by Murray Pura
She was angry that she felt tears on her face. Crying was not a luxury she afforded herself. Looking up at the night sky, she swiped at her eyes with the palm of her hand. Oh, you’ve come this far, she said to herself impatiently, you might as well be done with it.
“We did not know Ricky had survived,” she went on, “but he came one day to our door and took me in his arms and thanked the Amish family; then he said we were leaving Pennsylvania and going west and starting fresh. We came here in ‘66, and Ricky struck gold. He poured it all into me and the ranch at Sweet Blue. So, you see, I understand something of what the parents of these children have gone through, how awful the shunning must have been to make them pick up and leave the Amish community and travel here by wagon to start again. The only reason I am taking them to Lancaster County is because Seraph Raber will kill them if I don’t.
“When this is over, I pray they will want to come back and live on the Sweet Blue. To tell you the truth, if it were just about me, I would prefer to stay here and face Raber and his savages than travel to Pennsylvania and face the people who destroyed my family. But there are others to think of. Cheyenne here, asleep against my chest. Cody. The women and men and children of Iron Springs. That’s why I’m going to Ogden with you, Z, and for no other reason. I swore to God I’d never return to Lancaster County. Never.”
I will not look him in the face, she said as she stared straight ahead at the winding gold rush trail, I will not let him see my tears and my pain. But she did turn to him in the hope that he could do something, anything, about the anguish she had locked in her heart for a lifetime and buried in beef cattle and stock prices and horses and fencing. His face was a pale blur, and she could not read his eyes through her tears.
Suddenly she hated herself for having told him, for letting him see her weakness. With a small cry that was a mix of anger and despair, she spurred her horse into a fast gallop into the night.
Chapter 8
What’s going on?” snapped Matt. His pistol was out of his holster in a flash. But Zeph had dug in his heels and was pounding after the buckskin. He was worried about rocks, potholes, and low branches. Cricket’s breath came in white spurts. Charlotte might have been upset, but she had not lost her head and panicked. He saw her bent over her horse’s neck as if she were on a racetrack.
“Let’s fly, Crick,” he said into his horse’s left ear. Cricket surged and was at Charlotte’s side in moments. “Charlotte!” he called. But she would not look up.
“Charlotte! Slow up before you and the girl take a tree limb in the head! Slow up! I admire you for the courage it took to tell me the things you did!”
He reached over and grabbed her reins and started hauling back on Cricket’s. The buckskin fought the bit, but Cricket’s weight began to throw her backward, and she slid to a stop, breath tumbling like pent-up steam from her nostrils. Cheyenne was crying. Charlotte held her. “It’s been hard; it’s been very hard, Z.”
“I know that.”
“I’ve prayed so many times for strength—”
“You have the strength of mountains.”
Horses galloped around the bend toward them. Charlotte sat upright and kissed Cheyenne. Matt reined up in front of her.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded, his pistol still in his hand. “You two gone loco? They’ll hear you for miles!”
Zeph held up a hand to Matt’s anger. “Easy, brother. Her horse got spooked. That’s all. It was a mountain cat.”
“I didn’t hear any cat.”
“It didn’t make a sound. Went across the track right in front of her.”
“I never saw a thing.”
“It moved fast, and it was so low to the ground it looked like a snake.”
Matt stared at him. Zeph glanced away and looked at Charlotte. He could see her eyes were swollen, but he could also see heart and strength pouring back into them. Matt holstered his gun and touched his hat brim.
“Sorry, Charlotte. I don’t like running the packhorses. And that whole episode made me near jump out of my skin.”
“Me, too,” she said.
There were a few chuckles. Zeph let out his breath softly.
“No harm done,” announced Matt. “We’re miles past Iron Springs and in the middle of nowhere. In fact, that little run bought us some time. I reckon we’ll be into Virginia City a lot sooner than we thought. That’s what we call good news in the Montana Territory.”
