by Anna Murray
Sarah's hair was pulled back into a knot at the back of her neck. Cal was struck with her simple beauty. The woman seemed unaware of her loveliness, as if she'd never seen her own image in a mirror.
Cal shrugged off a restless feeling. Just then he had to face the gruesome task of telling the sisters the tragic news. He told them to assemble in the kitchen, and he invited the girls to sit on chairs, while he and Roy chose to perch on the edge of the table.
Cal slowly turned his hat in his hands as he reeled out the bad news, and the Anders sisters fell silent as church mice. After a few minutes Emily finally whispered to inquire about attending December's funeral. Cal slowly nodded.
"W-what will become of N-ned?" Sarah stammered. A troubled look had spread across her face.
Cal wondered if she was sweet on Ned. He hadn't considered it before. She'd likely had time to get acquainted with the man who'd ushered her through town on the pony.
"I don't rightly know," he replied. "I didn't talk with him."
"It was chaos," added Roy.
"Ned is down on his luck," Sarah whispered. She twisted her hands together.
Cal's chest tightened. He cleared his throat.
"Well. We're hoping you'll consider staying on here to care for Mama, and we like your cooking. Of course Emily would have to help," he added. "We can give you ladies board and fifteen dollars a month. You'd sleep in the trundle in Mama's room."
He sucked in his breath and shifted his lean side against the table. "Can you, uh, take the job?"
Cal figured they'd accept, if only because they were penniless and had no other place to go. Yet it was important for this to be presented as a choice.
Emily couldn't contain her squeals of excitement. "Oh! I was praying we could work here. But Sarah said that men like you would want us about as bad as a dog wants fleas."
Cal exhaled and glanced curiously at Sarah, who'd reddened at Emily's bold statement.
Sarah, clasping her hands together tightly, blurted, "Why yes, we'll accept your offer Mr. Easton, and we'll do our best to make you proud you hired us."
Cal swallowed and exhaled. "OK then."
Sarah had never been paid for her work before, and she supposed she ought to shake hands to close the business deal, so she smiled and reached forward. Cal was unaccustomed to shaking hands with women, and he took her hand lightly, but instead of a vigorous shake he held it gently for a few moments.
Sarah knew the Eastons would be fair employers, for she'd seen how gently and lovingly the men treated their mother, and, of course, they ran a successful ranch. She and Emily could save money and get back on their feet.
For the first time since the death of her parents, Sarah felt hopeful about the future. Living with her uncle had been an exercise in putting one foot ahead of the other and moving numbly through each day. It had been a joyless life. The Eastons were a fine family. This felt good.
Cal withdrew his hand and worked his fingers through his dark hair. Each time he learned a bit of something about Sarah, he realized he wanted to know her more. She was trying to show her gratitude to him for giving her a job. Why did he feel like he should be thanking her instead?
He quickly changed the topic. "We'd best eat and then get back to town for the funeral. I asked Nettie if she could come to sit with Mama. She'll be here soon."
* *
The team was hitched to the wagon, and they set out for town. Cal and Roy sat handsome in their Sunday clothes, and Sarah regretted that she and Emily looked like poor country cousins. Her worn-but-clean rose calico dress was the only other she owned. Emily wore a yellow gingham, also well used. Sarah had braided and pinned her hair neatly across the top of her head. Emily's gold braids were adorned with small strips of the yellow gingham torn from the same fabric as her dress. She clutched a bouquet of wildflowers.
They passed the scorched timbers and blackened foundation that were the remains of Lola's. Sarah thought about her uncle and the outlaws. Maybe they were dead too, or moved on, or already in a jail somewhere. But what if they were still loose, and camped in the area? She felt safe at Mineral Creek Ranch, and knew nothing of how outlaws operated. She remembered the short, fat man with just three full fingers on his right hand.
Her voice drifted up to Roy and Cal. "Do you know a man with missing fingers?"
Cal twisted around and looked back at her curiously.
"Plenty. We got seven, eight hands that's missing fingers. It happens when a cowboy ropes a crazy steer, and the other end of the rope is looped around his saddle horn. His fingers get underneath, get caught and pulled off." He held up his hand and showed her deep scars circling two fingers. "Nearly happened to me once. Why you asking?"
