The horse just snorted and shook its head. John halted, looking around the unfamiliar terrain. “I will probably die in this godforsaken place,” he said aloud. He turned to the horse. “And I was wrong. It wouldn’t be your fault, you useless old woman. It would be Josh Rivers’ fault!”
The horse’s eyes widened at the loudly growled words, and she reared back as though afraid of the man. John just grinned. “So, you are afraid of me, too,” he said. He laughed. “Some day there will be fear in Josh Rivers’ eyes when he sees me…and I will see the fear in dear Marybeth’s eyes also.”
He looked around again, his stomach growling, his own fear building at realizing he had no idea which way to go. Evening was coming on, and there was a chill in the air, reminding him that he was in country where Cap said the weather could be very unpredictable. He did not relish the thought of wandering these woods until a mountain blizzard came along. He had not experienced such a thing, but some of the winters in New York had been unbelievably cold and snowy; the way Cap described it, those winters were nothing compared to a mountain winter.
“I’ve got to figure out something or I am going to die here,” he told the horse. Somehow it was comforting to talk out loud, even if it was to an animal. “If hunger does not kill me, the winter will. This is all their fault, Josh Rivers, Marybeth, Cap—all of them! They might as well have shot me! Sending me out here—me, a man who does not know about this land. It is the same as a death sentence, and they knew it! If I ever get out of this, they will all pay!”
He headed up a steep embankment, looking for a good place to make camp for the night. It was then he heard the laughter, sounding like several men. His first thought was Indians, a danger he dreaded most. He had not the slightest idea how to converse with them. On previous encounters, Devon had always done the talking. The only thing John knew was that sometimes they could be appeased with a bottle of whiskey. Mac had given him four bottles. He closed his eyes at the memory, missing his father. We will be together again, Father, you will see. And together we will get Danny.
He didn’t want to talk aloud now. First he had to find out where the voices were coming from. He tied the old mare and took the rifle from it that Mac had given him for protection. It was a good rifle, one of the newest in repeaters. He moved to the top of the embankment to see four men sitting around a campfire on a flatter piece of ground just on the other side of the ridge. Four tents were erected around them, and the four sat leaning against saddles, drinking whiskey.
“Hurry it up, Pat,” one of them called, turning his gaze to one of the tents. “We’re waitin’ our turn.” John could hear an odd squealing sound coming from inside the tent. He stayed low, studying the camp setting, noticing about eight horses tied nearby. Apparently there was one more man in the tent, making at least five all together. It was then he spotted the naked body of a man, lashed to a fir tree. He looked bloody, and his head hung oddly. John realized he must be dead. He also realized by the dead man’s long, straight hair that he was an Indian.
“You want somethin’, mister?”
John whirled at the voice behind him, and a bearded, grizzly-looking man wearing a deerskin jacket chuckled, as he held a pistol on John. John instantly told himself not to look afraid. No MacKinder man showed fear. He took a deep breath, realizing these men were probably some of the wild mountain men who had stayed in the hills after failing to make it to California, some who had headed back home and simply never made it. Cap had told them about such men, but these were the first John had seen.
He stood straighter, making sure the man with the gun realized how big he was, but he warned himself that this was an unfamiliar setting, the men just over the ridge and the one with the pistol unlike any men he had known before. For once he would not brag. After all, although he had taken his arm from the sling, it was still not healed. He was in no shape to get himself into a fight. Besides, he was used to fists, not guns.
“I am lost,” he admitted. “I was part of a wagon train and I rode out to hunt for them. But I am not familiar with this country, and I am afraid I lost my way.” He looked down at the pistol and put out his hand. “You do not need that gun. I am called John MacKinder, and I am from a land called Ireland. I am glad to find someone who might be able to help me.”
The man with the pistol watched him warily. “I ain’t one to shake hands with strangers.” He looked around. “You alone then?”
“I am. And I would consider it a great favor if you or one of your friends could help me find the wagon trail.”