They counted heads and moved on, walking their horses. Zeph stayed close to Charlotte. She pulled away from the group, and he followed her. Cheyenne had her head on Charlotte’s chest and was looking up at the stars glittering between the evergreen boughs.
“Thank you, Z,” Charlotte said.
“No need to thank me for saying what was right.”
“A mountain lion?” He saw her small smile. “Well, there was something there.”
She shook her head. A few pins came loose, and some of her hair tumbled and got wrapped up in moonlight. It took Zeph’s breath away. She didn’t notice. Cricket and Marigold plodded side by side. Zeph started to whistle quietly and looked up.
“I see those stars, too, Cheyenne.”
“I’m looking for the Big Dipper.”
“Hard to spot when so many branches get in the way. Hey, now, did you see that?” “Yah, a shooting star.”
“Make a wish on it, and everything’ll turn out all right.”
Charlotte glanced at him. “You believe that?”
Zeph shrugged. “A wish can be a prayer. Prayer moves mountain peaks, a preacher once told me.”
She smiled and looked up, too. “I used to think summer in Pennsylvania was crowded with stars. The first night Ricky took me to Sweet Blue and said he’d bought it for me, there were so many stars it was like gold dust. I swear I could hardly see any dark patches in between. It made me dizzy. I laughed and spun and fell down in the grass and mountain flowers like a schoolgirl.”
“I’d like to have seen that.”
“It wasn’t so long ago. I think I could do it again. In the right place.”
The words “with the right man” weren’t spoken, but they floated in the night air between them like snowflakes. They gazed at each other. Her eyes and face gleamed in the silver light that fell down through the crisscross pattern of branches and twigs.
“There she is,” one of the men said.
Matt trotted ahead of them into Virginia City. They saw a lot of light and heard a lot of noise farther down the street, but where they came in was dark and silent. One lamp burned in one window. The sign on the building read: WELLS, FARGO & CO., OVERLAND MAIL EXPRESS. Next to it was SR BUFORD & Co. All their windows black and unlit.
Dunning and Doede swung down, Winchesters at the ready, and Dunning opened the Wells Fargo door. He leaned in and said a few words. A man with a smaller mustache than Dunning’s came out. He was thin and dressed in a white shirt and gray flannel pants. He spotted Matt and reached up to shake his hand.
“Marshal. Welcome to the capital of the Montana Territory.”
“Mister Wilson. These are my brothers, Jude and Zephaniah. And this is Miss Charlotte Spence and the two children, Cheyenne and Cody. Behind me is Mister William King. The men on the ground with you are two of my special deputies, Mister Doede and Mister Dunning.”
“It’s good to have you here safe and sound,” said Wilson. “I’m the assistant to Mister H. B. Parsons, who is the Wells Fargo agent for Virginia City. Everything is ready to roll for six sharp, so I’ll just show you to your beds, and you can get settled in for the night. I’ve got a room set up in back for Miss Spence and her wards and another for the men. Are you staying over, Marshal?”
“I’m afraid not. Neither is Mister King. But I believe Jude and my two deputies will be with you until the stage leaves in the morning.”
“Capital. I only have two cots for the men, however.”
Dunning and Doede shook their heads. “We’ll be up all night, Mister Wilson,” said Dunn
ing. “No rest for the wicked,” grinned Doede. “You do have the fixings for black coffee?” asked Dunning, looking a bit worried.
“All in there on the stove, Deputy.”
“Coffee,” said Doede with a smile, slinging his Winchester over his shoulder.
Matt looked at Zeph. “Need anything?”
“I’m all right.”
“Charlotte?”
“I feel like I’m in good hands, thank you, Matt.”
“Then we’ll see you back in Iron Springs.”
Matt wheeled his horse and headed back into the night, leading Cricket and Marigold. Billy King had the two packhorses that had been unloaded of their baggage. He raised his hat—“God bless you, folks, God bless you, Cody, Cheyenne. I pray time flows like a fast river for us all while we’re apart”—and followed Matt north on the gold rush trail.
