without me?”
Burt chuckled and laid the wrench in his toolbox. “I’d never make it, sweetheart. Especially when it comes to doing repairs on the wagon. You have a knack for mechanical things like few women ever have. Thanks for helping me.”
Dorothy smiled. “Anytime, Mr. Keegan. It’s getting close to bedtime. Better finish up there pretty soon.”
“It’ll only take a few minutes since I had that expert help.”
Dorothy wheeled and moved around the corner of the wagon. Expecting to see Rya where she had left her, she said, “Well, Rya, we’d better get ready for b—” Running her gaze around the area with her brow furrowed, she headed for the rear of the wagon. “Rya …”
Suddenly her attention was drawn to the dipper lying on the ground.
The furrows in her brow deepened as she picked it up, remembering that Rya was drinking from it when she left her. Quickly she moved to the tailgate. When there was no sign of her, she looked at the dipper in her hand again and moved out between the wagons onto the moonlit prairie.
She saw a horse galloping away, carrying two riders. Her heart leaped in her chest as she rushed back to the wagon. “Burt! Burt!”
Burt came around the corner, holding a screwdriver in his hand. “Honey, what’s the matter?”
“It’s Rya! I found this dipper on the ground where she was standing a few minutes ago, and I saw a horse galloping away, carrying two people. I’m sure one of them was Rya. The other was a man. Burt, Rya’s been abducted!”
Dorothy’s excited voice could be heard throughout the camp. People began moving that way, but the first to reach the Keegans was McClain Reardon.
“Dorothy!” said McClain. “Did I hear you say Rya’s been abducted?”
Dorothy made a quick explanation about the riders on the galloping horse.
With Burt and Dorothy on his heels, McClain dashed out onto the prairie, and in the distance to the west, he saw the horse racing away.
At that moment, Chet Place drew up.
“Chet,” said McClain, “I know your horse is fast. Can I borrow him?”
“Sure! He’s in the rope corral. Still has the bridle on him.”
McClain pushed his way through the gathering crowd and ran to the rope corral. Untying the reins of Chet’s bay gelding, he swung aboard, and riding bareback, he put the horse to top speed.
The pain in Rya’s midsection was causing her to bend over in the saddle.
Gabe Hute guided the horse to a small brook and pulled rein where his two friends were sitting casually on the ground. “Hey, guys! Lookee here! My new bride!”
Rya made a whining sound, looked back at him, and shook her head vigorously.
As Menell and Arbuckle rose to their feet, Rya struggled to free herself from Gabe’s grip.
“Now, just settle down, honey,” Gabe said as he slid off the horse and took her out of the saddle.
When Rya’s feet touched ground she tried to run, but Gabe grasped her wrist and held it tight. Her eyes were wild.
The big man laughed, removed the gag, and said, “Go ahead and scream, honey. No one will hear you now.”
With her free hand, she reached up to claw his eyes, but he was quick enough to avoid her. He grabbed the free wrist and laughed. “Hey, sweetie pie, you’re really a spitfire! You wear that red hair well. You’re gonna make me an exciting wife!”
Suddenly Bob Menell’s attention was drawn to movement on the prairie. “Gabe! Look! There’s a rider comin’ from the camp. And he’s in a real hurry!”
Hope rose up in Rya as she swung her line of sight that way. The rider was bent low and she couldn’t make out the figure. But she knew in her heart the identity of the man on the racing horse.
Wally Arbuckle headed for his horse. “Gabe, you should’ve listened to me and Bob. There’s gonna be trouble now. I’m leavin’!”
Menell also headed for his horse. “I don’t want no part of this!”
As the two men swung into their saddles, Hute bellowed, “Hey! Stay and help me fight this guy off.”
“It’s your fight, Gabe!” said Arbuckle.
Both me
n touched spurs to their mounts and headed south at a gallop. Holding on to one of Rya’s wrists, Hute shook a fist at them. “You dirty traitors! I’ll get you for this! Y’hear me? I’ll get you!” As he dragged Rya toward his horse, he swore. “C’mon, redhead, we gotta get outta here.”
When Hute let go of Rya’s wrist in order to pick her up and put her in the saddle, she surprised him by digging the fingernails of both hands into his eyes. He howled and lifted her off her feet, twisting his head to the side to avoid her clawing hands. She slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground as the sound of pounding hooves filled the air.
Hute was swearing at Rya when he saw horse and rider bearing down on him. He clawed for the gun on his hip, but before he could bring it up, McClain sailed through the air and hit him full force. The revolver flew out of Hute’s hand, skittering across the prairie grass.
Both men hit the ground with McClain on top.
Rya looked on, eyes wide. She watched McClain quickly jump up and stand over him, fists clenched, his face bearing resemblance to a thundercloud.
Hute scrambled to his feet, growled like a wild beast, and lunged for McClain. McClain drove a fist to the man’s belly, causing him to double over. McClain stepped in with a quick left hook to the bearded chin that shook Hute to his heels. He followed with a right cross that staggered Hute backward on wobbly legs.
Eyes glassy, Hute tottered forward, swinging one meaty fist then the other. McClain avoided the fists, then sent a pistonstyle punch to the man’s jaw, snapping his head back. Hute went down like a dead tree in a high wind.
The sound of thundering hooves was suddenly in the air.
Rya burst into tears as McClain rushed to her. “Rya, are you all right?”
She wrapped her arms around him and clung tightly. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for rescuing me!”
At that moment, they both looked up to see five riders closing in on them. They quickly recognized Chet Place in the lead as seconds later they skidded their horses to a halt.
Dick Jensen slid from his saddle, his attention on the big man who lay motionless on the ground. “It’s one of those grubby drifters! The big one.”
