A Man for Temperance (Wagon Wheel)

by Gilbert, Morris

  “THAT’S FORT LARAMIE?”

  Thad had been plodding alongside Babe, and Temperance had joined him. He had kept to himself for the most part since they had hit the North Platte River. “Yep, that’s it,” he grunted. He took off his hat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “It ain’t much, is it?”

  “Looks like the United States government could build something better than that!”

  It was nearly dusk, and Temperance saw that Indians were camped outside the fort. “Are they friendly?” she said.

  “They are right now, with the soldiers so close by, but if they catch you out, they’ll scalp you for that ring you’re wearing.”

  As they approached the fort, Temperance studied the Indians carefully. She had somehow gotten the idea that they were a noble race, perhaps from the few novels she had read, but there was nothing noble about these Indians. Most of them seemed drunk. The smoke from their campfires rose, and the stench was almost unbearable.

  “Reckon we’ll go on inside. You notice all the wagons?” Thad asked.

  “Yes, is that unusual?”

  “It looks like about three or four trains got here about the same time. Nearly all of the trains going toward Oregon stop at Fort Laramie to stock up again.”

  Temperance hesitated. “Maybe we’d better not go in here.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why, somebody could pass the word to Joe Meek.”

  “Don’t matter. He couldn’t catch up with me here, and as soon as the job’s over, he’ll have a chore catching me anyway. I plan to disappear. Come on.”

  The oxen pulled the wagon through the big gates, and looking around, Temperance saw that the fort was basically a broad quadrangle. It seemed strange to her. “It’s funny,” she said.

  “What’s funny?”

  “We’re inside something. We’ve been outside so long with nothing but the sky and the horizon, I feel—”

  “Feel all cooped up and fenced in? Same with me. Pretty big stockade here. Room for hundreds of men and plenty of animals. The Indians outside are drunk and the soldiers inside are drunk, but maybe I’ll find somebody I know here that can tell us how the trail is on down the way. Come on. Let’s go to the store. We need to stock up.”

  “How much farther is it, Thad?” Belle had joined them and was looking around the fort calmly. “Are we halfway there?”

  “More than that, I reckon. Ought to be easy going from here on.”

  The store was not much. It was large enough but stacked with supplies of all kinds and apparently without order. Temperance had made a list and proceeded to fill it.

  The clerk, a tall cadaverous-looking man with the air of an undertaker, nodded to her, saying, “Evening, ma’am. Just get in?”

  “Yes, we did.”

  “How big is your train?”

  “Just us, and we’re going east not west.”

  “Is that right? My name’s Hoskins. You be staying all night?”

  “Oh yes, I think so.”

  “You might like to go to the big meeting.”

  “What kind of a meeting is that, Mr. Hoskins?”

  “It’s a camp meeting. There’s a preacher here that’s some pumpkins! He don’t put up with much foolishness. His name’s Peter Cartwright, a Methodist sort of fellow. I’m Baptist myself, but I’m enjoying the meetings.” He had reached the total and said, “That’ll be fourteen dollars and twenty-six cents, ma’am.”

  “You say you like his preaching?”

  “Well, he preaches pretty hard. He’s a stout fellow, too, for a preacher. Kind of deceiving. The Ratlin brothers decided to bust up the meeting.” The store owner grinned suddenly and his eyes sparkled with a mischievous look that belied the rest of his cadaverous appearance. “Rev. Cartwright, he grabbed them by the neck, banged their heads together, and escorted them out. Ain’t had no trouble since. He preaches the gospel. I’ll have to say that for him—for a Methodist, that is.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Hoskins. I would like to attend services.”

  As soon as she left the store and went back to the wagon, she said, “Rose, we’re going to go to a meeting tonight.” Turning around, she said, “I’d like for you to go, too, Rena and Bent. I think all of us ought to go.”

  “I’m not going to no preaching.” Belle flatly refused.

  Thad spoke up at once. “Rena, you and Bent ought to go.”

  Rena glared at him. “I’ll go if you will,” she said, a challenge flashing from her eyes.

  Thad looked around, searching for an excuse, and Rena laughed harshly. “You won’t go though. You’ll go to a saloon and get drunk.”