Zeph walked into the station and helped everyone get settled in. It didn’t take long. Dunning parked himself outside Charlotte and Cheyenne’s door, tipped back in a broad oak chair Zeph had found, Winchester in his lap, coffee mug in one fist. Doede sat in a rocker by the other door, sipping at his coffee and watching Jude put his feet up on the express agent’s desk and place a nickel-plated six-gun on the large green blotter.
“Pistol-packin’ preacher?” asked Doede, surprised.
Jude smiled, his hat with the silver conchas tilted forward over his eyes. “Only in the Montana Territory. And it’s never loaded. Sometimes looks are enough.”
Doede and Dunning glanced at each other and shrugged.
Zeph watched Wilson stoke the stove and put on a fresh pot of coffee. He wiped his hands on a cloth.
“Anything else I can do for you gentlemen?”
Jude said nothing. Dunning and Doede shook their heads.
“I’m all right,” said Zeph.
Wilson rapped lightly on Charlotte’s door.
“Miss Spence?”
“Yes?”
“Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“I’m quite comfortable, Mister Wilson, thank you.”
“Good night, then.”
Wilson turned to Zeph. “Is the boy comfortable?”
Zeph carefully opened the door and poked his head into Cody’s room. “Half asleep already.”
“Then I’ll be locking all of you in the building for the night,” said Wilson.
“Fine.”
“There is one thing, Mister Parker.”
“What’s that?”
Wilson pulled a telegram out of his pants pocket. “This came addressed to you this evening.”
The telegram was folded once. Zeph opened it.
PARKER
II KINGS 19:35
ANGEL
Zeph looked up. “Do you happen to have a Bible handy, Mister Wilson?”
Wilson nodded. “Of course. But I took the trouble to find the reference and write it out for you.”
Zeph took the note Wilson handed to him. It was printed in clear dark letters.
And it came to pass that night, that the angel of the LORD went out, and smote in the camp of the Assyrians an hundred fourscore and five thousand: and when they arose early in the morning, behold, they were all dead corpses.
Zeph felt a crawling in his stomach. “When did this come in, Mister Wilson?” “Two hours ago.” “From which telegraph station?”
“Mister Parker,” Wilson said quietly, “it came from Iron Springs.”
Chapter 9
The man had taken a stained pillowcase and cut one hole for an eye and another for a mouth. He thrust the barrel of his pistol into Zeph’s ribs and said, “It is the Lord’s will you die and all those with you. You know that.”
“I need to see your face to be sure it’s you,” Zeph answered calmly.
The man nodded. “All right. Then you will know for certain this is the work of the Lord.”
He drew off his hood, and Zeph expected hair and teeth and bulging eyes. What he saw was a face as handsome as the dawn. The man smiled, “No, I’m not a monster, am I? Are you convinced now that your death is ordained by the hand of God?”
Zeph didn’t know what to say, he was so surprised by the man’s beauty. Then the gun barrel dug into his body once again, and the roar of a gun blast filled his head.
Zeph jerked upright as the stagecoach lurched and banged. Charlotte was asleep across from him in the dark, Cheyenne snuggled with her, thick quilts pulled up to their chins. Cody snored softly, with his head against Zeph’s left shoulder. The guard on the other side of Cody caught Zeph’s eye.
“A nasty bump, sir,” he said in a low voice. “Lots of stones on the road between Virginia City and Eagle Rock. Hard to avoid them all when you’re trying to make time.”
Zeph grunted. He opened the wooden shutter over the stage window on his right. Trees and rocky slopes rushed past. Snow was swirling down in circles, white spots against the gray and the green.
“How far to Taylor’s Crossing?”
“We’re doing well, sir. Eagle Rock is only a few hours. Then a change of horses. New driver. They’ll replace us as well.”
Zeph closed the shutter to keep out the cold air.
“Does the snow slow us down?” he asked.
“Not much. A bit. It’s the ice that causes the wrecks.”
