Untamed Journey

by Eden Carson

  “That’s five days from here, Bear,” Emmett added. “I doubt that’ll be soon enough to help you.”

  Bear started wiping nervously at his wound, as the voices of dying men cried out in his head.

  “Bear, your friend here is right,” Mike continued. “We’re lawmen – sworn to protect decent folk. Now, if you was to tell us who your leader is – who’s been planning all these robberies - why, you’d be on the road to redemption. And then I’d have to help you, just like the Señor said.”

  “Keep quiet, or you will die worse at Smith’s hands,” the Mexican warned.

  Bear couldn’t muster much fear of Jasper Smith, when the smell of his own blood was fresh and his pain was mounting.

  “We just need a name,” Mike cajoled. “This outlaw ain’t your friend. He’ll turn on you, if we offer him the same deal. It’s easy for him to be strong now – he’s not hurtin’.”

  Emmett walked over to his saddlebags and methodically began pulling out and assembling a syringe and bandages.

  Bear recognized the tools, and a desperate hope drew air into his constricted lungs.

  “I’ve got morphine, Bear. Just one dose, though. You understand that it’s near impossible to get out here, with the shortages from the War.”

  “The Doc, if we can even find him in time, ain’t going to waste his good morphine on a no-account murderer and train robber,” Mike warned. “Not when some birthing mother or a hard-working farmer needs it instead. This’ll be your only chance. If you have this to dull the pain, we can get you to the Fort quicker. If you’re in pain, you’ll just slow us down.”

  “They are trying to trick you, Señor Bear,” his partner insisted. “You tell them what they want and they will just leave us both here to die like dogs.”

  “You’re the one who’ll leave me here to die,” Bear whispered, almost to himself. “You might escape. You’re not hurt and would just ride off without me.”

  “That’s smart thinking, Bear. We have to keep you alive and well to testify. You’re no good to us dead,” Mike promised.

  Emmett finished binding the Mexican’s hands and feet. He hefted him over one of the mounts, not caring how he kept his saddle.

  “Your turn, big man,” Emmett sighed. He secured Bear’s hands, making note of the prisoner’s sweaty palms. He deliberately left the man’s feet un-bound, knowing the effort of mounting a horse properly would hurt more.

  “Get up there. You’re coming with us, one way or the other.”

  Bear took a deep breath, pulling on his last reserves of strength. He’d almost convinced himself he could make it to the Fort without saying a word, until he placed his great weight on his wounded foot. The scream of pain startled the horse and made him bolt, catching Bear’s boot in the stirrup.

  Emmett couldn’t break the giant’s fall without risking injury himself, so Bear tumbled to the ground. He was dragged a good ten feet before Emmett pulled in the horse’s lead line.

  Emmett approached Bear and gently untangled his now fully-bloodied foot. “Near as I can tell, you not only have a bullet lodged in your lower leg, but now you’ve broken your ankle. You either have to mount again, or stop this foolishness and let us help you.” The lawman stated his ultimatum plainly, not finding much sympathy for the lazy murderer before him.

  “Give me the morphine. Please. I can’t stand it. I can’t stand it.” Bear was nearly crying now, as the bullet scraped his broken bone.

  “Give us the name, first,” Emmett quietly demanded.

  “Smith - It’s Jasper Smith who gives us orders.”

  Emmett injected the morphine, and Bear slipped off into blissful nothingness.

  “We should have tied him to the horse first,” Mike complained, as they struggled to get their witness mounted.

  “He’s a big one.”

  Chapter 53

  Ruth would never forget the first time she rolled into Fort Lyon. Her imagination had conjured up a tightly-run, highly-secure, all-military establishment. What she saw instead was a chaotic mix of civilian and military buildings, slapped loosely together into every available space within the perimeter wall.

  As they rolled their wagon up to the gate, they found it propped wide open with folks coming and going at will, all hurrying to their destination. Although there were two soldiers manning the gate, they seemed more interested in the fancy ladies hawking their wares from a red silk covered wagon than in who was coming or going into the Fort.