  “You got no respect for your elders, Rena,” Thad said. He looked at Temperance and said, “That’s a good idea you got there. Come on, Belle, let’s go have some fun.”

  As they walked off, Rena said, “I knew he wouldn’t go.”

  “I wish you’d go with me.”

  Rena started to refuse, but Bent said, “Let’s go. It’ll be something different anyhow.”

  “All right, I’ll go, but I won’t listen.”

  “That’s all right. Just be company for me,” Temperance smiled. “You shouldn’t talk like that to Thaddeus.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s not polite.”

  Rena tossed her head and walked off. “I’ll go to your old meeting, but I don’t want to hear your preaching.”

  * * *

  THAD AND BELLE HAD arrived at the Blue Moon Saloon and found it like most other saloons—dirty and smelling of alcohol, cigarette smoke, urine, and unwashed bodies. Thad immediately ordered drinks, and for awhile Belle stayed with him. Finally she shook her head. “I can’t hold liquor. It gives me a headache the next day.”

  Thad grinned at her. “Then I’ll have to drink for both of us. You just tell me when you think I’ve had enough.”

  For the next hour Belle told him almost steadily that he had had enough, but he merely laughed at her.

  Finally a drunk sitting at the bar made a crude remark about the preacher Cartwright who was holding the meeting.

  Thad turned around and said, “Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you.”

  “You and who else, drunk?”

  “I don’t allow rude talk about preachers.”

  “When did you start doing that?” Belle said.

  “Just now.” He glared at the man who’d made the remark. “You gonna shut up, or am I going to have to shut you up?”

  “I guess you’ll have to shut me up, partner.”

  Thad took a swing but was so drunk he missed by a foot. He took a blow in the mouth and then threw himself forward. The two wrestled and fell into a table. Then the bouncer, a huge man, grabbed Thad and said, “We don’t need you here. I’ll escort you to the door.”

  Thad struggled, but he was helpless in the bouncer’s grip, which was somewhat like that of a gorilla. When they got to the door, the drunk he had fought with said, “No hard feelings, fella. You better go to that meeting. You’re no good at saloon brawls.”

  “I’ll clean your clock—” But Thad was interrupted as the bouncer shoved him through the door. Thad went cartwheeling out on the boardwalk, turned a flip, and sat down in the dust. Several people looked and one laughed. Thad got up, ready to fight him.

  “Let’s go find another saloon,” Belle said. “You’re not drunk enough yet. You won’t be drunk enough as long as you can stand up.”

  “No, I ain’t going to a saloon,” Thad said, pronouncing each word carefully as drunks do. “I’m goin’ to that meeting. I bet I can whip that preacher even if I am drunk!”

  Thad was weaving as he made his way to the meeting. It was easy to find because they could hear the singing. “You hear that, Belle. They’re singing hymns. Maybe they’ll let us join the choir.”

  “This ain’t a good idea, Thad. Let’s go back to the wagon. I’ll fix you something to eat.”

  “No, I’m going to whip that preacher.”

  Belle pleaded with hi
m, but he was at that stage when reason and logic meant nothing. Belle followed, and they found the crowd at one end of the rectangle. A mixed crowd of soldiers, Indians, and travelers made up the congregation. There was no rostrum, but a stocky man in a frock coat with a round, fleshy face and a pair of steady gray eyes was smiling out over the congregation. Someone had provided a few benches, and Thad made his way to the front. He almost fell once, but Belle caught him. On the way he saw Temperance. He stopped, took off his hat, and bellowed, “Hello, Sister Peabody, I’ve come to hit the glory trail. I’m going to sit right in the front row and be sure the preacher tells it like he ought to.”

  Belle saw Temperance turn pale and waved for her to come forward. Temperance was holding Timmy and shook her head.

  Thad waved and said loudly, “I hope you confessed all your sins while we’re having our meeting here, Sister Peabody. Come on, Belle, let’s get these five-dollar seats down in front.”

  When he got to the front, there was a bench. He reached down and grabbed a skinny little fellow wearing a string tie and said, “Get out of the way, sinner. You’re sitting in my seat.” He shoved another man away and said, “Sit down, Belle. I want you to behave yourself. I won’t tolerate no disruptions in my meeting.”