A flash of disappointment ran across her brow.
"No particular reason. I must've seen someone like that somewhere," she mumbled. Every bone in her body wanted the memories to go away. Surely Aiken was working to find the outlaws.
Undertaker Sam Owens was waiting out front of his place just off Main Street. Big Jake Farrel was seated next to him. They'd loaded the two caskets into Owens' wagon bed. Roy waved and pulled their wagon around to follow behind.
As the tiny funeral procession headed for the cemetery men on the street bowed their heads, nodded or touched the brims of their hats. Halfway up the street Ned Kingman caught sight of them, and he waved for them to stop. Roy slowed the wagon. Ned came through the dust and slung himself up beside them. As they creaked along Ned chatted with Emily, who waxed enthusiastically about their new jobs at the Easton's Mineral Creek Ranch. Sarah was quietly pleased that her friend Ned remembered her.
They drew near the small fenced cemetery near the top of a hill, a place that grew out of the prairie in a smattering of tombstones just visible amidst dense waving grass. They stopped and the little party debarked and waited stiffly while Owens, Jake, and Roy unloaded and carried the caskets to a plot at the graveyard's southern edge. Then they stood tightly, arms grazing against each other, while the minister introduced himself and launched into the brief graveside service.
The Lord's Prayer ended, and Emily tossed her fragrant flowers onto the caskets. The men straddled them with ropes and lowered the departed into the graves. Then they stepped back, removed hats, and bowed their heads.
Sarah watched the men's hair tangling in the breeze. She heard the distant drone of the preacher reading verses from his tattered Bible.
Other times, in a distant past, she'd stood over caskets and felt grief's raging torrent. Sadness gnawed at the pit of her stomach as she was reminded of the two babies born to silence, buried between her birth and that of Emily, and she wondered what she would have done in the days following the death of her mother if not for Emily's comfort, and the pressing need to carry on. She'd acted as mother, and later as both parents for the sake of her little sister. How many times had loneliness and frustration enveloped her, when she heard her father weeping alone in the large four-poster bed behind his closed door? She was too young to understand his heartache, and even now it was difficult to recall the helplessness she felt those long nights, lying in her bed awake, waiting for sunup.
Now she just felt strangely empty, and couldn't find it in herself to grieve for Uncle Orv and Joey. Their passing simply marked another quake that had altered the course of her river.
Finally the preacher finished his lumbering rant. He approached Sarah and Emily, took their hands in each of his, and offered a few words of sympathy and consolation. Then he shook hands with Roy and Cal before gliding over to where Sam Owens was leaning against his wagon.
Jake Farrel excused himself, squared his lumberjack-sized shoulders, and strolled across the cemetery grounds. He paused beside a stone on the east side, removed his hat, and pressed it against his broad chest.
Cal's eyes followed Jake. The man was standing at Grace's gravesite. On another day Cal might have followed, but today he frowned, eased his hat back onto his head, and turned to face Ned.
"Ned, we hea
rd you sounded the alarm. Folks are sayin' you saved most of the girls at Lola's."
Ned appeared startled, as if didn't expect such attention.
"Wasn't anything anyone else wouldn't do. I was sleepin', one eye open in the stable back of Lola's. Can't shake the old habits ya' know, from in the war." He rubbed his thumb across his chin. "I saw two men runnin' from Lola's. Plumb woke me up when I heard them jawin'. An' I got a whiff of kerosene. That fire was no accident!" Ned growled angrily.
"Who'd want to hurt Lola?" Cal wondered.
Ned squinted. "Plenty of folks don't like her kind of business. But none'd do this I don't expect." He paused. "Jack Dullen came around after you took the girls out to your place. He was plenty mad at Lola, went stomping into the house, wanted to know which room they was in but Lola didn't tell him nothin'."
He spat and shook his head. "Still, it don't make a lick of sense. Dullen owned the place. He made good rent. Lola told me so herself."
"Right." Cal frowned and thrust his hands deep into his pockets. "Dullen's a bully. But not the sort to burn his own property."
Sarah listened, thought it made perfect sense to her, but she bit her tongue. This wasn't her town so it wasn't her business.