  “Are those Indians living here?” Ruth asked Sue, surprised at the sight of five teepees located not ten yards from the Fort’s perimeter.

  Sue nodded. “They’ve been wintering there five, maybe six years that I can remember. They’re mostly stragglers from lost tribes, just trying to make their way in the world. The Indians living on reservations won’t often take in members from other tribes. The government just ignores the fact that a man’s not likely to live peaceably with a tribe that was his bitter enemy less than twenty years ago. So a few have made their way here for trade, and found the Colonel in charge to be a practical man. He told them to set up camp. Last I heard he hires them on occasion to translate, or track down fugitives for the Marshal Service.”

  “People aren’t afraid?” Ruth asked in genuine bewilderment. “I always heard the battles with the Indians were never ending.”

  “That was definitely the truth twenty years ago, when Jackson’s daddy was working for the army. Maybe still partially the truth up until the War started. Then I saw most of the battle-hungry men leave for back East. The officers who stayed behind were practical types – clerks and merchants at heart, rather than born-and-bred soldiers. They just wanted things to run smoothly and quietly and not stir up trouble with the natives. Added to that, the Union Army didn’t want to be battling two enemies at once, so orders came west to make peace with the local tribes. That’s when Colonel Roe was put in charge. The first thing he did was persuade a handful of Indians to put up camp here as a signal that the Fort was a safe haven. Soon after, this place went from being a Fort to the closest thing we have to a town for a hundred miles.”

  As they rolled through the gates, Sue had her hands full weaving her way through the crowds of people rushing about on foot. There were no sidewalks to be seen, so the pedestrians were forced to share the same dirt streets with a never-ending stream of wagons and mounted men.

  As Sue continued her tour of the Fort, Ruth caught herself staring at three Chinamen hefting bales of hay along with a uniformed soldier.

  “They’re workers from the railroad,” Sue explained. “There are mostly Chinese doing the digging, alongside Irishmen doing the engineering and blasting.”

  “I thought the railroad didn’t come this way?” Ruth asked.

  “It doesn’t – at least not yet. There’re rumors that a line might come through here. Seeing the Chinamen just reinforces the rumor. The railroads will loan their workers to the locals for weeks or even months ahead of time, to gain the support of those in power. Guess the Colonel is benefiting from this, by getting some free labor for his cooperation.”

  “What are they like?” Ruth asked in fascination, never having seen anyone – much less met anyone – from China in her young life.

  “They mostly keep to themselves.” Sue shrugged. “Some learn English quickly while others seem to be content to rely on family to translate for them. I don’t know those men personally, but one of the midwives I know here at the Fort swears by their medicine. She says the Chinese have even more knowledge of plants and medicines than the local tribes. Last time I talked to her, she was trying to sweet talk the Colonel into loaning her two translators so she could sit down with the Chinese and the Indians and talk medicine. She says the Chinese have been studying medicine longer than this country has existed. But they rely on imported plants to treat their own, which are hard to come by, even with the help of the railroad. The Indians know the local plants better so she thinks putting them together could work miracles for her patient
s.”

  Ruth was fascinated by this idea and quickly begged a favor of Sue. “Do you think I could meet your friend? My father was a doctor and I used to help him with patients before the War. I know nothing of the local plants. We grew our own back home for use in my father’s practice.”

  “She’d help you out, no question about it.” Sue assured Ruth. “She loves nothing better than talking about her work for hours on end with an interested listener. She might even recruit you into midwifery. She’s always short-handed and cursing the squeamishness of most civilians.”

  “Do you think I could earn a living at that?” Ruth asked.

  “Don’t see why not,” Sue responded. “It seems since the War ended, everyone is getting hitched and having babies.”

  The energy around her was contagious and Ruth felt more hopeful than ever. She was convinced a fresh start was possible here in Fort Lyon. Mr. Frank Masterson would soon forget about his proxy wife and move on, she told herself. Ruth couldn’t think of one reason for a man in his position to waste time chasing down a wife he had never even met. He could get an annulment or declare her dead with less fuss and effort, and quickly find someone new to wed.