  The minister, Peter Cartwright, had watched all this without comment. He was thickset with a big chest, tall as well as broad. He was clean-shaven and for a moment studied Thad, then he tugged the front of his coat into position and came to stand before him.

  “Are you the preacher?” Thad demanded, looking up at the minister.

  “Yes, I am. My name’s Peter Cartwright.”

  Thad leered at the preacher. “Well, Pete, turn your wolf loose.” He looked around and said positively, “I see lots of sinners here tonight. I’m here to help you if you bog down in your sermon.”

  Cartwright looked down and said quietly but firmly, “You are intoxicated, sir. You may stay, but you will remain absolutely quiet and make no disturbance.”

  Thad stood up and grinned. “I done told you, Pete. I’m going to help you with this sermon.”

  “I think you’ll leave now.”

  Thad instantly took a swing at the preacher. He found his arm suddenly seized, and then the world seemed to turn upside down. He found himself floating in the air for a moment, his mind confused and his brain spinning, and then he hit the ground flat on his back so hard that the breath was driven out of his body. He tried to speak but discovered he couldn’t even breathe. Strong hands gripped him. He found himself being picked up like a body and set down on the bench. Peter Cartwright was smiling. “You sit right there, friend. You need the gospel about as bad as any sinner I ever saw.”

  Thad got his breath slowly enough to gasp, “You—can’t keep me here.”

  “I could, but I won’t. You’re afraid to stay, friend.”

  “I ain’t afraid of you.”

  “No, you’re afraid of God. I see it in your eyes.” Cartwright, his eyes magnetic and piercing, studied Brennan. “You’ll run just like you always do.” He turned around then and went back to the platform.

  “You gonna run, Thad?” Thad looked down to see Rena, who had suddenly appeared. “You gonna run like you always do?”

  “Not me! No sir! I ain’t afraid of that preacher—nor of God neither! Now sit down and listen to what he says. Belle, you sit down too. You need a good dose of religion.” He sat down hard and stared up at Cartwright. The world still seemed to be reeling, but he glared around defiantly. His eyes met those of Temperance Peabody, and he said defiantly, “I ain’t running, Peabody. You just hide and watch me!”

  * * *

  TEMPERANCE DID NOT HEAR much Peter Cartwright said in his sermon. She knew he was preaching about the death of Jesus, and he described the Crucifixion in a terrible, graphic fashion. He quoted Scripture from the Old Testament and New, and his voice rose in volume. Time and time again he would call out in a stentorian, trumpetlike voice, “Jesus died for your sins. He died for you!”

  The sermon was directed at sinners, and Cartwright’s voice was like a flail as he pulled no punches. Temperance stared closely at Thad and saw that the accusations of sin did not move him, but every time Cartwright said, “Jesus died for your sins,” Thad flinched as if touched with a hot iron.

  Finally Temperance caught her breath, for Thad stood to his feet. He stumbled toward the aisle and then pushed his way through those who were standing.

  Peter Cartwright’s voice rang out, “We will pray that God will catch up with that poor sinner!”

  Temperance felt herself trembling, and she heard nothing that Cartwright said during the rest of the sermon. As soon as it was over, individuals began moving forward to be prayed for. She turned and met Rena and Bent. “What’s wrong with Thad?” Bent asked. “He run out.”

  “He’s fighting with God, Bent, and I hope he loses!”

  At that moment a tall man, well dressed, with a low-crowned black hat and a snowy white shirt stepped forward. “Excuse me, ma’am. My name’s Quaid Mitchell. I saw these children and this lady talking with the fellow who took off. He looked like an old friend of mine named Thad Brennan.”

  “That was him,” Belle said. “You know him?”

  “Oh yes. Are you . . . Mrs. Brennan?”

  “No, I’m not,” Belle said politely.

  “Well, are you Mrs. Brennan?” Mitchell asked Temperance.

  “No, he’s our guide, Mr. Mitchell.”

  “Guide to where? I hate to be nosy, but Thad and me were partners once in the mountains, tracking. A fellow gets real close. I didn’t know it was him at first, you know, he looked so bad. What’s wrong with him?”

