by Murray Pura
“I’m not afraid of Seraphim Raber!”
“He said he wanted us to turn over the two kids, or he’d kill you—”
“I am not afraid of Seraphim Raber!”
Zeph thought she was going to start shouting and pummeling him with her fists. “And that he’d kill as many citizens of Iron Springs as he could.”
She was silent. They stopped walking.
“We figure he has about five in his gang, Miss Spence, six counting himself. If he comes against us, there’ll be a lot of bloodshed, his and ours. He telegraphed from Copper Creek. It’ll take them three days to get back here. Four or five if the weather turns nasty.”
Her voice was cold, and her blue eyes like new ice. “What are you suggesting I do with the children, Mister Parker?”
“We can get you safe to the railhead in Ogden, Utah in less than three days. Why don’t you take the children east to their kin and stay with them for a spell?”
“He thinks the children have seen his face?”
“I’ll bet he doesn’t know for sure. But he’s never left anyone alive, ever. He doesn’t want them drawing a picture and having it plastered all over the West.”
“What’s to stop them from drawing a picture in Pennsylvania? What’s to stop him from following those children all the way to Lancaster County with a gun in his pocket?”
“I don’t believe he’ll take it that far.”
“You don’t believe he will? Do you know him well enough to say that with a certainty? Do you know what’s in a man’s heart?”
“I don’t, Miss Spence, but it’s a chance we have to take.”
“A chance you have to take? Or a chance the children and I will have to take? I notice you don’t even wear a gun!”
The blood was roaring in his head again, but it was different this time. Zeph clenched and unclenched his fingers. Lord, help me, he prayed. He knew he shouldn’t say anything. He knew he should bite his tongue and swallow his anger. But she’d pushed him too far.
“Miss Spence,” he said, struggling to keep his voice down, mindful that the children were only a little ways behind them, “if it came down to fighting for a woman like you, I’d take on the state of Texas and all of Wyoming and Montana Territory and the entire Lakota nation, if I had to, and not think twice. The only way Seraphim Raber would get to you is through my dead body. The trouble is, I can’t protect you and Cody and Cheyenne and five hundred people from Raber’s gunmen and neither can Matt, no matter how many men he deputizes. If you’re here three days from now, they’ll burn your ranch and shoot up the town, kill decent folk and settlers and little old grandmothers and all your hired men, whatever it takes to get to the kids and make sure they don’t make a sketch of Raber’s face. Now you may not like it, but we’re gonna save lives by putting you on the Union Pacific to Pennsylvania, and you’re gonna stay out east until we telegraph you that it’s safe. And you know that it won’t ever be safe for you or the kids until Raber’s locked up or hung, and that’s what I’m gonna work on next. But first, I’m putting you on that eastbound train if I have to tie you to my saddle like a sack of white flour. Do you hear me, Charlotte?”
Zeph blew out his breath, and his eyes and hands were twitching. You fool, his head was raving, you crazy fool, you’ve done it now. You’ve lost Miss Charlotte Spence for sure, and there’s nothing you’re ever going to be able to say or do that’ll win her back.
Charlotte’s eyes were fixed on him. Zeph couldn’t tell what color they were—in fact, he couldn’t see any color.
“Well, Mister Parker,” she said quietly, “it took an awful lot to get you to say my Christian name, didn’t it? Seraph Raber and his five guns, the state of Texas, Wyoming, Montana, the Sioux nation … I guess I needed a little bit of help.”
She reached up and touched his face with one black-gloved hand. “It was wrong of me to mention the gun you never wear. The truth is, I’m proud of you for that. Forgive me. I will take you up on your proposition, and if you give me one hour, the children and I will be packed and ready for the Union Pacific Railroad. But, Z, there is just one small thing you’ll have to agree to.”
Zeph’s head was spinning from the play-out of his anger, from her quiet words, and from her gloved hand pressing against his cheek. “What’s that?” he managed to get out.
“You have to come with me to Pennsylvania. And you have to come as my husband.”