  The sound of Sue’s voice jolted Ruth back to the present, as they stopped in front of the Officer’s Quarters.

  “Good day to you, Colonel,” Sue called out to a mustached man in his late fifties.

  “Good day to you, Mrs. Hamilton. Allow me.” Colonel William Roe helped Sue down while he motioned for his aide to help Ruth.

  Ruth thanked the young solider for his help while Sue introduced her to the Colonel. Ruth accepted the Colonel’s vigorous handshake in welcome.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Jameson.” The Colonel glared at his gawking aide-de-camp, who quickly took the hint and excused himself.

  “Don’t mind him,” Colonel Roe apologized. “He’s young, and we don’t see new ladies arriving every day. You’re most welcome here. There’s nothing better than the gentling presence of a woman to turn a fort into a town.”

  Ruth made silent note that the Colonel didn’t question her or Sue about Ruth’s identity or even why she was there. He just welcomed a new addition to his makeshift community.

  “Thank you, Colonel,” Ruth replied. “I’m most pleased to be here.”

  “Wonderful. Wonderful. Please join me for tea, ladies,” Colonel Roe invited as he ushered them inside, out of the cold wind.

  “I’ll take a splash of your good Irish whiskey in mine, Colonel, if you please.” Sue interjected.

  “I’m afraid I’m reduced to a local brew, my dear. The cost of quality is going up with the masses coming out West. Can’t hardly order a legitimate case and expect it to get here any longer. Damn trail hands sell off all but one bottle to passing settlers and hopeful pan handlers, all willing to pay double the decent man’s price.”

  The Colonel continued to bemoan his troubled state, as he served them both tea and whiskey in his good china.

  “Lucky for you, Colonel, you won’t have transportation troubles with my goods,” Sue insisted, taking advantage of the opening the Colonel’s whiskey troubles afforded her new business. “I’ve already made arrangements for delivery by Thomas Minor, so you can be assured every last grain will arrive, as ordered.”

  The Colonel nodded his approval. “Although he’s a sober sort, with no appreciation of fine whiskey, he’s honest and reliable. A good choice for you, my dear, assuming your homemade goods can compete.”

  “They’ll stand up to anything out there.” Sue assured him. “I’ve brought a sample to prove my point. Try it out with your horse for a week and then come find me.”

  “Done,” Colonel Roe shook Sue’s hand. “I’ll have someone unload the wagon at the livery. No charge, even if my prize-horseflesh refuses,” the Colonel added.

  Sue quickly corrected him. “Only unload half, if you please. I’ve reserved the other sample for Mr. Baker at the livery – just in case your finicky horses don’t appreciate the local fare.”

  Colonel Roe fiddled with the tips of his mustache. “Why, Sue Hamilton, are you playing me against that crooked son of a –,” the Colonel sputtered to a halt, remembering himself in the presence of Ruth.

  “I’m just a poor businesswoman with mouths to feed, Colonel,” Sue replied. “You can’t blame me for exploring all my options. I’m no fool to rely on only one customer who could short-change me at the last minute while I watch my grain rot in storage.”

  “Why, I’d never do such a thing,” the Colonel said.

  “Don’t worry,” Sue assured him. “My price will still be cheaper than shipping across hundreds of miles and you’ll get ten times the quality and freshness.”

  “If I can’t rely on a dedicated supply from you, I’ll have to reconsider,” Colonel Roe warned.

  “Don’t make any rash decisions just yet. You try my feed out for a week, free of charge, and then we’ll talk again.”

  With a bounce in her step, Sue left the parlor, dragging Ruth behind.

  “You’ll see to delivering the other half to the livery, won’t you Colonel?” Sue tossed over her shoulder before walking out the door.

  Once they were out of earshot, Sue explained her strategy to Ruth.