Yet Dullen had groped her in the street the day before, which meant it was something of her concern. The man was rude and ill-bred, and he might just do something crazy like setting fire to Miss Lola's, she thought.
Ned caught Cal's eyes and held them. "Jake mentioned you've had some trouble out at your place. Did ya' know I was a scout in the war? I'm a good lookout." He tentatively settled his hat back on his freckled head. "I'm lookin' for a job. I got to thinkin' . . . y'all could use a fella to watch the place, you see, to protect your property when you're away."
Ned quickly glanced at Sarah and Emily to strengthen his point. "Can't be too careful with all the strange goings on." He held his breath and looked hopefully at Cal.
They were all quiet for a few moments. Cal looked at Sarah and saw her biting her lower lip. After a minute Roy nodded and Cal set his jaw.
"Cash is short right now," said Cal, his mouth set grim. "But we could use an extra man to do some chores around the house and watch the place. You handle a rifle?"
"Sure," Ned grinned. "I was the best shot in my outfit." Ned spoke quickly, as though he thought Cal might change his mind. "Don't worry about payin' me," he added. "Grub and a bunk's all I need."
Chapter 10
Jack Dullen stormed into Sheriff Wes Aiken's office, spitting fire.
"I want results! Maybe you've forgotten, Aiken. One thin wire stands between you and "Hanging" Judge Brown in Abilene! And I can send it off mighty quick. Yessirree. I can tell them how their infamous Cole Ailor Wesman is on the dodge -- right here in Wounded Colt!"
The threat pounded Aiken like hail stones.
"Their most-wanted robber'd be one extra-special stringing party guest," Dullen sputtered, as he pointed a bony finger at the sheriff.
"No call to go stirrin' up trouble, Jack." Aiken's drawl barely wavered as he leaned back in his chair. With deliberate calm he folded his arms across his chest. "Before long them Eastons be crawlin' to you, beggin' to sell their land. We scattered them beef good last time. They lost more than fifty head by my estimatin'. They gotta be hurtin' real bad."
Dullen's mouth tightened. "OK, it's a start," he ceded.
Aiken rose from his chair to fetch a cup of coffee. He poured and stepped back to his oak chair. "But dang," he feigned frustration as he sat, slapping his fist across his knee, "if I didn't have so much investigatin' work I'd move quicker on your project. I got that robbery and killin' that the Anders girl reported yesterday, and then there's the fire at Lola's." He paused and cocked his head. "Wouldn't look right to folks here in town if I weren't payin' due to such matters. Shucks, you got other men. Put Hank and Suds on it." Aiken motioned toward the coffee pot to offer Dullen a cup, hoping to take a bit more grease off the man's wheels and steer him down another path.
But Dullen wasn't taking the bait. The two men Aiken mentioned had turned out to be as dependable as stags during rutting season. They were always drinking, gambling or chasing women.
With a broad sweep of one hand Dullen waved off Aiken's suggestion. "You couldn't even do a proper job of getting the girl for me," he whined. "Not that it matters now. She cashed in her stake at Lola's fire."
Aiken's eyes collided with Dullen's over his cup of one-grade-better-than-mud Arbuckles. He'd heard the stories down at the saloon, and he knew it wasn't the first time Cal Easton had dared to dally with a woman Dullen had marked for himself.
"You mean Sarah Anders? Shucks, she's still kickin', and the sister too. They're cozied up at Mineral Creek. Eastons took them out to the ranch yesterday," Aiken took a sip and grimaced. "They was just back this afternoon for the uncle's burial," he added.
Dullen sputtered. His eyes bulged, and his fist came down heavily on the heavy oak desk. "They're at Easton's place? Well now, that's one more reason to ruin that tight-chipped clan," he sputtered through stiff lips.
Suddenly Dullen quieted. A worried look flashed across hawkish features.
"Er, that Anders skirt, she ever give you a good description of the men that robbed her kinfolk?" The corner of his mouth was nervously twitching.