Chapter 6
Charlotte laughed as she looked at his face. “Z, I don’t think your body knows whether to leap for joy or run and hide. Oh, forgive me, I have a mischievous streak I haven’t been able to do much with since my brother died, but I just had to put it out that way to see how you’d feel about getting hitched. It’s all right, Z, I didn’t mean we had to get married for real. I just meant it’s going to have to look that way to others, and Cheyenne and Cody are going to have to act like they’re our children. Isn’t that the safest way to get to Pennsylvania?”
She could see that a lot of things were going through Zeph’s head, and she let him take a moment to let them settle down. She knew she’d shown a side of herself he’d never seen before and that he wasn’t sure how to deal with it. Finally he spoke up.
“A family of four wouldn’t get any second looks, you’re right about that.” “Is that a yes?” “A yes to what?” “A yes to my proposal.”
Zeph took a good look at her face instead of looking down or away or over her shoulder. She made up her mind to hold his gaze. It felt different and it felt strange, but she found she also liked the sensation it gave her. She watched him muster up the words to respond to her.
“It’s a yes to your plan as far as it goes.”
“And do you have a plan that takes it further?”
“I got a plan that takes us to Ogden, Utah, and tickets on the transcontinental railroad.” “What do you propose?”
“The stage doesn’t come into Iron Springs until noon tomorrow, and it’s a milk run. Goes north for two or three more hours to Picture Butte and Nine Forks. It doesn’t turn around till it’s had a supper stop at Purple Springs. It’s too slow. Now if we can get into Virginia City at six tomorrow morning, there’s an express taking gold out. It won’t stop except to change horses and drivers until it reaches Ogden. It’ll have extra guards, and all of them armed to the teeth. I say we make sure we’re on it.”
“The four of us are going to ride down to Virginia City tonight?”
“No, there’ll be six or seven of us. Matt won’t let us head south on our own. Ninety minutes we’ll be there, and we’ll make ourselves comfortable. Once we’re on the stage, the deputies will head back here.”
Charlotte looked at the sun on the mountain peaks. “How long to Ogden?”
“It’s an express. We go all day and night. A couple of days. We should be on the train before Raber reaches Iron Springs. By that time his people will know we’re gone.”
“What people?”
“Raber’s got to have some friends in Iron Springs. How else would he know those two kids are alive and staying with a woman?”
Charlotte frowned and crossed her arms over her chest to rub her shoulders. “That God’s earth should have such kind of people.” She looked at Zeph. “Are we going to make it, Z?”
She saw him swallow hard. “You can depend on it, Charlotte.”
She gave a little smile and glanced down to the cemetery. “The graves are filled in. I told the children I would take them down there once everyone had left.” She turned to Cody and Cheyenne, who were standing about fifty feet behind her and Zeph and just waiting. “We can head down now. Please get in the buggy.”
Zeph rode alongside as they wound down to the town and pulled up by the cemetery’s black iron gates. Charlotte brought a bag with her as they climbed out. Zeph walked with them.
The wooden marker for each of the graves was the same: KAUFFMAN, TROYER, MILLER, FEBRUARY 1875, WITH JESUS. On two of them were the additional words: A CHILD. Zeph removed his ha
t.
Charlotte took Cheyenne and Cody to each grave, where they placed a hand-sewn cross made out of quilt material they had stiffened with wood. When the children were bent down by one marker and planting a cross in the earth, Charlotte stood by Zeph and whispered, “They could not tell one person from another?”
“There was no one that could identify the bodies. Who knew them? And some had no faces.”
Charlotte bit her lip. “That there should be such people who would do that to others.”
A loud rumble made them glance toward Main Street. Freight wagons carrying iron ore thundered past on their way to the railroad spur at Vermillion. Zeph and Charlotte looked at one another. Zeph shook his head.
“The train can only handle ore and cattle. There’s no room for people.”
“I know,” she said. “And it’s slow. Very slow.” “I know.”
The children had taken a cross to one of the child markers. “I don’t know when’s a good time to ask this,” said Zeph. “Ask what?”