Zeph slid farther down into the blue point blanket that covered him and Cody. The stage rattled and jolted through the Idaho Territory.
If it slows us down, it will slow them down, he thought. And even if the stage is hauling us and our luggage and a gold shipment, the four horses can make better time than a crowd of riders.
He did not believe the gang had already reached Iron Springs. Raber couldn’t be in Copper Creek one day, hundreds of miles north, and Iron Springs the next. It was someone in Iron Springs, Raber’s accomplice, sending a telegram on ahead and trying to unnerve him.
It couldn’t be Dunning or Doede. Or Billy King. Or Matt or Jude.
As if it would be one of my brothers.
There was hardly any way to narrow it down. It could be virtually anybody. Raber was probably paying him in gold. Why else would someone take the risk of getting his neck stretched on the end of a rope? Who did he know that needed the money that badly?
But what if there was more than one person involved? What if there were two or three?
That was a game Zeph didn’t want to play. Once he thought there might be more than one, any of the people he knew and trusted could be guilty. Then Dunning and Doede could be in on it. Or Billy King and his brothers, Sam and Wyatt. Or Martin and Laycock. Or Byrd and Holly. He could go crazy trying to figure it out, and he’d be suspicious of everyone that crossed his path.
He tried to sleep again, but the stage banged and thumped and shook, and sleep would not come.
He was tired enough. Once he’d read the Bible passage the night before, he’d known it would eat at him for hours, just as the person who sent the telegram intended it should. He’d tossed and turned all night and never found a comfortable position for his body. A part of his mind expected the splintering of wood and the crash of firearms as Raber’s killers forced their way into the Wells Fargo office. Suppose Raber did have hired guns that he’d telegraphed in this neck of the woods? More than once, Zeph’s thoughts had turned to his father’s Remington New Army buried in his saddlebag. But he knew it was empty, and the threat of a gun would not stop Raber’s madmen, it would just incite them to shoot.
Before dawn Wilson had woken them up, cooked a breakfast of ham and eggs, and made sure their luggage was packed into the leather boot at the rear of the stage. The driver and three guards had been booked into one of the quieter hotels and shown up around five thirty. The driver had downed a cup of coffee with Dunning and Doede, and then they’d helped him hitch up the team of four chestnut horses. Tipping their derbies, the deputies had ridden off with two mugs of fresh coffee and Wilson’s blessing.
Jude had pulled a small Bible out of one of the pockets in his long b
lack coat and given it to Zeph. “One for the road, brother.”
Zeph saw right away it was the one Jude had carried with him during the war, the Bible he’d seen Jude reading by the campfires at night. “I can’t take this,” he’d argued. “This is your talisman, your keepsake.”
Jude had laughed. “God’s my talisman, brother. This is just a book of paper and ink. It’s the taking into yourself of what it talks about that’s key. Open it now and then. I pray you’ll find the words you need when the ride gets the roughest.”
They’d shaken hands.
“I’ll read it, brother,” Zeph had said.
Now Zeph dug under the point blanket as he sat inside the stage and came up with his brother’s war Bible. It was well-worn around the edges, and some of the binding was loose. It smelled of black powder and woodsmoke and gun grease. It naturally fell open to a number of different passages that Jude had obviously read several times over. He picked one. “Fret not thyself because of evildoers, neither be thou envious against the workers of iniquity. For they shall soon be cut down like the grass, and wither as the green herb.”
“What are you reading, Z?”
Charlotte was smiling at him in the dimness, a crack of white light from the window shutter drawing a pale line down one side of her face.
“Nothing,” he said.
“It’s something. Isn’t that the little Bible your brother gave you?” He nodded. “Read it to me.”
He read her the first two verses from Psalm 37.
She stared at him. “Are you fretting because of evildoers?”
“No,” he lied.
She looked skeptical, but chose to let it go. “Would you look up something for me?” “Sure.”
“Can you read Psalm 91 to me?”
It was marked with dark powder smudges that held forever Jude’s fingerprints.