Sheriff Aiken, never at the head of the class, was just wise enough to guess the reason for Dullen's concern. He smiled and slowly drawled, "I asked her 'bout those fellas, and she didn't remember much of nothin'. Don't expect she saw their faces real close-like." He tapped his fingers on the desk in a drumming motion. "But next chance I get to Easton's I'll sure ask again."
Dullen's shoulders relaxed a bit. "Excellent. Now you're thinking." He rose as if to leave, and slapped Aiken heartily on the back. "I got a man coming from Denver. He'll need to scout the Easton spread. You arrange it?"
Aiken swallowed the last from his cup. The grounds slid down his throat, gravel riding atop sludge. He grimaced and then smiled archly at his boss.
"Done. You give me enough warnin' and I ken run a herd of buffalo under their noses without them takin' no heed."
Dullen tapped his knuckles on the desk. "Tomorrow I'll be up river, at my Lazca mine." He slid on his hat to signal the end to the meeting. Then he stepped out of the sheriff's office and glided onto the plank sidewalk.
Wes Aiken heaved a sigh. He leaned back in his chair, and stretched his legs across the top of the massive desk. Between dodging the bounty hunters' bullets and keeping the peace with Jack Dullen he was hip-deep in quick-muck, and a twenty-mule team couldn't pull him clear now.
Dullen strolled purposefully back to his office, ruffled feathers temporarily smoothed. He smiled inwardly, suspecting that everything was going his way. Eastons be damned. Soon he'd own the town of Wounded Colt and the most profitable copper mining operation in the territory.
* * *
Late afternoon sun straddled the low hills, blanketing the earth with gentle warmth. Braying cattle ambled along the edge of the horizon, and trees along Mineral Creek cast soft shadows that looked like tall ghosts climbing from the water. Sarah sat on the porch with Mrs. Easton and Emily as she darned socks. Ned came up the steps and walked past them with a load of wood on his way to the kitchen. Emily sat quietly writing on her slate as she worked her addition and subtraction. In these moments Sarah felt an inner peace and contentment. She was hopeful that the fear and uncertainty she and Emily felt might fade more with each passing day.
Emily suddenly jumped up from the swing, and she ran to the edge of the porch closest to the barn. Sarah glanced up from her sewing, and saw Roy's twinkling blue eyes. He was leading a black pony on the path up to the house. His playful voice called out to them, a voice made for teasing and cajoling and just plain fun.
"This little doe eyed lady says she wants to make your acquaintance," he sang to Emily. "She looks a mite lonely. Don't you think?" He softened as he closed the distance between them, the pony trotting prettily behind
. Both smiled -- Roy with eyes shining and shoulders thrown back, and the pony saluting with a toss of her head and waving black mane.
In a blink Emily was running down the steps toward them.
"Oh beauty! What's her name? May I ride?" She rushed the words out breathlessly.
"Why sure . . . if'n it's OK with your sister."
Sarah was smiling. "Yes, of course," she laughed. "Thank you, Mr. Easton. And you behave, Emily."
Roy Easton was the opposite of his brother in this aspect; he knew how to have fun and it was contagious. Whenever he was around it was hard for anyone to be completely serious, except for Cal.
Roy handed the bridle to Emily, and she led the pony as they walked back around the barn. A few minutes later Sarah saw them riding toward the north. Emily was chatting excitedly and leaning forward to tangle her fingers in the pony's thick mane as they trotted out of sight.
Seconds later the back door opened. Sarah's heart quickened to the click of boots pacing across the weathered wood porch. The rhythm had begun to match a primal urge growing inside her. Cal's stride was an easy, confident, mature tempo that comforted and stroked her spirit. The man had a quiet way of giving value to feelings, of making a person feel worthwhile. Sarah watched from the corner of her eye as he walked across the porch; his tall, lean figure brushed alongside his mother, and he arched over and lightly stroked the woman's hair. Dusky light settled across his sun-kissed face, and, for a moment, he looked much younger, nearly a twin to his brother. Then he ambled, seemingly indifferent, to where Sarah was sitting.
"Didn't mean to startle you," he apologized softly as slid down next to Sarah on the swing. He'd tried to get her alone all day, but Emily or Roy or Ned were always hovering around her like flies flocking to molasses. Finally he reminded Roy of his promise to ride with Emily.