“Do you think—is Cody—is Cheyenne—did they see the men’s faces? Could they—would they—try to draw any of them for Matt?”
She stared up at him. “Oh, Zephaniah, you know they’re not up to that. It’s enough to say a quiet good-bye without upsetting them about making drawings of those horrible beasts.”
“I know, Charlotte. I hate to ask. But those men will be riding in here in a few days, and they could walk their horses bold as brass down Main Street, and nobody would know a thing. They could place men with rifles in doorways and rooftops and back alleys, and not a person would look twice until the shooting started. I know the kids have been through something no boy or girl should have to see. I don’t want them to keep reliving it. But I don’t want more good people to die on account of Seraphim Raber, either.”
Charlotte looked at the children coming back toward them and blew out her breath. “I will talk to them about it when we’re alone at the ranch. I haven’t asked them if the men were masked. It’s not something I wish to bring up. But you’re right. Others deserve a chance to live.”
The children’s eyes were wet. Charlotte put her arms around their thin shoulders. “You have been very kind to them all. They look down and see that. The crosses are as beautiful as flowers. Wouldn’t you agree, Mister Parker?”
“They are handsome. I don’t know too many resting places that have such special colors by them.”
“Thank you, Mister Parker. Would you children like a prayer to be said?”
“Yah, please,” said Cheyenne softly.
Cody hesitated and then nodded.
“Mister Parker, would you?” asked Charlotte.
He bowed his head. The others bowed their heads with him. “Lord, thank You for Cody and Cheyenne. Thank You that they were spared. Thank You that their family and friends are at peace and with You. Thank You for the beauty of this resting place. Thank You that tomorrow’s sun will come up for Cheyenne and Cody and their good friend, Miss Spence. The Lord is our Shepherd. Amen.”
As they climbed into the buggy, Charlotte said, “I will need time to speak with the children about all the plans, time to pack some food and clothing.”
Zeph nodded. “We’ll come by at eight tonight. Pack some winter clothes. I’m sure this warm spell won’t last forever.”
“No, it certainly won’t. Well, I’ll look for you in a few hours then. Make sure you book us some seats on the stage.”
“That’s done.”
“Pardon me?”
“I said, that’s done.”
Charlotte had the reins in her hand and was about to move into the roadway. She felt a mixture of surprise, delight, and anger flow over her features. “How did you manage that?”
“Matt set it up, Charlotte, not me, so don’t get excited—” “I am not getting excited.”
“He had it so two deputies would be going with you all the way to Pennsylvania—there was never any talk of me.” “So he purchased five tickets?” “The town did, yes.”
Charlotte thought for a moment. “You think you can take the place of two men?” The corners of her mouth moved upward ever so slightly.
“Dunning and Doede are all right.”
She laughed. “Strange sounding name—Dough Dee.”
“Strange name, good man. But I guess I can do the work of ten of him when it comes to Charlotte Spence and her brood.”
Charlotte called out to her horse and pulled into the street. “We’ll take you up on that, Mister Parker.”
He watched them roll between wagons and men on horseback and disappear around a bend of stone buildings and tall roofs. Then he walked Cricket over to Matt’s and tied her next to Union. He stood a moment, looking at the pieces of rock that made up Matt’s office and jail—it had been one of seven banks in Iron Springs during the gold rush of the ‘60s and was built like a fort—then he opened the door.
Matt was standing by his rack of rifles and levering each one to make sure they were loaded and the action was smooth. Two deputies sat drinking coffee in their black suits and derby hats.
“Zeph,” they both said at once.
“Mister Dunning. Mister Doede.” Matt glanced over at him. “Well?”
“She’s never even talked with them about what happened. Doesn’t know if the gang wore masks or if the kids could tell who the leader was. Hard stuff to bring up, Matt.”
“I know it.”
“She said she’d try and go over it with them tonight before we showed up. Maybe there’ll be drawings, maybe not.”
Matt nodded. “So how does she feel about going to Ogden?”