The man looked him over. “You’re a big one. Don’t seem like a big man like you should have much trouble makin’ his way out here.”
“I told you, I do not know this land.”
“Why’d they send you out to hunt then?”
“We all take our turns. I shot at a deer and chased it. By the time I realized I was not going to find it, I had lost my way.”
The man glanced at his horse and chuckled. “With a nag like that, it’s no wonder you didn’t catch it.”
John grinned nervously. “I agree. My family brought no horses along. I borrowed this one.” He could not tell the man the truth about how he had come to be here. He had no idea how men like this would feel about someone cast out of a wagon train. “I…I have some whiskey. I will gladly share some with you and your friends, if I might have some food in return, and if you would consider helping me find the trail in the morning. Do you know which way it is?”
The man eyed him cautiously. “You put that rifle away, and I might consider your offer.”
John nodded, turning and shoving the rifle into its boot. “What you limpin’ for?” the man asked as he watched John walk.
John rubbed self-consciously at his back end. “I am not used to a lot of riding. Back in Ireland my family used mostly buggies—we used horses on our farm for plowing. We did ride, but not so much every day. And I do not like American saddles.”
The man burst out laughing. “You really are a greenhorn, aren’t you?”
John felt his anger rising but told himself he could not afford to lose it here. He put on a grin. “I told you I was.” He kept hold of his horse’s reins, realizing that if he did have to flee these men, the old mare would never outrun them. His only choice was to be friendly and unchallenging for the moment. “How about my offer—whiskey for food and directions?”
The man finally holstered his pistol. “You see the Indian down there?”
John nodded. “I know nothing about these American Indians. How you treat them is your own business, not mine.”
The man grinned a little. “That’s a good way to look at it, MacKinder. You have a woman with the wagon train?”
John’s blood rushed with the thought of Marybeth, but he only said “No.”
“Well, we’ve got one down there in that camp. We came across an Indian couple alone. They’re young—maybe they were on some kind of Indian honeymoon; I don’t know.” He laughed. “All I know is we caught them havin’ a hi-ho time in the grass, and the sight of it—well, she’s awful pretty, too pretty to just sit and look at. Out here, men like us don’t get much chance to be with a woman. Kind of gets to you after a while.”
John nodded. “I agree.”
The man looked toward the sound of his comrades’ laughter, and John heard another scream from the tent. The man with him met his eyes. “Usually we trade somethin’ for an Indian woman. But this one came along free, know what I mean?” John nodded. “They’re Crow. We ain’t got much use for Crow. We figure to be long gone by the time their friends find them. You, uh, you got a need for a woman?”
John took a deep breath, again thinking of Marybeth. “It has been a long time.”
“Well, then, come on down to our camp and take a turn at the little Indian gal we found. They’re wild little things. You’ll enjoy it.”
John frowned, confused by the right and wrong of it.
“Come on, come on!” the man urged. “These things go on al
l the time out in these parts. It’s survival of the fittest. Ain’t you ever heard that? Besides, to most of us, killin’ an Indian is like killin’ a rabbit. And Indian women are only good for haulin’ wood, cookin’ meals and pleasin’ a man.”
John grinned. “I thought that was what all women were for, Indian or white.”
The man laughed loudly. “How right you are, Irishman.” He finally put out his hand. “I like your attitude. Name’s John Hanna. Come on down to camp and meet my friends. Which would you rather do first, take care of manly needs, or eat?”
John shook his hand. “Eating would always come second for me.” The man chuckled and headed up the bank. “But you men found her first,” John added. “I will eat and wait my turn. Will you help me find the trail in the morning then?”
“Sure, why not?”