  “He’ll pay twice what he originally offered, once he has some competition. With all the settlers passing through here, headed west, the private livery will be full up day and night. I might even be able to get the livery owner to sell to travelers passing through, if I pass him a small bonus for each new customer.”

  “How do you know that Colonel Roe’s horses will love your new grain so much?” Ruth asked, wanting to understand Sue’s thinking.

  “Because I came by last week and fed a bit to the Colonel’s favorite mount. He loved it!”

  Ruth nearly giggled at the picture of Sue sneaking into the stable in the middle of the night. “What if the Colonel had caught you?” she asked.

  “He still would have bought my feed, but I wouldn’t have had half the confidence I did today when negotiating over price,” Sue explained with no small amount of pride in her work.

  Chapter 54

  “I’m not against a family taking a hand in arranging a woman’s future for her.” Jackson started right in on his favorite topic – Ruth’s questionable choice of a husband – as he made repairs to the water mill he shared with his neighbors.

  “Or a man’s for that matter,” he added in all fairness. “If a body’s got good, loving parents or even siblings - who knows you better? They’ll have a care for the important, but practical things that‘ll last through the years: your religion, your sense of right and wrong, what makes you laugh. They understand what you need from those around you and what you can give, when the whole world around you has gone mad. And they won’t have stars in their eyes, like lonely young girls might.”

  “I’m not lonely, and I see quite clearly now,” Ruth retorted, handing Jackson a hammer.

  He ignored her token protest. “Take this sailor of yours. Let’s say he was a good friend of your family’s and a decent enough man. That won’t change the fact that he’ll be gone for months at a time, maybe even years. Who is going to be by your side when you birth that sailor’s first son? You’ll have no family in San Francisco, no friends. And the friends you’ll make will be the wives of your husband’s shipmates. They’ll be out to sea, too. Their wives, no matter how kind, will need help, not be in a position to give it. What will you do once you’ve got two or three kids? Who’ll care for them when you’re sick? And God forbid you’re widowed, you’ll have no land to feed yourself with.”

  Ruth didn’t have a handy response since she’d just finished concocting the story of her long-lost sailor two weeks ago. She certainly hadn’t pictured a future, much less children, with her make-believe man. So she quickly turned the tables on Jackson.

  “I could be widowed tomorrow married to you, just the same. Even your hard head wouldn’t survive a proper throw from one of those
wild mustangs you break.” Ruth stopped her protest, when she saw Jackson’s growing smile. “What on earth are you laughing about?”

  “The sweet thought of you imagining us wed. If I’ve finagled myself into your deepest, darkest thoughts, that means I’m making progress, storming your defenses and all.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “That means you’re talking nonsense. It was the image of your head meeting a rock that made its way past my defenses.”

  “Oh, I doubt that’s the only thought you found room for,” he retorted with a knowing grin.

  Since it was true, Ruth changed the subject once again in faint desperation. “I suppose I could stay right here, since you’re so strongly against my sailor. Sue agrees with you, in fact. She says there’s a shortage of women right here, so it makes no sense to traverse the Rockies just to meet a husband.”

  Jackson should not have been so surprised that Sue was stirring up trouble. Since she could see plain as day that Jackson was courting Ruth, there was no other explanation for the most unromantic woman this side of the Rockies suddenly taking to matchmaking. Jackson decided to play along. As long as Ruth was in reach, he figured his chances were excellent.

  “It’s entirely your choice, of course. You’re welcome here for as long as you like under any circumstances.”

  Ruth hadn’t been expecting such a tame reply. Inbred politeness seemed her only refuge. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure,” he replied. “That being said, I imagine a woman of your intelligence and spirit would want to consider all her options, local or otherwise. And since you and Sue have gone so far as to discuss the possibility of staying, I imagine you’ve stretched that conversation to include with whom you might be staying.”

  Ruth nearly kicked herself silly, having backed herself into a corner – again. “Sue might have mentioned some names in passing,” she replied vaguely, hoping to change the subject.

  “So who’s your top contender?” he inquired, barely bothering to hide his smile.