“She’s okay with it. I told her eight o’clock. Who’s coming?”
Matt inclined his head. “My two men here, of course, Dunning and Doede. Jude. Billy King.”
Zeph coughed. “There’s been something of a change in plans, Matt.”
“What change?”
“She wants me to go with her to Pennsylvania. Wants us to act like we’re a family of four. She thought that would be better.”
Matt looked at him. “She did, did she? And what do you think?”
“I think she’s hit on a good idea.”
“Is that right? Tell me, Z, did you put up much of an argument?”
Zeph shrugged and looked at a new wanted poster on the wall behind the desk. From the corner of his eye, he saw Dunning and Doede exchange glances and sip their coffee. For the first time he noticed how huge their handlebar moustaches were. “Sorry to disappoint you two gents,” he said.
They both smiled at the same time and raised their cups. “She is a handsome woman,” said Dunning, “and I had a hankering to see Pittsburgh.”
“On the other hand,” said Doede, “we didn’t want to miss the show here, either.”
“No, we didn’t.”
“Good luck, Zeph,” they both said at the same time. “Thank you, boys.”
Matt had his hands on his hips. “So it’s all settled. Charlotte Spence travels a few thousand miles with my kid brother—” “Jude’s younger.”
“—and a gang of cutthroats hunting them down, and this kid brother is going to protect them without the benefit of a badge, a pistol, or even a slingshot.”
Dunning and Doede laughed.
Zeph glared. “I’ll make out all right.”
“Will you?”
“I came through the war without a scratch, didn’t I?”
Matt was thinking. “I can’t go with you. And I guess I got to thank you for freeing me up two more guns”—he nodded toward the two deputies—“but there is a thing or two I can do.”
He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a badge. “Oh, no—” Zeph started to protest.
“Oh, yes,” said Matt, pinning the badge to Zeph’s black suit. “You either go as the law, or you don’t go at all. I mean it.” “All right,” Zeph grunted.
Matt picked up a black book off his desk. “Put your hand on this Bible and swear to uphold the laws of Iron Springs an
d the Montana Territory.”
Zeph placed his right hand on the leather Bible. “I swear.”
“And the laws of the United States and every federal jurisdiction.”
“I swear.”
“So help you God.”
“What, am I on trial or something?”
“So help you God.”
“So help me God.”
Dunning and Doede raised their coffee cups in salute.
Matt opened another drawer with a key. He pulled out a holster with a six-gun.
“No!” Zeph almost shouted and backed toward the door.
Matt ignored him. “You don’t have to wear it. You can leave it in your luggage until you need it; I don’t care. Heck, maybe you’ll never need it. It’d be nice to live in your kind of world, where there’s never a villain and no one ever gets hurt or killed.”
“I’m not taking it, Matt.”
“You will. You’re a peace officer now. It’s the law.” He thrust it at Zeph. “Take it. Maybe you didn’t notice. It’s Dad’s. The 1858 Remington he always swore by. You don’t think he’d want you to have it if he knew the sort of journey you’re setting out on tonight?”
Zeph took the gun from Matt’s hands and looked at it—the long dark octagonal barrel, eight inches, some engraving on the frame and cylinder, the grips white elk horn. It was Remington’s New Army, and it had been converted from a pistol that fired lead balls, like a Civil War musket, to one that fired six .44 caliber cartridges. He caught a whiff of burnt powder and new leather and his dad’s rich pipe tobacco, and saw him smiling at the dinner table and teasing Mom about something with the Remington in its holster hanging off the back of his chair. “I remember. He used to plink tin cans when he wanted to relax.”
“Yeah.” Matt smiled. “You shove it in your bedroll and I’ll relax, too.”
Zeph held on to the gun and holster. “I’ll keep it because it’s Dad’s. But I ain’t going to use it. Not ever.”
“Tell me your stories when you’re back in Iron Springs safe and sound.” Matt snatched a piece of telegram paper off his desk. “I forgot. We heard back from Fort Abraham Lincoln.”