John followed the man over the ridge. Hanna yelled out to his friends that he was bringing in a stranger. John glanced at the dead Indian as they came closer to the camp. This was indeed an unusual land, where there was apparently no law and order. These men seemed to think nothing of killing the Indian, and raping his woman. Apparently, that was the accepted way in this wilderness. He felt an ache at his own need of a woman, and he decided it couldn’t be wrong to take his turn with the Indian woman. After all, these Indians were uneducated, animal-like creatures that probably didn’t have the same feelings as civilized whites.
His aching need of a woman had been magnified by the thought of Josh mating with beautiful Marybeth, taking what was rightfully John MacKinder’s. He would gladly relieve his needs with the Crow woman, and some day Marybeth MacKinder would share his bed and find out what it was like to be with a real man.
He accepted a plate of stew from one of the other men, while yet another went inside the tent where the Indian woman lay tied. John handed the others a bottle of whiskey and bit into a juicy piece of venison. He decided a man could get used to this kind of life. What he liked most about it was its lawlessness. Apparently if a man wanted to kill another man, he just did it.
“Don’t let ’em drink!” Cap ordered. “Keep to the right! Keep to the right!” Everyone struggled with oxen, mules, horses and cattle that smelled the poison water. “We’ll be in the foothills of them mountains ahead by nightfall. There’s fresh water there.”
Marybeth pressed a handkerchief to her neck, intrigued by this strange land that could change from rolling green hills to flat, dusty, hot nothingness. She longed for the cooler mountains toward which they were headed, as they neared the area where Cap said Sublette’s Cutoff met up with the regular trail again. This land seemed a myriad of desert and mountain, poison and fresh water, green grass and boulders. Her feet ached from constantly stepping on small stones. Josh preferred she ride in the wagon, but the last two days had been hot, and the water supply was very low. She didn’t want to strain the oxen.
She prayed the strain on herself would not bring harm to the baby she suspected was growing in her belly. She had not told anyone yet, not even Josh. She wanted to be very sure. More than that, Josh had so much on his mind that she didn’t want to place an extra worry on him. Hunting had not been good, and besides being thirsty, everyone was also hungry. Fort Hall would be a welcome sight.
She put a hand to her belly, hoping she was right about the pregnancy. Josh would be so happy. She was certain it must have happened during those two glorious days and nights she spent with Josh after their wedding. She had flowed two weeks before that, but had not had her time since then. Still, she and Josh had only been married a month, and since Danny’s birth, because of nursing, she had only had two periods before the last one. But they had at least been regular, which meant that missing one now could very likely mean she really was pregnant again. She could only pray she was right. She longed to give Josh a baby; but she worried the strain of the journey might cause something to go wrong. There was a time when she was pregnant with Danny that she thought she might lose him; that was after an argument with Dan, followed by a slap that had sent her sprawling. There would be no more such heartache and misery in her life.
She shivered at the sight of the bleached bones of animals that lay scattered about the poison water hole. Never in her years in Ireland, nor even after first coming to America, did she imagine a land like that she had seen since coming west. Her nostrils stung slightly from the permeating scent of sage. It was not an unpleasant smell, and often welcome as opposed to the odor of dead animals they often passed, left behind by other wagon trains. It just seemed that sage grew everywhere and overwhelmed all other smells until one got tired of its sweet, strong scent.
She looked back at the foothills they had left two days ago, always afraid she would see John MacKinder riding farther back, but she saw nothing. She wondered if he was still alive; and if he was, where was he? Much as she wanted to forget he existed, she could not.
“All of a sudden this walking is hurting my back so,” Delores said, drawing Marybeth’s thoughts away from John.
Marybeth looked at Delores’s swelling stomach. “It is because of the baby,” she told her. “Maybe you should ride, Delores. This is your first child. You don’t want anything to go wrong.”
“Oh, I don’t want to be a burden. All the other women are walking.”
“They aren’t six months pregnant.” She was tempted to tell Delores her own suspicions, but decided against it. Josh should be the first to know, and it was much too soon to be sure.
Delores put a hand to her belly. She wore her cotton shirt outside of her skirt now, since she could no longer button her skirt at the waist. “Do you think we will make it to Oregon before my baby is born, Marybeth?”