  “He’s drinking all the time.”

  “And where is he guiding you to, if I might ask?” Mitchell listened as Temperance explained the situation. Finally he said, “That’s a mighty noble thing for you to do, Miss Peabody. I admire you for it.”

  Temperance studied the man carefully. He seemed to be in his midthirties and was tall and lean but strong. His face was tapered, his eyes deep-set, a blue gray, and there was somehow a daring look about him. He was dressed more like a gambler than anything else, or as she imagined a gambler might dress. She was curious about his relationship with Thaddeus, and she asked, “Did Thaddeus drink a lot?”

  “No more than the rest of us. You need a clear head when you’re tracking beavers in Sioux territory. Are you pulling out soon?”

  “I expect we’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

  “Well, if it’d be all right, I’ll come by and say howdy to Thad. Sure think a lot of that fellow. Good to meet you ladies. You, too, bub,” he grinned at Bent.

  As he turned and left, Belle said at once, “Watch out for that one.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” Rena said. “He looks all right to me.”

  “He’s too good-looking, that’s what’s wrong with him. Women must line up to get at him. He’s rich too. You see that ring on his finger? That wasn’t glass.”

  “He looks a lot better than Thad,” Rena said.

  Temperance shook her head. She was thinking of how Thad had run off. It occurred to her that he might be gone for good. He had had a look of abject fear on his face, and she knew that the Spirit of God had spoken to him. “I’m afraid for Thaddeus,” she said. “When a man runs from God, he runs hard. He may have gotten on Judas and ridden out.”

  “Aw, he wouldn’t go off and leave us,” Bent said.

  “I hope not,” Temperance said. “I surely hope not.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  THE SUN HAD STARTED climbing high into the sky, shedding its crimson beams on Fort Laramie, when Rena cried out, “Look, there comes Thad! He looks like he’s been beat with a boat paddle.”

  Temperance, who had been feeding Timmy mush mixed with goat’s milk and sugar, looked up and saw at once that Rena was exactly right. She said nothing but kept her eyes fixed on Thad as he came walking somewhat unsteadily toward the wagon. When he stood before her, she
shook her head and said reprovingly, “You look terrible.”

  Indeed, Thaddeus Brennan did look as if he had been pulled through a knothole. His clothes were filthy, his eyes were inflamed, and his left ear was red. As usual, when he had a hangover, he moved carefully as if to move his head too suddenly would set off a dynamite charge inside. “Let’s get out of here,” he muttered.

  Rena came to him and stared up in his face. She smiled maliciously, and her eyes were dancing. “Well, did God catch up with you?”

  “Leave him alone, Rena,” Temperance said. “You want some breakfast?”

  “No.”

  Thad turned and went at once to begin putting the oxbows on the oxen and hitching them to the wagon. Temperance glanced at Belle, who said merely, “That’s just Thad, I guess. I don’t think he’ll ever change.”

  “He could if he wanted to.”

  “But he doesn’t want to.” Belle shrugged and something crossed her face; a wave of regret showed in her eyes. “Some of us never will change.”

  Temperance finished feeding Timmy and put him in his box in the wagon. She was gathering up the dishes when she looked up to see Quaid Mitchell riding up on a fine, bay horse with another horse looking almost as good and a loaded pack horse. He came out of the saddle with a smooth, easy movement, swept his hat off, and smiled. “Good morning to you, Miss Temperance.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Mitchell.”

  “Just Quaid will be fine, I think, or Mitch. I get called both.” He turned then and without another word glanced to where Thad stood stock still, staring at him. “Well, my old partner,” Quaid smiled. He punched Thad on the shoulder, reached down, and began to pump his hand. “I haven’t seen you in a coon’s age.”

  “Hello, Quaid. Where’d you drift in from?”

  “Been out in California, getting rich.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Quaid started to speak but saw the sorry condition of his friend. “I was surprised to see you at that meeting last night.”

  “I didn’t see you there.”

  “Well, in the old days neither one of us was broke out with church going much, but I got right with the Lord about a year ago. Still, I guess what you’d call a work in progress. God’s not finished with me yet. You don’t look too good.”