“Of course we will. Cap promised, didn’t he?”
“Did you have any problems with Danny?”
Marybeth thought again about Dan’s beating. “No. And you won’t have any problems either. But if your back is hurting you, you should ride in the wagon for a while. Don’t worry about being a bother. Aaron would want you to be careful. If you don’t say something to him, I will,” she threatened.
Delores reddened at the thought of her pregnancy being discussed openly in front of Josh and Aaron. “No, no. I will talk to Aaron.”
“Promise?”
“Yes, I promise.” She smiled. “You are a good friend, Marybeth.” She wiped sweat from her brow. “It will be good to get higher into the mountains again, won’t it? At least we will be cooler.”
“Yes, but after some of the frightening roads we have already taken, I am not so sure which is worse, the mountains or this hot, lonely flatland. It frightens me to be so high, depending on the animals to keep us from falling over a ledge. And Cap says the road gets higher and more dangerous in some places ahead.”
Delores looked around. “Some of this land looks as though it doesn’t even belong to the Earth that we know. I sometimes wonder, Marybeth, if there is really an Oregon out there. It seems as though we are walking into an eternal wilderness from which we will never return.” She had to raise her voice above the shouting and cursing of the men who continued to steer their oxen away from the tainted water.
Marybeth looked around, studying the mountains that hovered all around them. Everywhere she looked, there were rocks and sage and alkaline soil that would grow only scrubby, prickly brush. She thought about the rich soil of Ireland, the green hills. Would anyone ever be able to plant anything in this strange land? How she prayed Cap was right about how beautiful and green Oregon was. “Yes, it does,” she answered. “But surely it is true there is a beautiful land beyond the mountains, or there would not have been so many go before us.”
She looked behind her then to see a rider coming. Heat waves made him look eerie and ominous, and again she thought about John; but soon she realized it was Josh who was coming. She breathed a sigh of relief. Soon they would be in the cooler foothills and in another week they would reach Fort Hall, where they hoped to find enough supplies to get them through the last part of their journey ov
er mountain passes and into Oregon. She noticed with disappointment that again there was no meat on Josh’s pack horse.
He rode closer to her and dismounted, taking the wagon handle from her and pulling Danny with one hand while he walked his horse with the other. “I don’t like you walking in this heat, pulling Danny besides. He’s getting too heavy.”
“I am all right.”
Their eyes met. They missed each other. The journey had been extra strenuous the last week, leaving them both too tired at night to spend needed energy on lovemaking. He sighed, bending down and giving her a peck on the cheek. “We’ll be out of this in a day or so. After that you’ll have to ride in the wagon most of the time. The roads will be too steep for you to be climbing them dragging this wagon behind you.” He looked over at Delores. “How are you doing, Delores?”
The woman reddened and tugged at her loose shirt, making sure her belly was covered.
“She is having problems with her back,” Marybeth answered for her. “I think she should ride in the wagon, Josh.”
Josh nodded. “I agree. You be sure to tell Aaron, Delores. If you don’t, I will.”
“Marybeth has already told me the same.”
Josh’s horse reared slightly, smelling the water. Josh noticed everyone herded their animals past it. “Another poison water hole?”
“Yes. Cap says by tomorrow we’ll be in the foothills. He knows where we can find some fresh water.”
“Good. Now if I could also find some game, we’d be in a lot batter shape. I hate seeing the looks on these peoples’ faces every time I come back empty-handed.”
“It isn’t your fault. You do the best you can, riding out there every day. It worries me so, Josh.”
“I haven’t seen any sign of Indians.”
“It isn’t just Indians I worry about.” She looked ahead again. “I don’t trust him, Josh.”
“Well, I haven’t seen any sign of him either. And you know I can take care of myself. If we’re lucky, he won’t survive.”
The Bride Series (Omnibus Edition) Page 99
